Last spring when the scent of lilacs followed me from the backyard into my kitchen, I thought of my mother’s distant cousin and her daughters, who, like my lilacs, visited yearly when the earth warmed and the days grew longer. I pictured us all in idyllic memories of jump rope games and playing with dolls. But, except for MaryAnn, the littlest daughter, I could not remember their names.
A few years ago, I could have called my mother. She would have teased me for my forgetfulness, asked what I was making for dinner (there was never a phone conversation where we didn’t talk about food) and repeated her mother-to-daughter mantra, “When are you coming over?” We would have shared stories of those long-ago days before hanging-up and re-joining our lives. But my mother has passed on and while the images of our family lingers-the details are lost. I write One more thing before I go, my living record for my son, in hope that one day, when he has a question I can no longer answer, it can be found in this blog.
This note should have been sent years ago, but maybe this season of giving is the best time to offer our gratitude for our dog, Fido VI.
Our local shelter on Long Island has partnered with the good people of your state to bring strays up to the city. While we’ve haven’t yet visited Tennessee, our dogs were outstanding Volunteer State ambassadors.
Read MoreOpening our front door after a day of playing house with my friend Bonnie and riding on the back of Larry Cutlin’s tricycle, brought the first hints of dinner. With Grandma upstairs, roasting a chicken and mom in our kitchen decorating meatloaf with vegetable soup and mashed potatoes, I entered a space I imagined paradise smelled like. But, as wonderful as the aroma was, it never included the buttery vanilla scents of cookies.
Read MoreBy the time my son was ten, I had stopped making the sauce that used canned tomato products, tinned dry herbs and bubbled on the stove for hours. I created my own version; easier and fresher.
Read MoreBy late afternoon, Mom had showered and both of us had napped. Tanta, my great aunt and titular head of the Schumann clan, would soon return for dinner with her entourage. Grandma Rose was upstairs checking on her sauce. Sauce, in our house was only one kind; tomato; Napolitano-style. Grandma’s recipe, while never written down was a tribute to melting-pot-America. Its roots came through Marie Jelianti, Tanta’s friend who became her sister-in-law.
Read MoreYou may have heard tales about the O’Leary clan or the O’Keefe family or whispers about the mysterious O’Higgins mob, but nary a soul dares to mention the name O’Lantern. That is, until Halloween is in the air.
Read MoreI’m the author of Bird and Fish, its sequel; Sea and Sky and my latest novel; Alice Again. I wasn’t always a writer. I started out much the same as other women; moving along from baby to girl, woman to wife and mother, teacher to restless. Restless is the best ally a writer can have. It made me leave a super career with a steady pay-check to settle into a solitary regimen of breathing life into a handful of ideas. I’ve never been happier.
