Brooklyn was everyone’s home of choice; it is mine, too.
I have a friend who falls into hibernation mode on the day of the dead. She burrows away in her suburban home with a herd of cats, a crackling fireplace, and a good book. As a late October baby, I used to love kicking off fall, embracing the changing color of the leaves along with theContinue reading “’tis the season”
With every keystroke, I yearn for the sea.
There are some days, even now nearly four years since my Dad died when I find myself thinking he is still alive. It is a fleeting moment, lasting thirty seconds or less. It lingers in the air like smoke from a snuffed out candle. Sunday morning, not quite 2 AM, an evening in with theContinue reading “right here, next to me”
Three years apart in age, my mom (b.1928) and dad (b.1925) were born at the beginning of the Great Depression. Their early childhood stories are family-focused, tales of sacrifice and tragedy, of making do with all that they had. Their joy sprung from the little things: trips to Coney Island, walking along the boardwalk, hand-me downContinue reading “distanced by a decade, memories breathe still”