The best thing about moving is you get to start over. No one knows you or your history. There’s no long-established notion of who you are. That’s how I felt at 19 in Bend, Oregon.…Continue Reading
The Story
The road to Oregon – Part two
It may not seem like it, but I like to think of myself as lucky. Leaving Michigan didn’t turned out like I thought it was going to, and finding myself on the cold side of…Continue Reading
The road to Oregon – Part one
I left Michigan for the last time when I was 18. One freezing cold day in February of 1978, I was done. Done with school, done with the weather, done with that small town, and…Continue Reading
I am not Loretta V…
As a teenage girl, living with a single older father had its challenges. One time I got in trouble because he found a razor in the bathtub, and asked me if I was shaving my…Continue Reading
The shape of things to come
My husband loves to tell me stories of friends from school, even as far back as kindergarten. I am always amazed he can remember so much from so long ago. I don’t recall much of…Continue Reading
How to transform yourself
Yesterday I shared the story of the day my mother died. And, if you’ve been reading any of my posts, you know I grew up on a farm. It was after my mother’s death that…Continue Reading
The Day the World Changed
I would like to dedicate today to August 3, 1970. This is a repost from a while back. The Day the World Changed My brothers, Johnny and David and I used to play Cowboys &…Continue Reading
“I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it…”
Looking on-line at other women’s blogs and social media, I’ve noticed that most are about fashion. At first I felt like I usually do – that I don’t fit in, and I should change what…Continue Reading
Maybe I am my own Hero
I grew up on a farm in a small town in Michigan. I can tell you that it was a good childhood in most respects. We worked hard on our farm, and we had a…Continue Reading
Hard choices
I’m going to write about something I know nothing about. I get a bit melancholy this time of year. It’s the time of year that leads up to the anniversary of my mother’s death. Naturally,…Continue Reading
When Mom isn’t Mommy
My family worked together picking cherries each summer for a local farmer in Michigan where I grew up. We would all get up before dawn, sleepily getting dressed and then get right into the car.…Continue Reading