memory – modern vintage ink

home is where the heart is

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”

dreaming of the sea

With every keystroke, I yearn for the sea.

right here, next to me

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”

distanced by a decade, memories breathe still

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”