Monday, March 1, 2010


Let me start by telling you how I ended up where I am in my life.

I have wanted to write ever since I could write, starting about the time I was in third grade. I took an entire notebook and wrote a title on every page, things such as “My favorite animal” or “What would I do with a million dollars”. I intended to go back and write a story to go with every title, until my mom found out. She went wild and made me erase everything. “What were you thinking, wasting an entire notebook like that!”

Maybe that’s where this fear of broadcasting my writing came from. In any event, when I graduated from high school, I dutifully went off to college. I officially declared my major as undecided for the first two years, and then boldly announced I would major in mass communications. My dream was still to write, but mass communications made it sound like I planned on getting a day job to support myself. As it turned out, I dropped out after three and a half years, when I ran out of money and didn’t feel secure enough to take out a student loan.

I moved home, got a job at the deli at Nelson’s grocery store and eventually rented a mobile home with my friend Brenda. She was working the late shift at Hardees, when she came home at one am one morning and woke me up.

“We have got to get out of Tomahawk. Let’s just up and move somewhere.”

So I dragged myself out of bed and pulled out the atlas. We made a list of places we thought would be cool to live in and mailed letters to their chambers of commerce asking for information. This was 1984, way before the internet was in everybody’s home.

The place that came out the winner was Castle Rock, Colorado.

We packed up Brenda’s car the end of August and drove 1200 miles to a place we had never been before. We arrived around one o’clock on a Friday afternoon, checked into a hotel, and by noon the next day, we each had a job. Brenda at the McDonald’s, me at Daylight Donuts.

That night we went to Pizza Hut to celebrate. Being ever the klutz, I dropped a piece of pizza in my lap. We started to giggle, but right then the waiter came over and asked how we liked our pizza. We controlled our laughter and managed to tell him that it was fine. He promptly came back with, “Does that include the pizza in your lap?”

Oh, my goodness the things we remember from so long ago.

No comments: