My first love will always be reading. Now that I’ve got the luxury of a home office, I’ve lined it with bookshelves—three shelves with short story collections alone, twelve for novels, five for books on writing. When my husband was wooing me, he presented me with a box filled with every Agatha Chistie mystery ever published, which he’d scoured used bookstores for a month to find. That collection sits alongside the Sherlock Holmes canon and Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe novels.
Another passion of mine is movies, from the classic noirs of the forties through modern day classics. I even decorated our hallway to the basement rec area with lobby cards from my favorites, including Vertigo, Silence of the Lambs, and Chinatown. How many brain cells am I using up, storing all this arcane knowledge? Who cares? And now that long-form dramatic television has supplanted film as my go-to, I’m never far from my favorite form of entertainment—great stories well-told.
I make my home in Milwaukee Wisconsin, land of the three seasons—summer, fall, winter. We have no spring. When my dear spouse Scott pressures me to move to a warmer climate, I point to fires, tornados, and rising sea levels as the reason to stay put in the middle of the heartland. Besides, I kind of like the crunch of freshly fallen snow beneath my boots as I trudge to the mailbox.
But the main reason I stay are the great women friends I’ve made here. With age comes wisdom about what’s truly important, and they are.