My long lost mother would often refer to me, her youngest daughter, as a packrat. I was the prowler, scavenger, picker, gleaner of the family. Just as Ruth followed the harvesters through the fields, picking up all the lost grains, I went through my childhood constantly searching for treasures. Through the years, I have gathered and lost many hordes of discarded treasures. A pattern has emerged in my choice of subjects, I accumulate bits and bobs that may seem unrelated. When in fact they are all very much in the same family. Continue reading magpie

of ones own

Long ago, I fancied myself more mature than my years. I believed I was more advanced than the average girl my age. The older I get, the more I realize just how ridiculous that sort of presumption is. The case that is staring me in the face most recently is that of Virginia Wolfe. The need for, “A Room of One’s Own”, was something I could always relate to. Why write an entire book about such a thing, I often thought. Who would argue that such a thing was a necessity? As I grow in life and understanding, I realize … Continue reading of ones own