Nonfiction, Memoir, Fabulist Fiction & Poetry
I don’t know where the old tin came from. Maybe it held cookies once upon a time, a gift to my parents. I suspect it was found in the old house when they first moved in. (A lot of things were left behind by… Continue Reading “Breathing the Past”
So begins the gothic novel Rebecca, written in 1938 by Dame Daphne du Maurier. My own version might begin, “Last night I dreamt of the house in Clifton Park.” The old farmhouse on Plant Road wasn’t much to look at when my parents purchased… Continue Reading ““Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.””
A certain hill looms large in my memories, although it wasn’t particularly large itself. The yard behind the house in Clifton Park, NY where I grew up (we had yards back then, rather than manicured lawns) was wide enough to contain a swing-set and a clothesline… Continue Reading “A Hill Runs Through It”