In the predawn darkness I sit, sipping fresh coffee and scratching the next column on unlined sheets of printer paper. I’ve forgotten my backpack, the carry-all that I sling over

Alarm rings.  Stalk, bleary eyed, to bathroom to initiate getting-dressed proceedings.  Note husband’s unenthusiastic response when his iPhone alarm sounds. Jockey for space at sink with husband.  Mutter, “This town

“No,” he said calmly.  “I’m not tired.  I’m just finking.” Curious, now, about what four-year-olds “fink” about, I put it to him direct:  “What are you ‘finking’ about?” Without hesitation,

“Seventy-three shopping days left,” read a friend’s Facebook status recently. I nearly croaked. “Stop!” I wanted to shout at the screen. “Cut that out. It’s far too early for that

The reason I’m thinking on this today is because I saw all of this on the face of my little boy this past weekend.  His auntie from the land of

I used to be bilingual. As a little girl, I had full command of both the English language and the Pennsylvania Dutch dialect, the language of my forebears. Now, while

If it’s the oil that needs changing, he’s all over it. If I need a picture hung, wood split, or the vehicles washed, he’s my man. It’s the frequent –

This is the announcement Little made just this Saturday morning past to his daddy. “I need lunch money,” he added, “and somebody needs to help me cross the road.” He

Ladies and gentlemen, get your voting hands warmed up. In just a few short weeks, Americans everywhere will have the opportunity to exercise that very basic right, the selection of

It was Saturday evening, and the Schrocks (the ones that still live here) were converging at Dad Schrock’s place for a bit of patio roof repair before the onset of