One of my mother’s sisters wrote to me the other day, If I know anything after all this time, it’s that the attention we get is rarely related to anything other than our knowing how to get attention. She should know. This is a woman who used to run marathons with helium balloons tied to the ends of her braids. And she’s just one of seven; when they’re all together there’s usually a fistfight for control of the microphone. I generally take more after the other side of the family, the shy pessimists.

Lately though, I’ve been feeling the exhibitionist urge, hence the blog, which I intend to fill for all to see with the ephemera that’s too good to throw away, the detritus that’s been rescued from oblivion and the miscellanea that remains. So here I give you one of many prized possesions: a gold foil embossed matchbox, empty, ca. 1979, from the aforementioned Aunt’s shop. This was a fantastic place where you could eat ice cream, sign up for a 10k run and buy a kazoo printed with her motto, Say Nice Things about Detroit. As my daughter’s kindergarten teacher remarked with the sneering disdain of a true New Yorker, Detroit? Yeah, that’s a good place to be FROM.