For all of us who are influencing the development of daughters and granddaughters (and nieces and young friends) here are a few thoughts.
I’ve taught dozens of workshops over the years; all anyone wants to hear about is writing memoir, which is beginning to seem quite dull to me…
I was beginning to revel in the unexpected adventures and treasures of my sophomore year at college… I would never have expected that I would make a gift of my poems to my parents.
I’m now excavating the final layer of letters and papers in my mother’s Blue Box; the upper levels have given me the impetus and the materials for my two previous books.
July 9, 2024: Pip is suffering, he has suffered in silence and withdrawal, sleeping outside at night for the past two weeks. Now his stomach is full of tumors, he can’t eat, throws up what he drinks. I will work on remembering all the years of his blessed companionship.
It’s important not to be ploughed under by the chaos and intemperance in Washington. We don’t live in that swamp, and we don’t need to allow our hopes and dreams to be drowned out by the noise.
It has taken many years, many rejections, disappointments and sidetracks, to get to the place I wanted to be when I published my first book in the 1960s.
Some years ago a man I was in love with at the time persuaded me to have a large fish pond dug near my studio. I think it was his attempt to be part of my necessarily solitary life there…
Yesterday, as I was walking through my garden admiring the play of early light on leaves and flowers, I looked up at the old trellis and found two eyes staring at me.
Known to the Greeks as the goddess Sophia, this quality—not knowledge, but something finer, more mysterious and more subtle—has been recognized by many civilizations although not the present one. We
