My sister and I spent many candid moments at the tip of my Uncle’s Island on the St. Lawrence River, 1945

I’ve had a fascinating, occasionally interrupted life, which induced me to start writing my memories in two forms: poetry and autobiography.

The autobiography started when I was approached by a few of my children who insisted that I begin to write down an account of my interesting and zany life. I was given a deadline, which I surpassed by about fifteen years. Ill health then forced me to be semi-immobile, so the memories of important moments (or what I thought was important) encouraged me to write brief accounts of snapshots of my life.

The poetry was bursting out of the creative portion of my mind, and I was forced to sit and type (albeit poorly, I intentionally flunked typing back in the early 40s to avoid a doomed life as a secretary) these words that rushed forth, and when seen on paper, seemed to make sense.

You will learn more about me and my life through these pages, but here is a preview:

Comfortable early life; two year exposure to the grand aristocratic life of relatives; descent into the edge of poverty and a brief bout of homelessness; fantastic summer vacations on a private island in the St. Lawrence River; wonderful education at St. Casimir Academy; the honor of achieving the lowest sales record at the Gift Court at Marshall Fields on State Street; college postponed; entrance into the wonderful (and martini-fueled) creative world of advertising; holy and happy matrimony; five children; five acres; numerous animals in an idyllic country house; started college at 39; masters degree in Anthropology/Archeology at 51; seven seasons at a 10,000 year old archaeological site in southeastern Turkey; sixteen fantastic grandchildren.

I have an insatiable lifelong curiosity and fortunately see the humor in almost everything that life has brought me, starting when I was born dead.

Enjoy the verbal ride.

ARW