Hey Lizzie, This vote's for you
Wasatch Woman, November December 2008
I would like to have been aboard the ship that carried Elizabeth to London. I imagine the sea spray misting her face as she opened the door to the cabin that she shared with her husband, Henry. It was 1840 and the newlyweds were sailing toward the World's Anti-Slavery Convention. It would take roughly 62 days to cross the Atlantic. Elizabeth and Henry had fallen in love while they were both deeply involved in the American abolitionist movement. She was upbeat, outspoken, educated and a very independent woman for her time.
I would like to have been aboard the ship that carried Elizabeth to London. I imagine the sea spray misting her face as she opened the door to the cabin that she shared with her husband, Henry. It was 1840 and the newlyweds were sailing toward the World's Anti-Slavery Convention. It would take roughly 62 days to cross the Atlantic. Elizabeth and Henry had fallen in love while they were both deeply involved in the American abolitionist movement. She was upbeat, outspoken, educated and a very independent woman for her time.
Meth: The shattered facade
Wasatch Woman, July August 2008
I drive to work at the radio station in the dark, early morning hours. I slip out of my home when the kids and my husband are fast asleep. It's before sunrise and well before traffic builds on I-15. But, it is a peaceful time to drive. There are only a few truckers, car-poolers and travelers on the road at 4 a.m.
I drive to work at the radio station in the dark, early morning hours. I slip out of my home when the kids and my husband are fast asleep. It's before sunrise and well before traffic builds on I-15. But, it is a peaceful time to drive. There are only a few truckers, car-poolers and travelers on the road at 4 a.m.
Raising Boys to Men
Wasatch Woman, May June 2008
One by one and three in a row, I became the mother of all boys. I bought Tinker Toys and Lincoln Logs to build their imaginations. I filled their toy shelf with GI Joes and Barbie Dolls of every ethnicity, banned all weapon-inspired toys, and read them wonderful stories every night. I also limited their TV and computer use to strictly educational programs.
One by one and three in a row, I became the mother of all boys. I bought Tinker Toys and Lincoln Logs to build their imaginations. I filled their toy shelf with GI Joes and Barbie Dolls of every ethnicity, banned all weapon-inspired toys, and read them wonderful stories every night. I also limited their TV and computer use to strictly educational programs.
Rocky: The perfect voice coach
Wasatch Woman, March April 2008
Sometime after 2 a.m., I felt his hot breath on my cheek. I rolled over and tried to recognize the shadowed face of the child standing beside my bed. It was my youngest son, a tall soft-spoken boy with dark chocolate eyes. "Mom," he whispered. "I need to talk to you." The clock ticked on while my 11-year-old confided in me something that had shaken his confidence. It had kept him awake for many nights. And, he said, he was anxious that it would happen again.
Sometime after 2 a.m., I felt his hot breath on my cheek. I rolled over and tried to recognize the shadowed face of the child standing beside my bed. It was my youngest son, a tall soft-spoken boy with dark chocolate eyes. "Mom," he whispered. "I need to talk to you." The clock ticked on while my 11-year-old confided in me something that had shaken his confidence. It had kept him awake for many nights. And, he said, he was anxious that it would happen again.
Handle with Care
Wasatch Woman, Jan Feb 2008
Not too long ago, I sat on my bed and listened to a close friend tell me about what scared her most in this world. It wasn't the risk of terrorism, natural disasters or nuclear war in the Middle East. She wasn't worried about childhood predators, robbers or any other "boogey men" that appeared in the daily news. She told me that what frightened her most was herself.
Not too long ago, I sat on my bed and listened to a close friend tell me about what scared her most in this world. It wasn't the risk of terrorism, natural disasters or nuclear war in the Middle East. She wasn't worried about childhood predators, robbers or any other "boogey men" that appeared in the daily news. She told me that what frightened her most was herself.
Little Toes In The Snow
Wasatch Woman, Nov Dec 2007
It was December 1968 and one of those days that stands out from the other three hundred and sixty-five. Our family had piled into the brown station wagon to head from the sun-drenched shores to a cold and mysterious location called "the mountains." Up to that point in my life, I'd only seen the tall rugged slopes in picture books. I remembered with excitement that they were dotted with Christmas trees, one beautiful triangle of green after another.
It was December 1968 and one of those days that stands out from the other three hundred and sixty-five. Our family had piled into the brown station wagon to head from the sun-drenched shores to a cold and mysterious location called "the mountains." Up to that point in my life, I'd only seen the tall rugged slopes in picture books. I remembered with excitement that they were dotted with Christmas trees, one beautiful triangle of green after another.
Back to School & Bittersweet Goodbyes
Wasatch Woman, Sep Oct 2007
This year the geometric spread of rectangular buildings that has both tormented and inspired my son looks different. The brick has faded a bit more, softening like his favorite pair of Levi's, the bronze statue in front of the courtyard has tarnished a deeper shade of grey after just three years of rain, snow, track meets, proms, and hours of driver's ed. Even the cottonwood trees are taller. The shade from their branches casts a cool shadow over the front lawn. My eldest son, Troy, is now a senior.
This year the geometric spread of rectangular buildings that has both tormented and inspired my son looks different. The brick has faded a bit more, softening like his favorite pair of Levi's, the bronze statue in front of the courtyard has tarnished a deeper shade of grey after just three years of rain, snow, track meets, proms, and hours of driver's ed. Even the cottonwood trees are taller. The shade from their branches casts a cool shadow over the front lawn. My eldest son, Troy, is now a senior.
I Have a Dream Too
Wasatch Woman, Jul Aug 2007
I didn't think that I could ever kill anyone, but I was wrong. It was 1988 when I first thought about it. I envisioned a scene where I would use a baseball bat or maybe a strategic push sending him down a full fl ight of stairs. I was only 23 years old, but it seemed like the only way to end it. He was a formidable enemy. He lifted weights, ran track, and beat my sister.
I didn't think that I could ever kill anyone, but I was wrong. It was 1988 when I first thought about it. I envisioned a scene where I would use a baseball bat or maybe a strategic push sending him down a full fl ight of stairs. I was only 23 years old, but it seemed like the only way to end it. He was a formidable enemy. He lifted weights, ran track, and beat my sister.
A Call Back in Time
Wasatch Woman, May June 2007
My cell phone rang the other day and it called me back in time. I was in my car headed home from work and I glanced at the screen to see who it was. I saw a California area code and a listing of "Unknown." The number certainly was foreign. But as I answered the call, I heard a deep voice that was anything but unknown to me. The sound of his voice was as familiar to me as the sounds of hide-and-go-seek, but I hadn't heard it for 30 years. "Hello, Hecka!" he said enthusiastically.
My cell phone rang the other day and it called me back in time. I was in my car headed home from work and I glanced at the screen to see who it was. I saw a California area code and a listing of "Unknown." The number certainly was foreign. But as I answered the call, I heard a deep voice that was anything but unknown to me. The sound of his voice was as familiar to me as the sounds of hide-and-go-seek, but I hadn't heard it for 30 years. "Hello, Hecka!" he said enthusiastically.
Laughter and Heavy Breathing
Wasatch Woman, Mar Apr 2007
"If you can't make it better, you can laugh at it." Erma Bombeck
Back in February of 1927, a woman was born whose typewriter tickled America. Erma Bombeck's honesty and wry sense of humor scored a direct hit on society's collective funny bone during the first part of the 20th century:
"My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first one being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint!"
"If you can't make it better, you can laugh at it." Erma Bombeck
Back in February of 1927, a woman was born whose typewriter tickled America. Erma Bombeck's honesty and wry sense of humor scored a direct hit on society's collective funny bone during the first part of the 20th century:
"My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first one being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint!"
Hurricane Cupid
Wasatch Woman, Jan Feb 2007
I didn't learn about true love from poetry, professors, or pundits either. I learned about real love while on the job.
Gifts From My Children
Wasatch Woman, Nov Dec 2006
One of my fondest memories of the holidays came on a winter morning. Snow blanketed the grass, its white edges tucked around the rectangle of our front yard like a down comforter. Our three naked Aspen trees quaked in the cold canyon winds and our warm breath made fuzzy circles on the window panes.
One of my fondest memories of the holidays came on a winter morning. Snow blanketed the grass, its white edges tucked around the rectangle of our front yard like a down comforter. Our three naked Aspen trees quaked in the cold canyon winds and our warm breath made fuzzy circles on the window panes.
What She Never Said
Wasatch Woman, July Aug 2006
We draw strength from each other's voices, whether they be from the past or the present. The stories of our lives and heritage give us a well of human experience to draw upon, where we can learn from each other's mistakes and joys.
Queen Bees Redefining Utah's Beehive
Wasatch Woman, April May 2006
We all have those crazy moments when the term "flexschedule" can't even begin to describe the complexities of our lives. I had one of the moments back in 1995. I was sitting atop one of those fuzzy carpeted toiled seat covers in a small bathroom two thousand miles away from my home trying hard to find my dignity while my breast pump whirred, hummed, and basically trumpeted to passersby, "Hello! Don't mind us! We are just lactating in here!"
