It was one of those perfect fall days when the air is cool enough to wake you up but the sun is also kissing your face.

It's a good thing babies don't give you a lot of time to think. You fall in love with them and when you realize how much they love you back, life is very simple.

It's a wonder that any mother ever called a daughter Dinah again. But some did. Maybe you guessed that there was more to me than the voiceless cipher in the text. Maybe you heard it in the music of my name: the first vowel high and clear, as when a mother calls to her child at dusk; the second sound soft, for whispering secrets on pillows. Dee-nah.

It is terrible how much has been forgotten, which is why, I suppose, remembering seems a holy thing.

One of my favorite poets, Neruda, writes close to the bone. Though I know only a little Spanish, I like to compare the Spanish and English lines and see how the translator worked.

The other reason women wanted daughters was to keep their memories alive.

Why did I not know that birth is the pinnacle where women discover the courage to become mothers?