My grandchildren don't often visit; and when they do, I have to compete with their electrical contraptions for attention. I say this with some remorse because during their absence I work-over thoughts about my life that I hoped to be educational for them.
Not that my life has been unique; but rather, living in West Virginia during the 1950's my life can be described as having been common. The educational value of my stories comes from the impassioned embellishing of a grandmother's hindsight.
It is said that looking back gives the best perspective; and I must confess that often I have to work my focus forward, as my mind has wandered to the rear-view mirror. It is why one day I sat at the kitchen table, waiting for the tea to brew, that I decided to write a book.
I must confess that it took me many "sitting at the table" before I put the pen to paper. The first paragraph I wrote was days in coming, and then I realized I had written it so many times before. It was not until I focused for whom I was writing that stories began to unfold. There is no one more interested in what I have to tell than myself.
Words spilled unencumbered from my thoughts onto the paper. Once I got the inspiration, I did not want grammar to interfere. At first I didn't worry about the punctuation, or even spelling. It was not until I reviewed what was written that I noticed the rambling. I then added commas so I could read out loud without running out of breath, and periods to slow the story so I could fully develop an image.
I am an old woman and it is why I have so much to say. I am not sure how many chapters I will get written, or even if I will come to an end, but this I can heartily tell you: I am having a wonderful time recounting my life that I once thought was not unique.
