
Honoring the Gray Haired–and Those Who Help Them
Kids: they’re kind of my thing. Babies, toddlers,… middle school, high school, college… you get the picture. As a mom, as a teacher, it’s been

Kids: they’re kind of my thing. Babies, toddlers,… middle school, high school, college… you get the picture. As a mom, as a teacher, it’s been

In honor of Mother’s Day,here’s a post for the other 364 days… [Originally written and published in my Kenosha News “My Turn” column] I don’t think

They looked at me like I’d killed their grandma. Or at least stolen their candy. In truth, I’d tried to save them from the machine

I write to Josh Groban. No, not like sending him letters in the mail. Like playing his songs while I type. His music demands something.

I’ll never forget the look on her face. I was five, and we were on a school field trip, an Easter party at a park.

For my kids, Easter baskets always came a week early. On Palm Sunday. My mother-in-law sewed adorable outfits, matched them with sweet fancy hats, and

Ugghh! The draft. Not the football one. Or the one that sends young men to war. But the written one that sits for days, weeks,

Cisco Cotto said it one morning on Moody Radio Chicago: “What if we showed as much patience at home as we do fishing?” I’ll admit,

I met him once. Rev. Billy Graham. It was a Monday night. A friend and I were on our way to Art Survey 101, and
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