Category Archives: My Story

Part 1: “Typical American!”

How did that headline feel? Like a compliment? Like an insult? Like a gross generalization? It has happened to all of us of course.  When you hear someone is from California, Alabama, Minnesota, or Massachusetts, you can’t help but assume … Continue reading

Posted in My Story, Storytelling, Travel, Uncategorized, USSR 1989 | 2 Comments

Women’s Images: A Fable

Have you ever watched a scary movie and covered your eyes at the really frightening parts? And then, despite your fear, did you peek between your fingers because for a moment your curiosity was greater than your fear? That is … Continue reading

Posted in Four Generations of Women, My Story, Uncategorized | 3 Comments

A Day At The Beach, continued

  Part 2: The Arrival I walk toward the woodland entrance and as I start down the pathway I look up. Something seems wrong—- because it looks exactly the same. The same roots jut across the trail, and the same … Continue reading

Posted in My Story, Storytelling, Uncategorized | 4 Comments

A Day At The Beach

  I had been feeling blue and confused about my life and thought I needed to go someplace safe and warm to regain my strength, my clarity, and my conviction. It was my day off and early that morning I decided that … Continue reading

Posted in BH Early Life, My Story, Storytelling, Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Boarding School- Part 2

(Continued from ‘Boarding School: Part 1’- best to read that first.) “I could go back upstairs empty-handed”, I thought to myself, “and tell Sev I couldn’t find the corn (thus proving how stupid I am). Or, I could go upstairs … Continue reading

Posted in My Story | 7 Comments

Boarding School- Part 1

“Let us pray…” The minister bowed his head, as did the five hundred adolescent girls and the dozen faculty members attending Sunday morning services at Sage Chapel. The Gothic arches loomed overhead, a symbol of the complex Higher Power which … Continue reading

Posted in My Story, Sketchbooks, Watercolor | 7 Comments

Oils in the Cellar— Sawdust in the Attic

   I grew up in a home of polarized artists. My father, an executive at the Reader’s Digest, had a fully outfitted woodworking shop in the attic of our old colonial house. There he crafted furniture in the sweltering heat of … Continue reading

Posted in My Story, Pen and Ink | 2 Comments