To we who are elderly

To we who are elderly, let’s neither avoid nor swim in the times of our youth long gone. We are not decrepit versions of then, rather we wear different costumes of wrinkled skin, generous girths, and the unblinking stare of knowing nothing is new. We are comprised of...

Writing Can be Crafty

I suspect much of the reason that I, like many writers, need editing is because the act of writing and telling a story is such an immersive, mental experience. As we write, we exquisitely picture our characters, their demeanors, their states of mind and their tones as...

Thanksgiving 1981 – The Loneliest Day Of My Life

It is my first holiday alone, following a breakup with the woman for whom I moved east from Chicago. I have no family nearby. All our friends are hers. Anxiety becomes acute as night descends, it’s the time we would have been celebrating with family and friends and I...

August 21, 2020

I turned 77 last week. To some, that’s old. To me, it’s getting there. It comes with many strange sensations, one of which is a feeling of satisfaction at having managed, sometimes conquered, the numerous vicissitudes of a long life. Speaking of long,...