If a composer has a nice wife and some nice children, how can he let the children starve on his dissonances?
Every summer my husband and I pack our suitcases, load our kids into the car, and drive from tense, crowded New York City to my family's cottage in Maine. It's on an island, with stretches of sea and sandy beaches, rocky coasts, and pine trees. We barbecue, swim, lie around, and try to do nothing.
I never really wanted kids. I didn't not want them, but motherhood just wasn't something that pulled at me.