Alvin didn’t want to be anybody else. He didn’t want to be himself either. Money wasn’t a problem.
They’re widows, old and gray, bent over a quilting frame, sewing to meet a deadline for the next raffle
Summer evenings after the news at 6 p.m. the Widow Murphy comes out of her tiny bungalow and sits on her front porch swing
Niagara Falls her silver hair so long it bounces off the swan
I understand what you mean when you say you’re alone and hope someone rings your bell day or night but that’s not the case with me.
They’re usually poor people, sometimes considered the flotsam of society, always in the way at the grocery store,
Little Nora and Grandpa Bill sit on swings in Grandma’s garden. A hummingbird arrives to sample the brilliant flowers at this buff… Grandpa Bill sees a teaching mome…
I can’t speak for the women attending this conference on Homeland Security. They’re scholars, too, brought here for their expertise.
I used to be flexible about meetings at work. Change the hour of a meeting, no problem for me.
Paul’s in his backyard on a Sunday afternoon barbecuing burgers. His wife and kids are hungry in the house.
You have to be married at least 30 years to know what your wife is thinking before she says it aloud. More than 40 years to know
Our house has a garret I never went up to until I retire… Now I’m up there almost every day unless I have to stay in bed until another spell passes.
Six months ago an old black couple moved into an old brick house on a block of old white people. A dither erupted over the fences
One by one young nurses crisp in their white caps bring the old folks out crumpled in their wheelchairs from this towering building
After Yeats and Heaney, you wonder when the new one will come galloping out of Dublin or perhaps from yet another farm