Despite what you may have heard on the playground, London Bridge is not falling down. In fact, it's quite sturdy. I know this because I rode over London Bridge in a taxi – one of many things I did last week during summer vacation. more

Horn honks. Dad yells upstairs to his daughter; her date has arrived, "He should have the common courtesy to come to the door. I don't know about this guy." more

I sit on the front porch, hearing firecrackers go off from all directions and the laughter of children from nearby streets. The dogs in the neighborhood do not like the tiny explosions, because they do not stop barking all day and into the evening. My new puppy, Sophia, certainly doesn’t know what to think about the new sounds she is hearing. more

have often written of my third great-grandfather, Capt. Peter Daly, an Irish-born soldier in the British army during the American Revolution who settled in Canada after the war. I’ve known Captain Daly’s story since childhood, as it was told me in letters from elderly aunts in Ontario, and long been proud of his loyalty to his homeland. more

I feel guilty. I’ve done a bad, bad thing. And yet I can’t say I wouldn’t do it all over again given the opportunity. more

Can you drive a stick shift? Driving a manual car, writing in cursive, or paying a bill with a check are all activities dropping off the culture.  more

In 1977, when I was about 5 years old, my father bought a new Ford dump truck for his one-man landscaping business. It was big, green, and loud. My 11-year-old brother Greg and I thought this was the greatest thing that could have ever happened to us. more

Ever wonder why I named my weekly newspaper column “RFD”? more

By the time you read this, another Father's Day will have come and gone, and I have no idea how I spent the holiday, because I’m writing this in late May. more

My last baby was born more than 17 years ago. I remember because I gagged nearly every day for nine months before she made her entrance into the world.  more

Not too many years ago could be found on many dairy farmers’ calendars the telephone number of their “cow breeder.” more

As a young girl, I remember that my mom would drive to town from the farm and stop at shops around the square. Typically, there was a stop at the fabric store for notions or material for a new garment. Back then, we all wore homemade clothes except for the people with money or special occasions. more