How in the world does one write an autobiographical sketch? I can’t claim that I like to exercise – we know that’s a lie, or that I’m a great cook – we know that’s a damn lie.
I guess I could write that I’m a young 63 – I look pretty good except for the double chin which I’m sure is the result of bad genes and not excess weight.
I can mention my education – a bachelor of science degree and two masters degrees which made me a perfect candidate (read sucker) for a Ph. D. I paid the staff of the University of Kansas School of Social Welfare a lot of money to torture me and they took their jobs very seriously. I completed 31 hours towards a Ph. D. before I concluded I could do without the pain and quit. On the plus side, though, I’m pretty darn good at qualitative research. Now when I think about going back to school, I break out in a rash.
In years past, when I was feeling overwhelmed with work, I used to daydream that I lived on a cattle ranch in Wyoming where I wrote wonderful books, and enjoyed the evening sunsets sitting on the front porch with my trusty dog, Red, a golden retriever. It’s amazing how dreams can come true – I don’t live in Wyoming, I don’t have a dog or a front porch, but I am writing so that’s all good.
My spouse is a wonderful man. We met at a women’s conference where I was the chairwoman for the event and he was on the committee of a local group raising money for the National Organization For Women. On our first date I interviewed him – poor guy – to find out if he had the qualities I was looking for in a partner: intelligence; humor; a feminist perspective; gentleness; and a calm demeanor. He passed the interview with flying colors.
I’m the most fortunate of grandmothers. My daughter and son-in-law live less than 6 miles from us, and I have two beautiful grandsons who have discovered the secret to perpetual motion.
I love to read, sew, watch cheesy old (pre-1955) sci-fi movies like “It Came From Beneath the Sea”, play with my little boys, relax with my four kitties, and travel. In the late summer of 2012 I drove to Montana in search of moose – I wanted to see one in real life. The trip was a bust with not a moose in sight, but I’m not giving up. I know there are moose out there and I’ll find one yet.
Well, I guess I’ll give it a shot and write an autobiographical sketch. How hard can it be?