Say the words “The Poconos” or “The Catskills” and your listeners will probably conjure up wonderful images of lush forests, sparkling lakes, exhilarating speedboat rides, fly fishing in mountain streams, challenging golf games or tubing and kayaking on the Delaware. Shopping would probably not be top on the list—but really, there is a certain kind of shopping, a treasure hunt of sorts, that can be one of the top things to do here. Hidden on the main streets in our towns are wonderful antique shops that will challenge anyone’s desire to find a special unique piece to bring home from their vacation. Read more
As the cooler temperatures start to hit and the leaves start to change, we all know that fall is in the air. For some of us, this time of year may signify hay rides, pumpkins and hot apple cider. For some, it may mean it is time to find the closest corn maze for an annual corn maze adventure. If there is one certain way to adventure this fall, the corn maze would be it. Read more
Two hundred yards up the hill from my home in Bethany, PA, hidden in the heart of the borough park, is a small canister that few people have found or even noticed during the six years of its existence. It would be easy to overlook, considering one has to solve a puzzle of coordinates in order to obtain the exact location of this treasure—or “cache.” Concealed inside the canister are a small rubber dinosaur, a signature log and a congratulatory letter with the mysterious signature “The Fox and the Hound.” Read more
Everyone has an urge to be creative. It’s important, though, to recognize one’s proper medium. I’ve picked up paintbrushes, cameras and sketchpads. I’ve satisfied my brief obsession with quilting with the completion of one potholder. And I finally had to admit that my medium is words. Read more
When I was involved in a cult they interrupted me constantly. “Enough with the story already. Just tell us in ten words what happened.”
I should’ve known better. In my life, nothing’s ever straightforward. One story is a skein from another, equally vital and germane. From there, I weave an intricate design, a pattern of words to provide a scenario, background and rationale to what occurred, what may occur and the importance of whatever I have to convey. To reduce a situation to ten words makes as much sense as Albert Camus’ character in “L’Etranger” who stated, “Au cause du soleil.” Read more
I have never been good with words
they hang heavy on my tongue like clothing lines through tenement windows
but my scars are excellent story tellers and I could talk
to the crinkles around your eyes for centuries
we kiss each other like amulets, use our bodies in place of prophets
I’ve never been good at reading between the lines
but I read your palms and came to the conclusion
that you are every word I could never find
you tell me the freckles across my shoulder blades are like Braille and only the best people can decipher my story Read more
Whenever I asked my mother how to spell a word, she would invariably tell me to look it up — a strategy that instilled in me a lifelong love of language.
I also owe a debt to Mad Libs. “What’s an adjective?” I demanded whenever my sisters and I played the fill-in-the-blanks word game, which required familiarity with the parts of speech. I had a firm grasp of nouns and verbs, but adjectives were still beyond me. Read more
Impatient for the day to begin
I emerge from my dark bedroom and head outside
To hurry it along
I clutch the old pilled sweater firmly against the early day
The edges of my nightgown wipe the dew from the grey green grass
I stand rooted
The morning greets me
A pine scented soft breeze washes away yesterday
As it glides gently through the family of trees
That have been here since long before me
Tall and friendly, watchful
An orchestra of leaves
fluttering and swaying
performing nature’s sweet melodies
A relentless chorus of large crows, caw magnificently Read more
In 2003 my mother started to lose her memory. It was subtle at first. We would walk on Avenue U and she would fail to come up with the name of an acquaintance or two. Nothing alarming. After a while her shopping list started to look like an art project, with drawings of mushrooms and strawberries next to the words milk and bananas. Soon the drawings faded away. In the supermarket she would say to me, “I’m looking for those red things with a little green piece and they come all together.” Sometimes it was obvious what she wanted; other times we left without the crackers or the American cheese. Read more
“Can you play the bongos?” I asked my daughter’s friend, Skye. He grunted in reply.
“I’m sorry, what was that? I just wanted to know if you can play the bongos.” He shrugged.
“Is that a yes or no?” I asked. He smirked, shrugged and then grunted.
Desperate to get around the words that weren’t happening, I placed a set of bongos in his hands and he instantly performed one of the most impressive solos I’d ever heard. When he stopped, he grumbled, “I really can’t play.” Read more
Their hands touch
across the white blanket,
The doctor says,
“It’s best not to see him like this.”
She says, “Mind your business.”
The doctor adds,
“He’s going to die soon,”
as if she didn’t know.
She holds the hands that
held hers for sixty-eight years.
His eyes open to hers.
She took him home
without interference and
When my grandson, John, was seven, he had a friend visiting who told him he was going to the libary later. John said “It’s not libary, it’s library.” Later, when my daughter wanted to know what flavor ice cream he wanted he said, “strawberry,” but then said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I mean strawbrary.”
My son runs his own business and once had an office cat, which didn’t create a problem until he hired a computer operator who was allergic to cats. His secretary said, “We’ll have to keep him outside.” The office manager replied, “But how can he operate the computer from out there?” Read more
“There is no conclusion; the story blooms.” — from “The Last Sunday in October” by Jean LeBlanc
We are all storytellers—you, me, all of us. At least one story waits in us all, waiting to be born, to make it free into the world, somehow, and change things or people, just a little bit. Perhaps children are the ones who know this best. I know I learned this from a child a long time ago... Read more
The horses stand at the gate.
“Where have you been?” ask their eyes and ears.
“I’ve been writing.”
“It’s my art of arranging words — the sounds you hear me think to express the ramblings of my mind — so many other humans may know them.”
“Primitive!” they say with a twist of lips and narrowed eyes.
“Humans aren’t horses,” I remind. “We’re a relatively new species, still trying to figure things out.”
The thought “too much figuring” takes form within, as I catch my mare’s mischievous grin and glint of eye. Read more