A Tale of Two Pizzas

“How’s your pizza?” “It’s excellent.  You’ll love it.” “No seriously, how’s your pizza?”  I lean in a little bit.  “I’m from Jersey,” I add, as I toss my unruly hair, still unsure how to behave with its newly acquired southeastern frizz, over my shoulder.  “Pizza’s important to me,” this last statement delivered with a reverence typically reserved for a discussion about someone’s church, or their family, or the Superbowl. That’s how the conversation began when, one night, on our way to Walmart, I noticed a tiny storefront set back from the road with a sign outside advertising pizza.  Since landing … Continue reading

Modern Family

“Are there any Jewish people here?” My mother asks, over her vanilla yogurt and Swiss cheese sandwich. “I think there are a few in the gated community up the road,” I say, clearing dishes off the table. “Well that’s a relief,” my mom says.  “How did you hear?” “The Jews have secret smoke signals down here, Mom, ones that the Klan don’t recognize.” “Ilene…” my ex-husband says.  It’s the warning call, the one where he tells me to back off.  Just the use of the word Klan is feeding into my mother’s fear that I’ve moved myself and her grandchildren … Continue reading

Jersey Girls Don’t Pump Gas

Have you heard?  I’m a southern belle now, y’all. I’ve left the land of landfills and urban sprawl for quieter pastures.  For a quiet island, to be specific. It’s a different world down here.  I haven’t found a decent slice of pizza since I’ve ventured below the Mason Dixon line,  but I’ve seen more gun and ammo shops than Snooki’s seen the inside of Seaside Heights motel rooms. I like island life, yet it means if I need something more than a kayak rental, I have to drive for it.  The only game in town is a Walmart, and by … Continue reading