Monthly Archives: May 2016

Songs

Recently I wrote a song for someone important to me. It has some lines I’m sort of proud of and a nice chord progression. I haven’t had the opportunity to record it yet, but I hope that’s going to happen … Continue reading

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Songs

Recently I wrote a song for someone important to me. It has some lines I’m sort of proud of and a nice chord progression. I haven’t had the opportunity to record it yet, but I hope that’s going to happen … Continue reading

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Rainy Sundays

Rainy Sunday afternoons have a feel all their own. Songs have been composed about them, and books written and poems read, and none offer relief. Rainy Sundays, no matter how old you are, harken back to once being very young … Continue reading

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The Last of the Chemo?

Tuesday was, hopefully, the next-to-last chemo session for a while, and, if I am very, very lucky, perhaps ever. This reminds me that a long time ago, someone told me my body is just a vehicle that gets me from … Continue reading

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Arielle

The first time I had coffee with Arielle, she arrived covered in multi-colored glitter. The three-year-olds she teaches had ganged up on her and she literally sparkled under the restaurant’s lights. Today she posted a blog that tugged at my … Continue reading

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Penultimate

There is a New Nurse today, a shortish middle-aged woman wearing grey scrubs who does not seem to be happy dispensing chemo. I ask where Maggy, the regular nurse is, and the woman shrugs. “She didn’t like it here, it’s … Continue reading

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Living Alone

I live alone—with a cat—in a small suburban house some miles from Washington, DC, where I spent many years. My home was built in the early 60s to meet the needs of returning Korean War veterans, and there are thousand … Continue reading

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Maman

I’ll say it out loud: I miss my mother. Actually, I miss both parents. They’ve been gone a relatively long time, but there are still moments when their absence is palpable. Sunday is Mothers’ Day, a holiday that can be … Continue reading

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Minou and Me

I’ve always wanted to be a writer of fiction. For me, there is no higher calling. My father was a journalist; my mother wrote a couple of beautiful children’s books, and was instrumental in the creation of Babar the Elephant. … Continue reading

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Maury’s Return

Maury was back at the coffee shop after a brief absence. Without much of an introduction, he asked, “Can you get me a bagel? Plain? Cream cheese?” This had never happened before. Maury is not a moocher. He can make … Continue reading

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