Today, I saw the premiere of “The Lone Ranger.” Critics have been ravaging the film for many reasons, but for this writer it was a nostalgic journey back to a time of childhood heroes and themes of good versus evil, white hats and black hats. Continue reading
Mixed Metaphors
Mixed Metaphors, Oh My! – A place where words, this writer, and readers play together.
Tag Archives: Racine
Three Fathers
Father’s Day is Sunday and I’ve been reflecting on my family history and the role of the men in my life. I hail from a matriarchal background, from both my paternal and maternal lineages. The families were headed by women, by default due to death and abandonment on my father’s side, and because of death on my mother’s. The women, my great grandmothers and grandmothers were loyal, hardworking and committed to their namesakes and either outlived or outlasted their male counterparts. Today, my mother carries on the tradition and is the head of my immediate family, she is the glue that holds us together and usually has the last word. Continue reading
A Grateful Daughter
Every year when Mother’s Day approaches, I think about all the things I want to tell my mother, all the many ways I’m grateful to be her daughter. Most years I find one or two things to share with her, as I sit with her and hold her hand, I share a story about what it means to me to be her daughter. Continue reading
First Friend
Today is my sister Roz’s birthday. Every year, when we’d talk on the phone or see each other on her birthday, I’d comment that we could always count on a beautiful day. As I write, the grey clouds are receding, revealing blue sky and the promise of a pleasant spring day. Continue reading
The Ties That Bind
“As long as the ties that bind us together are stronger than those that would tear us apart, all will be well.”
Today’s post is part film review, memoir and musing about the ties that bind us and explores the question of who makes up a family and how a family is made, nurtured, and maintained. Continue reading
Color Bind
This post is in response to a writing prompt from the LGBTQ Narratives Activist-Writers group. The prompt: When did we first become aware of our own race?
Some background: My story takes place in 1955 in Racine, an industrial community in Southeastern Wisconsin. Continue reading
The Day I Saw Jesus
First, I must confess that I’m a lapsed Catholic, or more precisely, a recovering Catholic. The recent selection of the new Pope, the 266th pontiff of the Roman Catholic Church, Francis, Jorge Mario Bergoglio, has stirred up memories of childhood and my first conscious religious experience and hallucination. Continue reading
A Pocketful of Gumballs
Growing up in the 1950s, I was a member of the first wave of baby boomers, an elementary school child whose young family moved to the suburbs and learned to thrive in the emerging cold-war culture. My parents purchased their first home in a new Federal Housing Authority neighborhood of starter homes for returning veterans and their young families. I was the eldest child, six-years-old in 1956 in Racine, Wisconsin, the Belle City, home of Case tractors and Johnson Wax. Continue reading