I was born in Cincinnati, the youngest child of a French professor and a classical pianist.
It’s no surprise that this fusion would foster a person who loves stories, images and sounds.
My Dad, despite his academic credentials and office in the ivory tower, gravitated to other realms - seedy downtown neighborhoods, thrift stores, truck stop diners and bars that served up good hamburgers. He’d been a truck driver in his younger days and must have viewed his VW bus as a form of nostalgia. For me, my Mom and my three older siblings, that meant long road trips every summer.
Those trips ingrained in me that learning is a social event. Talking to people, entering into their realms, asking questions and listening, finding connection and and a strain of knowledge not found on books or on-line.
I am afraid that the end result is someone unfit for anything other than creating and producing - whether it’s stories or art. There are far worse fates.
In the last couple years, I have chosen some difficult but rewarding paths. Took time for a road trip to Montana and family roots with my teenaged son. Left a job to spend a year with my Mom, going out for ice cream sundaes, to hear a symphony or to look at cows on a Kentucky farm with her before her illness got so bad that she could not enjoy these outings and conversations.
And after 14 years of living year-round on Martha’s Vineyard, I am still making a considerable adjustment to a very urban environment: East Boston.
It is easy to miss friends on the island, to yearn for a place where so many faces are known and easily-placed, to pine for smells and sunsets and the feel of spongy seaweed underfoot.
But I have met some incredible people here in one year - a gifted teacher at MassArt named Gunta, a most generous neighbor named Rose and the many characters of Eastie.
For a more official version of career and educational paths, please see my resumé [.PDF]. And thank you for taking a look and listen to things on this site.