With apologies to Nathaniel Hawthorne, who is dead and can't sue me, I live in the House of the Three Gables. When the vent in the main one, the Clark gable, was gone with the wind after a recent storm, my wife, Sue, asked me to fix it.
While there are more terrible books being published than ever, some writers continue to offer us novels reminding us why the written word -- when used with grace, wit, wisdom, and fierce intelligence -- matters.
I grew up in the Midwest, born in Chicago, raised on the Southwest Side. We have four seasons. That's true for a lot of people, from a lot of places. Any generation, from any region accustomed to cold and snow in winter, has their own legendary storms.
Unlike much of the Huffington Post's readership, I presume, I saw the Drudge headline because I have a certain embarrassing reading habit, one that morphed out of the innocent desire to "see what the other side was all about."
My husband says to me, "You really should go to the store tomorrow. In case we get snowed-in. They're forecasting the blizzard of the century." "Oh, I don't have to!" I replied enthusiastically, "I went today!" I have never felt more on-top-of things in my life.