About me — Jenny

The face behind the voice of lady reborn.

photo by author

I am a storyteller by nature — one might say.

This is especially true if one happened to be a classmate of mine in the second grade, circa 1993, out in the “upstate” New York City suburbs.

I was in the second grade, on the cusp of turning 8 years old, when I began cultivating a deep interest in character development — particularly of dead family members of whom I’d never met, and had only seen photos of.

My great grandmother, also named Jenny, was one of these family members. She looked miserable in most of the photographs, especially ones taken in her later years, with not a hint of a smile on her face — though I could tell, even in black and white, that her meticulously applied lipstick complemented her fiery red hair, perfectly coiffed underneath her hat. I could tell by looking at her, and by fingering the elegant trinkets from her vanity that my grandmother had held onto and displayed in her bedroom, that she had a refined taste for elegant things; also, that she smelled really good — this, an inference my mother had confirmed as fact.

Great Grandma Jenny had a pretty tough and interesting life. If anyone in my bloodline would bother trying to communicate from the dead with us living successors, it would surely be her. She knew how to read…