Searching Stories

I have come full cycle from the days when the umbilical cord of my old kitchen connected me to my friends. Like my parents before me and my kids and grandkids, I now avoid long conversations. They cost me valuable time. Read More

In 1968, as the leaders of the United States made their views popular around the world, young men everywhere tried to be as patriotic as ever. After all; everyone was watching; your mother, your father, your neighbor and certainly God. Read More

Each time I respond to a post, Facebook uses it to categorize and phenotype me, to slice and dice my likes and comments and sell them to the highest bidder. Read More

I have a notorious black thumb. I killed a philodendron in my college dorm room and those things are indestructible. I killed all my house plants, so replaced them with good-looking silk ones. No fuss, no muss. But that is indoors. The great outdoors is less and more capricious. Back home in Newton, MA, my… Read More

I get why Facebook can be a good thing. Like my mother, I love seeing photos of folks I know (although not so much their food). It’s fun to discover an old friend and learn about the latest news from a friend or relative I don't see very often. It is an interesting diversion as well as a way for me to get my blog posts out to folks who want to read them. But in the run-up to the 2016 election and after, Facebook has become something else: a place to spew hatred and divisiveness. Read More

“You say you want a revolution...we all want to change the world,” sing the Beatles. Read More

Grad Night             1968. Disneyland hosted an all-night grad night for high school seniors in South California. About twenty classmates and I dropped LSD for the first time, on the bus to The Magic Kingdom. The little pills were called Blue Flats. Pharmaceutical. Word was they were made at UCLA.… Read More

1968. One of my favorite years ever, just seeing those four digits makes me happy. The prompt reminds me that many bad things happened that year too. But if I had to pick the one year of my life that had the greatest impact on me, it would definitely be 1968. Actually, I have already… Read More

This is my first story prompted by Betsy Sarason’s memories of Interlochen (National Music Camp). My parents made me go there even though I liked my old camp, I loved it and they used to remind me “Aren’t you glad we made you go”. Of course my brother Johnny, a talented pianist, had gone there.… Read More

1968. High school. Last half of junior year, first half of senior year. Waiting for my life to start for real. Yearning to move on. Falling in love, falling in lust, making some bad choices and a couple of good ones, trying new things, boys on my mind, unhappy at home, hard truths, assassinations, end… Read More