Though I've been extremely comfortable with words my entire life, I'm terrible at numbers. I can't do figures in my head. Fractions make me panic, and I will stare glassy-eyed when people try to give me numbers to memorize. It's a mental block kind of thing at this point - an absolute aversion to conversion. On the other hand, I'm the go-to person for definitions and spelling. I can live with that.
I was raised in the suburbs, but live in the middle of the woods now. I'm a lover of pearls and lace, power tools and my chainsaw. I hate getting dirty, but love mucking around outside. I throw like a girl and have no apparent coordination, yet my limp wrists and game show hostess foot positions don't seem to interfere with the way I swing an ax or a hammer. I used to love climbing trees . . . until I discovered there are spiders in them. Now I just wear gloves.
I'm still very much in love with the man I married two months after my high school graduation. He's the smartest person I know, my best friend, and incredibly good for my ego. We raised three awesome boys in a rather unorthodox way and I wouldn't change a thing. Our oldest is married now. He and his lovely wife just gave us our first grandchild. Our middle son is a professional musician. And our youngest is in his third year of college.
So where does that leave me? In a quieter, certainly cleaner house with time to pursue my love of words. That's not too shabby either.