It’s My Path. If you Follow, be Prepared…

I’ve been thinking about changing the name of my blog, but I can’t seem to find the right title to encompass all that I hope to accomplish by posting here. I’ve come to the conclusion that it really is Susan’s Path…no one else’s and unique to me.

I have a great fondness for metaphors. I envision all my readers following along as I go for a walk. A merry group of dwarfs following Snow White as she warbles and dances down the path? Err, no! Even if I’m known to sing to myself, no one would admit to knowing me as I dance down the sidewalk. How about the Pied Piper leading….oh…forgot he led the snakes, even if he does play a flute. Scratch that idea too.

Maybe this will be more like Gandalf walking at the forefront of a unlikely band of adventurers; some short, some tall, some handsome, some hairy, some happy and some grumpy? That sounds more likely. At least I’m gray, but I’m not so sure I possess the wisdom of the great wizard nor the devoted followers. Maybe if I fall into an abyss and come up glowing white? Not happening.

My path is not the “yellow brick road,” and it’s not always the “straight and narrow” either. It’s an up and down dirt road whose end I cannot see, but it promises to give me more experiences than I can ever imagine. It has those dreaded roundabouts I’ve come to hate in local traffic areas, where we all have to merge together and keep the same speed, make major decisions about our direction before we veer off into the unknown alone. At times, I find myself going in endless circles so I don’t have to take that exit and move on.

It has forks and convergent roads, and it has short cuts and dead ends. That dirt may be hard-packed and smooth, or it might be mucky, slippery, deep boot-sucking mud at times. And it may take me through dense forests, through fields of flowers or even the back yards of a subdivision.

That dirt may even turn to cement for brief moments while I enjoy the lights and sounds of the city, but it always leads be back to the country.

The most intriguing part of this walk through life is the people I meet along the way. They enrich my experience and give me stories I’d never have told without them. I’ve met the most interesting characters when I’ve taken a side road instead of the highway. When I make an unexpected turn, I find myself opening my mind to those who aren’t like me.

My stories reflect this path. One blog is a memorial to a loved relative, another is rambling thoughts (like today?), and yet others are my attempts at humor at the expense of my loveable redneck husband. I may be passionate about a cause and will try to get my message across this way, instead of crying out on other social media.

No matter the subject, the voice, or the emotion, I hope you follow along. I’ll try to make you think, to reflect on your own relationships, or chuckle at the silliness of which we are all guilty at times. And I promise to keep the metaphors to a minimum. Ok, I’m lying. I love them.

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Please Allow me to Introduce Myself: I am my Mother

MOM in TexasHappy Mother’s Day

Susan's Path

How many middle-aged women have had the epiphany that they’ve become their mother? And how many have come to realize that’s not such a bad thing? When I was a teenager, I’d have been horrified at the prospect, yet I now find myself both relieved and pleased that I am certainly my mother’s daughter. (Ok, you can skim over the fact that I’ve admitted I’m middle-aged, that’s another subject.)

So who is my mother? Esther Helen Pedersen Stevens was born in 1930, the middle child of eleven children who blessed Hans and Hilda Pedersen, Norwegian and Danish Lutheran farmers. Their home in Arkdale, Wisconsin was a sandy patch of corn, hay fields, vegetable and flower gardens the family shared with dairy cattle, chickens and pets. She and her siblings were all born in the farmhouse that had belonged to Grandma’s adoptive parents, the Olsens. They weathered the Great Depression as…

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