by Shelly Reuben on November 26th

The first picture I ever saw of a naked woman wasn’t in National Geographic Magazine; it was on a calendar ..

by Shelly Reuben on November 20th

Every letter that my father wrote … every unspoken remark before and after every raised eyebrow … every comment that ..

by Shelly Reuben on November 13th

“Samuel Reuben, Jr., your father.” That’s how he signed many of the letters he wrote until my grandfather died. When ..

by Shelly Reuben on November 6th

My father had a favorite phrase from the Bible: THE STONE THAT WAS REJECTED BECAME THE CHIEF CORNERSTONE. ..

by Shelly Reuben on October 30th

The thick, black, inky strokes of a man who used a fountain pen long after the inventors of ballpoints assumed ..

by Shelly Reuben on October 23rd

Samuel Reuben. A solid series of consonants and vowels composing a solid-sounding name that looked strong and reliable on ..

by Shelly Reuben on October 16th

When I was growing up, the Art Institute of Chicago had a real, honest-to-goodness treasure chest behind the central staircase ..

by Shelly Reuben on October 9th

As I write this, it is 11:00 o’clock at night and my eighty-year old Uncle Jack is in town on ..

by Shelly Reuben on October 2nd

Every letter that my father wrote…all…all had about them an empurpled intensity … a flair … an escalation of objects ..

by Shelly Reuben on September 25th

The spirit of Uncle Jack, my father’s brother, was manifested by both a steel safe and a gigantic roll of ..