Friday Tidings

The weeks before Halloween were always spent deciding who I was going to be. This photo was Halloween 1964–the year I was a scary witch. A few years later, I became the rabbit, once I grew into my sister’s costume. Thankfully Mom could sew creatively from bed sheets and fabric scraps. Eventually I made it to sixth grade with Mrs. Yule. She was a delightful teacher—thoughtful yet demanding of our attention to details—like homework.  After school, I returned to my desk, where Mrs. Yule would patiently review my incorrect mathematical answers. She’d give me vocabulary drills, then we’d read my science text and work on the chapter questions. I spent many afternoons this way. On a rainy October day, with Halloween looming and kids thinking about costumes, she asked me to imagine who I really wanted to be —not scary things, or even a super hero, but putting on a “costume” for my future self. She wasn’t taking the fun out of Halloween, but using it as an opportunity to see how I coul...

October's smoke-covered moon.  I don’t understand all the science behind our climate issues, but we’re definitely living it out. People my age will remember Perry Como singing,  “ The bluest skies you’ve ever seen in Seattle. ” Not now. Wildfire smoke is just one of the realities that impact our health and the activities we enjoy in the Pacific Northwest. Indeed, my grandson’s final tennis match as a high school senior had just started, when it was cancelled due to unhealthy air quality. The dry, drought conditions are tough on forests. Besides making the trees vulnerable to disease, they’re especially vulnerable to humans who deliberately set fires. Our wheat crop in Eastern Washington plummeted due to another drought-induced crop failure. It isn’t just wheat crops either. Many farmers have diminished yields. Food will cost more because of less supply. There’s a lot of confusion about climate change, and social media provides its own “meme” education—designed to ignite m...

Ever since our son Tommy learned how to swing a bat, we’ve been Mariner fans. We’d arrive early at the ballpark trying to snag a player’s autograph, then we’d wave our homemade signs in the stands during the game. Tommy was eleven years old the last time the Mariners made it to the postseason.   He has spent the intervening years in hopeful anticipation and heartbreak. For fun, he and his nephew created Mariner dream teams on his MLB video game—it was a way to win when the real team wasn’t. So it was fitting that the two of them were able to celebrate their postseason Mariners at the ballpark. Now he joins many other loyal Mariner fans who are wondering if this will finally be the year their team makes it to the Big Show. In a time when there is so much disorder and divisiveness, there’s something about postseason baseball that brings folks together. Not everyone is a fan, but most of us love rooting for the underdogs—and that’s our Mariners—the only Major League Baseball fra...

I just passed the one-year anniversary of a loss that I didn’t realize would hurt as bad as it did.   In terms of losses, mine doesn’t even come close to those who have lost loved ones. Those losses are the forever kind. Those losses heal far more slowly, if ever.   I had the loss of a dream—something conjured up from my youth, nurtured through my parenting years, and then throughout my working career. It was a retirement dream—being able to go back to the summertime family cabin that was the closest place to heaven that I’d ever known.    I imagined being the special grandma just like my grandma had been. I’d curate lifelong memories in a magical place in the woods just like I’d known.   I had to leave those special scenes I had already written in my mind and give them to God. It simply was not my dream to live.    Instead of asking God “Why?” I have gradually learned to ask him “What?” As in what do you want me to learn?    It wa...