Category Archives: life

Letter to my Grandmothers

My Italian grandmother, my nonna Giovannina, taught me how to knit when I was eight years old. She cast on with her fingers and held the needles tucked in between her ample bosom and her armpits. I had no bosom … Continue reading

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Balance and the Bookstore

I’ve always worked in ‘different’ jobs- the independent music industry for over twenty years back when it was fun, as a landscape gardener, as a tree surgeon, as a bookseller. The most ‘regular’ jobs I’ve ever had were marketing for … Continue reading

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The Punk Rock

My kids don’t understand the punk rock. They ask me, “why’d you dress like that?” “why was your hair that ugly color?” They say “that style made you look like a skunk” or “a homeless person.” Or they scream, “turn … Continue reading

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Graceful Warriors

My friend Deb was the best flea-marketer ever. She could ferret out vintage like nobody’s business. My 1960’s raybans, my Coach purse, my beautiful Mexican wall hanging, were all gifts from her. When she found a lump in her breast, … Continue reading

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Fairy Rings and other things

When my son was young we spent a lot of time in the woods looking for things. Sometimes it was heffalumps. Sometimes it was rings of amanita muscaria- the classic white spotted red toadstool- on the dewy lawn indicating that … Continue reading

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A Life in Art

Sometimes I wish I had more talent in drawing or sculpting or even in knitting. I am terrible at following patterns and even after many attempts, I am hopeless at socks. Turning heels? I just don’t get it. And worse … Continue reading

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Writing with children

I think these are true memories. But after all I am a writer, and I tend to embellish or rewrite. (Always revisioning!) However, it is such a strong recollection, visual and visceral, that I am sure it is real. I … Continue reading

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Grandmothers

My Italian grandmother, my nonna Giovannina, taught me how to knit when I was eight years old. She cast on with her fingers and held the needles tucked in between her ample bosom and her armpits. I had no bosom … Continue reading

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Cometbus meets me, twenty-eight or so years down the road

I think I must have been nineteen when I met Aaron Elliot aka Aaron Cometbus. He was probably fifteen or so. I remember we were always getting into philosophical discussions outside punk shows, often at the warehouse I lived in, … Continue reading

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Giving Up Control

No man is an island. No one does it all on their own. I fear I am a freak. A control freak. I like to have all ten of my fingers in the pie. For me, this is the hardest … Continue reading

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