The turkey was carved, pumpkin pies devoured, and I could see our Thanksgiving guests would soon be homeward bound. Good-bye Pilgrims, hello Santa. Everyone knew that the minute Thanksgiving wrapped up, we’d move into Christmas. So there I was, ready to deck the halls. But this year, it was complicated. My Dear Hubby fiddled with his wrist wrap, which was still healing from recent surgery. With him out of commission, how was I going to drag those 27 tubs of precious Christmas decor from the garden shed through the waist-high snowbanks that had piled up in our snow-trapping backyard? And yes, I mean TWENTY-SEVEN of those big, 44-gallon round Rubbermaid tubs typically used for garbage receptacles. Desperate, I stopped our two grown sons before they escaped out the front door. Of course, I didn’t tell them what was waiting for them—at least, not until after they shoveled their way to the shed and dug the snow away from its door! I knew exactly what their first question would be after dragging the first four tubs through the back door: “How do we know which tubs you want in here?” They should have known. They grew up with my obsession. “All of them.” I whispered, my jaws clenched as my face turned as red as Rudolph's nose. I’ll never forget what my father, who watched those tubs pile up in the sunroom, said to me. “What’s wrong with you? You have enough stuff here to decorate the Civic Center!” Dad, I finally know what’s wrong with me.. I should have started Christmas decorating LONG before Thanksgiving! Think about it: there are only about 30 days between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Some years, as few as 27 days! Putting up 27 tubs of Christmas decor for as few as 27 days—what WAS I thinking? Some of us take a while to catch on. But after refraining from pre-Thanksgiving decorating for most of my long life, I have found the Thanksgiving turkey tastes the same--even in a room void of autumn decor! So, yes, I have gone to the dark side. And honestly? It’s not my fault. Mariah Carey gave me permission when she began officially kicking off the Christmas season each year on November 1st with a rendition of her famous track, “All I Want For Christmas Is You.” I'm pretty sure DH isn’t a fan. All he wants for Christmas is no decor. “When we were growing up, my mother put up one red candle every year,” he’d mutter as he toted in tub after tub year after year. Now, he’s added to the grumble: “And never once did she put it out before Thanksgiving." When do YOU decorate for Christmas? Yes, Santa is a little out of place here, but the turkey tastes the same regardless of the clashing Christmas decor!

I admit it—as a mother, I dressed my kids in costumes that would be considered racist today. Google knows everything—including what costume you’ll be wearing this year. Its Frightgeist site just released the top trend report for Halloween costumes, based on search history, and it predicts you will go as Buddy the Unicorn. If not him, then NeeDoh, Freaky Nikki from Obsession, Agamemnon from The Odyssey or Lily Love Braids from the latest release of Poppy Playtime. If not one of those, you’ll rely on the most-used costumes in history: vampires, ghosts, skeletons, princesses, pirates and Star Wars characters. Or Dolly Parton. She is Number 12 on the Frightgeist list—and Kenny Rogers (with whom she famously recorded Islands In the Stream) is Number 14. And since this is the year the movie Michael was released, you may be going as Michael Jackson. It's a safe choice, at least! Buddy the Unicorn is predicted to be the most popular costume this Halloween. I would prefer Ozzy Ox! Just sayin'! Be careful there, unless you are Black. Pretending to be a person of another race is complicated. I admit it—as a mother, I dressed my kids in costumes that would be considered racist today. Our daughter, with her almost-black hair, brown eyes and skin, dressed as every kind of female Native American heroine we knew of during her childhood. She was a beautiful Pocahontas, Sacagawea and Indian maiden. I honestly thought we honored the Native American culture with her costumes. One year back in the late 1980s, our son went as his hero, Kirby Puckett (so did a lot of other people I know, both adult and kids). Puckett, the beloved Minnesota Twins center, is still close to our son’s heart. He portrayed his favorite player, not out of mockery, but ultimate respect. And yes, of course, he painted his face black, although, truth be told, I doubt there was ever a white kid less concerned about the color of skin. He knew every move Puckett made on the baseball field, and when we met Kirby in the hall of the Holiday Inn right before a Kirby Puckett event, he was beyond star struck. I don’t think he ever thought of Kirby as Black, white or any other color. He just thought of him as an absolute hero. Then there was our third child, whom I dressed in a poncho and a huge sombrero when he was very young. I thought he was the cutest little thing I’d ever seen. Today, kids don’t get to dress like that—at least, not without giving it a lot of thought. They—and their parents—-must be aware of the difference between cultural appropriation and cultural appreciation. I am obviously no expert on the subject--but the last thing I meant to do in dressing our kids for Halloween was to stereotype another culture. So learning more about the difference between cultural appropriation and cultural appreciation has opened my eyes. Check out the article at this link. Meanwhile, I may or may not be going again this year as a witch. Five years in a row wearing the same hat and black dress. My grandkids are even tired of it, and told me so last year. But hey, Google lists the witch as THE most popular costume of all time! HAPPY HALLOWEEN COSTUME HUNTING & HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Last week, our Minnesota twins had a couple of days off, so they visited us at the The Bison Ranch. This week, our North Dakota grandkids will have a break from school on Thursday and Friday. Both states call off two school days in October for annual teachers’ conventions. The focus is on providing our educators—teachers and school leaders alike—with professional development. The conventions also give them a chance to network and address the issues facing education today. Staring back at all of us is a critical teacher shortage. Last March, North Dakota’s Education Standards and Practices Board designated teaching positions in ALL content areas as critical shortage areas—not just traditionally hard-to-fill subjects like high school math or science, but elementary education, too. North Dakota is far from alone: every state reported teacher shortages in multiple teaching areas for the 2024–2025 school year. While shortages in some states and regions go back decades, the problem has grown more urgent in recent years. Simply put, schools face two challenges at once: keeping teachers in the profession and preparing enough new teachers to take their places. According to a 2025 analysis by the American Association of Colleges for Teacher Education, enrollment in teacher preparation programs declined by roughly one-third between 2012–2013 and 2022–2023. Pair that with findings from a recent “Educator Recognition and Retention Survey,” which reports that one in four U.S. public school teachers plans to quit within the next 12 months. One in four. Why are teachers fed up with their careers? We can all point to low pay, especially here in North Dakota. Our state ranks 41st in the nation for average teacher salaries, according to data compiled by the National Education Association for the 2024–2025 school year. That doesn’t square with our place in state rankings of GDP per capita: North Dakota is the 16th richest state. Yeah, but North Dakotans are all underpaid, right? True, we do consistently rank in the lower tier for average wages. But that comparison doesn’t exactly justify what we are paying our teachers. North Dakota’s average wages rank between 26th and 33rd nationally. But teachers place 41st! Think about that. Then couple it with other reasons teachers are ditching their careers: burnout, student behavior, and something else I learned about in a conversation last week with a retired Arizona teacher. He said he walked out of a 30-year career he loved far sooner than he’d planned. In the aftermath of COVID’s disruption to his students’ education, he felt grave concern for them and their chances of regaining what they had lost when the school resorted to remote learning. He felt that the Gilbert school where he had taught for so many years no longer had his back--and the backs of teachers, period. Lack of support from school leadership is another reason teachers leave their classrooms. In my mind, this is more than a survey result. It is a guidepost for schools everywhere. We need to support our teachers! Pay them better, listen to them, honor their expertise, teach our children to respect them. And recognize that our futures depend on turning this teacher attrition problem around. Parents, school administration, legislators and the American people: WHAT ARE WE DOING ABOUT THIS?

Turns out, storing your data in "the cloud" doesn't mean it's tucked away in a happy little cumulus overhead. It's sitting in a data center, in row upon row of servers, all housed in a building the area of twenty-plus football felds. Last night, someone asked me if I was for or against data centers--and if we need more of them. Ironic, since just yesterday, we drove by several gigantic data centers going up or recently built in Mesa, Arizona. I recognized the names of some of them: Meta (Facebook, Instagram, etc), Google, Microsoft, Apple and Nvidia, along with so many other less-recognized companies, like Edgecore, which has the biggest new data center in Mesa's Elliot Road Technology Corridor: 2.7 million square feet! What? Why do we need more of these massive monstrosities? To store more data from AI? What is AI, anyway? -The greeting you leave for your spouse that interpreted your voice and created voice to text. The notification from your credit card questioning if the $4.32 you just spent on an app was really you. The filter on your phone flagging SPAM. The Alexa fart command your kids and grandkids can't seem to get enough of. The argument with your father-in-law--you won it because Google said you did. -Your shopping list on Amazon, Walmart, eBay, Etsy, and Target—and the reviews you read to pick out your next book or blender. Those Amazon packages--from the factory to the warehouse and then piled up in front of your door everyday. The Google lens that tells you whether the antique dish you found during Junk Days is valuable. The online marketplaces that allow you to compare costs of a used F-150 or alert you to the next auction sale. The local grocery store that you can count on to find knoephla now that the weather has turned cold (AI logistics track weather, and when the forecast warns of a cold front, a grocery store’s inventory is AI-updated with more knoephla!) -Your trip to the Dominican, the best stuff to see and do, where to stay, how to get there. Uber rides and Uber eats. That review on Expedia that told you the hotel you chose had head lice. That boarding pass popping up on your phone as you stand in line at the airport. The new friends you met on your trip that pledge to stay in your life through social media. The weird videos that you sent to your buddies while you waited in the airport lobby. -The tickets to the NFL game you can’t miss—and those athletes you revere using “digital twins,” a cloud infrastructure that tracks their positions, speed, and helmet impact. Wearing high-performance GPS smart vests during practice to scan the biometrics and biomechanics data to detect signs of extreme muscle fatigue and symmetry. Sure, our athletes deserve the best! But before they became such stars, your NFL heroes are scouted using Tactic AI. Human refs assisted by AI offside tracking systems. You get to watch local, live coverage via live global broadcast feeds allowing you to not only watch your games but bet on them too! -That new house you dreamed of all your life: from contractor evaluations to lot plans to floor plans to bidding to estimates to a smart thermostat that allows you to keep track of your home’s temperature from 2,000 miles away. The robot that keeps your floors clean. The Ring doorbell that tells you a stranger is standing by your front door. Your call to local law enforcement begging them to track down your stolen car. The weather app that tells you to put your car back in the garage because a hail storm is on the horizon. -You had a CT on Tuesday, and guess what? You were asked to go to your electronic medical chart, populated by an electronic medical record kept by your healthcare system--that is linked to other healthcare facilities all over the country. You find out in your Mychart that you don't have a bowel obstruction because AI evaluated your scans and x-rays in a setting 300 miles away. But charting and medical records are not the only role AI plays in your healthcare! The oncologist who tells you he used robotics to remove your father’s tumor. The specialist you'll see this afternoon will verify that your Apple Watch got it right--it tracked your heart health by monitoring your pulse, oxygen levels and electrical heart rhythms. And it counted your steps while it was at it. -You believe in good citizenship so naturally, you must want green energy powering your life, right? Those solar panels and wind turbines, though—-how does the energy they produce fit into the electrical grid and your energy supply in real time? And speaking of energy, how does your electricity supplier avoid blackouts and brownouts? How does it forecast consumer demand? How does it respond to a fallen tree; how does it re-route power after major disasters? How did your linemen know to show up in the middle of the night to restore power you didn't even know was off? The electric grid itself—how is it dependable even during times of rising demand from data centers? How often do you flip on a light switch or turn on a television without thinking about it? More data? More AI? What part of your own electric supply isn’t programmed by AI already? Still, I hate the idea of AI and data centers! Someone is getting rich from them! Who? Apple, Facebook (Meta), Google (Alphabet), Microsoft, Nvidia. Those damn billionaires—Bezos, Page, Gates and such—that’s who. But wait. Companies investing in AI are publicly traded, meaning you can invest in them and reap the profits, too. Have you checked your 401-K or IRA lately? Maybe you are already invested in them! Is that the reason your portfolio is looking so good these days? NVIDIA, up 25.5%, Amazon, up 21.3%. Both outperforming the S&P 500 (16%) over the past 12 months. But still. I don't care. Data centers use too much electricity and water. We will all suffer higher electric rates because of them. Well, not always. Data centers in Mesa's tech corridor have addressed the water issue by using largely water-positive, closed-loop cooling that requires minimal water. That process is becoming the standard. And some data companies are building their own electrical generation. For example, Apple's Mesa data center is 100 percent powered by a 300-acre solar farm near Florence, Ariz. Electricity and water issues aside, data centers are just evil ways to make the rich richer. Yes, and we do have a way to fight against those rich demons. Hand in your cell phone. Shut off your Smart TV, take off your Smart Watch. Unplug Alexa and say goodbye to Siri. Email your contacts with your physical address and tell them where to send business and personal mail. Have your land line reinstalled. Close down your Amazon and all other smart shopping accounts. Tell Google goodbye. Shut your laptop down and trade off that car or truck that drives itself down the highway— or has mere navigation— for a 1990 model that was bothered by none of those things. Dig out a Rand McNally atlas, your old point-and-shoot camera and make sure you get a flashlight and compass now that your cell phone has been trashed. Call your energy supplier and tell them you want your power supply ONLY if it is NOT managed by AI. Dig out that old telephone book and call your bank to tell them that all your accounts will have to be closed IF the bank uses AI to manage them. Tell your doctor she is not to confer with off-site specialists who could diagnose that back pain that’s keeping you from your work. Tell your grandkids that you can’t watch their Christmas program on FaceTime. Take your kids out of public school or college because tablets. They learn with tablet computers and white boards there--how dare! More AI and more data centers? Why do we need them? Have you asked AI to build a spreadsheet lately? Manage your email contacts, photoshop the aging portrait of your grandparents? Research your ancestry, visited an arcade using virtual reality and those funny headsets? Tapped into the cameras that surveilled your child's daycare? Used Zoom to connect with people around the world? Have you ever gone on a trip in which you consulted Google AI for its travel guidance? Booked a VRBO in the most remote area of the country? Gotten into gaming online? All that data—-beginning with your contact list, photos, games, social media, email texts, CT scans, x-rays, banking, investments and so much more--has to reside somewhere. Turns out, storing your data in "the cloud" doesn't mean it's tucked away in a happy little cumulus overhead. It's sitting in a data center, in row upon row of servers, all housed in a building the area of twenty-plus football felds. . Storing your data alongside heavy hitter data clients like those managing electricity, law enforcement, national defense, transportation, food supply, healthcare and more. If you are a “no” to data centers, what’s your alternative? Moving to China may not be an option. If enough of us shut down data centers here, they are sure to have more over there.

They were children. Ripped from their families by strangers. Snatched away and forced to board buses or trains that often took them miles and miles away from their families. They were young—some merely toddlers. Dumped into boarding schools where they were frequently beaten if they dared speak their Native language. Where their hair, considered sacred in their culture, was chopped off, their clothes replaced by military-style uniforms. Where they faced cruelty and abuse—physical, mental and sexual—as part of their daily regiment. Where any reference to their Native life, customs, or traditions were forbidden and punished. Where infectious diseases ran rampant and even killed more than 3,100 of them in the U.S. and 4,000 in Canada. Where they were held hostage and often didn’t see their families for years. No, this savagery wasn’t an overseas dilemma. It happened right here in North America—in the United States and Canada—to FIVE GENERATIONS—of Native American children. The idea was to strip them of their culture, to assimilate them, to “kill the Indian, save the man,” as termed by the founder of the first boarding school, At the peak of the United States Indian Boarding School era, which lasted over 150 years, some 80 percent of all Native American children were forced into Indian Boarding Schools and held in custody by the U.S. government. Today, 99 percent of all Indigenous people have been affected directly—or indirectly—by forced internment at 537 United States Indian Boarding Schools and 140 Canadian schools. We can’t change what happened. But we can acknowledge the intergenerational trauma caused by forced internment at these schools. That we own this evil era of our history. Today is Orange Shirt Day. It is a day to honor survivors of Indian Boarding Schools and remember those who never returned to their families. To mourn with the generations of mothers and fathers who tried desperately to hide their children from those who swept them from their front yards and took them away. We must encourage others to reflect on the systemic cruelty of the past and tolerate none of such bias toward any child in the future. We can help them and their families heal. We can acknowledge and honor today, Orange Shirt Day. Because EVERY child matters.

I admit it--I might need oxygen. Ozzy's aversion to socks won him a dragonfly award. I didn't even know I loved dragonflies, but I do now! The Purple Dragonfly Book Award is a worldwide competition to celebrate the best in children’s books. Ozzy Ox Stands Against Socks won this distinction based on scoring by industry experts ----including the "real" experts: children! Dragonfly Awards are granted to books based on content, originality, overall readability and design/illustration. Ozzy's sock story won in the category of Picture Books for Ages Six and Up. Surprising, since I, as an author, have heard from parents of children as young as 18 months that their children request Ozzy Ox over and over. One father even hid Ozzy Ox Candy Stash from his three-year-old because he had read it on repeat over months and months at the request--no, demands--of his son! Kudos and THANK YOU to Illustrator Emily Hagen on the appeal of her beautiful artwork. I always say: the PICTURES in a picture book are the most critical component! They were absolutely critical to the Purple Dragonfly Award. Ozzy Ox Stands Against Socks wouldn't be an award winner--and wouldn't even be a book--without the marvelous talent of Emily Hagen! Emily, thank you SO much for bringing Ozzy to life!

It's been a couple weeks now that we opened the gate on Ozzy Ox. He's found his way online on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Goodreads. And now he's knocking on the doors of local bookstores. Our first reading--and book signing-has been scheduled for Sat., Aug. 26, 10:30 AM at THE STORY NOOK in Jamestown, ND (109 First St. West). Every Saturday at 10:30 AM, Story Nook owner Emily Steele hosts Reading Time. We'll not only be reading Ozzy Ox: Candy Stash, but Illustrator Emily Hagen will be there too! We'll bring a few of her real life illustrations along so that she can show a little about the wonderful process that she uses to bring Ozzy books into living color! Emily and I will be all set to sign any Ozzy books already out there--and we'll have plenty of copies at the store for you to purchase as well. So set your calendar for Sat.. Aug 26, 10:30 AM at The Story Nook. -- just west of Babb's Coffee Shop, or east of Gun and Reel!

I didn’t go to kindergarten. Back in the 1800s (and also in the 1960s!), public kindergarten wasn’t a thing in North Dakota. Thank goodness, that has changed. My grandson, Eddie, turns six tomorrow. Like most kids his age, he attends full-time kindergarten and is reading like second-graders used to “Grandma, I started reading chapter books!,” he proudly announced recently. While authors like me see NOTHING wrong with sticking with pictures books long after age six, there is a whole lot of stats out there imploring families to sit down with their kids and read—as soon as they are born. By age two, a child’s brain is as active as an adult’s. By age three, the brain is more than TWICE as active as an adult’s—and stays that way for the first 10 years of life. By age 3, roughly 85 percent of the brain is developed. What should families do to nurture that development? READ TO THEM! SHOW THEM THAT READING IS FUN! According to a study from Ohio State University, one-fourth of children in a national sample are never read to, and another one-fourth of children are seldom read to. The same study found that children whose parents read them five books a day enter kindergarten having heard about 1.4 MILLION more words than kids who were weren’t read to. Based on their calculations, here is how many words kids would have heard by the time they were five years old: Never read to: 4,662 words; 1-2 times per week: 63,570 words; 3-5 times per week: 169,520 words; 7 times per week (daily): 296,660 words Five books a day: 1,483,300 words. Keep in mind where that million-word vocabulary will take a child: —A better childhood: A study found that when children know more words, they have an easier time paying attention and be more engaged in school, have better relationships with teachers, socialize more easily and receive more positive feedback from their peers. —A better adulthood: A study indicates that early reading levels in first grade as well as the trajectory of reading development through the first five years of school were associated with reading scores in adulthood. In 2024, 21 percent of US adults are illiterate. Would that be the case if every child was read to beginning at birth? You’ve heard it before, but now, more than ever—READ to and with the children in your life!

I used to think that entering old age was like shifting down a gravel truck. You’d be roaring down a smooth asphalt road, when all of a sudden, you’d hit a rut and spin out on gravel--frantically hitting the clutch and brakes as you struggled to keep all four wheels grounded. I am old now, and so far, haven’t met that fate. Gratefully, I didn’t wake up one day feeling like my thought processes had been hijacked and replaced with a fog that never quite lifted. A person who didn’t have an opinion or the curiosity to seek truth. A being who had checked out of life because relevance and technology left them behind. I am pretty sure my younger self perceived old age like that. Obviously, I have changed my mind—and you will too, someday. In the meantime, I have a feeling that old age is the last social profile that hasn’t been added to the "socially unjust" index. As much as I see the danger in sorting every human being into demographic silos, I am a little surprised that the typical grandparent stereotype--that of an old codger impeding traffic or using a 20-year-old flip phone held together by rubber bands--survives in the age of inclusivity. It's time that bias goes the way of dial-up modems. So, let me start right here. I am a PROUD grandmother that knows how to use technology as well as anybody. Stop with those ads that say, "If you are over 55, you have a special need for our [dumbed down] tablet that has big letters." Stop with the assumption that anyone over age 55 can't walk into a Verizon store and understand the 21-year-old tech that talks to you like you're in kindergarten. Stow that smug grin that smacks of condescension and the "you can't possibly grasp what I am talking about." But, most of all, stop calling me "Grandma"--unless you are one of nine VERY SPECIAL people that qualify. Don't get me wrong: I am in LOVE with being a grandma--what a privilege it is! I sometimes tease my own kids that if I had known how great it is to have grandchildren, I more than likely would have just skipped the parenthood thing! But my grandmother role is reserved for MY GRANDCHILDREN only! If you aren’t one of those nine special people—don’t you DARE call me grandma! I am not your grandma and (sorry, not sorry!) I am offended by how disparagingly the term is used. To mock, to insult, to degrade. To turn a living, breathing individual into a Hollywood punchline. How did matriarchs and patriarchs become so disrespected in our culture, anyway? Is it not bizarre that we fiercely protect other social identities from stereotypes, yet we don't raise an eyebrow to outright prejudice against the aged? Why is it ok to make a mockery out of a person whose knowledge and life experiences should be revered, to be consulted and used to guide future generations? I know that other cultures--indigenous and Eastern come to mind--view their elders as keepers of wisdom. We have lost that compass. There is so much more to the elderly, whether they are grandparents or not. I hope for the day when it is just as taboo to mock an elderly woman by calling her "an old grandma" as it is to target any other group with the disgusting, historic monikers we have rightfully banned from civil society. Too bad we can't just drive a gravel truck over all of it.

Twenty-five years ago tonight, my husband, our three kids, and I went to bed in tears. Our Chocolate Lab Otis—still centered in our hearts as the most beloved dog to ever pace the earth—died that day. Reflecting on the memory of Otis, I can still feel all 141 pounds of him cozying up against me while I worked at my computer. I can still remember how he could read my heart. He’d cuddle when I was sad and playfully attack when he greeted me with a drooling mouth and wiggly tail each day after work. What a welcome home—one I counted on each day, never realizing what a gift it truly was. My husband was probably hit hardest by Otis’s death. It was hunting season, and Otis died doing what he loved best. But, as stoic as Oren had always been, he ended that day sobbing, too. He was mourning the good times—those days in his old field pickup when Otis would sit straight up in the middle seat, huddled so tightly to him that he had to drive with his left hand. “Oren, I saw you driving west with the Brunette beside you!” Yes, I have brown hair, but it wasn’t me the neighbors referred to. “The Brunette” was beloved by more than just our immediate family. He was iconic—the kind of dog, with his huge frame and oversized head, that started conversations. He once scared a visitor who drove into our farmyard in a small car; she actually thought he was a bear! That entire week seems surreal now, 25 years later. Our oldest son had come home on leave from the US Air Force. He had completed pilot training just five days prior and would soon go off to his first assignment as a military pilot. He loved Otis, too, and went to bed just as heartbroken as the rest of us. You can imagine our anguish when the next day dawned and planes crashed into the World Trade Center. Suddenly, losing a dog seemed quite tolerable. It was seeing your son off to fly a military plane in a spiraling world that quieted the cherished memories of Otis, replacing them with pure angst. All of this surfaced again last week when our pilot son, now a colonel, “tapped out” his own son—our grandson—at his graduation from Air Force Basic Training. Holding back tears, my mind flashed back to the day Jerrad had to leave us for his first assignment as a pilot. I sat on the porch in the early morning darkness and watched his taillights until they were no longer visible. I knew in my heart that he would be deployed to the Middle East in a matter of weeks, if not days. Terrified, I wondered where terrorism would take this world—and my son. A parent never lets go of the fear that a child will meet misfortune. I knew that long before those taillights disappeared into the early morning horizon so long ago. And now, I have taken on the same role as a grandparent. Is Nolan's commitment to serve his country worth it? Do we as a country deserve his dutiful pledge-and that of all service men and women? I often wonder if most people even realize the scope of that commitment, especially now. Before 9/11, the term “terrorism” wasn’t even in our everyday vernacular. When Jerrad first started at age 17 with Air Force Basic Training in Colorado Springs, there were no major wars that we knew of. Terrorism was a back-burner issue happening on the far sides of the earth. Now, we are not even sure where the next crisis will erupt, who the enemy even is, or how the fight will be fought. If something as horrific as 9/11 has a silver lining, it is this: Beginning that very day, America came together. It didn’t matter whether you were black or white, red or yellow. Whether you were left or right, Republican or Democrat, rural or urban, white or blue-collar. We held hands and sang “God Bless America.” We flew our flags and burst with pride during the playing of the Star-Spangled Banner. Somehow, our love of country has been sidetracked. That concerns people like me, the ones who have family members in uniform. To listen to the mainstream and social media, about half the US population supports little of what the country does internationally or domestically. So many look patriotism in the eye as though it was a four-letter word. Some of the bigger egos have moved to another country, while many others threaten to, or pretend they wish to. Yet, according to the Gallup Poll, an estimated 134 million adults—up to 700 MILLION when their children are included—would move to the United States TOMORROW if they could. How those two facts square is beyond my meager understanding. Twenty-five years ago tonight, we would have never believed that the next day would deliver terrorism to our front door. We were adrift in the tragedy of losing a dog so dear to us that the thought of him brings back tears to this day. Yet, how small those feelings are compared to the magnitude of 9/11! That’s the thing about good times. You don’t know it when you are living through them. You only look back and realize how blessed you were. Having a normal week day, with a good 'ole dog to greet you after work, and a sure footing in a country so loved by its citizens--that was life before 9/11. Love of country. Appreciation for our blessings and the men and women who stand up to protect us: I pray that it will be a reality again tomorrow, next month and next year. And after the next quarter-century. And forever. God Bless America!

It is good to be back to this blog! I know blogging needs far more consistency than what I have offered. No excuses are better than bad excuses, so I will save you an explanation. I still find immense delight in hearing from children who read Ozzy Ox. That's the greatest reward and I want to thank all who have introduced the lovable Ozzy to their children. He is out there on Amazon and in bookstores. So if you haven't met Ozzy, please do so! I hope to someday add onto the Ozzy Ox series and have a few more ideas for the rascally lad. For now, though, I have switched lanes and am writing a historical fiction novel. Set in Minnesota and North Dakota, it begins when a train hits a granite-hard snowbank during the first day of the Blizzard of March 1966. The train is stranded with 29 passengers for three days. That really happened and I am humbled to learn that some of the heroes of that saga are parents of folks I have either met or already know! That is only the beginning, though. The book features dual plot lines that qualify it as a historical drama. It goes on to feature settings in a Minnesota unwed mothers' home and the glamorous Summit Avenue in St. Paul, Minnesota. If you have never visited Summit Avenue, you may want to check it out, as it is, to this day, the longest preserved stretch of Victorian-era residential architecture in the United States! During the peak of the Gilded Age (1870 to 1900) 440 mansions were built on 4.5 miles of Summit Avenue. Today, 373 of those homes are still standing. My book features both an unwed mothers' home in that neighborhood and a wealthy heiress who lives in the largest turn-of-the-century mansion on that famous street. Every book needs a villain, right? Other settings include Valley City in the blizzard aftermath, a legacy ranch in western North Dakota and a North Dakota Indian reservation. Although my characters are fictional, their experiences are not. I have spent an inordinate amount of time studying the 1966 March Blizzard and its aftermath. I have read more documents, papers, articles and books about unwed mothers' homes and Indian boarding schools than I can count--and feel that what I have learned has greatly enriched my understanding of the injustice, the sheer brutality, heaped on the vulnerable in mid-century America. I still cannot believe how the timelines of the era took place on not only rich mid-century settings, but unbelievably consequential social policies that almost begged to be correlated. As a North Dakotan, I think we are all aware of Indian boarding schools. But how many of us know what followed them? After learning in-depth about the experiences of generations of Native Americans and the unwed mothers of past decades, I couldn't look away without at least an attempt to shine a light on these travesties. I prefer not to self-publish this book, and in that vein, am traveling later this summer to New York City, where my writing samples and outline has earned me a place at a writer's conference. In order to traditionally publish a novel, an author must find an agent. The chances of that happening (unless you are a celebrity) are .01 percent. Who is dense enough to accept those odds? Only a dreamer like me! Yes, I have to be realistic enough to believe I won't actually secure an agent with this book by simply showing up in New York. But I am confident that I will have learned from this experience about traditional publishing. That is my realistic goal--to learn something I wouldn't have otherwise! I self-published Ozzy Ox with an endless learning curve, and now I find, once again, that I have a lot to learn. To be honest, I will consider the whole thing successful if I avoid falling into a NYC manhole. And if the conference turns out to be a dud, I will still have gotten to visit NYC with dear friends and my lovely granddaughter--who, I expect, will keep me from falling in that manhole. Right, Emersyn? I want all of us to "be a part of it...New York, New York!" Please wish me luck!

It began as a fundraiser. An effort by a couple dozen people to help a family who is stricken with grief after losing a patriarch and its oldest son — all within a matter of months. But it ended up being more than that. Sure, it raised significant money - at least two or three times what we envisioned. But our benefit the other night raised more than money. As one local rancher said to me, “This has become about more than just money. Look how people have come together.” Yes, they — people from Aberdeen to Jamestown to Buchanan to Pingree to Carrington — certainly did come together! The KC Hall has seldom been filled to such capacity. Generosity lined the outside walls of the main hall via baskets and baskets designed with artists’ hands. Items that appealed to men, women and children with every kind of taste. Tools and equipment for any shop or garage. Home decor for any style. Toys, books and blankets for kids. Platters beautifully stacked with cookies (thanks, Chris Neys!) so festive they brought a sugar rush (and fetched up to $200 a plate!). That was the Silent Auction. The LIVE Auction could be a story in itself. A posse of professionals couldn’t have done a better job of gathering donations -- and those they targeted could simply not have been more generous. Donations to the LIVE auction were something to behold: gift certificates that offered services as diverse as fertilizer spreading for 1,000 acres to Minnesota and North Dakota vacation packages, to quarter beefs, to 20 bags of bean seeds to 10 emsella treatments and one Party Bus. Two 7’ Christmas trees decorated with pull tabs. Heavy duty stuff, too—a snow blower, a Bobcat generator, grills, televisions, e-bikes, even Sioux hockey tickets and a Brett Favre jersey! As impressive as those donations are, they weren’t magical until bidders bravely bid. As hard as we worked to reflect a real retail value of all items on both the silent and LIVE auctions, bidders often didn’t meet those values—they often SURPASSED them. As awe-inspiring as the bids for the big-buck items were, the darlings of the ball were lefsa by the dozen and porch pots times ten. It tickled me that all of Susan Fredrickson’s festive evergreen porch pots, which she humbly thought should bring $20 to $30 apiece, actually sold for $175 each. And I loved that Roger Nenow was able to auction off lefsa made by Wendall and Judy Perleberg. Bags containing a dozen lefsa each sold for $150, and when the Perlebergs said they would take orders for more at that price (also to be donated), bidders complied. Cookies, porch pots and lefsa. These weren't just donations, they were labors of love. The Stutsman County version of gold, frankincense and myrrh. Given — as ALL donations to the benefit were — with deference for a family that has experienced unthinkable tragedy. If there has ever been a time that has caused me to swell with pride in my community, it is this. Right here. Right now. The people of our community needed this. We needed to lift up the Neys Family. Because, in doing so, we lifted ourselves. “The more you help people find their light, the brighter you both will shine.”