The Joan Didion book I wept at the end of last night is the first matter at hand. I highly recommend it. The Year of Magical Thinking. I'm feeling struck dumb in terms of writing anything that will do it justice. It is just beautiful and moving and smart. Smart smart smart. Which is a strange adjective to use in describing a book that serves as a "model of consciousness" (I believe this term comes from poet Larry Levis) for grief. She somehow manages to reveal no more than I really want to know, but just enough to make me want to know more. The most captivating part of the book--which won the National Book Award and covers the year her husband of 40 years died of a heart attack and her adult daughter suffered from a serious neurological illness (and subsequently dies, though not during the writing of this book)--is her rendering of her marriage with writer John Gregory Dunne. It was an unusual, beautiful, and inspiring togetherness they had. 
Also beautiful and inspiring are photographs by my new cyberfriend, Russ Taylor. Incredible pictures from around the world. Really amazing stuff. Check it out:Russ Taylor's photo journal.
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