This month is my 52nd anniversary of being a professional writer. Please note that in this reference “professional” merely indicates I’ve been paid to do it; it’s not a self-lauding of the writing’s quality.
This month is my 52nd anniversary of being a professional writer. Please note that in this reference “professional” merely indicates I’ve been paid to do it; it’s not a self-lauding of the writing’s quality.
When we were kids, the two-word expression that my parents considered the vilest thing for my brothers and me to say was “Shut up!”
My daughter was born on Easter Sunday 36 years ago today.
I have a cherished memory of my big brother Jerry, who’s scheduled to turn 81 today, barring any Breaking News on CNN.
When I shared the recent passing of my adored little tabby, Osborn the Magnificent, who spent 14 of his 19 years with me, I learned a great deal about people and pets.
If reading a sentimental slob’s account of the passing of his beloved pet upsets you, please consider yourself warned. My cat, Osborn the Magnificent, died on August 11. He had just turned 19 on July 14, Bastille Day.
I have two birthdays to celebrate today: Bastille Day turns 232, and Osborn the Magnificent, my cat, turns 19.
This year, I think, I won’t succumb
To Hallmark Dad’s-Day rhetoric.
May’s milestones include May Day itself, which is also Labor Day in Mexico; the National day of Prayer and, probably little-known to non-Muslims, Eid al-Fitr, which is the conclusion of the month-long dawn-to-dusk fast of Ramadan and a test of your pronunciation skills. Sometimes, “sound it out” is woefully inept advice.
My daughter—writer-director-singer-actress-publisher Jessica Laskey—turns 35 tomorrow. This happens to be the same age her mom and I were when she was born on Easter Sunday in 1986, completely upsetting our brunch plans.