Letters from Rona / Sort by date

I thought Steve Martin's memoir, Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life, was going to made me laugh. Instead this startlingly wise and nuanced book made me think in a whole new way about what it takes to embrace the future as your best and boldest self without leaving a painful past behind. [more]

After nearly 38 years with the man I married, I must know at least a smidgen about what it takes to stay together. But when my son and his longtime fiancee finally tied the knot, I didn't want to overload the newlyweds with sage advice. Which life-changing insight to share? My mother's, of course. [more]

When our son moved back home in his mid-20s, we all thought he'd stay for a couple of months until he planned his next step into the adult world. Turned out we had him with us for a couple of years. And by the time he finally moved out (into a house we helped him buy), things had grown a bit tense between us and our beloved only child. [more]

At Harrington House, which has just served as our base for hiking in the Cotswolds, the exposed beams date back to Tudor times and breakfast features an array of choices, all as British as Buckingham palace: bacon, kippers, blood pudding, fried tomatoes and eggs cooked any way you choose. I felt like Christopher Robin when my poached egg arrived, nestled in a circle cut from the surrounding slice of pale whole-grain bread. But breakfast is a highly personal affair, and I missed the familiar pour-and-stir meal that kickstarts my day at home. [more]

Feel free to call me Rona, although Ms. Maynard does nicely if you're the formal type. I don't encourage Ro, much as I appreciate the good intentions signaled by a nickname. What you must ever even think of calling me, unless we're on intimate terms, is "sweetie" or "dear." And there's no excuse whatsoever for the dread "young lady." I have a perfectly serviceable name and I expect you to use it. Especially if you end up serving gluey mashed potatoes in the old age home where I, in my bathrobe, am presumed to be addled just because I'm a little shaky on my feet. [more]

When I read your story about making amends with your sister, I recognized my sister and me. We drive each other crazy and haven't spoken for years. I'd like to make amends but I doubt if my sister wants to hear from me. I so envy women whose sisters are their best friends! What's your advice? [more]

Every time I fill my kitchen with the racy aroma of sizzling Berkshire bacon, so generously marbled that my rashers crisp in a splattering pool of golden fat, I think wistfully to myself, "Will no one ever tell me that this wonderful stuff is good for me?" At last someone has risen to the challenge: Jennifer McLagan, the pleasure-loving author of Fat: an Appreciation of a Misunderstood Ingredient, with Recipes. [more]

By the time you read this, my husband and I will be in London, which as far as we're concerned is the world's most glorious city. We'll have a mental checklist of favourite places to revisit, and far too many ideas for other places we haven't yet seen. But if there's anything we've learned in our travels so far, it's that the best vacation moments can't be scripted. They take you by surprise, and then they take your breath away. For instance, the once-in-a-lifetime Leonid meteor shower of 2002. [more]

These special spots aren't the ones I dreamed of visiting for years. Some I checked out in an idle moment, just because they happened to be there. Others tend to be upstaged by more celebrated sights down the road. What they all have in common is that I can't think of them without smiling. [more]

I wouldn't dream of traveling with my computer anymore. A few years ago, while my husband was heaving all our overstuffed bags onto a bus at the San Francisco airport, leaving me with only a computer to carry, somehow abandoned the thing at the curb and spent the next several hours madly trying to find it while my husband grimly soldiered on with the rental car people. Oh, by the way it was his computer. So on the vacation that starts today, I won't be blogging on any park benches. But Letters from Rona will continue to appear because I've stocked the virtual larder. [more]

My son, who will be married this month (date and country to be arranged) has just phoned with a bulletin: "Today we bought the dress." He's never been one to talk about fashion but he seemed most keen to talk about this. [more]

I could have sworn my last mental gasket had been blown by Palinania. I was baffled, weary and plain fed up thanks to all of the following: John McCain for selecting such a stunningly unqualified running mate; our gal Sarah herself for being so damn charismatic and ...well, likeable despite her alarming stance on every one of the issues; frantic liberal commentators for writing her off as "an Alaska hillbilly" instead of giving any thoughts to the roots of her appeal; conservative cheerleaders for shrugging off evidence that the sworn foe of corruption and cronyism is breaking her own rules back home in Alaska; and myself for devouring the whole shamefully addictive drama like too-sweet chocolates with gooey centres. [more]