Writings

Author: Irene Page 3 of 33

The things she gave me

Me and Gram in the late 1970s.

When I was a child, I called her Grammy. All of my cousins did, too. As we grew older, she became Gram. All of our friends called her Gram. She is and will always be the biggest influence on my character.

Monkeying around

Eighteen months ago, I was placed on a shelf and watched as humans picked up those around me to take home to their loved ones. I didn’t think anyone was ever going to pick me. Three months later, Irene came along and took me home.

I won some awards

Although I don’t produce the volumes of writing I did when I was a daily reporter, I am still quite pleased with the recognition of my writing from Nebraska Press Women. I entered 13 articles this year, about half what I used to enter. I received 10 awards. All first place awards go on to the National Federation of Press Women contest. I will know those results mid-June.

I know this feeling well

As a journalist, you need to be as accurate as possible. Most of the time, this is an easy task. It requires simple searches to find documented answers. It get more complicated when you start digging into history.

Wait. I can explain everything

Before the dawn of the 21st century, sometimes you had to visit the more skeevy portions of the internet in order to find what you wanted. It was fraught with danger, but only if you didn’t know the traps to look out for before you began.

In a field in western Nebraska

Double life

Things the pandemic has taught me

We’ve been living with the Covid-19 pandemic for a little more than a year now and I’ve learned a lot of new things as well as reaffirmed some things I already knew.

This might be painful, but I need to do it

Sometimes, leaving and finding your own place is the best decision, even if it hurts a little bit.

It was just a knock at the door

My eyes were fixated on the clock. It read 7:43 a.m. Karla would be knocking on my door soon. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, we walked together to Bessey Hall. She had a class and I went into the Anthropology lab to clean and label artifacts.

I was stretched out on the couch under my bald eagle blanket. I stared at the red numbers on the digital clock and watched it turn to 7:44 a.m. There was a bang on my door. My eyes rapidly shifted to my doorknob. Did I remember to lock the door last night?

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