Circles of Love: a Memoir of the 20th Century

I was twelve when I looked around the lawn at my six brothers and sisters, and my mother wearing my father’s undershirt. In those days women wore sleeveless blouses carefully ironed, not shirts that were five sizes too big. My siblings and I were screeching with laughter as my mother squirted us with a hose. The more we tried to get away the more she sprayed us. It was then (several years before the family reached 10 kids and two grandparents imported from Illinois) that I knew I had to tell even a part of this story.   

• Hello Everyone!
• Chapter 1