Speaking of cows. . .

When I was eleven I was a cow. Actually this is only half-true because I was only half a cow. My best friend, Leslie and I created a joint Halloween costume. We used a grocery bag for the head, added on ears and even curly paper eyelashes. We painted big brown spots on a sheet, braided yarn for a tail, and wore a cowbell. The best part was that we practiced walking in step, sitting and crossing our legs simultaneously. Leslie was the tallest girl in our class, so guess which half she got to be? And that meant all the kids at school felt entitled to slap me on the behind. It was worth it though. Sharing made for the best Halloween ever. My daughter was inspired to have this experience too. Here she is in '05 as Dolly Llama in a costume I created for her and her friend. She's lucky; she's the tall one.



More stuff you never knew about me:

I used to wake up in the dark and change into my school clothes then get back under the covers until it was light. I wanted to be ready. My father caught me at it one time and told me it was only 1:00AM. I'm the most eager person you're likely to meet.

I was hit by a flying saucer while walking my pet skunk. Wait—do you already know this story? Stephanie does because it shows we were meant to collaborate on Elizabeti's Doll. In Massachusetts, my father built stonewalls surrounding our land and flanking the steps that zigzagged up our back hill. I claimed a striped stone for my own, wrapped some rope around it and dragged it behind me—Pepé Le Pew. It was a windy day in early spring. Our aluminum snow saucers still leaned against the cellar door. One caught the current, flew across the yard, and hit me under the nose. You can still see the scar from the stitches. In high school I found an advertisement in a magazine from some children's book institute. I sent in a variation on this story and received a letter back assuring me I could have a career in children's books. Guess you could say I was marked for this.