Monday, July 26th, 2010
U-Haul Needed
“God moved out of Manhattan a long time ago…” was all I heard. I was listening intently to Gerald as I picked at my cheese Danish at an overpriced but chic coffee shop in the Financial District when that phrase caught my attention. I stopped him mid-sentence and repeated his statement for accuracy and then, pushing my chair back to give my mind room to process what I heard, slowly shook my head and said, “Wow.”
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Monday, July 12th, 2010
Pushed, Pulled, Bumped, Bruised
I was at an amusement park last summer, wearing shorts, a T-shirt, socks and sneakers—perfect, practical attire for a day on my feet. But when my daughters and their friends invited me to join them on “River Rapids,” I wished I had worn my quick-dri, mesh-lined bathing suit and flip-flops. But not wanting to miss creating a memory, I stepped into line, and started calculating my odds of staying dry. Since each raft held eight people, I figured 3-4 would get drenched, 2-3 would get wet and 1-2 would escape with nothing but a splash of spray hitting their faces and momentarily staining their shirts.
I could not have been more wrong.
Read More…
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“God moved out of Manhattan a long time ago…” was all I heard. I was listening intently to Gerald as I picked at my cheese Danish at an overpriced but chic coffee shop in the Financial District when that phrase caught my attention. I stopped him mid-sentence and repeated his statement for accuracy and then, pushing my chair back to give my mind room to process what I heard, slowly shook my head and said, “Wow.”
Read More…
Monday, July 12th, 2010
Pushed, Pulled, Bumped, Bruised
I was at an amusement park last summer, wearing shorts, a T-shirt, socks and sneakers—perfect, practical attire for a day on my feet. But when my daughters and their friends invited me to join them on “River Rapids,” I wished I had worn my quick-dri, mesh-lined bathing suit and flip-flops. But not wanting to miss creating a memory, I stepped into line, and started calculating my odds of staying dry. Since each raft held eight people, I figured 3-4 would get drenched, 2-3 would get wet and 1-2 would escape with nothing but a splash of spray hitting their faces and momentarily staining their shirts.
I could not have been more wrong.
Read More…
I was at an amusement park last summer, wearing shorts, a T-shirt, socks and sneakers—perfect, practical attire for a day on my feet. But when my daughters and their friends invited me to join them on “River Rapids,” I wished I had worn my quick-dri, mesh-lined bathing suit and flip-flops. But not wanting to miss creating a memory, I stepped into line, and started calculating my odds of staying dry. Since each raft held eight people, I figured 3-4 would get drenched, 2-3 would get wet and 1-2 would escape with nothing but a splash of spray hitting their faces and momentarily staining their shirts.
I could not have been more wrong.
Read More…
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