“She smelled of sun and daisies
with a hint of river water.”
—Katie Daisy

As I read and edited all the stories on the following pages about brave women who have put themselves out there in the world, finding or making adventures everywhere they go, it made me want to embark on a summer adventure. The funny thing is, out of all the places, activities and adventures these women have taken on, and there are some amazing ones, the thing I’m most jealous of: They have managed their lives in such a way that their adventures have come true.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, here I sit, stressing on how I will take one little week off this summer without having to check into work every day. So, when I read about these women, my take-away is freedom—the absolute ability to leave the daily grind behind. These women have broken away from what is expected, what is deemed as responsible, what is safe and what is “normal,” and instead, blazed their own trails.

I enjoy a good old-fashion telephone conversation. Sometimes when I’m visiting my mother, who has had the same house for 54 years, I’ll go to my childhood room and call my old friends on the rotary phone that’s still there. It’s just so vintage, so connecting. It’s always fun to sit on the floor, play with the coiled phone cord, and talk and laugh for an hour. However, there are a few things I can’t stand to talk about on the phone:

I don’t mind hearing about someone’s diet successes, or helping them get back on board if they’ve slipped a little, but I despise when people, namely my mother, tell me what she’s eaten for the last 14 meals… “On Monday, I had oatmeal for breakfast, with a half of grapefruit that I had to put a little sugar on to cut the tartness, and a cup of coffee with my vanilla creamer, but it’s fat-free, and just a bite of coffee cake, to go with the coffee, you know. Then for lunch…”

“Your life is made of two dates and a dash. Make the most of the dash.”
—Linda Ellis

I can hardly bring myself to write about our theme this month— #MamaBear. The phase of life I’m currently in puts me dead center of the sandwich generation. My mother is 91 years old, and I worry every day if it will be her last, even though she has no critical illness. I know she worries about it, too, because she calls me every night to say good night. This is a new habit. It’s because she’s thinking about that classic childhood prayer that ironically scares us all to death—‘if I should die before I wake…” I can’t blame her for thinking this way; we all have an expiration date. Luckily, so far, we are both still “in date.”

Sometimes life’s best mantras and philosophies
can be found on the backs of people’s automobiles in the form
of bumper stickers.

While I’m not a bumper sticker fan myself, that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy reading others’. I understand the art of the bumper sticker. Think about it, they can make perfect strangers laugh, think, relate, or become angered all in a small 10-by-3-inch ride-by. They are like baby billboards that enter your life for mere seconds and give you insight into exactly who you are dealing with next to you on the road. For instance, if you’re behind someone with a sticker that says “Keep Honking, I’m Reloading,” they’ve given you a hint that you may want to pipe down.

There are so many wonderful things about April—the weather, Easter, The Heritage, festivals, flowers and garden tours, but one of the best things is it’s Pink Magazine's birthday! Pink turned 18-years-old on April 1, and I am somewhat awe struck.

When I started Pink in a small room in my home, I never looked ahead five, ten or 18 years. I merely took it one day at a time, and most of those days wore me out. My children were young—kindergarten and fourth grade. I was in full wife and mom mode and had always had a career in sales or marketing. The new job of creating Pink was hard, especially since I started with limited resources: A used Mac and $2,800.