LAST WEEK I WAS UP NORTH IN FRANKFORT, VISITING MY DAUGHTER AMY, HER HUSBAND, CRAIG AND THEIR DAUGHTER AND MY GRAND DAUGHTER, CORRINE (age 15). WE HAD GATHERED AROUND THE DINNING ROOM TABLE FOR SUPPER (that is what its called up north). SUDDENLY, AND OUT OF NO WHERE, CORRINE BLURTED OUT: "HEY GRAMS, WHY DON'T YOU WRITE A BOOK ABOUT YOUR LIFE ?
AN UNINVITED GUEST SLID INTO THE ROOM, SPREADING HER SILENCE ACROSS THE TABLE AND ALL WITHIN HER REACH.. EMBARRASSED, BY HER COMMENT AND FEELING ILL AT EASE BY THIS BLANK AND UNCOMFORTABLE SPACE, I SPOKE UP. "CORRINE HONEY," "PEOPLE WRITE BOOKS ABOUT THE FAMOUS, POWERFUL,THE WEALTHY, ABOUT KINGS AND QUEENS, NOT COMMON EVERYDAY PEOPLE LIKE ME CORRINE SQUEEZED HER NEXT COMMENT IN WITHOUT ANYONE TAKING NOTE. "GRAMS, WHAT SHOULD THE TITLE BE?"