I grew up in Vermont and New Hampshire. As a kid I spent a lot of time building forts, riding horses, tromping around the woods and playing with my brother and sister. We would run and laugh so hard that I could feel my heart beat through out my whole body.
Our home was full of love. And words. My mom read to us every night, even when she was too tired. She taught me about stories. My dad enjoys words, their precise meaning and proper usage. He taught me about language. But mostly I didn't think about those things. I went to school and played a lot. I participated in all kinds of sports and because I can't sing, I ended up being stage manger for some of our high school musicals.
Today, the landscape and lifestyle of New England sit deep in my belly: the combed woods, the smell of wood smoke, a strong work ethic, snow. Much of that drives who I am today. But life took me on some adventures that lead far away from New England.
I went to college (University of Rochester) and then on to graduate school (University of Pennsylvania), where I received my Masters Degree in Social Work. I was working in Boston when I fell in love with the man who is now my husband and I moved to his hometown of Seattle. The Pacific Northwest is incredible: the old tangled forests, the dramatic snow capped mountains, the politics, the water and some of the best friends a gal could ask for.
In Seattle, I worked with homeless and runaway kids. This is when I really began to think about the power of stories. All these kids had stories to tell, but they needed someone to listen to them in order to make them real. Sometimes they needed someone to help them interpret their stories, give them alternative endings, or tell them entirely new stories. Stories can be instructive, healing, or just plain fun. We all have them and they are all important.
Flash forward a few years: we moved out of the city to an agricultural valley in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. We are the parents of two very funny boys who have their own stories, real and imagined. One of their favorite stories is about how Uncle Christian laughed so hard his vanilla milkshake came right out of his nose!
And so I began to write. For me, stories (and writing) are the thread connecting my childhood to my years as a social worker to my life as a parent, and all the adventures in between. Whether you are a writer, a reader, or both, I hope you enjoy my work. I also hope you tell your own stories and listen to those of others.
____________________________________________
What I thought then:
When I was a little girl my mother read me every book by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I wanted desperately to be like Laura. I kept a journal in hopes of someday being published, except I think I only made one entry. I felt like my life was very boring compared to Laura's. We didn't have anything nearly as exciting as swarms of locusts, although we did make our own maple syrup.
What I know now:
We all have our own proverbial swarm of locusts.
About Me
