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 misspent a longish youth, delaying adulthood as long as possible until circumstances forced me to wonder what the heck the adults were supposed actually “do.” Were I not to have lived it, my life would perhaps not be credible to myself, much fewer 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 acquired two more children, now adults through 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 such a different gene pool, and my life is better for having them in it.
I met my extraordinary love who has made so much of my life bloom; during his incumbency 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 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 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 than 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 unaware, but very privileged kids.
I have always written verse; bad verse, worse poetry, and short stories, vignettes, and newsletters. As I have aged, my own lifes-examples began leaving this planet, leaving me frantic to plot, to scratch the itch to write. Perhaps I simply must leave something behind after I too roll through the last dip in the roller coaster.
I place my loose thoughts down onto paper so that I can clear them from my mind, where they otherwise gather in small seditious groups, like mice, making noises late into the night. Worse, they wake me up with their discussions.
I never thought that I would actually put anything out where someone would read it, so I worried little 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 give insult to the reader who is granting me their attention. I am currently writing with the help of a regular writing schedule, a great writers group, the 93rd Street Irregulars, 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.