The kids aren't alright

I’m in Starbucks the other day, getting my morning coffee fix. The kid behind the counter is super friendly. She apparently hasn’t been in the business long and doesn’t understand that you should never try to socially engage a devoted coffee drinker before they’ve had their first cup. I decide to give her a pass and be friendly back. “How’s your day going so far?” she asks as she takes my card. They always ask that question. Must be a corporate directive. I fake a smile. “Just trying to wake up.” “I hear ya!” Her perkiness is irritating, but I know it doesn’t come from anyplace hostile. I’ll grin and bear it. Later, when I’m awake, I will appreciate her friendliness. She runs my card and han

The Falcon and the Snowman - real lives

Sunday was Mother’s Day. It was my first one after losing my mother in June of 2012. A lot of the day was spent reflecting on my life with her – and that included the shared memories of Chris, Daulton and Mom. My mother was a beauty queen, landing on the front pages of local newspapers all those years ago. My dad, then a young Marine, saw that face and knew instantly that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. I was their firstborn and chose Mom as my best friend and cohort. We were joined at the hip, sharing a wicked sense of sarcasm that could stop a man in his tracks. If there was a road trip, she’d always volunteer to ride shotgun. The 1980s found Mom and me on the road a lot

The young man and the cliff

Written by Christopher Boyce It was a formidable cliff. Even standing there in the deathless indestructibility of my 18 years, it was a very formidable cliff. It scared me. Standing at its foot gazing upwards, I felt my pulse quicken. I was no climber. Still, this would be my cliff to climb one day, for halfway up its massive face on a ledge perched between heaven and hell was the nesting eyrie of falcons. I had glassed the pair for most of the day as they flew home a varied fare of magpies, bluebirds and horned larks for their raucous, ravenous, flutter-flying young. It appeared to be an ancient eyrie. Telltale whitewash underneath it was extensive, inches thick from centuries of use. This

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