Friday Tidings

Several years ago, I read about Betsy Schultz in the local newspaper. Her son, Captain Joseph Schultz, died on Memorial Day 2011—killed by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. Even before Joseph’s burial in Arlington Cemetery, Betsy began working on an idea to convert her large Tudor-styled bed and breakfast into a respite home for grieving Gold Star families.  Losing her only child left her with unimaginable sorrow, but not without purpose. To meet Betsy is to be introduced to inspiration. Even though her son made the ultimate sacrifice for his country, as a Gold Star Mom, Betsy now dedicates her life comforting other Gold Star families. Over the past few years I’ve watched hundreds of volunteers and thousands of donated dollars come in to renovate this century-old home. Many of the volunteers are war veterans themselves. Fundraising efforts stretch across our country—just as the loss for Gold Star Families does. Betsy’s heart knows the deepest ...

National Geographic Mt. St. Helens 1972 At age 13 I announced I wanted to be a mountain climber. My parents probably thought it was a phase, but signed me up for a mountaineering course.  My instructor, Glenn, was a retired Air Force colonel and a legend in the eyes of climbing community—he’d been caught in an avalanche and lived to make it an instructional lesson. Besides climbing techniques, we tackled rigorous physical conditioning—running up steep hills. I wanted to climb Mt. Rainier. Glenn shook his head no.  Our first big climb would be what he affectionately called The Queen: Mt. St. Helens. At nearly 10,000 feet, it had plenty of challenge with jagged rocks, dangerous crevasses, and ice shelves that could become an avalanche.  At 4:30 AM on a crisp February morn, with headlamps beaming, we began our ascent. At about 8000 feet we roped up. Glenn had the lead, and he spaced enough rope between us that we could use our ice a...

When  I became a mother, Mom told me my life would never be my own again. She was right, and it has been a most amazing, life-changing journey.     and the lessons I'd learn.... It was one of those long nights with a sick child. By the time my 16-month-old daughter finally went to sleep, I collapsed in bed exhausted. But I’d inadvertently left the cap off a nearly empty bottle of children’s chewable Tylenol pills.  As fate would have it, this was also the night my child learned how to climb out of her crib. Not quite satisfied with that jail break, she toddled into the kitchen, spied the bottle of Tylenol on the counter, pushed a chair over and climbed up. She woke me a few minutes later babbling about an empty bottle. A frantic call to the poison control center followed. All was fine. But it was a clear case of mom malpractice. My son, born 7 years later, had a much wiser mom in many ways. However,...