This is a Guest blog from one of my favorite writers (and friends), Ginny Rorby

Ginny in her tomboy cowgirl days (Don’t be fooled; this is still Ginny–witness what she said to the guy who ambled up to her campsite one night: “Whatcha doing in there, honey?” Ginny: “Cleaning my gun.”)

I had a dream early this morning in that hour between when I woke the first time and finally got out of bed some time later.

Lucinda, who was my family’s housekeeper for 18 years, and I were side by side at the kitchen sink in our old house in Winter Park, Florida. The counter was littered with dishes, I guess, though I only remember dark shapes. She was old and the work was piling up. Her head was bent to some task and I noticed how grizzly and white her hair was. I felt bad that she was so old and still slaving away for the $17 a week my mother paid her.

I leaned and kissed the side of her forehead. “Don’t do that, Ginny, don’t ever do that again,” she said. I was stunned and hurt, and she saw that I was, and she put her head against my shoulder and sobbed.

I never gave her tough, miserable life a thought when I might have helped change it in some way.

I only wish she knew how much I regret that.


On the occasion of the 2008 election, I wrote this story for Lucinda, and for myself. It holds a secret I never told a soul. It was entitled A Vote for Lucinda. Of course the paper changed the title, but it’s still about the epiphany that led me forever away from the skewed beliefs of my parents.  St. Pete Times

4 responses »

  1. Kate Erickson


  2. Poignant coming of age story, Ginny, that holds promise for us all when we stand for the belief that we all belong all over the damn bus.

  3. We often say, “if I only knew…” but we did.

  4. What feels like too little is never too late.


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