Land of Osbourne

  From 1994 to 1998, I worked at a nationwide answering service called Anderberg Answering Bureau. We were open 24/7, taking calls for over 5,000 companies across the country. To this day, I can say without hesitation—it was the most fun job I ever had. It wasn’t the pay (there were no annual raises, which is why I eventually had to move on). It was the people, the energy, and the sheer randomness of what came through those phone lines. 🌙 A Shift Like No Other I worked the 4pm to midnight shift, and it was like stepping into its own little world every night. The mix of personalities was unmatched: three drag queens (Todd, Billy, and Frosty), two Russian guys and a Russian gal, a group of Hmong girls, skater guys, and big, sassy ladies who kept us laughing. The calls themselves were just as eclectic. One minute I’d be doing order entry for motor books, the next answering a hotline for Old Country Buffet. Sometimes it was paging messages, attorney offices, dating services, or...

So, I show up for my big biopsy. I’m prepped, perfumeless, antiperspirant-free, and stretched out on the table with one boob out like it’s auditioning for medical theater. Above me? A giant calming photo of Lake Moraine in Canada, which felt more like the backdrop to a comedy sketch than a spa day. The ultrasound tech finds the suspicious spot and proudly calls the doctor in. He comes over, ready for action… and suddenly, the mass has Houdini’d itself right out of existence. She’s flustered, he’s impatient, and I’m just lying there with my boob on stage, watching them bicker. Finally, in peak sitcom fashion, the doctor snatches the probe and snaps, “Give me that!” like he’s about to change the TV channel instead of digging around in my chest. End result? No mass. Just two teeny-tiny cysts, a six-month follow-up, and me with the mental image of Lake Moraine forever linked to the most awkward treasure hunt of my life.

When John and I got married, it was up to me to choose his wedding ring. Me being the Elvis fan I am, I had just finished reading Elvis: A to Z, where I learned that Elvis loved black star sapphire rings. That sealed it. I went to Goodman Jewelers in Northtown Mall, in Blaine, Minnesota, and picked out a black star sapphire ring for John.  Fast forward a number of years. One day, John went along with a buddy to help someone with car trouble. While working, he slipped his wedding ring into his front jeans pocket for safekeeping. Later, he dropped his keys into that same pocket. At some point that day, his ring was gone. We were both devastated. Losing a ring is hard enough, but this one carried a story with it, and it felt like a piece of us had been misplaced. We replaced it with a tungsten band. It was sturdy, practical, and did its job. But the black star sapphire always lingered in our hearts. Then, about three years ago, I was scrolling on eBay and nearly fell out of my chai...

In February of 2003, we bought our home for $159,900. I still remember that feeling—part excitement, part “what did we just do?” kind of awe. We were young, full of hope, and ready to build something real. Now, over 22 years later, we’re down to $64,000 left on the mortgage. We’ve never missed a single payment. Not one. Through job changes, life curveballs, health struggles, and all the things that come with decades of living—we showed up for this home, and it showed up for us right back. Even more amazing? The house is now worth about $310,000, and we’re locked in at a 3.75% interest rate (hello, mortgage unicorn 🦄). But numbers aside, this is the place where we built a life. We raised pets, planted roots, and created memories in every room. We’re in the final stretch now—and I just wanted to celebrate that out loud. Quiet milestones like this don’t always get fanfare… but maybe they should. 💕

by April Osbourne – Land of Osbourne Some people daydream about vacations or winning the lottery. Me? I daydreamed about a place called Dog World. I created it in my mind during some of my darkest days, when anxiety and depression felt like constant shadows. It became my comfort, my escape—a world where joy ran off-leash and healing happened one tail wag at a time. I even told my family about it, sketching it out and describing every detail like it already existed. (They told me I should get a big sponsor. Still working on that. 😄) So what is Dog World? It’s a haven. A massive indoor dog paradise the size of a Super Walmart, with skylights for sunshine, walking paths lined with trees, soft grass under your feet, and even an indoor stream. A place to go when it’s too cold, too hot, too rainy, or too heavy—emotionally or otherwise. But the vision kept growing. Dog World became more than just an indoor park. It became a place with: 🐕 Training classes for pups (and people...

There’s a unique kind of heartbreak that happens when you finally gather the strength to say, “That really hurt me,” or “This made me feel something,”—only to be met, not with empathy, but with defensiveness, deflection, or guilt-tripping. Instead of being heard, you’re labeled: too sensitive, too emotional, overreacting. Your vulnerability gets twisted into an attack. Suddenly, you’re apologizing for having feelings in the first place. And you walk away not just hurt—but confused, ashamed, and regretting that you ever said anything at all. That’s the real damage. Not the conflict itself, but the quiet spiral afterward. The internal questioning: Was I overreacting? Should I have just stayed quiet? But here’s the truth: you didn’t want to start a fight. You were reaching for understanding. You were looking for respect, for resolution—not retaliation. And when someone can’t hold space for your honesty, when they flip the script to avoid accountability, it’s not a reflection of your ...

In the heart of Minnesota, in the city of St. Paul, my parents’ story began. Mom, one of seven children, grew up in a bustling, lively home. Dad, a quiet, hardworking young man from the northern woods, moved to St. Paul for a better life. At just 18, he started a job at the Ford plant that would come to define his work ethic and stability. At 20, a week shy of his birthday, he married my mom. She was just 18, and they were determined to prove that teenage marriages could succeed. Four years later, I arrived—a quiet, shy, and introverted child, eager to please. Three years after that came my sister, Rachel, a whirlwind of chaos and contrast. Where I was reserved and studious, Rachel was loud, defiant, and impulsive—a troublemaker who seemed to thrive on pushing boundaries. From the beginning, our relationship was strained, shaped by our differences and, eventually, by her destructive choices. When I was 17, Rachel’s actions detonated a bomb in our family. In an attempt to impress her bo...