Maisie Dobbs

I got a copy of the novel, Maisie Dobbs by Jacqueline Winspear, for Christmas. I have only just started it, but I am already captivated. I am so excited by this book that I am going to participate in an online read-along run by Book Club Girl on her website.

The daughter of a struggling greengrocer, Maisie Dobbs is only 13 when she's sent to work in the house of the wealthy Lady Rowan Compton. A voracious reader who longs to learn, she is discovered late one night reading in the library. Fearing dismissal, Maisie is shocked when she discovers that her thirst for education is to be supported by Lady Rowan and a family friend, Dr. Maurice Blanche. But The Great War intervenes in Maisie's plans, and soon after commencement of her studies at Girton College, Cambridge, Maisie enlists for nursing service overseas.


Years later, in 1929, having apprenticed to the renowned Maurice Blanche, a man revered for his work with Scotland Yard, Maisie sets up her own business. Her first assignment, a seemingly tedious inquiry involving a case of suspected infidelity, takes her not only on the trail of a killer, but back to the war she had tried so hard to forget.

I am looking forward to this read-along. If you're interested, there is still time to get involved, because questions don't start until Jan. 14.

New Year's Day 2011

Back in 1982, 2000 seemed a lifetime away, let alone 2011. I was young, good looking, single, and happy about all of it.

I mention 1982 because I just got the long-awaited DVD set of "Tales of the Gold Monkey," the best television series ever to be cancelled after one season because of politics. (The show business kind.) Back then, there were only the three major networks, and they controlled what we saw, and didn't see. If it had happened now, of course, it would have found new life on cable, and would have lasted seven years.

1982 was also the year I finally started feeling like a grownup. I turned 25, and I remember I stopped feeling like I was play-acting at being a grownup, or waiting for someone to accuse me of playing dress-up in my mother's clothes. It was the year I listened to an 18-year-old panicking because she didn't want to end up an old maid, a fate that would befall her unless she was married by 20, and laughing because she was so wrong. It was the year I decided that getting married was something you did because it made you a better person, not because it was the right thing, or the traditional thing, or the prudent thing to do. And it was the year I started to learn that being alone can be enormously gratifying.

It's 2011 now, and my life is completely different than I would have predicted (if I'd thought about it) back in 1982. But where I am now is informed by the choices I made then. And I'm very glad about it.

So, here's hoping that 2011 will be a good year, bringing challenges within our coping abilities, and joys beyond our dreams.