Tag Archives: RIP
Found my late husband’s driver’s licence from 1965. Bergen was 22. A young man destined to travel the world. Had we met back then — when I was just one year old — I could have been his carry-on luggage.
Back in 1963, while I was gestating in my mother’s womb, Maruice Sendak‘s Where the Wild Things Are was published. It’s only now — 49 years later — I realize that Sendak’s gruesome, growling, grotesque creatures spawned my pre-menopausal monster. … Continue reading