I set my briefcase on my gritty kitchen counter and traced the raised gold lettering on the thick ivory card. “You are Invited to a Holiday Cookie Party,” the note read. The invitation was from a fascinating, creative, high–powered executive I had met several months ago. I was surprised and thrilled that she had invited me to such a gathering. Each woman would bring a batch of home-baked cookies, she wrote. We would then get to sample all the cookies and bring a bag of treats home to our families. I adored the idea of getting to bring my teenage dau ...continued...

North Pole ...continued...

I have six brothers and one sister, I'm the seventh child, the only house I've called home is where my parents still live today, 3743 Flora, Ave. Kansas City, Missouri. I attended the Old Faxon Elementary, 3710 Paseo, located on the next street over where we live, so I walked to school with my brothers, Mark and Jeffrey every day. My kindergarten teacher, Ms. Lucky was my first inspiratory of life, I met her after I grew-up and she had gotten married so her last name became Mrs. White, but she'll always be Ms. Lucky to m ...continued...

Because our Mother left when I was 4 and my brother Rich about 18 months old, we were reared primarily by our Father. As a truck driver, Dad was gone 5 to 6 days a week, when we were cared for by a great Aunty who lived downstairs in our duplex home. A true product of the Victorian era, Aunty was born in the 1880's. In her early 40's she had begun to be crippled by rheumatoid arthritis, and by the 1940's was badly incapacitated, hands gnarled, back stooped, knees and hips painful and deformed. She always had someone living with her to help ou ...continued...

One summer we (Bill & Jim with us littler one's carrying the nails) built a addition to the barn, it was 3 stories high with 3 different floors. We thought it was quite sturdy but one day Pop went up to the top, he jumped up and down a few times and said it wasn't sturdy enough and had to be torn down, which we (they) did. One day we (I'm sure it was the older kids) took one- of Pop's cigarette packs and went out to the barn to smoke it. The neighbor lady saw all the smoke coming from the barn and she came out with a pail of water to put out the ...continued...

Six Tips for Surviving the Holiday Season When a Loved One Has Dementia Normally, Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday, a time our family gathered together at my Kansas City home. But that November, my stomach clenched at the thought of our traditional Thursday evening meal. My mother had Alzheimer’s and the holiday would be different. I felt alone but of course I wasn’t: there were 15 million family/friend caregivers helping the five million Americans who have dementia. I’d been through my initial storm of denial and grief. I felt I’d been coping we ...continued...

I was born in London in 1952 to Irish born parents. They both came from Monkstown, a pretty village on Cork harbour about eight miles from Cork city. It was here that I spent my first twenty summers. This wonderful experience caused me to view Ireland through rose-tinted glasses for ever more. Before the opening of Cork airport, in 1961, our annual pilgrimage started on a train from Paddington Station, in London. It took us to Fishguard, a port on the Welsh coast. Then we boarded the Innisfallen ferry, which passed Monkstown on its way up the river Lee to the docks in Cork city. The first p ...continued...

I have commitment and relationship problems because when I was little my parents would make fun of me for liking boys and say I was too young to like anyone. As I grew older the thoughts scarred my mind and now at 20 I have yet to have a boyfriend. My sister has a boyfriend of 2 years and every time I talk to a guy my parents tell me its a waste of time and that I don't need anyone... Now I'm stuck telling myself that. I don't even know what "love" feels like, or what being a girlfriend is like. I am just the lone runner trying to reach the goals of a champion, and ...continued...

Synopsis: A brief but instructive tale on behavior and morality, dear reader. This is a cautionary story for our modern times as we step gently into the 20th century, from July 1901 to August 1902. Karl Krentz rolled the Havana cigar in his mouth with the tip of his thumb and index finger of his right hand, while his left hand methodically opened and closed behind his back. He surveyed the broad expanse of beach below from the high grassy knoll. To his left were the flashing white cliffs that he had always found so compelling. Krentz, at the moment, felt quite pleased with his place ...continued...

The statement that has resonated with me the most throughout this class is, “cultural competence is a journey”. This has become increasingly clear to me as we continue to study different population groups, each with unique beliefs and practices. And the groups we are studying in this class just scratch the surface of the wide variety of population groups that I will serve as a future healthcare professional. I firmly believe that cultural competence requires dedication and life-long commitment. One must continually work to understand cultures different from ...continued...

The Walk "Dad, can you wait for me to take your walk?" My seven year-old son was looking up at me expectantly. His eyebrows were arched over his brown eyes and his close cropped hair was sticking up in three different directions. "Can ya, Dad? Just fifteen minutes." I looked away from my e-mail and smiled at Eric. "Sure, but hurry up and get ...continued...

Preface This family story was written by my late wife Sharla Kay about my Grandma Hattie who lived in the Southern Ozark hill country in the community of Flat Rock located 12 miles east of Summersville, Missouri. Grandma Hattie raised 13 children, twelve girls and one boy, who provided her with 42 grandchildren. A highlight of her grandchildren's visit to Grandma’s house was listening to her relate hill country stories and sing a country ditty about “Ring Down the Bottom of a Kinbow.” <p ...continued...

I love the bumper sticker that reads “Put something exciting between your legs.” In 1961 I bought a 1942 Harley for fifty dollars. I had to do it in secret because my father said I could only have a motorcycle over his dead body. One morning my father was having coffee at the local drug store with Mr. Wood, who had a son, Billy, who was a classmate of mine. “Frank,” he says, “my son wants to buy a motorcycle. I told him that no father in his right mind would ever let his son get something as dangerous as a motorcycle. Then he tells me, your son has one, so it must ...continued...

The first thing in that I can remember is sitting on a stool in my grandfather's house. We were gathered around the fireplace. The stool was a homemade affair, built square and a bout 24 inches tall. Which was about the same height as I was. The room was lit with kerosene lamps whose soft glow competed with the fireplace to light the room. It was about an even match. I was playing with a piece of kindleing about two feet long and about a half inch square. It had been split from a fat pine stump and was hard as iron. For what ever reason I decided to hit him on the head a ...continued...

One of my chief delights in the warm months is watching the hummingbirds that flock to our feeder. They cluster around the feeder, competing for the nectar it provides, swapping out places at the feeding stations. They're always pretty competitive, even if there are only two at the feeder at the time. I wonder that they don't get hurt as they dive down at each other. The competitiveness rivals that of ten year old boys on the playground, only the hummers are in a fight for life-sustaining resources instead of the top of the climbing bars. Sometimes I count as many as ten or fifte ...continued...