The Dramatic Hollywood Rabbit

                 She was not perfect, she didn’t even claim to be.  She just did the best she could.  She was born during WWII, to hard working people.  She had siblings.  They loved but weren’t openly affectionate.  I doubt if communication was important.  Where she learned to hug and kiss and talk I’ll never know, but I know she learned so that her children would always know.           She had to get married, I know she loved my Dad just as he loved her, but sometimes love isn’t enough and sometimes love can be killed.  Unlike so many other divorcees I’ve known, she never passed her new found dislike of my father down.  She informed us, that we had one father and we didn’t get to choose, we had to love him, only when we became older would she admit, that even if we had to love him, it was our choice to respect him or not.  ...

    “Who Shot JR?”, the question that kept America and much of the world in thrall in 1980 was an excellent advertising gimmick that pulled people back to the show.     Many authors who serialized their novels for magazines also used the cliffhanger to their advantage in hopes that it would encourage readers to purchase the next installment. The intent of the cliffhanger - entice the reader to purchase another copy of the magazine/newspaper.  If the circulation of the periodical went up, then the author could charge more for the next serialized story.    However, the use of the cliffhanger in a full length novel is something I find distasteful.     There is nothing like slinking down in bed with a good book and cup of hot chocolate.  Unfettered time, reading a book is like riding the waves.  The reader’s emotions ride the crests and troughs of the storyline.  Readers are willing to have their emotions buffeted...

      Recently, my oldest and dearest friend shared an article about issues only hard core readers understood.  She added, “ You kept an emergency supply of trashy romance novels in the bottom of your school locker and traded them with friends”.  Oh the memories that one statement caused to bloom.  I was a voracious reader, as a young girl I once hid in my closet and read three Nancy Drew’s in one day.  When grounded, my mother took my books away and made me go outside to play.  As I entered into that hormonal high school hell known as puberty, my ability to enter into fantastic stories made life bearable.  To have friends who were just as passionate about leaving the real world behind and entering a world where the good girls always get the good guys was just icing.  I grew up a child of divorce, money was tight and our local librarian had limited space.   What we had was a craving for romance.  Today, romance writers a...

1.     I love you.  Three little words that can make life worth living when meant; three daggers to the heart when said as a lie.  Too often these words are said by a guy to get a girl in bed.  Real love is proven with actions over time.  If said too quickly they lose all meaning. 2.     If you love me you will sleep with me.  The statement should be: If you love me you will wait until I’m ready to have sex.  Just because you love someone doesn’t entitle them to your body. 3.     I’m/you’re on the pill, you/I don’t need a condom .  If the girl is on the pill you have to remember no contraceptive is 100% effective and even if the girl doesn’t get pregnant the pill doesn’t protect against HIV and other venereal diseases.  If the girl is not on the pill then you should plan on buying diapers in about 9 months, and have the doctors check both of you for STDs. 4.     I’ll Pull O...

    Puris, potato and chickpea mixture in tamarand chutney, pani puri water with cilantro and boondis. The first time I ever heard of Bengali Sweet House was at my then boyfriend’s room at college.   One of his relatives had gone to the US and his mother had sent a care package.    Such a little thing, a cloth draw string bag filled with peanuts in a spicey crunchy coating.   I now know those were besan moong phali, but then it was something new and exotic, just like the boyfriend.   Over the next few years as we dated I’d eagerly await the next care package and those little fiery peanuts.    The boyfriend turned into a fiancé and eventually a husband.  One of the little food items that I could never accurately picture were pani puris, little puffy crisp bread that you dip in flavored water.  I thought the man was insane, until we came to India for our Indian Wedding.  He takes me to this little quaint market near Connaug...

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Lal, I was surprised to receive your letter. After all it has been almost five years since we last met. I am sorry for the loss of your son, Raj. Even though we parted on bad terms I would never have wished him any harm. Your request to visit with my son took me by surprise. It forced me to remember things I would rather forget. I remember when I first met Raj. It was the first day of our senior year at high school. He was tall dark and handsome and walked through the halls as if he owned the school, everything a 17 year old girl dreams of. Rumors had run rampant through the school about the new senior boy who had just transferred from California: that he was good in basketball and tennis, had gotten over 1500 on his SATs, and had his own convertible. During the next month every girl in school tried to get him to ask her out. Some even got the nerve to ask him out. He always said no. I was the nice smart girl who was good for borrowing note...

I know both who and what I am.  It is not necessary for anyone else to know.  Only one thing is important.  At the moment, I feel like my insides have been scooped out. I sit here alone.  Again.  The details why aren’t very interesting.  The fact that I received bad news isn’t even interesting.  The fact that my insides feel like they have been scooped is downright boring.   I don’t believe in regret. I don’t believe in guilt. I am practical.  If I can’t change something, then I don’t think about it.  I have conditioned myself to not dwell on things that cannot be changed. Pain.  There are so many types of pain.  The worst kind is when your insides are hollow.  When you hear bad news and know there is absolutely nothing you can do to change it.  The kind you have to live through. The hollowness is not only physical but emotional and rational as well.  The stomach hurts.  Emotions bounce...