Get off my banana

They nearly literally come from nothing — or so it seems. And then they multiply. You might start the week with just a few and end it with a proverbial swarm.
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A happy place defined

We all need a happy place, or at the very least can benefit from one — or a dozen, take your pick. You don’t have to limit yourself to just one happy place. Go ahead; grab a few. They’re free!
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There are heroes amongst us

You might find them wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. They can be dressed in Sunday’s best.
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A dead tree just keeps on growing

It was dead, or nearly so. A massive maple tree that had marked the seasons and passing of time for twice as long as most humans grace the earth.
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To weed the garden… or not

My garden needs weeding. Oh, does it need it. It happens about this time every year. I start out strong, but then summer gets away from me and the weeds are miracle growing like they’ve been fertilized from the heavens.
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Returning home

My husband and I recently indulged in a couple days away as a couple to celebrate our anniversary. When we partake on such expeditions (which isn’t often) we both understand the significance of the outcome. That is, the outcome upon returning home — to a house inhabited by our three sons, some official adults, some nearly so.
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Razzle-dazzle berries

You never know the lessons you might learn from something as small and unassuming as a raspberry.
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What’s in a name? So much to consider

By Jill Pertler Slices of Life It’s one of the first things new parents do after counting to make sure there are 10 fingers and 10 toes. They name the baby. Names are chosen carefully and with great attention to detail. What sort of mean nicknames could kids in the schoolyard find to taunt little Dicky with? Will a weird spelling haunt a kid for life? Does the name of choice rhyme with any...
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Keeping track of me: Walk, climb, move!

Look around; they’re everywhere. Not smartphones, but they frequently work in partnership, like Fred and Wilma but in a less caveperson style. People wear them on the wrist like people used to wear watches, which they are, but that’s just the tip of the flintstone, dear friend.
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The ’90s: A lost decade

We play a name-that-tune game in the car while listening to the radio. Whoever is first to blurt the title of a song and the name of the group or artist singing it wins. Last weekend I encountered a melody unfamiliar to me. When I fessed up to this, my husband said, “It’s a song from the 90s.”
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