The voice of my home state beckons and I hear her call. In a few days, I’ll board a small plane and fly west toward Wisconsin. 
My siblings and their families all live there and there my mother rests eternally on a hillside overlooking the town. I’ll visit her, of course, to whisper a prayer, and to place blue flowers on her grave. More than anything, to remember.
On the weekend, our family will gather to celebrate our time together. The long-range forecast calls for 75° with sunny skies. Blissful. Over picnic lunches followed up with wickedly delicious sweets and Norwegian strong coffee, we’ll nibble and sip, sharing pictures, reliving childhood stories and those of our lives today. I’ll reacquaint myself with my nieces, nephews, and grandnieces – all growing up too fast. My siblings and I will get by on too little sleep and grow hoarse with our late night talks.
Late in the week, after our last driveway hugs, I’ll drive north in my rental car to Green Bay to attend the WisRWA Write Touch Conference.
Five or six years ago, I joined WisRWA as a distance member. I’ve come to cherish friends
made there, and on the Yahoo! loops. At the annual conference, we listen to speakers, and pitch our books to agents and editors. And, as with family, we grow hoarse with late night talks about our writing, our stories, our lives.
My visits to Wisconsin refresh my soul. To hear the sounds of my youth, to be wrapped in the arms of shared memories and values, is a gift I give myself. I’ve been away too long. ∞
This picture is a precious gift from one of them. She is the mother of my father’s father’s father – my great-great grandmother.
I attended a fascinating workshop given by 
It was clean, classy, and included my personal home address – a no-no, I soon learned. My email address was outdated a year so later when we changed internet providers. Yeah, what was I thinking? I ordered 500. There are still about 459 aging nicely in my desk drawer.
not quite so far back as when this photo was taken, I signed up for a typing course. Not because I wanted to go into business but because, even then, I aspired to become a writer. Naive though I was, I knew writers had progressed beyond the quills of Jane Austen’s time. If I wanted to write, I knew I must learn to type. My typing teacher, Mr. P., taught me the needed skills to produce neat term papers, skills that would later help pay my bills.
well beyond a science-fiction writer’s imaginings. In less than a generation, we traveled from dial-up modems to WiFi. Now, in seconds, we fling our thoughts around the world.
English and history were always my passion. In Algebra, I wrote pages of poetry (still amazed I passed). Yet, somehow, I’ve set up and maintain three blogs. I buy and sell on e-Bay, am Linked-In, and visit YouTube. I have friends who use FaceBook and MySpace, and others who Twitter (though not me…not yet…tweet).
She had shot it a year or so earlier, most at a grandson’s birthday party. The last frames were from her granddaughter’s wedding. They were all priceless Kodak© moments, made doubly so by the circumstances of their discovery.
a volunteer from the American Cancer Society delivered bunches of daffodils for their annual fundraiser – 
His move has spurred a wave of spring de-cluttering in our house. He’s lived away since college but, like many, left rooms filled with remnants of his youth. We’ve been cleaning, sorting, making way for other remnants he’s accumulated and has now hauled home from his nearby apartment. Things he wants shipped once he’s established, or stored until…whenever. Surprisingly, it’s all given me a new energy. Energy to clean.
In other Conference news, the 
One of my favorite writing references is, quite literally, a little book – 
Set during the time of 
servants during the 19th and early 20th centuries. Two years ago, my husband and I toured a few of the summer mansions in Newport, Rhode Island. We especially enjoyed seeing 
create and shape our characters. That’s what I find most valuable in my writing research, discovering what folks wore (both day and night), what they ate, how they dressed, and what they valued. Last year’s 
One perfect start to the day would be making him 
Maybe it’s because we’re sick of winter cold and ache for summer heat. Or it could be because this year 
Concierge level rooms sold out early prompting rumors of an overall hotel sell-out.
Other 
by
1977 televised interviews between British talk show host 
recording a tape in his kitchen, “to be listened to in the event of my assassination.” It is 1977 and he is 48. In a brilliant blend of flashbacks and real news clips, we see Milk and his partner move from New York to San Francisco where they open a camera shop in 
ribbon, I seemed to hear Patricia Neal’s smoky voice.
Changes are a part of life but how often we resist them only to find ourselves bogged down in the mire of monotony. A prime spot is in our personal lives. Recently, taking a lesson from nature, I made a few changes in my life. Small ones but, in subtle ways, they’re making a big difference.
some candles and, seated together in our rearranged family room, we listen to 
Edie writes women’s fiction about quirky, strong minded people. This year, she’s a finalist in Romantic Times American Title V contest. I’ve enjoyed Edie’s creative style and unique voice since I first read her work a few years ago. I’m sure you will, too.
Stringing Beads 