Where kids go to grow

Hi. My name is Fernando and I’m eight years old. I am called different things at school because of my teeth (they kind of stick out) and my ears (they stick out too). But it’s okay because my mom calls me mija and it’s the sweetest sound. My baby sister doesn’t Read more…

I roar quietly.

The Antidote by Oliver Burkeman 8 min in bed, 1.14.13   It is one o’clock in the morning and I am wide awake.  I am seven years old and I cannot sleep.  I am a very new seven because my birthday was just three weeks ago, but someone once told my Read more…

no hurry, no worry

I’m always worried.  I worry about all sorts of things from personal finances to the global economic crisis; from my health to the impending doom of the planet’s destruction.  I’m trying to cure myself of this habit but I’m genetically inclined.  My mother was a worrier and her mother before Read more…

the club

Brevity is not my strong suit.  If it can be said in ten words or less I will masterfully find a way to express it in forty.  It’s a gift.  But there is one arena where I am skillfully succinct – sharing my condolences.  It is easy to express myself Read more…

LBD*R.I.P.

Image via Wikipedia When I was growing up the favorite hue of a favorite aunt was anything but black.  Any color was fair game for her closet.  Evenings out were cloaked in patterns of pink (hot) and varying shades of red or wine (from Beaujolais to bordeaux).  Church clothes were Read more…