President's Message
From the February 2012 newsletter, by Kathleen Dougherty
Sometimes the shifting of the wind against an old house or the sigh
of a sleeping child can be almost unbearably poignant." While in the
Midwest at Christmas, I lay awake at night, listening to these night
noises, and to the soft murmuring of my mother as she and my father
spoke softly together."I knew by then that she had only days or hours
to live."She was moving on to the next big adventure--leaving us with"with
the sound of ordinary things and the memories of an extraordinary
woman." I'm home now and writing slowly, in fits and starts, pausing
often to stare out the window and remember."But as I slowly pull myself
back into my life, I'm getting back into the rhythm of writing, because
that is my life." Writing is my adventure, it is the sound of the
wind creaking the siding of an old house." It is the sound of a child's
sigh in the night"and it is the feeling of a daughter listening to
her mother's last words. Writing is how I live. My mother would have
expected me to get back to my stories.