If you aren’t familiar with what those five names have in common, you are not alone, but you may better understand if I use the phrase “D-Day”. June 6th. 80 years ago on the northern coast of France in Normandy. That infamous day saw troops from the fourteen-country powerful alliance known as the “Allies” storm five beaches in what was to become a turning point in World War II.

Composed of ground, sea and air troops from the United States, Great Britain and Canada, D-Day was the largest seaborne invasion in history and began the liberation of France and western Europe from the tyranny of the Nazis. On that bloody day, 10,000 of the over 350,000 Allied troops involved became casualties, with 4,414 confirmed dead. Many of those dead never made it home and now lay in solemn repose in the American cemeteries that are to this day cared for by generations of French men and women who will never forget the sacrifices of the men who liberated them.

At this time of year, social media includes many videos of aging octogenarians and nonagenarians who, having miraculously escaped death on those beaches, come to pay their respects. With canes, walkers and more than a few wheelchairs, they slowly approach the hallowed grounds of the American cemeteries, including the cemetery at Colleville-Sur-Mer where 9,387 American graves lay beneath a sea of white crosses. Those who can do so may also make their way to the once bloody beaches. Tears roll down their faces as the horrors faced that day so long ago fill their head and they mourn for the men who served with them. Handfuls of the now golden sands from the beaches fill their palms as they smooth the sand across the names carved into the simple gleaming white crosses to better see and remember the names of the fallen.

Much like Arlington and the military cemeteries across our country, the sea of white crosses, so simple and yet so profound, stretch across the rolling green of the countryside with military precision; a poignant scene that conveys the ultimate sacrifice so many made to keep the world safe from tyranny.

One story I have been following is that of a man much like any of the other aging veterans determined to visit the place that so impacted his life decades ago. But this man is different. As he was being interviewed it’s instantly apparent that he is not at the American cemetery. This veteran is at LaCambe, the largest of the German cemeteries, where more than 21,200 of the 80,000 German soldiers who lost their lives in France are buried. In stark contrast to Collevile, the remains of the German’s are buried under dark stones laid flat on the ground.

When asked why it was so important for this veteran to tour the German cemetery, his answer was simple. “They served because they were forced to. They didn’t want to have a gun in their hand any more than we did.”

Profound is it not?

So many of us are lucky enough to have never lost a loved one in battle, but for those of us with family members in the military, the threat is always there and that’s why it’s so important to learn from history so that bloody days like D-Day will never come again. We need to be ever vigilant to those that threaten our hard won peace and democracy, both at home and from afar. We need to practice diplomacy and compromise in all avenues of our lives and, most importantly, we need to remember and honor the sacrifice of all those who stormed those beaches 80 years ago.

May their lives not be in vain and may we never forget.

Be well my friends…

BAL

Have you ever noticed that children are fearless? They reach out to touch things that could burn them. They stick their hand in the mouth of a dog without fear that they will get bit. They try to climb on things without worry that they will fall and they trust everyone, even strangers, without question.

I’ve been thinking a lot about fear and its benefits and disadvantages. Fear has the benefit of helping to keep us safe. That intuition that something is just not right and we should flee is within each of us and has saved many people from harm when they were found in an unsafe situation. Yet many of our fears, such as a parent teaching a child that something on the stove can burn them or a child being warned of stranger danger is something we all must learn.

Others, such as a fear of spiders, most likely come from someone else’s own fears. Children from families with no fear of spiders, families who teach their children to be fascinated by the eight-legged arachnids, will most likely never be afraid of a spider.

Snakes were one of those things I was quite frightened of as a child and while I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I went from happily holding little garter snakes in the yard to doing the snake dance whenever a snake crossed my path in later years, snakes still give me the willies sometimes with lifelong nightmares.

Two snake interactions in my life stand out. The first happened at Reptile Gardens in South Dakota. (To read more about that trip and the snake connection, check out my “Summer Vacations” blog from June 4, 2023.)  That experience came as a child, but an even more frightening experience happened as an adult.

My brother and his wife lived just out of town and I had volunteered to care for their dogs when they went on a trip. It was a brilliantly sunny and quite warm summer day. Sweat had run into my eyes as I played with the dogs, so I took off my glasses. My vision is poor enough to need glasses, but not bad enough that I couldn’t wander around the property without them and while the dogs continued to play, I left the glasses on the table and gathered the water buckets to fill with fresh water.

The property had an outside water pump. It was one of those old fashioned ones with a large handles that must be pumped up and down before being rewarded with a strong flow of the coolest and most refreshing water. Bending down to place the first bucket under the spigot I noticed that the ground looked funny. Kind of wiggly, to be precise. I stood back up and rubbed my eyes. As I did so, something slithered across my feet. That moving ground was an entire nest of wriggling, twisty, terrifying snakes!!!

I screamed bloody murder and did the snake dance….you know the one where I can’t get my feet high enough to get away from the creatures without falling over? Still I tried and I fell and the screams kept coming until the dogs rushed to my defense of the horrible invader and bit into the pile of snakes as I did my best to get out of there. Each time the dogs dived into the pile they came up with a jaw full of snakes that they whipped into the air, and me!

The whole disturbing event probably took only five minutes, but it seemed to last forever before I could gather my wits and get out of the middle of it all. The dogs continued to defend their property with snakes flying every which way as I cowered in my car.

Looking back, I know that the snakes, which turned out to be the harmless garter snakes of my childhood, were harmless. I could have simply stepped away and left them to grow up as nature intended. But that childhood fear took hold and wouldn’t let go. To this day, I am terrified of snakes and seeing snakes on social media is a surefire way to get me to have nightmares. (Thank goodness my family doesn’t live at that property anymore!)

So why share this embarrassing story triggering another fear of looking foolish? It’s because letting fear control us limits us in so many ways. It stops us from becoming the people we can be and having the experiences we deserve. Letting fear control my life has made me less than I can be. While my greatest fear is snakes, fear has also held me back from trying new things and meeting people or taking risks. Fear holds many of us back and limits our ability to truly realize or achieve what we could be.

When I began writing, I did it for family and friends, but mostly for me. Publicly sharing my stories was something I never wanted to face because sharing meant opening up my creative work to strangers; strangers who judge and criticize. Now, with three books published and a fourth on the way in January, I had hoped to be past that fear, but it is still there. It’s there every time I see a new review not knowing if the reader hated the book. It’s there every time I send a manuscript to my publisher and worry that they won’t like it enough to publish. It’s there every time I am asked to speak about my books in front of a crowd or do a book signing or an author event.

A favorite teacher told me a long time ago that the only way to get past your fears is to face them head on. Here’s the catch though….facing fears will get you past the fear, but it doesn’t make it go away. Think of it as a famous singer who, while having done hundreds of concerts over their career, still suffers from stage fright before every performance. The fear never goes away, but you work to get past it and become a better person every day.

People are imperfect, but we never know what we might be good at if we don’t take a chance. I have heard dozens of people say, “I’ve always wanted to write a book, but I don’t think I would be any good at it.”  How will you ever know if you don’t face that fear and try?

A child doesn’t know that they can walk until they take their first step. An athlete will only become the GOAT if they take the first swing on the uneven bars. An author will never know if they can become successful without putting pen to paper and letting others read it.

Fear is a powerful adversary, but each of us is more powerful than we know. Don’t let fear of failure hold you back. Swing for the fences every time and eventually that ball will fly high and deep over the outfield fence and experience the glorious feeling as you round third for home plate. Touch a snake and live to tell the tale. I guarantee it will be worth every second of fear you faced!

Be well, my friends….

~BAL

It’s official!  I finally pulled the plug on my 35+ year career with the City of Saint Peter and I am now officially retired.

This past week has been a roller coaster of emotions wound around administering my final election and while both of those issues were fraught with stress and second guessing myself, the election actually took much of the pressure off the upcoming retirement.  There are hundreds of tasks, much of them last minute, involved in elections and if you throw in a bunch of our already short roster of Election Judges pulling out at the last minute, the pressure was even more than usual.  With little time spent at my desk, there was little time for well wishers to stop in to chat about the upcoming last day.  For someone who dislikes the spotlight that was a good thing.

When my last day finally arrived, I had hoped for a quiet exit, but that was not to be.  Friends made sure everyone knew what day it was with decorations on my office door and as the gifts and flowers and phone calls and emails started even before I arrived, it left no doubt that something big was going on in the office.  Before I realized it, I was smiling and laughing and dare I admit it… enjoying myself.  The accolades being directed my way were certainly nothing that any other City employee with the same tenure deserves and while it all made me uncomfortable, there was a part of me deep down that knew my absence would leave a hole in the organization, at least for a little while.

That’s where the emotions came in for me.  Throughout my entire career I have scheduled vacations, days off and even medical procedures and all other types of absences around the things that I was responsible for at work. Elections, Council meetings, preparation of packets for Council meetings, and all the post-Council meeting duties were all something that while others could have done, were my responsibility and I needed to make sure they got done and done to my exacting standards.  That was the work ethic I was brought up with.

Almost a thousand Council meetings and twice that in packets for every business meeting and workshop of the Council; over 10,000 resolutions, hundreds of ordinances; a thousand sets of minutes; 1,400 weekly newsletters; almost 60 elections; training for 3,000 or more Election Judges; untold employee recruitment processes; hundreds of Councilmembers and their unique and sometimes difficult personalities (although thankfully, that didn’t happen too often); and three very distinct City Administrators were all part of my tenure with the City.  It’s daunting to look back at the amount of work that was actually accomplished especially when you throw in recovery from a major tornado and several floods!

But it was my job and while I didn’t know it on my first day, all of that was what I signed up for.  The highs, the lows, the joy and sometimes sorrow of working for the community I love were all part of the package and now, just days post-retirement, I realized that each night I have dreamt of work.  Did I put the Council packet online?  Did I remember to leave notes about how to do this task or that?  Dreaming of work should be behind me, yet it’s not. 

Laying in bed doing a hurkle-durkle this morning (look it up…you’ll enjoy the concept), I remembered that I will still occasionally dream of working in the A&W (you might have to look that up too!), back when I was 16 years old.  Dreams of standing in the kitchen where I started as a cook and exactly what steps I would take to complete a whole line-up of orders.  The smells, the sounds, and even the faces of my co-workers and boss from back then fill the dream.  Maybe it’s normal to dream of times that you enjoyed.  While working for the City was many times not enjoyable, I loved my job and now I have no job and for now at least, I haven’t yet been able to let it go.

Then came another revelation during my hurkle-durkle….I am still not retired.  I am an author.  A dang good author even if I am not Kristin Hannah or JK Rowling yet.  Writing is my job and it has been for years, only now I have the time I need to devote to it.  I can sit at my computer and write whenever an idea strikes.  I can throw boxes of books in my car and participate in promotional events that will help me get to the Hannah/Rowling level of readership.  I now have the time and the freedom to do and experience being a writer in ways I haven’t for over 35 years and all of that will allow me to be a better writer.

As so many of my well wishers have commented both in cards, phone calls, texts or online, I am beginning the next “chapter” of my life and I am certain to be anything but retired.  Will you “read” along as the chapter unfolds?  I can’t wait for you to be part of it!

Thank you for reading along today. Be well my friends!

~BAL

Do you remember way back to when you had your first job? Slinging burgers, lifeguarding at the local pool, mowing lawns for neighbors, or even babysitting were popular among the kids when I grew up. For me it was as a cook (and eventually Assistant Manager) at the local A & W restaurant just a few short blocks from my house.

Walking in to apply was intimidating even though I knew the owners, a wonderful couple who went to my church, but Lorraine was a no-nonsense kind of woman and honestly, I was a bit terrified of her. As it turned out, she was the best boss I could have had and between her and my parents, I developed a dedication to my employer and a willingness to work hard for what I wanted in life. It was a trait that would serve me well throughout the next several decades, but that first summer, the decades to come were anything but on my mind.

I suspect it’s that way for many of us when we begin our working lives. Work was for making money so we could buy the things we needed and wanted and for the things we wanted, but didn’t need. Retirement was so far into the future we gave it little thought and yet, when the years passed and our hair became sprinkled with grey, it was something to look forward to with excitement and more than a little dred.

Now I’m here and I’ve walked through the door to the next big change in my life; a change that will leave behind the men and women I spent a third of each day with; many of whom I know better than some family members. It is a time of joy about the freedom that retirement offers yet trepidation as to whether pulling the plug on my working life was the right decision or not. It’s a time when I worry about leaving my employer in the lurch with no one in place to do my job, while at the same time I remind myself that for the first time in my adult life, it is time to put my wants and needs before that of my employer.

I am no longer City employee Barbara Luker. I now am simply Barbara Luker; a woman without the identity I held for almost 36 years. I will become a distant memory whose flowery signature strangers may notice every now and then in official City documents.

I’ll admit that handing in that retirement form did not occur without some serious trembling in my hand and that night I tossed and turned in bed wondering if I could take it back and pretend I had never suggested retirement. But like all major changes, there will be an adjustment period and I am lucky enough to have several friends who have gone through the process in recent years who I can lean on for advice.

What they won’t be able to advise me on is how to become the new me; how to gain my new identity that will no longer be “Barbara from the City”. That’s a path I will walk alone and while it’s scary, I’m also excited!

I hope you’ll come along for the ride my friends!

Be well….

~BAL

Today a Minnesota community in blue and red mourns the loss of three young men.  While you and I woke up this morning with a smile on our face or excitement about something we would do today, the families of three young men woke up with tears staining their pillows.

While you and I woke up knowing that we can hug and kiss those we care most about, the families of three young men woke up with full hearts but empty arms.

While you and I woke up with brothers, fathers, husbands, sons, best friends and cherished co-workers, the families of three young men woke up with an empty place at the table.

These three young men are only cherished memories now and a lifetime of nevers…

They will never be the best man at their brother’s wedding.

They will never be there to protect their little sister.

They will never be there to help their parents as they grow older.

They will never fill the heart of a woman who cherished them as they dreamed of their future together.

They will never teach their child to play catch or watch them score a goal in their Peewee hockey league.

They will never see the way their fellow Police and Fire colleagues mourn in stoic silence for the partner that will only live on through a photo on the wall at the station, someone talked about in hushed, reverent tones by the next generation of officers to put on the uniform.

They will never see their dog sitting loyally at the door waiting for them to return. 

They will never know the grieving of complete strangers who, in this moment in time, finally understand what kind of person it takes to run towards danger instead of running away.

Yesterday these three young men woke up with a smile on their face, eager to put on the badge and hop into the squad, knowing that on that day and all the days to come, they could save a life … they could make someone’s life better … they could be the one person who could change the world.

Today, because of the inhuman decision of one person who pulled the trigger on a gun pointed at another living human being, these three young men didn’t wake up. 

Instead, all the people they touched in their brief time on earth woke up today with tears in their eyes, and a single question on their lips.  Why these three young men?  Why did these three young men, … good men, dedicated men, honorable men … why are they no longer here?

Every single day of their career, wonderful men and women across our country choose to put on the badge and go into battle not knowing if today is going to be their last day. They go into battle not knowing what’s behind the door they knock on in response to a call for help. They go into battle thinking that they’re going to solve someone’s problem and make someone’s life better. They go into battle for you and me. To protect and serve. To save a life and to make this world better for all of us, whether we treasure their young lives or not.

These three young men were our neighbors, our friends, our coworkers, our brothers, our sons, our husbands, and our fathers. They are the reason so many of us across the country mourn today.  They are the reason to remember that there is good in this world, and there is evil. They are three innocent young men who gave their lives in a senseless act of killing when they were just trying to make someone’s life better.

They are three young men who should never be forgotten and the reason why I stand up and publicly support our law enforcement and first responders.

They are Burnsville, Minnesota Police Officer Paul Elmstrand, Police Officer Matthew Ruge, and Firefighter/Paramedic Adam Finseth. 

They were three young men.

As many of us are want to do at this time of year, I find myself reflecting on the good and the bad and maybe even singing “Auld Lang Syne”.

2023 has been a very good year in the Luker household – both personally and professionally.  I’ve sold a bunch of books, participated in several book events, received numerous accolades for my books, and my latest book “The Right One” launched in September.  All that was topped off by signing a contract for my next book “Hiding In Plain Sight” which is scheduled to launch in January, 2025!

My family is relatively healthy and happy and we’ve had numerous chances to get together this year. The fact that those get together’s didn’t involve a funeral made it an especially wonderful year. 😊

Life is good but I know that it wouldn’t be so without help from family, friends and strangers.  These are the people who have been there for my family and I this year.  Family members who step in to help when stress threatens to overwhelm us; friends who offer a non-judgmental point of view or a laugh when nothing else will do, and strangers…..readers really….who take a moment to reach out through an online review or an email to share a kind word about what one of my books meant to them. Those rare moments when someone else steps in to make the world a bit easier are worth more than gold.  They are unexpected and moving and cherished.

If you were one of those people who made my world a bit easier in 2023….thank you.  Thank you for going out of your way to do something wonderful even if it was just to say “Hello.  How are you?”  Thank you for caring and for loving and for spreading joy.

May your holidays be as special as you are and may 2024 be more than you could hope for.

Be well my friends…

BAL

This is my very favorite time of year in Minnesota. Each day is filled with the changing of the leaves; crisp evenings combined with still warm days; mosquitos going to wherever they go in the cooler weather; football and hockey games; and the squirrels in my yard becoming more active than ever as they use every precious moment finding and hiding food for the winter. It’s the time for warm spices filling the house and our bellies via hearty soups and stews.

It’s also the time for my annual physical from top to bottom and having come through it all with a clean bill of health, I realize just how lucky I am. As the years tick by on my time here on earth, good health becomes more cherished than ever before; especially when I think about all those who are struggling with health issues in my small circle of friends and family. It’s astounding really that I know so many people who are fighting a cancer battle. Some recently diagnosed, and some who have been in the fight for years, but they are all fighting to make sure they witness one more autumn.

Several years ago, my mother was part of our county’s American Cancer Society. Two things from her time volunteering for the ACS have stayed with me all this time. The first … that one in three people will face a cancer diagnosis in their lifetime. One in three! Tonight, look at the faces around the dinner table and consider one of them a cancer patient. It could happen to any of us. It’s both a sobering and frightening thought, isn’t it?

The second thing that stuck with me from my Mom’s time working with the ACS was their slogan. “The five most dangerous words. Maybe it will go away.” How many times have you felt a little off and should have gone to the doctor, but said to yourself, “Maybe it will go away”? Sure, it might have indeed gone away, but what if it hadn’t? What if you gave up on your chance to get help when something could have been done?

Medical testing can be invasive, painful and costly. It can be embarrassing and time consuming and take you away from work and family when our lives are already busy each day, but it can also save your life!

My most recent physical included a colonoscopy, mammogram and pap. Three of the gold standard tests that any woman should have because they save lives and catch cancer when it is more treatable. Yet many of us find any reason to skip going in for these tests. Do you hate mammograms because it’s painful for all of 10 seconds? What is that 10 seconds compared to dying? Do you hate pap smears because they are embarrassing and invasive? How embarrassed will you be to explain to your children that you were too embarrassed to get a test that could have saved their mother? Is the prep you have to do for a colonoscopy too “icky” to drink? Exactly how icky is it going to be when you discover you will have to wear a bag for the rest of your life because the doctor took out your colon just so you could live?

Sacrificing a couple of days to drink a gallon of horrible tasting medicine, spending a lot of time in the bathroom and a couple of hours at the doctor has given me peace of mind for another year. Awkward as it can be telling people about what you went through with the testing, telling people you have cancer must be so much worse. Getting your recommended preventive testing done on schedule is the simplest way each of us can ensure we stay healthy or have the treatment we need before cancer becomes a death sentence.

Each autumn as the leaves in my river valley become a palette of red, orange and yellow, I will take a couple of days to ensure that I am here to see it again and I encourage each of you to do the same. Do it for those you love and care for and encourage them to do the same. Make each autumn a celebration of good health and a reason to party.

Still not convinced to schedule that colonoscopy? Look around that dinner table once more and do it for them. Don’t be that one in three.

Wishing you all good health and happiness and to those who are fighting the cancer battle, know that I am praying for you every night!

Be well, my friends…

~ BAL

Recently a family member in her late 80’s had the rare opportunity to meet with her best friend who is a couple years older.  One is almost blind, the other struggles to walk or stand without assistance and they live in different parts of the state.  It’s age, infirmity and distance that has kept them apart for at least two years and truth be told, they both had resigned themselves to a friendship limited to weekly telephone calls and never seeing each other in person again.

Previous plans by family members to get them together have been thwarted by COVID, work, weather, and health issues and yet, somehow, these two old gals found a way to be able to hug each other and to laugh themselves silly as they relived their younger years and their shared memories. It was a blessing that was nearly missed and while it may be the last time they are physically together, it surely isn’t the end of their friendship.

Seeing how happy the visit made my family member, I couldn’t help but wonder how many such blessings have been missed in my own life.  How many times did work or my own personal priorities get in the way of such a tender moment for me?  Although it hasn’t happened to me at this point, how many of us missed out on an opportunity to share one last laugh with someone who meant the world to us?  How many have let someone go without having the ability to offer a warm and lingering hug, or say one more goodbye, or say one more “I love you”?

Our world is full of blessings, some small and others life changing and yet, in this topsy-turvy world we are surrounded by, things that looking back seem trivial often get in the way leading to regrets and what if’s.

Those two women, knowing their time here on earth is counting down, had a chance they weren’t expecting and as inconvenient as it was to get two old ladies together again, it meant the world to them.

Was it the last time? Only time will tell, but their story is a lesson we should all learn from. Never miss a blessing because you are too busy or it’s inconvenient. It may be the last chance you have.

Be well my friends….

BAL

Watching a movie over the weekend I was struck by a question asked.  “What is excellence?”  This character had been encouraged their entire life to be nothing short of excellent and as they struggled throughout their life to achieve that goal, it finally dawned on them that they didn’t now exactly what it meant for them to be excellent.

That, in turn, prompted me to wonder as to the definition of “excellence” for writing.  The easy answer, and of course the most commercial, would be reaching a best sellers list and selling thousands and thousands of copies of your book.  However, depending on whom you ask, even those milestones would not be enough for some.  Barbara Cartland and Nora Roberts, both having achieved numerous best seller lists and sales in the millions of their romance novels, would certainly have achieved excellence, yet those who write more high brow works may not have considered those achievements as excellence.

Is it the subject of the work, the complexity of the writing as exampled by multisyllable works or complex and lengthy sentences that make writing excellent?  With hundreds of millions of readers worldwide, I would argue that it is the reader that determines whether a writer is excellent as each reader’s personal preferences often determine whether they give a book a thumbs up or thumbs down.

If you are a writer you may know what the Flesch-Kincaid grade level is.  This statistic calculates the readability of a document and compares it to the general education levels. What you may not know is that Reader’s Digest, a magazine that is still in circulation after over a full century and is distributed in twenty-two countries, was and always has been designed to have a Flesch-Kincaid grade level of 8.  Translated that means that someone with an eighth grade education would be able to read and comprehend the writing.  Although I would hope that it has gone up since Reader’s Digest based their writing on that statistic, it appeared that eighth grade was the average education level for the majority of readers and thus, the sweet spot where the majority of readers would enjoy the publication.

So, if you write about grade level 8 do you risk losing readers?  Or, on the flip side of that, if you write at a lower level, is your writing seen as too basic and therefore not excellent?

Another measure of excellence in writing could certainly be decided by readers and their reviews and/or the impression an author leaves with readers when they finish a book.  Have you received a lot of reviews; especially four and five star reviews?  Is word of mouth spreading about your wonderful book?  Are your readers waiting with bated breath for your next book to be published?

As you can see, there are any number of ways to quantify excellence as a writer, but for me, excellence as a writer boils down to something far more basic and personal.  Did I tell the story I wanted to tell?  Did I write it using good grammar?  Will my readers want to come back for more?

While awards and accolades are one thing, and I certainly wouldn’t reject any such honor, my goal will always be to tell a story to the best of my ability in a way that would make my high school English teacher proud!