It was April 1951 when we piled into our green 1947 Chrysler Windsor --Dad, Mom, Grandpa, my baby sister Terry Lee and I, and we headed for California. I remember the seating arrangement. it was the era of the bench seat. The three adults sat in front and Terry and I sat in the back seat except on occasions when mother wanted to nap. It might have been yesterday. And now, I am the only one left to laugh about it. At the time I was not laughing, since I was the only one who did not want to leave Cleveland, and not just the only occupant of the car--from the opinions expressed by our well-wishing neighbors in Colonial Heights, I was the only person on the planet who did not want to leave Cleveland for Coronado, California.
Join me if you dare!
I am like a Janus face. On this page, I turn away the countenance of the historical novelist and expose the strange egocentric creature I call 'me.' It was time to separate the co-joined. I discovered that those who visited my blog for a glimpse of the personal Linda Root did not wish an encounter with the novelist, and the visitors who came hoping for a look at the First Marie or with intent to scale the wall of the abbey Saint Pierre les Dames for a glimpse of the Hidden Princess in my Midwife's Secret trilogy did not want to read about my childhood in Cleveland during WWII.
In a sense, what appears on this page will be a historical novel in the making--a collage of autobiographical pieces embellished with a sprinkle of whimsy, a touch of soul-searching and occasional doses of pain. We all see ourselves as through a mirror, a slightly different view that what outsiders see. I once was quoted as saying that 'too much introspection is not good for anyone.' Apparently I've changed my mind.