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First Thoughts About Christmas 2008 |
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Christmas and Loss I went to a funeral today—the husband of P., a woman who long ago reached out in a characteristically big-hearted way to become my friend. A fairly new, uncomfortable suburbanite in Maplewood, NJ, I had begun attending an aerobics class in the basement of a nearby church at the suggestion of my only friend in town. All of us aerobicizers were crazy about this class because of the charismatic teacher, the childcare and the endorphin rush at the end of class. |
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Anne of Green Gables and Miss Congeniality |
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Lessons from an Illness Just in time to reinforce yesterday's giving of thanks came a message from a reader--with her own letter to her younger self. Leslie Rott, a graduate student at the University of Michigan, is writing to herself at about 20 or 21. "I had lived on my own for a few summers," she wrote, but "I didn't feel secure in myself at all, and everything that happened in my life was a drama." Little did she know the real drama was just about to begin. Here is her letter: |
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Thanksgiving and Stacy Morrison |
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The Firecracker at Redbook Thanksgiving is around the corner and I am hosting for the first time in many, many years. (Thank you most excellent hostesses of Thanksgivings Past, sisters Betsy and Jodi, and ex-neighbor Lindsay!) On the menu is the Bird, brined of course, braised carrots, corn from a field nearby that I took off the cob and froze a month or more ago, sinful Thanksgiving mashed potatoes and pies from Terhune Orchards in nearby Princeton. But what is really on the menu is my family. And Stacy Morrison, the editor of Redbook who I |
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Kate Spade, Stay-At-Home Mom! |
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Kate Spade, Redux Wow, that was even more fun than the first time. The first time I interviewed Kate Spade (for Fortune Small Business, now a shadow of its former self) I described her as looking like Audrey Hepburn’s best friend—fresh-faced, super-stylish and charming. Yesterday, as I sat in the lobby of her Manhattan apartment, completely absorbed in my Kindle (Out Stealing Horses, by Per Petterson), Kate paused after she’d walked past me (cued by the doorman) and said, “Ellyn?” |
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Near the Source of Love Was This |
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Near The Source of Love Was This The un-Hallmark part of life is what many letters to younger selves express--that unattractive, deeply mortifying story of our inner journey. A classic is Cokie Roberts' letter about being the mother of young children. The most powerful piece of that letter is how she admits to being shocked at her capacity for anger toward these small beings--her children. Who admits to mother-anger at baby play groups?? One of my favorite poets, Sharon Olds, writes about this blaze of fury in a poem called "The Clasp," in which |
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