A
cat ate the first bird I remember. I was four. The bird was much, much younger.
We lived in a Long Island town where ground squirrels and ladybugs
pass for wildlife and nature wasn't part of our lives. Then one day,
the chick – a starling or a house sparrow? - landed in our
fireplace. Mom and Dad decided it was our duty to raise this little
Santa survivor.
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Berlin
Monika walked through the wall. All these years, then just like that. No more climbing, no more digging. No more dying. Neither the first ...
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If you hang out with Ray and me long enough, one of us will tell the story. My version is a mildy amusing short tale of semi-masochistic ani...
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In the most tactical terms, I ski because as a kid, my parents made me. It was like school: I went because I had no choice. That was a lon...
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Her lobster claw hands weren't sexy, and no woman alive would envy her sad little tuft of hair, but that was hardly the point. She had t...