I met my second husband on the right-hand side of East Hampton Main Beach, facing the ocean, early in July 1963. This was before summer rentals soared to $20,000 a month and up. 353 more words
Tags » Memoir
My car battery dies today, so I call AAA. A tattooed technician in his mid 40s arrives. He is blond, Southern accent thick, and his hands are deeply rutted with grease and the trials of a Battery Service Tech. 893 more words
Welcome to Ms. Dean Robertson
Where are you from and where do you live now? I grew up on 200 acres of North Georgia woods; now I live in a 1928 co-op in an urban neighbourhood in Norfolk, Virginia. 802 more words
Yeah, I know. Gripe, gripe, gripe.
But I’m not. Summers as an adult don’t mean I forgot our summers as kids.
The earliest ones were great. 253 more words