Author: ruhlwrite

Chris Bogia opens the door and cranks up ’60s rock on the radio. He likes to listen to music when he works in his studio. The art he does — gluing bits of yarn onto his paintings — requires a steady hand and a mindless head. The space is small, but the walls stand tall. They are gallery white. The floors are gunmetal-grey cement, and the skeins of yarn are stored in clear plastic containers neatly stacked on top of each other in a loft-like partition that he reaches with a ladder. A…

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For Camille Pisciotta, this is just like any other day, except that it isn’t. By the time she’s unlocked the gate at her Pampered Poodle Palace, her big blue eyes are tearing up. “I was never a wimp my entire life,” she says in apology. “You couldn’t get me to cry unless it was at my mother’s wake, but this has torn me up.” “This” refers to the fact that after 47 years, the Pampered Poodle Palace, which Camille raised from a puppy, is being…

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Espresso. Giuseppe Viterale never starts or ends the day without a cup of it. He fires up a little gas burner, spoons in the ground coffee and puts the aluminum one-cup pot atop the steady blue flame. “This is like a religious ritual for me,” he says. As the dark-chocolate drink begins leaking out like crude oil, Giuseppe pours a little into his glass teacup and mixes it with sugar until it has the fluffy froth of mocha mousse. “This is better than any fancy coffee machine,”…

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One day Anna Kril stepped into the shower, and her life fell apart. Which, in the end, was a blessing, because her life didn’t end, it simply moved on to a new beginning. Her life, you see, was perfect. She had a loving husband and two little daughters who adored her. And then she had a lump in her left breast. It was 1993; people didn’t talk about the Big C, especially when it was breast cancer. Anna, who had turned 40, sprang into action. She had a mammogram. It didn’t detect…

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At the end of the corridor, there’s a wall of glass tile that looks like the sparkling waters of a stream struck by sun. It leads to a waiting room of charcoal-colored chairs and bouquets of fresh flowers arranged in vases. In this serene space stands Alma Mesquita, a tower of tranquillity. Stethoscope slung over her shoulders like a shawl, she speaks in soft, lilting tones that promise that no matter what’s wrong, she’ll make everything all right. Alma, a family nurse practitioner,…

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