By the time I was 6 or 7 years old most of my Shipley relatives had moved to someplace other than Mt. Moriah.

My Aunt Maxine has lived her whole life in the simple straightforward manner of children, animals and saints.

When I was about 10 years old, or so, I had a vision.

That’s what we all called him, not Grandfather, not even Grandpa, but Grandad Bill.

My Grandma Ollie was the youngest of 4 sisters – Lesta, Lettie, Bessie, and Ollie.

Is it really possible to travel back in time? Some say yes, some say no.

The Shipley side of my family has a habit of saying, “Well…”, in a thoughtful, drawling sort of way as a catch-all response to almost any kind of conversational interlude.

After 40-some years of hanging out on the planet it finally occurred to me to wonder where I came from.

There was a piano in the parlor of my grandparent’s house.

There once was a little girl, who wrote a little poem, about a moon that wasn’t there.

There is an allure to the far away and unknown. A glamor that attaches to anything shrouded in mystery.

She’s a southern belle, sweet, gracious, and charming.