Blogging in Bed

Yes, I can do that now! Bed is where I drink my coffee and read my morning newspapers. Steve is making gentle whuffling sounds next to me. All is peaceful. I've already shared moments with several people in Iraq, checked the weather and TV listings, and answered mail, all through my little black magic box.

You can tell I'm new at this blog stuff.

I talked to my daughter a few days ago. She commented on her upbringing as the scion an earnest right-wing idealogue and a granola-crunching, Zen Buddhist leftie. What was a girl to rebel against?

A prototypical moment in her upbringing came at a gathering of my Zen friends during high school, when James, balding but still pony-tailed, tried to persuade her to ditch college, be really brave and educate herself.

"This," Nina laughs, "from a friend of my mother's at a time when I was writing applications, applying for scholarships, and working my tail off on my grade point average."

(Nina wound up at Yale, forever deprived of the wonder of self-education.)

I've known brilliant people who were better off educating themselves, but they are not us. The genetic line Nina and I share requires structure to get anything done. Otherwise it's trashy novels and surfing from morning til night. What would I ever accomplish without the twin scourges of deadlines and an unquiet social conscience?

Speaking of deadlines... over and out.