Some of my most treasured memories are stitched into the fabric of long summer evenings on my grandparents’ front porch, tucked deep in the heart of twentieth century Appalachia. The old porch swing creaked gently beneath my aunt and I as we rocked back and forth, sipping lemonade from Mamaw's Bolero Thermoware cups, the kind that were multicolored like her summer flowers, and had just enough sweat on the outside to make you appreciate the ice inside.

There’s something delightful about picking out the perfect calendar each year.

Regardless of generational labels, many of us eventually find ourselves in the midst of what's often termed the Sandwich Generation.

Reflecting on my childhood, many of my most cherished memories are interwoven with the presence of extended family