The Sea, The Sea, The

I Wondered About Mrs. Winterbottom And What She Meant About Living A Tiny Life. If She Didn't Like All That Baking And Cleaning And Jumping Up To Get Bottles Of Nail Polish Remover And Sewing Hems, Why Did She Do It? Why Didn't She Tell Them To Do Some Of The Things Themselves? Maybe She Was Afraid There Would Be Nothing Left For Her To Do. There Would Be No Need For Her And She Would Become Invisible And No One Would Notice.

In A Course Of A Lifetime, What Does It Matter?

It Seems To Me That We Can’t Explain All The Truly Awful Things In The World Like War And Murder And Brain Tumors, And We Can’t Fix These Things, So We Look At The Frightening Things That Are Closer To Us And We Magnify Them Until They Burst Open. Inside Is Something That We Can Manage, Something That Isn’t As Awful As It Had A First Seemed. It Is A Relief To Discover That Although There Might Be Axe Murderers And Kidnappers In The World, Most People Seem A Lot Like Us: Sometimes Afraid And Sometimes Brave, Sometimes Cruel And Sometimes Kind.

I Don't Remember Titles Of Books Or Authors From When I Was Young. I Remember The Title Of Only One Book, Which Was 'the Timber Toes.' I Remember It Was A Family Of Little Wooden People Who Lived In The Woods, And For Some Reason That Stayed With Me.

I Don't Want To Because Boys Don't Write Poetry. Girls Do.