Maybe it’s the upcoming birthday that’s got me thinking. Actually, it’s not so much the fact that I’m having one as it is the number that’s attached. Some folks would

It was a story followed by many. A family of six; two parents, four boys. The first three born healthy, wrestling and chasing and cuffing each other in that way

Who would’ve thought a race like that could be so fascinating? In a household where the sports channel (whispering here) isn’t king, it’s surprising that a pack of sweaty guys

With summer in full swing and the kids underfoot, we’re running more than a shortage on food. We’ve got a quiet deficit and a noise overload. What happened the other

“It just won’t stop rainin’ in these parts.” That’s what one resident said. “And those storms that blew through here stirred up a terrible mess. Branches, sticks, twigs every which

I think I found Jimmy Hoffa the other day. Like the Sunday School kid who, knowing of Adam’s creation from dust, thought he’d found him under his bed, the thought

They’re quite a troop, this lively trio, and each one of them’s got a story. This one? Adopted. Chosen by two, received with arms, hearts wide open. Then this one,

“Guess who came crawling down at 6:36 a.m.??” It’s Mr. Schrock. My face alights, smile cracking wide. “Mr. Birthday?” I type back, hitting send on the BOP (Bright Orange Phone).

It’s an idea whose time has come. Actually, the country’s been ripe for it since the oil crisis of the Carter administration, but I was young then and hadn’t twigged

Fathers and children. My dad and my husband. The raising of families and the men at the forefront. We’d looked, we kids had, to our dad as provider. And now,