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Preserved memories, in faded glory
My father used to say, “You don’t take care of things.’’ He’d look at my car and shake his head because it was always full of books and toys and empty bags of Goldfish and whatever else my kids were into at the time.
Seeing marigolds in a new light
They’re intrepid little flowers, dancing in the snow, lovely things - these orange and yellow marigolds that I have disparaged my whole life.
Her ‘Tammy’ still sings true
I was such a goofy kid that I actually believed that when you grew up, life turned into a musical. I was raised on musicals - Judy Garland, Doris Day, and Gene Kelly singing and dancing on the small TV in our living room, “The King and I,’’ “Annie Get Your Gun,’’ “South Pacific’’ - blaring from a record player ...
You can’t beat service with a smile
You were right,’’ my daughter, Lauren, said calling from her cellphone. “It’s the best place ever! It’s like Disneyworld. Everyone’s so happy. And helpful. And nice. I can’t wait to go back.’’
In ‘Nana Barbara,’ seeing my own mother
I was 18 when we met, young and self-absorbed, and Barbara Thomas was just another grown-up, my new friend Caryn’s very nice, but very typical, mother.
Falling in love with ‘Twilight’
I didn’t know what I was getting into when I bought the first book. Simple curiosity prompted the purchase. “Twilight’’ was everywhere. Kids were reading it. Young people were talking about it. I used to be a kid. I used to be young. I succumbed.
Seen through loving eyes
My granddaughter Lucy is six years old and is part of a class of people that is quietly being eliminated in my country. She has Down syndrome, a genetic condition that frightens so many women that 92 percent of those who learn they are carrying babies with it choose to abort.