Monthly Archives: February 2011

What Cynthia Ozick said to me—and a few other things

So, the hours I was supposed to spend yesterday morning revising yesterday’s (that is today’s) blog post, I ended up passing at the Hospital for Joint Diseases.  No, nothing serious.  At least that’s how I prefer to think about loss … Continue reading

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A gulf to fall into: suicide in the house

My father was a difficult child.  Already I forget where I learned this.  I can almost hear my aunt telling me in her matter-of-fact way.  But then I see the tiny, cramped script of my grandmother’s journal.  But, no, the phrasing … Continue reading

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Breast cancer, mon amour

The other day, about to enter the women’s locker room (a too-irregular occurrence), having dropped off my younger son at preschool, a sign caught my eye: “Coffee Talk”  Support Group for Women with Cancer.  I notice the sign each time … Continue reading

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How Madoff the younger became my kin

When most people see the name Madoff, as I did this morning on the cover of today’s New York Times, they think of fraud and deception, perhaps psychopath comes to mind, the mind then flashing to aging widows cheated out … Continue reading

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The abandoned self, the integrated one – but isn’t homophobia gone?

I am a believer in coincidence.  (See last week’s post, Synchronicity: coincidence, literature,  & suicide, or A brain of one’s own.)  By which I mean that life is filled with funny details that make patterns or bring things together—sometimes literally, … Continue reading

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“Sex in Mommyville”—oh, Russia—oh, Polish soup

A few weeks ago I saw Anna Fishbeyn’s wonderful one-woman show—yes, that’s the title, Sex in Mommyville.  Anna immigrated to the States from Russia at age eleven—this is more than just background; it informs the show in the best possible … Continue reading

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Memory as moving target

Memory is intrusive.  And I am constantly surprised by it.  Even the bad memories, perhaps especially the bad ones, are interesting.  Brain food. As you’ve read here before, I think of memory as a frequency (a channel), something we have … Continue reading

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Synchronicity: coincidence, literature, & suicide, or A brain of one’s own

This past November, I was fortunate to attend a fantastic conference (clmp’s Literary Writers’ Conference) hosted at The New School, where I heard the poet Gabrielle Calvocoressi speak (and others too; more on that another time).  I had been thinking … Continue reading

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A walk through Grand Central

Back in the early Naughties (I love having an excuse to use that ridiculous term, and then I hate the fact I’ve stooped to use it), I was walking through Grand Central, with all its crazy bustle, when I caught sight … Continue reading

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