Vanishing
Edward Curtin Years ago when I was twenty-seven years-old and my father fifty-eight, we wandered around an off-beat section of a small New England town. There was a section where…
There is a Time for Everything, Even No News That’s Fit to Print
Edward Curtin Substack Without having read the details and having no intention to do so, I am still wondering if The New York’s Times’ advice for Sunday May 17, about…
Rita Mary Rose: A Mother, an Artist and a Soul Still Speaking
Edward Curtin While days like Mother’s Day are corny, they do elicit memories. I think of my mother. She died at the age of 100. Although she was quite debilitated…