For a full twenty minutes I begged my older sister to trade bunks with me for one measly night. I just had to know the thrill of sleeping in the top bunk bed or die of disappointment. Life is just that dramatic when you’re eight years old.
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“Mother-in-law” conjures up Alan King jokes of shrewish matriarchs who cling to their sons like King Kong to the Empire State Building. But my mother-in-law defied the stereotype. Sheila fox-trotted with me in the sofa section of Crate & Barrel, to the Muzak version of I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm. She, in the paisley kerchief (having lost most of her hair by then) and I, the willing dance partner following her lead. And dance we did.
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© Sharon O. Blumberg As a child, I admired my neighbor’s birdbath, adorned with two brightly-colored, porcelain birds. Outside playing with friends, I would eye the red porcelain one resting upon its white platform. I adored watching Mrs. Vitriola tend to her birdbath; she had the sweetest disposition. But my curiosity overcame...
read moreHere’s Something To Feel Good About Today! A kind word is like a Spring day. ~Russian Proverb “During my second year of nursing school our professor gave us a quiz. I breezed through the questions until I read the last one: “What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?” Surely this was a joke. I...
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