This was a fascinating read. It is a story, written from the perspective of an elderly woman in 1911, who bemoans existence at the hovering of her adult children. She is a very alive personality, with a message that is still timely. She rebels against the constant interference of her overprotective children, who fret about her health, stuff her with pills and tell her how to behave. One line states: "Every moment of our lives we are preparing for age; carving out the faces that we are to wear," The book was actually the work of 37-year-old Mary Heaton Vorse, Greenwich Village bohemian, a radical journalist, who wrote it in the voice of her mother. The messages and observation are current!

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