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!