Journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall reports from the the second half of life -- on books, writing . . . her husband, house, aging relatives and grown-up kids.
My mother with her grandchildren on the beach at Lake Michigan in 1987. Photo by BF Newhall.
By Barbara Falconer Newhall
The Oakland Tribune, Sunday, September 27, 1987
“Move,” said Peter. “I want to get by.”
My mother looked up from her book and gave my 6 1/2-year-old a hard look. She was sitting on her sofa, in her house, feet up on her coffee table. Reluctantly, she moved her feet to let Peter by. He squeezed wordlessly past. [Read more...]
My son Peter berry picking with his Grandpa. My dad rigged up the berry containers for the expedition. Photo by BF Newhall
By Barbara Falconer Newhall
My friend Jake is a man in his prime. He does triathlons, reads good books, knows all the best hiking trails, drinks nice wines, and likes nothing more than a good, scrappy conversation. In other words, Jake has never been anybody’s rickety old grandpa.
Until recently. [Read more...]
