It wasn’t a holiday we celebrated, exactly. After all, life here was a succession of their tricks and my treats. It was just how we rolled on The Three. With

It was the annual open house at the school up the road. For days, the 7-year-old whose blue jeans I launder had been buzzing. For days, the book fair had

Driving into town on a bright, clear day, I see it. To the left, a tall maple with color aflame shouts “glory” from its spot by the road. Turning onto

“Dear Resident Cricket.” That’s how the note began. “After weeks of your cheerful little ‘songs of praise’ down there in the hinterlands (i.e., the basement), I can hardly remember my

It may be one of the strangest stories of the year. In Amherst, Ontario, recently, a 34-year-old woman accidentally ran a marathon. A Canadian wire service, Postmedia News, reported that

It comes on a crisp, fall day. There we are, perched on a sidewalk just before that famous pie. Peering through the plate glass window, it stretches as far as

The headlines have been full of it. With things heating up in what some call “the big sandbox over there,” the nation is looking to President Obama, his minions and

Mr. Schrock came wired with it. In an odd twist of fate, genetics or some inexplicable cosmic mutation, he was born with a unit in place. Why he showed up

He’d awakened, miserable. “I couldn’t get to sleep,” he said, scratching an arm. It’s so itchy.” Sure enough. On legs, arms and chest, red blotches had broken out. “That’s not

When it happens, it’s a crisis. No, I mean it. Look up the word “crisis” in any dictionary, and there’ll be a picture of a microwave oven, black smoke rising,