First shots of Las Vegas Worst Mass Shooting in U.S. history

The Last One

Eagle Mountain, California — Our Home in the Desert. I grew up in Eagle Mountain, California, a town carved into the desert by Kaiser Steel. It wasn’t just a place on a map — it was a purpose-built world. Kaiser owned the mine, Kaiser owned the houses and the market and the parks. When you lived in Eagle Mountain, your life was tied to the mine, just like everyone else's. Our high school opened its doors in 1962, and the first class graduated in 1963. My mom was just a year behind them, graduating in 1964. I graduated in 1982, walking across the quad under the open desert sky, surrounded by the familiar faces that had been part of my world since childhood. EMHS Band We were isolated out there, tucked against the barren hills of Southern California. There were no nearby cities to escape to, no outside world to drift into after school. We had each other — and only each other. Our dads all worked for the same company. Our moms ran the same errands and attended the same community eve...

I believe in the Constitution. All of it

I was at Route 91. I lived through a mass shooting. I saw what happens when firearms end up in the hands of someone who should never have had them. But it wasn’t just that he had firearms—it was the amount and the type. Modified, high-powered, and designed for maximum harm. There should have been red flags. There were warning signs. And yet, nothing stopped it. Still, I understand and respect the Second Amendment. I’m not arguing to change it. I believe in responsible gun ownership, and I know that the right to bear arms is part of our nation’s foundation. What I don’t understand is how so many people who scream about defending the Second Amendment are so quick to ignore or trample the First. The First Amendment was first for a reason. It protects our freedom to speak, to write, to gather, to report, to question power, to worship—or not—to dissent without fear. It is the bedrock of every free society. Without it, there is no democracy—only obedience. So why are the loudest ...

Waypoint

On the drive from the Salt Lake City airport to my aunt’s house in Soda Springs Idaho, I spent a lot of time reflecting on all of the times I have used her house as a stopover when I was on a journey. When I was going to college in Billings Montana and my family lived in Arizona and Nevada, my brother Darren and I would drive my little Mazda pickup with Apollo and Lobo (my cat and dog). We made the trip every summer and Christmas break and would stop there on the way to where we were going, and on the way back. I got married and my husband Jack started joining me on my trips, then my daughter Jordan came along and we moved to Nevada and our trips became less frequent. Then Jack got sick and we didn’t make the trip for a few years and when they started again, it was just me and my girls on our way to our summer vacation. In 2017 I made the trip for the last time with Jack on my way to Montana with his ashes. I have stood on the edge of my aunt’s lawn and ...

Landlocked Pirate

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