Recorded on January 5, 2020, this episode finds storyteller Lyn Goffaux offering a late holiday greeting and reflecting on stepping into a new decade that faintly echoes the “roaring 20s” of a century before. She soon shifts from the present to vivid memories of her Arizona childhood in the 1940s, when she was nine years old and growing up on horseback among a lively stream of dude ranch guests.

Lyn recalls a family her father knew well, tied to a frightening moment years earlier when a baby swallowed ant poison and her parents rushed to help. By the time of this story, that baby has grown, and the family has welcomed another child—a brilliant 6 year old boy whose curiosity and love of science make him unforgettable.

This boy, always carrying a scientific magazine written for real scientists, bursts into the room again and again with his trademark question, “Do you know…?” before launching into excited explanations of atoms and new discoveries. Lyn and the others affectionately nickname him the “radioactive atomic brat,” a label that captures both his intelligence and the way he slightly annoys guests with his constant lectures.

His father, Tucker, is a gifted pianist who once told Lyn’s father that, with proper training, he too might have been a pianist. That musical legacy seems to touch the boy as well. Years later, Lyn hears that he auditions for his church choir by boldly singing “There Is Nothing Like a Dame,” performing every part himself and being accepted on the spot. She wonders whether he became a scientist, a musician, or something else entirely—one of many life stories she never gets to see completed.

As her memories unwind, Lyn turns gently toward her own mortality. She admits it is hard to believe she will one day die, yet she speaks without fear, imagining a future where every physical limitation is gone. In that life beyond this one, she pictures herself walking, floating, and moving anywhere she wishes without ever falling, perhaps watching over children, great-great-great-grandchildren, or other souls still making their way through this world.

Lyn reflects that she has “whizzed through” life on horseback and missed many of the smaller, fascinating moments in between. That realization opens into another favorite memory: the arrival of “the General,” one of the most unforgettable dude ranch guests of her youth.

The General, a large, imposing Englishman with a monocle and a booming voice, looks every bit the officer he once was. Lyn remembers how he loved to sing “Little Brown Jug,” belting out the lines with a hearty “ha ha ha” that she can still hear. His wife appears every inch the classic general’s lady—genteel, feminine, and gracious—while their son is preparing to serve as one of the silent guards who must stand immovable at a royal castle.

Lyn recalls staging a mock “hold up” of the General’s car, one of her father’s favorite dude ranch entertainments. He plays his part with flair, even keeping his wallet in his breast pocket for dramatic effect. The General loves the whole adventure so much that he insists on joining the next hold up—this time as the leader. Lyn paints the scene of horses galloping down a hill, riders charging together, and her father stopping the car right on cue.

These memories spark Lyn’s playful imagination as she jokes that someone should invent a back-pocket wallet zipper that screams “zing” when touched, maybe even delivering a tiny electric shock to startle would-be thieves. It is a light, humorous idea tucked inside a deeper meditation on time, aging, and the way certain people never fade from our minds.

Throughout the episode, Lyn’s voice moves between humor and longing, childhood mischief and spiritual hope. She honors the “radioactive atomic brat,” the dignified General, and her father’s theatrical flair, while acknowledging that many of those people are now gone—and that she is, as she says, “headed that way too,” still riding into one more story.

Recorded on October 11, 2019, this heartfelt audio journal from Lyn Goffaux captures how an ordinary phone call becomes a turning point filled with relief, gratitude, and renewed trust in God. Lyn shares the story of finally finding her little recording device and her eagerness to tell what happened “sometime last week,” setting the stage for a memory that changed how she saw her future. She remembers answering the phone and hearing from “the Heartland,” the care facility she thought she might be moving into, only to learn she has been rejected because she is considered too weak in her transfers and they are not prepared to support her celiac needs. Instead of crumbling, Lyn feels a surprising sense of freedom, as if a heavy weight has been lifted from her shoulders, and she responds with a grateful, even playful spirit.

She explains that, at first, she believed she had to go because those around her wanted what they thought was best. Her girls encouraged the move, and even though she was told it was her decision, she still felt pulled to please them and to consider their worries about her safety and care. Talking with Paul becomes a key moment; he admits that he feels better with her staying close by, and that simple honesty helps her recognize that remaining at home may genuinely be the healthiest, most peaceful option for both of them. Knowing that she does not have to go to “an institution for old people” allows Lyn to embrace the life she already has, right where she is.

From there, Lyn moves into the very practical questions that come with staying at home. She considers signing up for Meals on Wheels and weighs her deep love of her own cooking against the convenience of having reliable meals delivered for three dollars a day. She talks about the helper who visits her, struggles to recall her name for a moment, then happily remembers it is Tammy, and laughs at herself for the lapse. Lyn explains how important it is to have someone who can walk with her, especially when Paul is sick and unable to help, and she wishes she could have Tammy come every day just to support her safely. At the same time, she is honest about the cost of paying for an hour each day and wonders whether there might be someone closer who could offer help without straining anyone’s finances.

The reflection deepens as Lyn turns toward her house, her possessions, and her relationship with God. She admits how much she loves her home and the things she has collected, yet she does not want to hold on to them more tightly than she holds on to the Lord. In prayer, she imagines Jesus asking whether she is clinging to her possessions and friendships in a way that keeps her from fully trusting Him. After wrestling with that question, she reaches a place where she feels truly willing to “give it all away,” even though her heart still feels pulled in two directions. Lyn talks about Lisa needing furniture and how she has pieces that could bless her, while Paul and Sherry also would like certain meaningful items, even though their house is already small and full. She mentions a clock and a cupboard her dad made, along with a special cabinet for displaying pretty things that needs fixing and that Paul could repair once he feels better.

By the end of this October 11, 2019 recording, Lyn is thinking about how to function better in her space, how to keep track of small but important objects, and how to simplify without losing what matters most. Her gentle, candid storytelling offers a window into the emotional landscape of aging, health challenges, family expectations, and the spiritual work of letting go.

This episode invites you to sit with Lyn as she discovers that even an unexpected “no” can be a loving protection, opening the door for her to stay rooted at home, share what she has with her family, and rest in the quiet assurance that God is guiding each step.

In this intimate October 1, 2019 reflection, Lyn Goffaux shares the raw, unpolished truth of coming home after a difficult stay in a nursing facility. She begins simply: “I’m home,” repeating it like a mantra as she tries to make peace with how fragile her body now feels after a stroke and weeks away. Lyn talks about the shock of realizing she is weaker than she expected, describing how walking with a rollator and even being pushed in a wheelchair at church left her exhausted and dependent on others in ways she never imagined.

Lyn reflects on her time in the nursing home with gratitude for the kindness of the staff, yet with sadness and discomfort about the condition of many residents around her. She notices how some people seem to be in a “second childhood,” and she marvels at the patience of the aides and nurses who care for them day after day. At the same time, she is deeply frustrated by the so-called “restorative” therapy program: a room full of “terrible equipment,” chronically short-staffed, with only one or two workers trying to serve everyone who might want or need rehabilitation. She explains how no one came to get her for therapy, how easy it was to just not go, and how that decision left her struggling to walk when she finally returned home.

Back in her own space on this October day, Lyn takes stock of her life and responsibilities. She talks candidly about money returning to her bank account, the reality of a twelve-thousand-dollar nursing home bill, and the need to call Julie to settle what she owes and even to figure out how to handle her tithing. There is a sense of sorting and prioritizing—of putting financial, spiritual, and practical matters in order—before she moves on to the next chapter at a place she calls Heartland. She doesn’t know exactly when she will go, but she knows there will be tests ahead, including proving that she can safely transfer from bed to chair to toilet on her own.

Lyn also turns to the people who give her life color. She mentions Lolo, neighbors like Jen and Sue, and Sue’s handwritten work on seventeen generations of genealogy. These small community connections and projects inspire her, even as her own body slows her down. Lyn talks about art—her pastels, which others call chalk—and about trying to create again in a group setting. The first day goes “fairly well,” but afterward her energy and ability falter. Still, she looks forward to bringing her beloved pastels, many inherited from Ally, into this next season of life, even as she plans to give some away.

She paints a vivid picture of the rooms she expects at Heartland: two long, narrow spaces with tall skinny windows, a little refrigerator that she hopes has a tiny freezer for ice cream, and just enough room for the furniture that really matters to her. She wrestles with what to bring and what to release—couches, rugs, plants—wanting comfort but also freedom to move her wheelchair. One bright spot is learning that the doctor’s office will give her cherished plants a new home, a small but meaningful answer to prayer.

Throughout this diary-like episode, Lyn weaves in family: a deeply personal update about Mary, who traveled to Spain for serious surgery after seizures and passing out, and who now faces a seven-year nerve healing journey and the end of her childbearing years. Lyn honors Mary’s three “handsome” children and rejoices that the youngest is talking clearly and potty trained at two. She dreams about a future summer when Mary and Jared might visit, mentally arranging beds, couches, and blow-up mattresses to make room for everyone in her home.

“Coming Home Weaker” is a tender, candid audio snapshot of aging, disability, faith, art, family, and the hard work of beginning again after illness. Lyn’s voice offers honesty without self-pity, gratitude without glossing over the pain, and hope that, little by little, she can grow stronger even as life keeps changing around her.

On September 19, 2019, Lyn Goffaux speaks into her recorder on what she knows will be her final day in the nursing home, capturing the fragile, hopeful space between dependence and returning to the familiar rhythms of home. Her words carry the quiet weight of someone who has waited a long time to reclaim her own space, her own routines, and her own decisions, even as she acknowledges that she will still need help to make that possible. She repeats to herself that tomorrow she goes home—back to her home—as if the phrase is both a promise and a grounding mantra amid all the logistics and uncertainties of this transition.

In this intimate reflection, Lyn lets us into the practical worries that ride alongside her anticipation: arranging caregivers, realizing that one person cannot be expected to work seven days a week, and accepting that she will have to discover, day by day, exactly how much support she truly needs once she is back in her own house. She mentions Sherry, the woman who will come over to help, and muses about how to pay her fairly, picturing Sherry mostly sleeping and watching TV during the quieter hours of her shift, an almost domestic, lived-in image of shared space and overlapping lives.

Finances form another thread, as Lyn visits the financial department and learns the facility is owed around fourteen thousand dollars, a daunting sum softened by her calm assurance: she has the money. She untangles confusion about a large investment with the help of Julie, then personally goes to clarify the details with the financial staff. Her visit makes a follow-up from Paul unnecessary, and she confirms what she already knew: she does not qualify for Medicaid. Rather than sounding defeated, Lyn comes across as an engaged decision-maker who understands her own situation and insists on being clearly heard.

Amid logistics, small human moments shine through: a staff member who thinks she recognizes Lyn from church, the quiet comfort of being seen as part of a community and not only as a patient. Lyn also describes her visitor, Jen Muller, who is blind and walks quickly when guided, and the two women’s intersecting limitations—one in a wheelchair, one unable to see—create a poignant image of mutual vulnerability and care.

As Lyn looks around her room, she narrates the simple work of closing out this chapter: emptying three drawers and a closet, clearing the little bedside piece, and slowly transforming what has been her makeshift office into a space she will soon leave behind. She sounds almost satisfied, as if each cleared drawer brings her one step closer to the door. Throughout, the refrain “tomorrow I go home” returns with both hope and realism. She does not promise to keep recording; instead, she leaves us with an honest, open-ended farewell and the powerful image of a woman reclaiming her home, her choices, and her sense of self at the threshold between institutional care and hard-won independence.

Recorded on Saturday September 14, 2019. Lyn mentions it's her friend Lola’s birthday. This entry finds Lyn Goffaux thoughtfully weighing her options as she prepares to leave the nursing home. After mentioning supper with Lola and a call to Julie to help calculate how much tithing she owes on recent funds, she turns to the practical question of where and how she will live next. She describes an assisted living facility connected to a hospital complex, just “not much over 2,000 dollars” a month, which would provide an unfurnished apartment, three meals a day, weekly laundry, and housekeeping. At the same time, she carefully compares those costs to returning to her own apartment, where she pays 735 dollars in rent, over 100 dollars for Wi‑Fi, and 16 dollars an hour for in‑home help, all while still wanting someone to cook for her and walk with her every day. Her assessment of the current facility’s therapy is blunt and honest: the therapist is kind but ineffective, staffing is thin, and she feels they cannot properly help her or even take her walking without neglecting others. She looks ahead to arranging better therapy once she is home, confident she can manage her care more effectively on her own terms if she is careful not to “spend all her money” or get “boiled over.” Near the end, she hints at stories from earlier chapters of her life in Powell, Midway, and Bondurant—places she remembers as good and fun, even when money was tight—before returning to the present and quietly insisting that she does not really need to be in the nursing home anymore, only to be allowed to go home and move into the next phase of life with dignity.

Recorded on September 9, 2019, this intimate spoken journal follows Lyn Goffaux as she reflects on life in a nursing home, her physical therapy, and her faith‑guided decisions about money and Medicaid. She describes being evaluated by physical therapists, explaining why a walker feels unsafe and how she has learned to rely on her wheelchair and her own methods of moving after a broken elbow. From there, she opens up about the high daily cost of staying in the facility, the rent she continues to pay on her apartment, and the tension she feels between needing care and wanting to go home. Turning to prayer “in her office,” which she affectionately calls her bathroom, she shares how a sudden bad feeling in her stomach after praying about Medicaid convinced her it was not the right path. An unexpected financial blessing from a long‑term investment allows her to cover her expenses, pay tithing, and settle existing bills, which she carefully talks through in detail. Her son Paul appears as a loving advocate who tries to enroll her in Medicaid, then willingly stops when she explains the spiritual prompting she received, leaving her relieved and grateful for his support. The recording closes with a burst of family humor as she tells a vivid story from a trip to the Beartooth, where relatives caught above timberline with no trees for privacy end up facing traffic and hiding their faces with their hands, capturing her wry, enduring sense of humor even in a hard season.