Blessed with a large extended family, I have grown up among nurturing adults and thriving youngsters. I was fortunate to have parents who appreciated and celebrated the arts and creative thinking. I was encouraged to draw and paint and play without concern for the spontaneous result. When I look at the boxes upon boxes of drawings from my childhood, a very predictable progression in children's universal drawing principles is evident in the earliest drawings. Yet, I feel there is something more there, in the colors, marks and forms that fill so many pages. I am so fortunate to have my childhood artwork to remind me of those moments that seem so long ago. It is amazing what power those visual renditions of inspired moments have now. They are poignant reminders of the story of my life and all that has influenced who I am.

My sister and I created intricately detailed treasure maps and we scavenged the woods for natural booty and weathered jewels. We imagined and narrated fantastic dramas that we played out on the prairie plains of the back yard. We described our desires through finely tuned tin cans, walkie talkies and diaries, shared secrets over sidewalk chalk and tattled tales in childish retorts. We breezed through a richly colored childhood, slipping and sliding across slick wooden floors, lips and cheeks painted with the rainbow, roller skating under, over and between delicate silk screens, carefully sculpted forms, pastel-rendered barns, and lead pencil lunch box notes, our visual culture permeated with artistry -- Mother's careful stitches and nimble fingers draped curtains and lace, danced richly costumed puppets, bejeweled mermaids, embroidered emerald turtles and saddled velvet ponies.

Yellow and black garden spiders once crisscrossed their vibrating webs between the fence posts and water faucet, promenading above Queen Anne and her clover. They were magnificent creatures, dew glistening on their tilting toes early in the morning light. We sprang from beds still steaming with misty dreams and flew to summer's door. On her threshold we tasted the lilting song of morning doves hanging over her sister's shimmering web. What life, what miracles we were privileged to know, how inspired I have grown, and blessed I have been to be shown such joy and beauty as a child. Oh, heart and spirit and all that is sublime! What wonder and awe we shared those summers, eagerly awaiting the arrival of sister spider.