All those special moments, in all their significance, all their sparkle. Big, shiny, significant moments a parent tries to freeze in memory. We faithfully record them in photos and videos and imprint them in our memories so we can pull them out, time after time, to watch them glow.

Autumn…when birdsong gives way to the sound of elk bugling, the call of adventure wanes, and hearth fire beckons us home. Before long, it will be time for cinnamon rolls.

Remember when you were little and you saw bad stuff going on? Scary stuff? And you’d run to your parents or other adults and tell them about it? They’d either handle it, or reassure you that it was nothing to worry about.

That’s what I want to do right now.

I’m seeing some bad stuff going on. Scary stuff. And I’m not sure what to think or do about it. I may be one of the adults, but I wish I could run into the other room where my parents, my aunts, uncles and grandparents are sitting around having a grown-up conversation, and ask them to take care of it. Because I have this suspicion that if more of the Greatest Generation were still here and able, we wouldn’t be in quite as much of a mess around here.

Have you ever gone water skiing? I did. Once.

When I was in high school, I went with my cousins. It would be fun, right? Zipping along on top of the water behind the boat? Fun! I didn’t know how to swim, but I had a life jacket on. As long as I stayed on top of the water, I should have nothing to worry about.

I take my grandson by the hand and lead him through the trees. I know he can’t value these places unless I tell him the stories about them.

He didn’t help carry stone after stone to build the fire pit, or work with his sister to drag logs close to use as benches. He was not threatened by the cold or burned by the fire.

Unless he understands what it cost us, he may never understand the value of what he enjoys today.

As I’ve been attempting to re-shape my life, I’ve moved some of my Wants to the Needs column. Because surviving is not enough anymore. I want to thrive. My physical needs for food, water, and shelter are accompanied by the emotional needs for social interaction, sunlight, rest, and meaningful work.

But if I want to thrive as a writer, I have an additional set of needs.

Warning: these items are not listed on School Supply Lists. They aren’t found in stores, are not available online, and can’t be delivered in a box once a month by a subscription service. In other words, they can’t be purchased. 

Without a doubt, they are more important than brand-name clothes, a cool backpack, or fancy pens.

Have you ever thrown a piece of pottery on a wheel? Have you ever wondered at the beauty of a lump of clay transforming into one of the most basic functional tools humankind has developed? I find it fascinating.

The processes clay undergoes in order to become a ceramic vessel are much the same as those undergone by two individuals melding together into a united entity with a new and joint purpose. More often than not, things don't go exactly as planned. But that's the beauty of a handmade piece of pottery or a perfectly unique relationship with another human being.

Let’s talk about how it works.

Have you ever pulled out that list you made at the beginning of May and wanted to cry? The glass of lemonade you set on it left a puckered ring in one corner. It’s smeared with barbecue sauce. There’s a mosquito squashed on the back, because the list is so long you rolled it up and used it to swat the whiny little blood-sucker.

And way too many things are still not crossed off.

Have you ever wished for an easier way to make decisions? What do you do when it comes to making large life choices? Do you spin a wheel, throw darts, pick a possible option from a jar filled with possibilities, pray, ask for advise from families and friends, or what?

I was utilizing Google maps on an exploratory road trip seeking the perfect spot for our next home, when it suddenly hit me.

I need a new app for that—a user-friendly app for making those big life decisions

Have you heard the theory of how a small chain and a peg in the ground can restrain one of the world’s most powerful animals? It’s been termed the “chained elephant syndrome” and applies to people as well as elephants. Here’s how it works.

Last year, smoke from Colorado wildfires blocked the view of the mountains, the creek was dry, and the grass never grew or turned green. Last year there were no berries.

This year, the creek is running, the grass is high, and the wildflowers are incredible. But the best part right now? The berries.

In the year of our seclusion, many of us discovered things about the world we hadn’t valued as much as we should. Commonplace things that we never realized hold so much power—

a hug, a handshake, the touch of another person,

the freedom to gather together,

a smile,

a wave.

Here in Colorado, we’re deep into what I call the Post-Pandemic Migration. Liberated from commuting to onsite jobs, many people now have the freedom to live where they choose, and work remotely. They are relocating in droves to the places they used to commute to on the weekend to recreate.

The problem is that the ensuing population explosion is re-creating the small towns they are fleeing to with such relief. As a long-time small-town resident, I’d like to offer a simple step-by-step process for incoming residents of our hometown to learn one of our favorite small-town traditions.

Not long after the lilacs fade in early summer, hundreds of tight yellow buds cover the rose bushes and a honey-sweet fragrance announces their impending arrival. Suddenly—overnight, it seems—the blossoms erupt in a glorious profusion of golden yellow, and we are in the heart of summer.

I’ve been reading more self-help books, listening to motivational podcasts, and doing my best to learn how to rock this new chapter in my life. So many of them emphasize gratitude, or being totally in the moment. It’s not a new concept—admonitions to practice thankfulness have been written for at least a couple thousand years, and encouraged in many faiths and philosophies.

The idea of savoring something goes beyond the concept of gratitude. It’s more than just listing our blessings in a journal.

I thought I’d finally figured it out. My kids have grown and gone, and I’ve outgrown my day job. I carefully arranged the remaining components of my life around my writing time.

This is it. The time when writing would be my focus.

And then life simply swelled, filling all the available space like a detonated airbag.

Like memories reinforced by the photos we take, the impressions of the day last longer if I write them down. I remember them better. Maybe they’re not life-changing events, but if I reflect on the day, the insights I will get from them might be. Maybe today is the day that a truth will hit me—a truth so profound that it will seep deep into the core of who I am. It might have the power to touch someone else, and perhaps it’s the truth they need to make it through their crazy day tomorrow.

The first thing I planted in my garden was a rock. Transplanted, actually. A three-foot diameter river rock unearthed when they dug the foundation of our house. My husband was going to dig a hole somewhere else, and bury it. (I think he just likes to play with backhoes.)

“What are you thinking?” I cried. “Put it over there, and I’ll start a garden!”

He looked at me like maybe I’d been in the sun too long. Or like maybe I had cracked under the pressure of the two of us trying to build a house while raising three children.

The music starts, and we all rise as the graduates enter. They parade slowly past us, dignified in traditional caps and gowns. I recognize most of them from their years at the elementary school where I was their librarian, even though their features have changed. So many things about them have changed since they walked out of my classroom at the end of fifth grade, seven years ago.