Life After Life recommendation
Avery just came upstairs to share a snack with me: sliced apples and almond butter. I'm reading "The Time Traveler's Wife," and sorry, but no. The conceit of the book would hurt my heart even if it were well written or I liked the characters, but I can't find myself giving a hoot. Please read "Life After Life," by Kate Atkinson, for a gorgeous, thoughtful time traveling, stopping, upending read. But even though I have stage four cancer for Pete's sake, I feel compelled to finish all the books I start, so plow on I will.
Anyhow, Avery is about to move to Northampton this week to start a year-long research fellowship related to community outreach, energy use reduction and waste. Lucky for all of us, Zoe is a student at Smith and it brings a real measure of peace to me to think about them tucked away in a coffee shop in Noho with their laptops and books on Buddhist poetry and molecular biology together this upcoming winter.
The girls shared a room for years when they were growing up and I think it was some combination of heaven and hell. They are extraordinarily close and I can shut my eyes and hear them whispering, dissolving into laughter, whipping into furies in their bunk bed. We have one particular memory in common--the three of us. I walked in on them, maybe they were fighting or being loud--for whatever reason I was irritated before I even crossed the threshold. The room, in my memory, was a colossal disaster--toys and popsicle sticks and lip gloss and sweatshirts from Victoria's Secret. And I pitched my own kind of fit--going on about oh, and this is how we treat our belongings, and I'm in law school, and why don't we just light our money on fire, blah blah. And apparently, although I don't totally remember this (I do not contest the other witnesses' accounts), I picked up a Ken doll and just threw it out the open window. Why don't we just throw everything out onto the yard? Let's just live like animals.
In my memory, the girls were shocked into silence by my righteous display of maternal anger. In their memories, this was absolutely hilarious and when they burst into laughter, I got more mad.
As I finish writing this, Zoe has just come upstairs. She's eating extremely hot soup in a hurry. She has been collecting all of the lovely lovely cards and notes people have sent us and putting them into an album so I can look at all of your words.
Anyhow, Avery is about to move to Northampton this week to start a year-long research fellowship related to community outreach, energy use reduction and waste. Lucky for all of us, Zoe is a student at Smith and it brings a real measure of peace to me to think about them tucked away in a coffee shop in Noho with their laptops and books on Buddhist poetry and molecular biology together this upcoming winter.
The girls shared a room for years when they were growing up and I think it was some combination of heaven and hell. They are extraordinarily close and I can shut my eyes and hear them whispering, dissolving into laughter, whipping into furies in their bunk bed. We have one particular memory in common--the three of us. I walked in on them, maybe they were fighting or being loud--for whatever reason I was irritated before I even crossed the threshold. The room, in my memory, was a colossal disaster--toys and popsicle sticks and lip gloss and sweatshirts from Victoria's Secret. And I pitched my own kind of fit--going on about oh, and this is how we treat our belongings, and I'm in law school, and why don't we just light our money on fire, blah blah. And apparently, although I don't totally remember this (I do not contest the other witnesses' accounts), I picked up a Ken doll and just threw it out the open window. Why don't we just throw everything out onto the yard? Let's just live like animals.
In my memory, the girls were shocked into silence by my righteous display of maternal anger. In their memories, this was absolutely hilarious and when they burst into laughter, I got more mad.
As I finish writing this, Zoe has just come upstairs. She's eating extremely hot soup in a hurry. She has been collecting all of the lovely lovely cards and notes people have sent us and putting them into an album so I can look at all of your words.
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