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I can think of only one proper way to begin this tribute to my father, and that is to retell his two proudest achievements from the 1970s: For years David defined himself with these two touchstones, at least to immediate family. He would drop the phrases into conversation––“former chief of staff, played clarinet at the Guthrie”—when he wanted to emphasize who he was, not that the issue was ever in doubt. Mount Sinai

As my 40th birthday approached, I figured I’d ease through the day. No big deal, just another October workday in New Jersey. Then at 8 AM that morning, my grandfather, Harry Gass the Cantor, called me up on the phone. “Happy birthday! You’re FORTY!!!” he proclaimed with great gusto. And he started singing. That happened….so many years ago. Harry, like so many other fine people we all could name, has passed on, while

The one noticeable blemish of PW&F is the missing middle “g” in the sign, a consequence of fierce playa winds and insufficient architectural/carpentry skills by the alleged artist/caretaker of the project. The “g” was recovered eventually, but I decided to leave well enough alone and proceed without it. The missing letter fit into the backstory of the installation, which is that it’s

Well, here I am in a hotel room in downtown Reno, Nevada, the time on the clock too weird and distressing to mention. But I wanted to get this post out the door (or onto the Internet, to be more precise) while my chosen title was still valid, or at least approximately valid, because it’s now in the wee small hours of Saturday, August 27th. As the savvy traveler knows, the casinos often offer perfectly nice hote

As you may know, I took the stage at a bookstore with two Park High friends and classmates: Mary Dunnewold and Wendy Webb. I presented my novel “Fergus Falls,” and they presented their work. Mary’s book, “Fine, Thanks: Stories from the Cancerland Jungle” is an inspiring memoir of her ordeal with breast cancer, and she has inspired me to share my story concerning the same disease. That story is part of my experience i

This is going to take a little explaining. During the first couple years of my marriage, when we lived in Wanaque, New Jersey, I did the weekly laundry for the two of us at a rinky-dink, down-home establishment called the Midvale Laundromat. In a previous incarnation, however, the place was known as Peggy’s Wash & Fold. I thought (in my fiction writer’s brain) that the earlier name was much better than its replac

July the Fourth, the family and I were relaxing in the house when we heard a crack-crack-cracking noise, followed by a loud crash, followed by an even louder crash. I turned my head to catch the last moments of what we all knew had happened: one of the big trees fell in the backyard, taking a couple smaller ones with it. No one was hurt, no property damaged. But the event was unnerving because it happened without war

The road to Wisdom is narrow but well-paved two-lane highway, absent of commercial activity, graced with spectacular scenery. The route parallels a cold stream, borders pastureland, and in the distance rise the Bitterroot Mountains, jagged and uncompromising. Wisdom appears without much heraldry—no billboards, no suburbs, just a simple sign or two at the edges. I stop at the gift shop. “OK, miss, lay it on me.” say I

August 24, 2021 They don’t call it Powdered Coffee. Neither is it E-Z coffee, nor Lazy Guy’s Coffee, nor Idiot’s Coffee—meaning, so simple an idiot can manage it. Nope, the preparation in question is known far and wide as Instant Coffee. You want some Joe, do you? Well, *poof*, here he be! A slight exaggeration, but still. And with some hazard or danger, you know, because of the caffeine. In the morning, my wife brew