I CAN’T POSSIBLY BE objective about Not Becoming My Mother: And Other Things She Taught Me Along the Way, the latest book by Gourmet editor Ruth Reichl. I am privileged to call the author my friend, and equally privileged to have known her through the process of conceiving and writing this slender but deeply affecting and ultimately provocative book. Now that I’ve ‘fessed up to my bias, I must encourage you to run, not walk, to your nearest independent bookstore to buy this book, and, if you’re so inclined, the audio version as well.

If you’ve ever read any of Ruth’s other memoirs (Tender at the Bone, Comfort Me With Apples, Garlic and Sapphires) you know that she has mined a lot of comedy from her mother’s culinary shortcomings. This book opens by acknowledging her liberal use of the “Mim stories,” the tales of her mother’s near- and complete poisonings of dinner guests, her utterly incomprehensible knack for not only serving food gone bad, but for concocting truly bad food. On that score alone, it’s clear that Reichl, an accomplished cook, critic, writer, editor and food activist, has definitely NOT become her mother.

But this book is about her mother’s efforts to carve a different life for Ruth, rather than the life of polite, forced indolence that was Miriam Reichl’s eventual lot. Miriam was an extremely intelligent, unconventional-looking woman who wanted to be a doctor. Her parents wanted her to be first a musician, and then a wife. Miriam tried to please them, and her attempt to be a “good girl” may well have been her undoing. By the middle of her life, Miriam had been diagnosed as bipolar, and home life for Ruth, her brother and father seems to have been largely defined by Miriam’s rage at never being able to pursue her own dreams or to realize her true potential.

The moral that Ruth draws from this examination of her mother’s life, via a close reading of her mother’s letters, is that satisfying work is the key to personal fulfillment. For Ruth’s mother, and legions of women in her generation (coming of age in the early part of the 20th century) who had no option to pursue a career, Reichl powerfully asserts, the at-home life was devastating. “My mother, like most of her friends, literally had nothing to do,” Ruth says. “I have never known so many unhappy people. They were smart, they were educated, and they were bored. Some of them did charitable work, but it wasn’t fulfilling. Their misery was an ugly thing, and it was hard on their families.”

Ultimately, Ruth’s journey into her mother’s misery produces an extremely loving and kind portrait, as she comes to realize how fiercely Miriam worked to ensure that Ruth would remain independent, would have the opportunity to be intellectually fulfilled. Even so, the book left me feeling discomfited, not only at Miriam’s plight, but at its similarity to the feelings I hear expressed by so many women of my generation, women who had the opportunity to pursue careers, and often did, but then left those careers behind in order to spend more time managing their homes and caring for their kids.

The difference, a good friend said to me as we discussed this issue, and the book, last weekend, is that our generation had a choice. We were encouraged to pursue our careers, and as a result, many of us came to motherhood later than our mothers’ generation. But reading this book, my vicarious experience of Miriam’s despair felt too familiar. I made a choice, as did many of my friends, and we are beyond lucky to have had the option to have a career, and the freedom to leave it behind.

That said, our choices often felt desperate: we found ourselves shouldering most of the burden of home and children, even as we worked full-time, leaving us feeling like no part of our life was actually receiving a fair share of our attention. In that context, “staying home” becomes appealing. Even so–I know very few women raising young children as their primary occupation who do not feel some measure of, “Is this all there is? Is this all I am?” and who wish, desperately, that our culture gave women some third path, one which respected the real needs of families, and acknowledged the out-of-home contributions we are able to make.

Reichl came of age in the 1960s, and the attitude of the book is (and this is not a put-down) pure second-wave feminist; her book doesn’t touch on the issues facing women who are now in their 30s and 40s. But I am curious to see how my generation will respond to Not Becoming My Mother, and the questions it raises not just about poor Miriam, but about us and the society that still doesn’t really give women much leeway in juggling the demands of home and family.

Have you read Not Becoming My Mother? Chime in. And be sure to catch Ruth on her book tour in a city near you, or order the book now.

No related posts.

Click here to view the embedded video.

For me, the fictional characters are inseparable from their TV alter egos. I haven’t paid much attention to their post Little House onscreen careers, though I knew that both Melissa Gilbert and the unforgettably nasty Nellie Olson, played by Alison Arngrim, have achieved a lot off the tube. (Gilbert is a leader among actors, having served for four years as the president of the Screen Actors Guild. Arngrim has long been lauded for her work on behalf of HIV and AIDS charities.)

But what I didn’t know until recently was that both Gilbert and Arngrim are avid users of Twitter. Their tweets run from comments about the sorry state of their butts post-40 (Gilbert) to upcoming Little House memorabilia fairs (Arngrim.) Nothing earthshattering, but c’mon. It’s Laura and Nellie! And both women use their Twitter presence to fundraise for charities they support–Children’s Hospice for Gilbert, and the National Association to Protect Children for Arngrim.

Thanks to Ashton Kutcher’s well-publicized “battle” with CNN to see who could get up to 1,000,000 followers the fastest, Twitter’s celebrity users have gotten a whole lot of press lately (because, you know, celebrities need more press). To Kutcher’s credit, he promised to donate to a malaria-prevention charity whether he won or lost (he won).

But between the Little House girls and the Kutcher v. CNN smackdown, I started thinking about my favorite celebrity Twitterers. Not everyone on the list will meet everyone’s definition of famous, but to me, they’re superstars.

Already on Twitter? Check out the folks below. And make sure to follow me, and The Sister Project. (Not to mention some of our wonderful Galleries profile subjects: Shauna Ahern, Camilla Engman and Diane Gilleland.) Not a Twitterer? Check it out, and tell us what you think.

1. Melissa Gilbert

Need I say more? Yes: apparently there’s a Little House musical bound for Broadway, and Gilbert has a memoir coming out in June–both might explain her adoption of Twitter. Who cares? She’s still Half Pint to me.

2. Alison Arngrim

Not nearly as bitchy in real life as in televised childhood, despite the title of her comedy show.

3. Sara Gilbert

Because she’s Melissa Gilbert’s funnier sister, and the only thing I loved about Roseanne.

4. Ree Drummond

If you’re talking prairie and pioneer, you have to know about Ree, and her hysterical blog, Confessions of a Pioneer Woman. (She’s got recipes, too.)

5. Ruth Reichl

Ah, now we’re in real foodie territory. Ruth is a friend, an amazing cook, an incredible writer and editor, and if you wish YOU were going out to great meals around the world, follow her Tweets, and salivate.

6. Demi Moore

Twitter has given me a whole new appreciation for Demi Moore. She’s funny! She reads! She’s thoughtful and smart! Her “baby,” as she calls Ashton, constantly, is funny too. Really. I’m not just saying this because I loved St. Elmo’s Fire.

7. Paul Feig

And now, from Demi and her funny man, we move into the funny men I adore. Paul created the cult-following TV show Freaks and Geeks, and is both, not to mention a totally lovely guy.

8. Rainn Wilson

He’s Dwight Schrute, from The Office. He’s also really interesting. And funny, which might be the most important quality any man can have.

9. Seth Rogen

Have I mentioned that I am attracted to funny?

10. Al Gore

I am also attracted to big, preppy geeks. Sorry, Tipper, but I’ve had a crush on your brilliant husband for years. (My husband, who looks nothing like Al Gore–but is both funny and brilliant–is now rolling his eyes.)

Now that you know all my dark, celebrity-fan-type secrets–don’t you have some to share? I know you must. Can you comment in 140 characters or less?

No related posts.