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The Hottest Day of the Year
“You were born on the hottest day of the year!”
This was the beginning of the story my grandpa would tell my mom every year on her birthday. It was the story of her birth.
Walking Through our Iowa Summers
As a child, I stood watching my grandma as she meticulously wrote my check in her careful cursive. With an amount in the hundreds, it took extra time for her to fill the line where the dollars were written. This was a rite of passage.
The Boys of Summer
It is impossible for me to think back to my childhood summers without associating them with baseball. A dusty field full of dirty boys strategically built next to our town swimming pool fills my memory.
Swimming Pool Blues
With my many years of running and now cycling as part of my fitness repertoire, I am frequently asked the question "Why don't you do a triathlon?" My answer has always been "I'm not a very good swimmer. I would sink."
I have perfected the dog paddle, but past that, my skills are limited.
The Sound of Silence
This beautiful poem was written by contributing author, Patty Johnson. She wrote these words shortly after her youngest son, Jaime, left for college in 2009. Newly empty-nest moms can relate to the feelings projected in Patty’s words.
The Back Nine
“Look, Steamworks is over there!”
This was the third time we made this observation as we directed our cart to the beer station. With five kegs on tap, Steamworks, a favorite local restaurant and brewery, provided the Girls Gone Golfing with this free fairway treat.
NEVER Go on a Blind Date
I sat in my car waiting to go into my gym on a stormy fall night in Omaha. The rain pounded the pavement the cracking of lightning filled the dark sky. I was on the phone with Garrett, who was at the time, my friend from Denver. This was in late October 2009.
So are the Days of Our Lives
“Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives,” said the booming voice as a giant hourglass appeared on the TV screen.
That famous line visually adorned 70s television sets in the background of my childhood days. I didn’t understand the significance of the flowing sand at the time.
And Sandy From Omaha Requests…
“In 2009 when I first met my Colorado husband…” was how I began my song request.
The concert was here in Durango and the band was a favorite of ours from Omaha. Thrilled to have my two lives from two different cities converge, I signed my request sheet “Sandy from Omaha”.
You Have the Right to Remain Silent
“But, Mom, we didn’t do anything wrong!! Why won’t you listen to me?”
These were the pleading words from my childhood friend, Bev. Her appeals came out as screams between sobs as she sat in the passenger seat of her mom’s car.
Mike and Vernie
I have a childhood friend who asked me to write a story about Vernie, an icon of sorts from our hometown. This request continues to pop up as I publish new stories about our 70s-era adventures in Remsen, Iowa.
“You should write about Vernie!”
Hey, Don’t I Know You?
“Oh, my God! You look just like Michelle!”
This was the comment I received after meeting someone for the first time back in the 80s. The introduction was from my roommate to her childhood friend. The referenced Michelle was another friend from their hometown.
Dandelion Bouquets
This story was originally written Mary 16, 1996 by Linda Janssen Gjere. Linda and her family lived across the street from us in Omaha on 164th Ave. My oldest son, Zach, was three years old when this lovely story was written.
Postpartum Blues
My youngest child, Grant Russell Lane, was born on April 14, 2000. A highly negotiated third child, my husband thought two was a good number whereas I was insistent on three. Grant came into the world loved by all. The baby of our family. Born after an easy labor and with a great disposition that has remained with Grant into adulthood.
This Dress Has a Story
I started this story about a dress in 2014. It was actually a story about two dresses. Dresses of different prints, but with the same accessory, which led to my obtaining dress #2.
As things happen with me in writing, I jotted down a draft of this dress story while it was fresh on my mind. Then time moved on and I never finished the story.
Thanks for the Mems
After posting photos of newly completed memory quilts on social media a while back, I received a text from my friend, Renada. The pictures I shared were of a quilt made by me and my mom for my oldest son, Zach. It is called a memory quilt because it is made from blocks of Zach’s childhood t-shirts.
An Attitude of Adaptability?
It is spring in Durango. Technically it is the second day of spring. And it is snowing—a lot. The snow dump started yesterday with more forecasted through the end of the week. The weather outlook shows snowfall in feet, not inches. Ugh.
Day 14: The Patagonia Adventure - There’s No Place Like Home
The last leg of our trip was flying from Dallas to Durango which was wonderfully uneventful. Leaving behind the mountainous views of Chile, I was warmed to see the Durango San Juans out my airplane window as we neared landing. Home was sounding very good.
Day 13: The Patagonia Adventure - Driving the Americans
Our last day in Santiago brought in a morning full of packing. Although we had been in a constant state of packing and moving over the last two weeks, now it was time for the big pack, the pack to go home.
Day 12: The Patagonia Adventure - Back on the Grid
Our morning agenda was to take a tour of Santiago. Chris loaded us in his vehicle for a tour that would include both walking and riding with Chris as our driver. We were glad to have a driver as traffic was aggressive. Quickly we found many similarities between Downtown Santiago to New York City, including the traffic.
