by James B. Nicola I heard my mother’s voice today. Thanksgiving weekend. Ten years this January. My nephew played a very loving voice mail message from her he has kept on his cell phone ten years. My brother said he has kept three such messages. My nephew said he had another one and wept awhile. It made…
By Loren Mayshark A blustery, white January day on Dutch Hollow Road in western New York. I was a benchwarmer freshman on the junior varsity basketball team in a school with about two hundred students. This meant the team was composed of both freshman and sophomore players, and I’d had…
