A Talk With Linda

Monday, September 08, 2025

Later this week, I’ll be catching up by phone with my nearly lifelong friend, Linda. Many years ago, she was the one who nudged me toward college, setting me on a long road to the career I eventually achieved.

Early on, she encouraged me to leave the Midwest for Southern California, where evening classes and other opportunities made it possible to pursue college while working full-time. Years later, she pointed me toward a small, welcoming town in Central Oregon where she lived, and again, I followed her advice. Some years ago, she returned to her roots in California, but across the miles, our friendship has stayed steady and strong.

Linda has always been politically savvy and endlessly curious. With her, small talk never lasts long. Our conversations move quickly into larger territory: what we’re learning, what we’re noticing in the world around us, and how maturity continues to reshape our daily lives.

This week, I’m holding three threads in mind that we’ll likely explore:

AI, and what it means for lifelong learners like us.
Politics, in a time that feels turbulent and uncertain.
Aging, and how it keeps redefining identity and purpose.

We rarely see eye to eye on everything — and that’s part of the gift. Linda challenges me to think harder, and I hope I do the same for her.

In times when the future feels uncertain, steady friendships matter more than ever. They make the best conversations possible — weaving together the personal and the political, the present and the future.

— Diana

Kitchen dōjō

Sunday, September 07, 2025

Recently, I came across a piece where someone described “having a Ninja kitchen.” That struck a personal chord. Me too! Some people dream of a gourmet setup filled with gleaming gadgets. Mine? It has quietly transformed into a Ninja dōjō.

It started innocently enough with a Ninja smoothie maker that whipped up dreamy, creamy blends in seconds. Then came the coffee maker—my morning “push and sip,” no more sleepy battles with confusing buttons. A counter-space-saving air fryer followed, crisping veggies, reheating leftovers to fresh-like perfection, and even roasting chickpeas until they crunch (who knew?).

Now, a Ninja “Foodi” has strutted onto my counter. With pressure cooking, slow cooking, crisping, and steaming, it’s like having the Swiss Army knife of kitchen gear—but without the sharp edges.

At this point, I’m no longer resisting. Whenever I think about a new appliance, I check whether Ninja makes it. Chances are, it’ll be cleverly designed, and I won’t need a 40-page manual to figure it out.

So yes, Friends—my kitchen is officially a Ninja kitchen. And honestly? I’m fine with that. If Ninja ever makes something that unloads the dishwasher, I’ll be set for life.

—Diana

Finding My Voice!

Saturday, September 06, 2025

I recently listened to an interview with Robert Reich about his newest book, Coming Up Short: A Memoir of My America. One of the themes he spoke about was “social bullying,” which he described as a “social constant.” He suggested it may have been more visible in his own youth, but he emphasized that bullying in any form can quietly suppress people’s ability to get ahead.

His words stirred up memories for me. Growing up, I often felt “bullied”—not by fists or shouts, but by a steady stream of signals that I was “less than.” Less, for being a woman. Less, for being single. Less, for carrying just enough extra weight to feel unattractive. I absorbed it all without knowing how to push back.

My turning point came from a college-educated co-worker and friend, who refused to let me give in to those doubts. She ignored my protests that I wasn’t smart enough or didn’t have time. She kept insisting that I enroll in a college-level evening course until I finally did—and to my own surprise, earned an A. That single step propelled me into nearly twenty years of night classes, where I eventually earned three accredited diplomas, including a Ph.D. That education became both an instant negotiating tool and a foundation for new opportunities in work and in life.

When the coursework ended, I faced the deeper battles within myself. Therapy became the next step, giving me space to untangle old knots, discover new perspectives, and slowly reshape how I lived. Nothing changed overnight, but with time and persistence, I learned to recognize joy, create opportunities, and trade old doubts for steadier confidence.

Looking back, I see that each step—education, therapy, and my own dogged persistence—wasn’t just about survival. It was about rebuilding a life that finally fit me, and still does.

That long-ago friend and I remain close. I think of her insistence as “good bullying”—a relentless encourager who pushed me in precisely the way I needed. Listening to Reich reminded me that harmful bullying is not always loud; often it’s woven into the silences and unspoken judgments of daily life. But with persistence, coaching, and healing, those silences can be overcome.

Dear friends, persistence and healing helped me trade old battles for a steadier self.

—Diana

My Steadfast Timekeepers

Thursday, September 04, 2025

Pimmy, my donkey, doesn’t need a clock. Her inner alarm is astonishingly precise at mealtimes—and she makes sure I don’t forget. She’s been getting only weight-loss rations for months, and her appetite feels supercharged.

Morning or evening, I hear her braying because I’m moving too slowly. She sidles up to the gate, ears tilted forward, her whole body spelling out one word: Now. My horses might prance or pace when impatient, but Pimmy? She gives me a look that suggests authority.

She’s not my only steadfast timekeeper. Maxwell, my cat, knows exactly when his food should appear. Max is even pushier than Pimmy; he winds around my ankles, practically tangling me in fur and whiskers. I’ve learned to step carefully, always on alert not to trip.

There’s comfort in the constancy of these two critters. My larger world is always shifting—whether it’s a fence that needs repair, the weather’s unpredictability, or the endless churn of local and global politics. Yet Pimmy and Max bring me back to a simple rhythm of existence: “feed me, water me, keep me safe.”

In return, I relish their companionship and the simple lessons they bring: no excuses and no delays. Their routines remind me that being on time and doing what’s expected really matters.

Dear friends, Pimmy and Max remind me that routines offer a special kind of comfort.
—Diana

Skin-Deep Stories

Thursday, September 03, 2025

In the retail setting where I work, customers often share personal details about their lives. Recently, a customer told me she had used a new weight loss drug, had rapidly lost weight, and was surprised upon seeing what she referred to as her “Ozempic face.” She explained that people using the latest weight-loss medications are often taken aback to find that their skin changes do not keep pace with their rapidly shrinking bodies. As they lose weight, they may look in the mirror and see faces that appear older—hollow and lined—despite their slimmer figures.

I have been aware that our skin does regenerate periodically, and wondered why skin changes lag so behind rapid weight loss. What I have learned is that human skin actually works on two timelines. There’s a surface layer that renews itself every month or so—quietly and reliably, like clockwork. But our skin also has deeper layers, where collagen and elastin live, that move much more slowly. When we’re young, our skin fibers stretch and spring back relatively easily; however, as we age, the fibers adapt more gradually. Our slower weight changes make our skin adaptations seem more manageable. When our weight drops fast, our skin simply can’t “catch up.”

For younger people, or those lucky enough to have naturally springy skin fibers, time and hydration may soften skin changes over a few months. However, for the rest of us—especially past fifty—the adjustment could take a year or more. And in cases of significant weight loss, skin may never fully rebound.

Yet maybe that’s not entirely bad. Perhaps we’ll adjust by learning to allow our skin to carry our stories–as written in its lines and folds. Our skin can show where we’ve been, what we’ve endured, and how life can surprise us quickly. Essentially, whether it’s about weight loss, aging, or just the turn of a season, our lesson is the same: the outer covering we live in writes its own timeline.

Dear friends, we can lose weight quickly, but our skin takes its time and tells our stories.
—Diana

Houdini Has 4 Paws

Wednesday, September 03, 2025

Chase, my three-year-old Heinz-57, came to me as an adorable 8-week-old ball of mischief. Somewhere along the way, he decided his true calling was escape artistry. Scaling fences? Easy. Digging under them? Child’s play. I’ve raised my fence to seven feet, lined the perimeter with boulders that weigh more than I do—and still, Chase plots.

For the past glorious few months, I thought we’d reached a truce. I’d come home to find him safely inside the dog area, and I could breathe easy. But Houdini has returned. Lately, I find him wagging at the door, all innocence, as if he hadn’t just tunneled out like a cartoon coyote. My response? Let him inside, crate him, then dash outside to stuff yet another hole with whatever I can lift. The lava rocks? Too heavy. The easier fixes? Running out fast.

So here we are again: me, on constant watch, and Chase, dreaming up new jailbreaks. He thinks it’s fun. I think it’s a heart attack waiting to happen. What I know for sure is this—he cannot be allowed to star in “The Case of the Wandering Lost Dog.”

Dear Friends, I blinked, and Houdini struck again. So much for the ‘puppy from hell’ being history.

—Diana

Edging Into Fall

Tuesday, September 02, 2025

Central Oregon is tipping toward fall. I feel it in my bones—and deeper still, in the barn. Mornings exhale a first breath of chill. My dogs pause at the door, alert to change. The horses lift their noses as though frost itself is sliding down from the Cascades. And yet, my mind lingers in summer, reluctant to let go of those long, elastic evenings when the light stretches far enough for one more fence mended, one more wander taken.

The beauty is undeniable—aspens flashing their golden coins, birds perched on high wires against a paler sky. But beauty whispers its reminders: winter is coming. Fence lines, troughs, de-icers, hay stacked high, hoses drained—chores press forward. While I think about what must be done, the horses toss their manes and prance, delighted with the crisp air. Pimmy, my donkey, on a weight-loss diet, asks only that her supper comes on time.

It is I alone arguing with the clock. September’s sunsets are deceiving, convincing me there is always time for just one more thing—until the light folds suddenly into a quick blue that belongs only to fall. Soon an official time change will bring its own confusion. My animals, untroubled by calendars or clocks, know only the tugs of hunger and the promises of dawn and dusk.

And still…fall offers pleasant solaces. A heavier quilt pulled to the chin. Warm mugs replacing thin glasses of ice. A jacket tossed into the car, because you never know. These days contract, yes, but in their shortening remind me to choose with intention; perhaps this is autumn’s hidden gift.

Dear Friends, stepping into the season—grieving summer’s length, seeking peace in earlier darkness, and grateful for small comforts that soften the tilt.

— Diana

The Ham Sandwich Heist

Monday, September 01, 2025

Happy Labor Day!

The other afternoon, I took a small break from the big challenge of improving the fencing in my dry lot. I perched myself on a small ladder, and with a protein bar in my hand, watched my Morgan pony, Sunny, working her way with gusto through an allotment of hay. She always eats energetically, and I smile at being reminded of how joyfully a horse approachs even the simplest meal. Also, seeing her, that moment brought back one of my favorite memories of riding the trails with her.

It happened years ago. Sunny had been taking me over a moderately challenging mountain trail and we’d gone a long way. It was time to pause our trip for a lunch break. I slid off Sunny, tied her to a tree branch, and gave her a carrot. She was standing near the log I was sitting on while pulling my lunch from a paper bag: a plain ham sandwich — nothing glamorous, just fuel for our miles ahead. Before I could take a bite, or even realize what was happening, I sensed a whiskered nuzzle near my shoulder, and in one swift move, my entire sandwich was gone — clamped between my horse’s delighted teeth.

She chewed, and I swear, with the satisfaction of a thief who knows she’s won. I watched her eager chewing, and in amazement, for horses are herbivores by design. Ha! Try explaining that to one smack in the middle of discovering the joys of bread and lunch meat. Sunny was enthusiastic, licking her lips as if to say, “Why haven’t you been sharing this all along?”

Of course, that sandwich had to be a one-time treat. Horse folks are well aware that moderation and common sense always comes first in feeding. But that moment sticks with me to this day. It’s one of those horse-unique surprises that makes me laugh anytime I remember it. That sandwich may be long gone, but recalling how it disappeared feeds a fun moment to this day.

Besides, that little incident taught me more about horses. About their endlessly curious nature. From that moment on, while out on the trails, I knew the importance of staying very aware of my eats versus theirs.

Dear Friends, Sunny also loves whole oranges — peel and all — and consumes them with the same sheer delight she once gave to that ham sandwich.

— Diana

Happy Fireworks Day!

Friday, July 04, 2025

Here in Central Oregon, it’s an overcast, rainy holiday—perfect for taking a short break from the gloomy weather.

So, here’s a little cheer: a photo of one of the cutest pups you’ll ever see. Earlier this week, “Malti” and her person came shopping where I work.

Malti is a Maltese-Yorkie mix. She has the cushy-soft coat of a Maltese and a set of perky Yorkie ears. One glance at her expressive face, and I fell in love!

Dear Friends: Just a quick hello, and a little joy–courtesy of an adorable pup.—Diana

“Stayin’ Alive”

Tuesday, July 01, 2025

Lately, I’ve been watching videos and reading books about how eating “natural foods” supports a healthy body from the inside out. It’s made me pay much closer attention to what I buy, and especially to how foods are grown and processed. Learning how natural and minimally processed foods interact with the human gut has been an eye-opener.

Even someone just starting to explore this topic will quickly grasp the critical role of gut health—and likely begin to rethink their own. Knowledge is power, and already, in my case, it’s shaping my choices. I’ve changed what I shop for and how I eat. It’s still early days, but I can feel some encouraging shifts, and I like them.

This journey is teaching me why a living gut is so much more than just a stopover where food gets digested. The gut actually is a bustling, living community, teeming with a diverse array of microbes. Now, I understand this and know how, in countless ways, these tiny residents are “talking” to the rest of my body, influencing everything from how efficiently I absorb nutrients to how balanced—or frazzled—my moods can be.

All this has changed the way I shop and what I bring home to eat. My trusty Yuka app helps by scanning and rating products, steering me toward simpler, more natural foods and away from the ultra-processed. It’s become second nature to check Yuka scores before anything goes into my cart.

And honestly, the more I learn and the more I swap in these “different foods,” the better I feel. A big part of it is weaning myself off the highly processed products surrounding us—quick, tempting, cleverly marketed, but often stripped of what truly nourishes us. The sad truth is that many processed foods replace critical gut nutrients with fillers, additives, and hidden sugars. That’s great for sales, but not for our health.

Our bodies were never meant to handle so many artificial, sneaky ingredients. In reality, we need to feed the bacteria that live inside us. That means avoiding foods so stripped down by processing that they’re useless to our digestive system. These products are popular precisely because they’re engineered to light up our brains and keep us coming back for more—they’re everywhere.

I won’t claim to have transformed overnight. But I can say I’m noticing—and welcoming—some subtle but meaningful changes. My digestion feels calmer, my energy a bit steadier, and my mood a little brighter.

Most of all, there’s an unexpected, gentle undercurrent. Maybe it’s simply more happiness, rising from this new sense of actively caring for myself, of being less passive about my own well-being. It’s an inner nourishment, rooted in making choices that are more aware, thoughtful, and real.

Dear Friends: This is my current take on succeeding, “one day at a time.”—Diana