Journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall reports from the the second half of life -- on books, writing . . . her husband, house, aging relatives and grown-up kids.
Peter, loaded for bear. Halloween, 1987. Photos by BF Newhall.
By Barbara Falconer Newhall,July 26, 1987, The Oakland Tribune
A week? A whole week? I tried to sound grown up. [Read more...]
Peter leaves home for college. Photo by Barbara Falconer Newhall
By Barbara Falconer Newhall
Most of my grandmother’s children – there were seven of them – lived out their lives within walking distance of their mother’s white frame house in Scottville, Michigan. Not my father. He moved away.
Which is why, when I think of my Grandma Falconer I see the pince-nez, the soft pink skin and the silvery-white hair swept into an up-do — but I also see my grandmother’s figure standing motionless at the foot of her driveway, watching as my family drives out of town. [Read more...]
Every Christmas for many years another pair of hand embroidered pillow cases would arrive from my Grandma Falconer. Photos by BF Newhall
By Barbara Falconer Newhall
I waited too long to get married. By the time Jon and I said our vows, the contents of my hope chest were hopelessly outdated. Unusable.
There wasn’t all that much in my hope chest when I got married, just a few pillowcases hand embroidered by my grandmother, [Read more...]
