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The Way it Was

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Back in the early-60’s, I walked hand-in-hand with my grandmother in her rural town. We had driven the twenty miles from the ranch. Most farms were about 1000 acres and the homesteads were a mile or two apart. Oats, barley, and wheat were spread across the fertile soil. Grandma had her list, and I waited patiently as she conversed with the butcher. She then pushed a large cart up and down the aisles for her groceries.  Afterwards, we headed across the street to the drug store, and then to the tractor shop for Grandpa’s parts he needed. It was a routine that was repeated weekly—and on Sunday we went to church—seeing farmer friends, the men no longer in overalls. Ten years later, I’d do all these chores on my own—speeding into town in their Ford Ranchero.   Now this little town, well over a half century later, revealed that change sometimes takes things away. Some families passed on the farm chores to the next generation, and those are the ones still here. But others sold their la
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My Vote for Purple

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As a child, I loved purple. My bedroom walls were all purple, which perfectly matched my purple curtains and bedspread.     I wore as much purple as I could. Even Grandma helped me by knitting purple sweaters, gloves, hats, and mittens.   And then, while finger painting in Kindergarten, I mistakenly discovered that when I spread blue over my red, it became purple.   My world changed that day.   Suddenly every finger painting featured my unique scribbly blend of purple.   Okay, I’ll get to the point.   This election features bold Red and Blue choices.   But to get anything done, it will take purple—a willingness to mix together and see what we can paint on the canvas of our nation—and in our communities.    The solutions to our problems are far more complex than mixing colors, and I’ll be the first to admit I haven’t always put my Kindergarten lessons to work—listening, sharing, and being kind, but I’ll do better. It is a sad reality that our media is more attracted to our
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Stressed? Take a dose of childhood

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I had the best week. I didn’t read the news, nor did I accomplish much work. I spent my time playing. It  was easy to do with my granddaughter. She’s hardwired for play. We had days of togetherness, while her parents celebrated their wedding anniversary in Aruba.  It was a win-win for us all. She’s full of energy from the moment she awakens. She jumps out of bed and slides down the banister to get downstairs.  Besides school, she’s playing soccer, taking Ninja classes, and piano lessons.  She’s always full-steam ahead. Her world is still a simple place, but it was simple for me too when I was young. So, it’s easy for us to pretend and have it be quite real for now. She’s old enough to remember this special week, and yet young enough to still want to share all the time she has with her old grandma.  Her world will keep getting more complicated, but my prayer is that even with less playtime in the years to come, she’ll remember that love can keep growing—no matter how old we get.  And th
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Celebrating Apples

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I didn’t realize that there was an actual International Eat An Apple Day. It’s the third Saturday of September. The timing fits nicely with apple harvest. So, pick your favorite variety and enjoy. Apples are kind of a big deal for my family. Long ago, after our failed farming venture, Tom was searching for work. His father’s friend was a potato and onion salesman and he suggested Tom could sell apples. He had a small office with several desks, telephones, a secretary to manage the paperwork, and perpetual cigarette smoke from the other salesmen. They sold to grocery stores across the country, and having an apple man would be be a good fit for their company. Tom was a rookie, but he mastered the art of cold calls—dialing up potential customers. Rejection didn’t deter Tom. Within a few months he had several buyers in the Southeast.  As soon as he could, he moved out of the smoke-filled office, installed extra phone lines in our basement, and became a home-based business pioneer in
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Know Peace No Internet

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Typically, I’m tethered to my phone, responsive to texts, emails, and calls. But for two days, my husband and I would be hiking with our son, Tommy. He had a route planned to take us to great sights we’d never seen. But I’d have zero cell signal, and only our son’s Garmin GPS in case of emergency. We live in a time of hyper-connectivity. And that comes with the blessings of staying in touch with family and friends, and the ease of online-everything. It also comes with predators. Many of us have had our Facebook accounts either hacked or cloned. But just before we were to take this two-day hiking adventure, someone hacked into our email—compromising sensitive information.  We immediately went into freeze-mode—locking out would-be cyber thieves. In a world full of data breeches and the nefarious Dark Web—how can anyone be certain they are protected?   Identity thieves steal your name and then go after as much as they can, as fast as they can. Advertisers for fraud security pla
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A Grand Journey

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  “I don’t want to go!” I wailed. I thought if I could just live with Grandma on her farm I wouldn’t have to back to school. Grandma knelt down so she was eye level with me. “You’ll have some good friends to play with.” She reassured me with a hug. “Kids laugh at me.” I cried in anguish because I was teased relentlessly for my speech impediment. Then Grandma gave me advice that my six-year-old self never forgot: “Good friends will never tease you, and those who tease you haven’t learned how to be good friends.”  Grandma called every week to find out how I was doing. She was right—good friends make life better. Many years passed. Now in my mid-forties, our roles were reversed.  “Where are you?” Grandma yelled from the living room. I’d gone to the bedroom to pack her things while she was napping. But she hadn’t slept long. I came back into the room, and sat across from her, explaining yet again what I was doing. “I’m just boxing up some things that you’ll need in your new
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Counting the Cost

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Something big is missing in this photo. Let me explain. Here in my hometown, the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe prepared a parcel of land for a new hotel. Plenty of planning and architectural designs were evaluated. A gemstone of a hotel would be built across from the waterfront—a beautiful, restful place welcoming travelers. A true four-star facility.   They cleared the aging brick structures that had been fading away between Front Street and Railroad Avenue. Then the pandemic hit, shortages of labor and supplies, add in the costly inflation that followed. Everything stopped.   But this is what I admire about the Elwha Tribe: they have counted the cost. They didn’t want to move forward and take on tremendous debt. They would rather move slowly and be financially ready, rather than begin building and then letting it sit unfinished.   Counting the cost is something I should have done earlier in life when I didn’t know what high interest rates would do to our farming costs and bottom l
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