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With Apologies To Maureen Dowd The first useful trick I learned as an aspiring journalist was cynicism. No, that’s not quite right. Off-handed, world-weary cynicism. That was the ticket. Of course, everyone knows that Madoff is hardly the first upper-crust hustler to pull off a Ponzi scheme. |
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Sigh. Recalculating….Where I'm Going In 2009 My first run-in with a global positioning device was last fall in Warwick, Rhode Island. Yes, I still use maps printed on paper. You’ll see why after this story. I was in town for the grand opening of a NYLO hotel with my sister, Betsy, and brother-in-law, John, who is the company’s CEO. The next morning Betsy, her friend, Bebe, and I decided to poke around Providence. Off we went in my rental car, entrusting ourselves to a rented Garmin. She—the device had a female voice—got us there. But there were a few wrong turns along the way. And each mistake earned me Ms. G’s contempt. |
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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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