I'm thinking today of a road trip she and I took to visit her homestead near Ryegate, and I'm trying to remember what year it was that we set off on a whim and a full tank of gas to find her roots.
Dorothy with WallaceI've not felt the strength to open any of her journals. Of course, I'm curious. So curious. But I don't trust my emotions. I'm so near to weeping as it is. Do I dare explore and let my emotions go as I wander through her life's pages?