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Playing with Words
My father plays the drums. He also tells stories. When I was a child, he entertained our family at dinnertime with colorful observations about playing
Flying Home for Funerals
Here’s what no one told us when we moved to a far-away land clutching a bag full of youthful dreams for our future: One day,
Little Scraps of Paper
Kids and drunks have a lot in common. They’re brutally honest, totally unpredictable, and anxious to be noticed, even if it means jumping up and
The Boy Who Chased Butterflies
As a child, my brother, Curtis Rawsthorne, liked to chase insects, moths, and butterflies. I have an image of him on a random ridge of
King of Kings
Lovely to see so many members of the press corps here today. I know how busy you are covering Omicron, Ghislaine, and Harry and Meghan’s
Wake Up, Santa!
In 1972 I won the coveted role of the talking Christmas tree at South Hills Village in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, a classic suburban shopping mall whose
When I’m Sixty-Four
Another song lyric comes true. I shouldn’t be surprised that sixty-four sneaked up on me, but since I’ve spent most of the last three decades
Running on Empty
I stopped drinking a year ago. Those of you familiar with my tales of debauchery and hijinks from the piano lounge might find it hard
Swamp Rats and Other Thoughts
I do so love a good costume drama. Did you watch Bridgerton? I did, and I am bothered by the heaving bosoms, not because I
