Writings

Author: Irene Page 1 of 27

COVID-19 ignored blue flags and refused to move over

Everyone thought the Australian Grand Prix was going to happen. It didn’t. Then, everything changed.

Email update

I have decided to change the way my email notifications will go out to my subscribers.

Burnout

The moment in between

Agate Fossil Beds National Monument, 6:59 am, Aug. 21, 2017.

The sky is a blueish-gray. The sun is debating how quickly to rise in the cool, somber sky as the peacefulness of twilight arrives. The quietness of the early morning is peaceful and relaxing and I long to remain in this moment.

Sounds about white

I got up this morning and thought, “I need to check one thing on Facebook real quick before I start my day.”

A few friends have liked posts related to Aunt Jemima, Uncle Ben’s, and Land O’ Lakes. I end up reading comments on those posts, which are from places such as Snopes and CNN. As I read through the comments, I see so many people who don’t get it.

White privilege

Police lights by night

I was driving through Minatare, Nebraska, population 816, on my way back to Scottsbluff to file a story. A Nebraska State Patrol car passed me and turned around. He flicked on his lights and sirens.

Memories of a messiah provide insight into my own mind

Human memory is a curious thing. We are constantly learning more about how our brains work, the connections it makes, and how we come to believe what truth really is.

I still hope it will get better

I was finishing up for the day at the Star-Herald when I received a text message I was hoping not to get. It was from her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do it?”

I could have watched them all day, and I did

A brown thrasher takes a momentary break from eating to check his surroundings.

Whenever I have a chance to get away from the world and be in nature I take it. It doesn’t cure my PTSD and depression, but it sure helps to keep me calm by being away from modern society and its trappings.

The logo shouldn’t matter

There are three things I remember about Mrs. Blustein’s 5th grade class – a politician spoke to us, Joe’s boogers, and how I learned I was really poor.

Page 1 of 27

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