THE LOST WORDS is neither a read-on-the-commute book nor a recline-in-bed-and-prop-on-your-belly book. Its weight and unapologetic size demand it be explored on a flat surface; even better, on the floor with you kneeling over it; even better, read aloud; even better, with a child or friend.

I’m 41 years old and cannot jump into a pool without giving myself a chlorine sinus rinse. One out of every 5 or 6 attempts I can correctly coordinate the blow-out-the-nose technique with my entrance into the water. From an early age I feared going under the water. I think my parents attempted to enroll me in swimming lessons. I remember being in a life jacket on the low dive, scream crying and going ragdoll while some poor adult struggled to chuck me into the pool.

1990. My best friend Christina sat across from me in the Cherry Hill elementary school cafeteria. From her brown bag she pulled chips in a zipless plastic baggy and a bologna sandwich on Grandma Sycamore’s white bread. Before eating, she spread the flaps on her tiny milk carton so it was ready to go. To drink. With her bologna sandwich. I can comprehend the appeal of drinking milk with brownies or cookies but certainly not with actual food. Milk’s highest purpose is to accompany cereal, preferably Wheat Chex, Quaker Crunchy Corn Bran, or Big Biscuit Shredded Wheat smeared with strawberry jam.

Barbara Kingsolver just won the Pultizer in fiction for Demon Copperhead, a modern reimagining of David Copperfield set in the Appalachian mountains of Kentucky. It’s a well-deserved prize. Great writing ignites passionate feelings, and Kingsolver nails it in Demon Copperhead.

I am writing to request a status change from volunteer (of 9 years!) to salaried employee. As you know, I am now coordinating all operations for two subordinate Team Members, which has brought many additional stretch/growth opportunities. I am grateful for these opportunities, but I have begun to realize that volunteer work (while totally fulfilling) is actually kind of burning me out.