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Flash Memory/memoir

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I remember Welcome Wagon. Welcome Wagon was an idea dreamed up between neighborhood groups and the local Chamber of Commerce. In the 1960s and 70s when suburbs were expanding and many middle-class families (remember those ?!) were moving into homes, Welcome Wagon was a way to introduce the families and familiarize them with the local businesses (remember those?!). I remember when our family moved to a newer, bigger house in Village South in Centerville and a woman came to our door within the first week carrying literally a basket with gifts and coupons. She learned our name and a bit of our story ie why we moved etc. I thought of this last night as I took a quick walk—it was starting to sprinkle—and reflected upon the fact that I didn’t know the names of 90% of our neighbors. There was no welcome when we moved here in 2022. And, truthfully, several homes have turned over multiple times since then. Some are owned by older singles who either work or are retired and, thus, gone a lot....
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As seen on YouTube!

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T he podcast I did this past summer, Written in the Stars, at Lansing Community College is now up on YouTube. So if you want to see what I look like when I'm trying to make conversation= It's here!!
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They go in threes

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 Not sure what to do with this piece: Any ideas/thoughts?? I thought I saw you the other day. You were in the food storage aisle at the grocery, next to tin foil. I remember the tin foil hat you made me. I saw you in the woods, walking through a copse of trees. I tried to catch up to you. I asked myself later if it was you, but how could it be? After you went away. I dreamed about you, me, us every night for one year. Then nothing. Then, I began to see you all around me. It was unsettling and reassuring. We had this way of talking, finishing each other’s sentences. We laughed. When I was sad or afraid, you would place your hand on top of my head. I’m here, you said. Here, but not here. After the estate sale, after winnowing down, giving away, selling off years of togetherness, I kept the Ma and Pa pig salt ’n’ pepper set. So ridiculous to be the one thing. The thing is: I miss you. Sometimes your cell phone still calls me. I recently put it away, in a drawer, lett...
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New Work out at Persimmon Tree

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 Me Time--is a weird, funny, awkward piece that simply spun from my pen. Wish it could be more dramatic than that. I'm not always sure where ideas come from. There's a tire store called Protege that I pass when riding my bike to Trader Joe's.  https://persimmontree.org/fall-2026/me-time/ The piece was accepted in April and is out now in a journal called Persimmon Tree:  An Online Magazine of the Arts by Women Over Sixty There is so much to love here. 
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Want to play a game?

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Want to play a game? Who can resist such an invitation at 6:30 in the morning before tea or coffee? From a five-year-old. That’s how, since getting my eyes fixed, my morning starts. Jack comes over with a floor puzzle, Sneaky, Snaky Squirrel, Pass the Banana, or Animal Wildlife Pawprints match game and I am obliged to play. Sometimes my eyes are still glued shut, my mouth is dry and I need my tea, or I’m in a hurry for the bathroom—no matter! He wants to play! And he’s got a GREAT game! Okay, go get it. It’s right here! Under my arm! he might say with his underwear or shirt on backwards. No biggie! And I think, it won’t always be like this. The late summer day, the bright and shiny blonde head, the childish wonder and delight, the rush of words and loose body (his, not mine)—and I know the only answer is: Yes. As I get down on the hard floor and tuck my legs under me for a few (hundred) rounds of Kid Bingo.
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