I’ve always been a writer. From the time I was little, I wrote. From mandatory classroom journaling in Mrs. Young’s third grade math class to angsty poetry in college literary journals, I have always loved putting my thoughts down on paper. When I was starting college, I wanted to be the next Hemingway, but Dad said there was no money in writing, so I majored in business and started a career. Like most of us do, I got married, had kids, built a career and home. When I turned 50, people around me starting dying in what felt like droves. I was obsessed with all the memories and histories that died with them. I looked at my two precious daughters and thought, “When I’m dead will they think ‘I never really knew my mom as a person.’?” Hence, this blog.