My mother didn’t favor books written for children since she believed we could all absorb adult literature at an early age and be the better for it—and I think she was probably right.
What Dresses Meant and Mean to Us
My first party dresses were sewn by hand—not machine—by my adored grandmother, Helena Lefroy Caperton, my mother’s mother, of Richmond, Virginia.
My Grandmother Is Turning in Her Grave
My beloved grandmother could never have imagined that the enormous statue towering over her hometown would be pulled down, carved up and crated off to an uncertain future as it was a week ago.
Beware
Can we be forgiven for signing these disreputable contracts, which often do not stipulate the amount of money we are expected to contribute to the publishing of our books until after we’ve signed?
Kicking Against The Pricks
My mother wisely warned me many times against “kicking against the pricks,” by which she meant the inevitable barriers we face in life, not the male appendage. She would have been horrified by that association.
On The Blue Box
The Blue Box does not share the soft glow that softens the details of so many family histories; its light approaches a glare.
Helena’s Story — The Blue Box: Three Lives In Letters
As I prepare to let go of the previous trove of letters that make up the body of my next book, The Blue Box: Three Lives in Letters, and that detail the lives of my great-grandmother, grandmother and mother, from 1850 to 1931, I realize that I am most fond of my grandmother, Helena Caperton Lefroy, or at least of her memory.
A Tale of Two Pincushins
Curtie would never have imagined that her handiwork, perhaps not appropriately valued during her life time, could inspire such awe and pleasure in a group that knows their textiles and their important role in interpreting our history.