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.
When I was three or four years old, my mother took me shopping at a big department store in downtown Detroit. It might have been Crowley’s or Kern’s or Hudson’s. Shoppers crowded the aisles and soon, my mother and I got separated and I found myself alone. Read more.
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 friend Nancy is a potter – a world-class ceramist to be exact – and a grandmother. Much as she loves her work, Nancy wants to spend time with her grandsons – and not just a Thanksgiving dinner here and a birthday party there. The trouble is, the young boys live a continent away. Read more.
I emailed my cousin Jeanie. Did she want to visit some of our childhood haunts, like Eagle Top? Read more.
Christmas has gotten to be a scheduling nightmare. 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 2,000 miles between us and our son. Not exactly over the river and through the woods. Read more.
Look what reorganizing my stationery drawers turned up: Coupons from my then 13-year-old daughter Christina promising to do chores around the house — including yard work, for heaven’s sake. Read more.
My trusty point and shoot goes with me everywhere these days. But for my son’s wedding I resolved to Be In The Moment and resist the temptation to digitize every last detail of my son’s big day. Read more.