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Tide Pools
"Draw me a mermaid, Mommy." “Okay,” I answer my two-year old daughter. She watches me outline the figure in pencil on pink construction paper. The mermaid turns out to be feminine, unashamed of her bare breasts, and ready to swim in a dangerous ocean. I envy her.
Chaucer’s Wives Come Knocking
What did she have to be so boisterous about, I thought, furiously. She was fat and out of control, and it was easy to make fun of her. I wrote a mocking modern tale about a loud-mouthed woman in Los Angeles who sold real estate, like my mother did at the time. I got a good grade, and I proudly shared it with her. God forgive me.
Are You the One?
My first marriage ceremony was held in my mother’s apartment on 79th Street just east of Park Avenue in a pre-World War Two building with a doorman and canopy.
Still Standing
After over fifty years, Warren and I began corresponding—a term I use loosely, as Warren does not write. He does not speak. His IQ hovers below 20, and he does not know who I am.