About me - Lauraine Andren

About me

At 70 years of age I find I have more ideas than energy.  I am like a cheap turkey (parts missing) that you thaw for Thanksgiving and find it hasn't any giblets and is missing a wing and drumstick.  What once took a hour to do, now takes a day (nap included).  I have lived a full, interesting life so I have plenty of advice to give, even when not asked.  I have opinions on everything and do not hesitate to give mine.

I only have a High School education but have read over 10,000 books and still have a large selection of  reading material at all times.   In my long life I have never used the words " I am bored"  I feel those words are only for children under the age of 5.   Everything in this world is fascinating, from the mundane to the esoteric.  Look, listen and learn as the world is a fine teacher.

Briefly me

My passion is ...

animals

I know too much about ...

books in general

My parents always told me ...

without family behind you, you face the world alone.

My childhood ambition ...

Be a secretary

My favorite memory ...

Lying amid the blooming lilac bushes on the farm as a child

Why I write ...

When something comes to me it is a compulsion to write it.

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

Book "Notorious Women"

My first job ...

Ladies dress shop

My best moment ...

Winning Miss St. Paul Beauty Contest in 196-

My inspiration ...

My belief in the Lord Jesus Christ

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Featured article by Lauraine Andren

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: After the war

"After the War" Flashes of light against the dark, star spangled sky. Bullets drowning out the quiet noises of the frightened night creatures. Rustling sounds of garments laden with the tools of war. Cries and sobs fill the now clamorous night as the soldiers scurry to find a spot that is quiet and safe amid the flying bullets.  Death is everywhere. Timidly a small doe with frightened eyes makes her way through the ruin that once was her home. The night falls silent with wonder as this most beautiful of creatures crosses the field of death and disappears.  Quiet sobs of pain are ...

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