After the brunch and the long-stemmed rose, we stopped in the park for a catch. My husband took the baseball gloves from the car and tossed one to each of us. You two spread out, he said, and we trotted obediently across the grass. He threw the first ball to me, and I shielded my eyes as I watched it sail through the sunny Bronx sky. Aim right at it Mom, and then close your glove, yelled my son. But my heart was too full and I lost the ball in my tears. Dana Susan Lehrman
Archive - May 2015
My aunt Babs and uncle Paul and were high school sweethearts who met as kids in the Rockaways. Family legend has it when he was in medical school at NYU and Babs was at Skidmore College up in Saratoga, Paul was missing her so he couldn’t concentrate on his studies, would cut classes to play Bridge, and had to repeat a year. But Paul eventually buckled down, he and Babs got married, and though my cousins Debra and Robin weren’t yet born, when Paul graduated from...