Story-Shaped Lives
I still have the handmade birthday card my fifth grade teacher gave me—an enormous piece of folded yellow construction paper with a big orange bookworm
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I still have the handmade birthday card my fifth grade teacher gave me—an enormous piece of folded yellow construction paper with a big orange bookworm
Several years ago I was in England, researching the life of a very minor Modernist poet. I had dutifully made the rounds of libraries far
Her picture hangs on the wall of my office–as she was as a young WAVE cryptographer during World War II. In profile, her upturned face
I’ve decided to become a burden. I’m sure my friends will be thrilled to hear it. I realize that I’m already probably a lot for
Choosing birthday cards is always a daunting task–they’re either too smarmy, too sexual, too juvenile, too something. The picture is wrong, the sentiment not quite