In Venezuela Dad had a glamor grill built. Italian craftsmen made it of thick aluminum sheet and put a manufacturer’s plate on it: Piaggio, purveyors of fine scooters. That was their Old World humor at work. Dad agreed with Coco Chanel’s maxim. A grill should be two things: classy and fabulous. Actually, I made that…
The cost of the freedom to write, part one
December 8, 2013
I could never have published this while my parents were alive. In fact, it was the deaths of my parents that gave me means and freedom to write whatever I want. Would I give it up to have them alive again? In a second. As flawed as they were, I wish they both could’ve lived…
The cost of the freedom to write, part two
December 8, 2013
Greg left the party every half-hour or so, saying he had to go home to check on the sprinklers, or make a phone call, or “do…uh, something.” He came back a little more friendly and a little looser each time. Greg planned on moving his family up north somewhere; he wasn’t any more specific than…