Veteran journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall riffs on life as she knows it.
Genealogically speaking, I’m not that far removed from Scotland. My father’s father was born near Glasgow. But the complex – presumably – set of beliefs and customs he and his parents brought with them to the shores of Lake Michigan in 1873 are lost to me now. Tartans have given way to Levi’s. Haggis has succumbed to pizza and Chinese take-out. When I think about where I come from, I do not think of Scotland. I think of Michigan. Read More.
My brother-in-law Skip loves to throw a party. This time it was a party in honor of — the Leap Second. Join in, kick back and enjoy the extra second in your life, compliments of Skip. Read more.
Want to see some sexy dancing? My favorite Zumba teachers and their fast-footed Zumba students show their stuff on a video. That’s me on the left. Read more.
My mother is gone, but when she died, she left a few things behind — a battered old purse, a small sofa she liked to call the loveseat. Read more.
An iris blossom close up. Purple. Photo by Barbara Newhall[/caption]
There’s a heck of a lot of erotica going on inside an iris blossom. Stamen. Pistel. Haft. Claws. And, of course, those fuzzy, caterpillar-like beards. Read more.
Can you guess who wrote this? “Of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh.” Hint: The writer’s been dead for at least two millenniums. Read more.