where the writers are

childhood | childhood

richard-jerome's picture
Mar.27.2009
     “So, anyway,” Stanley asked. “Why DID you marry me?”      They were folding wash at 2 a.m., wide awake, half-watching Turner Classic Movies. It was Fritz Lang Day and the station aired Clash By Night, the director’s gloomy 1952 Odets adaptation with Barbara Stanwyck, Robert Ryan and Paul...
christine-hamm's picture
Mar.24.2009
The Stars are Yellow, Surrounded by Black At 6am, I splay my tender feet on cold pink tile, pretending I can't remember your name. House in the palm of my hand. Stink beetle nestling in my ear, whispering, this is the way we wash our hands. Skin color was always SALMON PINK, like this sky. My...
richard-jerome's picture
Mar.24.2009
    We lived on Robins Place, a couple of streets back from Main, within faint earshot of the Pennsylvania Railroad, whose rumbling commuter and freight trains were touchstones of my youth. The five-bedroom house had two dormers poking like eyes from the roof, which sloped in a wide...
christine-hamm's picture
Mar.17.2009
Baby Brother At times, I miss the days before your birth, the short cotton dresses made from pillowcases, stained ric-rac around the neck and hem, the powdered hot chocolate I strew across the counter each morning, my time on the basement floor with the fat grumpy cat and Sesame Street, the way my...
renee-sigel's picture
Feb.21.2009
 ............." Polo is karma. I believe. Its also about a way of life. People notice the frills but there is much more. It's dedication. It is love. It's care and it's passion. It  is about rewarding and it's teaching. Learning all along forever. And it's a great sorter: The shallow ones...
delia-cabe's picture
Feb.13.2009
Earlier this week, I received an e-mail from a woman named Maria, who was a boarder about four years before I was. (To protect her privacy, I am not including her last name. In her note, she gave me permission to reprint it.) Since I started this blog, I have been searching online for women who had...
delia-cabe's picture
Feb.01.2009
Bath time marked the start of the evening during my summer  with my aunt and uncle. In Puerto Rico, most people shower before dinner. (I’ve always thought that savvy burglars could take this opportunity to slip in and out of houses all over the island, while everyone was showering.) You’d wash off...
delia-cabe's picture
Jan.11.2009
When I was six, I was sent to Puerto Rico by myself to stay with family for the summer, while my single mother stayed in Manhattan for her job. It was the summer before I entered first grade in a boarding school in New Jersey. Her mother had done the same when she was a child. The summer of 1966...
gina-collia-suzuki's picture
Jan.10.2009
William Hans Weaver, the eldest son of a Romany Gypsy mother and English father, was a gentleman and a talented artist. He was also my grandfather and my first hero. From the age of five, I accompanied him on lengthy rambles around the Midlands, frequenting many of its museums and parks, and...
delia-cabe's picture
Jan.07.2009
Recalling the summer that I was six years old when my mother sent me to stay with my aunt in Puerto Rico. In my latest blog entry, "Flying Solo," I write more about my childhood with a single mom in the early sixties. Because she had to work, she often had to put me in others' care away...