I'm a former teacher, former librarian, former paralegal, and former pianist at various small churches desperate for someone who could find middle C.
I read and write. Reading is recreation. The writing is compulsive. I've done some painting in oils and acrylics. I have two cats and one husband.
I grew up in a small town (population ~ 150 in 1960) on the San Marcos River in Central Texas, where pickups were for hauling hay and kids and horses, guns were for killing the occasional rattlesnake, Miss Pedula the milk cow grazed by the roadside, and a dear old gentleman sold double-dip ice cream cones for a nickel. Old ladies played dominoes on front porches in the afternoons, and old men gossiped on benches outside the post office. There were still horned toads and lightning bugs, and mosquitoes were about one-tenth the size they are now. In 1983, my parents finally installed working locks on the doors.
Life was good. I would like to have the mosquitoes and the nickel ice cream and the old people back. A few things, however, are best left behind.
All of it provides grist for my word mill.
