With more than a few decades of stories of trials and tales of triumphs neatly stowed in a mountain of
red leather journals, I have a few things to say to the world.
I had a Mother and a Father who loved me, but my Mother came from a strict background
with a rigid set of rules meant for another generation. I followed those rules until they no longer
worked for me and I began the search for my own authenticity.
Imagine my delighted shock in finding I was an impossibly good girl with my own
set of shiny new rules.
Along the way, I discovered that I really had loved enough but also, not enough; I
took on several careers and several husbands and I learned to drink good whisky.
This blog is from a book that has languished all these years, buried in that pile of red leather,
until I realized that both my wounds and my bandages might just be helpful to other incorrigible and
wickedly good women.
