Every week I receive another email from a friend about the ‘Good Old Days.' Another photo album showing happy families standing in front of a sod home or eating A&W Root Beer Floats in front of a 1950 Chevy Convertible and Norman Rockwell Paintings summed up life.
I thought I had a rotten life. I wasn’t a beauty. I wasn’t slim. My husband wasn’t perfect. My kids were typical, horrible and lots of work.
As both a writer and an artist, I am required to observe and examine situations from different points of views. In fact, I often find myself criticizing my own life. At first glance, it seems idealistic.
