Blog Posts
My little-girl self was terrified of the deserted farmhouse up a dirt road from the suburb where I grew up in the 1960s. The family who had lived there still owned the land and rented the pasture and barn to local horse owners. The abandoned house seemed to be crumbling into the ground. When my…
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I walked into Margene’s Wagstaff’s office in the spring of 1977 wearing a jean skirt that I’d embroidered with flowers and a gauzy peasant top. My hippy garb was out of place with Margene’s prim and proper attire. She wore a coordinated sweater set and plaid skirt with pearls and classy loafers. We couldn’t have…
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One of my most memorable childhood gifts came when I was five years old on Christmas Eve in 1961. Dressed in my “Sunday best” outfit at my grandparents’ farm house. This picture captures my memory. But irony and coincidence also lurk invisibly in the background of this image. We had just feasted on Grandma Esther’s…
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—Lois Storlie’s Reflections, curated and written by her daughter, Jean Storlie. I really liked growing up on the farm. It was a simple life, but my dad and grandpa were big teases. They stirred up mischeif and kept me on my toes! Working in the Field My dad taught me how to drive the team…
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Two weeks ago, my sister sent me an email urging me to apply my sewing skills to make COVID-19 masks. At that point, I’d seen reports that the homemade masks inadequately protect healthcare professionals―and give the general public a false sense of security. So, I resisted (maybe I was slightly lazy, too). She pushed back.…
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Grandpa Bill used to say, “Three moves are as good as a fire.” I thought of this quip many times this summer when we downsized from a sprawling suburban two-story home to a cozy, mid-century modern house on a creek. At first, deciding what to do with every single possession we’d accumulated during 29 years…
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Sewing machines buzzed around me, as I quickly loaded another zipper and started to sew. My co-worker at the next station was sewing like a whirling dervish. Her hands flew up and down, back and forth. She installed zippers on sleeping bags at a rate of 90-100/hour. The handlers, who kept supplies stocked and removed…
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The late-November afternoon sun cast a gloomy mood on Jackson’s day. The Sunday Scaries haunted him. His dad and he were listening to classic rock on the radio on their way to the grocery store. At 12 years old, he had been taking guitar lessons for three years. His second guitar teacher, Toby, had recently…
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In a quiet, remote lab in the basement of a building at the University of Minnesota, Mimi was making gluten balls—and going crazy. She had been doing the same mind-numbing task for months. Her mood darkened with the shrinking daylight hours as winter loomed. A graduate student in food science, she was lucky to have a job and…
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Signing a petition changed my life. It was the fall of 1981. Leafing through the member newsletter from the American Dietetic Association, I saw an announcement that some dietitians were forming a practice group in Sports and Cardiovascular Nutrition. The group would be called SCAN, and they needed signatures for a petition. I was finishing…
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