Letters from Rona / On my mind / Sort by date

Today it struck me that I'm falling out of step with humankind. I've never been downsized, let go, laid off, packaged, terminated or otherwise exiled from the ranks of the gainfully employed. I left every one of my jobs when the moment seemed right, not when someone else decided my time was up. How quaint. [more]

If there was ever a time to feel like a chump for taking HRT to manage menopausal symptoms, that time is now. The latest study underscores the link between HRT and breast cancer, while news breaks of a drug company paying doctors to affix their names to articles endorsing the controversial therapy. Yet I won't be quitting anytime soon. Here's why. [more]

Have you heard about the big New York publisher that put a freeze on acquiring books? No, this isn't the latest joke from the sultans of satire at The Onion. It really happened this week at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt as staff at other houses lost their jobs in droves. [more]

Sometimes I look back on my son's teenage years and wonder how we ever got through. It's not that we had a hell-raiser on our hands, just that there are so many ways for a promising, likeable, headstrong kid to fall from the precipice of adolescence. A kid like Brandon Crisp, age 15. His funeral in Barrie, Ontario, is expected to draw 1,000 mourners who loved him, searched high and low for him or simply know in their hearts that what happened to Brandon could happen to their own child. [more]

I could have sworn the place to be on the momentous night of November 4, 2008 was Grant Park in Chicago. But I've only just found out that a joyous crowd of Bob Dylan fans were celebrating change at the University of Minnesota, in a sell-out concert by the man with the big white hat, the sunken cheeks, the ruined growl and the visionary grasp of the tumultuous American story. [more]

With the Washington rumour machine in pre-election overdrive, we're not hearing much about the sad, sordid tale of John and Elizabeth Edwards: he the philandering senator and former presidential hopeful, she the wronged wife with a deadly cancer. A scant two months ago, the press was busy raking muck and hinting of explosive revelations to come. But that was before Joe the Plumber, Bill Ayers and the Palin family's $150,000 campaign wardrobe. I will never forget the Edwardses, though. [more]

When our son moved back home in his mid-20s, we all thought he'd stay for a couple of months until he planned his next step into the adult world. Turned out we had him with us for a couple of years. And by the time he finally moved out (into a house we helped him buy), things had grown a bit tense between us and our beloved only child. [more]

Feel free to call me Rona, although Ms. Maynard does nicely if you're the formal type. I don't encourage Ro, much as I appreciate the good intentions signaled by a nickname. What you must ever even think of calling me, unless we're on intimate terms, is "sweetie" or "dear." And there's no excuse whatsoever for the dread "young lady." I have a perfectly serviceable name and I expect you to use it. Especially if you end up serving gluey mashed potatoes in the old age home where I, in my bathrobe, am presumed to be addled just because I'm a little shaky on my feet. [more]

I could have sworn my last mental gasket had been blown by Palinania. I was baffled, weary and plain fed up thanks to all of the following: John McCain for selecting such a stunningly unqualified running mate; our gal Sarah herself for being so damn charismatic and ...well, likeable despite her alarming stance on every one of the issues; frantic liberal commentators for writing her off as "an Alaska hillbilly" instead of giving any thoughts to the roots of her appeal; conservative cheerleaders for shrugging off evidence that the sworn foe of corruption and cronyism is breaking her own rules back home in Alaska; and myself for devouring the whole shamefully addictive drama like too-sweet chocolates with gooey centres. [more]

Once upon a time I had a supremely organized assistant who kept my calendar in order. When she was in charge of my life's little details, I never showed up on Tuesday for meetings to take place on Thursday (or vice versa). [more]

Once upon a time I wrote the career column for Miss Chatelaine magazine, where I had landed my first job. Miss Chatelaine could not afford a real career expert, any more than I could afford a navy suit on what they paid me. My advice came mostly from how-to books but wrapped in spunky, no-stopping-you prose, it made for a convincing read. Now Hannah Seligson, born in 1982, has written a career guide for the Girl Power generation. And to judge from her advice, not a whole lot has changed since my day. [more]

As a Hillary supporter, I'm supposed to identify with you. To let you carry the banner of female power and purpose into the next election, despite the fact that when it comes to the issues, you and I agree on absolutely nothing. But we do share one very personal bond. You see, I'm a grandmother. Like you and Bristol, I was caught off guard by an accidental pregnancy. But to everyone's continuing relief, my grandson's parents never married. [more]