THIS AMERICAN LIFE: Starting from Scratch: Making Money the Old Fashioned Way
A story of a hustler in Vegas with a heart of gold. I just wanted to hug this guy, and invite his daughter for a Shabbat meal.
A story of a hustler in Vegas with a heart of gold. I just wanted to hug this guy, and invite his daughter for a Shabbat meal.
i have this uncanny feeling that i’m going to grow up and be a stage mother.
christmas lights twinkling used to sting.
they brightened the street but created a dull
strong ache in my chest. they pricked
and meant a six-year-old cutting blue paper candles
instead of red.
no invitation for secret santa
a never-trimmed, non-existent tree.
and just that strong blue ache.
tonight on a road in jewish jerusalem
a lone tree sparkled in the baptist center
and two girls let out squeal: “a christmas tree!”
our words hushing the cold air
sweetness and nostalgia
a familiar ache.
20 years later
across the world
there is still the sting.
but now it’s longing for
family
and familiarity
togetherness, unity and calm.
the expected. the used to.
and maybe even a bit of the isolation.
In Boston for a one-day shoot and totally charmed by the town, the architecture, and the accompanying suburbs, separated by windy streets, starting-to-get-sparse trees, and brightly painted ginger bread houses. I felt a sense of calm here: maybe the history deletes any possibility of pretension. Boston (and Lexington and Burlington and Cambridge) knows who she is. She’s been around the block and she’s seen it all. There’s a steadiness, an all-knowingness and an ease. American and sturdy, wind-blown but intact. Peaceful. Proud.