In 1968, two red-heads, a mom and daughter, are dressed up in front of their apartment building.

Missing Mom

My mom has been on my mind a lot lately. I lost her in 2007 from a stroke. She worked most of her life, and loved working despite the struggle of raising three kids at the same time. She kept house and cooked after coming home from work, often finishing the dishes after all of us had gone to bed. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I didn’t help her very much. I gave up offering because she said it was easier for her to do it herself.  I think, now, as I reflect back, that she was trying to make my life easier than she had growing up.

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My farm on a cold misty day.

Lets Begin

With all the non-stop human suffering around the world, it’s hard to concentrate on everyday tasks at hand.  I have a sensitive nervous system that responds to tragedy by either shutting down or exploding into high anxiety, so I try to limit my exposure to the news so that it won’t rob me of all my muses for my writing and my art.

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