My mother, Frances Cecilia Sky, always wanted to be a published writer. She wrote in longhand on blue-lined loose leaf paper and she typed on flimsy yellow second sheets. Her subject matter was everything from book reviews for her Book Club (a group that existed before World War II and must have been one of the first […]
Read MoreFrances C. Sky: Cousin Belka, the Egg, and the Hairs on My Head
March 12, 2015 by
To my great sorrow my hair was thin and wispy and I envied eight year old cousin Belka’s thick braids beyond anything else she possessed. It may have been a wife’s tale that great grandmother Anna had told me
Read MoreFrances C. Sky: The Bead Chain Reminder
August 13, 2014 by
An imaginative person is very like a pearl diver, constantly overboard in a sea of thought, bringing up ideas in shells which more often than not prove useless and not worth the lead in a pencil to set them down—but again parallel to the diver
Read MoreFrances C. Sky: Heyday for the Bicycle
August 12, 2014 by
It seems odd that with the advent of this second world war we should see so many bicycles on the streets and what is more to be wondered at is the number of ladies and girls riding them.
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