A short tale, for my father who told us stories at bedtime
Once upon a time there was a little red-haired girl. She was very shy and read all the time, traveling inside stories and ideas.
Her dad was with GE, and they moved every few years all over the world. So she traveled in person too. She made lots of things, mostly small so they didn’t get lost during a move.
When she was six, she and her sister rode a camel out to the Great Pyramid. She climbed up inside to see the sarcophagus.
That was in Egypt.
When she was eight, she asked her mother to make her into a butterfly for Halloween.
That was in Manila.
When she was ten, she’d flown around the world three times, and tried to run away from home. That was in Maryland. When she was thirteen, a friend gave her polymer clay, which made creating things easier.
That was in Paris.
When she was eighteen she wanted to be a geologist, an engineer, a sculptor, a musician, a linguist, a mystic. That was Northampton. 
Things happened, she grew up, she kept traveling, exploring, reading and making things. She invented what she needed. She learned how to see patterns and interpret her senses. Now she lives in Santa Fe, which often feels like a small town in a foreign country. Her art translates her inner and outer voyages into a meaningful life. She travels regularly and still reads a lot, but she’s less shy.