All The Home Forum
A curlicue of hope for cursive writingWhen my grandson was about 8, he watched me as I penned a letter to a friend. 鈥淗ow do you do that?鈥� he asked, his brow furrowed.聽
In defense of punctuation, a texter鈥檚 lamentIf prose is music, punctuation is its notation. So what to make of the younger generations鈥� fondness for punctuation-free texts?
Reliability took a back seat to style and priceMy first聽car would be one of many I owned that had mechanical quirks and character traits that forced me to adapt, improvise, and grow.
When hills become mountains, and other life lessons from childhoodMy old house and the public pool both seemed smaller now that I had grown up, our essayist writes.聽But not the hill in the park.
Bats are cool, snakes splendid: I鈥檓 on the lookout for Sudden Dave鈥淢uch of what people believe about spiders or bats amounts to slander,鈥� our essayist writes. 鈥淲e usually have to be taught what to fear.鈥�
How to roast your own chestnuts this winterHot-chestnut stands dot the streets of Basel well past Christmas, and it鈥檚 the one downside to spring to see them disappear.
The presence, and the presents, of the pastAs a young boy, I don鈥檛 recall us ever walking; we ran everywhere, because there was so much to run to.
On having too little, too much, and just enoughWe bought used farm machinery at auctions and kept spare parts for breakdowns. Whenever gas prices became an issue, we鈥檇 hitch up our draft horses.
How I was tamed by a jungle of houseplantsAs housesitters, we鈥檇 agreed聽to water the plants. But this was a little intimidating.
On Thanksgiving and beyond, we basked in the shine of Margaret鈥檚 graceMy sister lived with daily challenges. We lined up to help change her life, for the same reason flowers track the sun. That鈥檚 how much shine she had.
I welcome winter鈥檚 gift of reposeSummer in Maine is the time聽to prepare for cold weather.聽But when it arrives, there鈥檚 no lawn to mow or garden to tend.
Intelligence is as intelligence does. Ask my dad.My dad had something to say about traditional gender roles. Mom, it turns out, had some news for him, our essayist writes.
From a stranger, the encouragement to keep tryingI was angry and disappointed. I鈥檓 sure the stranger鈥檚 encouragement was inadvertent 鈥� but it was on target.
John Gould still waits to welcome you homeEven 80 years after his first essay ran in the Monitor, and 19 years since his death, John Gould鈥檚 stories reward readers abundantly.
Pockets full of memoriesIn a previously unpublished piece that essayist John Gould wrote for the Monitor, he reflects on a pocketknife his father acquired in 1886.
Wash, dry, fold, connect: How I found my center at the laundromatAt a big university in a new city, I longed for a sense of community.聽It came upon me unexpectedly in a lavender-scented laundromat.
A John Gould Sampler
Keepsakes and memories: Finding, in the clutter, a life well livedPacking up to move abroad was a chance to look at the letters, scraps, and notes I accumulated over the decades, seeing who I was and how I鈥檇 changed.
Solving the mystery of Clayton鈥檚 toxic legacyOur old neighbor seemed to delight in illegally dumping his used motor oil. But what is that tree that seems to be thriving in the contaminated soil?聽
Field of teens: Despite the bickering, a surprise winI built a baseball diamond on my farm to encourage camaraderie among my nephews. Nothing quite went as planned, but one got a lesson in honesty.
