Scrambled Nest Egg

Photo by 青 晨 on Unsplash

Growing up, money was a confusing language. For my grandparents, it was High German; with myself, pidgin English and for my mom, Pig Latin.

I was never sure what I was — my grandparents were rich, but I didn’t know if they were rich-rich. I debated as…

When I was a kid, my brother Chris described infinity to me. I imagined an endless solitary ride lassoed to a force with no destination, hurtling through deep space. The cold gasp of infinity winnowed into my consciousness, never to be unremembered.

Fifty something years later, Chris passed in the…

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

1970-something. I’m a fourteen year old New Yorker in Maine. It’s my fifth summer at camp with crisp blond girls and the seamless lives they lead, so smooth compared to mine. Their imagined perfection puckers my thoughts, leaving air pockets of melancholy.

They share a language in which I’m not…

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

My first husband was like a shiny, rotten English apple. Polished yet riddled. Tasty and nasty. He once praised my resourcefulness by saying that I would have survived Auschwitz. For a Protestant to say that to his wife of Jewish heritage was its own brand of ugly. …

Courtesy of Jamie Keenan Design

Growing up, I felt as though I belonged to two families — the one I had before my father died, and the one that we became. Following my father’s death from a five-year battle with cancer, I created myths. He died when I was aged five, so I believed that…

Courtesy Karen Zhao

Towards the end of my mother’s life, our ability to communicate dried up. Like George Costanza, I made mental notes of talking points to cover when I made my weekly call. The free-flowing dialogue we had once enjoyed had evaporated. …

Kaethe Cherney

Author of ’Happy as Larry: A New York Story of Cults, Crushes and Quaaludes’, which has been optioned for a TV adaptation. @happyaslarrynyc

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