Month: July, 2012

Mr. Greenjeans

My father, a man of no special standing in the world, died on the same day as Mr. Grenjeans. He left high school at 16 when his father died. He was a “runner” on Wall Street. He loved a woman who was not my mother. He entered the Jesuit seminary at age 30 or so. He married my mother and they raised six children. Finally, he worked for 30 years as a probation officer in Family Court.

Mom didn’t understand why Dad–a dedicated public servant– didn’t have obituary prominently placed in Newsday. She blamed it all on Mr. Greenjeans.


The Pyre (on David’s 69th Birthday)

I understand the pyre.

You may have learned in some history class that in long-ago India a wife would throw herself on the pyre built to cremate her husband’s body. This was accepted religious practice or perhaps required by law; I don’t remember which. I feel certain that many women didn’t want to do it, but possibly others did. Crazy, you ask? I’ll tell you why I think that: when the funeral home was wheeling David (David’s body) away, I wanted to jump on, lay down, put my arms around him and go with him–wherever that was.

Since I was twelve years old

I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was twelve years old. In my seventh grade autobiography I wrote on the last page that I wanted to grow up to be a teacher so that would give me time to write on the side. (Little did I know–free time is precious for teachers.) Somewhere along the way, the desire to write lost precedence and other things took over. Planning to be a lawyer. (Horrors!) Mothering. (Joy!) Growing up. (Relief.)
Along the way–again–writing came back into my life.

So, here I am, writing my life, in 100 words.