My Game Mother – for Jessie

When I was a child my grandmother owned a small hotel in the Catskills where my family spent idyllic summers.  Sadly when I was 11 she was no longer able to run it and it was sold.  But when I think about the hotel it seems only yesterday we were all there together. (See My Heart Remembers My Grandmother’s Hotel,  Dec 21, 2013,     Hotel Kittens – for Grandma Esther,  Oct 20,  2016,     Our Special Guests , June 1, 2018) My father worked in the city during the week,  and...

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Speaking Their Names

My parents named me Dana after two relatives they never knew – my father’s grandmother Dena who perished in czarist Russia,  and my mother’s uncle David who drowned as  a teenager in the Rockaways. I like my name and never minded that it’s a bit uncommon,  but it’s always disconcerting when  people spell it wrong or mispronounce it. And because Dana can be a masculine name as well,  I certainly wasn’t happy when as a high school senior I got mail from armed forces...

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Ethel and the Turkey Leg

Since my friend Ethel died recently at the age of 85, I’ve been thinking about what made her such a special soul. Ethel and I met in the 1980s at Jane Addams,  the South Bronx vocational high school where she taught cosmetology and I ran the school library.  Like so many of us at Addams,  Ethel and I loved the school,  were dedicated to our students,  and forged a life-long friendship.  (See Mr. October,  Magazines for the Principal ,  and The Diary of a Young Girl) We both lived...

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Still Life

 My aunt Babs was the last of her generation in our family when she died in Florida last year at 92. Babs and my mother’s kid brother Paul met in the Rockaways and were  childhood sweethearts who went on to have a long and a very happy marriage. (See Aunt Babs and Uncle Paul, May 3, 2015) My mother was an artist and when Babs and Paul got married she painted a Rockaway beach scene for them.  On the back of the canvas she wrote, “Where it all began!” My cousins...

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Sold Out! – for Babs

I love theatre and go pretty regularly,  often  with my fellow theatre-loving friend Babs.   And although we’re both pretty savvy about ordering tickets,  sometimes one or the other of us screws up,  and last time it was me.  Here’s the story. For years Babs and I have shared a subscription to 59E59,  a wonderful off-Broadway theatre company on East 59th Street whose mission is to bring new and innovative works to a New York audience.  We usually love what we see there and were...

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