Her hands were larger than mine; her heart too, for that matter. She was twenty-two months younger than I, but her life was shorter. She was my sister, Pam. Her long, bony fingers were clubbed at the tips, with splayed, purple-tinged nails that suggested the lack of oxygen in her blood. Her palms were salty. She had “Sixty-five...
read more
As a Hollywood writer with twenty-one scripts to my credit, I am no stranger to stories from the heart. How did I know, that I, myself, would become the center of one so dramatic?
read moreHere’s Something To Feel Good About Today! “Art is the triumph over chaos.” John Cheever Imagine being 106 years old, and the oldest living survivor of the holocaust. This story is a rare and inspiring piece; a triumph of spirit, over the reality of horrific circumstances…This amazing woman, a talented musician...
read more
© Heather Summerhayes Cariou Her hands were larger than mine; her heart too, for that matter. She was twenty-two months younger than I, but her life was shorter. She was my sister, Pam. Her long, bony fingers were clubbed at the tips, with splayed, purple-tinged nails that suggested the lack of oxygen in her blood. Her palms were...
read more
Follow Us!