My sister and my grandmother, who I called Dibi.
My grandmother lived with Alzheimer’s disease for years. And for years, my family and I would say things like:
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If you’ve sobbed through The Notebook, we’d probably be friends.
Heart of the Matter report
I was on break from college, and proud to tell dad about my new major. "General Studies in the Humanities" sounded cool to me, but he was less impressed.
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While the world was watching for white smoke from the Vatican chimney, the undisputed master of American songwriting in the post-Tin Pan Alley era was himself inducted into an exclusive club. Officials of the American Academy of Arts and Letters announced that Bob Dylan had been elected, the first rocker to make the cut for a stuffy Academy that may be trying to remake its image. (In fact, as the Associated Press pointed out in its story about Dylan's election, "the academy once was designed to keep the likes of Dylan away, shunning everyone from jazz artists to modernist poets. Even now, the vast majority of the musicians come from the classical community, with exceptions including Stephen Sondheim and Ornette Coleman.")
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