This full-color illustrated book tells a story of caution yielding to caring, of a friendship growing to full bloom. It is a story that shows us how love, revealed one precious petal at a time, will finally uncover the rare & tender richness of the heart. Illustrator Paul Micich has won numerous awards for his art work. They include Gold & Silver Awards from the Society of Illustrators of Los Angeles, inclusion in Society of Illustrators Shows in New York & inclusion in the "Communication Arts" Illustration Annual. In 1991, he created illustrations for the timeless children's classic, The Littlest Angel. Mary Kay Shanley began her writing career with the Des Moines Register in 1965. Today, she is a freelance writer whose clients include several magazine publishers. SHE TAUGHT ME TO EAT ARTICHOKES is her first book. To order contact; Sta-Kris Inc., P.O. Box 1131, Marshalltown, IA 50158. Telephone 800-369-5676; FAX 515-753-0985.
Practical guidance in key areas of concern for parents, such as peer relations, siblings, motivation and underachievement, discipline, intensity and stress, depression, education planning, and finding professional help.
I was born in Claridon, Ohio, a very small village about ten miles east of Marion, Ohio, on November 9th, 1896. My father, a physician, was at that time practising under the supervision of his cousin, an older physician who had an established practice of long standing. My mother, who had received some of her high school training in Marion, where she had come from New Philadelphia, Ohio, to live with her maternal grandmother, was teaching a country school in Claridon when father met her. I was still a baby and my older sister Elizabeth about three when we moved to Marion, where we settled permanently. Inasmuch as this book has much to do with President Harding and myself, I may sketch briefly the friendly relations which existed early between our families: While my father was working up a practice in Claridon, Mr. Harding, then in his twenties, was struggling with Marion’s now well-known newspaper, The Marion Daily Star. Father, being himself somewhat of a writer, often wrote humorously to Mr. Harding of his experiences among the country-folk, and these letters were edited by Mr. Harding and published in his paper; I remember Mr. Harding’s telling me how delighted he always was to receive them. My father always spoke of Mr. Harding with warmest affection, and, later on, was one of Mr. Harding’s strongest advocates despite the fact that my father was a Democrat. It is very likely that they developed mutual regard and affection for each other back in those days of ambitious editor and country doctor. Certainly no finer tributes could be paid any man than those which I have myself heard from Mr. Harding concerning my father. Mr. Harding’s father was a physician also, and this fact may have strengthened the bond of friendship which early grew to warm regard. As far back as I can remember Dr. Harding had his office in the old Star Building, right across the hall from his editor-son. I believe it is only recently that he has discontinued active practice. I know he has passed his eighty-second birthday. My mother’s attitude in the matter of my relationship to Mr. Harding has not been conducive to discussion with her about her own early acquaintance with the Harding family, but this I know: she must have been attending high school at the same time that some of the Hardings were, because she is only a few years Abigail Harding’s senior. There were, as Miss Abigail Harding has often told me, three “sets” of Harding children: first came Warren, the eldest, then Charity, these two forming the first set; then came “Deac” (Dr. George Tryon Harding III, only brother of Warren) and presumably Mary, the sister who was almost blind and who died about 1910, I think, soon after Warren Harding’s mother passed on; then came Abigail, known to everyone as “Daisy” Harding, and lastly Carolyn, the “baby” of the family. It seems to me there was a child who died very early, though I am not sure about this. My mother had a sister Della who also lived a good part of the time with mother’s and her maternal grandmother, Mrs. Mary Richards, in Marion, and, I believe, went to school there also. Della Williams married a missionary to Burma, India, Howard E. Dudley. Some time after, Carolyn Harding also married a missionary to Burma, Heber Herbert Votaw. Up to that time “Carrie” and “Dell” had been friends, if not intimate at least upon the friendliest kind of terms. However, their husbands were missionaries of decidedly different denominations. Carrie Harding married a Seventh Day Adventist and my Aunt Dell married a Baptist. So from then on their paths diverged. Diverged indeed so widely that my first recollection of hearing the Hardings discussed at any great length is identified with a heated argument between Aunt Dell and my older sister Elizabeth. I remember that Aunt Dell was almost ferocious in her condemnation of the Seventh Day Adventists and their religion which, to her certain knowledge, she said, was a detrimental influence upon the natives wherever it was promulgated. At that time Mrs. Carrie Harding Votaw’s cause was warmly espoused by my older sister who, then in high school and in the English class of Miss Abigail Harding, had met and had developed a girlish “crush” upon her sister, the missionary. I cannot forget that argument, which resulted in more or less of a family quarrel (for even my parents’ loyalty was divided) and was responsible for my aunt’s sudden departure. She took occasion to denounce the Seventh Day Adventist religion before a group of her own denomination at a camp meeting and almost immediately flounced out of the city with her very picturesque family.
"In Here's to the Ladies, theater journalist Eddie Shapiro opens a jewelry box full of glittering surprises, through in-depth conversations with twenty leading women of Broadway. The women he interviewed spent endless hours with him, discussing their careers, offering insights into the iconic shows, changes on Broadway over the last century, and the art (and thrill) of taking the stage night after night. Each of these conversations is guided by Shapiro's expert knowledge of these women's careers, Broadway lore, and the details of famous (and infamous) musicals"--
This is an inspirational account of a typical dad's extraordinary journey through several forgotten life lessons -- and the discovery of one life-changing gift. Jim Higley was a forty-year-old bobblehead. Just like those collectible figurines -- with an oversized head on a bouncy spring -- he had put on a smiling face and bobble through his hectic, overflowing days. Higley's bobbling comes to a screeching halt with the diagnosis of cancer and a summer of healing. But this is not only a cancer story. This book gives the reader a front row seat in the author's discovery of illuminating parallels between the events of his childhood and adulthood, as he delves into his family history with rich, vivid detail. Through humorous and poignant memories, "Bobblehead Dad" unwraps lessons from the past -- revealing meaning in simple moments and the people who fill them -- including the surprise discovery of Higley's most important lesson, quietly waiting for over thirty years. Written in an informal but eloquent voice, the book keeps readers laughing, crying and -- most importantly -- thinking about their own life journey. Higley's distinctive storytelling rhythm, combined with a knack for handling heavy topics with an embraceable voice, quickly draws readers into his experiences -- while launching them on their own journey of self-discovery and reflection.
This novel is a compelling, black comedy of manners and relationships. When the parcel first reaches Rosalind's mail box she is unable to take it out or even to contemplate opening it. It throws her into a series of painful recollections and comic-tragic events, which gradually reveal the nature of the unfortunate experience she has undergone, and eventually leads to an unexpected and, for the reader, superbly satisfying resolution of her pain and distress. The novel combines the robust good humour of Henry Fielding, with the sensitivities of Jane Austen and the satirical playfulness of Evelyn Waugh. This delightful combination produces a black comedy of manners, which, once taken up, can't be put down. 'This is not merely a good book, but a work of brilliance. It establishes Shonagh Koea as a leading New Zealand novelist and a writer of international significance.' - Alistair Paterson
In these linked stories, the constants are the places—from Eight Mile High, the local high school, to Eight Miles High, the local bar; from The Clock, a restaurant that never closes, to Stan’s, a store that sells misfit clothes. Daniels’s characters wander Detroit, a world of concrete, where even a small strip of greenery becomes a hideout for mystery and mayhem. Even when they leave town—to Scout camp, or Washington, DC, or the mythical Up North, they take with them their hardscrabble working-class sensibilities and their determination to do what they must do to get by. With a survival instinct that includes a healthy dose of humor, Daniels’s characters navigate work and love, change and loss, the best they can. These characters don’t have the luxury of feeling sorry for themselves, even when they stumble. They dust themselves off and head back into the ring with another rope-a-dope wisecrack. These stories seem to suggest that we are always coming of age, becoming, trying to figure out what it means to be an adult in this world, attempting to figure out a way to forgive ourselves for not measuring up to our own expectations of what it means to lead a successful, happy life.
If the boy is the father of the man and his culture is the mother, the boy should be married to his culture. Otherwise, the man they produce will be an illegitimate bastard.
