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Yael Zoldan

Digging For Nuts

March 13, 2008, by

It’s March now and the slushy snow is melting. The daylight lasts longer, and the air is beginning to mellow. I should be feeling hopeful and serene. Instead, I suddenly feel as though two crazy squirrels are racing around, digging for nuts in my head. I’ve nicknamed them Purim and Pesach. Affectionately. Purim is the

My Grandmother and the Ladies Auxiliary

January 24, 2008, by

So then she turns to me, her blue eyes faded, the petal soft skin of her cheeks, deeply lined. She smells like Oil of Olay lotion, the pink kind. In the overstuffed chair, she is tiny and her shoulders are bent with the weight of the years. The hands that once were busy are idle

Warm Breezes

December 13, 2007, by

The guy before this one had proposed to me, twice, and I was weary of eager boys and their childish plans. But I’d agreed to this date as a favor to a friend. So, I put on my make-up, high heels, fake smile. This wouldn’t take long. The doorbell rang at 7:00. Not 7:02, not