Tag Archives: Philadelphia

Bovine bliss

As a child growing up in Philadelphia, I neither knew nor cared much about cows. When the family piled into our car and headed west through the dairy states towards Minnesota, my dad’s home, I enjoyed seeing them, and idly … Continue reading

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Vote, or else!

Back in July I spent some time in my home town, Philadelphia, with David, one of my two brothers. David lives in a house in the middle of a park in South Philly. He works for the city, and helps … Continue reading

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Nuns off the leash

Nuns were a big part of my life for the eight years I attended Catholic school in a neighborhood in Philadelphia called Manayunk. At St. John the Baptist, we were taught by Sister Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary … Continue reading

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A stench in the ear

When I lived in the six hundred block of Federal Street, in Philly, I needed air conditioning— not because of the heat, but because of the noise. At night, the racket from car horns, radios, and drunk pedestrians often robbed … Continue reading

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Why the Bacon Brothers should friend me

A few months ago, I landed on the Bacon Brothers’ facebook page and sent a friend request. They have almost five thousand friends, I reasoned. They can’t know them all. Why did I want to be friends with the Bacon … Continue reading

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The Upside of Aging

Aging failed to absorb my thoughts too much until my friends began whining about wrinkles and expanding waists. Some of them even uttered the awful word, face-lift. Oh wait, that’s a lie. The first time I gave a thought to … Continue reading

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Breaking Up With Hooligans

In Roxborough, the Philadelphia neighborhood where my family moved in 1963, the first fast food restaurant to litter the landscape was Gino’s. We’d eaten steak sandwiches and hoagies from Delassandro’s, in Wissahickon, for years, but Gino’s was the first hamburger … Continue reading

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Reconnecting in paradise

Three years ago, my cousin was diagnosed with breast cancer. The thought of losing her galvanized me. We began talking again, visiting each other, sharing secrets the way we did in childhood. But I had one foot in Philly and the other in Costa Rica by then. We decided she had to come for a visit- the sooner the better. “I won’t go through chemotherapy again,” she said, in the understated way she has. Continue reading

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You CAN go home again

In Spanish, the word casa means house; as far as I can tell, there’s no word that means home. In English, we differentiate between house and home, but often use the two words interchangeably. Lately, I’ve been wondering: How can … Continue reading

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Meet me on South Street

This week marks the 40th anniversary of the South Street Renaissance, and I’m thrilled that my visit coincides with the festivities. I’m sure South Street will have changed in the year and a half I’ve been gone, but not as much as it did between the seventies and eighties. Continue reading

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