Author Archive
What”'s Up at the Franklin Library-February 2010
By Erin Thomasson All Ages Make a Valentine Fri., Feb. 12, 3:30 p.m. All ages. Create shimmery, glittery valentines for family and friends! All the shine and glimmer will be provided. We will also be sharing Valentine”'s Day stories. Children”'s Programs Cuentos y Canciones/World Language Storytime: Spanish Thur., Feb. 4”“Feb. 25, 6 p.m. Para niños de 2 años en adelante. Comparta y disfrute con sus niños libros, cuentos, rimas y música en español. * For children ages 2 & up. Share books, stories, rhymes and music in Spanish. Waxbarasho iyo Ciyaar Caruureed Af-Soomaali ah/Somali Play and Learn Fri., Feb. 5, 10:30 a.m. Kids through preschool. Dhammaan caruurta ka yar da”' dugsi. Ka soo qaybgal sheekooyin caruur, heeso iyo hawlo waxbarasho. Join us for stories, songs and activities! ****** What Can You Do With Money? Fri., Feb. 5, 4 p.m. Grades 4-5. Want to buy that new video game or doll? Or would you like to [...]
The Hankinson Family
by Sue Hunter Weir The Hankinson family monument is one of the most substantial and well preserved of the cemetery”'s early markers. Although it is now surrounded by many other graves, when Myrtle Hankinson was buried in 1870, the Hankinson family plot was the only one in Section G, near what was then the cemetery”'s northern boundary. Most of the other family plots in use at the time were located near the Lake Street side of the cemetery, but the Hankinsons chose a burial site nearly a block away. Their marker, sitting alone in one full section of the cemetery must have been an imposing site. Myrtle was the six-day-old daughter of Richard H. and Sarah Martin Hankinson. Her parents were married in Minneapolis on January 20, 1868. A little over a year later, in late April 1870, Myrtle was born but died soon after from valvular insufficiency (a heart defect). Four years later, her parents had another daughter, Olive. Olive died on July 29, 1874, at the age of five [...]
SEARCHING ”“ a Serial Novelle CHAPTER 11: Calling
By Patrick Cabello Hansel This time, Angel did not vacillate. He walked south, past Waite House, the Islamic Center, the airplane graveyard. At the Greenway, he paused for a moment to look down. The plows had not come yet, but intrepid cyclists had carved little paths in the snow. From his point of view, they looked like chromosomes stretching themselves out. Angel wondered if the genes we receive from our ancestors and pass on to our descendants stretch and contract with the joys and trials of history: marriages, wars, miracles known to many and those known only to a few. As Mr. Bussey had told him, the little store on Lake had phone cards. Dozens of them, some with outlines of countries, cartoons, women in bikinis, the lucha libre hero his younger brother David idolized. He ended up buying one with dancing and singing hot peppers. He remembered where the last pay phone in the neighborhood was: incongruously off an alley on a side street. The aluminum shell was dented in two [...]
