BB & I moved to the Rockies a few years ago, the farthest I’ve ever lived from my immediate family. We were strangers in town and isolated from the community by distance, especially since we got here in the dead of winter, just before Christmas. What’s a girl, missing her friends and family, to do? The obvious choice was join Facebook – then get addicted to Facebook. Skulking through page after page of names and faces, I ended up finding a group page for my grade 8 graduating class, most of whom had been together since we were 5 years old. I think there were only 6 members at the time (18 now and hopefully still growing) but there in front of me were 6 people I hadn’t seen in over 30 years, and they all looked pretty much the same, if not better. We started talking, sharing pictures and finding more lost faces. The first few chats were pretty emotional; it was draining, but in a really good way. One of my dearest friends from those days reminded me that I had wanted to be a writer. I’d forgotten. I had been passionate about writing, wanted to be a journalist of one sort or another. How could I have forgotten? I don’t know what put an end to those dreams, but end they did. I was a great letter-writer for a number of years, as BB and I moved slowly but surely across the country, but then emails replaced the 5-page missives to friends and there never seemed to be time to sit down and write a proper letter. Now I have a blog. Not really as personal as individual letters, mind you, but there it is anyway. And here I am. Writing again. Sharing the day-to-day. Feel free to share back; it’ll keep me going. Oh, and thanks, Lisa, for the reminder.