Grace

Reaching back as I move forward. Memories see me through. 

Portland, Steele St. Wearing dad's hats: Tim, Mom, Me and Fritzie

I was fortunate growing up in a nice town, Portland Oregon, with a loving family. For all my frustrations (how come we weren't rich? why didn't we live in a big important city?), childhood is my rock. So many were raised in the eye of the storm or left to their own survival devices, I was lucky. We can't choose our family, it's up to the fates and some benevolent spirit graced me with a close, caring, stable home. Health, not much wealth, but my parents were hard working, responsible people and that mattered all down the road and into adult life. I can't imagine facing life's struggles or trusting your judgement if no one led by example or loved you in those early years. I could tell how proud my mom was of me, I could feel it. That feeling doesn't go away, nor the confidence it builds.  

Centralia. Tim, me and Grandma's neighbor's Jimmy and his little sister. Grandpa H. in the background.

And there I am, again, holding a dog.
​Were the pups telling me something? Maybe there is destiny and dogs were tangled up in mine. 

Me, Dad, King and Tim

Centralia. Neighbor Jimmy, T.R., me, dad.

An elephant's memory. Those days live forever in my
mind, they've become a sort of constant companion. 
So much of my childhood is with me, I reminisce all 
​the time.

​It's not the life I dreamed of. But I couldn't be more grateful for coming through pretty much unscathed.