“How much is that doggie in the window? The one with the waggly tail?”
“You’re not gonna put my name in there, are you?”
It was morning, and the boys and I had just finished reading back-to-back Curious George stories when Delilah, our cat, came in.
Question: If a lahar occurs, and you are living in a valley area downhill from the volcano, do you:
Over the past 50 years, as the education system has gone through drastic change, one tradition has remained surprisingly constant. Prom. The classic coming-of-age moment, the rite of passage for graduating seniors and the crowning event of high school, Prom has been the cause of countless romances, poor decisions, unintended pregnancies, rushed marriages, tearful fights, messy breakups and good stories to tell your future kids.
My husband shuddered slightly as he stood silently listening, the telephone receiver pressed to an ear.
My personal battle with anxiety came to a head four years ago.
In 2005, my parents invited my husband and me for a weekend in the cabins at Kalaloch Lodge on the coast. Being that my father was a very frugal man and could not fathom paying the steep summer rates, we went during February – the off-season, when it is typically gray and wet.
OK. This is pathetic, but I’m going forward with it anyway. I got “unfriended” on Facebook.
It’s a Thursday night. The woman steps out of an old sedan and into the dark, chilly drizzle. She trudges toward the door, her progress slowed by a limp. Her weathered face gathers in a smile as a tinkling bell announces her arrival at Fish Food Bank.
Here beyond the fringes of suburban sprawl, we guard our space jealously, hoping that the miles between our homes and the hood might ensure peace and security, that our isolation will somehow protect us from harm.
I’m standing inside Safeway on 26th and Pearl staring blankly at the message on the ATM screen. “Your cash cannot be processed or returned at this time. Please call for help.”
On any given day I may encounter pirates searching for treasure, waiters serving fly pie soup, or woodland trolls with rotting teeth and an insatiable hunger for goldfish crackers. I take out the trash only to return to a houseful of screeching, flapping pterodactyls. Whoever said dinosaurs are extinct has never been to our house.
For I don’t know how many years, I have collected articles from the newspaper. I have them copied and in a notebook called “Your World.”
A large, official-looking envelope sat on the counter. It had my name on it. When I was younger, this sight would have inspired me to jump and squirm in restless anticipation, but as a high school senior all I allowed myself was a discreet fist pump.
News Tribune Editorial Writers
Special to The News Tribune
- Katie Baird
- Richard S. Davis
- Bill Hall
- Karen Irwin · blog
- Maggie McGuire · blog
- Brian O'Neill
- David Seago · blog
Community Columnists · 2013
Community Columnists · 2012
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