Daddy was born on February 3, 1913, in Lorain, Ohio, and grew up in Dwight, Kansas (1920 Federal Census population 246). According to Daddy, his father disappeared when he was about six years old. No one ever told Daddy what happened to him. I researched online about ten years ago and discovered that in 1919 when Daddy was six, his father Reid Clark Towner was admitted to a state hospital in Ohio, where he died later that year at the age of 35. Cause of death was listed as general paralysis of the insane which goes by other names as well. I have learned that this is a syndrome of mental disorder and weakness occurring in tertiary syphilis. Daddy suspected that his father was either committed to an asylum or sentenced to jail. He also wondered if perhaps his father might have had syphilis, because he said his mother died of it years later in his arms on a stormy night in Dwight. The family must have had him institutionalized, but no one ever informed my father about any of this, not even when he became an adult. My sisters and I could tell that even late in his life, Daddy still felt the pain of not knowing what happened to his father, and he died wondering. I discovered the truth, but not until after my parents had both passed away.
After Daddy’s father “disappeared,” his mother’s brother Jim, in Dwight, wrote to her and insisted she and her sons Gordon and Jimmy move to Dwight from Lorain, Ohio, where they would be close to him and his wife Grace. This is his Uncle Jim’s touching letter to Petrea, inviting her to move to Dwight with the boys. The letter is dated July 7, 1919, the year Daddy’s father Reid died: 1919 July 7 Letter from Jim to Petrea
Petrea took her brother up on his offer. Daddy was six years old, and, after much argument and discussion and at the risk of getting caught, they smuggled Daddy’s white Eskimo puppy Snow onto a train in a satchel and headed to Dwight. It was a long trip to Kansas – two and a half days and two nights on a train. Daddy’s mother warned him that he was going to have to see to it that Snow stayed quiet and fed all of the way.
Daddy wrote about the first time he saw his Uncle Jim, who was basically the only father Daddy would ever know. His mother, his brother Gordon, and he had just arrived in Dwight by train from Lorain, Ohio. He was so excited to be in “Dee-White,” as the conductor called out. He saw Uncle Jim (smaller than he had imagined) standing on the red brick platform by the depot door. His thumbs were hooked into his vest pockets, and a half-smoked cigar jutted out from under his mustache. He wore a gray suit, black bow tie, and a black derby-style hat. As they all gathered on the depot platform, Daddy couldn’t understand why everyone was crying.
As they walked from the train depot to Uncle Jim’s and Aunt Grace’s house, Uncle Jim pointed out Main Street (which was just one block long), the two-story native limestone bank building on the corner, and Uncle Jim’s general store at the far end of the block. When they approached Uncle Jim’s house, Daddy saw his Aunt Grace sitting between two large white columns in a porch swing. She was tall and thin with black shiny hair, and she was dressed in white or in a white apron. She greeted them warmly. Aunt Grace was very good to “Jimmy,” as she called Daddy. Thinking back on that first meeting, he wrote, “I knew I was looking at an angel.”
Uncle Jim and Aunt Grace had a four month old baby girl named Jennie Marie. Much of what he wrote about his upbringing was in long typewritten letters from him to his cousin Jennie Marie around 1990. I refer to them often in my posts. I don’t know if he ever mailed them to her, because the copies in his files look like originals. Aunt Grace and Uncle Jim had a big dinner for Petrea and the boys the day they arrived in Dwight. Dinner was served on the prettiest table that Daddy said he had ever seen. He said Aunt Grace was a great cook.
After dinner, Uncle Jim walked Petrea and the boys to their new home only two blocks away from Jim’s and Grace’s home. It was a small wood-frame house set three feet back from the walk, facing a row of large ash trees. The trees grew close to the walk on the street side and were separated from the street by a deep graded ditch. A bay window faced the street on the right as they walked into the house. He wrote, “The house smelled dead, hot, and of old wood. A single light bulb hung by a long cord from the center of each room. The wood floors were solid but creaked as we walked over them. To the rear of the front room a small dining room continued through a large square opening. To the left of the dining room a similar opening joined to the only bedroom. The entrance to a small narrow kitchen was to the rear of the dining room through a narrow door in the corner. A well-used sink and a cistern hand pump in the corner of the kitchen were the only fixtures in the house and the only water on the property. There was nothing [in the backyard]. No trees, no fences and no roads. There was one faded wood outhouse sitting in the weeds fifty feet to the back of the property. This was to be home – a tiny four-room white house on the edge of a dirt street jammed between an old abandoned unpainted blacksmith shop and the three-story white frame [Fisher] hotel. The one and only block of business buildings lay in view a short distance up the hill.”
The next day a team of horses pulling a wagon arrived with the furniture, and after a few hours the house was arranged for living. In a letter to Jennie Marie, he described a large reddish rug, a piano, and a rocking chair occupying the front room. A round dark oak table and matching chairs with a matching oak buffet were in the center room. I don’t know if my grandmother hauled the table and chairs from Lorain or if Uncle Jim got them for her in Dwight, but Daddy told me that he was circumcised on that oak table. Mother and Daddy got the table and chairs after his mother died in 1951 and used them every day until they moved into a nursing home in 2002. Our family still has the oak table, most of the chairs, and the buffet. In 2016, the table is at least 97 years old.
Daddy’s first impression of his new Dwight home that smelled dead, hot, and old might not have been very good, but it was memorable, and he grew to love it. He spent the next twelve years of his life there. He wrote a warm and sentimental letter to his mother at Christmas in 1947, 28 years after moving to Dwight. At that time he had been married to my mother Pat for twelve years and had two children (I was not born yet). He told his mother that he would do anything to protect Pat from a fate such as hers, and he did. In that letter, he also told his mother that he would always remember the feelings of comfort, safety, and security that she offered him in Dwight, and that Dwight would always be his home. He promised his mother that he would be home for Christmas the next year. As he listened to the radio while writing that letter, he wrote, “Strangely as it seems, the radio just broke out with the song Home.”
Today’s post is quite long. I could not figure out an acceptable way to break it up without losing the flow, so I didn’t. Keeping the Madsen branch of the tree straight in my mind was/is a challenge, mostly because a lot of my Madsen ancestors have similar (if not the same) names. There were a lot of immigrants with the last name Madsen who also had first names Hans, Anna, Peter, Christina, Christian, Christopher, Mads, etc. In fact, just my father’s aunts and uncles had a few similar or same names. Only while writing this post did I discover that my Dad’s Uncle Christopher Madsen and my Dad’s Uncle Christian Madsen both probably went by the name Mads at one time or another. The descriptive details of the Madsen family come from letters and journals my father wrote in the 1980s and early 1990s.
In 1888, my grandmother Petrea (who was the baby of the family), her seven brothers and sisters, her mother Anna Marie, and her father Hans emigrated from Taulov, Denmark, to Fairport, Kansas. Daddy wrote that his mother Petrea was about four years old when she came to America, but, if 1888 is correct, which seems to be a substantiated fact, she was about six.
Fairport, Kansas, was a one-country-store town along the clear sandy Saline River. When the family arrived around 1888, they settled in the house that my father’s Uncle Pete and Aunt Christina built when they came to America ahead of the rest of the family just for that purpose. The home was similar to the home they left behind in Denmark – a 15 X 30 foot limestone block house with dirt floors, bare walls, and openings for windows. The next step for them was to locate homesteads from the government for family members who were eligible. My father’s Uncle Pete was twenty years old and eligible for homesteading. Dad’s Aunt Christina was eighteen, which means her future husband Jim Nielsen was about twenty years old and also ready to marry and homestead. Daddy said that his mother Petrea proudly told him stories about growing up in this home, going to school, and graduating from what she called the “Normal” in Hays, Kansas, about 25 miles away. Normals were colleges or institutions for training teachers, usually for public elementary schools. She became a teacher and rode her pony across the prairie to teach school every day.
Daddy’s GRANDFATHER HANS and GRANDMOTHER ANNA MARIE (1840-1925): Daddy didn’t write anything about his Grandfather Hans. I guess that’s because he was very young when his grandfather died, and he never got the chance to get to know him. He did write about his grandmother. She spoke nothing but Danish, and his mother and his Aunt Christina spoke a lot of Danish to each other and to her. Daddy said he learned a lot of Danish from his grandmother, although he didn’t use many Danish words around me when I was growing up. I recall Daddy telling me that when he was about 13 years old, he brought home their first radio. In a letter his cousin Jennie Marie in 1990, he described it as a crystal set radio, “which means it operated without electricity or batteries. It would pick up Topeka [Kansas] off and on through all the popping and squawking. I put the earphones on her [grandmother’s] head and turned it on. A man’s voice came through all the popping as I turned the dial to set it clear. She just laughed and poked her finger at me as she smacked her toothless lips and said, ‘Ah Pshaw!’” Daddy told me that his grandmother always thought the radio was magic.
UNCLE PETE (1862-1943): My grandmother Petrea’s oldest brother was named Peter. Daddy said that his Uncle Pete and Pete’s wife Minnie homesteaded a quarter section of land along the Saline River, a mile out of Fairport. They built a two-story limestone block house and outhouse against and into the foot of a wooded hill. This was along a flood plain and about a quarter of a mile away from the river. Daddy never knew his Aunt Minnie, who died in 1904 about nine years before Daddy was born. Uncle Pete’s and Aunt Minnie’s three children, Fred, Dorothy, and Esther were five, four, and two years old, respectively, when their mother died.
Daddy wrote fondly of the time he spent on his Uncle Pete’s farm when he was about ten years old. He said his cousins Fred, Dorothy, and Esther were all grown but still unmarried and living at the farm. Esther was a buxom brunette and seemed to do most of the cooking for the family and farm hands. Dorothy was a frail, thin, good-looking blonde, who did the house work and managed the household. Fred was short and strong, with a ruddy complexion, and he helped his father with the heavy farm work. Daddy reminisced about visiting the farm by writing that if he wore much at all, he wore overalls. He rode ponies, rounded up milk cows, and watched his cousins milking the cows and squirting streams of milk into buckets and into the mouths of a whole row of cats waiting ten feet away. He carried four to six pails of milk to the separator shed, poured the milk into the separator, and cranked the machine. As he continued to crank, he caught dippers full of the fresh warm skimmed milk as the cream and milk came out of their spouts and ran down chutes into large milk cans. He drank milk until he could drink no more.
AUNT CHRISTINA (1864-1931): Daddy’s Aunt Christina’s and her husband Uncle Jim’s 160 acre farm was located about five or six miles from his uncle Pete’s farm. They built a two-story wood frame house with eight rooms and a basement – also a barn, corral, hog shed, chicken house, and an outhouse, only 150 feet from the edge of the clear, babbling, sandy river. Daddy described the Blue Hills in the distance across the wheat fields and the beautiful full moon at night. He used to lie in the open window upstairs and listen to the howling wolves and the yipping coyotes.
Daddy’s Aunt Christina kept a tidy house. She was short and round and giggled constantly. She always wore her hair pulled straight back with a knot pinned nearly on top of her head, which made her light blue eyes pop. Everything was funny to her, and when she giggled, she always slapped the counter and doubled over. It was contagious. Aunt Christina was always smelling her food. Daddy said he never saw her take a bite of food when she didn’t pass it in front of her nose first to sniff it. She was a very tidy housekeeper, and the front room was off limits, unless she gave Daddy special permission to enter. Occasionally, she did let him go into the front room after dark and listen to the Victrola. He wrote, “I would crank the machine, put on a ten inch disc and lie on the floor and listen. There was no electricity, and the light came from a pump-up gasoline lamp hanging from the ceiling. It was an extremely hot lamp and gave off a very bright white light. I was not permitted to touch it.”
One day, some neighbors came to help Uncle Jim Nielsen put up the hay. After a day’s work, they pulled the wagon with an enormous load of hay into the yard. Daddy’s cousin Alice and her mother Aunt Christina greeted them with a tray of bottled beer, which had been cooled with river ice cut the previous winter and stored in an ice cave. This beer was home-brewed and was made in the basement by Aunt Christina from a recipe brought from Denmark. His aunt told him later that she had mistakenly put in pints of sugar instead of cups of sugar. She knew something was off when the corks started popping during the aging process. She just thought she had done a poor job of corking. This, however, resulted in beer with some very high alcohol content. Daddy wrote, “Needless to say, the men really enjoyed the beer. Even Uncle Jim came in and got another round for everyone. Suddenly we noticed hollering and laughing coming into the kitchen from the yard. I recall [cousin] Alice commenting, ‘I never heard the men having so much fun pitching hay.’ I stepped out on the back porch and watched the workers. Two men were standing on top of the load of hay. One was trotting from a large pile of hay on the ground just as another leaped from the top of the wagon into that pile. The men were drunk.”
Aunt Christina and Uncle Jim raised three children: John, Harry, and Alice. John became a farmer at the edge of Fairport on the Saline River. Daddy’s cousin John and his wife (name unknown) had two children: Ellen, who married a veterinarian from Kansas State College, and Mary, who never married and became a school teacher. Daddy’s cousin Harry graduated as a geologist from Kansas University and settled in Midland, Texas. He explored for oil in Mexico, South America, and Canada. He married late in life and never had children. Daddy’s cousin Alice became a teacher and a nurse. She married, divorced and had no children.
UNCLE MADS (Christopher, 1866-1916): Uncle Mads and Aunt Anna Marie also homesteaded a 160 acre farm near Christina’s farm. They had one daughter Louise. (Daddy believed that his Uncle Mads died before he was born, which would have been before 1913.) Louise inherited the farm when she was a child, and her father’s brother Chris and Chris’s wife Anna held it in trust for her. Louise also inherited her Uncle Chris’s farm after Harry died.
UNCLE CHRIS (Christian, Mads 1872-?): Daddy’s Uncle Chris and Aunt Anna homesteaded a 160 acre farm, also along the Saline River, near Aunt Christina’s farm. They opened a hardware and farm store in Natoma, Kansas. Daddy said his Uncle Chris was slender and lanky, and he was quiet, with a deep voice. She was bouncy, busy, and talkative. Daddy’s description of their home was “exquisite.” He said it was so clean and neat that it made him feel uncomfortable. He was afraid to touch anything and never got used to their modern indoor toilet, which he said smelled too sweet. He never stayed at his Uncle Chris’s more than one night at a time, and he thinks that was his aunt’s idea, not his mother’s. Daddy said it wasn’t until he went to Kansas State College and moved into the SAE House that he realized the modern indoor toilets were here to stay.
AUNT HATTIE (Hannah, 1874-?): My father wrote that his Aunt Hattie married a man named Jim Nielsen (also from Denmark but no relation to Dad’s Aunt Christina’s husband, who is also named Jim Nielsen.) He even made a point about his name being the same as his other Uncle Jim Nielsen, and he wrote details about a conversation he had with the other Jim Nielsen’s son Harry regarding Aunt Hattie’s Jim Nielsen. (This is when my head started spinning.) To add to my confusion, the documentation I found for Aunt Hannah on Ancestry.com indicates she was married to a man named Peter O. Nielsen, not Jim. I confirmed in my ancestry research that Peter and Hattie Nielsen had three children – Hobart, Clifford, and Mary, who Daddy named specifically. Daddy wrote that he and his mother visited them one summer when he was nine years old during (as he called it) the “Indian” celebration of “Newalla.” The correct spelling of this is “Neewollah,” which is Halloween spelled backwards. Neewollah is a celebration which began in 1919 in Independence, Kansas. It was created to give the children something more positive to do besides the usual Halloween pranks. (Neewollah.com) His cousin Mary, who was about 13 or 14 years older than Daddy, dressed him in an Indian maid costume, with black hair braids, headband, Indian skirt, moccasins, and beads. Boys chased him all over the streets, while Mary laughed.
AUNT MAGGIE (Margretha, 1875-?): Daddy’s Aunt Maggie married George Brown. They made their home at the edge of town in Hays, Kansas. Their home was a large two-story frame house with a full basement, which was full of nooks and crannies to hide in.
Daddy’s Aunt Maggie was much like his aunt Christina. They favored each other in appearance and in the way they acted. They were two of a kind, except Aunt Maggie had dark hair, which was turning gray when my Daddy knew her. Maggie’s eyes weren’t as popped as Christina’s, but they were still prominent. He said she laughed a lot and was the noisiest one of all. She spoke with a much more pronounced Danish accent than her brothers and sisters. Sometimes he could hardly understand her, and occasionally, she would slip completely into Danish and not realize it. Daddy said no one paid much attention to her when that happened, because no one could understand her anyway.
Uncle George was the County Sheriff of Ellis County during his early family years. He looked the part of the Wild West. Daddy said he was tall, broad shouldered, slim, weathered-brown, rough, and gruff. After he retired as sheriff, he owned and ran a blacksmith shop behind his house. George and Maggie had three children: George, James H. (Buster), and Anna Marie. Anna Marie was three years younger than Daddy. When Daddy wasn’t playing with his cousin Anna Marie or being chased by all of cousin George’s and cousin Buster’s good looking girlfriends, Daddy said he was watching Uncle George fire up the forge and pound the red-hot plowshares on the anvil to sharp V points.
Daddy remembered his Uncle George’s commanding presence at the head of the long table in the huge dining room. Daddy said he always wondered why his Uncle George never ate anything except cornstarch pudding and cream. Every day he smashed open the screen door, stormed noisily through the back porch door, then trooped through the kitchen without saying a word to anyone. He marched through the dining room to the far end of the table, plunked down into his chair, and waited for Aunt Maggie to bring him his cornstarch pudding and cream, which she faithfully did. Daddy heard from other adult family members that Uncle George never ever spoke to any other member of the family. He never greeted anyone who came to visit except Daddy and his mother Petrea. Daddy confirmed that he never heard his uncle greet anyone else. He described his Uncle George as follows: “Uncle George was unique. The first time I witnessed him storming in for his pudding I was scared to death. I found out real quick that despite his actions and looks, he was gentle as a mouse and he liked me. We got along fine.” He loved his Aunt Maggie, and he liked to stay there and play with his cousin Anna Marie.
Daddy said he spent several summers at his Aunt Maggie’s and Uncle George’s and he had a lot of fun playing with George’s and Maggie’s daughter Anna Marie. Occasionally, he went from there to visit his other aunts and uncles along the Saline River. When Daddy was 77 years old, he wrote, “Years after all were gone, the city bought their [Aunt Maggie’s and Uncle George’s] property along the river to include in a city park.”
Daddy said all of the homesteaded farms long the Saline River eventually developed oil, including the Madsen properties, and their children all benefited from the oil – except, that is, Uncle Pete’s children. Uncle Pete lost the farm to the bank. His wife blamed this unfortunate event on their son Fred and his wife Idabelle. Daddy heard from someone in the family that Idabelle talked Fred into borrowing money against the farm and investing in Kentucky thoroughbreds.
Mother and Daddy were married on June 8, 1935. They spent their wedding night in the Hotel Abilene, which cost them $3.00. A couple of days later, on June 10th, they spent one night at Daddy’s Aunt Maggie’s home. Mom and Dad were still on their honeymoon and were on their way from Dwight to Edmond, Kansas, where Daddy was going to work for the Kansas State Highway on a highway project. His cousin Clifford Nielsen was District Engineer for the State Highway in Norton, 20 miles away. Daddy said he rented a three-room furnished house with electricity, pump, and a two-holer outhouse for $8.00 a month. The photo above is that house in Edmond.
There are two members of the Madsen family still to talk about: my Dad’s Uncle Jim and Dad’s mother Petrea. His Uncle Jim played a prominent role in Dad’s upbringing.
My Great Grandparents Hans and Anna Marie Madsen holding son Peter and daughter Christina, abt 1866
My father’s mother Petrea, abt 1902
My Great Grandparents Anna Marie and Hans Madsen, date unknown
Madsen reunion at home of Petrea Madsen Towner, Dwight KS; L to R: Christina (Madsen) Nielsen, Peter Madsen, Petrea (Madsen) Towner, James Madsen, Magretha (Maggie) (Madsen) Brown, Christian (Mads) Madsen, 1930
[The following includes information and quotes from some of my dad’s (James Madsen Towner) writings in the 1980s.]
In 1888 my Daddy’s grandparents Hans and Anna Marie Madsen (born 1837 and 1840, respectively) were living near a rural village in Denmark with their eight children: Peter, Christina, Christopher (Mads), Hannah, Christian, Margretha, James, and my grandmother Petrea (b. 1882). Daddy described their two-story stone house from a color photograph that his cousin Harry Nielsen (deceased) showed him, which Harry had taken on a visit to Denmark in 1970. Daddy wrote, “It is a surprisingly good looking structure…a straight box-shaped home with foot-thick walls and deep set windows and doors. The picture was a side view with eight windows, four upper and four lower, with one door on the end and one in the center of the side showing. A large white stone chimney showed above the sharp pitched rough wood roof. The yard area was open, rough looking, but neat. A few bushes or natural shrubs could be seen with fairly thick, tall trees in the background on a rolling landscape.” Harry told Daddy that he talked to one old timer, who said he remembered the Madsens.
According to my father, the Madsens decided to move to America around 1888. The United States was advertising for immigrants to come to America. Labor was needed to develop the land – the East needed factory workers, and the West needed farmers. One quarter sections of land were offered to any and all. Immigrants came mostly from Europe and Scandinavia. The two oldest Madsen children, Peter (b. 1862) and Christina (b. 1864), came ahead to find land and to establish a home for the rest of the family.
I heard Daddy say over the years that the name of the town in Denmark that my grandmother Petrea emigrated from was Taulov. I could tell he wasn’t sure how to pronounce it, and neither he nor I had any idea how to spell it. When I began my ancestry project around 2005, I searched for it on the Internet using various spellings, but I came up with nothing. Then in 2007, my husband Gene and I took a cruise from London through the Baltic Sea, and one of our stops was Aarhus, Denmark. We toured a church there, and I asked a woman working at the church’s information desk if she knew the town. I am sure I said it wrong, but she recognized the name, in spite of my mispronunciation. She told me the name of the town was Taulov. She spelled it for me, and pronounced it tah-loof. The town happened to be only about 45 minutes from where we were. Unfortunately, our time in Aarhus was limited, and we were unable to go to Taulov, but I was very happy to have gathered this very valuable information.
When Daddy was a young boy, his grandmother Anna Marie Christiansen Madsen talked to him about her life in the old country, but he had difficulty understanding her Danish and couldn’t remember a lot of it. However, he did remember one story vividly. His grandmother told him that when her family was young (many years before my father’s mother was born) it was a troubled time in Denmark and in neighboring European countries. During the summer, German soldiers traveled from Germany north across the land. They pillaged along the way and lived off of the land. Daddy’s grandmother told him that most of these soldiers were gentle people, but there were enough mean people and bullies to frighten all of the natives. Young Danes ran ahead of the soldiers to warn people that the Germans were coming. At that time, his grandparents took all of their precious possessions, including mattresses, bedding, and utensils, into the woods and buried them. Daddy’s Uncle Pete was the oldest and grew from six years to thirteen years during this time. Some of the Germans were not much older than the children themselves, and they liked to play with him. They stayed for several days at a time, and when they left, they often took Dad’s Uncle Pete with them. He would be gone for weeks or even months at a time, but they always brought him back in the fall, as winter closed in, and then continued on their way back to Germany. Dad wrote, “He was none the worse for the experience.”
My great-grandparents and their family came to America three years before Ellis Island opened, which was the processing portal for millions of immigrants. Daddy said he didn’t recall talking with his mother about the old country at all, but he did discuss it with her brother James (Uncle Jim). According to my father, Uncle Jim described the old country as rolling wooded land with cart trails from village to village which were about seven to ten miles apart. He said everyone walked everywhere and that Daddy’s grandfather returned twice to Denmark for a visit after coming to America. Each time he was gone about three months.
I retired and married my husband Gene in early 2003. After my parents had both passed away, I began searching for clues to solve the mystery of what happened to my dad’s father. As a tool, I subscribed to Ancestry.com and began my search, which led to my building family trees for my family and for my husband Gene’s family. As part of the family tree project, I went through all of the old family photographs in my possession and scanned, organized, and labeled them. Therefore, when I decided to write a book, I had already completed most of my family research.
On December 26, 2009, I began writing about my experience as the youngest photographer at the Kennedy assassination. The first draft of my book encompassed a lot of family background information – recollections of my childhood and anecdotes and family history which have been passed down through the years. After discussing the first draft with my good friend Kaye, I decided that it included too much family background information for readers primarily interested in the assassination, which was at the time approaching its 50th anniversary. So, I edited my family history book down to about 100 pages and focused that book on my life as it relates to my witnessing the assassination of John F. Kennedy. I self-published the book, which was released in November, 2012. Tina Towner, my story as the youngest photographer at the Kennedy assassination is available on Amazon.com in hardcover and e-book formats. The hard cover format is also available for sale in the museum store at The Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza.
I fully intended to finish the bigger family story and publish it in printed and e-book versions at a later date, but I did not think it would take this long. I am now, however, getting back on track.
Blogging wasn’t something I considered in 2009. I’m not sure if it was even an option for me at that time, but it is now, and I find it intriguing. Over the past twelve months, I have gone back and forth with the question – to blog or not to blog. I have finally decided to give it a try. When I am finished, I will see what my options are to print the entire serial into book format.
I will be learning as I go, so I expect some glitches. I also expect this to be great fun. Thank you for your patience with me as I toddle (maybe I should say “bloggle”) into the blogosphere. I hope you will join me on my journey, and if you do, I hope you enjoy it.