Burnt Chocolate Stories

 I have made a decision to focus on joy and love and stop worrying. What was I worried about? Mainly the state of affairs in our country. But my worry and concern was draining me and in the end non-productive. I'm spending energy and time thinking about cherished memories of my childhood and life in general. In June, my daughter and I are spending a week in Union Pier. When I tell others about our plans, they invariably ask where is Union Pier? In case you, too, are wondering, it's in the southern tip of Michigan, just over the Indiana border. I spent whole summers there with my two sisters and my mom. Dad came on the weekends but had to stay in Hyde Park in Chicago during the week for work. Ours was just a two bedroom place, big enough for the five of us to sleep and eat. I was told that Sandy and Eleanor dug holes in the sand so my mom could lie on her stomach when she was nine months pregnant with me in the hot July sun.  I remember digging holes in the sand and squishing t...

Living in a community with so many people provides a fresh look at life. Many of my neighbors have friends they see regularly, having grown up together. I suppose living in Milwaukee their entire lives helps to keep those connections strong. Even though I spent much of my life in Chicago, the names and faces of childhood friendships have become blurred, connections mostly lost. It takes commitment and intention to remain in each other's lives for the whole journey.   You never know who you will meet along the way, who will come into your life and provide the safety net you need to survive and thrive. My good fortune came into my life when I met Jeanie in 1975. We  both had moved to Evanston, into houses a block away from each other. I thought, here is someone with young children, similar ages to my own. We have a lot in common. I like her smile. She has long hair like mine. Likes French jeans. Toddlers the same age. Boys going to the same school. Advice and care was there...

I've been thinking about my Dad a lot lately. He was a quiet, gentle soul. In fact I never heard him raise his voice to me or anyone else. If he was stressed about anything, he became very quiet. I'm sure there were things that angered him; I just never knew what that might be. Most of all, he was kindness personified. When I was a very little girl, maybe six or seven, I would crawl between him and the back cushions on the couch where we would nap together or listen to the radio. It was a place of safety and comfort for me. Whereas some of my friends were challenged by their fathers to get better grades and motivated to be the best in their career choice, my dad was satisfied with me as I was, am, would become.  Sometimes I wish he had dangled that carrot of accomplishment in front of my nose, pushed me harder, demanded more from his youngest daughter. I suppose being the only man in a houseful of women has a dampening effect on ambition. The fact is, I really didn't know h...