Even before I learned how to write, I used to pretend my scribbles were stories. My brother’s predictions that scribbling would ruin me forever proved unfounded, depending on how you define “ruin.” I aspire to be the love child of Erma Bombeck and David Sedaris. But I also have a serious bent that sneaks in between the laughs (see my book about my father and his family growing up in Holland during WWII, Jan’s Houseboat Hideaway.) My Dutch relatives used to say my family laughs with one eye and cries with the other. You’ve been warned!