When my family moved to the Oley Valley, I was in the second grade. The village had less than 2000 residents, one traffic light, and no football team. The Main Street was, and still is, lined with brick Victorians and old stone farmhouses. There’s the M & M... read more
With their cell phones as extensions of their hands, my kids expect I will be available at all times, under any circumstances. They text and call until I respond. It drives me batty. Mom? Are you there? Text back! Most times, these super urgent texts are to inform me... read more
(Stick A Flag In Your Yard, Redux) In 1970 the Vietnam War was unpopular. My father was a medical resident, specializing in orthopedics, and therefore excused from military service as part of The Berry Plan. The draft couldn’t take him. Still there was an unconscious... read more
The metaphorical light at the end of the parenting tunnel is growing brighter. As my kids near their launch into the great big world, I realize I’ve passed the halfway point. The hard, physical work of parenthood is behind me. While the last sixteen years have been... read more
I love chewing gum. And on occasion, I have set my morals aside to get my hands on some. When I was five years old, we lived in a quiet (almost no people) town on the eastern shore of Maryland. There wasn’t much to do. So whenever family visited from Pennsylvania, my... read more
When I was nine years old and my younger sister was a preschooler, my brothers and I convinced her she could fly—like a bird. We lived on a small farm with a huge stone bank barn. We walked her to the top of the hill that abutted the barn and told her to back up and... read more
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