I am what is politely titled a “mature” woman, who has lived a full life filled with great adventure, disappointments, mistakes and dreams. Along the way I have mis-spent a longish youth, delaying adulthood as long as possible, until circumstances forced me to wonder what the heck the adults were supposed to be doing. Were I not to have lived it, my life would perhaps not be credible to myself, much less others. Also dragged along with me were a number of children, four, to be precise, who have been the teachers, the touchstones, and the raison d'etre for my existence. I have acquired two more children, now adults by the expediency of marrying their father, so they have had little choice in the matter. They have been gracious and accepting of this intrusion from a very different gene pool, and my life is better for having them in it.

I am married, having survived my early matrimony enough to give it another go when I met my extraordinary love who has made so much of my life bloom; during his incombency he has pushed me where I have not wanted to go, encouraged me, and stayed at my side through much of the ordinary living, crying and dying that happens over decades of being. He is also my tech support department, without whom this blog would not have happened.

I began this journey nested with four siblings in my favorite city, Chicago; I am the middle of four smart aggressive and verbal Italian - Irish kids. We had the benefits of a great educational system, although none of us knew it or appreciated it at the time. Long after I have had my difficulties with the dogma of the Catholic Church, I remain fond of the nuns, the black veiled sisters who themselves were little older then we, but who had a clear life's mission — developing the lives of the young Catholic children entrusted to their exacting care. We were some of those privileged kids.

I have always written verse; bad verse, worse poetry, and short stories, vignettes and newsletters. As I have aged, and as my own life-examples began leaving this planet, I began to have the need to scratch the itch of writing, perhaps to leave something behind after I too roll through the last dip in the roller coaster.

I needed to place my loose thoughts down onto paper so that I could clear them from my mind, where they otherwise gathered in small seditious groups, making noises late into the night, or worse, woke me up with their discussions.

I never thought that I would actually put anything out where someone would read it, so I didn't worry much about what I wrote. Since I am obviously here in a public forum, it seemed like a great idea to actually try to write well, if nothing more than to not insult the reader who is giving me their attention. I am currently learning to write with the help of a regular writing schedule, a great developmental editor, and willing readers who have offered suggestions and helpful criticism. I am still trying to be gracious about the criticism, but there you have it. Fragile, but not dainty. Opinionated, cranky, demanding, but here.