Characters

Sweet elixir of life. Precious moment of hope. Promise of a new day dawning. Cleanser of all failures past. Irrevocable blast of joy. Glimmering dream that today may be completely different from all that went before — with no task left undone, no problem unsolved, no challenge unconquered. My daily drive-through is as certain as the rising of the sun and ebb of the tide. I drive through, therefore I am. The rich aroma wafts through the window and washes over me like a hug from Nona. Likewise the cheerful smile from the barista de jour. He/she greets me like I'm a valuable human being — it's part of the job description, sure, but I don't care. I’m fine with it. Today will be better because I circumnavigated this Mecca. My venti-coffee-with-one-ounce-of-cream will accompany me through a 12- or 14-hour day. It will flavor every conversation, every paragraph, every phone call, every meeting. Yes. They know my order before I place it. Yes. It costs WAY too much for ...

I'm not ok with it. Not any of it. I had just returned to the newsroom last night to file a quick story before heading home when I got the call: MVA with injuries and entrapment in Farmington. No problem, I thought. I'll dash out and snap a few photos, write a quick summary and be on my way. That's not how it played out. On this night, the deserted country crossroad — usually blanketed in darkness — was lit up like Times Square. Flashing emergency lights from hastily parked trucks were harsh and glaring — they made my eyes burn and my heart beat harder. As pulled over and got out of my van, I knew instantly that this one was going to be different. The rain streamed down and I could see portable spotlights pooling light over two mangled vehicles conjoined in a nearby field. Dozens of first responders circled the mess, forming a barrier. They weren't working, they were waiting — and barely talking. Not a good sign, ever. I paced back and forth slowly for over an hour, ...

I once had a friend who spent half of her time being super-mom to two teenage boys, and the other half trying to break them of the creeping sense of “entitlement” she saw taking root early on. She noticed in them an almost demanding expectation that they were “due” certain food, designer clothes, taxi service, spending money, privileges, freedoms and quality of life. Their attitude angered her, and she was determined to reshape their thinking, or at least their behavior, in that area. And as much as we shake our heads at people, especially kids, who lack a natural reflex of gratitude or appreciation for the good things they enjoy — there is also an upside to “entitlement.” It’s not always a dirty word. Exhibit A: two-year-old Owen Grefrath, who helped me see that a sense of entitlement can be one of the best legacies we pass on to our children. I first saw Owen in action on a dairy farm, in a huge barn lined on both sides with hundreds of miking cows. He wasn’t much more than...

It was one of those scenes that show up in my nightmares, but this time I was living it. I was on my way to shoot my niece’s wedding a few weeks ago — straight from work, stress at both ends of my 40 minute journey. As I drove (fast enough to irritate other drivers but not fast enough to get a ticket) I was thinking through my strategy: pre-wedding shots in the garden, quirky, fun, spontaneous, creative. Then on to the wedding — high church setting with breathtakingly modern and artful stained glass — that could be fun if done correctly. Nighttime reception would mean some outdoor shooting in the dark — could get dicey. The bride is an art major in graduate school — she knows what’s good and what’s not. Don’t screw up — this is for family. Mind racing. Anxiety building. As the miles ticked by I mentally checked my list of "must-have" shots from the bride and equipment I would need. Did I have enough batteries and memory cards (learned that the hard way). Were my lenses ...

There he goes, out the door — one of the best writers, sharpest minds, and most sarcastic wits I've ever met. Mike sits a couple cubes over in the newsroom, or at least he did until today, when he finally packed up his stuff and headed off for greener pastures, a bigger paycheck and a shorter commute. Under his arm were tear sheets from some of his best stories, a stack of his kids' handmade drawings that had decorated the wall next to his desk, and his favorite stress ball — now the consistency of soft butter after hundreds of hours of vigorous use. Here's the thing about Mike — he cranked out news stories like a vending machine, day after day, week after week, year after year. That kind of thing can suck the creativity and joy right out of you. But even after all these years in the news business, Mike still found a way to weave a little "inspired" into just about everything he wrote. People, places, experiences, causes — he gave readers a front row seat...

I got a press release in the mail today. Guess it had to happen sooner or later. I just don’t envy the person who answers the call — the empty shoes that he or she will have to fill are enormous. Apparently the Victor Republican Committee is looking for candidates interested in running for “the vacant Town Justice seat left after the death of longtime Judge Edward ‘Marty’ Lyng.” “Longtime.” The word doesn’t even begin to cover it. My first encounter with Judge Lyng was at the close of a case involving an autistic student who faced charges resulting from a difficult experience at Victor High School. It was the first time I was actually impressed by a judge — in fact by anyone connected with the court system. He was smart, he was humble, he was informed, he was decisive — he seemed to be a man with a moral compass, a human being with both a mind and a heart. And neither got in the way of the other. Then I got to meet his mentor, Charlie Rose. (Double my awe.) He, too, seemed ...

Even in life’s brightest and best moments, some people still find a way to act stupid. I covered Victor’s commencement ceremony last Sunday and it was a wonderful celebration for grads and their parents. Seniors crossed their high school finish line and stepped out into the world. Parents ushered their kids into the next phase of their lives with pride, nostalgia and a lot  of eye-dabbing. The grads behaved well. No one pulled any pranks or launched beach balls over the crowd during the ceremony. It was a good day. Then came the parking lot. Steamy heat from a blazing sun compounded the tension as parents, grandparents, grads and siblings packed into their cars, trucks and vans. A thicket of vehicles edged in the direction of the exit. As I slowly inched my way down the access road toward freedom, I paused long enough to let a car slip in line ahead of me. Why not? We’re all hot. We're all anxious to get out of here. And being polite doesn’t cost anything — i...