I’ve written before about my father Arthur. (See My Dad, Around the World in 80 Days, Fluffy, or How I Got My Dog and The Corpse in the Office) By profession Arthur was a family physician who when asked his medical specialty once quipped, “I treat the skin and its contents.” But by avocation my dad was also a memoirist, an artist, and a self-taught classical pianist, and I best remember him sitting at the baby grand in our living room. He never had a lesson and didn’t...
Although I grew up in a house, most of my adult life I’ll been a Manhattanite and an apartment dweller. (See 2026 McGraw and Cooking with Gas) However over the years we did spend many wonderful summers in houses at the beach. (See The Great Hampton Babysitter Heist, Menemsha Sunset, and Skinny Dipping) They were all rentals and our stays there hassle-free, and at the end of our lease we’d empty the fridge, pack up our stuff, and drop off the keys. But about a dozen years...
We first met Gerhard through our friend Renee. He was the English professor who years earlier had been her graduate school thesis advisor. The two had remained very close and Renee invited Gerhard to join our group of friends who took turns hosting each other at dinner, and who in summer spent weekends together in the country at Renee’s house and at ours. (See Comfort Food for Renee) And times spent with Gerhard were always delightful! He was bright and witty, always ready for a...
Our friend John’s parents, like my husband Danny’s, fled Europe in the late 1930s as the Nazi horror was unfolding. John’s folks went first to Shanghai, and then on to the States, where a few months later John was born. (“I was made in China.” he’ll tell you.) During that same torturous time Danny’s parents sailed to South America and settled in Bolivia where Danny was born, before they too immigrated to the States. Both families adjusted to their new American...
We live in Manhattan and we love the hustle and the bustle of the city life, but we also love communing with nature on weekends at our woodsy retreat in the Connecticut foothills. On one recent country weekend I came home from the market with a load of groceries and parked in the cul de sac in front of our garage, a few yards from the house. I got the shopping cart I keep in the garage and unloaded the grocery bags from the car. When the cart is full it’s easier to push...
Welcome to my blog World Thru Brown Eyes! Enjoy the read and please leave a comment and tell me how this old world looks thru YOUR eyes!
