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I’ve had a lifelong crush on Robert Redford. It began when John and I saw Barefoot in the Park (1967). Butch Cassidy and The Sting are all-time favorites, of course. But also, for me, The Natural, The Candidate (so prescient!), Jeremiah Johnson (heartbreaking), The Hot Rock(hilarious), The Great Waldo Pepper and The Milagro Beanfield War…
EVERY MOMENT IS A MASTERPIECE. PAY ATTENTION.
A friend send a text from New York. She was at the Frick Collection and thrilled to be seeing three paintings by Johannes Vermeer in one place! I immediately recalled the day we visited the Louvre in Paris. I followed the fold-out map to find this painting: The Lacemaker–the only treasure by Johannes Vermeer in…
For the past few weeks we have been enthusiastically counting the caterpillars munching on the native milkweed we planted in pots along our driveway—doing our best to support the declining population of Monarchs butterflies, worldwide. Since time immemorial our California Monarchs have followed a migration pattern that finds them wintering in Mexico. They return here,…
I have a good friend who told me she was thrilled when Donald Trump eked out a win last November. I was stunned at her enthusiasm. “Why?” I asked. Topping her list: the deportation of illegal immigrants. “Our grandparents were legal.” She reminded me. “Our grandparents came to America in the 19-teens…before there were quotas…
John and I walk past the National Guard Armory in our neighborhood every day. Yesterday morning, we noted that the parking lot was full, which meant that the soldiers were assembling. We saw uniformed personnel readying communication trailers; beside it a truck with a big Red Cross on the side. Today, those vehicles are gone….
An article in Saturday’s LA Times about Maronite Catholics and their dying language sparked a vivid memory of attending a Church service at the Maronite Church in West Roxbury, Massachusetts, many years ago. My father’s family…Arab Christians…emigrated to the U.S. in 1913. Their village Jdita, Lebanon, is on the road from Beirut to Damascus. Back…
Don’t Just Sit There Scrolling: Do Something!
Good grief, I don’t want to be writing about Donald Trump. I have so many other things I want to do with my days. I have a book I’m trying to get published. I have bins and bins of papers I dragged from Milton, Massachusetts, to Manhattan Beach, California, ten years ago. These are things…
Progress Report
Anyone who knows me knows that I am a compulsive writer. So, where I have been since April? Not writing any blog postings, that’s obvious. Let me tell you. It’s been over a year since I thought I had finished writing the book I’ve been compiling of my Uncle Joe’s stories. Which I started in…
376 Brush Hill Road, Milton, Massachusetts – Part I
We moved to 376 Brush Hill Road in September of 1956. I was nine years old, and my youngest sister, Karen, had just been born. She was kept in the hospital a few extra days so my parents could get us moved in before they brought the new baby home. Her imminent birth was what…
“There are a million stories out there.”
I always knew I was a writer. That I would spend my life writing. I started with the nonsensical curlicues that precede writing (and reading)–filling line after line in the kind of small bound notebook the could easily be had for a few pennies at “the Five and Ten.” By the time I was in…