My mother had a career before she was married. She was the head stenographer in the legal department at the newly-constructed Pentagon. She didn’t care much for living in Washington, D.C., so in 1944 she joined the Navy. After WAVE training, they sent her right back to D.C.
Any of you who have read my column over the years know that I fiercely loved my dad. But I don’t think I’ve told you that my dear Pop was an alcoholic. During my school years, he drank from the time he got home until he fell asleep in front of the TV in bed. He wasn’t a mean drunk for the most part; he was a sleepy drunk.
The truth is that nothing is completely safe, and sometimes kids do things that are unwise
It might have been a housewarming party. The backyard was unfinished, so mom put chairs around card tables in the front yard. There were no flowers or hedges yet, but my parents knew the plans they had for that little piece of land under the Big Sky. My childhood flashback came as a result of a get-together we recently attended.
It’s hard to know when I first heard the phrase. It has crept quietly into the modern lexicon, burrowing in like a tick on a dog. There’s nothing wrong with the phrase or the individual words, it’s merely a concept that irritates me. It’s “comfort zone.”
It’s been a crazy few weeks around here. We gathered around the big table to celebrate two birthdays, and have had wonderful doses of family and friends who stopped by on their way to somewhere else. We also have three friends and a cousin who have undergone gravely serious health issues, and have had astonishing recoveries. Let’s just say that my whining prayers for summer sunshine seem quite trivial.
A couple of months ago, I received this letter from my older brother, John Murphy. It echoed some of my own thoughts on the subject, so I thought I would share it with you.
There are thousands of emails swirling around with the subject, “You know you’re old when…” But I don’t need an email to tell me that I am pushing 60 like a self-propelled lawnmower. However, lately I have noticed a few glaring indicators of my stage of life.
I went to a funeral last week for a great man. Johnny Migliore was a Bothell pioneer who lived to be 97. This made me think. Scientists say that many in my generation will easily live to be 100. Is that what I want?
Please, Grandmother? Just one story about Jesus?” The children loved to hear their grandmother tell the story about the mysterious man, Jesus of Nazareth.
I’m writing this on April 4. Got up this morning, grabbed the paper off the porch and filled a teakettle with water. When it boiled, I conjoined it with a tea bag of Earl Grey in a big mug and let it steep. Why am I telling you about this utterly ordinary day in my life? Because today is the 25th anniversary of my mom’s death.
I could hear his five year old voice as soon as he walked in with his father. “Dad? Dad? Dad?” he asked, tugging on Dad’s jacket with each word.
Our sons and their friends made it through those crazy high school years without any serious incidents. But they have…
It seems to happen overnight. A sweet, affectionate, cooperative child becomes challenging, distant and prickly. No matter how well you prepare for adolescence, every parent who has a good relationship with their kid is surprised when this happens.
Several years ago when I was visiting relatives in California, one of my cousins asked me if I wanted to see a picture of her brother, Dave. Now, I know that she had one brother named Jamey who died tragically when I was 18. But David?
Ten years ago when my same son was about 18, he decided to get the first of many tattoos. Someone said to me, “You let him get a tattoo?” I remember answering, “Let? Wouldn’t that imply that I had some control over this kid? Wouldn’t that imply that he asked permission, asked for money, or came to some consensus with at least one of his parents?”
I’m dreaming of a White Thanksgiving … wait a minute. This is not a dream! If you’re just joining us here in the Northwest, you need to know that we often have some crazy weather during the week of Thanksgiving.
If someone is talking to you about hanging up the car keys, please listen, and work out a plan to help you stay involved in life. It’s better than causing an accident because of stubbornness.
I have been shocked and captivated recently by the stories of bullied-teen suicides. Since I have been teased, but never bullied, I watched for stories and examples of bullying in an effort to understand.
I ran into a long-time friend recently, and stopped for a chat. This man is in his early 60s, fit and trim. But when he walked away from me, I noticed something: his jeans looked enormous on him.
Recently I heard an interview with Lord John Alderdice who was instrumental in brokering peace in Ireland over the last decade. At one point he made a comment that peace was not a one-time event, but that they had to maintain a “perpetual table” where grievances and concerns could be addressed.
Perpetual table. Of course.
This summer I have interacted with people from South Africa, Iran, India, China, England, The Netherlands, Taiwan, and of course, Israel and Argentina. Each person has widened my world view, and hopefully, I have done so for them.
My mother had five sisters and one brother. Although he was younger by six years, Mom and her brother, Walt, had a special bond. He was the storyteller.
