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Political

The High Cost of Eggs

“You gotta break some eggs to make an omelet.” I’m not opining about the high cost of eggs, although omelet lovers across the country are in mourning right now. I’m talking about the idea that sometimes, you have to break things to make something better. Meet some “eggs” that are currently being scrambled and broken in order to “make a better omelet”: -Farmers who signed contracts with the U.S. Department of Agriculture to improve infrastructure, who paid up front to put in fences, plant different crops, and install renewable energy systems with the promise that the government would provide them

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Life and Breath

It was a cloudy Sunday morning in early February. My family had gathered earlier that weekend for a difficult goodbye, and now most had disappeared to their various activities, taking their sadness along with them. In the living room, only three of us remained: My five-year-old grandchild Zoe, me, and my beloved dog Piper, who was sitting at my feet as close to me as possible, as usual. Thankfully, she was breathing easy, the hacking cough of the past few days momentarily silenced. I recognized a teachable moment. “Zoe,” I said, “did your mom and dad tell you about Piper?”

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Non-Fiction

Listening to Learn. And Learning to Listen.

A gleeful, far-right conservative and a glum, bleeding-heart liberal walk into a coffee shop… Sounds like a set-up for a joke, right? But it was no joke when I made a bet with someone I hadn’t seen in years over who’d win the most recent presidential election. If his candidate won (a candidate I couldn’t stand, whose campaign promises made me angry and afraid), I’d pony up and buy him breakfast at the café of his choice. But if my smart and oh-so-capable candidate prevailed, he’d be the one paying for my bacon and eggs. Confident in the obvious superiority

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Non-Fiction

What Child is This?

It’s as if I’m cradling a lumpy sack of potatoes, heavy as a watermelon. My arm, with its withering bicep, starts to ache where her head is nestled into the crook of my elbow. My tight neck muscles sound a familiar, years-long alarm. After a few minutes, my shoulder joins in the painful protest. And yet. Her dark eyes, staring into mine, begin to flutter like the wings of a butterfly. She reaches for me and I gently close my fingers around her tiny hand. She squeezes tightly before resting her warm palm in mine. Her breathing slows, her little

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Non-Fiction

Finding Our Way

We’d decided to spend election night in Verona at our daughter’s and son-in-law’s house. The next day was our granddaughter’s 4th birthday, and we reasoned that we’d have two reasons to rejoice. We were wrong. The next day, the only thing we could celebrate was Charlie. But even Charlie, dressed in her princess gown, her wide grin and masses of curly brown hair constantly falling into her sparkling eyes, failed to cheer me up. Fried potatoes for breakfast only added to my overwhelming nausea. Sharing my grief with others who were grieving just like me offered only temporary respite. Finally,

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Political

Fear, Anger and Change, Part II

I thought long and hard about posting my last essay. In fact, I’d written it and then let it sit, like a chicken marinating in the fridge. And based upon some of the comments I’ve received, my hesitation about the post was based on a solid foundation. I hesitated to post it because I feared it might sound as if I was plopping an entire marinated chicken on a plate already overflowing with food. The metaphorical plate belonging to a woman, of course. To all women. Because I don’t know one woman whose plate isn’t more than full. And many

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Political

Fear, Anger and Change

I had a telephone conversation with a family member the other night, someone I haven’t connected with in a long time. We’ve always been on opposite sides of the political aisle, and although our past political conversations were often passionate, just as often, they were punctuated by laughter and gentle ribbing. We often ended our conversations by agreeing to disagree. Yet, during the past few years, we hadn’t found a successful way to talk with each other. But for me, hope springs eternal. Unfortunately, hope seemed to fly out of the window the other night. What struck me most during

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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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