How to travel in a pandemic
My wife and I both grew up watching Masterpiece Mysteries on Sunday nights with our families and, early in our relationship, we bonded on this shared television experience. For the past twenty years, we have kept up that Sunday night tradition, making our way through an embarrassing number of British mysteries and crime dramas. Read more
‘The World of Lard’
Whatever happened to Bernardo Ruiz? It’s not a question I often dwell on, but one that occasionally emerges like a spectre from the past. With the help of some Facebook sleuthing, I could probably track him down. But that’s been true for almost twenty years now and I’ve yet to do it. This ability to reconnect with people from our past, however tenuous the connection then or now, is a mixed blessing. It can facilitate surprising reunions, even rekindle friendships, but often the renewed connection is just a reminder of why you fell out of touch in the first place. Read more
Finding my way home on St. Patrick’s Day
Our closest friends and family have gathered for an after party in the Honey Fitz room at Doyle’s. I am still in my rented tuxedo and Courtney is wearing her wedding dress, sneakers, and a Red Sox cap and veil her bridesmaids made for her bachelorette party. We walk into the front room to grab some beers and the regulars give us a rousing cheer. The bartender hands us two pints, but declines our cash. He points to a woman a few seats down the bar who smiles as she lifts up her glass and says, “Love the hat, honey. Cheers!” Read more
Finding Light in Dark Times: An Interfaith Family at the Holidays
When we were kids, my sister and I clamored for a Christmas Tree. When we asked my mother why couldn’t have one, she replied, “Because we’re Jewish!” We would then decorate the pussy willows in the living room with origami and random trinkets found around the house. When family friends came over, we would direct them to our pathetic little Chanukah Bush and ask, “Isn’t it sad?” Read more
Fulfilling a lifelong dream
When I was a boy, I had a secret hiding place in a musty closet in my bedroom, a room that doubled as my father’s office. I would scamper up a set of angled shoe shelves, past out of season clothing, to the very top of the closet. This was my office. Like my father’s work space, it was equipped notebooks, pens, and an old-fashioned typewriter. In my mind, I was a writer who, like my dad, used words to expose the wrongdoings of the bad people.
Looking back on this memory, I am struck by my lack of creativity. I had no castles to storm or dragons to slay. I created a fantasy world in a closet that was a little kid’s version of the world right outside that closet. My imagination took me no more than several feet from my lived experience as the son of a working writer. This was the fantasy of a child who felt safe and comfortable, who felt no psychic need to escape to a different world. Read more
Tidal Water Consulting 