Christmas Morning Memories

VIGNETTTE December 1987I sat on the cream-colored sofa and slowly slid my 8-year old body to the edge. Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite played in the background as the crackling fire masked the sound of my internal excitement. It was an ice-covered, Oklahoma Christmas morning, and we had opened all the usual presents. The things we needed—socks…… Continue reading Christmas Morning Memories

Conversations in the Time of Corona

A COMEDIC VIGNETTE“How ya doing, Franz?” He stared back at me in silence. “I said how are you doing?”I shook my head and made my way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I pulled out spaghetti, shoveled it onto a plate and placed it in the microwave. He doesn’t even have the decency to respond.…… Continue reading Conversations in the Time of Corona

My love life is suffering

VIGNETTE, Humor Head buried in The New Yorker is not the norm for my morning commute on the Q, but I recently subscribed and am quite enjoying my quiet time with the articles each morning. It seems more productive than staring at random people as I internally bee-bop to the Broadway tunes in my earbuds.…… Continue reading My love life is suffering