In the early sixties a particular baby was born into turmoil; she weighed in at eight pounds, a good size for starters. The western world was, as it is now, full of hate and riots and bigotry. She was caucasion with a good amount of Irish and Scottish ancestry and would become a freckled faced wee toddler, girl, teenager, young woman and a fighter for the under dogs. She would get older and find herself ready to dive into her own disheveled pain and lose her own balance. She entered life in the midst of “America’s” racial desegregation and when she was not even walking President John F. Kennedy was killed. Doctor Martin Luther King was killed and then a whole slew of non white nameless people who were born into there Mother and Father’s skin would be killed. They were called “Colored”. They were called mean and defacing names her family didn’t allow yet by the time she was five she had picked up on this division, this wasteland of humanity and could feel the sorrow, understand without words the pain that permeated society; she would become full of empathy. In fact, she would feel so very much she would be pulled through life by her emotions and the desire to improve her piece of the puzzle, assist, SAVE and try to connect with every living creature unaware that she was special.