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I saw a social media post in which someone mentioned — almost in passing — that they didn’t know what it was like to have a mother who did things for them. It was heart-rending, and it reminded me of … Continue reading
Category Archives: memoir
My parents bought the Barn in 1958. I know this for a number of reasons–mostly documentation I have from when it was transferred (along with a voluminous paper trail) to me in the 1990s. But I have one memento where … Continue reading
As best I can figure it, my parents bought the Barn when I was not-quite 5. What they bought was a sturdy, shabby Victorian farmhouse, a double barn (two barns built together, one old enough to have pegged joints, the … Continue reading
I have on occasion contributed a series to this blog called “Raised in a Barn.” It is a loose series of anecdotes about my, um, colorful childhood, spent between Greenwich Village (in the 1960s) and the converted barn in rural … Continue reading
As part of the process of downsizing prior to moving house, I had to go through a packet of parental artifacts passed from sister to sister to me. It was my sad job to off-load 1940’s dance cards, 1950’s business … Continue reading
The day after the election, the con man in the White House fired Jeff Sessions because of the only reasonable legal decision he made as Attorney General: to recuse himself from the Russia investigation. A lot of people are speculating … Continue reading
I was thirteen when we moved from New York City to Sheffield, Massachusetts. There were many striking differences, but one of the big ones? Transportation. Unbeknownst to my mother, I had been secretly taking the subway to school in the … Continue reading
This short memoir from Pati Nagle is an easy and entertaining read. For anyone who’s ever wondered what it’s like to drive a Tesla. I feel like I’m sitting in the future… … Continue reading
It’s January 14, midway through the wintry month, 8 days past Epiphany, my day for recognizing increasing light exposure. This is also the time I start parting the spontaneous mulch from my Empress tree and begin to look for hellebores. … Continue reading
My voice teacher in college, Aldrich Adkins, was an African American man about the same age as my father. He served in the Army in World War II. When he was stationed at a base in the south during the … Continue reading