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Wonder Twins
“Wonder Twin powers, activate!!!”
My best friend, Bev, and I recited these words as we touched our plastic rings together. And then, without another breath, we went into a free-fall from her garage rafters.
Running Through the Years (Part 2)
A blond ponytail flapped in the wind like a pony’s tail swatting a fly. This was my rear-view visual on a recent run.
The ponytail belonged to a runner, much faster and younger than me.
As the young runner charged into the distance, my mind played the Miley Cyrus song “Used To Be Young.”
Running Through the Years (Part 1)
Running became a part of my life in the late 70s. It was officially called jogging at the time and became the exercise rage. My dad decided to give it a try and would jog after work. As a pre-teen and my dad's after-work sidekick, I decided to join him.
A League of Their Own
“Who is that on the field?”
My friend Bev and I asked each other this question as we squinted from the baseball bleachers. We tried to make out the unknown player running in from the outfield. Although blending in with the other boys catching fly balls, we noted something was amiss on the baseball field.
“Is that Kim Schorg??”
Movin’ on Up
My new boss, Jo, stood behind me. I was in a strange area enclosed by carpeted walls extending just above my seated head. This would be my first introduction to a cubicle. Unbeknownst to me, this work setup would be the office norm of my professional future.
When Things Aren’t as They Seem
Scrolling through my Threads feed, a post caught my eye. A full-size bear in the China Zoo was standing upright. The caption said it was a bear, but it sure looked like a man in a costume.
B.L.
Sitting across from my ex-husband, Scott, at a favorite Mexican restaurant, I noticed that our once large party had dwindled down to three. It was on this trip back to Omaha that the seats once occupied by friends, our sons, and Scott’s wife were now empty.
My Barbie World
“What?? You really want to see Barbie? YOU liked Barbies?”
This was my husband, Garrett’s response after telling him I wanted to see the Barbie movie. My answer to his question was not just a yes, but a resounding yes. Not only did I like Barbies, but they were my favorite toy.
The Hottest Day of the Year
“You were born on the hottest day of the year!”
This was the beginning of the story my grandpa would tell my mom every year on her birthday. It was the story of her birth.
Walking Through our Iowa Summers
As a child, I stood watching my grandma as she meticulously wrote my check in her careful cursive. With an amount in the hundreds, it took extra time for her to fill the line where the dollars were written. This was a rite of passage.
Jerry’s Kids
Labor Day weekend in the 1970s included a television telethon that tuned us into Jerry Lewis begging us to help ‘his kids’. Jerry’s Kids were the unfortunate children afflicted with Muscular Dystrophy. Wiping sweat from his brow, Jerry would joyfully thank his viewers for their generous contributions.
The Boys of Summer
It is impossible for me to think back to my childhood summers without associating them with baseball. A dusty field full of dirty boys strategically built next to our town swimming pool fills my memory.
Field of Dreams
I wrote this story in 2012 about my family’s 2002 CWS experience. The story was published in the Omaha World Herald on June 27, 2012. The College World Series will always hold a special place in my heart and my boys.
Swimming Pool Blues
With my many years of running and now cycling as part of my fitness repertoire, I am frequently asked the question "Why don't you do a triathlon?" My answer has always been "I'm not a very good swimmer. I would sink."
I have perfected the dog paddle, but past that, my skills are limited.
So are the Days of Our Lives
“Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives,” said the booming voice as a giant hourglass appeared on the TV screen.
That famous line visually adorned 70s television sets in the background of my childhood days. I didn’t understand the significance of the flowing sand at the time.
You Have the Right to Remain Silent
“But, Mom, we didn’t do anything wrong!! Why won’t you listen to me?”
These were the pleading words from my childhood friend, Bev. Her appeals came out as screams between sobs as she sat in the passenger seat of her mom’s car.
Mike and Vernie
I have a childhood friend who asked me to write a story about Vernie, an icon of sorts from our hometown. This request continues to pop up as I publish new stories about our 70s-era adventures in Remsen, Iowa.
“You should write about Vernie!”
Hey, Don’t I Know You?
“Oh, my God! You look just like Michelle!”
This was the comment I received after meeting someone for the first time back in the 80s. The introduction was from my roommate to her childhood friend. The referenced Michelle was another friend from their hometown.
Big Bird Revival
The setting was 1979 rural Iowa in the heart of a cold Midwest winter. I was twelve years old, a 7th Grader at Remsen St. Mary's grade school. Our family lived an idyllic 70s life in small-town America. Dad was our town barber. Mom was a homemaker, tending to every need of my family. Although a master of all household duties, her proudest role was that of our chief seamstress.
You Can Never Go Home
I went home last October.
My hometown is Remsen, Iowa. A small town nestled in the rural midwest with a current population of 1,650. It had been years since I had been back. I was excited to make the trip for the town’s annual Oktoberfest, an event that draws thousands to the little Luxembourg of Iowa.
