I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up.  No grand scheme existed.  As a child growing up in the country I roamed endlessly: in the fields, down the road, in the forest.  I was good in school without really trying.  My majors in Senior High were boys and cheerleading.  Dating was my way of seeing the world and getting out of the house.  My parents were  strict Christians, and to someone like me that was death.  I lied, I sneaked, I did whatever I had to.  Outwardly I was anything but shy; inwardly I never felt comfortable, either with myself or anyone else.

When it came to boys I would use them and discard them.  Some stuck around longer than others, and (oddly enough) they were usually the ones who weren’t necessarily the most attractive, but rather they struck a chord in me somewhere.  At night, alone in my room, I wondered when the “love of my life” would appear.  Would I be young?  Would I be old?  How long would I have to wait?  Deep inside I knew I would know him when he appeared.  No second guessing would be necessary.

I graduated and started my working life, still waiting for Mr. Right.  It took all of 4 months.  A man at work, nearly 10 years my senior, would not stop asking me out.  Finally I agreed to one date, and one date only.  He took me to a city an hour away, to a bar with a live band and dancing!  He said he could get me in, though I was only 18.  It was there destiny awaited. The year was 1971.

On the dance floor I felt the eyes watching me.  I looked their direction and it was as though a spotlight was shining on him.  The stranger asked for my name and phone number – I gave it without hesitation.  The following day he was at my house,  two hours later I was lying beside him in a motel room bed.  It was him and I knew it.  Nothing, and no-one, could have convinced me otherwise.  In my naïve state-of-mind we would now live happily ever after.

Not quite.


While watching the Oscars last night, alone I might add, I came to a realization – my life is changing rapidly. No longer do I have young children coming to me constantly for answers or help.  My youngest is now 19, and though she and my 21-year-old son (and his wonderful girlfriend) still live in my house, it’s not the same.

I had 8 awesome children. In all those years when they were little, or teenagers even, I was in what I like to call “mother mode”.  After my last child turned 16, mother mode went away.  For years afterwards, however, I still felt responsible for them all.  Now they have their own separate lives and identities, and while I am very happy for them  it leaves me somewhat at a loss.  Without realizing it, my identity had become so wrapped up in theirs it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended.

My husband of 30 some years died in 2002, leaving me a little confused on a lot of levels.  That, in itself, is a long story.  We lived a crazy life, moving around at the drop of a hat while constantly increasing the family by having a baby here and a baby there. I have had so many strange, unusual, and wonderful life experiences it would be a shame for them to get lost when I am gone.  Hence, the blog.  That, and I seriously need something to do besides work and school.

So, I am going to write it down.  Hopefully it will make some sense.  Maybe people will read it, maybe not. At any rate, it will at least be recorded for posterity’s sake.