Right, acquired tastes, my ar*e. You know what they’re really saying, don’t you? “This stuff is grim, but we can’t afford to throw it away.” So here’s three stories about how you, a literal child, was just too simple to appreciate. Olives. Tiny, wrinkled balls of sadness swimming in brine. Apparently, these were… Read More

Family and friends, returning to the center. Read More

How to Raise a City Kid Years ago when our son was a toddler many of our friends began fleeing to the suburbs.  They couldn’t imagine raising a child in Manhattan with all the dirt and crime. “But think of  the culture!”,  I would say. At the Met Museum five-year-old Noah,  wide-eyed at Arms &… Read More

Do You Miss New York ? Dave Frishberg wrote it and no one sings it better than Rosie! See Clooney! – Dana Susan Lehrman  Read More

  Right, let’s dissect this whole “city lover” nonsense, shall we? Apparently, some people find the constant assault on the senses invigorating. They crave the feeling of being sardines in a can, jostled by tourists with selfie sticks and businessmen talking loudly into Bluetooth earpieces the size of their brains. Me? I like a bit… Read More

I confess:  I am not much into mending fences--either making them or breaking them or fixing them. Read More

Could it really be that simple? Read More

  Right, friendships. Those things we forge in the furnace of youth, fueled by shared baseball card collections and a desperate need for someone to understand our Nirvana obsession. But then, like a dodgy takeout of Indian curry, they often leave a sour aftertaste – only this time lasting far into adulthood. Why? Well, let’s… Read More

Sometimes the fences that need mending exist right within the family. Read More

Pocahontas. I was born on the outskirts of London in 1947. I can’t claim to be a cockney as to claim that accolade, I would have to have been born within the sound of Bow Bells. I was born in North Woolwich, which is around eight miles from Bow bells. According to tradition to be… Read More