My brother Bernie called me last night. He said he was making Limoncello. I love that he and my brother Bob still do that kind of thing. It’s proof they haven’t lost their Italian-ness. The label with my dad’s photo on it is one of Bob’s wine labels. Bernie was peeling lemons as we talked, and I wanted to watch, so we Face-timed, and it was almost…
Alex is getting married. I find this hard to believe because, according to my calculations, she is still twelve and helping me bathe my daughter in the kitchen sink. I was never good at math.…
My dad was never one of those “I love you” guys. He was affectionate, gave me hugs and the occasional kiss on the cheek, but those words never left his lips when I was young.…
These were the names on my street in New Brighton, Pennsylvania when I was growing up: Pfeiffer, Schaeffer, Smeltzer, Pfleghar, Anderson, Golbertson, Tunno. It’s like those second grade quizzes where you pick the one that doesn’t fit. The 50’s and 60’s were not the diversity-loving present. I was born only 10 years after WWII ended, and back then things like internment camps were a reality. My parents wanted…