Based on the e-mails, brickbats and live grenades sent me the last few weeks, it’s time to come clean: I kidnapped the Lindbergh baby.
My daughter Caroline is putting her driver’s permit to good use, always asking if there is any place I need to go, ever willing to drive me.
I am proud – if a bit startled – to report that my younger cousin brought her own baby to Thanksgiving dinner this year.
Even before Ann Veneman quietly submitted her resignation as secretary of agriculture Nov. 12, the Washington grapevine hung heavy with a long list of likely replacements.
The surprise came from two words cropping up in the exit poll reports. Moral values. The election was hinging on moral values.
Just this past week, I once again had a meeting with school officials regarding Cort’s on-going struggle with his health and how that pertains to his education.
Obviously, I am failing to see the big picture, money wise, and for this (and my being a writer – a career path which ranks slightly lower than illegal alien bus boy in terms of financial success), I’m unlikely to ever be obscenely, or even G-ratedly, rich.
It hardly seems like two years have passed, but the registration brochures circulating for the Ohio Dairy Management Conference confirm that they have.
With the holidays just around the corner, many of us make a special effort to prepare special foods that are a part of our family traditions.
I am decidedly a country girl from way back, but I confess to one odd trait that makes me look like a city kid in the biggest way.