Spending Time with Cain and Abel

By Linda Hoffman Kimball

Spending Time with Cain and Abel: Sibling Rivalry

I am now back from a short stretch with my son and his family who just welcomed their third little boy into the world. The older two are 3 and 5 ½. As every grandmother knows, their own grandsons are the cutest, smartest, cuddliest, most imaginative, and most creative grandsons on the planet. In my case this is actually true.

I spent my first afternoon with the two older boys so Mom, Dad and Baby could have some time together. There was cooperative play with the background music of the Blaze, Octopods and PJ Masks cartoon shows. There was successful parallel play because the younger boy preferred matchbox cars and the older was busy with magnetic tile construction.

Five minutes later, the tide turned.

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By Meg Conley

When I was a kid, I used to stay up late reading. Every night – generally sometime after midnight – my dad would crack my bedroom door open, poke his head in and smile a little, “Okay, Megs. That’s enough. You’ve got school in the morning.” Sometimes he relented when I’d beg for five more …

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September 2016 Editorial and Table of Contents

By Sandra Clark

Welcome fall. The kids troop back in to school. (Some reluctantly march away from the pool and sun and freedom, and others running with open arms to summer-lost friends, routines, and recess; mine were both.) A brisk chill overtook the sun’s  swelter for the first time in months today. Apples. Pears. And pomegranates reddening on …

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The Garden of Eaten

By Melissa Young

 sitI HAVE a crazy aunt. Every family flock has a few colorful birds, and she is one of ours. My aunt is an artist with a flair for the unconventional. From Native American jewelry and belly dancing to the more typical branches of sculpture and painting, her medium is life itself. Nothing she encounters escapes untouched. …

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Yellow Clown

By Elizabeth Sexton

“Non sum quals eram” (I am not who I once was.) –Horace I Daddy is a lifelong member of the Book-of-the-Month Club, and books gather month-by-month, year after year, in tall columns around his bed. They stare down at me each night as he hides behind them to battle. For as long as I can …

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Favorite Things: Running Tourism

By Shelah Miner

Houseboats in a harbor I ran past in Vancouver, BC.

A few years ago, I had a security escort across the Golden Gate Bridge. Not officially, no, but it took about ten minutes to cross the bridge, and during that time at least three different sets of security guards on golf carts came up to ask if everything was okay. I guess that some people who arrive at the bridge, on foot, before the first light of dawn, might be thinking of jumping. I was just crossing an item off my bucket list, and with six kids back asleep in the hotel room, 5am was the best time to head out for a long run.

When I travel, I pack light. But there’s always room in the suitcase for the most important items I take on my trip: running shorts, Nikes, Gu, headlamp, Garmin, and water belt. To me, they’re as essential as my toothbrush and my phone charger. I love creating itineraries for each day of the trip, and for me, that includes an itinerary of where I’ll run each day.

I’m fully convinced that the best way to see any city in the world is at 6am, when there are no crowds, and the only people out on the streets are locals.

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Ephemeral Wings

By Markay Brown

from a James Christensen painting She chases a white butterfly, sleeve wings billowing focused on fair flight while we’re warm in her small sun. Bright vision, she puffs hundreds of wings skyward, twirls, captures white dandelion chaff. We reach unconsciously to brace her, embrace the instant while light burns. While we’re warm in her small …

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How Sharper Than a Serpent’s Tooth

By Mette Ivie Harrison

I found out while sitting in our general practitioner’s office at the side of my youngest daughter, Emily. It was an ordinary room: two padded, metal chairs together across from the doctor and the computer desk. We’d been there many times for immunizations, for strep throat, for a lingering cough that turned into asthma. I …

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leaning out, leaning in, leaning on each other

By Kat Sturman

I was pregnant with my first child and in graduate school when I read Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique. As I listened to my classmates, mostly older mothers, talk at length about the sense of malaise they’d felt when their kids were young, I thought it would never happen to me. I would never fall prey to “the problem that has no name.” I was educated. I had chosen to become a mother, so certainly I would not be one of those women who ferried cub scouts all day and lay in bed at night wondering, “‘Is this all?'”

Fifteen years later, it’s my preoccupying worry.

A few years ago, I won a writing contest, and got a check for $50 in the mail. I didn’t want to cash it; I wanted to frame it. It’s the only time I’ve ever made money for my writing. It was both incredibly gratifying to be paid and a little bit depressing to see that the sum total of years of my work is less than my husband could make in an hour.  Marriage isn’t a competition– I know that. But it still rankles.

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To Ask or Not to Ask: That is the Question

By Kristen Hogan

“What is the universe made of? If it’s not water or air, what is it?” “The universe is made of space.” “Yeah, but what is space?” “Space is empty. It’s nothing. That’s why it’s called space.” “That’s impossible, actually. It has to be made of something.” So begins a conversation with my seven-year-old son. I’m …

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