I'm currently holding a Barbara Holland festival--again. I've bought seven of her books, and the one I usually revisit first is "One's Company." Living alone can give you some serious things to think about. It hadn't occurred to me, for instance, that I might ever want to change a lock; here was an older sister taking my situation in hand and walking me through it with details I'd need to know: which way does the keyhole fit? What are all those scored lines and why do I need to pay attention to them? If you've ever had to ask someone where a certain tool is, and then endure their doing the project for you (possibly damaging something upon installation, which you will have to look at a dozen times a day for years), you are relieved at that point to take over and find your own way with the necessary tasks of life. Okay, it must be obvious that I'm three books into the Holland-fest; my language is taking on a tinge, isn't it? But I love the way she writes as much as I love the way she thinks. Oh, ask me about "Endangered Pleasures" or "Wasn't the Grass Greener?" I'm wallowing in Holland's books right now, and just wish I could thank her heartily for writing them. I like to think we'd sit at the table for hours.
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