by Freida Marie Crump
Greetin’s from the Ridge.
Every family’s got one. Ours was named Stanley.
Stanley was only related to the family by marriage and in his case, it was a marriage that didn’t work. Stanley would come to our family picnic every August in his Volkswagen van, wearing his faded Hawaiian shirt, smelling of something suspiciously foreign, and bringing nothing but a lot of talk. He had the