Dullness Is A Kind Of Luxury.

I Had A 2-week Courtship With A Fellow Student In The Fiction Workshop In Iowa And A 5-minute Wedding In A Lawyer's Office Above The Coffee Shop Where We'd Been Having Lunch That Day. And So I Sent A Cable To My Father Saying, 'by The Time You Get This, Daddy, I'll Already Be Mrs. Blaise!'

I Had Never Walked On The Street Alone When I Was Growing Up In Calcutta, Up To Age 20. I Had Never Handled Money. You Know, There Was Always A Couple Of Bodyguards Behind Me, Who Took Care If I Wanted... I Needed Pencils For School, I Needed A Notebook, They Were The Ones Who Were Taking Out The Money. I Was Constantly Guarded.

Dullness Is A Kind Of Luxury.

The Picture Of Mother Teresa That I Remember From My Childhood Is Of A Short, Sari-wearing Woman Scurrying Down A Red Gravel Path Between Manicured Lawns. She Would Have In Tow One Or Two Slower-footed, Sari-clad Young Indian Nuns. We Thought Her A Freak. Probably Wed Picked Up On Unvoiced Opinions Of Our Loreto Nuns.

The Traveler Feels At Home Everywhere, Because She Is Never At Home Anywhere.