Category Archives: Reading and writing

Books, art, and the dog days of summer.

The letter, were there to be one (which there will not), might continue this way: And now it is finally October. The end of sandals, the start of boots. Irrespective of temperature (because, in Memphis one can’t be particular about such things), October is the beginning of stews and pot-pies, of flower beds going to…

I know a mama.

Last we were together (three weeks ago? four?), we were talking about seeing and being seen. You are thinking, perhaps, that my memory is dodgy, that I’ve forgotten about the Frye boot story in between. What you don’t know is that I wrote the letter to The Frye Company at the end of February, weeks…

Under the Boolean radar.

I was going to write my annual post with book recommendations. But then, unexpectedly, I found where Nancy Pearl has been hiding. To be more accurate, and probably fairer, I accidentally stumbled upon Nancy Pearl’s Twitter feed during one of my Twitter drive-bys (my relationship with Twitter is complicated). Re-finding Nancy Pearl was like seeing…

Babies, tarnish and dust.

The part of this that is a story, at the beginning, is mostly true and very short – hardly even a story, it’s so short. But it’s true nonetheless, in the important ways, and amended appropriately because it isn’t mine. A number of years ago a dear friend was hosting Thanksgiving dinner. More specifically, a…

The living and the dead.

This may seem disjointed; that’s simply the way things are. My friend Harriet, the Harriet who is very much alive, is a quilter. She sews the most beautiful quilts (and other things, too) and has the best sewing adventures to tell, stories I would share except that they are hers and not mine. I mention…