Veteran journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall riffs on life as she knows it.
Christmas has gotten to be a scheduling nightmare in our family. Peter lives in Minnesota. Christina lives in Southern California. Jon and I live in Northern California. That puts 400 miles between us and our daughter and 1600 miles between us and our son and daughter-in-law. Not exactly over the river and through the woods. Read more.
My mother’s last words to me were nothing much. No parting words of love. No heartfelt messages to the grandchildren. Read more.
Until very recently, when I thought of China, I didn’t think of fun. I thought of the Cultural Revolution of the ’60s and ’70s, when traditional Chinese men were forced to cut off their queues, and intellectuals were banished to the countryside to till the soil and be reeducated into the proletariat.
I thought I was traveling to China to explore the mysteries of China’s storied past — the big dynasties with their poetic one-syllable names: Ming, Tang, Han. But what really caught my attention was China’s storied present: The skyscrapers. The ubiquitous one-child families. The traffic jams. The fashionistas . . . Read more.
So many books. So little time. And a manuscript deadline — Dec. 1 — looming so near. Debbie Blue’s new book. Don Lattin’s latest. John Shelby Spong’s thoughts on the Gospel of John . . . and so many others. Read more.
China’s one-child families may soon be a thing of the past. But for now, they are very real. Jon and I saw them everywhere during our trip to China in September — and I took lots of pictures of mothers, fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers doting on that one child. Read more.