Y is for YEOMANS_What, you were maybe expecting YODELING?

Y is for YEOMANS!

Denise was going to do her Y post on me. But work kept me from submitting my bio until April 9th. 

So Denise in desperation asked Lynda Young, a lovely blogger, to submit her bio.

With both Lynda and me, the post was just too long.  (You know shy, retiring me of few words. LOL.)

I asked Denise to delete my part of her post today to concentrate on a special lady, Lynda Young.

Go check it out:

http://laussieswritingblog.blogspot.com/

I posted an image of Megan Fox because frankly my picture frightens little children!

Here's one of Gypsy:

Y is for YEOMANS ...

you know Yeoman as in all those unlucky red-shirted Away Team members on STAR TREK!

I WAS BORN IN DETROIT, MICHIGAN:

All my memories of Detroit are of knee-caps and hub cabs since I left when I was ten. I had double pneumonia thrice.

Living in that cold basement apartment wasn't an aid to great health to a sickly child.

Although my first bout of it when the ice storm hit was the catalyst for the tales my mother created of Hibbs, the cub with no clue, who grew into the bear with two shadows.

  Mother was certain I would die that frozen-in weekend and wanted my head to be filled with wonder not fear.

I GREW UP IN ...

My mother married an airplane mechanic, one who read poetry and studied science in his free time. My family left Detroit when I was ten as I said earlier.

The further south we went, the hotter it got. So I was glad when we stopped in Lafayette, Louisiana. I was real sure the next stop would have been Hell.

A year there taught me to say "Sir and Ma'am" and to pronounce David and Richard in really strange ways when they were last names. And it was not a pretty sight when I said Comeaux for the first time.

Lake Charles was the next stop. I remember standing in the front yard of our new home, watching the drunken neighbor across the street beating in his front door

(his wife had locked it) with a fence post.

I looked up to Mother and said, "You know if I had a degree in Psychology, I bet I would probably understand what's going on there."

She ruffled my hair and smiled down on me. "Lots of luck with that."

Mother was right. A master's degree in psychology hasn't unlocked the why's of the pain I see. It has just helped me put fancy labels on it.

(All rights to Megan Fox, her image, and her sense of self belong to her.  So there Mr. Steven Spielberg!) ***