All posts in the ‘ Woodman Family ’ Category

“The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.” So goes the first line of L.P. Hartley’s 1953 novel, The Go-Between. In New Hampshire, you can often take a day trip to that foreign country and do things the way they do them there. You can dance traditional square and contra dances on the scuffed wooden floors of grange buildings or squirm through lectures in the back-breaking pews of village meeting houses. On Sunday, I played …Read More

As I’ve mentioned, my mother conquered the personal computer in her sixties, when few in her age group dared get close to such a terrifying machine. What if they hit the wrong button and it blew up? But my mother wanted to learn. It must be said that learning was the family religion. Once I joked to my mom, “Well, if I’m so smart, why aren’t I rich?” She looked utterly shocked. “But think how much you’ve learned!” …Read More

Halloween is almost here! Pumpkins are proliferating on front porches and ghosts and skeletons are swaying from trees. I can’t wait to see the kids in their costumes coming to the door. I’m sure there will be lots of Annas and Elsas, the princess sisters from Walt Disney’s 2013 animated blockbuster, Frozen. Clara, however, has decided to be Winnie the Pooh. Last year, she insisted weeks in advance of Halloween that she’d be a pig. Many years ago, …Read More

The motto of the class of 1899 at Mt. Holyoke College was: “Leave all resultings: Doe ye nexte thynge.” These lines came from a religious poem of the era; it was widely reprinted in anthologies. “Doe ye nexte thynge” became a cliché, and a “Doe Ye Nexte Thynge” charitable society was formed in New York City. I generally see the poem identified as anonymous, although a Mrs. George A.Paull gets the credit in at least one book. I …Read More

The amazing Elizabeth Berg is hosting a literary series in Oak Park, outside Chicago, IL. It’s called “Writing Matters.” I’m thrilled that she wants me as a visiting author. If you’re going to be near there on Saturday, Sept 13, come along! In addition to book reading and signing, there will be wine and Indian food–my mouth is watering already. By the way, if writing matters, reading has to matter too, in equal proportion. The American Academy of …Read More

I came across a manila folder that was stained and soft from multiple uses and had “Important Mementoes” written on the outside in my mother’s exuberant upward-sloping handwriting. Among the yellowing newspaper clippings, invitation cards, golf scorecards and the like, there was a letter written to my mom by her dad, in November 1939. In this picture, my mom’s parents, Helen and Jacob Randolph, are center row, left. My mother isn’t in this picture–it must have been taken …Read More

June 6 is the anniversary of D-Day, the beginning of the invasion of Normandy. My dad was a young naval lieutenant in that historic battle, serving on a Landing Craft Infantry (LCI) that carried special forces and led the way for other such craft. Everett Woodman in naval uniform He was very proud to have participated, but the experience scarred him more than he even realized. In 2004, at the age of eighty-eight, he was having flashbacks of …Read More

My mother, Ruth Woodman, was petite, charming, and sparklingly beautiful. She could also be scary, especially if you were facing her across a ping pong table or a tennis court. In addition to being a dancer, she was an excellent athlete and a formidable competitor. Here she is at age 30, at home on skis. Are the men keeping up with her? Doubt it. In India, in the 1950s, my parents joined the Delhi Golf Club. Picture Credit: …Read More

Lee and I aren’t twins, but my mom often dressed us in matching outfits, sometimes even cut from the same cloth as her own dress. Left to right: Ruth, Betsy with dog, Everett, Jane, Lee. Chennai, 1953. Here, still in Chennai, we’re flanking Jane, who has graduated from rompers to a pinafore. “How’d I get here?” she seems to be saying, “between these two bodyguards?” At this point in our lives, our mother chose our clothes, but Lee …Read More

Long after we returned from India, my mother used to brag about the birthday parties we’d had there. She pitied the poor pathetic kids who had grown up in the States, since they didn’t have the resources for a bang-up celebration. Such as street entertainers—dancers, snake charmers, performing monkeys, stilt-walkers, acrobats, puppeteers, jugglers….you name it. Best of all, in my mom’s opinion, was having a merry-go-around set up in the yard, and that was always my favorite, too. …Read More