One of my Uber Chronicles stories.
My passenger is white, 16, female. She smells like soap, but not girly soap. Soap. She’s heading to school, though it’s after 10:30 a.m.
She says she missed the school bus, then she tried to go to school this morning but the traffic was so bad she…
An article I wrote for the Laurel Independent, published online here and here.
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By Jessie Newburn
“Like father, like son,” some say. Though in the case of the McAuliffe’s four-generational lineage of chiropractors, it’s more like, “Like grandfather, like son, like two daughters and two sons, and then like two more sons, as well…
My lunch plans in DC today got rescheduled after I was already in the city, so I decided to make the best of things and stop by the national mall.
Oy. Warm day. Spring. A weekend. The same day as the way-too-late-in-the-year-this-year Cherry Blossom Festival and the warm weather had the national mall swimming with people,…
Life is good when such a photo opp presents itself. Love Patron.
This little photo is like my family: Dad, mom, me, middle-kid sister and younger brother. Except, not really. I mean, if there was ever a not-alcohol-focused family, it was mine. Not teetotalers by any means. No religious compulsions or reasons not to drink. We…
Lighters and pens are the kind of things that are easy to hand to another person and never see again: the recipient (and new "owner") having no sense they walked off with your stuff.
I had a bunch of stickers lying around that were sort of waiting for a mission, or some final resting place ...…
I grew up with a set of vocabulary cards from the early '60s. Still have them. Here's a gem. A very anachronistic gem.
It's "Hammer," and you'd think if someone was going to make a sign and go through the hassle of actually vandalizing stop signs as this person has done, they'd have checked the spelling, or that someone helping them would have pointed out the mistake, but whatever.
I took this photo at a high school. A high…
I was thinking back on high school and various memories from that time in my life when snippets of learning to drive popped into my mind. My driver's ed teacher was Coach Skelton, and there were both horrors and joys in having him as my instructor.
Coach Skelton--that's what we called him; he wasn't Mr. Skelton…
One of my Uber Chronicles stories.
My next passenger is six minutes away. I find myself at a community college; it’s a nice-looking campus. As I approach my passenger, he thoughtfully waves his hand to identify himself to me. I appreciate this tremendously. He gets in the front seat.
He’s in his early…
Life in the suburbs. One of my neighbors--and I don't know who--likes to drop off holiday-themed goodies now and again. They sign the accompanying cards "Santa," "The Bunny" and so on.
Not complaining. One bit. It's all rather sweet. Literally and figuratively.
Not that it is at the moment, but, oh, how I ever so love listening/dancing/grooving to this song.
And then there's this beaut. Eternal thanks to the inter-webs and various and sundry individual's art and creativity.
I think it was sending my Bay Area-dwelling sister this article about California reservoirs that made me think of the song.
Way back when in another iteration of me in my mid-20s, I was forever moving, rushing, late, stressed, freaked out by all that was on my plate, and adding more by the day. I was unaware then how agitated coffee made me, and drank it daily; I was unaware then how much of my life…
