The Braasches struggled with infertility for seven years before happily conceiving after an IVF procedure in 2021.

I spent my tween and teen years in sighs and sulks, muttering under my breath all the ways I was being deprived of the over-the-top 80s childhood to which I felt entitled.

If you’ve driven past Deicke Park in Huntley, then perhaps you’ve seen him: standing with a cross and an American flag, waving to people as they travel along Highway 47.

When asked what moved him to start his street ministry in 2018, Unverzagt isn’t sure.

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There are those first few seconds when, after glancing over their shoulder, the realization sets in: Dad has let go of the back of the seat and they are, in fact, riding a two-wheeled bike.

My newest fascination is hand weaving on a loom. I made this bookmark for you. It’s one of my first, but I’ll send another one after I’ve had more practice. Hopefully you’ll see my progress. Happy Reading!

A hands-on fiber arts exhibit at an art museum in Wisconsin was where I first tried a loom —— just a wooden frame strung with cotton thread.

Somehow I can’t let go of those endless summer days.

—Will Rogers

As much as I’d like you to think that my Gentleman Friend and I have been married blissfully and perfectly happy for the past several decades, I’m going to take a risk and tell you that sometimes, we fight. Our fights aren’t typically the loud, plate-throwing variety. We’ve mastered the art of subtle tiffs, starting out as a tiny slight that grows into a stand-off —— and I am the half of us most guilty of this —— in an all-encompassing silence that can be louder than a freight train.

We are a bird-friendly family. We don’t put chemicals on our lawn, put out birdseed in the winter, and we are delighted when our bird friends chirp happily from the branches of our crabapple tree out our front window. But even our bird loving has limits.

Most weeknights, I’m out on the front porch catching up on the day with my husband or daughter.

Given the choice, I will always choose a spanakopita appetizer or entree at a restaurant or party.

Anyway, I never made it before. It was too hard to make at home; at least that’s what I’d heard. I envisioned a scene wiping away the sweat at my temples with the back of my hand, flyaway strands of hair escaping my ponytail.

But there is one segment that always comes up short for me: the point when a family member or two describe their loved one.

The Irie Cup, their new tea shop located on Main St. in Huntley, is a place where the couple hopes to share their knowledge and love for tea and herbal blends born out of their family roots.

Both Joe and LaShanda grew up in families of Jamaican heritage, where tea and herbs were woven into the fabric of everyday life.

For our family it’s egg bread. When you’re just about out of everything, hopefully you can at least scrounge up an egg and a slice of bread. We heat up our favorite tiny cast iron skillet, dab it with a bit of butter or oil, then crack an egg and drop it onto the hot skillet.

I’m one of those people who struggle to keep up with the business of being human.

On Monday, Feb. 13, Lou Malnati’s Lakewood will donate 20% of all sales between 11 a.m. and 9 p.m. to the Historical Society.

Donna Britton, a Board Member of the Historical Society, says the organization currently leases the farmhouse on Sun Valley Farm from the Park District, and plans to eventually turn the house into a museum by bringing the structure up to code without sacrificing its style and charm as a farmhouse.

But that little toddler with the blonde hair is no longer around.

Plans for dinner beforehand were quickly abandoned, in favor of having popcorn for dinner. Popcorn and a beer, since our local movie house now sells cans of beer placed subtly on the side of the concessions area.

The subtext of this word, for me, instructed me on what I was not to do: I was not to let my anxiety take over moments that were otherwise beautiful.

Patrick Gorse, 67, has good reason to look forward to Christmas this year. He is alive and comfortable living on a bucolic Huntley farm ­— a complete reversal from where he was in 2015: homeless at age 60 on the streets of Los Angeles, his life hanging in the balance because of decades of addiction.