I was born the day after Christmas in 1944. We were "High-Holiday-only" Jews; the Christmas tree was artificial, white, and adorned with the Star of David. I was an only child in an already small family, so I was the star of the show. A dubious role indeed.
It wasn't until l was an adult that I realized I'd had a complicated childhood. My father dropped dead in front of me when I was 9. My mother's parents moved in that night. In spite of being a double amputee, Grandma dominated our home from her wheelchair. My childhood: literally death, dismemberment, and my mother—a social-climbing drunk. I’m shocked I turned out okay—you will be, too.
I've always done best when I've followed my heart and laughed in the face of convention. I currently reside outside of New York City, close enough to catch the energy of the city, with my husband and my guilt. I spend my days in hot pursuit of more stories for the funeral.