While my sister and I may share the same last name, same sense of humor and same freckled cheeks, our stories couldn’t be any more different.  

 What work ethic I have — especially the stamina and energy to plow through until the end — I got from her. Our mother never stopped. My three blood siblings and the four stepchildren she raised can all attest to the fact that she never stopped parenting us.  

 Marjorie Celona’s Y and Leah Stewart’s The History of Us are more than just novels by writers who happen to be female; they’re sensitive, psychologically complex works that deal the nature of identity in ways both singular and incisive.   

I remember riding to Corsi Tree Farm way out in Hamersville, Ohio, in those seats and stretching my short, stubby legs. Today, the ride to Corsi makes me claustrophobic. I can barely move; Dylan’s bony knees clank with mine. Damn Dad’s long-legged McCartney gene. Toys have been swapped out for smartphones, which keep us preoccupied on the long, coiling drive there.    

I was awakened by these sentences in the pre-dawn darkness of Sunday morning. Makes sense. It was our dear mother’s favorite time of day, her favorite day of the week.  

Unearthing a new restaurant is always an adventure, so I was excited to find myself exploring Great Scott! this past Sunday following an excursion with the family to Cincinnati’s Museum Center during the final days its Dinosaurs Alive! exhibit.  

The second sentence of Scotty Anderson’s online bio states that he’s still learning the guitar. That might be a hard sell to anyone who’s ever heard Anderson’s fingers fly effortlessly over the frets of his Telecaster, producing a sound that is both gracefully delicate and powerfully mastered.  

Proponents of the First Amendment and freedom of the press might want to think twice the next time they're considering popping into their corner United Dairy Farmers store for a gallon of milk or a loaf of bread.  

If I ever have a fire, I won't worry about my physical possessions. The family recordings, photos and writings are all I care about -- they're tangible memories and treasures that never tarnish.