Musings from my driveway, my home and my heart
My mother poses next to my dad’s two-tone 1958 Ford Thunderbird in the driveway of our home in northwest Detroit. She’s dressed in a shimmery gold outfit with a quadruple strand of white beads and a wide-brimmed hat trimmed in colorful cabbage roses. Her outfit is the perfect complement to the coupe’s aqua-and-white exterior. Clotheslines... Continue Reading →
To pass out candy on Halloween this year, I had to fill out a form required by my subdivision and turn it in by October 24. No more just flipping on the porch light and putting out a simple carved pumpkin or two. The organizational effort in the neighborhood included a notice that our homeowners’... Continue Reading →
When I was in the fourth grade at St. Mary of Redford elementary school, Sister Eudora gave us a classic assignment: what do you want to be when you grow up? “A police officer!” I wrote, explaining in great detail how much I admired my father, a Detroit Police detective. I got an A+ on... Continue Reading →
When my grandmother was 12 years old, Russian soldiers quartered on her family’s farm in Poland during the 1914 Battle of Galicia, a major conflict between Russia and Austria-Hungary during the early stages of World War I. When the family heard soldiers tramping on the road, they rushed to bury food to keep it out... Continue Reading →
When my dog Rosie died peacefully on March 26, it marked the end of 14 years in the witness protection program. Just like the human programs run by the U.S. Marshals Service and other government entities to create new identities and protect innocent victims from harm, Rosie’s canine version was designed to keep her safe... Continue Reading →
I’m staving off the pandemic blues by throwing myself into a home-improvement project that includes a bookcase shaped like an elephant and several gallons of Benjamin Moore’s First Light pink paint. The idea is to transform a guest bedroom in my house into a magical kid’s playroom, one that will delight my three grandchildren once the... Continue Reading →
When I was in the second grade, my friend Patrice asked if I could come home with her after school to play with Barbie dolls and meet her mother. Even before I saw the iron lung set up in the living room of Patrice’s house, I could hear the rhythmic “whoosh.” Her mother, a polio victim,... Continue Reading →
Glancing down at the Christmas decorations around my front door, the Amazon delivery driver momentarily froze. “Rosebud,” he said, focusing on the old sled I haul out every year and carefully position amid the greenery and ornaments. I appreciated the faded pop-culture reference in the middle of his rush to deliver packages, and it made me... Continue Reading →
During a recent Skype session with one of my students, I noticed he was clutching a tiny stuffed teddy bear. Most of the time, it was out of view, but since he talks with his hands, I occasionally got a glimpse of it. He is one of my college-essay students, an athletic guy who enjoys... Continue Reading →
On a shelf in my kitchen is a plain white pitcher that used to belong to my husband’s grandmother Mary, a farm wife in Harvard, Nebraska during the Great Depression. In it I keep a handful of dirt that my sister brought me from my grandmother’s farming village in Huta Przedborska, Poland after visiting there... Continue Reading →
Anita's Way 