I wrote this letter to my deceased mother in 2009,when I first started writing my memoir, "The Road Back to Hell". I awoke this morning to another damp pillow. Once again, I had traveled in my dreams to a Friday night at the Phoenix. Was it ’53 or‘54? I know I was only three or four years old. Remember, Mom? It was just the three of us--you, Daddy and me. After our downtown shopping trip, we took a bus to the Phoenix, the neighborhood bar, and grill. This is where we spent many of our Friday nights. The flashing neon…

Like thousands of grandmothers, I spend weeks & weeks getting ready for Christmas Eve. I shop, cook, bake, decorate and lay awake at night hoping that I chose the perfect gifts for each of my precious grandchildren. On Christmas Eve last year, we gathered in the kitchen as we always do. Christmas music was playing, about four different conversations were taking place at the same time, and I was scurrying around pulling the last minute hors d’oeuvres out of the oven. I felt a little tap on my back. I turned around and there was my darling granddaughter, Sophie, holding…