I saw this episode of Arts.21 while I was on vacation in Hong Kong and wanted to share.
Author: Irene Page 40 of 49
The phone rings, echoing throughout the dining room. “Ugh,” Paul and I say in unison. I feel myself tense up. My heart begins beating in my throat. I close my eyes and try to will the most menacing machine in my house to stop ringing.
“Do I have to get that?” Paul says before the answering machine picks up.
“I can’t talk to anyone right now,” I reply. We decide to let it go. We’ll call back later.
As an introvert, talking to anyone on the telephone is difficult. Yet, I have a landline and a cell phone. I hate them with every fiber of my being.
After dropping by the zoo on Saturday, August 25, 2018, to cover a story about raptor recovery (link will be here once it’s published), I got sidetracked on the way to my car. Outside the gift shop is are several boxes with flowers for pollinators. Here are a few of the photos I took of the bumblebees flying around.
‘Sup? Here’s a story about me.
On Saturday, July 7, 2018, Paul was driving east on 42nd Street. As he passed the hospital, he saw an animal wobbling across the road. He thought it was a squirrel and thought he’d better check it out. When he did, discovered a little kitten, about five or six weeks old, was nearly blind from the conjunctivitis and goop oozing from his eyes. Paul picked up the kitten and brought him home.
Deep breath.
This is not an easy post for me to make or write, but there are some things people need to know. This past year has been a huge struggle, bigger than anyone will probably ever know.
A good friend of mine recently told me my shift in writing here has turned extremely personal. That is due, in part, to finally taking care of my mental health issues with a professional instead of doing it on my own.
By working on these issues, it has become harder to mask my inner turmoil. People at work ask if I’m okay. I’m not, but I am, and I will be. That’s the important part.
Youth enjoy the day at the Panhandle Equality Pride event at Frank Park in Scottsbluff.
Paul and I always attend the Panhandle Equality picnic. Now in its fourth year, the event continues to grow. This year, there were fantastic musical performances, some from acts who traveled from Lincoln and Omaha to be a part of making a difference in western Nebraska.
I don’t know everyone at the event, but there are always the familiar faces. They are working to make life better for the next generation so that, one day, the LGBTQ community won’t have to work so hard just to be seen as an equal.
Travis Hiner’s guest editorial in the Star-Herald fails in so many ways, I was tempted to not even write this, but I honestly feel that, if you are going to publicly state your opinion, then it should be able to bear scrutiny. This editorial does not.
I went to the Scotts Bluff County Fair and wrote stories for the Star-Herald about rabbits and poultry. I also met the best chicken in the world.
This is Mayda Leggott. She owns me, the best damn chicken in the world. Mrs. Brooke Heine helps the 4-H kids out because they need both their hands free to keep us chickens from running away. Shush now. I need to listen and make sure Mayda tells the judge everything she’s supposed to.
From the end of May through June, there was outrage over the forced separation of children from their parents as families entered the United States illegally. Many were seeking asylum. Outrage filled the news cycles. My Facebook feed had posts several times a day from people I know locally as well as national news. I had to stop checking Facebook to get away from it all.
There were protests and calls for the forced separations to stop. Comments such as, “I have a 4-year-old and can’t imagine this happening to me,” helped everyday Americans identify with the plight of people trying to escape from a variety of circumstances many people cannot understand or comprehend.
Then, everything went silent. Although I have continued to read stories about conditions at the detention centers where children are still being held, there has been nary a peep from the local folks who were once so angry about the treatment of children. It was like it didn’t matter. Several stories, however, have made national attention, and people are angry, it just seems like no one I know in western Nebraska cares about it anymore.
Sunset, somewhere between Denver and Scottsbluff.
After stuffing ourselves on the free dinner buffet, Paul and I returned to our room. We were tired. We wanted to go home. We needed to get ready for the next day, just in case our flight was canceled again.
Since I wasn’t going to be eating again tonight, I went into the hotel bathroom to brush my teeth. “Damn it,” I yelled. “I don’t have any toothpaste.” That audible thought was quickly followed by another. I didn’t have any deodorant left either.
I had carefully planned my trip, as I do all trips, so that I don’t have to carry toothpaste or deodorant back home with me. That least space for more chocolate, which is more important. Fortunately, the hotel had free toothbrushes and toothpaste. They did not have deodorant.
“It’s okay,” I thought to myself. “I’ll just be sitting on a plane for most of the next day. What could go wrong?”