Before Rob Frost was "Robert Frost, Great American Poet"

I take comfort in the fact that Robert Frost was not always the great poet we've come to revere for taking the less-traveled road and telling the tale ages hence.

Here is young Rob sounding very much the child in an 1886 letter to a girlfriend:


"There are not many girls I like but when I like them I fall dead in love with them and there are not many I like just because I can have some fun with them like I can lisa but I like you because I cant help myself and when I get mad at you I feel mad at myself to.            From your loveing Rob"


All punctuation or the lack thereof comes straight from Mr. Frost, as do the misspellings. If nothing else, you've got to love how his massive run-on of a love note could pretty much be written by any 13 year old on Facebook. 

Téa Obrecht: The Tiger's Wife

A doctor to his granddaughter on becoming a pediatric surgeon:

 He sat up, pushed his chair away from the table and rubbed his knees. “When men die, they die in fear,” he said. “They take everything they need from you, and as a doctor it is your job to give it, to comfort them, to hold their hand. But children die how they have been living—in hope. They don’t know what’s happening, so they expect nothing, they don’t ask you to hold their hand—but you end up needing them to hold yours. With children, you’re on your own. Do you understand?”

Ripped from the Head lines

Its all a set-up, I swear.

Much to my surprise (and chagrin) I opened the NY Post the other day only to find my face in flagrante. Happy though I may have been for the exposure, I had to chuckle that mine was the image chosen for an article on husbands who cheat on their wives. The article (full text here) is relatively tame and 100% not about me, so fear not young ones: only a story to tell the kids about someday.

Original image here

I Live Again

I return with no introduction. Three months of test prep during the day and grad school at night left me with little time to write about the drolleries of life. My first year of teaching in NYC actually ended just last thursday, and I am slowly transitioning back to a more normal pace of life. I actually write these words from Texas, 98 degree heat, and platefuls of meat at every meal. (Home has a funny way of making me fat)

Now that I am essentially jobless, I promise to get in a lot of good trouble and write detailed accounts. Much love to all.