Tag Archives: brooklyn

Spencer from Sydney

It was 1971, late summer or early fall, and in my memory the day is cast in an amber kind of glow, all warm hues and soft edges. I was twenty years old, a college dropout, still snagged on some … Continue reading

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New York Glimpses

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Patterns, Color, Light

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Brooklyn Again

There were glimmers from my childhood days as we walked the New York streets, but I often felt like a visitor from another dimension. We were staying in an apartment at the edge of the neighborhood in Brooklyn where I grew … Continue reading

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Amos and the Dinosaur

And now for something whimsical and wistful. In case you can’t tell, the blob to the upper left is a dinosaur, and the dinosaur is pursuing the brave boy on the brick wall who happens to be wearing a fedora and … Continue reading

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Våryr

It’s often the seemingly random confluences and serendipities of life that keep me charmed and, as the blog name says, still amazed. Case in point: Janet-with-the-yellow-braid, who was in my 4th grade class. You met her here in this post … Continue reading

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Whose Brooklyn?

This morning Monte sent me a link to this article from the New York Times about Brooklyn. It’s something I have thought about often, how cities are organic, how they change over time as cultures develop and demographics shift and different … Continue reading

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The Boring Old Hermits

In the 1950s there were fireworks on summer nights at Coney Island, and my father took my siblings and me to watch them from a Brooklyn neighborhood a couple of miles away. We stood along the curb together, filled with … Continue reading

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Cookie and May and the Rest of Them Too

May was a haggard-looking woman and Cookie her thin pale little daughter. I haven’t uttered their names since 1958, and their whereabouts and outcomes are unknown, but they lived two doors away from us on Coney Island Avenue. Sometimes in … Continue reading

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The Heart’s Slow Learning

“There are no events but thoughts and the heart’s hard turning, the heart’s slow learning where to love and whom.”        Annie Dillard Nothing matters but who loves you and how well they perform in this. My father, … Continue reading

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