Window Over The Sink

That’s me. Born in 1950, an unexpected sixth child to parents already in their forties who thought they were done. I grew up on a farm six miles from where I live now. We called the midday meal dinner and the evening one supper. We went to town on Friday nights, when the stores were open till nine, after the milking was done. We grew up with politics being discussed, religion being practiced—or not; it was up to you. You’d get your mouth washed out with soap if you let certai

While I have always liked the name Elizabeth, I have never felt that it suited me. I referred to myself as Yitzy when I was small enough that everyone else in the family called me Lizzie and I couldn't pronounce it, but I have been Liz every other minute of my life. A few people still call me Lizzie or Lizbeth, and that's okay because of who they are, but I am still Liz. But this morning when I dropped my coffee pod and banged my head on the counter when I bent to pick it up,