About me

I am a late bloomer. As a child I didn’t create stories nor did I dream of someday becoming an author. Yet I’ve long had other qualities associated with writers: I seldom follow directions and I’ve always been a daydreamer. Ask me a question, and my response is likely to be a long narrative that goes practically back to “In the beginning…”Nancy 2014

Though born in Indiana, I was reared in Orlando, Florida, when it was still a sleepy little southern town. Yet my husband and I have lived in the Chicago area for more than twenty years. So I’m either a Midwesterner who’s been influenced by my southern upbringing or a Southerner influenced by midwestern ways. In December of 2008, to be closer to our children and grandchildren, we returned to the South, to North Carolina. The move further confuses my identity conundrum.

Friends think of me as having a positive outlook, but I can quickly create a list of negatives—things I DON”T do. I don’t cook. I don’t have a pet, nor do I want one. I don’t serve on committees. I haven’t adjusted well to technology (not even to the telephone).

I DO like sunshine and feel nostalgic for the days when we assumed it was safe to bake on a beach towel. I like time to myself. I like books. I travel every chance I get, and if I anticipate staying home for a while, I take trips vicariously through the Travel section of the New York Times. I’ve had the opportunity to visit Europe, Africa, and Asia. In 2005 and 2008 my husband was invited to teach a semester in Seoul, ROK. We both came to love the country and its people, who taught us much about hospitality.

Finally, I treasure time spent with my husband, Jim, our children, and grandchildren.

Recent Posts

Donald Trump, sarcasm, and me

Donald Trump has my sympathy. I’m being sarcastic. But not that sarcastic, to be honest with you. For sarcasm is my default mode of humor too. Over time, though, I’ve learned that others don’t usually get it. Not because I’m more clever than they, but because the distance between sarcasm and truth is usually only a little wider than a hair’s thickness. After 50 years of marriage I still have to tell my husband, “Honey, it’s a joke.”

As a young mother I was often tempted to tell my kids, “Go play on the freeway.” If I had, my husband surely would have interpreted for me: “Mommy doesn’t actually mean it. She knows you like to ride your bicycles, and she’s joking that all that pavement—if there were no cars there, that would be a great place to ride. Believe me, Mommy really, really loves you.” He would have added, “Those Abbott kids, I’ve seen how they’re all the time cheating.”

But I didn’t vent. Well, not in that way. I’ve long recognized that once words come out, whether intended as humor or not, they can’t be taken back. And that my urge to say something sarcastic most often arises out of anger or frustration. A lesson Trump seems not to have learned.

Hey, Donald, if you have to tell everyone it was a joke, it ain’t funny.

If I were you, after you’ve lost the election, I’d move to the desert. You can buy all the land you don’t already own in Nevada. You’re so very, very rich. Invite your 2nd-Amendment disciples to join you. Build a wall around the state, a very, very big wall. But I predict the U.S. government won’t like that in the process you’ve stolen Great Basin National Park and Red Rock Canyon, and the Tule Springs Fossil Beds. The army will bring in its tanks and missiles, and… Just joking.





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