Why are some people private?

I’ve known for many years I was an introvert, and I dabbled in trying to understand more deeply what this meant. But when my book editor asked her probing questions on behalf of future readers, I didn’t understand how much my need for solitude went hand-in-hand with my need for privacy.

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Gifts of an introverted Pied Piper.

I’m the crotchety old lady who lives at the end of my street, peeking though her curtains and complaining when people disturb her.

Hmmm. Not quite right.

I’m the reclusive older neighbor who stays in for days at a time and only sneaks away for brief errands when no one is watching.

Nope. Not that either.

I’m the introverted 58 year old gardener in the brick house who relishes her solitude. 

OK. That’s better.

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Five words that LISTICLES bring to mind.

What’s with all the listicles lately!?  You’ve seen them:   

“Ten things to look for in choosing a toilet brush.”   

“Thirteen reasons to avoid walking under ladders.”   

“Nine ways to help your cat overcome his fear of cucumbers.” 

They are EVERYWHERE on FaceBook, online magazines and in the blogosphere

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Breathtaking lessons from a family vacation.

I had planned a relaxing family Christmas vacation visiting my parents on the west coast.  Since my Mom and Dad moved out there several years ago, my east coast clan of four have had precious little time with them, and this was our chance to catch up.   All three of my guys – my husband and two sons – were able to take time off from work.  My parents, in their eighties, are in relatively good health, but who knows how long that will continue? 

I was looking forward to a great trip, maybe the last that the six of us would havetogether. 

Then I found out that my sister from Chicago would be visiting as well.  And my brother from Pittsburgh.  And another brother and his family from Charlotte. 

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Favorite season and personality.

As a gardener here in the northeast, winter isn’t exactly my favorite season.  Other than drooling over the seed catalogs that get sown in my January mailbox, there’s not much to do, garden-wise.  Instead of transplanting perennials, I’m moving snow again from the sidewalk to the … well, wherever I can find a place that doesn’t already have a three foot pile.  For me, digging in the snow is not at all as satisfying as digging in the earth.  And it’s surreal to imagine that all that dirty wet stuff will actually give way to a lawn and beautiful blooms in too many long months. 

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