List the most important people in your life, and write a descriptive phrase about each of them,” was the prompt I was given in my writing class. Checking my list, I brimmed with emotion, craving contact with several people, especially Dorothy, the woman I’d met when I was nineteen. In 1974 Dorothy and I had just begun a...
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“Close your eyes; tight. Imagine the story I’m reading. Can you taste it? What are the smells?” my father would ask.
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“What’s the matter with that girl now? Is she going to bawl the rest of her life? Tell her to get in here and wash the dishes,” my dad said. My mother had more sympathy. At first we thought I had a rash. Big ugly red bumps appeared all over my face, but when they turned into ugly sores, I could hardly bear it.
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As a little girl, I was in awe of my mother’s china teacups; each unique, delicate and exquisite. For special occasions I helped her to set the dining table.
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While I was growing up, my grandmother had the most fantastic garden in the entire neighborhood! Flowers of every hue, fragrance, and description fairly burst into bloom each spring.
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© Linda Albert Whenever my grandmother came to visit, I was obligated to share my bedroom with her. I can still picture her relieving her pendulous breasts from the confines of her corset, then removing the pins from the bun in her snow-white hair. But though peeking at granny while pretending to be asleep provided some...
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When Sarah, told us a few months ago that it was her wish for all of the guests at her nuptials to wear white or ivory, many of us knew we would have to go shopping.
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The phone rang twice before the melody of my aunt’s soft, joyful voice brought a hint of relief to my ear. “Grand Central Station,” she answered, her words teasing a smile to the corners of my trembling lips.
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It was late Sunday afternoon and the realtor asked if she could show us one last house. My husband, Ron, and I were tired, but decided to give it a shot.
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When I sat down at the computer this morning, I remembered my college days, tap-tapping out reports on my old Smith Corona typewriter. And then I envisioned the maple desk it sat on. I hadn’t thought of that desk in years.
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