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Tag Archives: childhood
He was my brother, and the country of childhood was a tangled one, fraught with discord and shadowed by mystery. Dangers loomed, whether real or imagined, and tranquil moments could not entirely be trusted, for they were as delicate as … Continue reading
Occasionally it becomes necessary to buy new underwear. Elastic frays, fabric thins, straps break, and finally one’s listless little heap of lingerie seems sad and barely functional. This observation prompted me to take a trip to Macy’s last week, where … Continue reading
There we are in 1959, or thereabouts. From left to right, that’s me, Carol’s cousin (long since deceased) and Carol. I had never seen this photo until she sent a print of it to me just a few years ago, tucked into a … Continue reading
I’m fond of these little girls, watched from a distance as they pretend, conspire, and tell each other secrets. They come as they are, or however they feel like being. An outfit built around a frilly mesh skirt with pink tights serves just as … Continue reading
This photograph was taken in December of 1962, and my only clue that it was the Christmas season is the decorated tree behind us, a scrawny thing, but it represents an effort. (I note that there are even a few wrapped presents at the … Continue reading
In the morning I walked to the Brooklyn Heights Promenade along the East River, looking out toward the Brooklyn Bridge, the Statue of Liberty, and the skyline of Manhattan. The story is that beginning in the 1940s, aggressive expressway construction … Continue reading
I suppose there are many ways to celebrate Easter Sunday, but for me the chosen mode yesterday was a walk up to Gaviota Peak. I was lucky enough to receive a spontaneous invitation from an old friend, Dave, who was … Continue reading
I just talked to my daughter about this, and she remembers it differently, and I may even risk annoying or embarrassing her, but I wanted to share this story with you anyway, because I know its essence is true, and … Continue reading
Why do I keep going back there? It isn’t as though there are lost idyllic days to be retrieved. Why am I even writing about it? Only because I dreamed it again last night and its residue is clinging to my consciousness at … Continue reading