The phone rang at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning. The caller introduced himself as a Broward County homicide detective. I had no clue why Florida law enforcement was calling me in Massachusetts. He asked if I was the sister of Stuart Weiner. And in that moment, I prepared myself to hear something terrible. For a few seconds, I delayed it by remaining silent. “Mrs.…
Returning home, I enter through the front door recently sanded and painted Aegean Blue by my talented carpenter Frank. After many years of rather unwelcoming pea soup green, I dared to go bright and bold. But at this critical stage of the pandemic, I don’t expect to open my blue door for anyone . . . .
I attended an online benefit concert last night. James Taylor sang this song that I can’t get out of my head, but I’m glad it’s with me today, the seventh anniversary of my husband’s passing. My daughter and I had a tearful conversation last night but ended with a promise to each other to remember with joy the father and husband we had — and…
I wonder how my mom felt first seeing me, emerging from her drug-induced coma, the recommended delivery practice in 1944. On a rainy morning perfect for starting a project, I set out stacks of tattered shoe boxes to leaf through her letters from long ago, starting from her wedding day, ending on…
My grandfather had a saying that has been passed down through our family lore, “Honesty isn’t the best policy—it’s the only policy.” In this holiday season, with travel and in-person gatherings in doubt, I gain strength from my family heritage and the inspiring history of my predecessors. My dear grandparents on both sides set my moral compass. One of my goals in life is to…
I grew up in New Jersey in the 1950s. Halloween costumes that you could buy at the five and ten were pretty basic, like a spooky skeleton or a scary witch. But not all families had the money to buy ready-made costumes. The white bedsheet or tablecloth with holes cut out for eyes saved the day. 🍭 We carried brown paper grocery bags to collect our…
My dishwasher, loaded up and ready to go, wouldn’t start the other night. I had my son tinker with it—he took apart the electronic control panel and concluded after researching on YouTube that it had to be replaced. A friend had given me the dishwasher—a Kenmore—when she remodeled her kitchen. I’ve had the free use of it for seven years. It didn’t owe me a…
Fall has always been my favorite season, the start of my own yearly cycle with a late August birthday; the beginning of the Jewish New Year, a family celebration with an important element of spiritual introspection; and the beginning of the school year with its promise of more exposure to our historic, scientific, and cultural world treasure. 🍁The name “fall” first shows up in mid-16th…
Dear Readers, The annual memorial ceremony where the names of all 9/11 victims are read by their families at Ground Zero will be conducted virtually, like most everything else in this pandemic year. I am re-issuing my piece about my visit to the 9/11 memorial site two years ago for new subscribers who may wish to read it. You can find it here: https://barrielevine.com/ground-zero/ I…
After my freshman year in college, I was hired as a counselor at an overnight camp in Connecticut. When I went for the interview in a New York City office, I mentioned my skills as a self-taught archer. They didn’t have an archery program but created one on the spot and offered me a fifty dollar premium. I accepted, my summer job secured. What I…
An un-birthday is an event that is typically celebrated on any of the 364/365 days on which it is not a person’s birthday. The term was coined by Lewis Carroll in his 1871 novel Through the Looking Glass. I hereby declare today my un-birthday due to a couple of unexpected gifts that uplifted my spirits. I’ve been corresponding with a college student in a penpal program initiated…
The three assignments I remember most from high school English are the classic short stories by two famous authors you know—The Pit and the Pendulum by Edgar Allan Poe and The Jumping Frog of Calaveras County by Mark Twain—and a third one written in 1948 by 31-year-old Shirley Jackson, The Lottery. I must have been 14 or 15 when I first read The Lottery, the…
It’s a steamy afternoon in New England, putting me in a snarky (otherwise defined as a testy, irritable) mood. The heat and humidity wilt me completely. Those of you who similarly experience this weather and its effects, I share your pain in this poem. SCROOGE OF SUMMER Summer is too hot! too bright! too long! too loud! ☀️ ☀️…
My Grandma Gitel was born Gussie Dickstein in Parritz, Russia in 1891. She lost her mom Jennie when she was very young, possibly at childbirth; her father Izzy (Israel) remarried soon as he could in the custom of the day, needing someone to help care for the family. She spoke ill of her stepmother, an unpleasant woman who singled her out for harsh treatment and…
In this year of the pandemic, our younger generations will miss the opportunity to attend school in the ways we took for granted—reporting to homeroom every morning, a classroom for each subject, cafeteria lunch breaks, assemblies, interscholastic sports, debate tournaments, proms, field trips, so much more. In my junior high days in the 1950s, we complained about the red romper suits required for gym. Miss…
July Fourth is the big one — city parades with floats, fireworks and firecrackers, high school bands, barbecues and beaches. Memorial Day, the little sibling, normally warrants a short local parade, flags at automobile dealerships, summer clothing sales at the mall, iffy weather in New England. Like today, overcast, damp, not quite reaching mid-fifties. Not many ventured out for gatherings at home or in the park,…
In pandemic days, I am reminded of what makes me stronger. The only catch is, I need to reach back in time to find it . . . . My grandparents, immigrants from Lemberg, Austria, settled on the north shore of Long Island after they left their first destination, New York City, in the 1930s. They raised seven children, the first two of whom were…
I awaken to a snow cover that fell overnight, winter’s random swipe at New England. I light a fire to take out the chill in the living room, when I had hoped to work in the garden. The season is upside down from its usual progression. Nothing is normal in the age of the coronavirus unleashed upon us. INNOCENCE I spent the first week of…
A light-hearted story I wrote before the pandemic, when we could meet old friends or a new love and clink our wine glasses together over dinner . . . . RITA & MANNY I slather sunblock on my arms and legs and pull my straw hat down firmly onto my head. I expect to mess up my T-shirt and shorts with dirt and my knees…
This morning I attended religious services at my synagogue. Setting up ZOOM, the New England town common of our times, was easy. I loved the experience of sitting down with my mug of hot coffee in front of the computer, meeting my fellow congregants who had time-and-space traveled to the site. The Rabbi read a modern translation of Psalm 92 that resonated with me. I…