Family stories: Four-year-old Peter’s body was limp. His eyes stared blankly into the Florida sky. We’d been swimming in a pool designed for adults. Read more.
Veteran journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall riffs on life as she knows it.
Our family shrinks and grows. People die. People get born. People get mad and won't talk to you for a while. Kids grow up and find partners of their own, and pretty soon there are brand-new in-laws. And a grandchild or two.
Family stories: Four-year-old Peter’s body was limp. His eyes stared blankly into the Florida sky. We’d been swimming in a pool designed for adults. Read more.
A visit to Falconer country — Mason county — was a must-do stop on my one-woman road trip up and down and across Michigan. A cousin showed me around the old family farms. Read more.
This wedding called for a festive evening dress with panache and color and sparkle. And skin. Lots of it. Arms. Legs. And, what the heck, décolletage. Read more.
As a feminist conversant with the politics of housework, I tried not to be too preoccupied with clean. Then I learned I was allergic to the dustballs under my marital bed. Read more.
Weight lifting can kill you. Death by dead lift and dumbbell can sneak up on you long after you’ve put the weights back in the squat rack. Read more.
Retired is a state of mind. Not a state of paycheck or work schedule or commute or how much time you spend at the office. Read more.
It would be the dinner of my dreams, the married life I’d imagined as a girl back in Detroit. The table would be set, the chicken roasted to a golden brown. Read more.