Fifty years ago, December 1972, was the last time men walked on the moon. (Yes, it’s only been men. I’ll get back to that later.) Eugene Cernan, Commander of that Apollo 17 mission said then as he prepared to step off the moon for the last time, “… as I take man’s last step from the surface, back home for some time to come—but we believe not too long into the future …”
Posts filed under Personal essay
Tell Every Amazing Lady These Five Lessons
I am a T.E.A.L. survivor. T.E.A.L.® stands for Tell Every Amazing Lady about ovarian cancer. It is an organization (and national movement) started to help women identify signs and symptoms and urge them to seek medical help in its early stages, because ovarian cancer is often overlooked until it is too late. When it declares itself with debilitating symptoms, usually in stage III or IV, the prognosis is poor, so in an attempt to get the information out there, I share my cautionary tale.
Pulling Weeds in Crow, Montana
I was viscerally aware, that the United States of America, with the help of the Supreme Court, has broken every single treaty it signed with our indigenous siblings. The Supreme Court recently has upended environmental law. Fire season in the dry, western states has begun. I think about Jackie Whisperstep and the fragility of her house given the heartiness of the weeds that grow too near it. And I long to go back, to stand with those to whom we made promises we did not keep.
Wintering Within
As I write this the days are lengthening, the sun riding high in the sky, and the expansiveness of summer stretches before me—though the days seem to be filling fast. So much to cram in here, in Michigan, where summer is the fleetest season: lake time, picnics, parties, peony blooms, and cicada chirps, fireflies and star showers, light until late in the evening and 4 a.m. birdsong. Long, hot, humid-filled days and hopefully, lots of water play. But you will be reading this after all that has passed, and the days shorten. I am always surprised how soon the dark comes in late August, how quickly the dusk rises, how the trees begin their color change, their leaf drop.
A Moment of Joy
And then, unexpectedly, I heard a little voice singing a brief blues lyric in the back of my head. “A thimbleful of good news, a bucketful of bad.” Thinking that a line that good likely did not originate with me, I immediately Googled it. And found to my happy surprise, that in fact it had.
