Perhaps even more than trillium, the bursting forth of pungent skunk cabbage illicit yearnings of spring for me. Even though we often spy them when we still feel nearly in the heart of winter. My upcoming memoir too feels as if it is nearly bursting out. In posting this 284th blog since my first in 2016, I recognize how I use this space not just to release the meandering of my heart and spirit, but also to share news. I am hopeful those of you not active on social media appreciate finding these updates by email. (If you don’t already receive in your inbox and would like to, sign up on the ho ..read more

This essay was first shared by Women Writers, Women(‘s) Books. I’m thrilled to share it here in case you missed it. I appreciate Women Writers, Women(‘s) Books for sharing my work, along with other authors and writers. Intersection and introspection are my words today. Life and its stories circle, entwine and intersect as I prepare to release a new memoir to the world. My stories and prose contain lessons learned and regrets: trust, loss, hardship, joy and legacy infused by the wisdom of life’s review. While finalizing its pages, I too actively shed possessions. Stuff that, once meaningful an ..read more

Before we get to the topic of Wallace, a bit about this blog. Early on I suspected someday I’d run out of content; yet so far something has flown into my brain nearly a couple of times each month. The seeds for most often take root as I walk – capturing phrases and key points thanks to iPhone dictation. This works well for my brain as it alleviates worries that I’ll forget them later, or that the circling and spinning words will detract from my getting away on my walk. I bet few of my blog followers today know or remember the origin of this blog. My first post on October 9, 2016 (Baseball, ba ..read more

In response to an email I’d sent to my publisher, I received a reply beginning with “Take a breath” followed by a smile emoji. It made me laugh. You who know me well are probably smiling too. Yes, I admit, sometimes I have a tendency to get a bit keyed up in enthusiasm and excitement. I too, like my dad, can be impatient and absolutely hate to procrastinate on what feels like important things. The play on my upcoming book title made this all the more humorous. So, I’m listening. I’m coupling this advice with the takeaway from my crafted fairy tale in From First Breath to Last. Yes, I’m pract ..read more

It wasn’t until I finalized my soon to release memoir, From First Breath to Last, when I fully appreciated how skilled and prolific Mom was as a writer. In this “soon to be released” memoir, I don’t mention the volumes of other writing she produced, most of it during her second to last decade. Mom compiled volumes for each of us five adult kids, and two volumes of work and stories for her much adored grandchildren. This is in addition to the years of work she put into genealogical research to produce nearly a dozen albums about various members of my dad’s family. Volumes that made my writing ..read more

Earlier this week I met up with a friend. She’s been a tremendous supporter of my books and writing, but that had little to do with our conversation this time. Her face, posture and spirit answered my question before I asked: how was her new job? She gave off entirely different vibes than what I remembered from the last time I saw her. (I now understand what friends had tried to express to me following a job change.) Yes, she left a toxic work situation and entered a work arrangement that provides far more than a paycheck. She’s feeling respected and valued: her coworkers and supervisor are k ..read more

Fall has always been my favorite season. The changing of color, my brain still holding long ago explanations of onset of cold and shortening of days messaging chlorophyll’s breakdown. Leaves fall, fall, fall. Days shorten, air cools, rain dumps. I love it all. Fall too prepares me for another birthday. This year, I’m amazed yet not startled, by the number of birthdays I have experienced. And my strange mind reminds me, the alternative to aging is not what most of us want: Mom shared that message a few times with me in her 80s. (Along with “aging isn’t for wimps.”) I feel good even though my b ..read more

The Portland Public Auditorium in downtown Portland, Oregon circa 1918, viewed from the west, across the intersection of SW 3rd & Market. Completed in 1917, the building was heavily rebuilt in 1967–68, when it was known as the Civic Auditorium, and currently is known as Keller Auditorium. Unknown author – Carey, Charles Henry. (1922). History of Oregon, p. 835. Pioneer Historical Publishing Co. Credit: Wikipedia. Note: thanks to my friend who pointed out my ignorant use of a slang term. I apologize to anyone who was impacted or offended. I have since changed this blog title and URL. Last ..read more

A few years before COVID struck, Russ and I took Mom on a glorious hike to Memaloose Lake in Clackamas County. It was a hidden treasure, less than two miles of trail, switch-backing through old growth forest, and an understory laden with bunchberry, vanilla leaf, rhododendron and huckleberry enroute to the lake. We felt more removed from civilization than a mere twenty miles outside of Estacada. It was Mom’s last hike to a lake that exuded solitude and wildness. After that, instead we spent her remaining years visiting local parks and nature reserves – Forest Park, Mary Young and other West ..read more

Maybe it’s the change of season or my nearing birthday. Or it’s my friend who moved into a tiny house, and anticipates deciding whether to hold on or release the stuff collected in her life. Or is it a dear friend’s cancer diagnosis or missing my parents? Whatever its determinant, I feel a newer sense of urgency beckoning me into new places. Some days I wonder if I should move more quickly to visits to places I’ve never been and resist the comforts of being at home with excursions throughout my nearby community. Maybe that’s why spying my grandson napping on my old bed, exuding kissable squi ..read more