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Articles written by Carrie Classon

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 By Carrie Classon    Opinion    July 1, 2020

The Poscript: The world of birds

The raven nest was the big news this spring. Our neighbor, Joe, who belongs to every social organization in town, found himself with very little to do. So, every afternoon, Joe parked himself in his...

 

The postscript - My neighbors the superheroes

I think my next-door neighbors might be superheroes. They both work with computers (at least that’s what they say) and then, every spare moment, they are off doing superhero-type things. My...

 

The Postscript: A little awkward

It’s harder to keep in touch with people these days. Things are opening up, but it’s going to be a while before we hop in a car and visit people the way we used to. I met the pastor of my church...

 
 By Carrie Classon    Opinion    June 3, 2020

The Postscript: The only dog in Minnesota

I want to make it clear that we are not adopting a dog. I won’t deny it is tempting. We decided not to get another dog because we travel. Dogs and airplane travel do not go well together. Now, howev...

 
 By Carrie Classon    Opinion    May 27, 2020

The Postscript: Biscuits and gravy

All of a sudden, there are painted rocks along my path. This has been going on for a while, I guess, but I never saw them in my neighborhood. Now, however, someone has more time on their hands, or a...

 
 By Carrie Classon    Opinion    May 20, 2020

The Postscript: Chatting with a tree

Every day I look down the trail in either direction, checking to see if anyone is coming. I’d just as soon no one knew I was talking to a tree. I take the same hike every day. There are a lot of...

 
 By Carrie Classon    Opinion    May 13, 2020

The Postscript: My signature look

We’re at the stage where everyone is complaining about their hair. I am not complaining. As I have frequently bragged, my husband, Peter, cuts my hair and this has continued while the beauty...

 
 By Carrie Classon    Opinion    May 6, 2020

The Postscript: Small containers

Every Mother’s Day, I have a terrible time finding a card that remotely reflects the relationship I have with my mother. My mom is in her 80s now, and we have always had a good relationship, free of...

 

The Postscript: "Raven Watch"

The ravens are back. Last year, they had a nest right on my hiking trail but I didn’t notice them making it. I didn’t notice when they started guarding it or when the female laid eggs. I didn’t...

 

The Postscript: A little stir-crazy

It’s safe to say everyone is getting a bit tired of it. My parents, both in their 80s, were going a little stir-crazy in Florida. They missed their house in the woods and so they filled the RV with...

 

The Postscript: Peppermint ice cream

“I love seeing all the people in the park,” my sister told me on the phone the other night. “I can tell who is together because they are walking in little clumps!” I love that idea: Little...

 

The Postscript: Daisy crosses the street

My desk faces the window and that is where I spend most of my time. I spend about as much time at my desk as I do in my bed which is, conveniently located about 30 feet away. It’s a pretty short...

 

The Postscript: Parked out back

Joe’s red truck is parked behind his house. It hasn’t moved in days. Joe gets in his red truck every morning and drives around. He’s a member of every fraternal organization, a regular at the br...

 

The Postscript: Waiting for the sun

An enormous box arrives at our house. It is filled with food and cleaning supplies and, yes, toilet paper. I feel guilty. But the truth is, these supplies were ordered months ago. My husband, Peter,...

 

The Postscript: Smelling like dog

It’s a very gray day. Today is exactly the sort of day I am most grateful for dogs. Walking in my neighborhood, everyone feels the need to share the latest dire news. Meeting in the street, we...

 

The Postscript: In defense of Pollyanna

I think Pollyanna might have gotten a bum rap. More than once in my life I’ve been accused of having a “Pollyanna attitude.” I didn’t actually know what this meant, except that it was not a...

 

The Postscript: Push-ups with Bob

Bob suggested we all do push-ups. I guess I should mention that I don’t know Bob. Peter, my husband, knew Bob in high school. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure Peter and Bob were even close...

 

The Postscript: An awful lot of cheese

My husband, Peter, likes buying in bulk. Peter hates paying shipping fees. He never wants to run out of anything and he loves a bargain. This is why we buy coffee in enormous bags, crackers by the...

 

The Postscript: Raising the roof

The roof fell in on the church I started attending The collapse occurred after I’d been coming only a couple of weeks. While I have not always been a regular churchgoer, I thought this was kind of...

 

The Postscript: Romantic impulses

I was looking at my hair in the mirror. “I think I might need a touch-up,” I noted to my husband, Peter. “Hmmm,” Peter replied, without looking up. (Which means, “If you think so honey. I...

 

The Postscript: Mouse vomit

Last week, I started doing something I’ve never done before. I started writing fiction. I realize this does not sound shocking since I’m writing every week. My husband, Peter, says I write...

 

The Postscript: Learning to whistle

My sister learned to whistle at age 2. She was precocious in other ways as well. She knew how to read by the time she started kindergarten. She demonstrated a physical dexterity I never did. She was m...

 

The Postscript: The Cigar Box

I spent the weekend in New York City. I hadn’t been to New York in quite a while. I was performing at a theater conference and so was traveling alone, without my husband, Peter. New York...

 

The Postscript: Unexpected cowboy

I want to start out by making it clear that I have nothing against cowboys. One of the new developments in my life is that I recently got a manager, Bob, to book performances of my writing. I’ve...

 

The Postscript: A night at the funeral home

“What do you think?” my husband, Peter, asked about the link he’d sent me as we prepared to head home from the holidays. “The funeral home?” I asked. “Yeah, that one.” “I thought it wa...

 

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