I Live To Collect Information, And I

One Of The Ideas I've Clung To Most Of My Life Is That If I Just Try Hard Enough It Will Work Out.

I Think About My Mother Every Day. But Usually The Thoughts Are Fleeting - She Crosses My Mind Like A Spring Cardinal That Flies Past The Edge Of Your Eye: Startling, Luminous, Lovely... Gone.

To Mourn Is To Wonder At The Strangeness That Grief Is Not Written All Over Your Face In Bruised Hieroglyphics. And It's Also To Feel, Quite Powerfully, That You're Not Allowed To Descend Into The Deepest Fathom Of Your Grief - That To Do So Would Be Taboo Somehow.

A Mother Is Beyond Any Notion Of A Beginning. That's What Makes Her A Mother.

My Theory Is This: Women Falter When They're Called On To Be Highly Self-conscious About Their Talents. Not When They're Called On To Enact Them.