It all started in sixth grade when my teacher said to quiet down or he’d make us write an essay on the weather. I wrote him a polite note that said I’d prefer to write that essay instead of whatever it was we were doing. For years after that, I sent him what I wrote, bad poems and all. He always wrote back with a note encouraging me to keep writing. Thank you Father Abraham.
Our family was very practical about everything, including education. I chose a college for computers instead of literature because I could get a better job. Although, I did take the one and only creative writing course that the technology school offered. After graduation, I began my career as a technical writer wearing suits and heels. In a few years, I became someone who had a hard time finding clean sweatpants to wear. I was a stay-at-home mom in the early 90’s doing my best to raise children who would not become ax-murderers.
When I needed to return to the work force ahead of schedule due to divorce, I found my computer experience was outdated and no one would hire me. I did what any literate nerd would do at that point – I went to massage school. My parents said nothing although I’m sure they thought the massage school was some kind of cult. Remember, this was in the 90’s.
Years later, a retired teacher who I respect and admire, encouraged me to write down my stories. She thought that someone who was a mom or anyone who had ever been a kid might enjoy them. Thank you, Joyce Rubin. This blog wouldn’t exist without your kind words.
If you’re curious, you can find out the other stuff I do.
This blog is dedicated to my children who gave me the eternal gift of foggy memories.
