From the Heart
Once upon a time …
She was born September 3, 1955. 65 years ago. She is me. She has a story.
It’s been 14 years since I began sharing my story, in a newspaper, with my community.
At times, it’s scary. At times, it’s not so pretty. At times, it brings me to tears. And, yes, sometimes it’s embarrassing but I share and laugh with you.
My first column was about how I got in the car business. I used the yellow brick road from The Wizard of Oz as an analogy. My car guy friend, Jay Snider, dared me to write it. He said I had a gift for telling a story. Believe me, he heard a lot of them as we worked some 50 hours a week together.
In that first column, I wrote that I had a heart for people, a brain to figure things out, but most of all I had courage to change careers at the age of 48. Not just change careers but jump into a business that I knew nothing about. Even stranger, having never worked with men. Sometimes I’m not sure if I was crazier than I was brave. I just know for 16 years it worked.
My second column, after the editor of the paper asked for more, was, “Oh the places you’ll go.” I wrote of my divorce after 25 years of marriage. I wrote about leaving the baggage behind, not holding on to anger and hurt. Oh, the power and weight of a grudge.
Now, some 20 years after my divorce, I truly see that letting go of those things allowed me more happiness and freedom to love again.
Funny thing is that, if you all remember, I met my husband in the waiting room at Don Hinds Ford. He says he was waiting for his car to get fixed. I say he was waiting for me.
I have written about our Hallmark movie-worthy wedding. Long white wedding gown. Congregation of 300 of our closest family and friends singing “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” And … our reception in the showroom of Don Hinds Ford where we met and where Chuck proposed.
I’ve given advice that you might not have wanted or needed, but like a good mom, I gave it anyway.
I’ve written, from my heart, about my parents and my adoption. After the death of the first baby they were to adopt, the birth mother changing her mind with the second baby and then how they had a two-hour notice that I was on the way to their house.
The locale of my writing is at our kitchen table in our little house on the alley. Our 114-year-old house, where I have lived since 1975, is truly my haven, my place of refuge where I can truly say, “There’s no place like home.”
My community, oh, my sweet much-loved community, you are my people. As I sit at Noble Tea and Coffee, I often say to myself, it’s a wonderful world in which I am blessed to live. Seldom do I not have a chance to chat with two or three or more people whom I have known more years than we all care to count. You are my people and I love you.
So, as I continue to tell my story I thank you for your friendship, your feedback and your cheering me on. I know there are more stories that will be written, more laughs to be shared and more tears to wipe off the keyboard.
Thank you for reading and being part of my story. I have the best characters and the best location in which to write.
I know at the end of my story (and my book) it will say … and she lived happily ever after.