The 43rd Year was begun as a challenge from my husband who called me out for being a chickenshit. And he was right. This blog is dedicated to fear of writing and of being read, fear of discovery and of exposure and hopefully to the overcoming of those fears.
I've made it through my 43rd year and am now in the midst of my 44th. I've written less than I'd have liked but more than I expected. And I'm keeping the title and web address until a greater inspiration strikes. The issues of the 43rd year, after all, remain...
1 comment:
Can we go back to that wildflower field in Los Alamos? Heaven! Were those cornflowers? xx
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