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How would it feel to wake up in the stillness of 3AM to find your body from the top of your head to the tips of your toes frozen in immense pain?  And how hopeless would you feel to learn that, despite devoting every ounce of will and energy and resolve that you can muster to free yourself, you can’t move a muscle.  You can’t lift a finger, can’t wiggle a toe.  And, perhaps worst, your lungs feel like they are freezing up — and the panic that comes with shortness of breath settles in. Sue Backer knows. The Courtenay-area farmer, wife, grandmother, sister and friend to so many finds herself terrorized in such a state about every two hours.  Diagnosed with ALS (better known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease), in March of 2022, Sue has presided over a body in decline.  ALS is a thief; it is a nervous system disease that causes loss of muscle control.  Sue is now desperately in need of a specialized bed that would give her the independence so needed to manage the last days of her life. Her longtime friend, Deb Thompson of Jamestown, has sounded an alarm, “We CAN help!”, she says.  “Sue needs a highly technical bed that she could summon herself to reposition her body whenever she needs to.  “It would change her life so dramatically.  It costs $30,000 and none of that is covered by insurance.  But we are talking about her life and the wish we all have—that we can die with dignity.”  Thompson has set up accounts at First Community Credit Union in Jamestown and Bremer Bank in Carrington.  A Gofundme online fundraiser has also been set up.  “If everyone would pitch in, we as a community could make such a difference in her life,” says Thompson. “Giving Hearts Day is coming right up—and what better cause than to affect someone who has been such a giving heart herself?” Happiness has been her choice If there is any description that would fit all of Sue’s 63 years, it would be “giving.”  From serving on her local ambulance service to cooking at her local cafe to serving customers at banks in Jamestown and Carrington, to tending to her own roles on the family farm,  Sue has always been a go-getter, a person that approaches every need with spunk and optimism.  She has managed her illness the same way. “When I was first diagnosed and told I was terminally ill with three to five years left, my sister Deb and I cried,” she said. “For five minutes.  Then I said, ‘Ok, enough.  Why bawl? Let’s make the best of the time I have.’” Ever since that day in March, 2022, Sue has kept that conviction. Soon after her diagnosis, she took her grandchildren to Jamestown’s Art Center, where they sculpted the urn that will someday hold her ashes. She has recorded herself reading children’s books that she has given to each grandchild.  And every week, her entire family, including her beloved grandchildren (ranging in age 2 - 9), three children, and their spouses, gather for “Sunday Funday.” Her son Justin, who with his wife, Brittany, took over the farm when Sue was diagnosed, has mentioned that he finds a silver lining in those weekly gatherings - and his mother agrees.  “To me, there are a lot of positives in this,” says Sue. “We make it a point to spend time together that we wouldn’t have,” she says.  “I have had a chance to tell the people in my life the things I will leave them with.  Not everyone has that chance." The people that know her best weren’t a bit surprised when Sue decided to hold her own Celebration of Life five months after her diagnosis.  “Nobody knows how long you live with this disease, but the thing I did know is that I wanted to be part of the party.  I didn’t want to miss it.” Neither did the people of her family and community.  On a beautiful August evening in 2022, a huge crowd turned out to honor Sue’s life.  Roaming through the supper and street dance in her wheelchair, Sue was all smiles as she reminisced and laughed and hugged the throngs of people that crowded the little town of Kensal in her honor.   It takes a village These days, Sue still finds the stamina, with the daily help of husband Dale and sister Deb Alber, to find positivity in each day.  “I have never been a whiner, and don’t plan to start now,” she says.  “I am so grateful to have Dale and Deb here with me everyday. They are lifesavers.” Alber says she is doing what any sister would do.  “I feel God has put me here and this is what I am supposed to do,” she says.  “It’s so hard to watch someone you love go through such a struggle. I feel blessed that I can be here for her.” Nonetheless, the physical burden that is overwhelming her body has even Sue feeling that enough is enough. “I pray to God each day that I will pass peacefully,” she says.  “But I also know I will cope with whatever HE plans.” Alber says her prayers now are for help in the form of that special bed. ‘We have tried every kind of mattress, mattress pad, pillows, and you-name-it to keep her comfortable.  A bed right now like that ProForm, which is made for ALS patients, would be a godsend. We have the company all set up and, once we acquire the funds to order, they have promised to expedite it and have it set up within days. I pray for this." YOU CAN HELP SUE BACKER WITH THIS BED!  ANY DONATION would be valued!  Time is of the essence, so please send your donation to the Sue Backer Benefit Fund with one of the following: Visit online at her gofundme at this link:  https://www.gofundme.com/f/susans-last-request-a-bed-of-comfort Or donate to one of the accounts set up for Sue: -First Committee Credit Union, 111 9th St SW (Po Box 2075), Jamestown, ND 58401 -Bremer Bank, 807 Main Street, Carrington, ND 58421 Thank you, everyone so much! PLEASE SHARE!

I t began as a fundraiser. An effort by a couple dozen people to help a family who is stricken with grief after losing a patriarch and its oldest son — all within a matter of months. But it ended up being more than that. Sure, it raised significant money - at least two or three times what we envisioned. But our benefit the other night raised more than money.  As one local rancher said to me, “This has become about more than just money.  Look how people have come together.”  Yes, they — people from Aberdeen to Jamestown to Buchanan to Pingree to Carrington — certainly did come together! The KC Hall has seldom been filled to such capacity. Generosity lined the outside walls of the main hall via baskets and baskets designed with artists’ hands.  Items that appealed to men, women and children with every kind of taste. Tools and equipment for any shop or garage.  Home decor for any style. Toys, books and blankets for kids. Platters beautifully stacked with cookies (thanks, Chris Neys!) so festive they brought a sugar rush (and fetched up to $200 a plate!). That was the Silent Auction.  The LIVE Auction could be a story in itself.  A posse of professionals couldn’t have done a better job of gathering donations -- and those they targeted could simply not have been more generous. Donations to the LIVE auction were something to behold:  gift certificates that offered services as diverse as fertilizer spreading for 1,000 acres to Minnesota and North Dakota vacation packages, to quarter beefs, to 20 bags of bean seeds to 10 emsella treatments and one Party Bus. Two 7’ Christmas trees decorated with pull tabs. Heavy duty stuff, too—a snow blower, a Bobcat generator, grills, televisions, e-bikes, even Sioux hockey tickets and a Brett Favre jersey!  As impressive as those donations are, they weren’t magical until bidders bravely bid.  As hard as we worked to reflect a real retail value of all items on both the silent and LIVE auctions, bidders often didn’t meet those values—they often SURPASSED them. As awe-inspiring as the bids for the big-buck items were, the darlings of the ball were lefsa by the dozen and porch pots times ten.  It tickled me that all of Susan Fredrickson’s festive evergreen porch pots, which she humbly thought should bring $20 to $30 apiece, actually sold for $175 each.  And I loved that Roger Nenow was able to auction off lefsa made by Wendall and Judy Perleberg.  Bags containing a dozen lefsa each sold for $150, and when the Perlebergs said they would take orders for more at that price (also to be donated), bidders complied. Cookies, porch pots and lefsa.  These weren't just donations, they were labors of love. The Stutsman County version of gold, frankincense and myrrh. Given — as ALL donations to the benefit were — with deference for a family that has experienced unthinkable tragedy.  If there has ever been a time that has caused me to swell with pride in my community, it is this.  Right here. Right now. The people of our community needed this.  We needed to lift up the Neys Family.  Because, in doing so, we lifted ourselves.  “The more you help people find their light, the brighter you both will shine.”

It doesn’t take research results to confirm what we all know about Christmas:  women do all the work.  Well, not all.  But most.  According to a 2023 study by the American Psychological Association, twice as many women as men do the holiday shopping, cooking, decorating and other “ings". When I look back over my own past Christmases, I admit it.  I was a nut.  Whatever compelled me to cover every surface of our house — inside and out - with Christmas trees and villages, lighted garland, angels, Santas and at least 1,000 snowmen should really be studied.  Why I felt Christmas wasn’t magical unless our children smeared green or red frosting over ten dozen cut-out sugar cookies and ten feet of the kitchen counter with their ten grubby fingers is a puzzle.  Would our three children have lived through Christmas without pretending they actually knew what they were giving the bus drivers, teachers, coaches, grandparents, godparents, mail man, friends and family members in those shiny, ribboned packages?  Would they be more balanced adults if they wouldn’t have been forced to look happy in their matching sweaters (or neon-colored coordinating ski jackets!) as they endured another of my hours-long photo shoots for the annual Christmas card? Would our kids not have felt the divine grace of Christmas if we hadn't attended Midnight Mass and then, five hours later, all gotten up to see if Santa came? The thing is, I don’t know where this obsession to have a Hallmark Christmas came from.  I have never been a fan of sappy Christmas movies set in Thomas Kinkade villages. I can’t blame my pursuit of holiday bliss on Pinterest or Google images, because technology was still in incubation back then.  So why did I stay up until 2 AM making molded chocolate lollipops for a second-grade class that night in 1988 when my only company was a radio broadcast telling me a bomb blasted a plane out of the sky, killing a planeload of passengers over Lockerbie, Scotland?  Yeah, the things we remember are inexplicable! And that is my fear — that my kids remember more stress than magic at Christmas. That my husband will someday bury me thinking, “Well, Christmas is going to be a lot easier now.” That the family will gather at Christmas and say, “Gosh, I don’t remember Christmas ever being this relaxing!”  And there is my life lesson—the one bit of advice my older self would say to younger me:  Keep it simple. Don't go it alone. Moms, although each generation makes progress balancing the load, it is still your shoulders that carry the weight of the holidays.  It is you that will define what Christmas means to your children and maybe even your grandchildren.  It won’t be the holiday baking, shopping or hot Pinterest trend that will stay with them long after the holidays.  It won’t be Elf on the Shelf or the flashy gift of the season that they unwrap on Christmas morning that will live on in their memories. It will be you - your example, your decisions, your relationships, your reactions, your patience, your happiness, your leadership, your love of self - that will define their Christmases. Don’t discount that.  Realize that there are only so many hours in a day--and that some of those hours MUST involve sleep! In most households, Moms make Christmas, so take care of yourself. Keep yourself whole — and stop the imposition that previous generations of we women have brought upon ourselves .  I know, I know. The very story of Christmas doesn't exactly inspire us to place moms first. After all, even though Mary gave Jesus life, divine grace was bestowed on her only through her Son. I think most of us mothers think of our offspring in the same light. We adore them, we put ourselves and our very sense of being behind them. We realize our happiness through theirs. It's what mothers do--especially at Christmas. But that doesn't mean we should discount the importance of teaching our kids to recognize all that role entails. And it doesn't mean we mothers should go it alone. Mary's example teaches us to take one for the team. It doesn't mean we can't have teammates! If we are ever going to lighten the load of women at Christmas, we must embrace that need for change, and then take the first steps. So, instead of being both the coach and the entire roster, do some serious recruiting. Call your team together. Enlist your special someone and children to share decorating, baking, shopping and wrapping — and don’t worry if your gift selections aren't always even close to the ultimate dream. Or that the paper doesn’t quite cover the package, or the lights on the tree favor only one side. Bake that family heirloom treat together, but let your children go to work in the kitchen. You'd be surprised what an 8-year-old can accomplish with a cookie mix and your blessing! So your kitchen looks like a scene from " Mr. Mom !" Don't sweat it--enlist your team to clean up after themselves! Dads can bake too, so let them manage the banana bread -- and don't apologize if the Hershey Kiss cookies seem a little dry. Buy the rest of the holiday treats, and simplify, post online, or even skip, the Christmas cards.  Cut down on your shopping time with gift cards — or ask your family to reach out to those you typically gift and instead offer to take them to a movie or out for ice cream--anything that you can all enjoy. Don't let everyday routines interfere with the spirit of the season. Peanut butter sandwiches deserve respect, too. Your family won’t die if that's what's for supper all too often during December.  Rachel Ray won't haunt your house if dinners occasionally come compliments of frozen Marie Callender's. Weekday suppers don't have to be memorable when there is so much to celebrate. So streamline December meals and free up your time to cherish those you love. Start by making a Christmas date with your main squeeze first, and then with each of your children, one-on-one. Take them to a church play or concert.  Visit Santa.  Shop from an Angel Tree.  Dress up like Dickens characters and scare the neighbors with Christmas carols. Visit the library or bookstore and read The Christmas Story .  See the holiday lights of your town. Take holiday treats to a shut-in . Volunteer dad to join the kids to ring the bell. Take your kids to a nursing home. Hand out treats (nutritious!) at a daycare. Show your children that compassion for others, even those you don't know personally, matters most. Don't have the time? Make your date an hour-long if you have to! Or scrap something that takes your time. House cleaning? Extra-curriculars? Church responsibilities? Split those obligations up among your team. Brain storm ways you can all become more efficient. And throughout, don't underserve yourself! Mom's deserve a place in every Christmas story - and not just as the workhorse. Show each of your children that you deserve to ENJOY the spirit of the season, too. Give them ideas of gifts that YOU would like to receive (and THEY can afford!). No, that’s not selfish! It is showing them that thoughtfulness is a two-way street. Instill in your family that nobody should single-handedly make the magic of Christmas.  That the miracle of Christmas is for all of us to create—and enjoy together. I would be lying if I said I believed this adage from Robert Redford: “I have no regrets, because I’ve done everything I could to the best of my ability.”  Sure, I DO think I decorated and baked and shopped and gifted to the best of my ability.  But that’s little comfort to me, because I regret the Christmas stress I caused my children during those frenzied growing-up years. Although there are likely certain components of Christmas they treasure (for some reason, they love the red ceramic boot I [of course] hand crafted), the fact is I don’t really know what Christmas memories they favor.  I hope it isn’t hauling in more than two dozen 50-gallon Rubbermaid tubs of Christmas decorations.  Brother.  What WAS I thinking?

So! As promised, today we are going to reveal the WINNER of our "Toys Have Feeling, Too!", the original canvas by Illustrator Emily Hagen that is featured in our Ozzy Ox: Toy Trauma children's rhyming picture book. We will be posting a video showing our own social media stars, Isaac and Nolan Krapp (who have 3.2 MILLION followers on Tiktok !), revealing the lucky winner! These two quirky guys (see them interviewed by Beyond the Spotlight Podcast here) are my grandsons and they are just as charismatic as they seem to be on this video! So visit callenkropp.com today AT 5 PM to see them reveal the LUCKY winner!

We are used to hearing about Black Friday crazy — the middle-of-the-night long lines that broke into brawls when big box stores opened their doors. I remember my sweet, demure sister-in-law on a Black Friday a few decades ago. She wasn’t all that into shopping — and particularly wasn’t a Black Friday cuckoo like many of us.  Little did she know she’d be getting into a riot the day she decided her daughter’s Christmas wouldn’t be whole without a Cabbage Patch doll. So on Black Friday, she got up in the wee hours, trekked 20 miles into town, and was successful!  She got her hands on a coveted Cabbage Patch named Owen.  Yes.  Mission accomplished.  Life was good.  Until someone had the audacity to try snatching Owen out of her shopping cart.  Dione is small but she is mighty.  Suffice it to say, the thief didn’t get away with it. Retailers actually call those days the Cabbage Patch Riot of 1983. I would say it was the day that Thanksgiving went from a four-day weekend to a single day of gratefulness.  With great deals on all your dreams, who has time to sit around being grateful?  For a couple decades, we got used to hearing about mobs fighting it out for Tickle Me Elmos (1996), Furbys and Beanie Babies (1998).  TVs and electronics which were likely loss leaders were also in play. Remember the 2010 Target stampede in Buffalo, New York?  A man was trampled after he lost his balance when, at 4AM, the store opened. In 2011 in Los Angeles, a woman pepper-sprayed the competition to get at a video game console.  That was the same year a man collapsed in a Target store in South Charleston, West Virginia.  Shoppers were so intent on their pursuits that they ignored him until some sympathetic nurse came to his rescue.  But in 2008, when a Long Island, NY opened, the crowd broke down the doors.  A 34-year-old employee was trampled to death.   According to Website Black Friday Death Count, 11 people have died and 108 have been injured by Black Friday violence. While there are still traces of that kind of violence associated with this day, the advent of online shopping — and promotions that begin the day after Halloween — have changed how America responds to Black Friday. So, too has Shop Local Saturday, AKA Small Business Saturday , which was started by retailers in 2010 by American Express.  I like the idea — and believe that a little online shopping on Black Friday, coupled with a lot of shopping on Small Business Saturday, represents a kinder, more gracious approach that may not even risk your life or safety. On this Small Business Saturday, r emember you can score a deal right on callenkropp.com !  Go to my callenkropp.com/contact  page and sign up for the original canvas by talented Illustrator Emily Hagen from Ozzy Ox:  Toy Trauma.   It is a beautiful but gentle reminder to kids to pick up their toys. No purchase required—and it’s quick and easy to enter.  The drawing will be held tomorrow (Sat, Nov 30) and the winner will be announced by the end of December 1.  No purchase required. But, if you have kids on your shopping list, treat them to a set of Ozzy Ox books on Small Business Saturday! You can get them at The Melted Crayon and The Story Nook in Jamestown, or Words To Live By Bookstore in Moorhead and First Avenue Market in Fargo. I promise: you won’t even have to wear body armor!

We have a friend fighting for his life in a nearby Intensive Care Unit.  I cannot believe what he and his family members are going through, and the strength with which they go through it.  The other day, as we walked out of his hospital room toward the elevator, I wanted to lose it.  This family unexpectedly lost its oldest son in February.  That this mother is going through another tragedy is beyond crushing.  It is gripping.  Ripping.  The stuff of a heart-wrenching novel-turned-movie-script only real on Hallmark Channel.  A person feels so helpless, even guilty, in such situations.  But just as I was about to give in to emotion, we encountered a woman, possibly in her late 20s or early 30s, getting on the elevator and crying hysterically.  We asked what was wrong.  She replied, “My baby is going to die!  He’s going to die! They said he is brain dead!” I don't know why, but I asked her, “How old is your baby?”  Between sobs, she gasped, “Five. He’s only five years old.”  My heart didn’t just drop. It plummeted.  We have a grandson that just turned six. Those tears I had tried to contain now washed down my cheeks. Oren asked if there was anything at all we could do for her.  She said, “Pray.  Pray for my baby.”  We walked with her out of the elevator and all the way to the front door. I felt at times like she was going to collapse.  I asked her if she wanted a ride somewhere.  She said, “Someone is coming and I don’t know what I’ll do.  What will I do?” I am a loser in such situations.  I would have given her a ride to Minneapolis if she’d have asked for it, but she didn’t.  She said someone was coming for her.  I didn’t know what to say.  I didn’t know what to do.  But when we drove away from that hospital, I thought about all the life stories playing out in there.  One hospital in one city in one state in one country—among what, thousands? I don’t know why, but I looked it up.  There are 6,120 hospitals and 917,000 hospital beds in the United States. They are not just buildings separated by rooms holding mattresses with sheets and pillowcases. They are life stories playing out—lives beginning, lives healing, lives ending. Miracles and tragedies.  Lives changing and families searching, praying, begging, rejoicing. Of course, structures and beds are the least of it all.  It is healthcare workers, 22 million in the US, that guide these life stories.  My hat is off to them.  I don’t know how they do it.  How do they help people going through such hardship?  How do they manage to live their own lives knowing their hearts have to skip a beat each time they return to work and face the challenges that come with cheering patients and families on through some of the hardest times of their lives? I am thinking they are better than me.  That they know what to say and what to do.  That they have a direct line to God, and HE is at the helm. And through Him, they know how to project hope—and also how to deliver it. This Thanksgiving, I am praying for the 917,000 lives being treated, guided, saved, lost and found in those 6,120 hospitals. I am giving thanks for each and every one of those 22 million healthcare workers, for it is because of them that they - and we - can have hope. That we can believe in miracles for our friend and the young mother in the elevator.  For patients everywhere, in all those hospitals and in all those beds, this Thanksgiving and beyond: My prayer is that dawn will come. Happy Thanksgiving.

I didn’t go to kindergarten.  Back in the 1800s (and also in the 1960s!), public kindergarten wasn’t a thing in North Dakota.  Thank goodness, that has changed.  My grandson, Eddie, turns six tomorrow.  Like most kids his age, he attends full-time kindergarten and is reading like second-graders used to “Grandma, I started reading chapter books!,” he proudly announced recently.  While authors like me see NOTHING wrong with sticking with pictures books long after age six, there is a whole lot of stats out there imploring families to sit down with their kids and read—as soon as they are born.  B y age two, a child’s brain is as active as an adult’s.  By age three, the brain is more than TWICE as active as an adult’s—and stays that way for the first 10 years of life.  By age 3, roughly 85 percent of the brain is developed.  What should families do to nurture that development? READ TO THEM!  SHOW THEM THAT READING IS FUN! According to a study from Ohio State University , o ne-fourth of children in a national sample are never read to, and another one-fourth of children are seldom read to.  The same study found that children whose parents read them five books a day enter kindergarten having heard about 1.4 MILLION more words than kids who were weren’t read to. Based on their calculations, here is how many words kids would have heard by the time they were five years old: Never read to: 4,662 words; 1-2 times per week: 63,570 words; 3-5 times per week: 169,520 words; 7 times per week (daily): 296,660 words Five books a day: 1,483,300 words. Keep in mind where that million-word vocabulary will take a child:  —A better childhood:  A study found that when children know more words, they have an easier time paying attention and be more engaged in school, have better relationships with teachers, socialize more easily and receive more positive feedback from their peers. —A better adulthood:  A study indicates that early reading levels in first grade as well as the trajectory of reading development through the first five years of school were associated with reading scores in adulthood. In 2024,   21 percent of US adults are illiterate .  Would that be the case if every child was read to beginning at birth? You’ve heard it before, but now, more than ever—READ to and with the children in your life!

I think we are all familiar with the book mobile — basically a library on wheels.  But how many of us ever heard of a library on a packhorse?  I just finished reading The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek by Kim Michele Richardson.  It tells the story of a “book woman,” one of the packhorse librarians who delivered books to remote, craggy areas of the Appalachian Mountains during the Depression on her trusty mule.  It is a story that reminds us how incredibly blessed we are to have access to books!   Online, in our libraries and bookstores, and even, for some, via the bookmobile—we are blessed to be surrounded by books if we choose to be. In “The Book Woman,” the people of Appalachia both embraced and rejected the packhorse librarians, who were likely chosen for not only a love of the written world, but also a passion - and determination - to share.  They fought weather and remote, treacherous terrain to ride up to 120 miles a week to deliver to people living deep in the backwoods of eastern Kentucky, desperate for reading material.  They sometimes encountered steep mountain paths where their horses and mules struggled to stay upright.  In some areas, they had to splash along riverbeds and iced-over creeks because there were no roads.  While most families embraced the librarians, some initially resisted them out of suspicion of outsiders.  In the “Bookwoman,” which is a fictionalized story based on real life events, the main character faced sexual harassment and abuse at the hands of backwoods predators.  But the program, established in 1935 by the New Deal’s Work Progress Administration, persevered.  Imagine the reaction of children to a pack course librarian as they envisioned what she had packed in her saddlebag for them!  Text books, recipes and quilt patterns were circulated among the mountain families, too. In 1936, packhorse librarians served 50,000 families and, by 1937, 155 schools.   Books and magazines for the packhorse library were acquired largely from donations; great pains were taken to preserve them.  When they became too worn, librarians pasted the text and images from the worn books into binders.  Many of the families served had never checked out a book before the Pack Horse Library program.  In 1935, Kentucky’s circulation book per capita was just one—only a fraction of the American Library Association standard back then of five to ten.  Some 30 percent of Eastern Kentuckians were illiterate in 1930. The Pack Horse Library - which employed nearly 1,000 riding librarians in total, ended in 1943 after Franklin Roosevelt ordered the end of the WPA.  Bookmobiles weren’t introduced in the area until the 1950s.  Imagine the families of Appalachia once the brave Packhorse Librarians no longer served them.  Imagine yourself with no access to books!  So celebrate your local library!  And come to the Alfred Dickey Library  in Jamestown this Saturday, Nov. 16 from 12-3 pm.  Ozzy Ox and I will be there for its first-ever Local Author Fair!

I have often wondered what life is like for a middle-aged woman who aborted as a youngster.  Does she scan crowds looking for the face of the child she aborted?  Does she live her life with guilt and regret for making a decision she felt pressured into?  What is it like to give birth to a child you decide to keep after aborting one years before? Do you sit and wonder if that aborted baby would have been as beautiful as the one you hold in your arms now?   F or those of you who put yourself out there as a candidate in this election, you must be exhausted and need a nap.  Please do so with our gratitude for putting yourself out there.  Your legislative districts, city, county and state need you. Your country needs you.  Whether you are the successful candidate or not, we all win when we respect and support the democratic process that has served our country so well. Thank you for taking part. This is only the second election I have witnessed without my father.  He was one of those ‘white men’ — barely out of his teens — who fought in a world war.  The sights he had to see, and the things he had to do, at the behest of his Navy superiors couldn’t have been anything but grueling for him and the throngs of the young volunteers that made up our armed forces.  But, together with a massive coalition of allies, they stopped the world from the Nazis and imperial Japan. His love of country, despite the visions of war that undoubtedly lived in his head, surfaced most brightly at election time.  It was then that he held the country - and the office of the presidency— up with complete reverence. I remember when Obama won his first election.  Dad’s response was, “I think the black people will be lifted by this and so it's a good thing.” Thus, when I hear people speak about “white men” as racist misogynists, my skin crawls.  To spurn such disrespect for the very people that saved us from a Hitler regime is inexcusable. Yes, this country — not so long ago — was governed by male chauvinism.  White men dominated, for sure.  But wasn’t it also white men that obviously moved aside a bit to embrace women? How would we be enjoying the freedoms we have today in this country if white men hadn’t at some point—whether pushed over or not — stepped aside and given us room at the podium?  All we have to do is look at a country like Afghanistan or Yemen to realize that we women have much to celebrate.  We can be, and are, astronauts, brain surgeons, engineers, fighter pilots, welders, linemen, and anything else we want to be.  When I grew up, we were told we had four choices: to be a secretary, teacher, nurse or housewife.  For those who are bemoaning the results of this election and chalk them up to gender, I respectfully disagree.  Kamala Harris did not lose because she is a woman.  She fell short on policy.  She was unclear about what she believed on the economy, energy, crime, immigration, border security, defense and foreign relations.  She didn’t distinguish herself from President Biden and his policies— and didn’t do herself a favor by not squealing on his decline far sooner.  The one policy she was very clear on was abortion. In today’s terms, I suppose I am to refer to that as reproductive rights.  But the dictionary definition of “reproductive” means “relating to the production of new life.”  When we talk about abortion, we need to call it what it is — stopping the production of new life — and we must acknowledge where the issue is now:   in the jurisdiction of the states .  Some people are spending endless energy commiserating on the issue of abortion and what is often termed as “loss of rights.”  If that phrase is meant to infer that we are losing rights other than the right to abort, I digress—and will wait to hear details from the states as they define their own versions of Roe v. Wade.  There is a lot of exaggeration out there.  No, Trump is not going to require that your daughter have a rapist’s child.  Trump isn’t going to risk the life of a woman in childbirth.  Trump isn’t going to do anything about abortion rights.  The issue of abortion is back in the hands of your state legislators.  And I contend that they are not going to sentence you to the life of a handmaid. Abortion legislation is not just specific to the United States—almost 100 countries have some kind of restriction on them. But why not reload right here and approach abortion another way?  Why don’t we do all we can to make abortion a procedure of last resort? Why don’t we  try to support those young women who find themselves dealing with unintended pregnancy--before, during and after? What are we doing to ensure our daughters and sons aren’t making the choices that lead to unintended pregnancy?  When I was in high school, I remember a fellow classmate that became pregnant when we were sophomores.  And continued to attend school even into her last trimester!  Back then, you didn’t see pregnant teen-agers — not because there weren’t any.  They were absent from public spaces because they were sent away by families who treasured their family honor above the dignity of their daughter.  Can you imagine?  You are a 15-year-old who is devastated first by unintended pregnancy, and then must face being thrown out and sent away by your own family? Thankfully, those days are over!  That Fargo Home For Unwed Mothers that we used to hear about is no longer part of our vernacular.  But we need to revisit the reason for it.  We, as a society, obviously haven’t done enough to deter unwanted pregnancies.  And we have done little to reduce the stigma around unwanted pregnancy.  Abortion certainly does nothing but add to that stigma.   I've often wondered what life is like for a middle-aged woman who aborted as a youngster.  Does she scan crowds looking for the face of the child she aborted?  Does she live her life with guilt and regret for making a decision she felt pressured into?  What is it like to give birth to a child you decide to keep after aborting one years before? Do you sit and wonder if that aborted baby would have been as beautiful as the one you hold in your arms now?   Think of the mental impact of the way we handle unintended pregnancy.  Undergoing abortion has profound mental consequences — likely unaddressed. What are we doing to help women who have made that choice? When are we going to rally in support of those who find themselves in an unintended pregnancy?  When will we try harder to educate and counsel them - and young men as well - before pregnancy? How can  we offer more alternatives to abortion? If we spent half as much energy and resources helping those dealing with unintended pregnancies, rather than advocate for abortion, we would be truly giving women - and all the female babies we can save from abortion - the rights they deserve.

As the November Spotlight Author of the Moorhead Friends Writing Group, I feel it is high time I post a little about the group. It began some seven years ago with a handful of authors that met each week at the library in -- you guessed it! -- Moorhead, Minn. Today, the group includes some 40 authors from 13 states. Together, they have published almost 50 works. Five of these are anthologies (collections of stories) based on the small fictional Minnesota town of Effham Falls (say the city name slowly and make your own interpretation of what it intimates). Chris Stenson is the group's founder. He just released his first novel, Sins of the Mother , and is passionate about promoting the work of his fellow authors. He does the footwork for a calendar full of vendor events where each of the authors' titles are offered for sale (details at moorheadfriendswritinggroup.com ) and on the group's Facebook page . What Chris wouldn't do for this group! Get out to meet him while he is still circulating locally--before his book hits the bestsellers' lists and he tours nationally! Sins of the Mother , by Chris Stenson Dark Fantasy: A new Dark Age approaches. Evil walks unfettered between realities, no longer content in hiding in the shadows, feeding on the blood and the souls of the innocent. Three witches linked by blood and fate must close the doors forever. Only one has the ability. The war for a young girl’s soul has begun. Author Bio: Chris Stenson is the founder and leader of the Moorhead Friends Writing Group that has hosted nationally known authors as guest speakers. His short story “Two Bobbies” was selected for inclusion in the Horror Writers Network Anthology The Gates of Chaos. “Roadkill Surprise” is a werewolf short story that was included in the Horror Zine Magazine . His short story, Planted , was published in Fear Forges Anthology Spring Edition . Dark Fantasy Novel, Sins of the Mother was published in July 2024. The Last Door, Dolls, and They Bite have been published in the two Moorhead Friends Writing Groups anthologies. Social Media:   Facebook (@stennycauthor) Instagram (@stennycauthor) Threads (@stennycauthor) Twitter: (@c_stenny) Website:  https://chrisstensonauthor.com/

For Veteran’s Day:  do more than wave a flag It’s a day off of work and school for many—Veteran’s Day.  While a streak of patriotism is especially needed after the heartfelt election last week, our observance of Veteran’s Day should go beyond flag waving and posting.  Taking a deeper dive into the reality of those that serve, we may be shocked.  Despite Vice-President’s claim during her presidential debate that there “ was not one member of the US military in active duty in a combat zone—in any war zone around the world” (I have also seen posts on social media from groups like Occupy Democrats claiming the same as recently as last week!), the facts tell another story. The wars in Ukraine and Israel, and increasing tensions arising from an alliance arising among Russia, China, Iran and North Korea are creating volatility all over the globe.  Without even considering the US presence in Ukraine, look at the situation in the Middle East: —Approximately 1,000 US troops are in Syria, and 2,500 are stationed in Iraq, both of which are active combat zones.  —Where there were usually around 34,000 troops stationed in the Middle East, recent additional deployments have raised the number to as many as 50,000. —The US Air Force now has four land-based fighter squadrons (each with 18 to 24 airplanes and the crews needed to operate them) present in the Middle East. —A US Navy carrier strike group typically includes 75 aircraft, 8 ships, a submarine and 7,500 sailors and Marines.  At least one carrier strike group is stationed in the Middle East now.   —As recently as last week, additional resources have been sent to the Middle East, including another fighter squadron, bomber aircraft (including B-52s from Minot Air Force Base), tanker aircraft and Navy destroyers. The numbers don’t lie.  But even more profound, look at the toll that military service takes on a soldier: —Last year alone, more than 20,000 service memos were diagnosed with traumatic brain injuries (TBI).  —Since 2000, more than 460,000 service members suffered TBIs.  —In just one Iran-backed attack on a US base in Syria and Iraq last October, 19 service members were injured and diagnosed with traumatic brain injuries. - In 2020, the age and sex-adjusted suicide rate among veterans was 57.3% higher than the age and sex-adjusted rate among non-Veteran U.S. adults. As US citizens, each and every one of us have a debt to pay.  We owe it to our service men and women to AT LEAST be aware of the reality they face. Not just on Veteran’s Day, but every day.  Take interest, thank them.  Support legislation that acknowledges their sacrifice.  Be their best advocate! In other words, BE WORTHY OF THEIR SERVICE.

I used to think that entering old age was like shifting down a gravel truck.  You’d be roaring down a smooth asphalt road, when all of a sudden, you’d hit a rut and then gravel - and would frantically hit the clutch and brake as you struggled to keep all four wheels grounded.  I am old now, and so far, haven’t met that fate. Gratefully, I didn’t wake up one day feeling like my thought processes had been hijacked and replaced with a fog that never quite lifted.  A person who didn’t have an opinion or the curiosity to seek truth.  A being who had checked out of life because relevance and technology left them behind.  I am pretty sure my younger self perceived old age like that. I have obviously changed my mind—and you will too, someday.  In the meantime, I have a feeling that old age is the last social profile that hasn’t been added to the socially unjust index.  As much as I think there is danger in putting every single profile of a human into those demographic silos, I am a little surprised that grandparents haven’t united to stand up to the stereotypes. Let me start right here.  I am a grandma.  To nine VERY special people. I am in LOVE with being a grandma.  I sometimes tease my own kids that if I had known how great it is to have grandchildren, I more than likely would have just skipped the parenthood thing!   But my grandmother role is saved for my grandchildren only!    If you aren’t one of those nine special people—don’t you DARE call me grandma.   I am not your grandma and will likely behave in a way that defies all approved grandmotherly behavior.  You know the stereotype.  Don’t do it.