Author Archives: Ann Wicker

A Short Halloween Story

A few years ago, it was nearly Halloween and I was in Target. Halloween has always been a favorite holiday; I’m kind of amazed that it has become so commercial in recent years. Anyway, I don’t remember what I was … Continue reading

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Old Wine

The wine is a rich, dark, golden yellow – much darker than most of the chardonnays I normally drink. Mark takes photos of the bottle before we cut the foil around the top. The cork crumbles as we try to … Continue reading

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Lists

I make lots of lists. Since the days when my college roommate and my then boyfriend used to take turns adding things to my lists like “breathe” or “pee,” I’ve been an obsessive list maker. My newspaper/magazine jobs required – … Continue reading

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Home, Revisited

The house in which I grew up is for sale. I really don’t know how many times it’s been sold since my dad sold it in the mid-1970s, after we had lived there for about eighteen years. My parents moved … Continue reading

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You Say It’s Your Birthday…

Birthdays are your own personal holiday. And you usually get to hang out with friends to celebrate, which has always been my favorite part. Back when I worked a newspaper job in an office with at least semi-regular hours, I … Continue reading

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The Verities of Memory

Have you ever had a memory that you’re not sure is a memory? There’s a certain building I pass sometimes on Hawthorne Avenue. Every time I go by the building I think about a memory fragment that involves a woman … Continue reading

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Christmas Past

The very best in tacky (and I use this word fondly) Christmas ornaments and decorations used to come from drugstores. When I first lived on my own in the early 1980s, I’d hit the after Christmas sales at Eckerd’s and … Continue reading

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Long Lost Friends

There are some people in your life that you think are always going to be there whether you see them often or not at all. Then you get word they’ve died. Steve was one of those people. We were in … Continue reading

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Lesson Learned

Perhaps seeing the tiny snake on the stoop as I left to go to the Post Office was a portent. The line was long, but not unusual for this branch. I was in line behind a nice older lady who … Continue reading

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Thirty Years

October is the anniversary of my father’s death. I don’t like to celebrate what we used to call “deathaversaries” at the newspaper. But on the anniversary of the day he died, I couldn’t help but think about him. When my … Continue reading

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