Our grandfather, the world traveler, spent very little time in the country where we lived. He worked as an antiques…
Fiction
O’er the Ramparts
It’s dusk when the doorbell plays a tinny series of bells that remind Kent of some classical music he can’t name. It’s the first time he’s heard the doorbell, and whoever rang it is the first visitor at his new place.
Jobs for Girls with Artistic Flair (excerpt)
July 1, 1985 Blue Claw, Long Island, New York How freeing it would be—how useful, how illuminating—if a fortune-teller should…