Category: memoir blog
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Yesterday began at 4:40 a.m. in a Residence Inn in Miramar, Florida. Gary awoke with a start because the alarm on his phone was supposed to go off at 4:30, but in his exhaustion the night before, he set it for 4:30 p.m. Fortunately he opened his eyes only ten minutes later than the alarm.…
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Last Monday I came out of the doctor’s office and checked my cell phone and found that I missed a call from my brother, Mark. I got in my car, made sure the Bluetooth was connected, and called him back. “Hey, I see I missed a call from you. How are you doing?” “I’m on…
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It was 1990. We had just celebrated Daniel’s first birthday, and Leah was fast approaching three years old. I was working full time for the Legislative Commission on Expenditure Review (LCER). Gary was finishing the first year of his Endocrine Fellowship. The kids were in daycare at Kidskeller. Those are the facts. Gary and I…
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A woman stands in the middle of a room Like a sculpture I sit, studying her I know her. I shift seats I study her again I see variations, but the image holds. A chill wind blows She shifts her stance Bracing herself I see her face. I don’t recognize her Who…
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Note: Gary’s Dad was hospitalized last Thursday morning with difficulty breathing. Gary flew down to Florida to be with him and oversee his care. He wrote this on the flight down and gave me permission to share it. It is a trip I have taken before. It is filled with dread and anxiety. It is…
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Class ended. Mercifully, after two and a half hours of policy analysis and evaluation, it was time for lunch. A group of six of us, all full time graduate students at Columbia, had a habit of going to the diner a couple of blocks down Amsterdam Avenue after class. I gathered up my stuff and…
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Changes were afoot in 1982. It was a big year for the Brody family. Joshua, the first grandchild, born to my brother and sister-in-law, Mark and Pam, arrived February 1st. In April Uncle Terry and Aunt Barbara moved from the upstairs apartment in Canarsie to a large suburban house in Morganville, New Jersey.…
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Book clubs have a long history in my family. Growing up, I recall my parents, who were both teachers, periodically hosting their book club at our house. This involved cocktails, hors d’oeuvres and dinner. I would help my mother with the preparations and once the guests arrived, I said my hellos and retreated to my…
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Note: I originally wrote this piece about how I felt growing up in my particular enclave in Canarsie and posted it on the blog over a year ago. I have edited it with the thought that I would weave it into the longer narrative that I am creating. The edits are intended to allow it…
