Issue 245 | The Sun Magazine

May 1996

Readers Write

Moving Out

Pencils, three hundred dollars, slashed tires

By Our Readers


Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the Resurrection.

Arthur Schopenhauer

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Ambivalent Zen

Roshi wears his Yankee cap to breakfast, doesn’t remove it even after we sit down. He has a large collection of hats, but he has worn this one exclusively since I bought it for him last week at Yankee Stadium.

By Lawrence Shainberg
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Bleeding Dharma

She comes in at 4:30 and spends half an hour in the bathroom without speaking to you, and you know why she is washing. She walks upstairs to the bedroom and announces that she has found someone else, she has just spent the night with him, and she is moving out. She blames you.

By Stephen T. Butterfield
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

A Failed Divorce

Living beyond my means in a Manhattan apartment with two babies, no income, and a philandering husband, I suddenly found myself as vulnerable and dependent as any traditional suburban housewife.

By Alix Kates Shulman
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

My Parents’ Furniture

Life is a sitcom; our pain is so ordinary, it’s laughable. Almost everybody goes through this at one time or another. The realtor tells me our society is becoming mobile. I agree. But I wish I didn’t have to sell my parents’ house.

By Jake Gaskins

The Birthday Present

The last time I’d seen Madame was right after I returned from Hazelden, a fancy drug- and alcohol-rehab center in Minnesota. It was now a year later, and my birthday, but considering the circumstances you’d think I wouldn’t have to remind her not to buy me wine.

By Maria Black


My father called two weeks ago and told me that my dog’s health was declining. Ringo has been blind for more than a year and generally sits on the porch smelling the world pass by, oblivious to the flies that dance across his useless eyes.

By Robert Lubbers