It's curious how we act in moments of personal despair.

His act may start out slow, but it tapers off.

I have times when I despair, and I cry. There are moments when I want to give up. But my husband needs me. So I get up for one more day.

Over and over I marvel at the blessings of my life: Each year has grown better than the last.

In spite of the Depression, or maybe because of it, folks were hungry for a good time, and an evening of dancing seemed a good way to have it.

My accent remained terrible. It was very hard for me to initiate any conversation with someone I didn't know.