So, big week, big news, big hair (but that’s nothing new). I’VE BROKEN OUT OF TINY TOWN. We have moved. It was grueling, so I don’t have a full length post this week. Here is a quarter of a thought as a place holder this week: Continue reading What A Week
My father grew up in a fairly orthodox Jewish household; meaning sometimes his family kept kosher and his story definitely took place in New Jersey or New York. My mother was raised in a fairly observant Catholic household; meaning hats and gloves were worn every Sunday, and her observance ended promptly upon her eighteenth birthday. Continue reading A Temple With A View
When I was seventeen and remarked that I probably wasn’t as smart as I thought I was and he replied: “Probably not.”
What this means: No matter how smart you are there is always room for improvement.
I’ve always been the death child for both of my parents. I’ve known since a very early age that they both want to be cremated. Whenever there is a story on the news about some breakthrough in dementia or a family fighting over maintaining life support for a vegetable, the parent watching would turn to me and let me know that I am never to let that happen to them. I’ve got a pillow ready. Continue reading Death Child