Currently reading
Nigella Christmas: Food, Family, Friends, Festivities
Our Bodies, Ourselves: Menopause
A Shropshire Lad (Dover Thrift Editions)
8/2012 I come to Housman when I'm hollow, when I'm lost, when I'm confused. I come here when I need to come here, and he takes me in, he comforts me with snark, with acute observation, with hilarity and bottomless woe. There's nobody, nobody at all like Housman. I have entire swaths of this by heart, and generally read a poem or two at need. Today I read it cover to cover and was, once again, entirely blown away. 2010: What's to say of Housman? His words are like strange wine that changes one utterly once imbibed. "...that grace, that manhood gone..."
