acknoWledgMents

Round, Round, and Round again, this book makes three. For the
third time my Ariadne string leads me back home again to Helene Moglen.
Not only did she show me the way to becoming a writer, with as much
criticism as praise, as much forewarning as optimism, she also showed me
the way to becoming what I hope is a “good enough mother:” a being (ac-
cording to Winnicott) who keeps a little something for herself, as gift to
both herself and to her child. What’s more, Helene, a mother of three boys,
encouraged me to have my own children: I ended up with three boys of my
own. (Life is filled with these little surprises.) Likewise, through Winnicott,
through Helene, I unwrapped the gift of teaching my boys to find (I hope) a
little something just for themselves: their own “transitional objects.”
Speaking of boys times three: clearly every page of this book feels the
birdliness of Augie in the nest, of Ambie waiting to be pushed out, and of
Ollie in flight. I thank them and their father, Kevin, who has not only lov-
ingly spent his own time sitting on eggs and padding our nest with all sorts
of interesting things and bringing back delicious food for all of us to eat,
he has also opened up my eyes to the beauty of flight (by closing them and
setting them to dreaming). I enjoy soaring with Kevin.
Grandma’s blue eyes are still keeping me forever happy in the ocean that
she never left. (And Grandma, thanks for the all the messages in the New
Zealand clouds. It really was the next best thing to eating lamb chops and
mint sauce with the boys.)
Hayden White is still a wheel of smiles nodding approvingly at my devo-
tion to Barthes. I will never cut the strings to Hayden (or Barthes): in my
mind, they are a couple.
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