Standing at the kitchen sink in my quiet country home, I look up. Outside the window, the old pine towers, a stalwart sentinel just there by the drive. At once,

Spring is here at last. With it, the rains have come, and the budding of the leaves, and the flowers. Just before the chicken coop, marigolds march in cheerful rows.

Backpacks drop. Shoes, they plop. Words rush and tumble like stones swirling about in a bubbling brook. And then it comes. “They’ve abandoned us,” he says. His tone is matter

On various college campuses, they gather. Pro-Hamas, pro-Palestinian, anti-Jewish protestors assemble, raising tents, raising Cain, and causing trouble. At Columbia, the young bullies, thugs, and punks have effectively shut down

It was a phenomenon I had noticed before. As the mother of boys who communicated with grunts, finger pointing, and one-syllable words, I’d become an expert. “How was school?” I’d

In Sesame Street parlance, the letter of the day is D, and the word on the street is demolition. But first, a story. Glancing to my left, I see him.

The images were horrifying. The nation watched, riveted, at the slow turn of the giant ship and its unrelenting slide to destruction. Then the crash, and the bridge, it crumpled