Everyone knows all about the shoemaker’s son — but what about the photographer’s daughter?  When I was growing up, everyone in our family helped my father shake trays in our kitchen darkroom.  And when I became a Brownie, my father gave me the official Brownie version of the popular Brownie camera…  And then when I moved into my teens, I was given a 1945 Mercury.  The first camera  with a slick 1/1000 shutter speed.  I still have a photo of a baboon that I shot with my precious camera and brought to life under my father’s watchful eye.  My father had his Leicas and...

I can’t remember who it was  — just who it wasn’t.  The ticket office was frantic: where were all the ticket buyers hiding?   The more obscure the name, the harder PR toiled.  And it happened so early in my days at the Symphony that I had no idea what to do when the general manager sprang the alert:  “We’re papering the house — Sunday, Monday and Tuesday.”  That’s when my boss explained that we needed to do whatever we could to ensure that our artist not be humiliated by rows of empty seats.  Showering schools and whoever we could welcome in with...

“This is the most beautiful aria in the world,” I told the sage in the produce department, as an electrifying voice swept over the lettuce, encircled the cabbage, and gobbled up my heart. Adam, who knows more about turnips than anybody else I know, smiled knowingly.  “Yeah, somebody else just told me that, too.”  Then, another vegetable savant put down his radishes and asked me, “What’s it called —   I gotta get it.” But I couldn’t remember the name. None of us could remember it back then, either.  Back when Tott’s flashed it on our tv...

Well, it happened back in 1966.  Evelyn and I were 14, best friends at JHS 141 in Riverdale — just  a subway ride away from the city. We were both well-established in a lucrative trade.  Babysitting.  I suppose I was a bit busier, at the time,  thanks to five children who kept me hopping on Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday nights.  It was fun earning money the nicest way we could imagine, and almost as much fun spending it. One late Sunday afternoon, after touring Lord & Taylor,  we walked over to Franklin Simon,  just for a quick visit before we needed to head north for dinner.     We...

Those were his words — wisdom from an old friend from my mid-20’s who went to Penn exactly 10 years before I went to Bryn Mawr.  Whenever there was a tense decision in sight, he’d help point out my choices and some of the possible consequences.  Frankly, his bluntness about making a deal sometimes irritated me.   Particularly when I made a foolish choice and the results were disappointing.   All  I wanted was a little solace, and he’d remind me about the conditions I’d accepted.  His harsh but truth-seeking mantra crossed the continent and at times has helped me...