I am someone who, as I grew up, loved to read and I loved music.  Books were first I think, though it could be argued that music was as natural to me as breathing, since my mother was an organist.  But as far as my own participation is concerned, I learned to read words before I learned to read music, though only by about a year and a half.  I remember when I first learned to read, I wondered why on earth no one had showed me how to do this before.  It was wonderful!  I could tune out the rest of the world and go be someone else, or travel to exotic places and I was always safe.  Naturally I though being a writer would be really great.  But life intervenes and I never really got around to writing much beyond my journals.  I have stacks and stacks of those.  I’ve gotten to a place in life where it seems like I need to write in order to process what comes into my life.  I see this as similar to how my daughter draws.  Accordingly, I have decided that perhaps my thoughts might be of value to others.


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