Memoirous

Have you seen these around town? They're cute, beach cruiser style, with teeny tiny blinking lights. Most of the riders are tourists. Most of the riders are rising on the sidewalk, oblivious to pedestrians scrambling to get out of their way. Most of the riders are helmetless. Our alderman 46th ward James Cappelman is a huge supporter of Divvy. He calls it ride sharing. Of course it appears that way=$7 for a 24-hour Divvy pass.Except FIRST you have to pay $75 for a membership. Those tourists thinking they're getting a deal, get a credit card shock. That is if they still have their brains in tact. I see so many people on these bikes, all without helmets. Isn't it a city ordinance to ride with a helmet. Next question regarding the Divvy program in Chicago--the bike stands are on city sidewalks. Do they rent the sidewalk? Does Chicago get a kickback or portion of profits? From http://illinoispolicy.org/blog/blog.asp?ArticleSource=6230 snip*** beginning Last year, th

Question from a 4 th grade history quiz: Why did Washington cross the Delaware? Answer I filled in the blank with: To get to the other side. I was terrible at history. I could not tell a Roman Republic from a Roman Empire—apparently this is very important and, yes, I flunked this quiz also. Yet I was able to imagine history. Not like an abstract timeline, but the story in history. I could close my eyes and see the cave-dark origins of the Neanderthal, see the women walking on the prairie behind wagons into canyons of deep unknown. I saw the Little House on the Prairie! I played with Laura and Mary—and prayed with them when Jack their dog went missing. I was with Hemingway in the Italian Alps fighting and falling in love, over and over again, in Paris and Pamplona, Cuba and Key West. I can tell you stories. Right now I’m working on a revision of a YA historical novel where I’m trying to make it as authentic as possible. Hang in there with me as I’ve been slow

One Last Time One last summer to smell the green, Water the roses, sit out on the deck drinking coffee. One last sweeping of lady bug carcasses And snaking the toilet with its quirky septic. No more raking leaves, winterizing, Or emptying the water tank before a freeze. No more no more. We are told to hold things lightly In order to let them go. We held on too tight And now it’s time to say good bye. Good bye kissing tree, Good bye bass pond, Good bye blue heron and rope swing. Good bye good bye memories. One last time I want to soak it all in. The bird calls, the low hum of insects, The open sky and mosaic of sunlight beneath the trees. A day can’t be 24 hours—why not forever? Forever golden morning, forever long afternoon. Forever lavender lingering twilight, forever moonlight. Forever the magic of the hour which isn’t an hour, But only lasts a moment. Last walk to the lake to see the wind ripple the surface. We jump

9/11: A day for Re-Framing our Memory Even the use of 9/11 is short-hand, a way to immediately conjure up an image with the reader. No matter if you were alive then or just born, now, 12 years later, one can easily have a memory or, at the very least, a working collective memory of what happened that day. It is engraved on the conscience of the 21 st century. Much of my work has been with flash memoir. I’m sure the memory of what happened that day has shifted down through the past decade plus. From my book Freeze Frame: How to Write Flash Memoir I talk about the Challenger study. snip-- The day after the Challenger disaster Emory University professor Ulric Neisser asked his students to write down their feelings. I’m sure this was cathartic for them. But also, interestingly enough, before they graduated a few years later he asked them to again write personal essays about the Challenger disaster, specifically about what they remembered about that day. He found th

Hilde’s scar is 27 years old. She got that scar the day before my wedding. On our last run. Though it wasn’t our last run. It was my last run as a single lady. We have continued to run for 27 years. The day before my wedding we planned one hour. To run. There were so many things to do. Before my wedding. Somehow we knew things were gonna change and we needed one last run. We ran down Leland Street, past the graffiti and corner store that sold gin in pint bottles. Crumbs of glass glittered the sidewalk. We ran toward sky and beach and a great unknown. I’d stood up in Hilde’s wedding and now Hilda was to stand up in mine. The next day. Along the lakefront, back behind the golf course, we ran on top of the breakwall, a jumble of concrete boulders. So many times before, and this would be our last time. Maybe. The next time we would both be married ladies. So we ran and talked. The whole time I was wondering what changes the next day might brin

If you haven't come out of your Rip Van Winkle cave, then you probably heard that last week marked the 50th anniversary of the March on Washington. I Have a Dream I recently saw a documentary on King's progression as a social activist from Selma to Memphis. No matter  the issue , he said he wanted to be on the side of justice. Thus he fought not only for voting rights, but for fair housing and jobs for minorities. This is something I think society is still struggling with. Especially in my neighborhood, where every day the poor and low-income earners are being squeezed out of housing. Just this past month another SRO (sing-room occupancy) building got gobbled up by a developer, planning a 14M re-hab on the Lawrence House , once housing for seniors and others on fixed incomes. Martin Luther King's life and death demonstrates a life not only on the right side of an issue, but one who sacrifices and pursues with a passion a commitment to that issue. I find many people