In the dark of night, I hear him. Jumping thuds of a one-legged boy hopping across the hall to the bathroom. Just three days in from my 12 year old breaking his foot, this is all still new to us. A Wednesday night game of Capture the Flag across a golden twilight-splashed church yard, and…

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Crashing and roaring, the wave has picked him up and somersaulted him. Reaching underwater, I grab my wet, wide-eyed son and hug him close. His heart beats madly against his chest, and I can feel it smashing against my arm. “Are you okay, buddy?” I ask, still hugging him tightly to me, my heart pounding…

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Running through the neighborhood, they waved guns and promised vengeance for the death of their 17 year old brother and friend. Small rival gangs had clashed in north Minneapolis, and these young men ached for action. My mom and her neighbors ducked down then but came together to help. Mom called Ann* who knew the…

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Remains of a fight between Mark and I linger in my mind, even though we’ve said sorry and tried to amend it. 9 am is grey. Quiet clouds wait overhead, and a muggy wind blows the maple leaves in desultory turns. The world waits for the storm and we recover from ours. Phone calls interrupt…

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Wind chimes jangle a constant song, and the maple trees whoosh long loud sighs of summer. Twenty-one year old Morgan contemplates virtual art classes, scrolling through her phone, long legs curled up under her on the honey-colored couch. Daniel’s noises are distant, quiet, away down the stairs, his tiny blonde head dwarfed under large white…

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The woman in front of us had coughed and squirmed, her face red as she tried to hold in quiet wheezes. Poor lady. I had wanted to tap her shoulder and assure her it was all right. This March 7th afternoon in Minneapolis basilica grandeur comes to my mind now, two weeks later. Two weeks…

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Buried high inside a wooden cupboard, we find it. “Alley” by Carl Campbell, Creative Commons cc license  A dusty cardboard box with black marker states “Tapes for Car Trips.”  And the music for our family’s road trips stands shoulder to shoulder, encased in black plastic cassette tapes labeled with my Dad’s handwriting. Pink Floyd, Dire…

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In noisy bustling houses, we’ve poured more coffee and settled in close. Photo Credit: Ell Brown, Creative Commons cc license In a sunken living room last night at a friend’s house, I pushed my grey footstool closer and we talked of kids, of this last year, and of the future. Pulling photographs from her purse,…

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