Monday, March 27, 2017

Night sounds intensify as August draws to a close. Though a cooler night air usually means a more comfortable night's sleep, the sounds of singing crickets and katydids always wash me with a bit of melancholy since I associate them with starting back to school.

Getting ready for Canfield Fair was always a rite of passage in bygone days, and it was surely less complicated then than it is today.

The thunder roared in the middle of the night, and suddenly I was wide awake. It wasn't the storm that brought me up out of bed, but my son's sweet dog, Spanky.

In the down-is-up world of American biofuels, success carries enormous costs. The latest evidence of these costs is an amendment tucked into the House version of the 2007 farm bill: As Mexican granular sugar flows into the U.

Back-to-school shopping is a piece of cake with my 16-year-old son, Jon. We don't shop. And I love it.

"You just can't imagine what loneliness is," Dad confessed quietly as he eased his way off our deck that has needed new steps since we moved in (has it really been 13 years?).

Yesterday, as I was driving to buy groceries and fill up the gas tank on my car, I couldn't help but notice the bumper sticker on the pick-up truck ahead of me.

Some of the sagest advice my father ever offered my brothers and me urged us not to "hit back at bullies" because, sooner or later, "They'll get theirs.

It seems to me to be patently unfair that firsts get all the fanfare - first step, first love, first kiss.

Our family has never felt compelled to do "back to school" shopping like some, but since Kathie's lunch bag from last year is worn and stained, during a weak moment in Wal-Mart, I opted to pick up an insulated hot pink bag and a coordinated water bottle that slides neatly inside.
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