One of my earliest childhood memories finds me nestled in the back of a wood-paneled station wagon with my brothers and sister, crocheted afghans pulled to our necks, eyes fixed on the ceiling of the car and little padding for our backs. Above us, centered in the beam cast from streetlights and traveling cars, our hand-shadow puppets danced across a stage until the […]
The Kodak paper envelope with its signature yellow color is as familiar as my reflection once was. And I feel my heart sink just a little when I realize there is not one picture of me in the 36 images from the developed role. It was 17 years ago. Other than I was the one […]
Books and memories…for me they go together in a way that elicits feelings of love. When I look back as far as my mind’s eye will take me, I can’t see a period of time that didn’t include books. According to my mother, my first favorite was Pat the Bunny. Mom had a story, which by all appearances was […]
Reflection: something that shows the effect, existence, or character of something else.”–Merriam Webster Dictionary By the time I was born my family had all but given up church. My memories of going are more like snapshots, the first of which is of leaving. It was winter in Connecticut, I was probably three years old. All […]
Crouched down I retrieved the binder which is beyond bursting with recipes—some clipped from newspaper, some from magazines, while others were passed on. I knew what I was looking for when I flipped the tab marked “breads” to the side. Her long-hand penmanship came into view — Grandma’s Sweet Rolls — involuntarily I sat on […]
The first time I was raped was in the backseat of a car. I was 16. In those days the legal age to drink was 18, and underage drinking mostly went unnoticed. It was pretty typical for all of us kids to first hit the Connecticut bars, then, once they closed, head to either Port Chester or Purchase — state […]
Stories. Every family has them. My family’s story began with my parents both on skis. Legend has it they were at the top-turn-of-the-nose-dive in Stowe, Vermont when they met, the year was 1950. Once home, my mother, along with the yarn, cast her spell of love onto the needles she used to knit a long stocking hat for […]
