Living in small town America is not the dream come true you see in movies. Moving there your senior year in high school is a nightmare accompanied by marching bands and push button ignition cars, surrounded by cornfields.
After playing in Springfield High School's graduation ceremonies for four years I graduated to unfamiliar music in a strange gym. Then I was off to college.
Homesick is the way I would describe my first year of college. Until I met a radio DJ who drew me into his world of announcing, performing, and play acting. My world was magical once more. We enacted his scenes in the dormitory lobby lounge to the horror and joy of all the people there.
We broke up and I met my future husband on the rebound through a blind date some friends set up. Our first day alone we went to see what ducks do in the rain and that set the tone for our dating.
These were the Vietnam years and he graduated from college weeks after I met him. Soon we were engaged and he was in the army far far from home. When he came back from Nam we were married on a rainy day in April 1970.
Our first home together was on an Army base in Kansas where we slept on a bed slightly smaller than a twin and I pumped gas at the base gas station, but that was a good year. Love covers all pot holes with hearts and flowers.
We lived in an Airstream Trailor. I learned to sew and make paper machee creations. We had great friends in the same boat as we were and life was good.
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