OOC: Memorial
For every piece of who a person is there is a person responsible, For every interesting, irritating quirk there is a reason. Today I give credit to a person who had a significant part in making me who I am. When I was young, I was a little hellion, with little mental direction, trust me I was worse back then, but luckily i was born into a family that understood and with a Grandmother that encouraged my imagination. The years of my youth was spent in the company of my first storyteller, the one that taught me the way things were in the old days, the long walks with holy shoes, when a nickel meant something, and how dangerous a cornered woman can be with a boyscout trophy. That an active imagination was a blessing not a curse, that what and who i was born was just fine the world would have to adjust. One of my first friends and playmates was a 60 year old Woman, yes she was old when i was born, but had the strength and will of a person much younger.
So as I think back to my first imaginations, my first fantasies of the ones that live among the wood, the shadows that flit in the darkness, the wives tales, the legends, the codes that a good person must respect among the wilder things of the world that parralels ours, I think about my Grandmother, My first Storyteller, My first Teacher of the Ways of Fantasy, and I give thanks that I was born of her blood.
So as I think back to my first imaginations, my first fantasies of the ones that live among the wood, the shadows that flit in the darkness, the wives tales, the legends, the codes that a good person must respect among the wilder things of the world that parralels ours, I think about my Grandmother, My first Storyteller, My first Teacher of the Ways of Fantasy, and I give thanks that I was born of her blood.