I have a lot of stuff. I realized this when my husband and I moved into our first apartment. He neatly packed his clothes, books, a few antique cameras, and a box of photos into his little white Neon. I had to make 10 trips in a Mercury Sable that was bursting at the seams….
Author: Zsofia McMullin
Daddy job vs. Mommy job
My husband works for an engineering firm that builds power lines, substations, airports, trash incinerators, and other cool stuff. He brings home videos he produces of huge helicopters carrying pieces of equipment high up in the air, or of a giant auto transformer being lifted by cranes from a freight liner onto a tractor trailer. …
Writer’s block
I don’t know what to write about. That’s not true. I have lots to write about — bits and pieces swirling around my head of life happening, one thing after another, day after day. I want to write about the makeup I bought a few days ago. The strange urge that came over me recently…
Memory
There’s this game I used to play when I was a little girl – maybe 10 or 12. My grandmother lived about 15 minutes from us by car through narrow, cobblestone streets, neighborhoods of small, square houses with messy gardens and metal gates. We visited her almost every Sunday. My brother and I sat in…
No more first kisses
My first kiss tasted like red wine and cigarettes. These are not completely unexpected flavors in someone’s mouth. He was 28, I was 16. He was French, a saxophone player with long hair and an earring. We spent almost every evening together that summer, holding hands, talking, eating dinner, drinking wine. He loved to use…
Immigrant hoarding
A couple of years ago, when I was fresh out of college and living in my first apartment, my parents came to visit from Hungary. Opening a kitchen drawer, my Mom was surprised to find months’ or even years’ worth of Hungarian snacks, spice mixes, and other food stuff stashed away. “Why do I keep…
Family History
The stories start right after Sunday lunch. We are all crammed around our tiny kitchen table – me, my brother, my parents, my fraternal grandmother, and my maternal grandfather. The table only fits four, so my Dad is sitting on the office chair brought out from the living room and I am sitting on a…
Zsofi Writes 