When I was younger, I bought a third-floor walk-up condo in Boston. That was 16 years ago. The wooden three-unit building was constructed in 1885 by German and Irish laborers. It’s heavy like a ship. The stairs, located inside the building, are made of oak. They had never gotten the better of me over my years of living there. I’d easily bound up and down them all day long, often carrying bags of groceries.
If I took the back stairs, it was four flights up and down.
Clutter is a popular magazine topic. I wanted to write about it in a fresh way. I wanted to address the guilt that comes from getting rid of personal objects and family heirlooms. So I wrote the essay as if I were Judge Judy.
I had no sooner gotten to the office on the morning of April 27, 1978, when my phone began to ring.
Throughout the day, excited callers wanted to know: “Did you hear what he said about you last night!”
“He” being Frank Sinatra.
I couldn’t get Maggie Smith, or any other stars of the show. So I did a phone interview with the castle.
I found a local plastic surgeon that was offering surgery for what he termed “Cell Phone Face.” | It’s a result of looking down so often.
I did this feature on the comeback of the American bald eagle and the National Eagle Center in Wabasha, Minnesota.