May

I find that I am reading more and writing less. I remember being told once by someone whom I considered to be a fantastic writer that she had decided not to write her own book because, "There is already too much fine writing out there and I would rather read it all". She is now near 90, was raised in South Africa--youngest of 12 siblings, some of whom fought in the Boer War. She was the first white woman in the Burma outpost for early oil exploration and moved to Iran in the late 1950's. She writes beautifully and entertains me often with long emails about meeting her dashing RAF husband during WWII or living in oil camps without electricity or water, but with "help" (plenty of servants, I gather). I want her to write her story. I think I might just have to publish all those emails when she dies. But I want her to live to be at least 120. Meanwhile, I have to agree with her...there is so much out there left to READ!

And on the other end of the spectrum is my nephew. He isn't even 22, yet has lived this past year on both ends of the economic spectrum...as the privileged son of a high-ranking embassy official (my brother) in Europe, and as a volunteer (lately) at an impoverished orphanage at the edge of the jungle in India, near Nepal. Because he lives in the internet age, his story is told (fabulously) in his blog. If only Mrs. Thomson had written a blog in 1948!

But you can read Christopher's here:

I highly recommend it. When I was 22, I think I was more concerned about whether I was having a good hair day and that the TV show I wanted to watch was going to have a new episode (re-runs were beyond annoying). His life? Yeah, not like that.

Enjoy.