hen I was a child, I lived with my
family in Iceland. It was a delightful,
magical place for a daydreamer like
me. I daydreamed so often that my
teacher repeatedly told me to “pay
attention.” Indeed, I was paying
attention! When the aurora borealis
showed up in the evening sky, I played beneath its spectacle of
color and light. I skipped the cobblestone paths of Reykjavik,
stopping just to peer into the faces of Icelandic villagers. Like a
sponge, I took in the flavors of my surroundings, paying note to
colors, sounds and textures.

We moved to California where my new teacher, Miss Henderson,
set up an easel in the classroom. She encouraged us to paint as
much as we wanted. I stood at the easel more than anyone else.
That’s about all I remember doing besides reading group. In
reading group, I discovered that books opened up whole new
worlds and unique perspectives. I could shrink down to the size of
Stuart Little and view the world as a mouse. I could climb
mountains or travel through time. Reading was much like
daydreaming. I combed the library shelves for fables, science
fiction, childhood stories of famous people, folktales and Greek
myths.

In high school, I took all the visual art and writing classes
possible. Outside of school, I delved into hula, drawing, and
journal-writing. As a proud teen “Aunty,” I doted on my nephew,
Junior, the best way I knew how: I took him to the library. On one
trip, we borrowed the picture book, WHERE THE WILD THINGS
ARE* by Maurice Sendak.  As I read the book to my nephew, the
story came alive. I followed the main character, Max, into a lush,
mystical forest that grew from the middle of his bedroom. Goofy,
gruesome creatures danced to the rhythm and timbre of the
words. I fell in love with picture books that day. My nephew, unfortunately, didn’t share my joy. Junior harbored visions of
romping, stomping, yellow-eyed beasts and couldn’t sleep. (Tip:
*WTWTA is a great book for kids above age three.)

After high school, I moved to Hawai’i, earned a BA in Art at UH
Manoa, worked, married and had a daughter. I had an interest in
creating children’s books, but was always “too busy.” With a young child, working, dancing hula and playing soccer, how could I find the time? A “chance” encounter would change things. At my ten-year high school reunion, I bumped into Belinda, a fellow “class artist” from grade school. Belinda asked what I was up to and I said, “Picture-framing.” She replied, “What in the world are you doing picture-framing?!” Then we talked for hours about art, careers, and dreams.

Shortly after, I signed up for a picture book illustration class. I drew and painted again. Ideas trickled in and inspiration came in waves, between carpools and nap times. I created art for my portfolio. I wrote poetry and short stories. I set out on my path as a writer and illustrator for children’s books.