"I ride horseback - arthritic knees permitting - or listen to opera. Sometimes I cook. I used to do needlework, but it's hard on my hands now, so I only do it occasionally, but I like it. And, of course, I read"
About this Quote
The dash in "arthritic knees permitting" does most of the heavy lifting: it’s a wink that refuses self-pity while still refusing denial. Yarbro isn’t performing the heroic artist myth; she’s itemizing a life in which pleasure, craft, and limitation share the same line. The sentence keeps toggling between vigor (horseback) and refinement (opera), then settles into domestic competence (cook, needlework) before landing on the quiet constant: reading. That structure is the point. It’s not a brag; it’s a lived-in inventory of continuities.
The subtext is a writer insisting on agency inside an aging body. She frames disability as a practical condition, not an identity monolith: knees and hands impose terms, but they don’t confiscate taste. Even the verbs matter. "Ride", "listen", "cook", "do" are active, ordinary, unromantic. She’s telling you that a creative life is upheld by habits that look suspiciously like hobbies, and that stamina is often logistical. If you want to keep making work, you learn to negotiate with your joints, adjust your tools, and keep your attention fed.
Contextually, it reads like an answer to the perennial interview demand for an author’s "process". Yarbro answers with a small rebellion: the process is being a person. The final "And, of course, I read" isn’t a flourish; it’s an oath. Reading sits beneath everything else as both refuge and fuel, the one practice that survives the body’s negotiations and keeps the inner world stocked.
The subtext is a writer insisting on agency inside an aging body. She frames disability as a practical condition, not an identity monolith: knees and hands impose terms, but they don’t confiscate taste. Even the verbs matter. "Ride", "listen", "cook", "do" are active, ordinary, unromantic. She’s telling you that a creative life is upheld by habits that look suspiciously like hobbies, and that stamina is often logistical. If you want to keep making work, you learn to negotiate with your joints, adjust your tools, and keep your attention fed.
Contextually, it reads like an answer to the perennial interview demand for an author’s "process". Yarbro answers with a small rebellion: the process is being a person. The final "And, of course, I read" isn’t a flourish; it’s an oath. Reading sits beneath everything else as both refuge and fuel, the one practice that survives the body’s negotiations and keeps the inner world stocked.
Quote Details
| Topic | Aging |
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