Posts made in November, 2013

My Wobbly Bicycle, 51

Posted by on Nov 27, 2013 in Archive | 11 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 51

A lot’s been written about Thanksgiving as a peaceful, family holiday vs. Christmas as a mad materialistic grab. I wouldn’t argue with that. Many of us still have in our heads something like a Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving scene, and try to replicate that in our own families. You’d think that would create the same tension as Christmas does, as it also tries to be Rockwell plus Clement Moore plus the old Coke Santa image. But it mostly doesn’t. I love Thanksgiving. But I’m thinking about the “thanks” part. I’m thinking of the danger there of the same sort of exchange, of...

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My Wobbly Bicycle, 50

Posted by on Nov 19, 2013 in Archive | 18 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 50

I could change the name of my blog to Doctors, Ad Seriatim. I’m posting this early because today we’re heading downstate, to Ann Arbor, having a pre-op consultation for Jerry’s very-big-deal back surgery on Dec. 3. He’ll be in the hospital for about a week, rehab after that. About six months’ recovery time. Another winter of hunkering down and getting better. How will this be for us, after last winter? A friend wrote to say how glad she was to see that I feel like relegating cancer to a much lesser position in my posts. The last two, it’s hardly been there. True. I think...

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My Wobbly Bicycle, 49

Posted by on Nov 13, 2013 in Archive | 12 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 49

I am supremely glad to have Keats’ letters. Hemingway’s. Even T. S. Eliot’s. Soon there’ll be no letters from writers to illuminate their work, their thoughts about it and about other writers, and their lives. Saul Bellow’s letters were published a couple of years ago, William Styron’s last year. Maybe the dying gasps.   I was reading a book review by Mason Currey in the NY Times. He’s more concerned with what the dearth of letter-writing is doing, not to its faithful followers and researchers, but to creative writing itself. He says “Letters were not only a way to stay in...

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My Wobbly Bicycle, 48

Posted by on Nov 6, 2013 in Archive | 28 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 48

Years ago, when my former husband had just been hired at the University of Delaware, the then-Department Chair offered to fly me from Arkansas to Delaware to look for a house for our family. (Can you imagine that now?) The night I arrived, there was a guest poet reading. I was invited. The poet was the late, great, silver-haired Seamus Heaney. I’d read a few of his poems, but basically I didn’t know squat.  At the reception—which was quite intimate, at someone’s house—we were brushing shoulders, picking up cheese and crackers. I could have said anything, asked him anything. But I...

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