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  • What was left behind

    Twelve days after the death of Gustave Flaubert in May 1880, the official death seals were removed from his door and an inventory of the contents of his rooms was made. Here are a few of his possessions left behind: In the bedroom on the first floor, panama hat top hat red silk cravat 5(…)

  • Once upon a brand

    I was invited to contribute an essay to a publication called “Once Upon a Brand” – a short reverie about a brand I believed in. My dear friend Dom, its editor, wrote: “… We are now working on Volume Two. The hundred or so contributors will be leaders, achievers, influencers and game-changers from all (well many)(…)

  • “…full of wry humor and quiet desolation…”- Review in TLS

    From the April 20, 2018 issue of TLS Memoirs Alison Leslie Gold FOUND AND LOST Mittens, Miep, and shovelfuls of dirt* 180pp. Notting Hill Editions UK. £14.99. US edition $7.oo – $16.95. ISBN 978 1 910749 59 3 The Holocaust historian Alison Leslie Gold has made a career out of piecing together stories that might otherwise(…)

  • “Can I … help?”

    Next time a magnanimous impulse impels me to ask – “Can I help in any way?” – I should probably think twice. Here’s the situation: My niece (a personal as well as a world treasure) would be getting married to another (glinting) treasure on June 9th in upstate New York. Of course I wanted to(…)

  • Michelle’s walk against the wind

    I became something of a (lazy) cheering squad during my recent transatlantic crossing on the Queen Mary II, wanting to cheer on my friend, Michelle, who lives year-round on the beautiful Isle of Wight. Because she would miss the annual charity walk for the Earl Mountbatten Hospice on Isle of Wight, she planned an ambitious(…)

  • The penny never dropped

    Still waiting for you here at the bottom of the fountain as fat raindrops flop atop the surface sending ripples left, right, center. Ruffles sink to where what’s absent isn’t among what’s fallen. White blossoms, now colorless (that I once meant to put aside in a cup but didn’t) are clumped at the fountain’s stone(…)

  • Aboard the QMII

    It began at Ocean Terminal/Berth 46/47/Dock gate 4/Southampton, UK. Once the gangway was withdrawn, it became a universe, and – carelessly – a metaphor for …. well …. the circle of one’s entire life in seven nights and days. Stateroom 6066 rose and fell into the Celtic Sea. “Waves, large and florid as the tail(…)

What was left behind

Twelve days after the death of Gustave Flaubert in May 1880, the official death seals were removed from his door and an inventory of the contents of his rooms was made. Here are a few of his possessions left behind: In the bedroom on the first floor, panama hat top hat red silk cravat 5(…)

Read more...

Once upon a brand

I was invited to contribute an essay to a publication called “Once Upon a Brand” – a short reverie about a brand I believed in. My dear friend Dom, its editor, wrote: “… We are now working on Volume Two. The hundred or so contributors will be leaders, achievers, influencers and game-changers from all (well many)(…)

Read more...

“Can I … help?”

Next time a magnanimous impulse impels me to ask – “Can I help in any way?” – I should probably think twice. Here’s the situation: My niece (a personal as well as a world treasure) would be getting married to another (glinting) treasure on June 9th in upstate New York. Of course I wanted to(…)

Read more...

Michelle’s walk against the wind

I became something of a (lazy) cheering squad during my recent transatlantic crossing on the Queen Mary II, wanting to cheer on my friend, Michelle, who lives year-round on the beautiful Isle of Wight. Because she would miss the annual charity walk for the Earl Mountbatten Hospice on Isle of Wight, she planned an ambitious(…)

Read more...

The penny never dropped

Still waiting for you here at the bottom of the fountain as fat raindrops flop atop the surface sending ripples left, right, center. Ruffles sink to where what’s absent isn’t among what’s fallen. White blossoms, now colorless (that I once meant to put aside in a cup but didn’t) are clumped at the fountain’s stone(…)

Read more...

Aboard the QMII

It began at Ocean Terminal/Berth 46/47/Dock gate 4/Southampton, UK. Once the gangway was withdrawn, it became a universe, and – carelessly – a metaphor for …. well …. the circle of one’s entire life in seven nights and days. Stateroom 6066 rose and fell into the Celtic Sea. “Waves, large and florid as the tail(…)

Read more...

A new addiction

Not nose drops. Not chocolates. Not cashmere sweaters. Not roulette. Not porno. Not showering. Not hand-wringing. Not nit-picking. Not hair-twirling. Not pistachio nuts. Not long drives along the Oregon coast. Not $25 foot rubs.  It’s affecting my brain and body, it’s compulsive; has disrupted my social life. Question: If left untreated over time, will it(…)

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Blowing on the embers

Following, a paragraph taken from the home page of the dazzling blog SunnysideHanne.com: “Part of blowing so damn hard on the embers is to bring back the tastes of childhood, my mother’s expatriate Danish cooking, my Father’s Eastern European specialties like his sweet Tzimmes and half sour tomatoes, my Aunt’s traditional Danish farmhouse fair and(…)

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