Sunday afternoon drives are still popular. Or everyone in Kingfisher County was on the 81 Highway with someplace to go Sunday. But maybe we all just enjoyed driving without snow, ice, or rain.

Those drives when I was a kid in Oklahoma City included buildings, billboards and, if it was hot, and Daddy just got paid, a trip to Borden’s for ice cream. If Momma was driving, and it was a hot afternoon she’d pull into the A&W root beer stand on Broadway and East 10th St.

Then by the time Bill and I were married in 1971 we’d drive around and look at the fancy homes in Nichols Hills. I’d always want us to drive west on N. Penn because my dream house was on a corner there. It had trees in the front, and a detached mother-in-law suite where I dreamed of writing The Great American Novel.

I worked at the Press Association on Lincoln Blvd. near the state capitol. My writing was first confined to a column and a few news stories in OPA’s monthly newspaper where I’d been hired as a newly-wed in 1962 as a receptionist to answer phones, greet visitors, type letters and judges’ comments in our newspaper contest.

I had a baby boy in 1965, and no time to write The Great American Novel.

Then I moved into an office next to our assistant manager, so I took his dictation, proofed the newspaper that he edited, wrote minutes of committee meetings, then Idiot Books (introductions and speeches) for presidents/chairmen to give at conventions.

Since I was writing all those introductions I soon contacted/booked speakers and set up the programs for conventions and workshops, then worked with J-school professors to stage week-long short courses.

Still no novel, but remarried in 1971.

Unsure when I became in charge of the yearly newspaper contest, but we had more than 100 newspapers enter one or more of 10 events. We mailed the entries to out-of-state judges until someone got the bright idea to have a one-day judging in their home state. That meant I went to Kansas, Missouri, Texas, Arkansas, Colorado, New Mexico, and I think my last one was Minnesota. Maybe Wisconsin. It was some place cold.

No #$ % & novel!

When cold type (computers) came in I was moved into other offices so we’d have room for a big blue Compugraphic (keyboard) machine, a table for the chemicals to print out copy, a light/layout table, and a couple of desks for me, and an assistant the boss hired for me.

By then I was responsible for four employees, we’d sold my house in OKC, and moved into an apartment in Edmond until we could find a house there.

Then in December, 1977 my mother-in-law came to live with us.

Ah! That’s what started me on this long, windy story: the mother-in-law suite in that dream house.

My MIL was in OKC for a press meeting, and fell. She broke her hip, was in the hospital, and luckily we had a spare bedroom in our apartment. Jean’s husband, Art, had died in July that year, and Bill ended up firing the editor his mother had hired.

Bill was on the phone one night with a prospective editor, said what he’d pay him, and when Bill hung up I said, “I’d work for that.”

So I went to Hennessey twice a week for two months, and was hooked, even though I had to type my copy on a manual typewriter.

I started full-time at The Hennessey Clipper in June, 1978, and we published the paper until Jan. 1, 2014. I continued to work for the new owners until March, 2018.

I’ve had time to write The Great American Novel during COVID, and again during the last snow storm. I thought I’d start it when I got home Sunday, but got distracted when I saw the beautiful, green, winter wheat fields.

Maybe I’ll start it tomorrow.