Today is Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day. It is a solemn day, one that causes us to meditate upon our most frightening nature, directing us to look at not only the horrors of our past, but the violence, intolerance, and indifference of our present. In this broadcast, we hear from Inge Auerbacher, who, as a child, was transported with her mother and father to Terezin, a Nazi concentration camp.
Stepping out of my rental car, the Canadian air bites my lungs. An ache in my hip takes my mind back to when a walker was both friend and foe. With it, I could escape my room, but it betrayed me, revealing the weakness in my body.
I walk into the convention center with my brother and sister by my side. They abandoned the Arizona to watch me compete for the first time. They comment on my stride. I stop and look at the sign: World Bench Press Championships. All falls silent.
Isabella arrived at the Siouxland Humane Society with her brother, Pepe. The two were seperated at first, but their cries for each other were heard, and the good SHS people are now doing thier best to ensure that doesn't happen again.
Today's poem is by Mara Dekat
Muse about your doggy and send the result to Mark.
Whenever I start to feel stuck, I change the one thing I can, and I begin redecorating with all the fervor of Martha Stewart on the day she discovered Pinterest. My arbitrary impulse serves as a welcome distraction.
But while I’m flitting from room to room, I’m faced with things that were purchased under the assumption that they’d be placed in a lovely downtown loft apartment, not a lonely suburban home that has a lawn to mow and bushes to trim and porches to paint.
A few years ago, Leslie Erickson walked into the wilderness, and something changed. The change wasn't namable, and it wasn't complete, but it made itself known. Leslie returned again each summer to the wild. The sense of silence and the depth of night restored her, and when she returned to the city, to work, to the classrooms where she teaches, she noticed the brightness and the noise. She has decided to retire. The story she had long told of herself, Dr. Leslie Goss Erickson, was what had changed those few years ago. And now she is off to make that story complete.
Mickey, a little fellow whose previous owner could no longer care for, joins us. And he is fine. Real fine. So fine, in fact, that his fine will spill over into your fine just beautifully. Find Mickey at the Siouxland Humane Society.
Three years ago, as a newspaper reporter in Council Bluffs, Iowa, I met a dying a man named Larry Spalti, who at age 97, was probably happier than most people who were counting down the days to death. Happier than some of us could ever hope to be.
It was August, not too warm, and not too cool. This man, who lived in a white house next to a Dairy Queen, called my work and wanted someone to tell his story.