I was nearly asleep when I heard footsteps and glanced up to see my mother standing at the doorway of her bedroom. She looked annoyed, shaking her head in irritation.
"Would you please come take this elderly woman out of my room," she said.
I shuddered and pushed myself to my feet, then followed my mother into her room. It was semi-dark, a splash of light from the adjoining bathroom spilling across the floor and across her bed. As usual, the room was immaculate.
Two matching night stands with huge lamps, adorned with oriental designs, were on either side of the bed, a ...
It was still early as we lined up in front of the flag pole, jostling about, trying to mimic the Israeli Defense Force (IDF) troops to our left. We were volunteers, a mixed-bag of Zionists from literally around the world – New Zealand, Australia and South Africa; Russia, England and Holland; Chile, Canada and the U.S. Surely we could figure out how to stand along the lines painted in the asphalt where we stood and snap to attention when the order came from the commander.
Our hearts were mostly in the right place, but it was tough to look polished and professional wearing ...
I was privy recently to an important conversation with a man named Meylakh Sheykhet. Everything about him seemed a little foreign initially and there was a time not so long ago that it would have been impossible to reach him.
But the world has changed and there’s magic about these days – computers and e-mail; Facebook and Twitter; Google, Yahoo and Bing. You just need to know how to conjure up the proper spells, ahhh, search engines.
On a recent afternoon, I sat inside a windowless meeting room at the Jewish Federation of Greater Atlanta in Midtown, part of a committee looking ...
My friend Bill and I were sitting in Goldberg’s, sharing a bagel and war stories. Both of us are recently retired from that newspaper on Marietta Street and still trying to figure out what we’ll be doing with the rest of our lives.
We toss around a few of the options – airline attendant, junior executive, stocking clerk at Kroger or cashier at QT. Bill adds the “f” word – freelancing. It’s about then that we decide we should be in a bar instead of a southern-fried deli in East Cobb.
Inevitably we find ourselves staring blankly at one another, the same ...
The news earlier this month of the reopening of the Statue of Liberty, once again letting tourists wiggle their way through the iconic figure on Liberty Island, had me tumbling backward to a memorable trip my family took to New York in the early 1990s.
Right here in metro Atlanta, of course, we have our own hotspots – Stone Mountain, the Margaret Mitchell House, CNN, the Big Chicken – but eventually most of us Southerners get a hankering to visit the Big Apple. If you plot out the details before arriving, over a long weekend it’s possible to visit the Central ...
I was witness to an execution in Georgia last week. It was an ugly, painful sight.
I was returning from an errand, turning off of Riverside Drive onto Johnson Ferry Road, just south of the Chattahoochee River where Fulton and Cobb Counties bump up against one another. Traffic came to a sudden halt and I spotted a workman in the middle of the road holding a stop sign.
Additional workers, all sporting reflective vests and DOT hard hats, were standing alongside the road, staring toward a culvert where a stand of oaks and pines had recently been cleared away, part of a ...
The death of Michael Jackson was the top story last week. The entertainer made headlines around the world, praised for his talent, his ability to bridge the gap between blacks and whites with his music and his philanthropic endeavors. He was, almost everyone agreed, a hero.
Such talk had me thinking about someone I had the opportunity to interview years ago, when I was the editor of the Faith & Values section of The Atlanta Constitution. While she had her 15 minutes of fame back in the mid-1990s, not too many people would recall Oseola McCarty today. A quick reminder: She ...
The University of Georgia spread out before me and everything seemed possible. It was 1967 and the fall quarter was to begin in a few days. I had driven up to Athens from Columbus with a friend, his ’64 Chevy filled with several bags of luggage and an old metal footlocker held together with a tangle of rope and masking tape.
It was a lengthy trip. At the time there was no simple way to make it from central Georgia, through Atlanta and on to Athens. The state’s massive interstate system was still mostly an idea in somebody’s desk at the ...
Subscribe to RSS Feed | 