On one of my hold-my-breath-until-we-land flights a few months ago, I was the last passenger to enter the plane (my normal routine) and sat next to a nice-looking man who barely looked up.
But I looked him up and down, gauging how well the flight would go. Not garrulous, check. Not nervous, check. Not a drinker, check. All good to go.
But as I placed my purse under my seat and opened my book, I took offense. Perhaps this man – mid-30s – dismissed me already for being one of those things: a talker or a nervous flier or worse, just an “older woman” who was – dismissible. Continue reading
I didn’t mean to, but I made a grown man cry.
A huge hulking man who wore high-heeled boots.
It all happened on a sunny Sunday in front of a restaurant on a busy Boston cobblestoned street. Continue reading
I take the train from Boston to Delaware to visit my mom. Anything is better than flying, I figure. Plus, I can watch the pastoral East Coast scenery whiz by, in my romanticized notion of riding the rails.
I pack five books, my laptop, and three short story rough drafts. After all, I have more than six hours to write or read with no interruption.
When was the last time you rode a train? Do you remember the bouncing and jouncing, the rolling and jerking one mile to the next to the next…?
My day begins with tea.
A “Pam Latte” it’s been called at the cafes I’ve frequented. A CA friend (who owned a coffee/tea bar) named it “Tea Done Wight” and offered it on her bar menu.
That all changed when I moved from the Bay Area to New England. I had to re-introduce my tea of choice to the new establishment.
In the beginning, back in the fall right after I moved to this Boston suburb, I had to ask for the whole caboodle: Continue reading
We’ve seen all sorts of movies and stories about the horror of a boyfriend meeting the parents.
But what about a viewpoint from the other side?
I vividly recall when my man and I met our daughter’s boyfriend for the first time. She was so particular throughout most of her 20’s that a guy never made it to the stage of meeting us. But now, she’s invited us to meet someone over drinks and pasta.
My guy is inordinately nervous and drives into the city too fast and too distracted as he asks “what if we don’t like him?” Continue reading