Collecting Myself

Oh my god, I was just going to post the most amazing thing, and tell you you must go read it, immediately, before it disappears behind the wall they put around old NY Times articles, and then I realized it is Times Select, so it is behind the wall already, and this is just a huge tragedy, because it is the most amazing piece by Maira Kalman, who asks one of my biggest questions, "How do you know who you are?" and doesn't even answer it, but instead quotes Abraham Lincoln and Goethe and talks about candy and embroidery and empty boxes and the Holocaust and collections, which are, you know, all about trying not to die, which is another one of my biggest issues, and, really, this piece is so fabulous that everyone must read it immediately, except you can't, because of the evil Times Select, and I wonder once again why I am such a slave to the NY Times which is so increasingly evil.

But someone called me a "renegade mama" today, which although I don't much like "mama," works for me, especially since I just finished writing something else in which I used just that word, "renegade," to describe myself, or rather, my household. So I have a solution, and I will let everyone I can enable read this wonderful thing, but you must email me or comment on the blog with a real email address, and then I will make it happen.