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Carrie Classon, Courier Columnist

Stories by Carrie

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My husband, Peter, and I are returning from Spain by boat. The whole idea started when Peter read a book about the sinking of the Lusitania.

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I lost a feather the other day and I understand this does not qualify as news.

By Carrie Classon, Courier Columnist December 26, 2019
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“I like the edge season!” my husband, Peter, said, as we watched the moon rise over the mountains and felt a chill breeze rise with it.

By Carrie Classon, Courier Columnist December 12, 2019
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My husband, Peter, and I have settled into the little house we are calling home for a month in southern Spain.

By Carrie Classon, Courier Columnist November 28, 2019
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My husband, Peter, and I are spending a month in Spain and we have left our worries behind. As a result, we have had to come up with new, temporary worries to occupy us until we get back home.

By Carrie Classon, Courier Columnist November 14, 2019

Suggestions on how to shorten the game of tennis from what it’s been in the past is starting to gain more and more traction and it may be warranted.

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First, I noticed the owl. “Peter! Did you see the owl?!” Our last Airbnb in Spain had a ceramic owl. So, when I found a similar owl — in a similarly inconvenient location — I took it as a good omen.

By Carrie Classon, Courier Columnist October 31, 2019
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I was not popular in high school.

By Carrie Classon, Courier Columnist October 17, 2019
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I realized that I might be a late bloomer—a little late, naturally.

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Nobody was using the old wren house. My grandfather built it. Grandpa started building birdhouses when he retired from milking cows and his second oldest son took over.

By Carrie Classon, Courier Columnist September 5, 2019

I’ve been having my husband, Peter, cut my hair. I’m not sure I would recommend this to everyone, but I have almost no hair.

The surprises just kept coming. When I moved in with Peter a few years back, I brought my clothes, a few books, and some artwork. I rented out my house, gave away my furniture, and everything else was consigned to “things I’ll deal with later,” a pile which—mysteriously—did not shrink with time.

It was my birthday this week.

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This past week, my parents celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary, and I stood in front of the greeting card rack for a very long time.

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