Years ago, I watched my brother’s kids for a week while he and his wife went on vacation. I stayed at their house in my hometown. I cooked the meals and got their kids to and from school — Raymond J. Lockhart School — the same one I went to.
I’m traveling, today, back to my hometown for a short visit. When I was in my thirties and forties, there was always a chance I’d see someone I knew from high school when I went back to Long Island. I’ve given up on that now because everyone I went to school with has moved to Florida all of a sudden.
I know because people are changing their statuses on Facebook in droves.
The first time I heard, “Hey, Buzzard!” in my direction, I was 12. His name was Walter. Continue Reading
For part of 1932, my grandmother served oatmeal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, the only food they could afford. When the Great Depression ended and life got more comfortable, she had a hard time relaxing. That’s the sweet way to say it. Continue Reading
Years ago my mother was visiting from Long Island. With fanfare she rarely called into action, she said, “I brought something for you.” She pulled my baby book — old and worn — out of a supermarket bag. Continue Reading
In my family it is known as the “Jongebloed Hip.” Amazingly it is even less glamorous than its name. Continue Reading
I wish restaurant hostesses wouldn’t use this phrase.
The Earth is spinning faster than it used to. That’s my take on it anyway. It’s going to be Halloween soon, and I’m sure the clematis vine on my back fence just began blooming a few days ago. Continue Reading
I was back in my hometown for a funeral. On the plane, I realized I hadn’t packed shoes worthy of the occasion, so I pulled into the shoe store I’d frequented as a teenager. Continue Reading
I started college in September, 1968, and quickly forgot why I was supposed to be there. Continue Reading