Category: Family Style

Busy Soup for the Brain

 I began this post thinking that, lately, I may have taken on more tasks than I can handle. My husband Ed brought it to my attention not long ago but fearing that if he said too much he would find himself in the middle of a perfect marital storm, he didn’t push the issue.  I…


Kids, Cars, and the Unpredictability of Life

I was a car-deprived, stay-at-home mom. My husband Ed, on the other hand, had a Chevy and used it to drive to and from work; his car was not at my disposal. Yet I needed to take care of the household errands, do the marketing, and, at the same time, look after our two young daughters, Stacy and…


Happy New Year

Hi Everyone:  There’s no essay for the blog today but there are loads of good wishes to you all  for a very happy, healthy, and peaceful New Year.  Special Mention goes out to  My wonderful husband Ed born on 1/1/33. Happy Birthday! With each passing year I love you more and more.  You are my world….


A Half-Baked Story About a Crazy Dog and a Nutty Squirrel

I saw a little Shih Zhu the other day pulling an elderly woman along the street. She was hollering, “Go slower, Teddy, SLOWER!”  Paying no attention, Teddy continued moving at warp speed, head down, nose to the ground, furiously sniffing for the perfect tree. His coat was gray and white and he was a few…


. . . Behold It Was A Dream*

I remember my dreams. They are graphic, detailed, and often disruptive. I take them seriously; not in any predictive way, but rather as expressions of past experiences. My husband, Ed, on the other hand, never remembers dreaming. Now and then, he twitches and yelps in his sleep, and I wake him because he seems frightened….


Mom’s Place, Part II

I was not quite ten years old when my mother died. She was forty-two, and her death stole almost all of my childhood memories:  the knowledge of her as a mother and individual,  my past experiences as her daughter, and  my relationships with the family during those young years. Only two solitary sparks remain. There’s nothing else to grab onto, nothing to build…


Mom’s Place, Part I

My mother died in 1945, stricken by a massive cerebral hemorrhage. It was an unacceptably vague diagnosis by today’s standards but the only one given to me at the time. I was not quite ten years old. She was forty-two, and her absence poked a hole in my life that has never been filled. Day…


Best Friends

When my older brother Stan died in a automobile accident, I lost my best friend. He was twenty-six. Unwilling to accept the fact of his passing, I simply rejected the idea of it. I had just turned twenty-one, old enough to know better, but as I’d walk down Bridgeport’s main streets, from one store to another, I’d…


Let the Listening Begin

When I’m part of  a group, or by myself for that matter, and presumably listening to someone speak, I’ll stare at my nails, gaze out a window, or maybe, just quietly fidget. Although I believe I am listening, my mind is elsewhere. I’ve noticed, though, that I’m not the only one. And I’ve wondered, why is…


Responding to Grief

Jeff Weber, a well-informed writer and editor, writes about health and health-related issues and events for the Courier News, The Home News Tribune, and MyCentralJersey.com. On February 9, his column, Healthwise, published  my story, People Handle Grief in their Own Way.  I received  many responses including the one below. I sent this particular response on to Jeff…