extended family
All about how to stay connected, strengthen ties and talk politics with your big, happy extended family.
The Boy
Rainy days were chocolate cake days. That was why it was important to always have a box of cake mix in the pantry. He used to stand on his toes to watch his mother bake, waiting for the all-important moment when she needed him to lick the bowl clean. Thirty minutes in the oven, and--hey, presto!--warm decadent chocolate cake was being sliced and plated.
By Lindsey Soliday5 years ago in Families
Storm Cover
“Arrgh! No signal!” The storm in her mind is more severe than the rain pummeling my rooftop. I’ve endured many storms over the century. Up until twenty years ago the Coles took care of any damage Mother Nature inflicted upon me. Now I stand alone, weathered by time but still able to shelter any life that ventures within, as is my purpose.
By L J Purves5 years ago in Families
Heidi and the Barn
The snow lay thick on the ground as Papa’s old Fiat struggled up the hill towards the farm. Heidi and her sisters were beside themselves with excitement. As they rounded the corner, the familiar buildings came into view. The house where Onkel Rolf and Tante Ingeborg lived with their family. The cottage was the home of their grandparents, Mormor and Morfar. During the summer, the flower boxes in the window held a profusion of brightly coloured flowers. And Heidi’s favourite building, the barn.
By margie dahl5 years ago in Families
The summer farm
The Summer Farm I stood, leaning against the still warm hood of my car looking at the barn and surrounding farm where Uncle Henry and Aunt Ruth had taught me so many life lessons that I still carry with me. Looking across the yard at the red wood barn I notice that it is not quite as tall against the sky as I remembered. The tobacco advertisement on the side had faded in the summers that had passed in the twenty years since I stood in this same spot.
By The Invisible Writer5 years ago in Families
Another Old Barn Story
As a pre-teen boy in the 1950’s, escaping the confines of 361 Spring Street in West Bridgewater, Massachusetts, was exhilarating; even if it meant I had to take my younger brother, Chris, with me. It was freeing, knowing parents weren’t looking over our shoulders and we could do what kids do. What that was, was never sure, but it started with walking out of the back door (“don’t slam the door”) and out of our driveway, which, at the time, was made of small sharp stones. Kicking a rock down the street, and crossing over North Elm Street, Chris and I were headed toward the opening on the odd side of Spring, just before reaching the Spring Street School further down on the right side.
By David X. Sheehan5 years ago in Families
Mithai - sweets
My grandpa’s youngest cousin, Dhanilal Kishorilal Srivastava, used to live in Pratapgarh, India. Dhanilal was called DK by everyone. He worked in the post office as a junior finance officer. He lived with his wife Ratna and son Sunil. Nearly every year they would visit us in Lucknow for a few days or we would visit them for a few days.
By Anshuman Kumar5 years ago in Families
Tapestry of Love
It seems Is so Ironic that the heart cry spoken “Lord please make this stop!” was only the beginning. I find myself tracing the tapestry of our life together while admiring the colors and careful placement of every thread in the needle point on the wall. I set up my canvas knowing it will be a long night. It must have taken her months to complete I thought while laying in a field of blue. I would agree with Kendra Cherry in her medically reviewed article published on the website “Very Well Mind” when she stated, “color is a powerful communication tool”. Clearly, her assertive nature of the past is evident in the bold color choices. Yet this part of her personality was buried in the attic. Is only revealed to me through the boxes of real estate sales made in years past. Then my eyes fell on the hummingbirds buzzing in the center remembering those quiet coffee mornings on the back porch. While I experienced the quick decline of communication skills. Now her personal history only shared through the voice of family. For her, only words of wisdom carefully stitched in the tapestry of her needlework are left.
By Angela Kay Dollar5 years ago in Families
