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The Book Essayist and non-fiction writer Jeffe Kennedy is pleased to bring you her latest work, "Wyoming Trucks, True Love, and the Weather Channel This collection of essays will immerse you in the lifestyle that is Wyoming. read excerpts buy the book Acclaim "Her insights tell us a lot about the way lives enhanced by real convictions are formed". ~Vicki Lindner, author of "Outlaw Games" "She is a very talented nonfiction writer... She writes vividly and with great clarity." ~Lee Gutkind, author of the new book "Forever Fat" This is a series of essays about collisions with the world. My stats make me a fence-sitter: Post-Baby-Boomer, Pre-Generation-X. I saw the first episode of Sesame Street when I was four, but live in a house without television. I grew up in a city in the West that is no longer considered part of the real West. I live in a state where a square mile holds only one person, only one person represents us to Congress and everyone lives in a one-horse town. I have the hat, the boots, can ride and brand, but a muscular DSL line is my usual steed, carrying me to my virtual office as an environmental consultant. I see with the eye of a biologist and my blood runs with dreams of Celtic poets These stories are an array of life. To begin and in some ways forever, I'm only my mother's daughter. From the seminal story of my father's death and how that shaped us, to the wedding portraits of my mother and aunts gazing on my unmarried life, and finishing with my grandmother's final dementia and our own relentless steps towards it. I became a girl with a series of quirky and traitorous friends, the feminist adolescent ashamed to do well in Home Ec, and the light-haired Westerner attending college with dark and dramatic Easterners. The path of a scientist took me to a desert stream destroyed by mining and rebuilt by hand, taught me how wind is like water, and how to accept the deaths of the small creatures in the world. I met the man, learned to drive his truck, love his children and fire his guns. The world continues to catch me, with the chaos of the night of the millennium, my desperate trip home in a stolen car after September 11, and the perils of icy highways and scientific rational thought. These essays weep and laugh for me. They tell the only tale I know. In the silence of our skulls, we can't really understand how someone else experiences the world. But we can send out messages. These are mine.