My well-meaning father, a shoe department manager at J. C. Penney, with no experience in camping, borrowed camping equipment in the early 1950s and loaded my mother, my two sisters and I into our old black Chevrolet and drove us from Inglewood, California to Lake Tahoe. Arriving late at night we plopped sleeping bags down in the dark and fell asleep under the stars. We awoke with a start at dawn to cold water lapping at out heads. We had slept, head down, at a very slight incline on the beach far closer to the water than we knew, but Mother cooked eggs over a camp stove while we shivered and picked up smooth pieces of glass from the sand. I remember sitting beside my father as he explained how the green and blue glass had become smooth in the lake bed over a long time. And how life is like that, how our characters are smoothed and made beautiful by the ebb and flow of the good things and the difficult things we face in life. That intimate moment–and the quiet heads up about what life would be like–has stayed with me for more than 70 years. Four decades later I bought a hand-made green sea-glass bracelet in Jamaica because it instantly brought that sweet moment back to me. No, we never went camping again, but what a treasure that memory is.
I have played with fabric since I learned at age 8 to sew on my mother's Singer Featherweight, and I have written poems and memories for my own pleasure, as well some pieces for the local newspapers and some magazines. I am very interested in Family History-- tracking my father's Norwegian family tree. I really enjoy the Retrospect site an Sun Magazine as well.