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 ..

by Shelly Reuben on September 18th

Deluxe Tuxedo Rental was the name of the store that my father owned and operated on the South Side of ..

by Shelly Reuben on September 11th

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

by Shelly Reuben on September 4th

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

by Shelly Reuben on August 28th

I left home when I was eighteen years old. I had the electricity of youth agitating through my veins, and ..

by Shelly Reuben on August 21st

Samuel Reuben looked like a father, not like someone you would have an Oedipus complex about. He never seemed ..

by Shelly Reuben on August 14th

I am in my bedroom with my sister, Selma. An imaginary center-line divides her side from mine. Her side has ..