…….as if there were any actually ordinary people, for one man’s trash is another's treasure; And what may seem ordinary to one person may seem quite extraordinary to another. And so it was with George and me. He and I…
View writingAt first we want to be ordinary people. I mean, when we’re young, when we want to fit in, be like everyone else, when we strive for the commonplace. Then we want to be different, individual, have a voice, stand…
View writingMy boundaries were thunderous, not to be missed. But they fell silent upon those who wanted not to hear them. Instead, they had questions. "It's too bad you couldn't spend the whole weekend with us. Did you have a lot…
View writing“Mama” “Mutti” “Mama” “Mutti” Maaa-aaamaaaa” Mutti appeared in the doorway. “Girls. What is this shouting?” “Mutti. Sarah has taken my favorite dress. She won’t give it back.” “Sarah?” “Mama,” Sarah threw up her hands in alarm. Sarah called Mutti, Mama.…
View writingArt has repaid me like this Although educated, Ernst did not go to college. He stepped into the shoes of his father. And, like his father, he was a money lender. He financed fishing ships, out of Bremerhaven, like the…
View writingArt has repaid me like this It took me years to admit to myself that I am an artist. I have a BS in public health, I knew no artists. But part of my first job out of college was…
View writingMy somewhat pompous Uncle Bill once explained to me that “Art” was more than drawing. I was around seven, an age when I listened to him, although even then I thought he was a bit overbearing. Art, he said, was…
View writingI woke up this morning thinking about the piano. How sometimes, the music sounds like the flit flit flit of butterflies rings. Or the drop drop drop of rain. Sometimes, if feeling has a sound--not the screech of anger, but…
View writingI walked into the room of ghosts, of people from my past, in theory from my present. I mostly saw the faces of people I don't care to talk to, and of the people I would have wanted to see,…
View writingAgatha awoke. She was hungry. She made breakfast. One piece of toast and jam, no butter. Cold milk. Agatha was still hungry. Agatha knew that she could scream, and her voice would bounce off the walls and echo into the…
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