What’s a mother to do with a son like that?

Okay, let’s face it. Georgie has problems. There’s a duality in his nature that should be examined.

So what’s with Mary and her lamb, you might be wondering.  Was she a  farmer’s daughter and a 4-H member?  You got it in one.

Yeah, we’ve all heard this one before. But does anyone know the true story? Here are the facts:

Let us sing our way into the new year, where a brighter light shines.

What do you owe a father you’ve never known? Julian Billings asks himself that question when he discovers he’s the son of an artist.  Not a famous artist, a mediocre artist on the verge of discovery when the inevitable happens.

Does art imitate life?  Oh, yeah, I know the question should be reversed, but I find events in my life flowing into my—“art?”  Let’s just call it “writings.”

I have many failings as a mother.  Could the worst be my inability to produce a decent dinner?  I’ll let my three kids take a vote on that.  Mealtimes with Mama might come up on top.

Note: I will never say on getting old. Why face the truth?

In my walk around my North Shore neighborhood today, I marveled that in this time of pandemic, when people claim to be suffering from isolation, I noted—once again—that the ability to say hello or even nod when one person passes another, even on the opposite side of the street, seems to be an anathema.

I have a neighbor who obsessively waters his lawn during the summer months.  So obsessively does he manipulate his sprinkler—imagery here?—that his lawn is brown in spots because the grass has turned into a muddy field.

What do people have against shade?  Meaning, what do people have against shade provided by trees?  Meaning, people living on suburban plots of a quarter acre.

I don’t have a romantic nature. I suppose the three best words to describe me would be cynic, pessimist, satirical. I do not swoon.

Reading: I can’t remember when I wasn’t reading. The written word surrounded me, not spoken because I can’t remember my parent’s ever reading to me.

I had finished writing “The Moroccan” while my husband was on sabbatical in Israel.

I had finished writing “The Moroccan” while my husband was on sabbatical in Israel.

How did I come to write THE WANKER. The truth of the matter is that I never really know how I come to write anything.

I will confess to sometimes being extremely lackadaisical.

I don’t understand why…

Why I like playing canasta: I’m basically not a game player.