foraging

Thanks. Giving.

  In 1974, when I was 11 years old, I took part in a Thanksgiving play at school. Gaga, my grandmother, ran out to the local fabric store on Austin Street in Forest Hills, and came home with enough polyester yardage to make me an outfit that she was certain would replicate what Priscilla Alden […]

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Stealing the Ramps, Part II

Sometime in mid-April, I began noticing that whenever Susan and I walked the dog, she would waft over to one side of the street in a non-committal sort of way, like it was earth’s gravity that was tugging her over. She thought I didn’t notice, but I did, because I’d be talking to her about […]

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