A child of dirt poor parents who survived childhoods with parents who were raised out of the last world war and the Great Depression.
A sister of siblings who fought each other and their way to a miraculous level of wholeness and functionality.
A wife to a strong, gentle, great man.
A mother to a beautiful, blonde haired, blue eyed, boy child, his father’s son.
And a person who continues to learn of true kindness as opposed to social sensitivity, true hope as opposed to the denial of darkness’ reality and the impossible juxtaposition of the true cliche of redemption in a cursed and tortured world.
These are the things I am, these are the things about which I write.