I grew up in the 1980's in a different time and place. Raised in rural Illinois near Wisconsin, surrounded by corn, soy and dairy farms, in a small bungalow that was once a summer place for the wealthy city folk to venture for a holiday near the lake. There was one bathroom, no great rooms or a giant kitchen, that the four of us shared until I moved out in my early twenties.

It was a place where front doors were unlocked and my brother and I could play outside until dusk without knowing any sense of fear. A place where you inherently learn the difference between a combine harvester and types of tractors, where milk really comes from, and that you don't ever want to find yourself downwind of a pig farm.  

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It was a childhood of freedom. A place where I skinned my knees (a lot), tried to keep up with my brother and his friends (huge fail), and learned what real pizza and proper cheese curds are and to never accept lackluster substitutes. A place where the good music took a bit longer to reach us from Chicago, but it was always worth the wait. The place I learned to dream. Where I learned to create worlds outside of my small, simple life. The place I learned to write.

As an adult, I have wandered the US to Europe, but find myself currently in Dallas, Texas... for now. Painting abstract expressionist acrylic on canvas is a need, much like writing poetry - something is bursting to get out, but not like the Alien way. I am a dog person who has a cat named Norman.

Not all who wander are lost.

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Writer, Artist, Wanderer