History as Story
My father used to complain that in my mother’s house, he walked on flowers, sat on flowers, ate on flowers and slept on flowers. My mother must have taken this as a compliment because she never changed the decor. It … Continued
Pesto and Company
Cooking by instinct didn’t happen overnight. In fact, in that first tiny kitchen, New York City circa 1965, I’m not even sure I could hardboil an egg. But I knew what, among my mother’s rather bland fare, I could taste … Continued
American Riffraff
It was my mother’s term, the snooty, smalltown mayor’s daughter from North Dakota–riffraff. Whom she meant, years ago when I began to hear her choice of words, I don’t know–maybe some of my teenage friends. But now it pops up … Continued
The Weight of Feathers
Not at all heavy because they cover bodies of light bones that want to rise. When my father died, it was the first death of the older generation. He had declined slowly, and I had seen him only intermittently. He … Continued
Who Were These Other Men?
I hadn’t a clue in high school and college–gay life wasn’t recognized in polite Charleston, South Carolina society during the 1950s and 60s. Yes, rock n rollers with duck tails and pompadours rumbled against the crew cuts, but they all … Continued
Lions, Tigers, and Bears, Oh My!
There were none of the above in our childhood zoo–Hampton Park, Charleston, South Carolina. Well, maybe a medium-sized brown bear in a tiny cage, sitting like a teddy bear as we stared at his doglike snout. But in our peninsular … Continued
I Wake with Rudolpho’s Music…
Puccini’s La Boheme is the quintessential Italian love story. Yes, I know, there’s always Verdi’s La Traviata with Violetta (reformed high-class prostitute) dying of TB at the end. She’s left her middle-class lover at the instigation of his father–to “save” … Continued
Money Sense
When my sister and I received our allowances as kids, each week’s outlay probably amounted to a quarter. In that distant era, when a loaf of sliced bread cost a nickle, and a bottle of milk not much more, a … Continued
London’s Burning, London’s Burning
When we were kids in Charleston, South Carolina during the 1950s, we’d play “London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down; London bridge is falling down, my fair lady.” Then on the “my fair lady,” the four clasped and … Continued
A Young Oceanographer
Growing up in Charleston, South Carolina, we built huge drip castles with moats and added draw bridges of shells. On the edge of the foamy tide, we raced and felt the ridges in the sand with our bare feet. Our … Continued