I hardly ever feel old—and I never say I’m old—but when I stop to consider the things that have been invented (or radically improved) in my lifetime, I have to admit that I’ve been on this earth for quite a while.
Take hair dryers, for instance. When I was a growing up, hair dryers were comprised of a blower/heater unit, a bonnet—usually made of either rigid plastic or soft vinyl, like a glorified shower cap—and a hose connecting the two. You had to have a good bit of time to use one of these;...
Voice and Vision, Inc. is excited to announce we received a $10,000 grant from Today, Inc. Foundation to be applied to the cost of producing, printing and distributing the second guide in our Help and Hope series: Help and Hope – From Families who have Walked the Walk – Substance Use: The Growing Need to Know. This guide contains at least six chapters written by experts from the “front lines” of the fight to provide a fundamental understanding of substance use and addictions and how...
There’s a plate of tomatoes on my kitchen counter, and I’m
amazed at the memories that are surfacing as I look at it. I really shouldn’t
be too surprised: so many of my memories are tied to food—and I really love a
good tomato. Fat, juicy, locally-grown tomatoes were a summertime staple
in our kitchen when I was growing up. My dad made frequent Saturday treks to Zern’s
Farmer’s Market to buy them. He’d bring home green ones as soon as they hit the
stands, and he’d fry them up for dinner,...
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m just not good with names.” I had run into someone I’d met a few weeks earlier, and I
was embarrassed that I couldn’t remember her name. Like a lot of other people, I
often made this excuse for having forgotten a name. It was fine. She laughed and said she didn’t remember my
name either. She echoed my sentiment, saying she was also bad with names. We chatted for a few minutes then said our
goodbyes. As I walked away, what I’d said about not being good...
Below is an excerpt of an essay by Maria Miller, sharing what she has learned from her daughter’s 10 years of riding lessons on a farm. When my daughter first stepped foot on the Gemmell farm she was small, but fearless. She’d already fought hard in her young life to sit up, stand, and take steps. I tell the story pretty often—that prior to her first riding lesson she could not navigate uneven ground or go up a step on her own, but after 2 lessons, stepped in and out of the barn, a 4-inch...
