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When my mother was raising me, she moved us upstate to the woodstock area. our closest neighbor was a mile away. she planted all her own vegetables.
-Debi Mazar
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When My Mother Was Raising Me, She

Debi Mazar
When my mother was raising me, she moved us upstate to the woodstock area. our closest neighbor was a mile away. she planted all her own vegetables.
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Mother Vegetables Neighbor

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This isn't the democratic party of our fathers and grandfathers. this is the party of woodstock hippies. i was at woodstock--i built the stage. and when everything fell apart, and people were fighting for peanut butter sandwiches, it was the national guard who came in and saved the same people who were protesting them. so when hillary clinton a few years ago wanted to build a woodstock memorial, i said it should be a statue of a national guardsman feeding a crying hippie.
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For a mother the project of raising a boy is the most fulfilling project she can hope for. she can watch him, as a child, play the games she was not allowed to play; she can invest in him her ideas, aspirations, ambitions, and values - or whatever she has left of them; she can watch her son, who came from her flesh and whose life was sustained by her work and devotion, embody her in the world. so while the project of raising a boy is fraught with ambivalence and leads inevitably to bitterness, it is the only project that allows a woman to be - to be through her son, to live through her son.
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It is easier to love humanity as a whole than to love one's neighbor. ... some of the worst tyrannies of our day genuinely are "vowed" to the service of mankind, yet can function only by pitting neighbor against neighbor. the all-seeing eye of a totalitarian regime is usually the watchful eye of the next-door neighbor. in a communist state love of neighbor may be classed as counter-revolutionary.
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What constitutes the bulwark of our own liberty and independence? it is not our frowning battlements, our bristling sea coasts, our army and our navy... our reliance is in the love of liberty which god has planted in us. our defense is in the spirit which prizes liberty as the heritage of all men, in all lands everywhere. destroy this spirit and you have planted the seeds of despotism at your own doors... you have lost the genius of your own independence and become the fit subjects of the first cunning tyrant who rises among you.
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I'm drawn to write about upstate new york in the way in which a dreamer might have recurring dreams. my childhood and girlhood were spent in upstate new york, in the country north of buffalo and west of rochester. so this part of new york state is very familiar to me and, with its economic difficulties, has become emblematic of much of american life.
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