Growing up in Independence, Missouri, I often saw Harry Truman sitting at his desk as my school bus passed his home on Delaware.  It never seemed a big deal…you know…having a President of the United States as a fixture of my hometown.  Once Mother and I were shopping at Worthworth’s on the Independence Square.  Looking intently at a brightly colored display, someone bumped into me.  I looked up at a kind face with a wide small.  His hand lifted his hat and he said, “Well, excuse me, little lady.”  Mother put her hand on my shoulder and whispered in awe…”That was President Truman.”  My eyes followed his squared shoulders and other men who strode along with him.

My life has had its own march…teacher, mother, traveler, and even politician.  My affection for Harry Truman and his down-home style touched me deeply.  I have little tolerance for pretense.  I like and embrace others easily. I speak my mind quite adroitly.  I find a quiet evening sitting on the porch and laughing with friends one of life’s luxuries.  And…I love to write.  I hope that anyone finding his or her way to my thoughts and scratches sees the world for a moment through my eyes.  I don’t ask you to agree with me.  I don’t even ask that you like what you read.  I do hope, however, that you consider my words.  Maybe, just maybe, we will find something to laugh about or cry about on that dusk lit porch.