Once upon a long ago, in a land far far away (although this land was closer to some than others geographically speaking), a boy child was born. There was no star shining in the east, no wise men bearing gifts, no shepherds tending their flocks...although history records that bombs had exploded a few months prior to the birthing.
He grew up as boys do; doing boyish things until one day a deep sadness came into his life. Time went by until he happened upon a wooden thing, with strings stretched tight...he found if he plucked at the strings that the hole in his heart, etched by sadness, was filled with bits of joy. He discovered that if he sang to the sound of the plucked strings, his joy was increased.
So he plucked and sang, until he happened upon some other boys that enjoyed plucking and singing. They wrote their own songs to sing and pluck. The boys became four. They plucked and sang, picked and strummed; they tickled ivories and drummed a drum. Others heard their song and listened, and they too felt joy and hummed along, tapped their feet, danced about and jiggled a bit.
Time went by and the boys became men. They sang of love and joy to the world. But the world was unaware of the discontent that was growing between them. The time had come for them to go their separate ways.
A deep sadness once again filled the heart of the young man, and even the plucking of strings and tickling of ivories could not cause his spirit to soar. He had no one to share his love of song with, until one day a pretty Linda bird crossed his path. Together they became the singer and the song. They plucked and sang, picked and strummed, tickled ivories and drummed a drum. And the people heard and listened, humming along, tapping their feet, dancing about and jiggling a bit.
He became a shepherd, tending flocks of sheep and children; he became a wise man, knowing that in the end only love remains, stars shone bright in calico skies and the only bombs that exploded were the fireworks at his songfests.
"Terry has been doodling since she could hold a pencil and make strange marks on paper," according to her mom. Terese Beaman only remembers being inspired to write since she was in 4th grade. Since that time her writing has been confined to penning technical training manuals for opticians (which won't win Pulitzers but are a big hit among her peers) and scribbling in her private journals, except for writing during odd moments and meeting with kindred spirits who continue to encourage her.
Terry resides in Michigan with her husband of 22 years and has two children. She is employed by a major optical corporation and is a dispensing optician, manager, and technical trainer. When not working or writing she enjoys spending time with her family, cooking, reading, quilting, playing piano/guitar, and listening to music. Terry is also involved in helping to educate and further awareness in organ donation, particularly that of kidney donation. In 1997 she donated a kidney to her mother. The kidneys are named Bip and Bop mom has Bop.
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