When I was growing up in Catholic countries (Venezuela, Italy, Colombia), advent calendars were a treasured part of the Christmas holidays. Crafted with beautiful, sparkling art depicting the Nativity, or a family sitting around a lit tree, or other traditional scenes, each 8X10 paper had hidden in the art the numbers 1-24, and a little…
MY FAMILY WAS IN TRANSIT IN WASHINGTON DC IN NOVEMBER, 1963 -- HAVING LEFT ROME, ON OUR WAY TO BOGOTÁ -- WHEN PRESIDENT KENNEDY WAS SHOT. THAT SATURDAY I HAD LOOKED FORWARD TO WATCHING AMERICAN TV, BUT ALL REGULAR PROGRAMMING WAS REPLACED BY COVERAGE OF THE ASSASSINATION, SO WHAT I GOT WAS MY FIRST LOOK…
On July 29, I walked out of Amsterdam ‘s OLVG hospital, my home of twelve weeks, and into Florida’s Shands Hospital. It was almost as easy as it sounds.
My parents were both half Norwegian. Mom's maternal family originally were the Kjilis, which someone at Ellis Island translated as Kelly. Dad's paternal family were the Amundsons, which someone at Ellis Island translated as Amerson.
I recently had the opportunity to be interviewed by writer Zuzanna Fiminska, creator of Project Neighbours, a series of interviews with people from around the world about diversity and a world fit for purpose. This unique initiative is demostrating that there are many ways to see the world, and that they're all right. Please subscribe…
Mom lay listening to the looters shuffle by, wondering how she had ended up in a South American revolution 3,000 miles from home. None of it made any sense.
About a week into the new year, Susie and I were playing when a clod of dirt came flying over the brick wall, narrowly missing Susie’s head. Hey!” I yelled. The wall was too high to see over. I jumped back as another clump of dirt soared into the air. I was getting mad now. “Ma, cosa fai?"
Sarah Miller's recounting of Charles Ingalls' pioneer dreams in Caroline: Little House Revisited could have been written about my father's Foreign Service passion.
If you're going to break The Christmas Rules, don't settle for a misdemeanor: go for a full-out felony.
The ground was sprinkled white by the time we pulled up to Mom’s childhood home on Wilson Street in Winona. It looked like the coating of powdered sugar from the Embassy commissary that Mom shook to over our Norwegian Christmas cookies.