I could go on for days about my Nana. She was my rock and my salvation.

Hi Linda, I’m delighted that my day here led you to find my online home and my books, too. I always love it when communities overlap and kindred souls suddenly find themselves walking side by side. Glad you’re here!

Melody, Katrina… Delighted to read your memories of grandmothers…as mine only came to visit… once in a blue moon. However… I am reminded of my mother on family vacations… placing a plastic tub of water outside the one door of the seaside cottage, for us to wash the sand off our feet before stepping inside… 🙂

Thank you—to both hostess & writer—for a thoroughly enjoyable edition of How We Spend Our Days…and the discoveries it has inspired…

Pam, You know how much this means to me, to know you’re there in your own blind, quietly waiting. We are colleagues in those rare moments of solitude.

Melody, How I love this portrait of your grandmother. These are the kinds of subtle lessons that matter most in the long run, as we figure out how to shape our own lives. I think of my grandmother, arriving in a little rustic cabin for a “vacation” week with the family. The first thing she did was empty the silverware drawers, scour the cabinets, scrub the sink. Once the kitchen was clean, she could begin her vacation — which, for her, was just about making dinner on a stove that didn’t work as well as the one at home!

The whole of this piece is lovely, and deeply resonant. But I had to step away when I read this line, for it reminded me of my Nana. We lived like nomads, and she was forced to join us. But she brought a certain civility–stability, too–with gestures like this. Before we pulled up stakes, she’d wipe down the countertops, swish the sink clean and fold her apron into a tight bundle for travel. And the first thing she did in every new landing place was to unfurl her apron, tie the strings around her tiny waist and set about cleaning the kitchen sinks and cabinets. Reverse order, restoring order.