If you visit the Star-Herald and are not a subscriber, you will be presented with a notice that you have 13 more stories to read before you will have to subscribe. You have just hit a soft, or metered, paywall. I don’t like paywalls. I circumvent them when I can and stop visiting a site if I can’t. Yet, paywalls are also a fundamental part of my place of employment.
Paywalls restrict the free flow of information. I want the most people possible to see my work. A paywall prevents that from happening. People tell me they would like to read my work, but can’t because they’ve hit the paywall.
Tabitha insisted she knew the best spot in all of New York to pick blueberries. It was a beautiful summer day. The sun was shining just enough to warm your face, but not enough to sweat while basking in its glow, so we thought, let’s go and see this magical blueberry land. While my family picked other fruits on farms in the Hudson Valley, we never picked blueberries. We always got them from the stores or farms in plastic or moulded pulp punnets.
Blueberries in a moulded pulp punnet.
My husband, Paul, and I joined Tabitha in her car as she drove away from her home in Rock Hill and deep into the back country of upstate New York. Twenty minutes later, we turned onto a dirt road lined with overarching oak trees, their leaves swaying with a gentle breeze. Tabitha parked in between two young ash trees at the edge of the woods.
We walked about fifty yards into the woods on a one person wide, grass-trodden trail to an open area with few trees. Tabitha wasn’t the only one who knew about this place. Wild blueberry bushes were everywhere. As we each staked out a spot to pick berries, we discussed the best way to make jams and jellies and grabbing handfuls to eat just as they were. But I wanted my grandma to make blueberry pancakes.
It was December 1997 when my husband, Paul, and I had our own place together. It was an apartment on Lillibridge Street in Lincoln, Nebraska. At some point in 2000, I woke up in the middle of the night. The clock read 3:37. A heavy pressure pushed on my chest and I panicked, ever so slightly. It had happened to me before. It happens to me still. It’s a result of sleep paralysis.
Sleep paralysis occurs as a natural part of REM sleep. It can occur when falling asleep or upon waking. I am only familiar with the latter and it lasts several seconds to minutes. Practically speaking, it is the most terrifying feeling I have ever experienced. Regardless of knowing what it is, there is always a sense of fear.
I’m tired of life’s interactions. I’m tired of the ruts. I’m tired of the expectations. I’m tired of wanting to do more, but mentally, cannot.
I’m tired and not because my iron levels will never be higher than the low end of normal. I’m not suicidal. I’m not depressed. But I am tired of the every day.
I’ve been working full-time since before I was a teenager. Doing what was expected of me, regardless of whether I felt it was fair.
I’m tired of never feeling like I fit in. I’m tired of worrying what will happen when I do.
I’m tired being on a budget. I’m tired from being tired and missing out while struggling to keep my head above the waters of doubt, rejection and negativity.
The week has been a stressful one with the passing of a belovedteacher.
A redditor made me laugh by calling Gov. Pete Ricketts names.
It just intrigues me that there’s a “Nebraskans for the Death Penalty Group”, and Ricketts is giving shit loads of money to it.
“I’ve got 200k burning a hole in my pocket. Should I donate to the Sienna Francis House? No. People’s City Mission? Doctors w/o Borders? No. Ooh, this group’s stance is killing people. I can get behind that.” Fucking dollar store Lex Luthor.
Last month, I wrote an article about our local Amur tigers and how they have been selected to be a part of a breeding program to help with their survival. It was also International Tiger Day.
Nika strolls through the special enrichment she received as part of the 2015 International Tiger Day celebrations at the Riverside Discovery Center in Scottsbluff.
Lana takes a break from her enrichment during the celebratoin of International Tiger Day at the Riverside Discovery Center in Scottsbluff.
When I was a child, my mother always tried to ensure we had healthy foods to eat. Breakfast usually consisted of oatmeal or cereals, such as Cheerios, Grape Nuts, Raisin Bran and the like. Every now and then, Mom had a coupon for sugary cereals that we could have as a treat. My sister, Lori, and I could only eat those once the opened box of more healthy cereal was empty.
What’s not to like about Godzilla? I liked it. Then again, I like watching giant creatures destroy the world. I don’t need convoluted plot lines for that.
