Dear Saundra

I miss you.  So much that it hurts when I think about you.  I go by the house on South Fairview Street and I am reminded of you.  I go by LHU and I think of you.  I see old family friends and I think of you.  I read books and I think of you.  I talk to my family and I think of you.  I wonder every day what you might be doing right now if you were still around.  I wonder what amazing books you would be reading.  I wonder what fascinating places you would want to visit that you've never visited before.  I wonder about the excellent students that you would turn out as successful journalists if you were still here teaching.  I miss you. 
There's so much that I've done in the past years since you've been gone that I want to talk to you so much about and it hurts knowing I'd never be able to do that.  I met the man of my dreams, and to think that he lived right down the street from our house on South Fairview and I never knew him.  We have an amazing little boy together.  He is so smart and he questions everything.  So much to the point of irritation.  He is everything that I was not as a child.  So outgoing and assertive.  He's not afraid to ask questions.  He wants to know why he's being asked to do certain things.  There must be an answer to everything and he craves for the knowledge to know everything.  You would be so proud of this child.  I pledge to teach this child everything that I know and teach him to have an open mind and an open heart just like you did with me. 

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” ~Maya Angelou

About three years ago, I saw an ad in a Parents magazine featuring a writing school, Institute of Children's Literature.  It invited potential writers to enroll in their school (long-distance learning) and partake in a year-long course to learn how and become a published children's literature author.  Part of the enrollment involved a selection process.  This process included the submission of a sample of one's own writing.  The piece submitted had to be a recount of a memory from one's own past.  It could be happy, sad, tragic, embarrassing, or whatever.  It just had to have so many words.  So I submitted a "story."  It was of a particular embarrassing memory from my past, to say the least.  I got a response soon after I send in my submission.  They liked my story, thought my strength in writing was of potential value and offered me a spot in their school.  I was elated and scared at the same time.  Elated because after 6 years of having been graduated from college, I finally realized that maybe I didn't waste all that time in school pursuing a writing degree after all.  I did not want to be a journalist nor did I want to teach writing in school.  I just wanted to write stories.  But every time I sat down to write, I went round and round in circles, not knowing exactly how to start.  I had always thought I needed to go back to school, because I wanted more training and the ad in the Parents magazine grabbed my attention.  It not only offered the training but also guaranteed that one will be a published writer by the end of the course.  I had done nothing to pursue this dream in the 6 years I was out of school so I was excited for this chance.  But then, like most things that happen to me, I started to doubt.  Not in myself as a writer, but in the validity of the school.  They had send me all kinds of wonderful brochures with contact information to verify their credibility.  They even had a few instructors call me.  And I did some research online.  But I'm a visual and hands on person and because I couldn't see and touch the school itself or meet an instructor in person, I couldn't help thinking that it could very well be a hoax.  So far, I have not to this day found this place to be fake but I still haven't pursued it.  Still to this day, they keep pursuing me (that kind of makes me feel good about it.)  At this point in my life, I have chosen a completely different path.  I'm a graduate of nursing school.  Much of this decision has to do with the fact that I am a mother of a 5 year old child.  I still want to become a published writer someday, but such a dream is unlikely to produce any concrete results sooner rather than later as would a nursing career.  If only parenting weren't so expensive.    Last I checked, most successful writers started out living pretty poorly.  That would've been fine with me, if I were not a mother. 

Preview

I will start with soup

I'm a big fan of soup.  The heartier the better.  And frankly, I also love broth.  This is not a wonderful subject to start my blog out with, but oh well.  I just made some ham and green bean soup yesterday.  I like to add potatoes and I like to make it with a creamier broth.  My wonderful father-law taught me a wonderful trick to thickening soups.  Just add instant mashed potato mix.  Plain or flavored.  I personally like garlic and herb.  I love to cook, but hate baking.  Baking is a science--with exact timing and precise measuring involved.  I hated science in school.  My mind meanders too much.  I was mostly a loner, always wandering.  I suppose that's why I like soup.  You can have a general idea of what you want to put in a soup and end up with something completely different in the end.  And hopefully it all turns out delicious.  Next venture: some Thai or Korean soup.  I'm hankering for something spicy.  It's getting cold in PA.  Lots of rain lately.  It's definitely soup time.