Last week, in between bites of chicken casserole, my husband shot a coyote off our deck. A quick glance out the window as the sun was setting sent him flying from his seat muttering and cussing as he ran to the back of the house to retrieve his gun.
My little sister has hair like mine. We sort of walk the same, explaining the way we see the world with our arms flailing toward the sky, our way of putting the exclamation point at the end of our sentences.
My name is Jessica Blain Veeder Scofield.
I know it’s a lot. A lot of syllables and a lot to explain when I’m signing up to renew my driver’s license, booking a flight or signing my life away on a bank loan.
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