Welcome to my blog!
The purpose of this space isn’t to exhibit my best writing, though I do try to put my best foot forward. I like to use this space to wonder and muse about life, post snippets of conversations, share poetry, or post drunken rants and then delete them the next morning. You know: the usual blog stuff. If you’re curious where the title of this blog, Excerpts From Ally Sheedy’s Purse, came from, I encourage you to read my post on The Nervous Breakdown.
I’m originally from the desert southwest (all of it) but have lived in Portland, Oregon since 1999. I and my six year old daughter moved here with a boy when I was 22 years old. I then married the boy and we had twin sons and became grown ups and then got divorced and now we parent our wonderful sons (who we’re madly in love with) together to the best of our ability. Amen. My daughter has since grown up and had children of her own and yes, that makes me a 37 year old grandma. But, that’s g-mom to you.
When I was a very little girl, I discovered that if you put a mirror under your chin, face up, and look down into it, it looks like you’re walking on the ceiling. I would spend hours and hours navigating my house on the ceiling or by turning somersaults on the floor. I don’t do that anymore. Now I work in an office. But one day I hope to work as a writer full time and I will have all of the floors of my fancy office made out of mirrors, and all of my words will be projected onto the ceiling in reverse while I type.
My roots are still in the desert, but my branches grow in the Northwest. I love tacos from food carts where the owners hardly speak English. I also love nachos and miss green chiles very much. However, I love Trader Joe’s and recycling and all the bridges and never getting sunburns.
When I am an old woman, I will wear second hand kimonos and keep my very long, white hair in braids. I will have a silver ring on each finger and twenty feral cats in my barn. I will live in a house on the outskirts of a small town in the desert and the children will all believe I’m a witch. I will live alone until I can no longer wipe my own ass or chop my own wood, which I will be able to do well into my nineties. At least, that’s what I tell myself now.