Category Archives: The Small Pictures

I so admired you both for the wonderful friendships that you had. Even for me, 11 & 9 years your junior, I loved that you had friends that felt that 25 Alston Avenue was a welcoming place. And while I … Continue reading →

We’re not talking about the Alamo here.  I’m not referring to where the Texans kept gun powder, cannon balls and other ammo.  We’re talking 25 Alston Avenue, and that small room wedged in between our kitchen and our breakfast room.  … Continue reading →

While it is true that Mommie Soph’s “recipe book” had neither the volume nor diversity of a The Fanny Farmer Cookbook, there were elements in her canon that were true masterpieces.  And I am proud to say, nay… incredibly proud … Continue reading →

Her name was Dorothy, or Dora. Or, at least that was the closest proximity coming from her native Polish. But before I get to that, let me expend a few sentences on “looking up”. Looking up to the both of … Continue reading →