As our boats move away to winter storage, my thoughts are moving to another time in our life pre-boats.
Our oldest son, Bryan, bought a fishing boat. It was the year 2000, he told me today when I asked about this picture. He remembered because it was before Clara, his first child, who was born in 2002.
He came to show us, pulling into our driveway.
His father had an opinion. It was too soon to splurge on a boat!
Now, Bryan was in his mid-20’s, out of high school, and college, recently married, with a full time job (both he and his spouse). They were buying a little house in midtown Omaha, and re-paying school loans. It almost made sense that this was not the right time.
However, fishing is a passion he inherited from his Grandpa Leny (my dad) and Thelen uncles.
Dan did not understand. He just didn’t grow up fishing. He enjoyed other recreational activities.
They had words, as fathers and sons do, but a father’s wisdom is no match for a fisherman’s zeal.
At one point, Bryan said, (half joking?), “Fine! Then I won’t give you a ride in it!”
That’s about the time I wanted a picture, and asked him to hop up into the boat. I was proud of him asserting his independence (as I am of all our children).
In a way, he was living out our family motto, “Don’t be a Scaredy Cat”.
Years later, Dan and I thought it appropriate to name our speedboat after it. It’s a gentle reminder to take it easy in the wild lake traffic. One family member (the only one to take an official course in driving a boat) ignores that-she likes to go FAST!
If you laughed at our motto, you might laugh harder at this photo, (taken by Amy Farha Neary): grandkids acting out with dismay at the marina’s misspelled paint job (it was re-done), or faking the role of true scaredy cats.
An update to this story: Amy told me that after she graduated from Pharmacy school, she told Bryan to get a different car. He was driving his dad’s old red Honda. Instead, he came back with this boat that could only be pulled by Amy’s car!
You may know that I like to walk. Many years ago in our first Omaha nighborhood, near 55th and Jackson, I met up with 2 other walkers for an hour long, 4 mile urban hike at 6 AM. We had an understanding that we would never give a wake up call to each other. We would just show up or sleep in. It remains one of my life’s happiest episodes. We called ourselves “The Walkie Talkies”, so named by our super creative member, Nancy.
I love a good walk. There is never a time that I regret getting outside for a walk, short or long. I especially like it when there is a purpose – to get groceries, a haircut, or go to a Dr.s appointment at the NE Med Center.
Lately, since our neighborhood grocery store (Wohlners) closed last September, I’ve enjoyed shopping at Walgreens. Yes, Walgreens! For me, it’s a 5 minute walk through Turner Park, and a couple of street crossings (with reliable and fast “Walk” lights, or more accurately, a walking figure).
Still, you must be wary. Some drivers are in their own world. Some may politely wait for you to cross, but an idiot behind them thinks they’re too slow, so lays on the horn. I apologize. I should not call them an idiot just because they somehow can not see the reason the car in front of them is not moving (me).
They SHOULD see me. I try to carry my little orange “Whispering Roots” (an Omaha aquaponic nonprofit) bag, or wear a brightly colored scarf that blows in the wind. Can you see me now? Ha ha!
I lose my cool sometimes too. When the honking is insistent, I throw my arms up in their general direction and pantomime a yell. I don’t want to create too much chaos.
Anyhow, it’s a joy to find certain necessities of food or drink at my neighborhood Walgreens.
Here are some of the items I found and carried home:
A dozen eggs, Greek yogurt, a can of Contadina chopped tomatoes, Jiff creamy peanut butter, Starbucks coffee, a pound of butter, a jar of roasted unsalted peanuts, OJ, and a Savignon Blanc (which required the worker to unlock the display refrigerator-no problem).
Walgreens had Quaker oats and M&M’s for this favorite recipe.
Another time, I bought security business envelopes and one heavy pack of printer paper in the office aisle.
The freezer case had ice cream and frozen blueberries for me. I love them on my homemade granola.
Blueberries were $1.00.
It also had tortellini, something I had never bought before. I was thrilled!
Another thing I was thrilled to find was a package of olives. That’s something we rarely have in the house because I’m the only one who eats them.
What more could you want? I suggested to a worker that a bowl of simple, fresh fruits (apples, oranges, bananas) would be fabulous. She said that corporate wouldn’t do that because of the items’ expiration date, which made me laugh. But she would ask.
Some people don’t like it that I walk to shop. They think it’s dangerous somehow, with traffic and maybe strangers asking for change. I work that out by going at less busy times of traffic, and by being watchful.
I like the new signs outside the store. They say something like “No loitering or panhandling. Cameras are on”.
One time, as I was leaving, there was a person who could not read the signs, or willfully ignored them. Hector, at the checkout, went out to explain that the police would be called if he continued to hang around and ask customers for a handout. I appreciated that.
This Walgreens is no longer open 24 hours. The workers told me that has helped to keep the riffraff away.
Before I started getting a few groceries at Walgreens, it was the only place in town for a certain man’s favorite hair product, Vitalis super hold hairspray. Then, it disappeared and could be found nowhere. The company stopped making it. Just for fun, I looked it up on ebay. Yikes!
Other times, I found little Christmas gifts and cards. When I hosted a lunch for my quilting friends at The Cottonwood Hotel, I requested that we be set up in the Orleans Room, at the poker table. We weren’t going to play cards, but I had fun setting a brand new deck at each place, purchased you know where!
There were interesting themes to choose from. This one alligns with my stargazing hobby.
That’s enough about walking and shopping in my neighborhood. I hope you can enjoy the satisfaction of getting a few items at a little store within a short walk, wherever you live.
After sunup, a walk along Arcadia Dr., toward Camelback Mountain.
This morning, I woke up from a dream about throwing on some clothes and going for a pre-dawn walk around the Royal Palms Resort at the base of Camelback Mountain in Phoenix, like I did every morning last week.
The complimentary coffee was set up in the MixUp Bar. To get there, I enjoyed a path of sofly lit cobblestones, lined with fragrant rosemary, and adobe walls. Water fountains were quietly bubbling. A few orange trees shone in the darkness. Mellow accoustic music was wafting around me. I was happy. Even the moon was smiling, with Mars above it.
An item I noticed for the first time, at 6:15 AM on Feb. 11, 2025.
I brought my own ceramic mug because I knew that my to-go coffee was not going far. There is a cubby with a fireplace carved into a corner of this lounge. I have gone to it for many years now, maybe 15 to 20 years. I happily share it with other resort guests, but, by going very early, I most often am alone.
Welcome warmth after a cool night.
I sat and stared at the fire, at the rustic wood floor, and all other design aspects, like the copper tabletops, of this Spanish Mediteranean villa. Sometimes I read. I usually just enjoyed. This year, I saw the detail on the menu cover, and savored its spareness, which still got the message across: this is a place to get a drink.
Rustic floor of the MixUp Bar, Royal Palm.MixUp Bar, Menu cover, Royal Palm, Phoenix.Lit up Palms line the drive, 6:39 AM, Feb. 11, 2025. View to the Southeast.
My sleep brought me back to AZ until I woke up, when I realized that I was actually in the below zero winter of Nebraska. Sigh. There would be no warm walks today.
Content to live in both worlds, the dream and the reality!
Shirley, favorite position, reading the Omaha World Herald, early 1980’s. I wonder who took this pic, maybe Brandon, for a school project on what his mother does all day?
Call me Papergirl.
I love newspapers!
I love them so much that I’ve been gifted with a small town Iowa weekly, The Coon Rapids Enterprise, which I now get in the mail. It covers my hometown area of Carroll County. I also read the digital versions of The Carroll Times Herald, (covering Carroll, IA news), and the Omaha World Herald, but I prefer paper copies.
My favorite time to read those papers used to be in late afternoon, right after it got delivered to our home on 55th Street. I would slow down, stop everything, and sit on the front porch steps to read it. My neighbors did the same, bonding with me as I waved “hello” and read.
Summers in Okoboji (since 2010), I’m desperate for an actual physical paper. The Coon Rapids one, being forwarded, doesn’t always make it. Every Tuesday, The Lake News Shopper shows up in my mailbox. I spread it out on the kitchen table and peruse what it offers. It’s a surprise to me how entertained and informed I am by this free publication.
There used to be vending machines a short bike ride away from our lakehouse. One had the Des Moines Register, the other, The Omaha World Herald. Sometimes I’d splurge and spend all my quarters on both. One year, they just disappeared, leaving me nostalgic for the simple pleasure of biking to retrieve a paper, with the wind in my face, shady trees above, and often a grandchild by my side.
So, I went on a search, driving around, looking for a paper. Every gas station, grocery store and book store was checked. My familiar papers were nowhere to be found. I guess the business of delivering copies was no longer profitable.
The conscierge in our midtown Omaha condo building told me once that he thinks the paper is trying to steer everyone to digital by not making deliveries more efficient. He was in charge at that time of getting the newspapers to people’s doors. There were always problems, apparently.
Now that I’m a subscriber once again to hand held paper editions, I’m in charge (ha ha, not true). I’m only delivering to customers on our floor. I get a kick out of it, for now. When I tire of this volunteer job, I’ll give it up and let another person experience the joy.
I get up very early, always have. So, it makes sense for me to be the one to bring the rubber banded bundle inside, and check off what I’m taking.
Outer lobby, drop off site. Not many papers here!Organizing my floor. I go behind the conscierge desk to get a pen. On this day, a Wall Street was missing! Not my problem.
My concern (a minor one) is what to do with the rubber bands? They’re a little ink smudged. I think I’ll keep them, and give them back to the delivery person, if I ever figure out how to meet that person. Wonder what time he/she gets here? I am NOT going down in the middle of the night for the zero waste sake of a few rubber bands.
Our son, Brandon, and daughter, Leigh, each had paper routes. They earned a ton of their own spending cash, and relished those rewards. One of Brandon’s customers saved all of the rubber bands (a red color then) and gave them back to him so he wouldn’t have to buy any. He thought that was ridiculous, if I remember correctly. Paper carriers bought their own cloth delivery bag, clear plastic sacks, and rubber bands to get the job done.
All delivered, my work is done.1990, Brandon, and Wed. PM papers. Quite a big job! The World Herald had 2 editions each day.
When Mom and Dad visited, Brandon was helped by Dad, who really enjoyed giving him a lift, driving around his route. We only did that with him in bad weather, and maybe on Sundays.
Years later, there was only one daily, delivered in the morning, to our mailbox on the curb. Dad was the first one out there (often barefooted, even in snow- he had sturdy feet, EEE wide). I’d get up at the same time to go walking. I thought we could visit a little, but he seemed happy reading the paper. I understood. We both liked the alone time; his at the table, mine along the path outside.
Newspapers have provided me with lots of entertainment. Artist friends suggested I read The Wall Street Journal. They liked it for thoughtful subject ideas, based on the news, as well as arts and culture coverage. So did I, and still do.
Dan’s job took us to Long Island, NY for almost a year (our big adventure). Conor and Leigh went to high school at Cold Spring Harbor High. We all explored the area, and I explored the newspapers, becoming a fan of Newsday, which I now follow on Social Media.
I enjoy the stories and photos in any newspaper. Besides the headlines in news and sports, I read the Opinion and Obituary pages. Opinions help me feel connected to our community, and the world. I’ve written a few letters to the editor, and saw them published. One was somewhat controversial. It was brought to Dan’s attention by his superior at work (the president of the company) who did not appreciate my comments in the letter. The company had taken the opposite position (which I had no knowledge of). It had to do with downtown development. Dan knew nothing about my letter.
We can laugh about it now.
Once, I wrote an essay, “How to Build a Cupcake Shop”. I wanted to highlight our small business and my partners there. The World Herald printed it, and changed the title to “Recipe for Success”. I was not happy. It was too generic, I thought. I learned firsthand the power of an editor.
It took me awhile to think that obits were worth my time. My friend, Liz, told me she always reads them. We were in our 30’s at the time. It didn’t seem that a young person (how I saw myself) would read those. I now like a well written obituary, especially if it’s concise with a few individual characteristics of the person. Some are quite humorous, making the reader happy to be alive.
April, 1981, in our living room, Omaha.
Newspapers are a luxury to me. When we stay at a hotel, the papers in the lobby are such a treat. It’s even better if it’s dropped outside your door. Local news right from the city we’re visiting!
One time I was tempted to steal a neighbor’s paper in a hotel hallway. It was right next to our room. Then, I discovered that we had a “back door” into our suite, and this paper was actually ours. Yippee!
Another luxury for me, once a year, was breakfast in bed, on Mother’s Day. The Sunday paper was all mine to look through first, and leisurely, delivered with the breakfast.
Shirley, 2002. I’m sure I’m happy here, even with my befuddled expression. Maybe I’m asking, “Why are you taking my picture?” Now, I’m wondering who the photographer was.
On Writing, On Life 