My mother's mother was named Alora. She was a Wave in WWII, a physical and occupational therapist who helped veterans find new skills to work around their disabilities, and later a farm wife who wore red lipstick. I don't know too much about her because she died years ago, on my mother's sixteenth birthday.
So my mom gave me her name as my middle name, and I named my daughter after her--and after myself.
Alora is 9.5 months old, and she slept in a tent for the first time last weekend. It was marvelous.
This blog will be a sporadically kept scrapbook for me, for us, for collecting recipes and photos and stories and occasionally a few personal news flashes.