Christina hadn’t called. We had dropped her at the airport hours ago. The flight to Burbank takes only seventy minutes. She should be home by now. But Jon and I still hadn’t gotten the, “I’m home. The plane didn’t crash. My roommate remembered to pick me up, and we didn’t get mugged in the garage,” phone call.
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Journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall reports from the scene – on religion and spirituality, books, writing . . . and life with a husband, a house, a nonagenarian mother, and two twenty-something kids.
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- © 2009 Barbara Falconer Newhall and www.BarbaraFalconerNewhall.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without expressed and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Barbara Falconer Newhall and www.BarbaraFalconerNewhall.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Material originally published and copyrighted by the Oakland Tribune is posted here by permission.
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