“Leading Wing”

Monday, June 30, 2025

Years ago, long before I imagined a life in Central Oregon or the daily ritual of writing blogs, I worked in a world so classified I couldn’t even discuss my job with friends. Lately, I’ve found myself reflecting on those details—my small but precise role during the early development of the B-2 bomber.

I served as the lead negotiator for a section of the B-2, responsible for negotiating costs and understanding the construction intricacies of my assigned area. That work pushed me deep into technical territory, whether I felt ready for it or not. My focus was on a particular part of the wing. Only later did I fully appreciate how closely my work was tied to the company’s and the nation’s ambitious vision.

Unlike conventional aircraft with a fuselage and protruding wings, the B-2 was designed as a “flying wing.” That changed everything, including how we talked about it. I recall that we often referred to my section as a “leading wing,” which, in hindsight, is a bit of a misnomer. In a flying wing, every part is forward-facing, structurally critical, aerodynamically sensitive, layered with radar-absorbing materials, fuel compartments, and stealth design features. There is no separate wing area that sticks out; the entire aircraft is the wing.

And there I was—a non-technical civilian—tasked with negotiating costs for a vital section. I sat across from contractors, flanked by my team of engineers, as we discussed pricing that had to align with strict budgets while justifying the necessity and feasibility of every element. These were intense conversations, involving components stamped with a national security imprint. Every dollar needed a clear, defensible rationale. More than once, we joked that maybe this whole thing we were helping to build existed only on paper—a purely theoretical concept.

Much later, we were all invited to witness the first rollout of a completed B-2. I stood in a crowd of employees buzzing with anticipation. We each knew our own “assigned parts,” but only the designers and top officials knew the entire aircraft design. Someone near me quipped that when the hangar doors opened, there might be nothing at all—that the bomber was just a myth. Given the secrecy and fragmented way we’d each touched the project, it almost seemed possible.

Then the hangar doors began to part.

Out of deep shadow, something black, angular, and breathtaking slowly rolled. The aircraft emerged bit by bit—majestic yet alien-looking, unlike anything we’d ever seen. It moved forward with a kind of eerie grace into the light, and the crowd fell completely silent. Then, quietly, tears welled up. Years of effort, meetings, debates, and pages of paperwork had culminated in this astonishing reality. A wing that could fly.

I often forget to include that experience among the formative chapters of my life. But seeing recent images of B-2s soaring through the sky, flanked by fighter jets, brought it all back. That made me want to recapture it here.

Dear friends: Sometimes the small fragments we handle—negotiations, line items, a section of structure—turn out to be part of something far bigger. Sometimes, even airborne.—Diana

Emerging

Sunday, June 29, 2025

Yesterday, I shared my shock on learning it could cost me up to $10,000 to repaint my small car. I’m a product of living in Southern California and remember a very different time. Back then, several successful auto body repair businesses offered remarkably low prices. Earl Scheib’s, for instance, promised to repaint an entire car for anywhere between $99 and $299 — a deal that drew in countless customers.

So why could repainting my modest vehicle today run as high as $10,000? That question might shed light on why the auto repair company that’ll repair my dented fender specializes in doing only insurance repairs. It estimated my fender repair job at $1,400, which, frankly, felt to me like reverse sticker shock. Back in my old California days, it was common to feel taken advantage of by auto repair shops. Today’s quote, which to me seemed cheap, likely reflects pricing which represents prenegotiated figures acceptable to insurance companies.

Curious, I decided to dig deeper into the modern automotive paint industry. What I found didn’t just give me logical explanations — it also made me realize how out of touch I’d become with current standards, not just in auto painting, but across many trades.

I’m learning that today’s auto repair materials are worlds apart from what was common during my California years — and they’re also vastly more expensive. Similarly, labor costs have increased because of today’s higher performance standards. There are stricter environmental regulations and added compliance expenses, along with inflation and overhead charges. All of those factors contribute to modern repainting quotes.

Consumer expectations also have changed. The old Earl Scheib approach was all about speed and budget, providing quick, cheap, purely cosmetic “spray over and go” jobs. In contrast, a modern $10,000+ paint job typically involves a complete surface restoration, performed to rigorous standards and utilizing advanced materials, handled by skilled technicians who meticulously adhere to environmental laws.

Years ago, low-cost repaints in any color were easy to find, although minimal prep work meant those jobs rarely lasted for long. Today’s high-end shops strive for results that meet or exceed factory standards. That requires painstaking labor, high-quality paints, and strict adherence to environmental compliance. All those drive costs up dramatically.

Dear Friends: Like Rip Van Winkle–awaking to a world more changed than I realized.— Diana

Grasping

Saturday, June 28, 2025

I had some surprising learning, which began after I was involved in a minor fender-bender in a small roundabout that damaged my bumper, but my vehicle continued to run perfectly. That incident made me roll my eyes more than wring my hands. My insurance company sent me to get an estimate for repairing the cracked bumper. I did so, bracing myself for a wallet-shocker, but to my surprise, the estimated repairs came in only around $1,500.

I say “only” because that repair was far less than I had anticipated. It struck me as weird-funny, considering how almost everything else these days seems to cost more. My insurance bills keep climbing, and my groceries keep leaping off the shelves, totaling higher. These days, even the basics for my home and pets regularly strain my budgeting attempts, and unfortunately, very often.

The insurance estimate for my car’s bumper prompted me to explore why and how auto body shops are evolving, from fulfilling private repairs to focusing on fulfilling insurance claims. The costs for labor and materials are making the world of commerce out there constantly change, and so rapidly, both economically and otherwise, that my old mental price tags can’t keep up. Others are like me and equally surprised when comparing today’s costs to those we faced twenty or thirty years ago, making us feel vaguely foolish and newly worried all at once.

So what’s to do? Perhaps the best answer is learning to adapt, rethinking our spending more carefully, and also seriously reevaluating what we genuinely need and what we consume. Some of us, and indeed I, who are confronted with the need for more grace time, are struggling to reevaluate our economies and grasp how best to adjust our daily lives and expectations to the rapidly shifting economic landscape.

Dear Friends: The new economic realities are continually surprising and frightening. Diana

Surprising Shifts

Sunday, June 15, 2025

For a few weeks now, I’ve been using the Yuka app. It’s my guide when I’m shopping for food. I use it to scan product labels, read its product scorings, and—most of the time—choose only items Yuka rates as excellent or good. This started as a curiosity but is transformed into something closer to a quiet commitment. I didn’t expect the app to influence or particularly change me much, but something’s has been shifting.

Without planning for an outcome, just by consuming recommended foods, my taste for certain ones—especially meats, sweets, and heavily processed items—has quickly faded. I’m surprised by not following a diet or set of rules; it’s simply that Yuka-friendly foods have quietly rearranged my plate. The big surprise is how they’re rearranging more than just my plate.

I’m hungrier at times, but in a cleaner, differently expectant way. I recognize feeling more satisfied with far less than I used to need. I’ve also noticed more steadiness in my mood. Also, my energy seems more even. I’ve begun studying what could be happening, trying to learn, and am fascinated. It could be that my enzymes are doing their job more efficiently, or maybe my gut microbes are celebrating better meal plans—but I’m feeling like a calmer, more assured version of myself.

I’m not writing this to make an announcement or trying to become a food evangelist. I’m simply trying to explain being surprised—and now, more than a little fascinated—by how sensitive the body is when given better inputs. My body seems to notice and respond well before my brain does.

Dear Friends: This brings to mind the old saying–that “truth is in the pudding.” Diana

Mind & Body Agree

Monday, June 09, 2025

Lately, I sense a changing relationship between my mind and body. They seem less like opposing forces and more like partners in change. This is because several weeks ago, I began using the Yuka app constantly to guide my grocery shopping, and now it’s dictating most of my food choices.

I use Yuca to scan labels on all products that interest me. The app scores product quality; it dislikes those with unhealthy and/or unnecessary additives, and too much salt, sugar, or fat. Yuca has encouraged me to study labels more and to seek minimal food processing. Nowadays, only products with “excellent” or “good” scores land in my shopping cart.

The process has been surprising. I didn’t start with any firm resolutions or iron-willed plans to eliminate certain foods, but this new way of selecting foods has softened my long-standing cravings for meat and sweets. Those always were high-need foods, my comfort zones—taste and habit needs. But now? Not so much. I’m not intentionally cutting out sweets and meats—they simply no longer have such high appeal.

I am fascinated by this change: how it’s occurred—not with declarations and resolutions, but with small, steady nudges, by shifting my awareness and offering a new framework. In this process, I’m enjoying foods not before bothered with–for fear of high calories and/or taste boredom. These days, I enjoy grains, root vegetables, and canned and frozen foods with quality equal to their fresh versions. The only non-vegan foods still in my routine are whipping cream for my coffee, Greek Yogurt for my smoothies, and fresh eggs from my chickens.

In exploring the possible reasons behind my perceived changes, I’ve learned that modern science recognizes how preferred foods make taste buds adjust and cause the gut to rebalance. Occurring, too, is a more subtle process. New foods will cause the brain to relearn, expect, and efficiently process them as rewards.

I’m no scientist, but I sense my body and mind having new conversations and responding to each other. This reminds me that changing doesn’t necessarily require forcing. Sometimes it just takes responding to noticing what works and allowing the rest to disappear.

Today’s header image reflects a quieter life. A wooden kitchen table, open notebook, small bowl of berries, and half-peeled orange feel fresh and peaceful in the soft morning light–reflecting an already-begun shift.

Dear Friends: In partnership, our bodies lead our minds, or is it the other way around? –Diana

Big News from My Friends at HeliLadder

Thursday, June 05, 2025

My longtime friends, Dale and Susie Neubauer, have taken a major step forward—they’ve purchased a commercial building! It will house their rapidly growing HeliLadder business. The other evening, they gave me a tour of the new space: a 5,000-square-foot facility situated on a full acre in a bustling commercial area of the city.

The building includes a spacious office and design area, as well as a wide-open warehouse where their team will stock ladder components, assemble the finished ladders, and prepare them for shipping. Out back are two large truck-ready bays, ideal for efficient shipping and receiving. There’s also plenty of parking and a lovely perimeter of shading trees, under which Dale and Susie plan to set up a picnic area for their team—how thoughtful is that?

HeliLadder had its humble beginnings in 2015, right in Dale and Susie’s garage. With 30 years of aircraft maintenance experience, Dale understood the challenges of working on helicopters—especially their thin skins that can easily become damaged by a traditional leaning ladder. So, he designed a modular, free-standing maintenance ladder specifically for helicopters. The result was something portable, safe, and elegant. Local fabricators helped produce the custom parts, and HeliLadder was born.

I first saw the HeliLadder years ago and thought it looked like a modern art sculpture—tall, balanced, and colorfully wearing its very own signature “HeliLadder colors.” I still “see it,” as not just functional, it’s beautiful. I’ve followed Dale and Susie’s journey with admiration, and seeing them now—owners of a big, bright commercial building—it’s hard not to be just as thrilled as they are.

Dear friends: Visit HeliLadder.com, a very cool site and a remarkable story. –Diana

Lunch with Judy and Candy

Computer-generated Image–surprisingly close to reality

Monday, June 02, 2025

I had lunch yesterday with long-time friends I hadn’t seen in years. We first met during a pivotal chapter in my life, when I was a breast cancer patient participating in a support group. They were the group’s unofficial leaders—steady and compassionate, offering wise listening and unwavering kindness. The connections forged in that group felt deep and enduring. Despite years and distance, our shared strengths and vulnerabilities still feel familiar.

It had been a long time since we’d laid eyes on one another, but recently, they wandered separately into the department store where I work. We recognized each other immediately—like “old friends,” which we are—and promised to meet for lunch soon.

Judy and Candy are continuing to nurture the cancer support group–welcoming women facing breast cancer and other illnesses. Their dedication says much about their character, and just as much about our deep human need for community when we’re navigating illness. Sitting with them again felt comforting as they shared how the group continues to evolve.

Conversation came easily. We didn’t need to fill in every gap—we simply slipped into the familiarities of our old connection: talking about our lives now, the realities of aging, fond memories, and the ever-present question: What may come next? There was laughter, warmth, and a few comfortable silences. Our lunch felt less like a reunion and more like a quiet rekindling—an affirmation of ties built during significant uncertainties and shared strengths.

They spoke of their early lives—how, as young women, they each bravely moved to Alaska during its formative days, just as it prepared for Statehood. They met there, in a time when its cities were small and its spirit was wide open. Those were the early days of loosening social constraints for women, and they embraced the freedom and opportunity. Eventually, each moved—independently but around the same time—to Central Oregon, where they reconnected.

They asked after my donkey, Pimmy, who is doing well—her illnesses are stable and under control. They asked about my other critters: sweet turkey Lacey, noisy Cockatoo Peaches, and Chase (yes, that Puppy-from-Hell, Chase, who still lives with me).

The best part of our lunch was simply knowing—knowing one another well and knowing where we’ve been. We didn’t just share memories; we shared something more enduring–a kind of bond formed while at our most human, our most open. That’s what has made the cancer group so special, and it’s what made our lunch such a gift.

Dear Friends: Like Alaska in its frontier days, Central Oregon is an “honest place.”—Diana

Going Yuka vs. Going Yukky

Saturday, May 31, 2025

Recent newspaper articles introduced me to the mobile app Yuka, which lets users scan barcodes on food and cosmetic products to assess their health impacts. Yuka rates each item on a scale from 0 to 100 and classifies it as excellent, good, fair, or poor.

Like many, I want to choose the healthiest foods, but modern product labels can be confusing, often listing complex ingredients and hidden additives. With Yuka in hand while I shop, I’m more confident in reading labels and understanding nutritional elements. It has already changed the way I buy and eat.

Grocery shopping used to be simpler. Today, pre-packaged and pre-prepared foods are more common and often tempting. Still, they frequently contain stabilizers–preservatives to extend shelf life, or salt and sugar to encourage repeat consumption. Many of these additives are unsuitable for us, and without help, it’s hard to make informed decisions.

That’s where Yuka comes in. By scanning a product’s barcode, I can quickly see a summary of its health impact based on nutritional value, presence of additives, and whether it’s organic. This clarity helps me unpuzzle those long, unreadable ingredient lists.

When I started using the app, I scanned many products I’ve been buying for years. Surprisingly, several favorites scored poorly due to high sugar content or unhealthy additives. Sometimes, Yuka suggests healthier alternatives that are easy to find. Little by little, my choices have shifted.

After about a month of using Yuka, I’m now more mindful at the grocery store and at home. I avoid ultra-processed foods and have even discovered new items Yuka rates as “excellent.” It turns out I enjoy them!

Yuka also works on personal care items like cosmetics and toiletries, scanning for harmful ingredients. I don’t use many skincare or makeup products, but it’s worth noting that Yuka’s 20 million users in the U.S. are influencing both the food and beauty industries. Manufacturers are being forced to pay closer attention to what informed consumers want.

The app has helped me focus more on what my body needs than what tastes good now. That shift is reflected in my shopping cart, pantry, and my workday lunches and snacks.

Of course, no app is perfect, and dietary needs vary by person. But for me, Yuka is a valuable and empowering tool. I’m not chasing perfection—just better choices. Having clear, accessible information helps me stay in control of my health and well-being.

Dear Friends: It’s about being mindful and choosing what’s best for your body. —Diana

Are You “My” Robin?

Tuesday, May 27, 2025

A pair of robins recently began nesting on a beam in my barn’s hay storage area. Their nest sits about twice my height above the ground. I pass near it several times daily to gather hay and fill feeding nets for my equines. I’m always aware now of a robin watching me intently from above. I try to avoid disturbing them too much—I want them to stay. In my heart, I secretly hope that one of these birds is my robin. It’s wishful thinking, I know—but it speaks to a very human need to reconnect with something we’ve loved.

My robin was real. A fledgling that had fallen from a tree in my dogs’ area. Its parents were nearby, agitated and noisy—enough to draw my attention. Fearing for its safety, I scooped up the little bird and moved it to a safer, dog-free part of the property. Its parents would continue to feed it for a while, but that baby was still vulnerable to hawks and other predators. I relocated it again to protect it more, but this time, the parents gave up. And so, I became its guardian.

That was during the waning days of the COVID pandemic, when supply chain issues made it nearly impossible to find live mealworms—essential for a young robin’s diet. Determined, I finally tracked down living night crawlers from a fishing supplier. I’d snip the crawlers into pieces, dunk them in water for hydration, and feed them to my little one, who lived in the garage and began to thrive.

As the fledgling grew, I started setting it between feedings on the lower branches of a mature pine tree. Upon my return, it would flutter onto my shoulder, ready for another meal. Before long, it began flying to me from higher and farther branches. The bird was maturing—and I knew it might leave me.

Still, I hoped. I dreamed that it would return someday with a mate and nest nearby.

Then one day, it was gone. I called and searched, heart heavy. The loss was immense. I still hold on to the hope that it survived—that it found its place in the world.

Every summer since, I’ve watched the robins around me more closely, wondering if any of them might be the one. None have been. But now, this new nesting pair shows no fear of me. One watches quietly as I pass, not alarmed enough to flee. Could it be my bird? I’ll never know—but I can hope.

Dear friends: The emotional connections we form—especially with those we’ve nurtured—run deep. And they last. Diana

“Lucky” Overall

Monday, May 26, 2025

Yesterday was my birthday, which started off dull but livened up when my friend Susie texted about having dinner together. Susie is a fun companion, and this time, we wandered downtown. We wound up dining on mussels and rice noodles while sitting at the bar in The Wild Rose, a fine Thai restaurant. The header photo is of us after a beer. The image includes my t-shirt’s super-cool Mickey Mouse, hands in his pockets, and one imagines, about to whistle.

Some quick thank yous to long-time friends who remembered and got in touch: Linda, Jan, my dear cousin Mary, Rachelle, and Lisa (who used to be the manager of the department store where I work, and to the disappointment of we locals, now manages a sister store in Colorado).

While catching up last night, Susie and I had wide-ranging discussions. She spoke about missing my blog and suggested I consider blogging again. I’d been thinking of how much I have missed being a writer. So, today’s a fresh start. I’ll not blog on days I’m due early to work, unless a topic mightily grabs my mind and imagination (which often happens).

My advancing age makes me want to avoid birthdays, but help from friends made yesterday special. That let me refocus and enjoy my present self. Ahead, I will write about topics that matter and keep evolving personally.

Dear Friends: Writing clarifies experience and turns learning into perspective. Diana