Reading

is essential.  I read my news online, changing sources to find different angles on stories and hopefully find a shred of truth.  In the old days we had our local paper and if we were lucky, Walter Cronkite at six.

When one writes more than one knows from reading or other inspiration, that spells trouble.  When one writes stories without inspiration, that does not make a story.

When it comes to food, tasting is everything.  One “chef-testant” on Top Chef recently said that she didn’t need to drive to nearby NYC to taste real ethnic food, she could read her books.  Wrong.

Town library, every Saturday.  Books, knowledge, plays, all dusty and unused.  No Shakespeare there, just dusty books donors gave many years ago.  We made the best of it.  I knew at age eight that library was useless except for reference books and one cook book.

It’s a pity to know that a college town’s only public library is toast at the tender age of eight.  So my life took a different direction….

Now that’s the beginning of a story of which the author knows not the ending but at least the beginning and the material it may contain.

Scrabble was a hit, especially with the newly six year-old, who chose his own letters to spell the initials of his school.  Wow.  What a Thanksgiving!

ps Thanksgiving was always my mother’s holiday.  It was never mine.  I thought of her a lot this weekend and told funny stories about our childhood as they pertained to whatever conversation was at hand.  Scrabble was her game.  Proper names and acronyms were not allowed. To see nephew Joseph play was a tribute to my mother.  If she was alive ten years from now he may have won.