Posts Tagged ‘writing’

There Will Always Be Books

I am in my writing room, procrastinating, having deserted my computer. It is three o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon and I am supposed to be working on my new memoir. Then a thought occurs to me and I break away, freed from distraction.  What was I doing there, cozied up on the couch? Reading. Being Mortal:…

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Legacies of Love

Sometimes the years shift forward abruptly, like an earthquake: so much changes in the space of a second. This last Friday I was caught up short as I sat down at my desk and opened my computer.  Nestled in my inbox was an email from the son of my best friend, Myrna, who died from…

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PUBLICATION PSYCHOSIS AND A PUPPY FIX

Writers keep bizarre schedules: some compose late at night, some early in the morning, some whenever the urge overwhelms them. I am a disciplined early riser–or should I say that my three Dalmatians are early risers who tromp all over me and my blankets until I get up and feed them at 6:45 a.m., just…

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A Song For Juneteenth

As I write today, it is “Juneteenth,” the national celebration begun on June 19, 1865, when Major General Gordon Granger led Union soldiers into Galveston, Texas and announced that both the war and the scourge of slavery were over.  This date gives me pause, leading me to reflect on its joyful creation as well as…

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Model Trains…one piece at a time.

My husband retired last Friday and I am worried. While I celebrate his freedom from a job of which he was truly tired, I am also concerned about what he will now do with his time, as well as the loss of his income. How will the family budget survive? How will he survive psychologically? …

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To Understand And Be Understood

How many of us have friendships that span decades and still remain intact? From my childhood, I have only one such remaining–the eleven year old girl that I called my best friend during grammar school. While there was no such thing as a BFF at the time, the acronym captures our relationship most precisely. So,…

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Waterfalls of the Sun

I haven’t been a devotee of poetry for over forty-five years now. My mother’s death did me in as a reader and writer of this often-enigmatic genre, making it impossible for me to enjoy the short mysterious lines studded with similes and its exacting attention to language. Poetry became too painful; too much of a…

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A Chink In The Armor

Hope seemed out of the question. As we returned home from Long Island, where we had celebrated my grandson’s first birthday, we were mired in non-stop traffic when my cell phone rang. The call was from the dog sitter. While vying for a tennis ball thrown up high, Mac and Cody had collided mid-air, and…

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