Detroit Journal: A Babushka Easter

I always ended up with garlic breath after digging into my Easter basket as a kid. That’s because unlike American-style baskets, which were filled with chocolate bunnies and jelly beans, mine had a distinctly Polish flavor. My Polish grandmother, whose day job was running a little bar for Detroit factory workers on Michigan Avenue, always... Continue Reading →

On the Death of a Co-Worker

It’s been a monastic life for me as a writer for the past 25 years, since I’ve largely abandoned newsrooms and classrooms in favor of a home office. For 15 of those years, my faithful co-worker has been my miniature schnauzer Pinki, who would arise with me at 5 a.m. and shepherd me into my... Continue Reading →

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