Now when people ask me what I do, I say, "I am a writer."  I didn't used to be a writer.  I considered myself a seamstress.  Then I went to college, got a master's degree and became a college math professor for twenty years.  In between--and continuing up until today--I was a pianist, a marimba entertainer, and a Bible teacher.  And for fifty-seven years, I was Ken's wife and the mother of our five children.  Wife and mother are  the best things I ever was.

But a frenzy of organizing overtook me last week, and I went through some papers in a box that had been moved--as I moved a zillion times.  And found notes from classes I had taken back in the 70's.  One set of notes was from a creative writing class.  There were poems, haiku, short stories, graded papers, among essays on different subjects.

I was awarded a full scholarship to Oklahoma Military Academy in the summer of '66--or maybe it was 67.  I don't remember.  They paid for everything, so I took whatever was offered from nine till two.  That let me get my kids to school and be there when they got home.  I didn't care what I took; I had never been to college before and found it fascinating.  Eventually, however, there weren't any classes left to take at those times.  I had way more hours than I needed to graduate.

Understand, this was before computers, and I could avoid graduating by changing majors.  I had no desire to graduate, I just liked going to different disciplines and learning.  And as long as the college was willing to indulge me, that's what I did.  But eventually, I had to transfer--I got a scholarship at a four year university, and kept taking classes, and switching majors to avoid graduating.  And somewhere in there, I took a class in creative writing.  And loved it.  And then, I forgot about it.

But now, I am so interested in writing.  It was really fun to go through all the things I had written for that class.  I am sorting through it all and those papers cover my dining room table at the moment.  Except for one thing which is sitting on an end table by my chair.  It is a story about my grandmother.  Probably 20-30 pages.  Never finished.

I am going to finish it now.  Starting today.  Because I am a writer.  (I like the way that sounds.)