I took my children to Sycamore Grove Park. We walked along the path and enjoyed seeing the birds and ground squirrels. We stopped by a small pond and my two teen-age daughters tried to skip stones across the surface of the water. My four-year-old son picked up a rock and looked at it. “I wish […]
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When I read a children’s picture book Hooway for Wodney Wat by Helen Lester, it reminded me of my own story. My sister Ruby remembers that day, but I don’t. So, in order to tell my story, I must rely on her memory. The McKinnon School in Wyoming was a four-room schoolhouse. First, second and
I watched my daughter practice juggling. One ball, then two, then three balls were sent flying into the air. As gravity pulled each ball down, she caught it and sent it flying again. How did she learn to do that? I can barely manage to throw and catch one ball. My life is like juggling
There was a time—before Covid, before nine-eleven—when planes were being hijacked and forced to land in an unknown destination. The frequency with which planes were being hijacked was alarming but not of immediate concern to my family. We were involved in trying to find ways to cope with the hot California summer. When temperatures soared
I remember the day that I stood in my kitchen and thought, I have too much clutter. I wish I could get rid of it all at once. I look back on that moment and recognize that it was a rash wish. It is one that I would never make again. My husband and I
“I wish they could stay little forever, They grow up so fast,” my friend said as she cradled her baby. I thought of another friend who was caring for a developmentally delayed child day in and day out, year in and year out. She would be grateful to see her child grow up fast. I
The tulips, lilacs and flowers in Idaho and Utah remind me of a song my brother used to sing: “When it’s springtime in the Rockies, I’ll be coming back to you, little sweetheart of the mountains with your bonnie eyes so blue.” My sister and I would climb the pole fence around the corral and
The story of the pearl-handled pistol has always intrigued me. I first heard it from Ralph Durfee who lived through the events that happened in Mexico in the early 1900’s. I was recently invited to tell stories at a Family History event in Idaho. As I researched this story and talked with older siblings, I
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The aroma of lilacs wafts its way to me as I step out of my car at my daughter’s house. A row of lilacs in full bloom lines the sidewalk. My mind travels back to when I was young and I remember cutting bunches of lilacs. It is Memorial Day and we are going to
The opening hymn in Church this morning was music only—no singing on account of Covid-19. But I didn’t need to voice the words to hear them in my mind: “Because I have been given much, I too must give.” My mind traveled back almost 30 years. It was just before Thanksgiving in 1991 when a
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