Born in Canada, then shuffled off to the States by my parent’s at the ripe age of 4, I was never to become an exotic French-speaking immigrant. Despite the setback, we lived in several different areas of the country that no one would choose to live in due to my father’s line of work as a budding nuclear plant construction engineer. I was provided with a wealth of useless knowledge and experience in the realm of high altitude desert living, sagebrush, tumbleweed, weathered bones, and fossils.
I went to schools with names like Lewis and Clark Elementary, Sacagawea, and Yellowstone. I played in canyons and irrigation canals, discovered horny toad lizards, black widow spiders, rattlesnakes, and scorpions. I learned how to ride a bike in Wyoming and make an igloo out of a snow drift in Washington’s southeast corner. While there, Mount St. Helen’s blew 200 miles away and rained ¼ inch of ash over our neighborhood. By the time I reached the east coast, they were selling the ash for actual money.
I saw my first tree at the age of 12 when we moved to a populated area in Pennsylvania where lawns grew without being trucked in as rolls of sod and laid out over extensive sprinkler systems. The power plant cooling towers were visible within a 30-mile radius driving fear and hatred from the locals. I tried to convince my peers that they were seeing harmless steam being released from those stacks, not toxic smoke. It was heaven for me and I have not taken nature for granted since. The only sand I choose to see now is at the beach; one of my favorite places to be while reading, writing, swimming, walking or listening to music.
Fast forward to High School which I left with academic honors to pursue a career in Fine Art. It should have been obvious to me that graduating from a school named after a judge because the alternative was Pughtown High, was a bad sign. I managed 2 years at Temple University working on an art degree, ran out of money and socks without holes in them, took a job in insurance, promptly married, had 2 children, and began a career as a stay at home mom instead.
Seventeen years later I cured the doldrums with an overdue divorce and catapulted back into the workplace without any skills. I traveled for a time with a golf caddie who enabled me to see more of the states and revived my interest in travel, moved several times while trying the insurance gig again, sought some therapy regarding previous decisions, and took a few online college courses in an attempt at self-improvement.
I wrote a small self-help book for teens during that time and published it on Amazon teaching myself about the process of publishing eBooks. I needed to market my book and started taking social media more seriously with the help of my daughter who was then in college and far more skilled in technology than I will ever pretend to be.
Low and behold, as my ex-mother in law used to say, I am now writing articles for the aforementioned social media sites, but for others who either don’t like to write or don’t have time. I love to write so this feels nearly philanthropic. Imagine not having the time or inclination to write? It’s inhumane and surely something needs to be done to rectify it. Enter Scribe Syndicate, the social service for the keyboard impaired or creatively challenged business owner, a third and fourth arm for the person in charge of promoting products and services, and a time management solution for the 26 hour day.