where the writers are

neighbors blog

Excerpt from a letter to a friend ~

When I was young my family moved to upstate NY.  I believe I may have been 2 years old.  We were the first interracial family most of the people in the small hamlet where we resided had ever seen

Day 199

A wayward robin taps

Sheila & Gus. Not that I didn’t love them. I did,
like the back of my hand. But they drove me nuts.
They were both on disability, God bless them,

Love thy neighbor. I say, love yourself first. Love the piece of ground that you find yourself standing on. Love the sight of home and hearth.

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About four months ago, I was getting ready for work. It was my usual rushing around in the morning: Hair washed? Check! Have shoes on? Check! Book to read on BART? Check! All ready to go!

As fodder for a writer, I have had the good luck to have two murderers as neighbours. Well . . . almost.

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My ideal kind of neighbor would come out of a dormitory style living situation. I would share perhaps a four-plex with some hip, cool 30 somethings.

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Gladys Kravitz

I have a friend that is 23 years younger than me.  I’m only a few years younger than her mother.   Yet I’m not a mother figure at all to her.  I’m a go

Kenneth and I once had neighbors who wrote fan mail to our cat.  We didn't really know these neighbors, a retired couple, just said hello now and then.  Their backyard bordered ours.  Zooey was a

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