This piece was written in response to a call for pieces on the subject of freedom of expression by Nazy Kaviani. It is also a

I watched my grandmother, squatting before a huge bowl of greens, picking through them with her delicate fingers. Preparation for dinner began just after breakfast,

From Dad’s journal: (Holy day of Ghorban) February 7, 1971 In the still dark of early dawn the black lamb was made ready.  The craw

The next chapter in the memoir series Persianchyld. If you like what you read, I welcome you to visit my main blog at www.persianchyld.blogspot.com. Tadjrish,

This is the next chapter in my memoir series “Persianchyld”. If you like what you read, please visit my blog at persianchyld.blogspot.com and consider subscribing.

Tadjrish, Iran Winter 1970 I was a tiny anchor on a long chain of hands as I was pulled by my aunt, my cousin and

Roshan had not been back to Iran for 8 years when my father’s teaching job offered him a sabbatical year, and it was decided we

Tadjrish, Iran Fall 1970 When I woke, the house was silent and still shedding its darkness with milky early morning shadows. I watched them through