Writings

Category: Stories Page 1 of 5

An anniversary, of sorts

Today is the 48th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, a 1973 Supreme Court decision, which saved my life in 1984.

I’m only a dolphin ma’am

It’s tagline was, “If you forgot what terror was like…it’s back,” except I wasn’t terrified until I went to sleep.

A black and white New Year

We all agreed to meet at my mom’s house in New York and spend New Year’s Eve in New York City.

Two days and five hours later

It was supposed to arrive on November 20. It’s finally here.

Making hard choices

Our Thanksgiving turkey.

Since March when words like COVID, coronavirus, social distancing, and mask wearing became part of our regular vocabulary, I’ve worked hard to try and keep my life as normal as possible. I struggle to do that now.

My hair went that way on its own

I carefully used the point of my trowel to flick away a piece of dirt from the artifact. After I had scraped enough large pieces of dirt with the trowel, I reached over to my kit and grabbed my brush. It wasn’t yet clear what the artifact was, so I gently moved the brush back and forth, clearing away the dirt to get a better sense of what I had found.

Rabbit turns 50

The last known photo of Rabbit.

My father found Rabbit in the gift shop at Horton Memorial Hospital. He took Rabbit up to my mother’s hospital room and gave Rabbit to me. He and my mother had been awake all night. I had caused them to miss the Independence Day fireworks. It seems I hated fireworks from the very beginning.

For most of my life, I’ve relied on Rabbit to help me get through the tough times, to share in the good times, and to keep my secrets.

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.

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?”

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.

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