Friday Tidings

After high school, during my summertime employment days, Jerry was my supervisor. He consistently wore a winning smile and was incredibly patient with me as his rookie apprentice.  When handed a job assignment, he was fond of saying, “Smells like work.” Which meant it was something to get done, but it wasn’t always fun. He was right.  I poured 30-pound barrels of a milkshake-like liquid into a machine, where I’d add more liquid, and then pour out pre-measured amounts into a paper-making machine.  The paper-making machine was monstrous—but not as big as the “tree compactors” that made the wood pulp. Those machines were loud and the stench from copious amounts of added bleach made me thankful I wasn’t on that side of the operation.  I got used to the rhythm of the paper-making machine. I’d hang up my freshly made bleached squares in the walk-in dryer. My final task was to stamp the dried paper with a reference number and then bundle it for the scientists to examine.  It wasn’t

There’s a part of me that worries about the little kids every time a new school year begins. Perhaps it’s from the trepidation I once felt walking into a new classroom and wondering how things would go. In my early elementary grades, my speech impediment was noticeable and had become the source of playground mockery. Some kids would imitate how I said certain words. My face would redden like a tomato, and laughter would follow. At recess, I learned to hover around the playground teacher. Sure, I missed the merry-go-round, jungle gym, and tether ball, but I was safe. For me, recess was fifteen minutes of waiting for the bell to ring. The playground teacher soon realized I was her shadow, but she was kind. She asked me why I didn’t go play. As I answered her, my words were barely audible.  She bent down and looked me in the eyes. “Let’s find you some good friends and they’ll be like wind in your sails.”  She said it with such kindness, even though I didn’t really understand what

August is National Dog Month —kind of appropriate with it also being the dog days of summer. I’m the proud grand dog mother to an effervescent Labrador named Annie, and a serious-minded German Shepherd named Flash. They love visiting grandma and grandpa with our access to a nearby beach, squirrels to chase and never catch, and sleeping in tree-shaded grassy spots on a hot summer day. Over our years of dog sitting, I’ve definitely seen their dog devotion at its best. One time on a beach walk with Flash I saw two deer in a desperate race against of fast approaching  coyote. Without thinking about what could go wrong, I yelled, “Flash! Stop the coyote!” He leaped into action in pursuit of the coyote. When the deer escaped into the forest, I called him back. Mission accomplished.    Of course, the ever-loving Labrador Annie never fails to give everyone we meet a warm welcome with her effusive joy. She and Chad the UPS driver, have a very special relationship. Eventually, Chad got a Lab

I’m having fun in the forest like I did as a kid. I’m forging trails through our acreage just for the delight of seeing the wildlife use them too. I thought it would be cute to name the trails—not that the deer and squirrels can read, but it sounded fun. For easy sign material, I used beach driftwood since there’s plenty around. As I was beachcombing for the right-sized signs, I picked one up, but when I turned it over, I was shocked to see it was already painted with the words: Not all who wander are lost. It looked a bit weathered and had drifted in from who knows where. I held it and remembered…. During my twenties my mother saw me wander from plan to plan. It wasn’t that I wasn’t willing to work hard, it’s that most of my plans were not destined to succeed. Some could say I was wandering and appeared to be lost. As I started my thirties, my husband and I settled into a successful plan. Our wandering seemed to have led us to where we could finally settle down. I’m sure M

A red, white, and blue “Welcome Back Class of ‘76!” banner hung over the double doors of a large banquet room. Photo name tags were on the table just before the entry way. I quickly found my high school face among the others yet to arrive.     My stomach knotted up as I looked around for friendly faces. It had been ten years since I’d seen most of my classmates. Suddenly I was once again the shy kid in elementary school, reluctant to say or do anything. I held my husband Tom’s hand.   This was supposed to be the beginning of our career phase of life, but I didn’t have a whole lot to show for it. Some of us had married, others not yet. I could see friends sharing pictures of little kids. I didn’t make my way around the room to visit; I remained frozen at a table. I remembered who I’d been in high school and felt awkward even ten years later. Tom urged me to mingle while he snapped photos of people he’d just met.   When Tom and I went to his twenty-year high school reunion a decade