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Eleanor Jane Forester

I’m told to write, so I write.

The buttons below are fake news. I haven’t connected any socials.

  • She was an organ donor.
    I’ve been struggling with gratitude lately. For years I’ve wanted to “make music.” Ya know, garage band style, or hell, even a barbershop quartet. I always wanted it. But never enough. I tried to get things going with other people. I never really found my target audience I suppose. Recently, I decided to learn toContinue reading “She was an organ donor.”
  • I think we made it…
    We’re on the other side.  That was rough. Saturday started normal enough. It was a slow morning. I even took a nap before preparing to reprise my role as Lola, the charismatic Jazz singer turned victim for the local library’s murder mystery. Managed to raise just over $600 each for the library and theater troupeContinue reading “I think we made it…”
  • Childhood is Awesome!
    Around 1:00 this afternoon my husband asked me if I had any big ideas for dinner. I loathe the question, and he knows it. Why do we have to eat every day?? But we agreed sloppy joes would be an easy feat. I worked a little later than usual, so dinner time crept up quickly.Continue reading “Childhood is Awesome!”
  • The Overgrown Picklesicle is Still Asleep
    My family lives in a smaller 3 bedroom house. When everything shut down at the beginning of the COVID epidemic, we squished the boys into a shared bedroom so that my husband and I could share an office to work from home. The boys are getting bigger and they are starting to need more space.Continue reading “The Overgrown Picklesicle is Still Asleep”
  • What’s on the menu…
    I’ve been browbeat, and I feel lost. Once endeared as a gift, writing often feels burdensome now. I’m told over and over that the words I use are correct, yet the format is foreign. You write backwards. The words echo through my empty mind each time I grasp for words to add to the page.Continue reading “What’s on the menu…”