Just a quick note that I will be posting more “public” stories soon. It’s been a while! I often write and post stories on my web site for family and friends only, with password access to those stories.
From my summer visit to Wisconsin, quintessentially beautiful in every season. (click on photo for caption/backstory)
As a child growing up in Montana, I imagined my cowboy grandpa’s life to be as inspiring and majestic as the mountains around me. I was wrong.
I was raised to work hard – physically in caring for what I own – and mentally, in the work I do every day. When others ruin or take away what you love – it is stealing in Seattle.
It’s sad that so many of us in the U.S. – and especially in Seattle – live so far away from our families, our parents, our loved ones. That’s why spending time with my widowed mom means so much to me, here for Christmas in Wisconsin.
Most of us hit a career bump with an insufferably bad boss. Perhaps once in a lifetime you’re privileged to work with a boss who encourages, mentors, and literally changes your life. For me, that is TV journalism’s legendary Phil Sturholm. Today – in laughter and tears – we honored his wonderfully rich life with countless stories over food-truck funeral food of cheeseburgers and fries.
Sometimes we know the end is near, and we prepare. That did not happen in my marriage. And it did not happen with my beloved feline companions of 16 years, Honey and Pepper. They were my faithful animal-shelter friends who filled the void of a marriage lost, teaching me love, devotion, and the power of relationships until death parted us today.
People are wondering about TV news “families” in light of the horrific WDJB-TV murders, broadcast live. I’ve worked in several fantastic places, but nothing compares to my first job as a TV news reporter and producer at Seattle’s CBS affiliate, my “workplace family.”
Looking back, after an earthquake upheaval leaves nothing in my life at right angles. Yet, I am thankful.
Ash Wednesday: not a day for giving up, but for leaning in to life. As well, the anniversary of my dad’s sudden death three years ago. This poem hits my heart…
Tonight… lighting Christmas Eve candles and singing “Silent Night” one day early, in these parts…
Wisconsin Thanksgiving: Grateful to be with my mom, say thanks to my 7th-grade teacher, Mr. Armbrecht, and return to my teenaged haunts: a lighthouse, and Lake Michigan.
Before I was born, you knew me. You sang lullabies to me, still unborn. You memorized my kicks, my restlessness. Wept with joy in hope, and wept with fear in despair: how to feed this unexpected mouth? Your first baby died – you were just 22…
It was my pure joy MC-ing our Central Asian Navruz dinner celebration (a sell-out crowd of 400!) with our Seattle-Tashkent Sister City Association. Thank you! – Katta Rahmat!
Not my typical Monday: Lunch with His Excellency Bakhtiyar Gulyamov, Uzbekistan’s new ambassador to the U.S.
Five years ago this week I was exploring Silk Roads and back roads of Central Asia. Officially I was with the Seattle-Tashkent Sister City Association, an invited member of its 35th anniversary delegation.
These loved ones, our dead. Does healing ever begin? Is that deep hole always there? They say time heals, but I’m not so sure. In these strange moments, in everyday moments, he pops up. ‘Hello there.’
A moment in time: publicly thanking my life-altering alma mater, Ripon College in Wisconsin, as they gave me their Distinguished Alumni Citation. Here’s my thank you:
I’m returning to Ripon College.
I’m returning because some of the most fascinating and challenging professors, classmates, and friends are at my Wisconsin alma mater, a school known for breathing life, inquisitiveness, and bold thinking into young minds.
I don’t know why it started, really. But over the years it’s become my evening ritual, shooting sunsets in Seattle over those majestic Olympic Mountains. There’s a wildness to the skies: