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

Mimi and her toast

VIGNETTE My grandma, who we called Mimi, was standing at my kitchen counter eating her morning toast. She started to walk around observing my new living quarters as crumbs fell to the floor with every bite. Seeing the mess, I grabbed a plate and followed after her in an attempt to catch the crumbs. “What…… Continue reading Mimi and her toast

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