However, when we did occasionally check in on the phone or the rare times she'd actually come upstairs after calling from the payphone on the corner, the conversation would meander about until it landed where it always did.
And then she'd regale me with each and every stop made at each and every fast food place she had seen advertised on TV. Those commercials she watched at home alone with the television brought in after we had all left to our own lives were as powerful as the stories Dorothy heard about Oz
Striding up and down streets and avenues seeking the next promise of the wizard, she'd barely ever stop and sit.
I, of course, adored food, went to restaurants, sat down, and then emailed friends about what I just ate.
Yet, interwoven in between my rebellion against eating on the run, I often found myself striding up streets, relishing something in my hand that cost less that a couple of bucks, and just this past night, as I sailed fast across familiar waters, I sat briefly on old benches I had known since I was a kid, dining on something that could have come from Oz.
MY PRIVATE CONEY presents IT WAS HER NEW YORK, the short stories that accompany the work-in-progress video and photo collection of the same name (myprivateconey.com - media link - IT WAS HER NEW YORK). The stories and the media explore the tender rubble that holds both my mother, Florence's and New York's soul as one disappears into old age and the other into gentrification. All are real observations and/or experiences with very little tall-tale telling.
Except when it makes the story better.
Please visit myprivateconey.com for additional information and sample works.