The children of summer, the children we once were, don’t read or watch or worry about the weather, they wear it in their skin. Skin wet with a recent shower, or glowing red from a little too much lazing in the sun, it matters not to them. For what these kids have is not only time, as in available hours, but the time of their lives.
What the Body Endures
A woman helps her brother to deal with his addiction, then begins to change her own life.
The Delicate Art of Saying Goodbye to Our Dogs
Our mentor has left us. Vincenzo Rudolfo Pooparetti, dog-father of the Belgian Mafia, has shuffled off this mortal coil. Elvis has left the building. That small brown dog who became such an important part of our lives has passed away.
Who Wears Short-Shorts?
Do you dare wear short-shorts? If you’re my age and can pull off short-shorts, all the power to you. If you’re a young woman with long tanned legs you want to show off, all the power to you. But please — let’s not dress our young girls in short-shorts.
An Open Letter to My Bus Boyfriend
Dear Bus Boyfriend (can I call you BB, babe?)…Today is our anniversary. I’ll forgive you for forgetting it, if only because you have no idea who I am. Just so we don’t have this awkward exchange on our next anniversary, let me jog your memory: I’m the frizzy-haired brunette who gets on the bus a few stops after you in the morning.
Back to Work: The Gong Show
A mom trying to balance work and raising two little boys feels like she’s on a hamster wheel.
Stirring Up The Dust — A Memoir for Father’s Day
While cleaning out his garage a son finds his father’s obituary, which takes him back to the tragic circumstances of his dad’s death and stirs up the past.
Men Leave: Father’s Day Without a Father
On Father’s Day, a woman contemplates the fathers she has known and never known, and how she came to the conclusion that men leave.
Putting Death and Life in Perspective
“Any man’s death diminishes me,” he once intoned, quoting Donne, “because I am involved in mankind.” It made me sad enough to cry, but I didn’t. Instead, I considered how the recent death of a friend had wounded me like a splinter, one that I could not remove. The more I fussed to pull at it, the deeper it settled in my skin and the more irritated the flesh around it grew.
My Father’s Day Gift
I’ve never disliked Irishmen. In fact, being a born Newfoundlander, the lilting accent and ruddy-faced smiles of Dublin make me feel more at home than I usually do on the North American mainland. There is one Irishman, however, towards whom I’ve recently developed a decided antipathy. His name is Murphy. You know, the one whose […]
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