It finally happened. A couple of days after Christmas my Anna caught on. While sitting in her bed with tears in her eyes, she asked me the question parents dread, “Santa isn’t real, is he?” I took a deep breath and replied “No, he isn’t.” And just like that, the magic disappeared. I am writing about it now, just days before Easter, because this will be the first Easter that my eldest daughter will no longer believe that the Easter Bunny came in the night and hid brightly colored eggs in the yard and left sweet treats in her Easter
Month: March 2013
Working from home meant we could vary snack and coffee breaks, change our desks or view, goof off, drink on the job, even spend the day in pajamas, and often meet to gossip or share ideas.
Adams also came to understand how important it was that his carefully crafted photos were reproduced to best effect. At Bender’s invitation, he joined the prestigious Roxburghe Club, an association devoted to fine printing and high standards in book arts.
Imagine your life captured on film for half a century. Imagine that since the age of 7, someone collected your thoughts about life. Imagine that your hopes and dreams, your successes and disappointments, were all recorded and then seen by thousands of people around the world. Participants in the documentary 56 Up lived this experience. In 1964, filmmaker Michael Apted interviewed 14 English children ranging from the boarding school boy who dreamed of entering politics to the little one raised in a children’s home. He continued to interview them every seven years. Their innocent faces as young children were precious.
It was in the late summer of 2011 when I traversed the magical landscapes of Ireland, complete with perfect rainy days, brilliant colorful flowers on every lamppost and windowsill, and quaint pubs filled to the brim with singing men. I was in the middle of my divorce action when I was lucky enough to travel to the country of my ancestors and dreams. When I think about the timing of that trip converging with my need for space and healing I am brought to thoughts of divine intervention, or the oft quoted principle that “everything happens for a reason.” But
His eyes remain shut as he presses the snooze button for the third time. Finally he peeks at the time and the panic of needing to be out the door in 25 minutes jolts him up. No time for a shower. He stumbles to his closet. He stares blankly for an eternity before grabbing something, anything. A glance in the mirror reveals his pants are too wrinkled for wear. Growing crankier by the minute, he remembers that he needs to scrape the ice off of his windshield. “I’m gonna be late,” he mutters. No time for breakfast. He heads for