What's New In the BlogHer Life Blogroll? Life goes on with new careers, blondes, August blues, thankfullness

Hurricane Dean is thrashing Jamaica. Courageous firefighters lost their life in a raging blaze near Ground Zero. The news is full of scary events, full of murder and mayhem and politicians pounding their chests. But life goes on, surprises us, delights us, hands us moments mundane, precious, even in the midst of the most unsettling news. ...more

simply for being who you are, Birdie. Your inner light illuminates everyone and everything ...more

Are You a Late Bloomer? A story and an interview with author Amy Cohen

A Hopi kachina watches my computer screen from over my right shoulder. He wears a sanded leather loincloth over ochre skin, collar and cuffs of soft maple rabbit. He stands two-feet high, but he feels as tall as a man. His protruding eyes burn my back, transmit an ancient message of sure-footed joy. You will dance and you will like it, he mutters. You will run and you will jump. ...more

We're in such a rush in our culture that artists who peak early tend to be valued over late ...more

Words in a Row: Shattered

A young man I know fell off an outcropping of granite this summer, fell eight vertical feet, fell into a six-week land of cast and crutch and exotic metal pins. Shattered tibia. Surgery. June plans as broken, as painful as his swollen skin. I wanted to sign his cast, the blue sheath that hid the parallel scars, but he refused my pen. "I don't want any signatures. I just want everyone to leave me alone." ...more

It could never happen to me… that was what I thought. Twelve hours ago I was told I was to lose ...more

Words in a Row: Chewbacca Rides Shotgun

The clouds that blanket the Plains of San Augustin rarely notice the science traveler, the Mescalero Apache, the patchwork family with a bag of marshmallows and one unused match. The clouds push from Arizona toward Texas, push across the reservation, the dried lake flats, push past the twenty-seven radio antennas without a second glance. Every time I drive past the installation, I feel those wandering jewels mock me, tell me I don't belong in this wilderness. ...more

Every story I write is completely different from what I expect and even want it to be. But ...more

Words in a Row: A Case of Mysterious Identity

Vivian Vance and her sister owned the house I call my own. They lived in this simple cracked-stucco box on the edge of the Great Plains, where Mother Earth New Mexico gives birth to a flat-chested Oklahoman girl, a long-legged Texas boy. When Vivian as Ethel Mertz told Lucy Ricardo that she grew up in the Land of Enchantment, she wasn't kidding. I imagine her tooling along the Turquoise Trail outside of Santa Fe in a silver-finned convertible while her handkerchief-covered curls catch white sage and sharp bits of tumbleweed. On purpose, of course. Vivian was that kind of gal. ...more

that I'm afraid to go with mine.

I'm beginning, with these lessons, to see how you do it. ...more

When the rivers run dry, when the heavens cry, when we regular folks notice our changing weather

Weather extremes. Drought. Rain without end. It seems like more and more folks are noticing strange days, noticing weather that seems two steps left, off, unpredictable, new. My own town knows the capriciousness of Mother Nature. Last year we suffered the end of a five-year drought. This year the rains come every day, leaving my street with a greet patina I don't recognize. Scientists, pundits, and politicians are posting conflicting reflections, reports, opinions on climate change across the internet, but we "regular folk" have something that somehow seems more important: the evidence our eyes, our hands provide us. ...more

I've noticed that there have been more and more Chicago winters without snow on the ground for ...more

Words in a Row: Marty Cherryseed and the Good Bad Idea

My youngest son crawls beneath my gramma's quilt these mountain summer mornings. I brace myself to brave the scuffed pine floor in my bare feet as he flops on his stomach and places vintage comics on my extra pillow. I leave him to my warm bed, leave him to carefully turn fragile pages, to become a penguin in a starched tuxedo, a lump-headed dinosaur chasing foolish researchers in some forgotten rainforest. His older brother doesn't join us, doesn't wake until I force his eyelids apart with a sharp shake. ...more

3 people:
-my beautiful son, S., nine years old, at the Folk Festival in his tangled mop of ...more

Words in a Row: Write with Birdie

Ninth grade bored the hell outta me until Mr. Adamski caught me carving my wooden desk with a dull Girl Scout penknife, caught me marking territory with a tool as deliberate as a male bulldog’s piss. I rubbed soft graphite into the cat scratch arroyo until it shone dull black ache. BJ loves DF I carved a heart, an arrow, an impossibility. Dean loved cheerleader Cindy with the feathered hair, didn’t notice me and the tarnished saxophone I hauled to school. “Ms. Jaworski.” He blew out the Ms. on a long exhale with an accent just west of Boston. My New England town grew teachers like him, second-generation Polish with a deep respect of education. He must have been twenty-eight years old, twenty-nine. His hair hung in oily ringlets around the collar of his Nehru jacket, and he wore tight striped pants over dirty Earth shoes. I stared at those shoes, at the brown crepe soles, didn’t meet his eyes. ...more

Looking forward to being the class clown...

Stever

Question EVERYTHING!more

Life Blog Surf: Sixty years of the Roswell UFO mystery (and where are the women?)

On an achingly hot New Mexican evening in 1947, the sky cooled when an approaching thunderstorm crowded the horizon west of Roswell. What happened next is the subject of sixty years of heated debate. According to the United States Government, a top-secret research balloon - complete with anthropomorphic dummies - fell from the sky onto a rancher's scrub brush lands. But a growing list of witnesses continues to cast serious doubt on the "official" explanation of events. The signed affidavits swear that a chevron-shaped craft skidded across the Foster Ranch, wounding or perhaps killing a small crew of unusual hominoids, people from a far-away land separated from our world by time, perhaps, or great distances of space. ...more

Thanks for checking out my story.

I love the way that New Mexicans embrace not only the ...more

I heart Rubik's Cube

At the end of eighth grade, my homeroom teacher marched us into the cafeteria and handed out number two pencils. We sat at long bench tables covered in graffiti scratches and filled in circles on endless pieces of paper. Define the word "rubicon." In the diagramed sentence, which word is the verb? What is the product of 3,451 and 6,788? I glanced across the table at my best friend and we both shrugged our shoulders. We didn't realize this test would seal our fate over the next four years. ...more

When i was 12 a learned how to do a Rubik's Cube. Except, i had a litttle help from online ...more