I’ve always had a bit of an adversity to the word ‘best’-best cup of coffee, best basketball team, best day ever. But I must say, I was blest to grow up with a ‘best’ friend since I was five.
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What could be more peaceful than sipping a hot cup of tea, with honey and lemon, a quiet morning and the spirited dance of hummingbirds?
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There are so few locals living in their ancestral homes, and those who remain seem to now live on the outskirts-often in more ways than one- with some bit of gratitude to be able to live here at all.
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I haven’t left Long Island in nearly a year and a half, yet the anticipation of the change of seasons feels like an outing,
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Cotton Candy, Candied Apple, Hot Dog! The carnival is coming to town!
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Now the commander of the club, my father, had full say over the rules and regulations of the ‘clean-plate club’-you had to eat everything on your plate no matter what-head cheese, tripe, borscht-the only one that had any power over the commander was my mother.
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For the past year and a half our smiles were often hidden behind our masks. We had to learn how to smile with our eyes-and nod a little I guess, to let people know that we saw them, acknowledged them, that we were friend not foe.
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