Our old house has seen a lot. At 163 years old, it has come through the eras of the oil lamp and the sad iron. The wood-burning cook stove and the outhouse. Read more
My daughter, Lily, was at camp when her cat went missing.
It was a “What if…” situation we had all been dreading. But it was inevitable, wasn’t it? The way that cat (an all-black, two-year-old named Raven but forever, endearingly called “the kitten”) sprinted to the porch door whenever it was opened. The way she sat in the window, mesmerized by the birds at the feeder. And, when she did manage to escape, the way she ran straight under the porch or up toward Route 97, at the back of our house. Read more
At the victorious start of summer vacation last month, my schoolteacher husband, John, fell out of the old maple tree in our yard, breaking an assortment of bones and injuring his shoulder. In the aftermath of his accident, the rest of our summer began. One filled with hospitals, doctor’s visits and physical therapy appointments. Read more
In June it was announced that the building that housed the Ken Wilson Chevrolet dealership showroom near Binghamton, NY, will be demolished.
A distinctive feature of the roadside landscape along the Vestal Parkway, this unique building is known as “The Manta Ray” to me and my family because of its roof, which looks like the graceful pectoral fins of a manta ray. Read more
June is the month of the giant moths.
My daughter, Lily, discovered a luna moth clinging with its velvety legs to our windowsill earlier this month. It was our first big moth sighting of the season. Read more
Our loved ones are dying. This simple statement tells the whole complex and terrifying story of the resurgence of heroin addiction. Here in our Delaware River communities the national epidemic has a local face—everyone has been affected or knows someone affected by the nightmare of heroin addiction. Read more
In the house where I grew up there was a large, walk-in closet at the top of the stairs. The closet might have been a tiny second-floor bedroom at one time, when the house was new and lodged more people. As a kid, I spent lots of time there, behind a curtain of dresses and winter coats, lounging on an old, quilt-covered trunk and reading. I read “Ballet Shoes” and “Anne of Green Gables” and later “Winesburg, Ohio” and “Walden,” while I fought off the static pieces of silver tinsel that escaped from the stored boxes of Christmas decorations. Read more
Winter boredom reached a crescendo in my house when my kids started playing tennis in the living room. You know it has been a long winter when the kids start practicing swings indoors and bouncing balls off the wall. My son walks restlessly from room to room cradling his new racket as if it were a teddy bear. He is impatient for the start of the school’s spring tennis season. Read more
“That’s not a word.” It seems that I am always saying this to my kids, in disapproving tones.
Most often it is because they are mispronouncing something. Then I tell them: we are not entitled to pronounce words incorrectly just because we think it sounds better. This is the argument that my son, with his musical ear, likes to try. The main idea, I reply, is to talk so people understand what you’re telling them. Read more
I’ve hung the new, 2015 calendars in all our rooms. Each one has a different theme and set of glossy photos. There’s the one with shots of wildlife and another with glorious beachfronts. Then there’s the one with cartoons from The New Yorker. Each one tracking the days, telling us the next saint’s day, or school vacation, or phase of the moon.
And, I have already dutifully scrawled on the times for the next doctors’ appointments and piano lessons. Counting the days…. Read more