I try to stay around the doors. That way I know I won’t miss them. Although I spend much of my time alarmed by bugs and leaves, I do crave affection and I try to get it every day. So I wait near the doors.
In the living room of the house in which I grew up there was a wood-burning fireplace surrounded by white bricks. Every December it was the center of all things Christmas. The armchair that stood year-round to the right of the fireplace was moved to make room for the Christmas tree, usually a six-footer with the pine aroma of the holiday.
My mother passed away last Friday, February 3. I don't have a living mother anymore. I don't know if that will ever feel like a normal statement.
Rummaging through a wonderful cardboard box full of family memorabilia, I came across a series of letters my grandmother wrote in researching for her brother David Diamond‘s biography, which she never wrote. I would love to reconstruct what she might have written. I have a box full of material related to Uncle David and my grandmother. My book contains a […]
Actually I never heard the term Chrismukkah until today, when I searched for a good hashtag for Tweeting my latest Gray Matters article, Christmas for non-Christians. It’s interesting that I have used my feelings about family Christmases in so many genres with such different approaches. I will probably never publish the essay from my MFA thesis, in which I express […]