My Dad has been dead for almost 20 years. That sounds shocking, even to me. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about him, especially this last year. Father figured prominently into my show Big Words. So here’s that piece, for Father’s Day. In Print
Read this post here.
These are four stories I wrote after I ran across a contest for stories of 100 words or fewer. It seemed like a crazy idea at first but I came to like trying to tell a story in this format. So did others. Click here to find the winners and think about the next contest yourself.
Also in print
Secret World
She was eight, I’d guess. She hid something on her lap. Crossing the room, I bumped her shoulder, hoping to see what it was. It looked fuzzy.
Recovered, her fourth finger stroked softly while she pretended there was nothing. No one else saw, I’m pretty sure.
She fell asleep before her mother bustled back in. Startled, she forgot her secret. The baby bird slipped to the floor, leaving a streak of blood. Her mother shrieked.
“That’s disgusting! We must wash your hands right now. What is wrong with you? Don’t you hear a word I say?”
No.
Before My Piano Lesson
Cat Woman, pale and severe, was systematic: first the older daughter; then the little one. She spit in her hankie and rubbed their faces. The girls were compliant.
Walking up the stairs for my lesson, I’d pray that Cat Woman would just read her magazine this week. I’d take out my book and wait to be called, but I couldn’t tear my attention from the wetting and washing. Maybe this time they would throw her off.
In my heart, they painted their mother with lip-crusts and filled her old-age with sweat-streaked, grass-stained boys.
Happy Chanukah everybody! For those of you who think Chanukah is just an excuse for Jewish kids to get presents–well, not really, although presents are nice. Chanukah celebrates an interesting bit of history and of course, celebrates winter light–always precious.
I took a little journey through the Chanukahs of my childhood. First we’d light the candles and sing songs in a mixture of English, Yiddish, and German. We had a good meal–brisket and latkes. We opened presents (mostly socks and pajamas.) Then we’d have the fiercely competitive dreidel game (for poker chips or nuts-in-the-shell.) When my Mother got bored, she would start to eat her reserve, which was the beginning of the end.
For all of you who need a little course in dreidel, there is a Hebrew letter on each side of the dreidel (a top made of wood or plastic. I never made the ubliquitous clay dreidel.) The player spins the dreidel and if it falls with the Gimmel up, the player wins the whole pot. If the Hay is up, player takes half the pot. If the Nun is up, player takes nothing and if the Shin is up, player puts 2 in. Everyone antes up again and another player has a turn. The letters stand for the phrase nes gadol hayah sham, a great miracle happened there. The miracle was that the small amount of oil found for the eternal light in the temple lasted eight days until more could be refined. Religiously sanctioned gambling–how fun is that.
I wrote, reviewed and performed a great deal about my family in Big Words. Now–I’m done–at least for awhile.
Also in print.
Sometimes we seem to be swept up in an epidemic of apology. And yet, many apologies are abusive, retaliatory, arrogant–anything but sincere. What do we do about those people?
Father was one of the first Big Words I took on and I’ve been at it for almost two years on and off. It’s a big big word and it’s been a valuable contemplation. If you remember the earlier post you’ll know this has changed quite a bit.
