I feel like a kid who has to stay in school as the last of the beautiful Indian summer passes by outdoors.
The grey chill is in the air, knowing that the start of a long slog is ahead.
I'm going to the 125th anniversary of the establishment of my school. My daughter's going with me. It was a place of recognition for me, a prison for her. Now we both have pride that we went.
A memoir-in-process of St. Joe's Parish in the 1960s.
