What a phobia is. And what it isn't. Meet "Peanut Butter Cookie"!

 

Okay, that's not quite her real name. At least not yet. I can explain. Give me a minute.

Shulamith's son, Theodore, turned 9 a week ago. As his birthday approached, his cousin also had a birthday. And would you like to know what the cousin's birthday present was? 

A python.

Yep, really.

How do you think Theodore felt about that? Well it quickly became the only present he wanted. To be clear; Shulamith does not share my phobia of such creatures, no, but she's not especially fond of them either, and no, she would not have one live in her house.

(Oh the phobia. Yes. Here is some background, if you'd like to know about it.)

I have a phobia. An entirely irrational but intense fear. Of snakes. Even looking at the word right there triggers a physical response. That's the thing about phobias; they're that irrational. I remember trying to read the Harry Potter series. I told myself, "You can read these books! There are no pictures. Just black text on white pages." I tried. Really, I did. But around 80 pages in, I was literally shaking. This Rowling lady is a real good writer. I don't typically visualize scenes when I read. I'm the least visual, most auditory, person you know. That's how good of a writer she is. Those images.....eeeek!

I had to stop. I suspect I'm one of the only folks around who hasn't read any of the Harry Potter books or seen any of the movies. I don't know the plot lines or any of the references. It's kinda sad.

Back to Theodore. No, they were not gonna get him a snake. Shulamith said "absolutely not," and while my phobia is not the main reason for that, it would be challenging. We live around the corner from each other, about 100 steps apart, and I would never be able to enter her house again. When we're not traveling together, we take care of each other's dog. Wouldn't be able to do that either. It would be inconvenient, to say the least.

But what to get Theodore instead?

A couple weeks before his birthday, he had the chance to care for a friend's crested gecko. And he fell in love. So much so that he actually cried when it was time to give it back. He's tenderhearted that way. 

So after considerable discussion, Theodore's parents decided that a crested gecko was the perfect birthday gift. I braved up and accompanied Shulamith to a store with a huge sign out front: "REPTILES." Can you even believe I did this? She instructed me to keep my eyes down and to go left once inside. Avoid the right side of the store entirely. We were in there way too long, as the store owner meticulously assembled the enclosure that would be the gecko's home, carefully placing each tree branch, one by one. Gosh it took a long time, and no one was happier to be out of that stupid store than me. 

But I got to keep the tiny, 2-month old gecko at my house that night, so it would be a full-on surprise to Theodore on his birthday the following day. And I kinda got attached to it.

Surprisingly, several people have asked me if I'm afraid of it. Uh, no, My phobia is not of geckos. It's just not. I think sometimes people assume a phobia like mine means that you're squeamish about creeping things. Nope. I'm not squeamish. I'm the go-to person when a cute spider finds its way into the house and others are screaming and jumping. I think insects are actually very cool. But lots of people are squeamish about spiders and bugs and creeping things. It's natural to feel that way. It's not a phobia.

A phobia is different. It's not natural. It's purely irrational. It's why I can't even look at pictures of snakes, or handle toy ones. My kids couldn't even have the Beanie Baby variety because my reaction was so intense. Garden hoses are even a struggle. Amanda suggested that the reason people assume I'd be scared of geckos is because they are reptiles, just like those long, awful creatures with no arms or legs. But as I told Amanda, humans and cows are both mammals, but no, they're not the same.

And a cute little baby gecko?! Like "Peanut Butter Cookie"!? She's freakin' adorable. You should see her grippy little fingers and toes. And eyelashes!

Well, needless to say Theodore was delighted. Said it was his best birthday ever! As for the little baby's name, he started out calling her "Peanut." Cute name. But he wasn't 100% sure. Then he thought he might switch and call her "Cookie" instead. So I decided "Peanut Butter Cookie" was perfect! Don't you agree? While Theodore and his family were camping this past weekend, I got to go hang out with the little baby each day, and I called her "Peanut Butter Cookie." She seemed to like it. 

We'll see what Theodore decides.

"You're the one with the phobia," and other Halfway Christmas events!

Charlie Brown Christmas Tree with all the Halfway Christmas Gifts!

Last Sunday evening, I was loading the dishwasher and wiping down counters, as everyone made their way to the door, headed home after our annual Halfway Christmas celebration. I heard my phone alert a text message from Shulamith, who had left just a couple minutes earlier. When I clicked on the message, the first thing I noticed was the all CAPS font:

DO NOT GO OUT OF YOUR HOUSE. 

STAY INSIDE YOUR HOUSE.

DON'T EVEN OPEN THE DOOR.

It took not even a hot second for my brain to compute what was happening. Outside my house, at that very moment, was my worst phobia: one of those long creatures with no arms or legs. You see, I have what is not-so-commonly known as ophidiophobia. Be careful if you look it up. Cuz there might be a picture of one! You can read more about my lifelong journey with this phobia here, or here.

Suffice it to say that knowing one of those things was right outside my house was terrifying. What if I had gone outside first? What then?? My heart is racing just imagining it. Shulamith informed me that this "pet" belongs to a girl in the neighborhood, who lives on my street! Well great. Apparently, she likes to take it out for "walks" in the evening, when it begins to cool down but isn't too cold (because these reptilian creatures can't seem to regulate their own body temperatures). Notes to self: #1 Do not leave your house in the early evening. #2 Possibly add a second phobia to your repertoire: agoraphobia! 

And if that wasn't enough, just two days ago, again in the early evening, I was getting ready to go to Eli and Amanda's house, when Shulamith sends me another frantic message:

"Other random people walking a massive sna** up your street. They were by the pool, but maybe wait a minute. I don't know which way they were going."

Are you freakin' kidding me???? Two in the same week?!

What was I to do? I was scared (to the point or panic) to go outside, but I needed to take Seth's dog out to go to the bathroom before going to Eli's. Was that thing still out there?! After much deliberation, I opted to take Waffles outside in our tiny, fully-fenced backyard area and try to convince him to go to the bathroom there. He was quite confused; we always go out front and walk around the neighborhood, but after about 20 minutes, he finally complied.

In my whole life, I had never met anyone else with this phobia, at least not as severe as mine. My brother has it, but not nearly this severe. However, I've recently learned that  a kindergarten teacher on Shulamith's team has it, AND a girl in our neighborhood book group does also! Soulmates. I don't use people's names in this very public blog unless I know them well or have their permission, so I won't say the name of the girl in our book group, but if you happen to read this, my fellow ophidiophobe, be aware. Keep watch on your surroundings, especially if you're outside in the early evening. Two of these creatures live in our midst, so awareness is crucial. 

I should add that I have nothing against the owners of these pets. They are well within their legal rights to keep these things and even take them outside for "walks." As Shulamith kindly pointed out: "You are the one with the phobia." Yes, indeed I am.

Oh yeah. Halfway Christmas. It happened. It was low-key. We ate turkey and stuffing. And ice cream. And opened one present each. Here are some pics:

Seth forgot to wear his Christmas jammies!

Swen with his new balance ball

Kennedy opening her new nail kit

Theodore with his new Iron Beads kit

Jane with her new stuffy

Didn't get a whole group shot, but here are a few of us.

Merry Halfway Christmas to all! 

(And may you never encounter a long reptile creature out for a walk in your neighborhood. Because I love all of you and wouldn't want you to die.)

Blog worthy, I'd say!

"Blog worthy, I'd say," Tom texted on a group thread that includes his three lovely daughters and me.

"You know it!" I replied. Cuz if it's not on the blog, did it even happen?

And here I am, back home, trying to capture in words the actual bliss of a day at the ocean with Leslie, Carley, and Katie; Leslie's husband and kids; Shulamith and her kids; and Eli, Amanda, and Jane. Well let me just show you a picture to demonstrate:

Left to right: Swen, Shulamith, me, Leslie, Sydney, Katie, Carley, Silas, Eli, Amanda

Front row: Theodore, Kennedy, Hudson, Jane

Yeah, it was that good. As I always do when I get to go home to Oregon, I ordered rain for the whole time we were there. This was super annoying to Shulamith, who prefers sunshine at the beach. Like she gets genuinely irritated that I want rain, as if I control the weather. Turns out, she got her wish. It rained beautifully our first day in Oregon (What a perfect storm!), when we visited my mom in rehab (recovering from a broken femur) and ate a relaxing, delicious dinner at Tom's house. But two days later, our only full day in Seaside, the clouds disappeared and the sun shone bright. Just for Shulamith!

She and her kids jumped the waves for hours, along with Eli and Jane. I sat comfortably in a lawn chair on the beach, where I got not one single gain of sand anywhere near my feet or between my toes. Victory. AND, I got to visit with my three adorable nieces. Katie arrived first thing that morning, so I met up with her early and walked the streets of Seaside. So fun! Leslie and Carley were 30 minutes from Leslie's house in Gig Harbor, WA when their "check engine" light came on, forcing them to go all the way back and switch cars, adding an extra hour to their already long day trip. I can't believe they still came, but I'm so grateful they did.

Thirty hours of driving in six days is a lot. We are all tired. But it was so worth it to see everyone, and yes, Tom, the day at the ocean was 100% blog worthy! Here are some more random pics to prove it:

Katie, Carley, and I riding the best Tilt-a-Whirl on earth!

Eli, Theodore, and Swen too!

Eli, Jane, and Kennedy on the famous carousel 

Leslie, Silas, and Sydney

Like starring in a horror movie that never ends: My experience with our HOA management company!

A few years ago, I went with Gerald to visit his family in Everett, WA, just north of Seattle. Since Gerald booked a flight at the ungodly hour of 5:30 a.m., we couldn't ride Trax to the airport, and instead drove ourselves and parked in economy parking. We left home at 3:30 a.m. (Ugh!), and by 4:15, were riding an airport parking shuttle to the terminal. Can we just stop for a half second and pay homage to a lady named Jenny?

Jenny understands the importance of tone. She was the driver of that middle-of-the-night shuttle, and her welcoming tone made everyone happy, even at that ghastly hour. Really, if you have to get up at 3:30 a.m. for any reason at all, be sure you catch a ride on a shuttle driven by Jenny. She greeted us with a genuine "Good morning," and enthusiastically (though not over the top; it was 4:15 a.m. after all) explained that she would circle the parking lot, making a few more stops, then deliver us to the terminal at just the right place to easily "find the right airline and even grab a cup of coffee." As we departed, she wished us a good flight and thanked us for riding with her. And here's the thing; I believed her! I believed she cared about us.

Once we were back home, I immediately drafted a letter to Jenny's supervisor to express my gratitude for Jenny's service. I got a response soon after, thanking me and assuring me that my letter would be shared with Jenny, with her coworkers, and even with his own boss! 

I tell you all this to be clear about how much I love to write positive letters to support people who are kind, who show respect, and who genuinely strive to help others. I've sent similar letters: for example after a server in a restaurant was particularly helpful or when a retail sales associate offered exemplary service. I think it's important to acknowledge people who do good stuff, and I really don't enjoy writing negative reviews. But sometimes, there is no choice.

In January, 2025, I received a letter from FCS Management, the company that manages the HOA in my neighborhood, regarding a billing issue. I went straight home and emailed them to request information. A few days later, it occurred to me that no one had responded, so I emailed again. Nothing. I tried calling their office and left voicemail. No response. For the next three months, I attempted to contact someone at FCS, through both email and voicemail, but was unsuccessful.

That was over a year ago. In that time, I've been through the most exhaustive, mind-numbing saga. When I say I feel like I'm starring in a horror movie that never ends, I'm not joking. I've lost sleep, felt both anxious and depressed, and as I write this, I'm not one step closer to resolution than I was back on that fateful day in January, 2025. Because the issue is still unresolved, I can't share the details, but here are some experiences I've had:

1. Being told to wait. After three months, I finally made the magic phone call that connected me with a live person at FCS, rather than just voicemail. She explained what she believed to be the issue (turns out it wasn't the issue at all), and told me to wait. Wait for the board to meet. Wait for the manager in charge of my neighborhood to look at my account. Just wait. Every time I managed to make contact with FCS, I was told to wait. And wait. And wait some more. But waiting didn't accomplish anything.

2. Lack of access, Part 1. This company is the least transparent, most inaccessible one I've ever had the displeasure of dealing with. One time I couldn't get the manager in charge of our neighborhood to respond to my emails, so I tried calling her. Shockingly, my call did not go to voicemail, but rather to a receptionist. I asked to speak with the manager by name, and the receptionist put me on hold to "go check to see if she's available." I waited 10 minutes for the receptionist to return to the call. She told me the manager was not available, but she could take a message. I asked for the manager's voicemail, and guess what? She told me voicemail wasn't an option, that I'd need to leave a message with her. Really? Cuz I knew this company had voicemail; I'd left multiple messages there. Apparently, their managers don't have personal voicemail. It was 2025! Why don't they? Because they don't want to be accessible. 

3. Lack of access, Part 2. Another time, unable to find any resolution with FCS, I wanted to reach out to the individual board members. There are only three who are involved with the townhomes, specifically. I happened to know one of the three, personally, but he represented only one-third of the group, so he couldn't accomplish anything on his own. I needed to contact the other two, and I didn't even know their names. I emailed our FCS manager to ask for their names and email addresses. She told me that was private information and not available to residents. Uh, I wasn't asking for their bank accounts, home addresses, or social security numbers; I just wanted a simple name and email. What are they hiding from? Residents, apparently.

4. Lack of access, Part 3. When I was denied email, I asked the FCS manager for a place on the agenda of the next townhome board meeting. She told me that was not possible, as the townhome board had decided to make all their meetings "executive session," so residents were not allowed to attend. Say what? You have got to be kidding! To be fully transparent, they eventually changed that policy, and I was allowed to attend a Zoom meeting, but it took a long time (see #1 above). The point is that when I needed to find access to them and when attending a meeting appeared to be my only option, I was denied.

5. Their bookkeeping system. Is bananas! It is a chaotic mess. They don't have a clue what people owe. One month I received three separate bills, in separate envelopes, all with differing amounts. 

So here is my advice:

1. Never move to a property that requires you to join an HOA. This is my first experience with it, and it will be my last. This has used up hours and hours of my life and my brain space. Never again.

2. If you ignore that advice, make very sure you check out the company that manages the HOA for the property you are thinking about buying. If it's FCS Management, run the other way and don't look back.

NO PROPERTY IS WORTH WHAT I AM GOING THROUGH. 

That time I went to Germany. After four decades.

My quest to travel to Germany began decades ago. I even wrote about it here, so feel free to grab all the details if you'd like. Near the end of that post, I write, "With half my life ahead, I could still make it to Germany. Maybe. Someday. If I do, it will surely be a dream come true, but if I don't, that will be okay too." That post was written in 2014, when I was in the throes of the major expenses that come with five growing kids. The thought of international travel felt far away, so very improbable. 

Much has changed since then. All five of our kids are adults. They are either self-supporting or almost! And I can actually work! For years, I taught a class here or a class there in order to help Gerald sustain life. But only since Seth graduated from college and began to situate himself into adult life have I felt the time was right to pursue my career full time. Teaching at three different colleges is hard, really hard, and I'm way too busy and on serious overwhelm much of the time. But oh my goodness, the money is nice, and for me, money equals travel!

So guess what? Germany was suddenly no longer an elusive dream, somewhere far in the future, that may never come true. I didn't go there immediately, as one might expect. I went other amazing places in the past three years: Italy, France, Spain, Colombia, Israel, Jordan, Alaska. But not Germany. I think I was scared. Scared to plan that trip. What if once again it didn't work out?

About eight months ago, I decided it was time. After four decades, I would not let fear win. I gathered two of my favorite travel companions, Shulamith and Isaiah, and we began to plan. Isaiah created a shared document where we brainstormed ideas. It helps that at his young age, Isaiah's job at Cvent has made him a seasoned world traveler. When we crossed over the border into Austria last week, he added his 33rd country. (I have only 16, and I'm way older than him.)

Ten days ago, at 6:00 a.m., Eli kindly drove Shulamith and me to the airport, where we met up with Isaiah and boarded a flight to Detroit, to connect with another to Munich. It wasn't until I was in the air on that second flight that I truly believed I would go to Germany. 

Tired but excited, we touched down at 6:30 a.m. at the Munich airport. We had lost eight hours while in the air, and our bodies surely felt it, but we pushed forward and found a yummy breakfast, then roamed the streets of lovely Munich, where I listened with joy to the beautiful German language all around me. Throughout the week, I would have opportunity to speak German several times, and it felt glorious! "If only I had more time," I kept thinking, "just a few months; I know I could master this language!" Why does that matter, you may be wondering. Me too? I can't explain it.  I have zero need in my life to speak fluent German. It's not like Spanish, where all around there is opportunity to use it. My only answer is: "I just want to." I found myself resentful of the little children we encountered. They're like three years old, and they speak perfect German. Ugh! It's ridiculous.

Moving on. 

The following day, we toured the Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial Site. I knew that would be hard. I didn't know how hard. When I looked up and saw tears in Shulamith's eyes, my heart hurt. The best definition that I know of for the word "sin" is anything that keeps us from feeling God's perfect love. It was hard to feel God's love at Dachau. And I think that's all I'll say about that.

We spent the next two days in Munich in the Bavarian Alps. Isaiah loves to hike up to beautiful views. We climbed and climbed up to three different castles, all the creation of Ludwig II of Bavaria, sometimes called the "mad king" because of his relentless obsession with throwing all his wealth, ultimately to the point of bankruptcy, into building gigantic fairytale palaces for himself. Just him. He was a mostly a recluse and didn't share these lavish edifices with anyone.

Midweek, we traveled by train across the border into Salzburg. Isaiah navigated all our journeys, making it possible to use public transportation the whole time. The infrastructure is amazing, and the trains are so fast and so fun! But the system for accessing them is not. First, they haven't updated to electronic tickets. You literally have to purchase these small, flimsy pieces of paper, then stamp them for validation at various required points. Every time you board a new train, scary, police-type people come over to check that you did everything right, and fine you if you didn't. There are zones, and colors, and numbers, and letters, and it's so, so complicated, especially in a foreign language, but Isaiah handled it like a boss. Shulamith helped him, while I remained blissfully unaware and just followed where they led.

Salzburg was adorable. Such a cute little city with Baroque-style architecture, narrow streets, yummy Schnitzel and Nockerl, and the best gelato I've ever eaten. We climbed up to a fortress, with incredible views all the way to the top. After that, we hoped to also do the Sound of Music tour, but we were too late as it required yet another steep climb and would close before we made it. I had planned to do the quintessential twirl on the mountainside while singing "The hills are alive," but for that, you will need to use your imagination.

"A man cannot step into the same river twice, because it is not the same river and he is not the same man." -Heraclitus. This was not the 9-month study abroad experience I missed out on four decades ago. But it was a 9-day experience with two of my amazing kids and best friends, and it was everything I hoped it would be. Thank you, Shulamith and Isaiah, for making it so.

Caught in the rain one evening in Munich

Shulamith packed Diet Coke in her luggage. She said she wouldn't share. But then she did. 

Isaiah dealing with the complex ticket purchasing

 

Spiral staircase up to Liechtensteinklamm - St Johann im Pongau, Austria

Neusschwanstein Castle

Hofbrouhaus, Munich

Marienplatz, Munich

Nymphenburg Palace, Munich

Me on top of the bridge at Liechtensteinklamm

Quirks and all, it was good fun!

Once upon a time, in a small town along the Columbia River Gorge in Northern Oregon, two babies were born, a girl and a boy, five years apart. They joined one older brother and would eventually welcome two more younger brothers, but they were the only two born in The Dalles, and they were my April babies. We lived in The Dalles just six years, so the two of them rather bookended that time period. It was serene and lovely, chaotic and tumultuous, all the things that come with a young and growing family, but my memories are mostly fond, and for sure the best highlights are those two little babies.

Growing up, they did not celebrate their birthdays together. Different genders, and five years apart in age, they had little in common, but now as adults, they are the best of friends and happy to share one birthday celebration! Which is a very good thing, because Isaiah travels for his job well over 50% of the time. It's challenging to find a day when he is in town and everyone else is free.

We gathered last Saturday night at Wicked Peel Pizza Kitchen in Midvale. There were some definite quirks, but the good news is, Shulamith and Isaiah are the chillest people ever, which meant I didn't have to feel anxious that everything went perfectly. 

Quirk #1: When we arrived, they said we could sit at two separate tables, and as soon as customers at another table left, eliminating a fire hazard, we could push the two tables together. That we did...... eventually. It took a while. But it was fine.

Quirk #2: Because this restaurant is still operating in the Dark Ages and serving Pepsi products (ugh!), Shulamith, Amanda, and I stopped at Holliday on the way to fill our Stanleys. But before the server even handed us our menus, she explained that outside drink containers are not allowed in the restaurant. Are you kidding? Fresh fountain Diet Coke in my Stanley, and I had to take it back to my car? We assume this rule is because there is a full bar there, and some Utah law probably prohibits outside containers. But really, not one of us was gonna put a single drop of alcohol into our Stanley. I promise! Why would we ruin perfect Diet Coke with gross alcohol??? Alas, water it was!

Quirk #3: They were out of lots of food: ice cream, deep dish style pizza, and salad. On the surface, that doesn't sound too terrible, but Matt and their kids were planning to eat only ice cream, because Matt has Celiac and can't eat anything else there, and their kids don't like the food there. I was planning to get a salad, so instead I ate one meatball. I don't think anyone was actually planning on deep dish pizza, but if they had been, it was a no go.

After they wouldn't let me bring my Stanley inside, I worried they would be mad at me when I brought in the Nothing Bundt Cake, with candles and singing, but no one yelled at me. Win. And everyone's non-deep dish pizza was great! 

And my April babies were happy, so I was happy. All the birthday love to Shulamith and Isaiah!

"We gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashin'"

"Hello Phoenix! The E-Street Band is here tonight to call upon the power of art, of music, of rock and roll in dangerous times. We are here in celebration and defense of our American ideals, democracy, our Constitution, and our sacred American promise. The America that I know, the America that I've written about for 50 years, is currently in the hands of a corrupt, incompetent, racist, reckless, and treasonous administration. Tonight, we call upon all of you to join us in choosing hope over fear, democracy over authoritarianism, the rule of law over lawlessness, ethics over unbridled corruption, resistance over complacency, truth over lies, unity over division, and peace over war!"

And so the legendary Bruce Springsteen opened his concert Thursday night at the Mortgage Matchup Arena in Phoenix. Arizona. The crowd erupted in cheers of solidarity. 

And I was there to witness it. To participate. To feel. To absorb the energy of hope, the voice of reason, the grace of this incredible performer, unwilling to stay silent, honorable enough to use his platform to spread truth and to proclaim that we can do better, that we must do better.

I had never attended one of his concerts, but it was definitely on my bucket list. As I've noted before in this blog, my not-so-humble opinion is that the 70s was hands down the best decade for music. Ever. Yes, there are talented artists who have come later, and yes, they have written and recorded some really lovely songs. But I will die on this hill: No other decade even comes close to matching the quantity or the brilliance of the artists that blessed us with the music of the 70s.

I have far too many favorites to name them all, but let me share my top three: Elton John, Neil Diamond, and "the boss" himself, Bruce Springsteen. I won't ever get to see those first two perform live again, so I'm profoundly grateful to have seen Elton John twice and Neil Diamond three times. Unfortunately, Neil now suffers from progressive Parkinson's disease and won't be touring again, and  Elton John has chosen to forgo touring in order be home with his husband and their two sons. 

When I heard that Bruce Springsteen was adding an unplanned tour as an act of resistance against our insane president and his loyal minions, I knew I had to go. SLC was not on the tour list, so I looked for the closest city and cheapest airfare, and Phoenix won! Wednesday morning, Gerald and I left the freezing cold wind, and flew down to 83 degree sunshine, palm trees, and so much cacti! It's so big and so cool!

At 7:30 p.m. Thursday night, accompanied by the E-Street Band, 76-year-old Bruce Springsteen took the stage and performed for three solid hours. His energy was bananas! And contagious. But more importantly, his honesty and integrity were palpable. You could just sense it. He didn't sing my favorite, "Tougher Than the Rest," and I didn't think he would; the vibe of the concert was different, and that one wouldn't really fit, but he closed with my second favorite, his rendition of Bob Dylan's "Chimes of Freedom." This one always reminds me of my grandpa. He would have loved that song, and he would have loved Bruce Springsteen. He would have admired his strength and conviction to fight for freedom and protect the underserved and marginalized among us. Cuz that's what he did. 

Grabbin' just a couple stanzas for you here:

"Flashin' for the warriors whose strength is not to fight
Flashin' for the refugees on their unarmed road of flight
And for each and every underdog soldier in the night
We gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashin'.

Yeah tollin' for the achin' ones whose wounds cannot be nursed
For the countless confused accused misused strung out ones at worst
And for every hung out person in the whole wide universe
We gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashin'."

I expect Bruce Springsteen will perform for many years still. And I will no doubt see him again. Until then, may we join together in the unity of resistance as we "gaze upon the chimes of freedom flashin'."

"That Love is all there is, Is all we know of Love" - Easter musings.

On the surface, these two lines from poet Emily Dickinson may sound like a spoonful of pathos-dripping soup, but what if they actually express the truthiest truth of all? On occasion, when I've been asked what it means to me to be a theist, one who believes in God, even a God I cannot prove, I've explained my feelings like this: I love my five children; I love them so much. I can't prove that I love them, and yet, it is the surest thing I know, a truth I know better than I know anything else.

For me, it's the same with God. I can't prove God's existence, yet I know it is true. I've felt God's presence and protection. I've felt lifted, carried, nurtured, inspired, seen, heard, cherished, and even (occasionally) directed by God. Most importantly, I've felt loved. 

So when Dickinson proclaims "That Love is all there is, Is all we know of Love," in a spiritual, global sense, I believe her. I'm convinced that if we could fully comprehend the magnitude of God's infinite, universal, radical, love, the result would be not only healing but life-transforming. Now full transparency, I'm not super good at this. I tend to be a "glass half empty" soul, a realist, if you will. Add to that my super hero persona: Anxiety Girl: able to jump to the worst possible conclusion in a single bound! But that's okay with God. Because God holds space for me to be just as I am: fears, flaws and all. God is well aware that mortality is challenging. It's messy and complicated, and sometimes we're left feeling fully broken. But God assures us, in both text and action, that we are not alone in the brokenness. We are not forgotten or judged or punished or shamed. We are only loved. Because Love is all there is. 

Easter reminds us of that constant Love, the hope it brings, the joy it shouts, and the warmth it radiates! I felt all that this past Sunday, as my family gathered for Easter brunch. Gerald and I are lucky! Four of our five kids live nearby and we see them often. But this day was special because we had not only our four local kids, but also their four respective spouses/girlfriends. It was a full house for sure, with 14 of us: ten adults, one teenager, and three kids. Imagine, if you will, the full-on chaos. 

But for this mama, it was beautiful chaos. 

Human memory is faulty. Years from now, when we tell this story of Easter 2026, our individual reflections will differ. One Easter message I heard on Sunday explains it well: "The details change, but the Love remains."

Indeed.

The Madness of March

March had some definite high points. I spent most of my spring break in Oregon with my mom. After returning, we celebrated Eli's birthday at the new Macaroni Grill in South Jordan. Mac Grill is a legend in the Erichsen-Webster family. Four of our five kids (Shulamith, Isaiah, Eli, and Seth) worked there at some point in their high school, college, or post-college years, as did Shulamith's husband, Matt, and Eli's wife, Amanda. It's just a thing we do. I, myself, never worked at Mac Grill; however, I've spent many holidays there: Mother's Day, Valentine's Day, even Thanksgiving and Christmas (!) because yes, I'd rather hang at Mac Grill, eating chicken parm and fried mac and cheese bites and watching my babies work, than spend a holiday without them. We can always celebrate a different day.

It's been several years since the last Erichsen-Webster server worked at Mac Grill, and even though the Murray location subsequently closed, being at the new location, with similar decor, similar menu, and even a few of the same employees, created a bit of nostalgia for all of us. Happy, happy birthday, Eli! You make life better for everyone, and I am a proud mama!

Another March high point was celebrating our friend Bekah's baby girl, to arrive in another few weeks. What a fun shower! Thank you for inviting us, Bekah. We can't wait to meet her!

Full transparency, though, March has been challenging in ways I hadn't anticipated. "The madness of March," I've taken to calling it. Anyone who knows me at all, knows I've struggled for decades with intense anxiety, objectified to fear of terminal diseases. The disheartening part is that prior to this month, it had been a couple years since this demon flared, and it returned with a vengeance, as if to ruthlessly declare, "Nope, guess again, you're not totally free from this shit." And I really thought I might be. The last couple months have been filled with medical talk: my mom in the hospital/rehab for five weeks, a close friend diagnosed with a serious condition requiring surgery, another friend in Washington with a brain tumor, and more. Too much medical stuff for this anxiety brain. Too many triggers all at once. A pastor friend recently commented in a sermon (paraphrased), "What is happening to you in the middle of the night that is more powerful than God's love?" Nothing, Hansen, absolutely nothing. Now I just need to convince my serotonin-deprived brain of this truth at 3:00 in the morning in the dark.

To end on a brighter note, I listened to several books in March; I hate driving, and audio books are what keep me sane in the chaos of commuting up to the U. and down to UVU multiple times each week. And since I don't have time during the semester to actually "read" books when I'm drowning in essays, the audio option is a huge blessing. Two of the books I listened to touch upon the value of writing. Both introduce women, strong women might I add, who lived in a time when their strength was not particularly valued. Both women write. Regularly. Sybil Van Antwerp, the main character in The Correspondent writes letters throughout her 73-year life, letters of all contexts that ultimately reveal the truth of her life story. Martha Ballard, the voice of the historical novel The Frozen River writes a daily journal entry of her experiences as a mother to nine and respected midwife in the late 1700s. Her journal entires begin early in her marriage after her husband teachers her how to read and write, until the end of the novel in 1790, when she is 54.

Both women mention that through their writing, their stories will document their existence long after they are gone, long after their children are gone. Their writing will remain. Their writing will be proof that they existed and that they mattered. My new blog book arrived earlier this month, with my posts from 2025. It is my 17th book, and I am nearing 1,000 posts between itslegs.blogspot.com and the far less prolific thereisroomforyou.blogspot.com. I may hit 1,000 this year, and if not, for sure in early 2027. I may throw a party! Would you all come? I am like Sybil and Martha. My blog shares my story. While its topics are far and wide and sometimes crazy, all my passions from parenting to politics, from religion to rhetoric, from the simplest joys to the scariest fears, it's grown to be the record of our family, the Erichsen-Webster legacy.

So keep on writing, everyone! Tell your truth. Fight back against the insidious infestation of AI, and write all on your own. You all have stories to tell. Meanwhile, send me all the prayers, positive thoughts, good juju, whatever you got that I can subdue this freakin' anxiety, get the semester wrapped up in the next four weeks, and catch a plane to Germany in 41 days! We've got this. Peace, everyone! 

Draw a 3D chair??? ...and "My sister is just weird."

Draw an analog clock to show the time 1:50. Subtract 23 from 100, then subtract 8. Draw a picture of a 3D chair. My mom is recently home from a month-long hospital/rehab stay. Before she could be released from the rehab facility, she needed to demonstrate that she was strong enough to take care of herself and her basic needs, AND she had to pass a cognitive test, which included the above tasks. Yes, I could draw a clock correctly and do basic subtraction. But if all five of my children's lives depended on it, I could not draw a chair, 3D or otherwise. And I don't think I have any cognitive impairment. What I have, or more precisely, what I am, is a polarized auditory learner. I prefer, no I need, to receive information by hearing it. Visually, though? Nada. Nichts. Nothing. I don't know what anything looks like, I can't read diagrams that supposedly represent reality, physical maps are nothing but a bunch of Top Ramen thrown on a page, and I certainly can't draw a 3D chair! This is my best effort. Ha!

This week is spring break at both my schools. My schools' calendars rarely align, but this year they did, so I'm here in Portland this week, soaking up the rain and visiting my mom. She is still pretty weak and tires easily, so we're just chillin' here at her house. Wednesday evening, I got to see two of my cute nieces, Carley and Katie, along with Carley's son, Finn. (We missed you, Leslie!). They brought takeout, and we all enjoyed food, catching up on each others' lives, and lots of laughter.

Last night, my mom, Tom and Yvonne, and I returned to the most nostalgic restaurant of my childhood, Saylor's Old Country Kitchen. You can read about it on that link, but last night's visit was no different from the dozens of others, dating back to our early childhoods. The menu, still shaped like a big steak, included a picture of their menu from 1972. Barely anything was different, other than the prices (my 8 oz. filet would have cost $4.95!). Still, it was served piping hot, with a single onion ring on top surrounding a square of melting butter. Just like it always was. 

Being there brought to mind all the memories for my mom, Tom, and me. We weren't perfect on dates, but the experiences were clear. As we drove home, Tom said, "'There's Russellville School....and a bunch of other random meaningless stuff." Bahahahaha! I couldn't stop laughing. When Yvonne asked what he was talking about, he said, "My sister is just weird."

When we were kids, every time we passed by this particular school (which was LOTS because of its location), I would say, "There's Russellville School. Every time I went by that school, I wanted to know the name of it, and now that I know the name of it, every time I go by that school, I say 'There's Russellville School.'"

Do you think that's weird? 

This led to a discussion of my other childhood quirks: Order of the Pillows, flying lessons, feeding the beach, ordicles, and cold-heat.  

Maybe a little weird? But you know what's weirder? Asking someone to draw a 3D chair to prove they don't have dementia.

Kennedy Says - Part X

127.  In our ward there are many, many children. So on Fast Sunday, oftentimes children go up, one after another, to share their testimonies. After listening to several of these kids, Kennedy could no longer contain her confusion.

Kennedy (whispering to her mom): There must be something wrong with these kids.

128. Sunday was Easter, and Kennedy was exhausted. She hadn't slept enough the night before, and she was tired from all the Easter activities. She just wanted to go home, which would have been fine, except i wanted to get a picture of everyone first.

Kennedy: I don't want to be in a picture. I just wanna go home!

Shulamith: It will just take a second, and then you can go.

Kennedy: It will take forever, and then Her will say, "No, we need to take it one more time. My hair doesn't look good, and I need to fix my makeup and change my shirt."

(Note: she's not wrong.)

8,500 steps by 9:00 a.m.???

Last Saturday I had 8,500 steps before 9:00 a.m. I aim for 10,000 daily and almost always get them, but 8,500 before 9:00 a.m. is not typical. How did this happen? It's a bit of a saga.

To begin, I've written in the past about my friend Trudy and our history of walking together. It took place over the seven years I lived in Billings, Montana from 2004-2011. You can click that link above if you want to know more, but the interesting thing about Trudy and me is that all we ever did together was walk. I'm trying to remember if we ever did anything else. Like did we ever go to lunch together or to a movie or shopping. We must have, right? But I really can't remember.

When I moved to Utah 15 years ago, we stopped walking. Well, we didn't actually stop walking; we stopped walking together. Obviously. Through the years, I think Trudy had a few different walking partners. My friend Emily walked with me a couple days a week, but other than that, I was pretty much on my own (thank goodness for audiobooks!) until 2020, when Shulamith and I built houses in the same neighborhood. Now she is my walking partner, and I am so grateful!

It's been rough six months for Trudy. Mortality sucks sometimes, and this has been a particularly sucky time for her. She lost her beloved husband/best friend/soulmate in September, and on the heels of that, broke two of her toes. Just as they were nearly healed, she had another medical condition arise that required surgery! When that happened, she wanted to call me, but the only way she could think to do that was to call and talk to me while she walked around her living room. (This represents the extent to which she connects me and our relationship to walking, haha!) So that's exactly what she did.

As we hung up from that conversation, it occurred to me that we could have been doing this all along, all 15 years since I left Montana. The technology is there! We could still go for walks and talk to each other; we'd just need to use our phones. When I suggested that option to Trudy, she was all in. So Saturday morning at 8:00, I bundled up in my warms, put my AirPods in my ears, set my watch to record my walk, and called Trudy. And just like that it was nearly 9:00 and I had 8,500 steps! That's how it always was with our walks. The time speeds by, without ever much pause in the conversation.

We plan to do this every Saturday morning, moving forward. My only regret is that it took me 15 years to come up with the idea.

Swen-isms: Part X

Imagine that. The 10th year of Swen's words of humor, intelligence, and incredible wisdom. His thoughts have matured through the years, but he still entertains all of us with his genuine, unique voice.

348. I drive Swen to school two days a week, when our schedules align. It's only a 7-minute drive but adds exponential joy to my day, as he always has something substantive to talk about. Yesterday, it was this:

Me: Your mom showed me the video of you riding your bike down that steep hill. Impressive!

Swen: No, not impressive at all.

Me: I wouldn't do it. No way.

Swen: Yes you would. It wasn't hard.

Me: I wouldn't. 

Swen: What would it take for you to ride down that hill?

Me: Eeeeek, I don't know. A lot.

Swen: You'd do it if Harris could be President. 

Me: You win. Yep, I'd do it for that.

349. I substituted at Swen's school Monday. I was scheduled for a Spanish class, but when I arrived, the secretary informed me that I'd only have two periods of Spanish and I would need to sub in an art class the three other periods. Swen doesn't take Spanish, but I knew he had an art class, so I quickly checked the roll sheets, and sure enough, one of my art periods was his class. I texted Shulamith to tell her and to see if I should warn Swen. She thought I should. Here is my text thread with Swen:

Me: Hey, I'm subbing in your art class today. Do you want me to say hi or pretend I don't know you.

Swen: You don't know me!

Me: Done!

Theodore's Themes - Part VIII

167. Theodore has become obsessed with plants. He has dozens of them in his room on a stand, under grow lights, everywhere!

Theodore: I'm growing basil!

Shulamith: Basil! I love basil! Can I use some when I make spaghetti?

Theodore: Yeah, but you'll have to wait for it to be an adult.

168. Theodore loves plants more than anything and he happened to have a little money, so he of course wanted to go to the plant store. It was closed, so he settled for Smith's, where they have a few plants in their florist section. He picked out a little plant (I don't remember what kind) and noticed its soil was very dry. After we paid and were walking out, he explained...

Theodore: I'm going to water this little plant right away and put it under my lights. I will give this plant a much better home than it had at Smith's where they don't even water it.

169. Theodore joined a 4H gardening group, and yesterday was his first meeting. He was giddy with excitement.

Shulamith: There will be lots of big kids there, because this is for kids ages 8 all the way through high school. Is that okay?

Theodore: I will be the best one there!

170. Last Friday night, Shulamith was headed to Swen's friend's house to take Swen needed items so he could spend the night there, and Matt was headed to pick up Kennedy from a "late-night" with one of her friends.

Shulamith (to Theodore): Do you want to go with Dad to pick up Kennedy, or with Mom to take stuff to Swen?

Theodore: I want be with Theodore here in my house.

Shulamith: Well, I know you'd rather stay home, but it's 10:00 p.m. and dark outside, so maybe you want to come with one of us?

Theodore: Oh yeah. I'm scared. I'll go with you.

171. Theodore's love for plants hasn't subsided, but his energy for taking care of the dozens of plants he now owns might have.

Shulamith: Why aren't you taking care of all these plants, Theodore?

Theodore: I've just gotten lazy.

I left my heart in New York City!

"This is way better than Disneyland," remarked Kennedy on our second day in New York after seeing our first two shows. 

Yes, Kennedy, yes it is. 

Several years ago, Shulamith and I decided it would be fun to take each of her kids on a trip of their choice sometime around their 12th birthday. Two years ago, Swen chose Texas! Kennedy has always wanted to go with us on our annual NYC trip, so this was her year!

Before we left, we explained to her what we do in New York: (1) stay in a nice hotel, (2) eat bagels, (3) go to the theatre, (4) rinse and repeat. (We also love to walk each morning in Central Park, but not when it's January and 20 degrees, so yeah---basically hotel, bagels, theatre.) However, Kennedy also wanted to see some of the sights; most notably, she wanted to go up high to the top of a skyscraper and also visit the 9/11 Memorial, which she had learned about in school. In order to make all this happen and still fit in six shows, we stayed in New York five days instead of our usual four. 

When he's free, Isaiah likes to join us. He loves New York and Broadway musicals as much as we do, and this year it worked out. He had just five non-traveling days in January, and three of them were this past weekend. He took a red-eye flight, arriving early Saturday morning, and crashed in our room for four hours while Kennedy also slept. Shulamith and I worked out in the hotel gym, then sat across the street in Starbucks, drank hot chocolate, and basked in the joyous reality: WE ARE ONCE AGAIN IN NEW YORK CITY!

Here are some highlights of those five days:

Cold - It was sooooo cold. When we got off the plane and headed outside to find our Uber shuttle, I wondered if all my protective gear would be enough. I texted Isaiah right away: "Bring all the stuff you wore last month in Finland." I had packed long, thermal underwear; my heated vest; hand warmers; my big Montana coat; a wool hat; and mittens. (More on those mittens later, so keep reading!) It turned out to be enough to keep me reasonably warm despite the freezing temperature and wind.

Snow - Yes! Since the climate crisis seems to have ended Utah's former snowy winters, we were all delighted to have snow in New York! It only lasted one day, but we walked through Times Square happy, as the beautiful snow fell upon us.

High Places - On Monday (our extra day), we took Kennedy to two high places: the top of the World Trade Center and across the Brooklyn Bridge. It was such a fun day!

Food - When you travel with Isaiah, you eat good food, He's an expert at finding such good restaurants. One night we ate Katsu, a popular Japanese dish, typically a pork or chicken cutlet, breaded with panko breadcrumbs and deep fried. Mmmm! Another night he found us a more traditional Chinese restaurant, also delicious. He says the secret to finding excellent food in NYC is to leave Times Square. That is where we typically fail; we look for places close to our hotel. With bagels, however, close works just fine. Pick-a-bagel is located right in Times Square and has the most amazing bagels. My favorite is cinnamon raisin with walnut raisin cream cheese. Shulamith eats wheat bagels with peanut butter (boring, haha!), and we all ate savory ones with egg and bacon to get that all-important protein.

Our first night, before we had Isaiah to guide us. I think we did great!

Japanese Katsu Pork

Mittens Trouble and Dropping Things - Kennedy has the most lovely personality, quiet and reserved, soft-spoken and refined. Not surprising, she is often embarrassed by her mother and me, who are, well, less quiet and less soft-spoken. In addition, for some reason I had difficulty holding onto things, in particular my mittens. Keep in mind that I had two mittens, each with a hand warmer inside; a cross-body bag with all my money and cards, a hat, and my phone. It was a lot to hold onto. Every time I dropped something, Kennedy gave me the same look, a mix of disbelief, disdain, embarrassment, and pity. With this look on her face, she audibly exhaled, shook her head, and said simply, "Her."

But my poor mittens! Our second day there, we were in a theatre watching Chess. I put my two mittens (including hand warmers) in my hat and placed it under my seat. When the show ended, I reached down to grab my hat, but it was nowhere. I waited until everyone exited our row and returned to check again. Not there. I went right to lost-and-found. Not there either. Ugh! I went immediately to the overpriced "I [Heart] New York" store and bought a new hat and gloves; it was way too cold to wait. The next day, I returned to the Chess theatre to check again. The security guards did not want to let me in, but I would not be dissuaded. And sure enough, in their lost-and-found box was all my stuff: hat, mittens, hand warmers. My best guess is someone grabbed the hat by accident and didn't notice it wasn't theirs until they were out of the theatre. Whoever you are (if you happen to catch this post), thank you for your honesty and for returning my stuff!

But the saga continues. The following night, as we found our seats for Mamma Mia and I started to put my mittens and hand warmers into my hat, I noticed that one mitten was missing. Noooo! It can't be. But the show began, and I became fully immersed in the fabulous music of Abba. Afterward, still one lost mitten. "I give up," I exclaimed. "At least I have new gloves at the hotel." Kennedy was in utter disbelief. Again, the head shake, baffled face, and audible exhale, "Her." 

But never doubt the possibility of small miracles! It was raining that night, so we quickly took our standard marquee photo and headed down the block from the theater. And guess what? Right in the path in front of me lay my rain-soaked mitten! Here's proof:

The Shows!!! - Indeed, I saved the best for last, my whole purpose for going to New York. We saw six shows, and not one disappointed. Ranking them feels especially challenging this time around, but I will do my best.

6th place: MJ The Musical is the one show we hadn't previously purchased. We knew we wanted to find a show for Saturday night, so we went to the Tix Broadway booth and stood in line to see what we could get. We were hoping for Death Becomes Her, but we needed four tickets and Kennedy needed to sit next to her mom, so we needed at least two of those seats to be together. No luck on Death. There wasn't much available, so we chose MJ, and it was really, really good. In fact, it was high on Kennedy's ranking (2nd or 3rd?) because she loved the dancing so much. 

5th place: The Lion King is not one I would have chosen, if we hadn't had Kennedy with us. I've seen it in Vegas, and the costumes are incredible, but I'm not much of a Disney fan (understatement of the century). Still, this production was wonderful. Our seats were right by an entryway, so the large animals walked right past us! Very cool.

4th place: Mamma Mia is always a fun show, and this production was classic Broadway with big sets, big costumes, and of course, big Abba music. The actress who played the main character, Donna, was excellent; her voice was made for that role.

3rd place: Okay, here is where it gets hard. We saw Maybe Happy Ending last year, and it was my #1 favorite. We decided to see it again this year, only because Isaiah hadn't seen it. He was in NYC for work just after the Tony Awards where it won "Best Musical," so tickets were $500, too much even for such a good show. Also, we knew Kennedy would like it, and she did! It was every bit as good as last year, but I'm placing it 3rd, only because I'd already seen it.

2nd place: Oh, this is so hard. The last two are so different and both brilliant. Ahhhh, I keep changing my mind. I'm gonna go with Two Strangers (Carry a Cake Across New York). If you are going to NYC any time soon, do not miss this one. Only two characters carry not just the cake, but the entire show! It is the sweetest story of a couple of unlikely friends who become so much more. Simple staging. Simple music. Hilarious script. Two actors with incredible chemistry. I haven't stopped thinking about it.

For our after-show dessert:
"One Girl (Carries a Donut across New York!)"

1st place: Chess for the win!! Oh my goodness, it was one of those productions where you walk out and ask, "What just happened to me?" Three of the most popular Broadway stars played the three leads, a love triangle between two chess champions, one from the U.S. and one from the U.S.S.R., and the woman who manages one and falls in love with the other. Before going, I had heard that while the music is over-the-top fabulous, the plot is less than mediocre. I couldn't disagree more! Set in the Cold War era, with President Carter trying to negotiate the SALT II treaty with the Soviets, and the character of the U.S. chess champion patterned loosely after Bobbie Fischer, I found the plot captivating start to finish. But yes, it was the music that left me breathless. These three people have the most beautiful voices I've ever heard. Go see Chess. 

Four years ago, I told all of you to go see Hadestown. Several of you went to New York but did not follow my advice. This is most unfortunate. Hadestown is still my favorite show currently on Broadway, so I'm telling you again. Go see Hadestown. And Chess. And Maybe Happy Ending. And Strangers. And Hamilton.

I left my heart in New York City. But I will go back to retrieve it in 2027. Until then, I will sing the songs and hold tight the memories.