Humans have a tendency to anthropomorphize animals. Penguins, with their tuxedo like plumage and waddle, are a fine example of how we extend characteristics and behavior of humans to animals. The physical similarity makes the connection logical: They are born; they die and they share a brief time span on this planet. Obviously animals, cute and adorable as they are, would not be granted personhood in the Bill of Rights. Less obvious are corporations and unions. Do groups of people speaking as corporations and unions have the same rights as individuals? Comments (3)

Each January, my colleagues and I design FREE’s summer seminars. We select and refine topics, then identify speakers, and finally invite participants. Comments (1)

Amidst a garage full of boxes that hold the treasures of four generations, and the items drawn on to celebrate the changing seasons, or that someone thought might be of some use at a future date, I have been carefully organizing the paper memorabilia and pictures precious to mothers and fathers going back four generations, all the way to the Civil War, with a few items even going back earlier. Comments (2)

When you’re pregnant, helpful members of the Sorority of Motherhood become your very own What To Expect resource guide. They function as a virtual Pregnancy Google, answering questions on the delightfully strange array of symptoms that accompany your changing body, ranging from buzz-saw snoring to ever-present flatulence. Once your little bundle arrives, they Sherpa you through that wild ride known as Baby’s First Year. Comments (1)

I will always admire my dad. I still haven't quite gotten over his death from stomach cancer in 1997. He was a class guy, always willing to help someone in need. A man of integrity, possessing a keen sense of justice, a good sense of humor, he always defended the little guy. Comments (7)

More than 15 years ago, on this very page, I came up with what I thought was a clever and necessary term for life in Bozeman: Zamboni Syndrome. I had been taking a ceramics class in the old Beall Park Art Center pottery lab and one of the women in the class – a recent emigrant to Bozeman – scoffed as we heard skaters clomping up the ramp above us into the tiny warming room. “I can’t believe they call that an ice rink,” she said. “They haven’t even got a Zamboni.” Comments (0)