real life

-- September 22nd, 2011 --
peaceful Lonsdale afternoon


I have been enjoy­ing a lit­tle respite from remem­ber­ing, self-examination, and the dredg­ing down inside for ways to tell of our expe­ri­ences ten years ago.  I am ter­ri­bly grate­ful to all my won­der­ful read­ers who assured me that I had been able, finally, to express what I intended to express.  As unlikely as it sounds, as soon as I pressed the “pub­lish” but­ton on my beloved blog, I felt a real weight off my shoul­ders.  I flexed my mus­cles, took a deep breath, and felt com­pletely pre­pared to let go of these expe­ri­ences and mem­o­ries, and to return to the ordi­nary busi­ness of liv­ing — and being me, writ­ing about living.

Why do peo­ple want to write, any­way?  Well, I turned as one should always do in these sit­u­a­tions, for wis­dom from great writ­ers.  Fore­most among them for me is the inim­itable E.B. White, author of count­less human­ist essays, end­less arti­cles for the New Yorker mag­a­zine, and for me most impor­tantly, of “Charlotte’s Web,” pos­si­bly the great­est children’s book of all time.

E.B. White tells us two chal­leng­ing things: