By Anita Pappas-Raposa My mother wore Chanel No. 5 when she was a young woman. Sometimes, before I visit her at the nursing home, I dab a little on my neck from an old bottle that I use sparingly. I’m trying to make it last. The elegant perfume takes me back to evenings in the …
by Anita Pappas-Raposa I am haunted by a small bird that flew into my chimney. I came home from the hospital on a Thursday, a day early. Not because I’m so well; just couldn’t take the noise. Exiting the car, I see cheerful roofers flinging shingles into a large black net in the front and …
by Anita Pappas-Raposa My father was a big man in a small town, well-known as a Veterans Agent and local politician. Brassy and bold, funny, and high-spirited; everyone seemed to know “Peter, the guy who got things done.” In the first eighteen years of my life, there was little talk of World War II and …
