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Political

Follow the Money

If you donated money to the Republican National Committee, are you at all curious about how it’s being spent? According to a report in the New York Times, both parties typically spend donations and energy on “turning out voters — funding extensive organizing operations that knock on doors, run phone banks and track voters.” But this election cycle, according to the article, chances are your GOP donation is being spent on law suits and other so-called “election integrity efforts.” No matter that there is no legitimate study or source proving that our elections are anything but secure and legitimate, since

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Political

No Surprise: We Can Make a Different Choice

First, let me be crystal clear: here in America, we must settle our differences at the ballot box. Never with violence. Ever. Assassination attempts are always horrifically, terribly wrong. But I’m curious: is anyone really surprised? Surprised that in a nation where there are more guns than in any other country in the world—more guns than people—that someone would turn to using a gun to settle a perceived score? So then, is anyone really surprised how difficult it must be to protect presidential candidates from those millions of weapons, unless you lock the the candidates in a heavily-guarded, secret and

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Political

The Wisdom of Mothers

I’ve been interested and active in politics for a long time, starting as a little kid when my mom took me to my first protest rally. It stuck. Some of my young family and friends recently have asked me, “Do you think we can win?” I think they’re asking me because I’m old. Which is fine because it’s true. And it’s nice that those early and long-ago lessons from my mom are still with me. Last night, I attended the Harris/Walz rally at Fiserv Forum along with 15,000 other wildly enthusiastic people, including a young friend who’d asked me that

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Political

And Then (With Some Work) There Was Light

When I was a kid, the nightmare I had over and over again always began the same way: I’m eating a bowl of Cheerios at the Formica-topped table in my mother’s kitchen. Her pretty, white ruffled curtains, encouraged by a gentle breeze, float in and out of open windows. A loud bang, like an unexpected gunshot, jolts the spoon out of my hand, the milk sloshing from my bowl and spilling across the table. The noise is coming from the closed door leading to our basement, and it grows louder with each rhythmic thud, the thumping in my chest doing

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Non-Fiction

Of Fog and Rainbows

Door County, Wisconsin is a tiny finger of land jutting out into Lake Michigan’s northwestern coastline. It’s a gorgeous area made up of small, charming little towns dotted among the best that nature has to offer, the communities encircling the peninsula like an antique necklace of pearls adorning the neck of a beautiful woman. Door County has often been described as the Cape Cod of the Midwest, and having spent time in both areas, I’d agree. It’s also an incredibly healing place, as my friend Janet, who has a vacation home there, reminded me when she generously offered it to

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Political

The Price of Our Beliefs

I was fresh out of college when I first read the book, The Handmaid’s Tale, which is now also a TV series. It depicts the US as a police state ruled by Christian fundamentalists who oppress women while surveilling and regulating the lives of its citizens. When I read it, I was struggling to reconcile my Catholic upbringing with my staunch feminist beliefs. My Catholic feminist mom was struggling with the same. Given that the church we both attended back then was widely regarded as the most liberal in Milwaukee, we were in good company among plenty of Catholics who

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Political

It’s Not You. It’s the System.

Just about every woman I know has told me the same thing: “I’m so tired.” Women who are young mothers. Women who are retired. And women in between each of those stages of life, all saying and feeling the same thing: “I am so, so tired.” I feel the same. And this sentiment is not going unnoticed. Books, articles and podcasts offer similar antidotes to wake us from our communal slumber: Take more bubble baths and naps. Schedule more massages. Demand that your husband/partner/co-worker/boss do more, and/or expect less. In one article offering 50 Ways to Better Self-Care, I found

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Non-Fiction

Forever

On this Valentine’s Day, I wanted to share some thoughts about love that may be different than a typical Hallmark movie. The following guest post is by my wise and wonderful friend, Karen Vernal. In her essay, Karen describes her grief over losing her beloved first husband John and then, how she found love again with Tom, the second man to capture her heart so completely. Karen’s beautiful essay resonates so fully with me because I’ve recently experienced the pain of grief and the joy of love, and I’m beginning to recognize that these two emotions often show up together,

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Fiction

All That I Carry

(The following piece was recently published in Persimmon Tree, an on-line magazine. I hope you enjoy it.) I’m walking barefoot uphill. Under one arm, I carry my elderly mother, my siblings, and assorted friends. Some are silent. Some want to assist, but aren’t sure how. Others offer to help but, too tired to direct them, I politely decline. Then there are those who shout instructions (“Turn that way! Move faster!”), which only elevates my unrelenting anxiety and fatigue.  Tucked under my other arm are the other members of my family—husband, kids, grandkids. They cheerfully urge me on and while I

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Non-Fiction

Love Wins*

My 90-year-old neighbor Gerry died last month. We’ve lived next door to him and his family for more than thirty years. At the church service, two of Gerry’s children shared stories of their dad, the common thread being how Gerry didn’t suffer fools. In their eulogies, they’d described him as a demanding dad, expecting his children, and the students he taught as a dental school professor, to strive for perfection in everything they did. This didn’t surprise me. Gerry was a man whose lush lawn could’ve doubled as a country club putting green. He diligently swept his long driveway clean

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