Still Learning How to Fly

In fact, they do.  Nothing noisy. No annoying chatter.  Just quiet murmurs.  The faintest of queries, the gentlest of reminders that keep me company day in and day out.  That make this safe space, still…

They were a staple of 80s self-help thinking, Of Al Anon discussion, of counselors long on affirmations. The notion that, when our worlds get ugly, when crazy thinking and fear make hash of the day…

My small office was beside the door to the Senior Center Parlor, not far from the Dining Room.  Close by, I’d added a bulletin board for upcoming event flyers, the month’s birthday list, reminders of…

Christmas, 1972, my Mother gave me a copy of the Granddaughters’ Inglenook Cookbook, recipes from Brethren women collected over the previous 200 years—traditionally presented by the McPherson Church to its new brides.  I was 26,…

Dave ended every day at his desk in our basement on Choteau.  He’d built it to his own dimensions—too big to ever leave the house—and painted it brown.  A color Em and Amanda were quick…

In 2005, the last August of Dave’s life, we spent a precious week to ourselves at his family’s property on the North Fork of the Flathead River.  Precious because it was joyfully ordinary.   I did…

In 1960, freshman civics students at McPherson High had to write a “what I want to be when I grow up” paper.  Easy.  I liked history.  I was girl.  I didn’t want to type insurance…

I was old before I realized the travesty I’d played in my brief career on stage. It was McPherson 1960 and our junior high 8th grade musical. About gypsies. No not THE Gypsy. No not…