Kate Welshofer Was Here

There are times I find that life has the grace to meet us where we are, allowing for growth in a way that feels like being scooped up and gently placed in a soft, new circumstance. There are other times it simply shoves us into the deep end, forcing us to adapt; sink or swim. Whether we’re left serene or sputtering, the result is typically some version of, “That wasn’t so bad” or “I should have done that sooner.” This is how I feel about going to yoga.

I should probably start keeping track of the columns that emerge from deep dives into mundane things that pique my curiosity for one reason or another. When and if I do, I can add that task in itself to the list along with this week’s submission. So, what is it this time? Traffic lights. Photo by Jim Romero on Unsplash I wanted to know their history, how long they’d been around, when we started using them.

I started work on this week’s column the way I started work on this same column last year: I looked back at my own history, reviewing what I wrote the year before and the year before that. Both columns centered on what it means to celebrate Independence Day in the United States these days. Can we, I wondered, genuinely say our nation stands for freedom and justice for all? (Big emphasis on “all.”) Is America really the land of the free? Was it ever?

This one goes out to the graduates. Maybe not now, but when they get a minute. I know they’re busy now, managing and juggling a lot of lasts, making a whole bunch of memories, bringing tears to the eyes of a lot of family, friends, and teachers who are all very proud of them. This is for later — after all the photos are taken, the pomp and circumstance fades, and the grad parties serve their last slices of cake.

I waved “good morning” to a man I passed on a walk. It was earlier this year, nearly spring, and one of the first times I left the house without winter boots; well, confidently anyway. A frosty chill lingered, but the sun was shining and the pavement was dry; both a welcome change of pace. The man returned my “good morning” and then I realized he had stopped walking and was saying something else. I fumbled to pause my audiobook and took out an earbud.

The summer before my father died, I packed up the car, installed Brian Williams, the cat, whom I had justadopted, as my co-pilot, and drove to meet my parents at our camp. It had become tradition to spend a week with them for my summer vacation. We didn’t know then that it would be the last summer we’d all be there together. Something happened on that trip that I’ve thought about every summer since. My grandfather bought “the camp,” as we called it, in the 1960s. It was an old shack on a barren hill.

After sharing his “hardest post,” digital creator John Kucko is feeling the love from his vast online community. It’s one he built one waterfall and sunset at a time. I met John Kucko for the first time in person in the most wonderful way a few years ago: by accident at Cartwright’s Maple Tree Inn at the height of maple/all-you-can-eat pancake season.

Colbert, Brooks, and why comedy history matters Article voiceover 0:00 -24:36 Audio playback is not supported on your browser. Please upgrade. Two things happened in the last couple of weeks that made significant comedy history. One, you probably heard about. The other may come as news to you. Both events underscore not only the power of comedy, but just how much it endures and how closely aligned it is with something we all value regardless of sense of humor: freedom.

You may not have known Lisa, but you can learn from her Article voiceover 0:00 -16:16 Audio playback is not supported on your browser. Please upgrade. The greetings varied; usually some version of: “How’s your mother?!” “You look beautiful!” “God bless you!” But, in my memory, they always started the same way. “Hi, honey!” There are many, many people, particularly in Perry, who have similar versions of this same story. I know they can all hear the same distinct voice just by reading those words.

Throughout my life, I have experienced any number of major shifts, breaking the timeline into before and after. We’ve all been there. A thing happens, life goes on, you go on, but you are different. I’ve been reminded recently that you can micro-dose this kind of thing. For the better part of the last two weeks, I’ve been dealing with a cold.