1965 and Friday after lunch with gray-looking clouds blowing past the windows up on the third floor of the house in Dubuque . . .

On a voyage to see how much mileage I can get from the creative ability and eye for images that my family thought was useless. On line art curator, fiction writer and now blogger. Historian's daughter. Follow me . . .even I have no idea where I'm going next. View all posts by sarahbguestperry