My mother is extraordinary. Smart, beautiful, charming. And a survivor. The Depression, dysfunction, discrimination, me. She lived through it all and came up smiling.
I was raised a Roman Catholic. Ergo, I grew up with plenty of guilt and shame. Fortunately, the Church provided me, and my sinful 8-year-old compatriots, with a safety valve for these potent emotions.
I was definitely not a dog person. Dog person, by my definition, is “someone who is emotionally attached to canines of all shapes and sizes and is prone to ridiculous behavior when taking possession of such a creature.”
As any card-carrying member of the Cynical Society will tell you, there’s no such thing as altruism. Unselfish concern for the good of others is usually a cover for the reputation of the concerned. However, being on the receiving end of an altruistic act has caused me to reevaluate my membership...
The new year is just weeks away and as has been the case since the new millennium, my resolution for 2007 will once again be another commitment to eating healthy...
I’m tooling down, or should
I say up, 295 North on a beautiful, warm Sunday afternoon.
Not a cop, tire rim or Ford Focus station wagon for as far as
the eye can see. Before I know it, I’m at my directional
moment of truth...
THE
LAST TIME I spent a significant amount of time in
Margate, New Jersey was a decade ago. I had just graduated
from college and had no apartment, no job and no prospects.
I came to the lonely September beach town to mooch off my
uncle’s hospitality for the month and to try and figure
out what I should do next...
March
20. The first day of Spring. For me, being of a
certain age and traditional upbringing, that heralded the
wonderful event known as “Spring Cleaning.”
...
Another snowstorm. Another
round of dire warnings by local weather celebrities. Another
day of scraping, shoveling and skidding. Not being one to mope
(complain, yes, mope, no), I’ve come up with Plans A, B
and C to cope with the next few weeks. I like to call it my “when
life gives you snow, make snow cones”
program...
Admit
One. Please
The college application process becomes
a humbling experience
I am the mother
of a 17-year-old boy. Those of you in a similar situation are now wondering which
one of the one thousand issues surrounding this most humbling
of experiences I am about to tackle...
