How Did I Become a Writer?

 When I tell people my father was a journalist, they automatically assume that's why I'm a writer. That is most likely half the truth. Dad wrote articles for the Jersey Journal for forty years. He was very much concerned about libel and slander. Current events were part of every dinner table discussion when I was growing up. Dad loved to talk politics. 

However, my mother was more of a storyteller than Dad. In fact, everyone in her family could spin ordinary events into something far more interesting with outrageous embellishments. Their delivery had me hanging on every word.

The photo above shows my maternal grandparents and their bridal party. My grandparents are in the center of this photo. I am not sure about the other people in the picture. I assume most of them are my grandmother's siblings but I can't pick out who is who. Though I'm guessing that's Aunt Honey on the right. 

Grandma was the oldest child in her family and had many younger siblings. Grandma came to this country at the age of three, in 1903, with her parents. 

My grandparents had seven children of their own, two daughters and five brothers. My mom was the second oldest--and had an anecdote for everything. My grandma could spin a fine yarn, too. In fact, ALL of grandma's seven children had a knack for making any incident seem like a grand adventure.

I spent a lot of time listening to all of them--and enjoying their tales. So, when it comes to influence in wrting, I give them quite a bit of credit. 

Last week, my oldest daughter sent an article to me about children’s imaginary friends. She thought I still had imaginary friends. The truth is that I don’t have imaginary friends. I have a lifetime of stories handed to me by all my entertaining relatives. I’m just writing them down with several embellishments to make them more fascinating, of course.

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Dirt Is Fun

This photo was taken in 1956, my mother made a note of that on the back of the photo. Our family had not been living in Cliffwood Beach for long at that point. The house still had simple plywood siding. That's me on the left, my brother, my sister, and my mother whose hair is still red. 😊 Treasure Lake is below us and beyond the lake is Raritan Bay. On a clean day, it was easy to see NYC directly across the bay. Growing up in Cliffwood Beach was delightful. 

I am poking in the dirt in the photograph. Dirt is great for kids. We played in the dirt all the time. We made houses in the dirt with sticks. We made our own little towns in the dirt. We dug in the dirt and made holes to play golf. We didn't have golf clubs, we just pushed the ball with a stick and made our own game. 

Imagination is a wonderful thing. Toys are not a necessary item for children. Dirt and sticks work, too. 

When I was teaching, I was surprised to find that some parents didn't want their children to play in the sandbox. As a result, at the age of four, some children in my class were afraid to get their fingers dirty, which I thought was very sad. Those children already lost a part of the key to their own ingenuity. 

Dirt is a good thing. You can grow things in it You can find worms in it and worms are nice creatures who help us. I used to give a lesson on worms in the classroom. Some of the parents were horrified so I stopped.😟

My sister in the photograph went to Cook College and got a Masters in Horticulture. I think she was inspired by the dirt in our yard. We had a lovely childhood. 

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Another New Graphic for LOVE'S GIFT!

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Stunning Book Video for LOVE'S GIFT!

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