Burnt Chocolate Stories

In spite of the dangerous, spiteful and stupid actions by this government, I'm not really affected. My investment account rises daily, I can afford whatever prices show up in the stores where I shop for food and clothing. I'm able to take trips and for now, I'm not worried about money, which is strange because I have always been a bit of a worrier. But I am angry and wish terrible things on the people that are making the lives of so many impossible. ICE is nothing more than brown shirts revisited upon us from Nazi Germany. Swooping up innocent, loving families and shipping them off to god knows where. Why? Because they can. Because by the time the legal system catches up to them, if it ever does, no one will know where the dispossessed are living, whether they are alive or dead. I've always been proud to be an American, even when Europe painted us as the Ugly American in some book or other. I've forgotten who coined that term.  And yet, I was still proud of my herit...

At long last, I have completed my memoir about our son Benjamin's ALS diagnosis and the eight years that followed until his death in 2008.  I promised myself that I would complete this memoir by my 80th birthday. I am pleased to report that I was able to fulfill that promise as my 80th birthday was July 16, 2023. Mine is a bittersweet memoir, filled with humor as well as grief. This is my truth. My hope is that you will read my story and gain strength for the challenges in your own life, whatever they may be.  Here are some of the comments I've received from those who have read Shatterproof.   Shatterproof is a beautiful and stunning tribute to and testimony of a mother's love as she supports, advocates and wrestles with her son's ALS diagnosis.  Ellen Blum Barish, essayist and memoirist This book will deeply touch all who read it and help many people who have suffered the loss of a child. Eve Lipchik, MSW, Co-Founder ICF Consultants Barbara captured my imaginat...

 “We need to talk about your blanket, Josh.” I'm seated next to my toddler at the breakfast table. Matt is on his way to Montessori pre-school.  It's just one year old Ben, Josh and me having a quiet morning together, a perfect time for a serious conversation. Three bowls of apple and spice instant oatmeal are scattered on the table between droplets of orange juice and milk. Ben’s high chair tray is splotched with shiny patches of varnish, dents and bits of dried cereal. His hair sticks out in spikes held firm by butter and toast tidbits that he has squished through doughy fingers.  Josh wiggles in his booster chair, making room for his crib blanket next to him. The thermal weave, blue edged satin, thinned comfort cloth mats down easily. His round eyes open wide, head lifted towards me as half a spoonful of cereal goes in his mouth and the other half dribbles down the front of his teddy bear pajama tops.  I take a deep breath and speak with a concerned and I hope...

It’s 7:00 in the morning on a warm July day in 2008. I’m nervous and excited about the prospect of Ben being able to live longer and feel stronger. A new invention, surgically implanted, is supposed to keep his diaphragm moving his lungs so he can breathe. His friend, and film collaborator, is with him in the next room, helping him bathe and dress. Ben is excited, having waited nearly one year for FDA approval. Steve has already gone downstairs to have a quiet breakfast.   My heart races so fast, I think I might be having a heart attack. I take some deep breaths and imagine Ben a few days from now taking steady breaths. I step carefully into the bathtub and turn on the shower, wash my hair and let the hot water massage my back but the tightness in my throat remains.  As I step out of the shower, I slip on the floor and collide with the edge of the toilet seat. In seconds, blood covers the toilet, the floor, my face. The gash is directly above my left eyebrow and may...