Memoir depends on memory, yet memory is often selective and thus fallible. For my father’s fortieth birthday in 1966, my mother threw a surprise party, in the small dining room at our country club. It was the end of August and both Alan and Barry, my brothers, were...
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This is where you’ll find my latest writing. Enjoy! And please leave a comment — I’d love this space to be a dialogue. How else would I know there’s anyone out there?
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