We arrived at the little coastal town of Placencia, Belize, Monday afternoon. Lots of big, fancy houses on the outskirts of town, with sparkling canals running between green, well-kept lawns. Resorts. Guest houses. Signs all along the road with the names of American realtors such as Coldwell Bankers. “Americans own all of this,” Bert told
You Better Belize It! Part 2 Read More »
Our trip started here: slumped shivering and tired in those uncomfortable airport seats while we waited for our early morning flight for Belize City. Using beach towels and backpacks for pillows, charging phones while we (kind of) slept. You know the drill. The next thing we knew, we were here. The world was warm and
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We parked beside a minivan of Trump voters. At least we joked that’s what they were when the driver veered in front of us at the stoplight, just before turning into the Mall of America parking garage. Out on the highway, Elizabeth, who was driving, had been labeling all the vehicles we passed. Well-put-together older
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I have almost reached my three year blogiversary. Not quite. But in honor of it, today I present the first post I ever published, and still one of my favorites, entitled “I Call My Brother Fat Boy.” P.S. I seldom call him Fat Boy anymore. But I just did the other day, and yes, he
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Or a dying deer: Or a fuzzy snow monster: Or a logger’s wife: Her name is Georgeann.
Do You Want to Build a Snowman? Read More »