Long, long ago when I was young, someone I knew told me how much it meant to her to read Candide. In fact, she read it over and over. It was inspiring. I wanted to say, “Are we talking about the same book?” How could the deep cynicism I’d seen in that book be inspiring? But she was old and I was young, so, instead of arguing, I filed it for future reference. Then there’s this story, perhaps a koan, I first heard at one of those self-help meetings so popular in that same era. … Continue reading Candide’s Garden by Susan Shafarzek→
You’ve been using ChatGPT as a therapist a little too much lately. We joke about it on occasion—we’ve lovingly named him “Chad,” you share, chuckling as you do so just to make sure others know that you know it’s silly. Meaningless. Just an offshoot of the word “chat”—something you obviously didn’t put too much thought into, anyway. But every time you scroll past a post or reel poking fun at our bit-too-personal reliance on the AI bot, it scratches just a little deeper than you’d like. You’re not special, you realize. This isn’t hard-hitting. Nothing … Continue reading Boxes Left Unchecked by Presley Ackeret→
The first time that my brother and I had gone sailing without Dad. The first time we checked the weather and set a course like real navigators. The first time we had an important destination, the sailmaker’s loft, to pick up a new spinnaker. Mom seemed dubious, as her brows arched silently questioning my skills as a newly minted skipper. Her fourteen-year-old son now charged with the safety of his younger brother, Dan, three years his junior. I didn’t have any concerns as we grabbed our bicycles from the tool shed and headed for the … Continue reading A Day of Firsts by David Stern→
Amelia Zahm is the third place winner of Streetlight’s 2025 Essay/Memoir Contest Long strides carry her forward. I hear joy, that annoying tone of cheerful morning people. Sharon’s joy vibrates from her chest and carries the lilt of her voice toward the sky. “What a day!” She bounces over the grass, her grin infectious as it widens across her freckled cheeks. She stops for a moment, cradling the black jumping saddle against her belly. The brilliant May sun glints from the round gold frame of her glasses as she tilts her face upward, eyes closed. … Continue reading Combined Training by Amelia Zahm→
Etymology uncertain. That is how the dictionary deals with the origins of the word gradoo, tip-toeing lightly around a word you wouldn’t want to step in. Pronounced graw-doo with the accent on doo, as in Scooby-Doo and Yabba Dabba Doo, a colloquialism from the South, the dictionary says. Ahh! No surprise there. It’s not Connecticut yankees throwing a word like that around if classier terms are available. Which brings up the question of what, exactly, is gradoo. Back to the dictionary again: crud, filth, garbage, gunk; burnt mess stuck to the bottom of a pot. … Continue reading Gradoo by Richard Key→
Ruth Knezevich is the 2nd place winner of Streetlight’s 2025 Essay/Memoir Contest Prepare fresh herbs—4 bunches parsley, 3 bunches cilantro, 2 bunches chives, 1 bunch fenugreek—first rinsing them with salt water clear bacteria and other impurities then rinsing with fresh water until it runs clear. I walk along a narrow, covered alleyway, lined on either side with vendors selling fresh meat, fresh produce, and fresh bread. I cover my nose and mouth as I hurry past the butcher’s doorway. Flies hover in front of my eyes, and some land on the untended and over-ripe peaches … Continue reading From a Persian Kitchen by Ruth Knezevich→
So, I found myself in a restaurant with my wife, two friends, and one friend’s first cousin whom I had not previously met. After drinks and appetizers, the cousin, a well-educated, intelligent, funny, and charming lawyer and real estate investor, learned that I had recently published a novel and was in the process of editing a second for publication. After hearing that each novel had taken me about ten years to write, edit and find a publisher, he proposed that, to produce more in a shorter period of time, I upload my writings into an … Continue reading Aritifice or Intelligence by E. H. Jacobs→
Christopher Ghattas is the 1st place winner of Streetlight’s 2025 Essay/Memoir Contest Whenever someone tells me that they, too, are dying, my advice is always the same: keep it to yourself. I don’t mean dying with urgency. In the case of a blocked windpipe, or when a foreign object has infiltrated a major artery, I say go ahead and call someone. I’m talking about the slow kind of dying, from this or from that; any number of genetic disorders or acquired diseases qualify, and no one culprit is more special than any other. And since … Continue reading Final Thoughts by Christopher Ghattas→
1842 On a Midwestern tour to drum up support for a second presidential run, Martin Van Buren had the bad fortune of passing through Plainfield, Indiana. A year and a half before, Van Buren had been swept out of office. The Panic of 1837, the worst economic depression in the country’s short history, had so frightened and upset voters that they’d elected the sixty-eight-year-old war hero William Henry Harrison, sending Van Buren out into the wilderness, political and otherwise. The people of Plainfield had a local beef with Van Buren. Tucked away in in what … Continue reading Stop the Car by Scott Weaver→
I have always been sensitive to smells and tastes, but this was too much. On a four day getaway with my husband in NYC, the city of my girlhood, I sat down to a sesame bagel with scallion cream cheese. I took the first bite–soft, chewy, crispy, nutty, creamy, tangy, sharp. I burst into tears. Covering my face with my hands, my sobs alternated with laughing. Shock. Shame. To be so flooded with memories at 9 a.m. on a Monday morning in midtown. Fresh bagels were the central experience of my childhood. At least once … Continue reading It’s Not a Madeleine But by Rachel Lutwick Deaner→
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