Steve Lange

3 days ago | postbulletin.com | Steve Lange

Five cities, four days, three kids, and the kind of weekend you couldn't plan if you tried. Thursday, 3:15 p.m.: Lindy and daughter Emma, 18, drive to Chicago for Admitted Students Day at DePaul University. They plan to get home Friday. These are our only plans for the weekend. Friday, 3 p.m.: Lindy and Emma head home. Friday, 3:01 p.m.: On a whim, they detour to Milwaukee, ask son Henry, 23, if he wants to meet for dinner.

2 weeks ago | postbulletin.com | Steve Lange

10 (or so) questions with Randy Stocker, Rochesterfest executive director; author of "Hugs Help"; professional speaker on loss, grief, and resilience. I'm going to give you some names. You tell me if you know what this was. Chris Volker, Scott Haney, Ron Myers, Jeff Glascock ... I do. High school buddies. Even earlier than that. This was your seventh birthday party.

1 month ago | postbulletin.com | Steve Lange

Every summer, from when I was 5 until 15, my Nana — that's what we called my grandmother on my dad's side — took me camping in her 1959 trailer, a 15-foot teal Holly Mascot. I would go with my older brother or one of my cousins — Nana took the grandkids in pairs — for a two-week stint. We would load up our bikes and Nana's springer spaniel (Penny, then Lady) and set up the Holly in campgrounds in Tawas City, Michigan, or Mammoth Cave, Kentucky, or Niagara Falls, Ontario.

1 month ago | postbulletin.com | Steve Lange

Steve Lange: All of your friends call you Loki. Mark Abboud: I was always the class clown at Mayo High School. And Loki is a Norse god of trickery and mischief. So that's where it came about. When I started my poker career way back when, that was my board name. Were you actually voted class clown? Was it well deserved? That was senior year Mayo High School. Well-deserved. Yeah. I was a goofball, so ... Who was your favorite teacher at Mayo? Oh, I think I would say Mr. Laakso. He was a math teacher.

1 month ago | postbulletin.com | Steve Lange

A few weeks ago, just before spring break, I dropped off one of my youngest friends — 18-year-old daughter Emma — at MSP. And then drove to visit one of my oldest friends — 100-year-old Edwin Albrecht — in Apple Valley. I just read the first paragraph aloud to Emma to make sure she won't be mortified. "Awwww," she says. "That's sweet." I take it as sincere, though it's sometimes hard for me to read sarcasm in teens.