All The Home Forum
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Pockets full of memoriesIn a previously unpublished piece that essayist John Gould wrote for the Monitor, he reflects on a pocketknife his father acquired in 1886.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.
Tales from either side of the tillTwo essayists reflect on the humanity and serendipity springing from 鈥� of all places 鈥� the lingering, long wait at the checkout line.
Flops and wobbles: How paddleboarding taught me to be a kid againIn a burst of optimism, I bought an inflatable paddleboard and headed for a lake deep in the Maine woods, out of sight of potential critics.
In the starring role of my dreamsIt鈥檚 five minutes till curtain:聽Can I learn the song lyrics in time? Wait a minute 鈥� I can鈥檛 sing!
The curse of cursive: Why Dave and I need forensics for our cookwareOur moms were masters of the Palmer Method,聽sending the same graceful cursive gazelles loping across the page. Now, how do we tell the difference?
I discover my own, new way to playReturning to piano as an adult, I struggled with pieces I鈥檇 mastered in my youth. Then I set a new goal.
A wordless welcome to rural ItalyNeither of us spoke the other鈥檚 language. But we had one communication tool in common: neighborliness.
Now I鈥檓 delivering novel turns of phraseI tend to forget the correct words for things. Instead of asking my husband if I put the lid on the oatmeal pot, I say, 鈥淒id I hat the sauce?鈥�
My driver鈥檚 ed teacher's life lesson in confidenceMy friend in the passenger seat was watching with me. 鈥淚t鈥檚 an impossible (parking) space,鈥� he said. 鈥淭oo small.鈥澛營 accepted the challenge.
The universal scent of summer hayAmid the fields and pastures of Switzerland, our columnist is transported back to south-central Indiana.
I needed a fence builder. He turned out to be a rock star.Carpenter Grant is compelled to do excellent work.聽Even boulders erode, eventually. But integrity endures.
Seeking the right size for the next momentAttics, garages, and staying put encourage accumulation 鈥� it聽sneaks up like a silent invader. A big move spurs a purge.聽
