Call Me Papa…

If you have ever come rolling off the West Side Highway at around 56th Street, and had the bad luck to get stopped by a red light, then you are familiar with what we are about to tell you.  You’ve already guessed from the title. [more]

my Papa From: Rachel To: The King of Jesters Hey my Papa, I know what a tough time you’re going through right now, and I wish I could be there to give you love and cheer and distract you by asking you political questions that get you all riled up. I can’t give you hugs…

I used to drive a Ford Pinto. I even boasted about its road-handling abilities. And about how its two-liter engine block had a high nickel content, though I wasn’t sure what that meant. And how I was going to bore it out, and put a four-barrel Weber carburetor on it. And torsion bars on the…

Chapter Seven I had by now come to dread every occasion when Manya’s work required me to appear at some function, a cocktail party or a dinner, as the trailing spouse. Dread, as in full-blown, dry mouth, gut-churning panic, like getting on an airplane, when flying is not your favorite thing, or like pushing long…