I don’t get much time to read these days. Usually I read a couple paragraphs at a time as I nurse the baby. This means I am forced to be very choosy. First, my reading material must be a bound book — no manuscripts. Second, it must be a paperback, preferably a mass market sized one that’s easy to hold in one hand and balance precariously on my knee. Third, since I have to read the story very slowly, it can’t be too suspenseful or it would drive me crazy, but at the same time, it can’t be dull because, well, who wants to read something dull? I’ll admit, I’m not too fond of reading YA or middle grades because these are just a bit too close to work for me, although I have recently read both. Still, I’m always in search of that perfect book. And then I found it. Read More...

I can not fail to comment on the passing of JD Salinger, arguably one of the greatest writers of the past century. Like so many others, I have been greatly influenced by his writing, although for me it was the mysterious Glass family that first captured my imagination rather than his most famous work, The Catcher in the Rye. Read More...

These are the days of sweet perfection. The ones I will look back on longingly when I am old. It is a gray November afternoon. A candle burns softly, casting a warm glow. Outside it is cold and crisp, but not yet the bitter, oppressive  cold of January and February. My son sleeps contentedly in his swing and soon my house will be full of family since my parents are coming to visit and my husband is due home before too long. But for now I am sitting down for a moment of quiet with a cup of tea, reflecting on the morning when I held my baby boy and felt his soft little head against my cheek and the comfortable weight of him in my arms. These days, I am better at recognizing the supreme importance of these moments. Nothing else is as important as soaking them up. Nothing. Read More...