I couldn’t go back home. Living with parents was not appealing. I heard a whisper: go west, Terry, go west.
I needed to learn how to safely command the killer table saw, and I needed that soon–before I lost my resolve.
They never knew I was there, hidden in the branches of the ash tree, wondering what it would be like to scamper like a squirrel or crawl like a beetle.
“I’d like to imagine a buzzer traveling the top of a guy’s head, creating a nice clean flat place where someone could serve tea.”
Earlier this year my 96-year-old mother passed away. Mom assigned me to tell this story at her funeral services. When I was a girl she and Dad had bought a small farm in Indiana, where on weekends he enjoyed playing farmer and she enjoyed out-fishing her husband. The kids fooled around mostly—we swam and fished…… Continue reading My Mom’s Criminal Past