The call came at the end of the day from someone I’d interviewed at a world affairs conference, when I was still writing for Pacific Shipper.  My name must have been collecting dust in her Rolodex — and I could hear her desperation.  Could I possibly feed four visiting Indonesian journalists who were eager to experience a typical American family dinner? They’d eaten less than typical fare in top restaurants across the nation for a week, and now for their last dinner they wanted to see how Americans really ate.  After ignoring emphatic family advice, I decided to make them a very...

I haven’t been the least bit shy about asking people, now that the  Water Dragon New Year has begun, about their Chinese astrology signs.  My dental hygienist was close to tears when she whispered that she was a rooster.  “I don’t feel like a rooster — they’re so noisy.”  As she quietly set up her tools for her work,  I could sense her deep distress, and with a touch of compassion that’s believed to come with being a  Water Dragon,  I attempted to calm the stage before the dental scaling  was set to begin.  I humbly held back my proud declaration of...

“Weave, weave, weave me the sunshine out of the falling rain. Weave me the hope of a new tomorrow and fill my cup again.”  (Peter Yarrow, 1972) You may have noticed the campaign button on top of my home page.  Al’s name pops up in my bio and my 36 Days blog, too.  He was my boss/hero during the Summer of ’78,  when I joined his Congressional Primary brigade as a $40 a week staffer, answering phones, fanning the NY  heat, helping pedestrians decide.  We watched Al turn his rival upside down in debates and  interrupted each other enthusiastically at Puffing Billy.  When...

I am surrounded by my mother’s work. Weavings hang on every wall,  a pastel creature that once smiled above my son’s crib now rests on stand-by.  Her sculpture roars in her apartment far away.  She told me once that when she was little, she drew pictures long into night.  My brother keeps her sketch of Abe Lincoln,  that could have been a photograph.  Her eye brought balance to what surrounded her, even the way she entered a room. I remember a pink empire raincoat she wore to the ballet, moving on to poodley fabrics and orange knit suits. And then, later in time, she followed her...

I still can’t believe she was right. And I didn’t give in easily or with very much grace because after all this time I was sure I knew the best way to say it. “It’s an SAT word that I memorized — I know exactly how it’s pronounced.”  Since I don’t have a video attachment on my land line, I can’t confirm whether she was shaking her head at my unwillingness to change my mind,  alphabetizing tax receipts, or  wondering if I actually was right.  I said it again, my way,  like I was saying my name — waited for a wiggle,  and she...