Thomas

I knew Thomas Ahlstrom as part of our merry little band of would-be pranksters living in Chicago in the late 60's. There were me and my new husband, Barry Stoner, and Michael Hall, the latter two students at the Lutheran School of Theology on the South Side; Michael's wife Sherry; Carl Franzen, a friend of theirs from Gustavus Adolphus College in St. Peter, Minnesota; and Thomas Ahlstrom. We called ourselves The Magic Strider, since most of us had read Tolkien. To me, Carl was always the Magic Strider himself. Thomas, however, was Gandalf. Read more about Thomas

The Crew

Nothing had prepared me for the day in 1996, sometime after Jerry Garcia died, when Richard told me that Robert Hunter, the lyricist for the Grateful Dead, was coming to town and asked would I like to join The Crew?

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Barbara, Caroline, Joan, Margo Read more about The Crew

Bushman

Way back in a previous century I had the only job I had ever lobbied for and loved. I was hired as secretary in the P.R. Department at the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago. We were a three-woman department: my boss, Corky, her assistant, and me. I roamed the Museum freely whenever possible, and was often sent to the basement with galleys for the printshop that lived behind a rear wall down there. Read more about Bushman

Two Sisters

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Two nice Norwegian Lutheran girls, born and raised on a hog farm in northwestern Iowa, went west to Los Angeles in 1941 and struck it rich, if you count two good and true husbands and lives that mattered to all who knew them. Read more about Two Sisters

Lines From a Life II

December 1982, Christmas at Lake Benedict:

The lake lies frozen, covered with a light snow - swellings of white and depressions of grey - it doesn't look frozen at all, just a lake of white-grey water.

Squaw Point at sunset with a swelling moon rising east in slate blue. Sucker Bay lying frozen, stretched in shades of pink and blue. The sunset marshes glow golden - tall, light shining gold of marsh reeds, stocky deep burnished gold of marsh grass, red-gold of winter maples. Read more about Lines From a Life II

Lines from a Life I

There is rain moving in
From the north and west,
And the wind coming up with
Threat and thunder.

Wet air comes, blowing sweet and cool
Across my cheek, a wonder of a sky-blown river.

What's left of bright and blue slips down the southeast sky,
Some scattered pearl drops spot the porch around my feet,
And I'll have to turn the lights on in the house
When I go back inside.

Read more about Lines from a Life I>