I was thirteen the year Hurricane Diane blew into town.  Hurricane Carol, the previous year, probably packed more of an actual punch, but Diane caused a lot more damage, devastation, and long-term problems in my little corner of the world.  And although I don’t have vivid memories of the storm itself, I remember the events immediately following it as if it were yesterday.

I love April.  It’s my favorite month of the year.  April is springtime and daffodils and leaves budding on trees.  It’s the world turning warmer and greener with the promise of rebirth.  April is the month of my birthday and the anniversary of my first kiss and even now, the thought of it still fills me with joy and makes my whole body smile in remembrance.

My childhood was marvelous. Raised in a small town where the environment was safe, the world was my oyster. As long as I promised to stay off the railroad tracks and away from the river I could wander at will. I was always a tomboy and, together with my sister Joan and our friends, we loved adventure. We formed clubs and inhabited clubhouses of all description. We climbed trees and explored the woods all around us, occasionally warring with the local boys who thought that by virtue of their gonads the surrounding territory belonged to them.