Personal Essays, Reviews, & Journalism

The Boston Globe: The taste of salt and summers past

My “Munca” was not one of those sweet grandmothers who knit sweaters and smell vaguely of mothballs; she was salty, and proudly so. She took her vodka martinis at 4 o’clock every day. She drank them with her lean, tanned body stretched out on the leather recliner in the wood-paneled den, her legs propped up on her old black dog, Chloe. From this position, she watched all of her shows — from Sex in the City (“those clothes!” she would exclaim) to the many Law & Order spinoffs, whose gruesome autopsies made me pale...

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