sandra gunderson
Bio
I was born and raised in Wisconsin. My greatest joys are my two sons and my three grandchildren, which I cherish. I am prior military, I attend college full time and work full time for the Department of Defense.
Happy reading,
Sandra
Stories (3/0)
Life
As I stand back looking at this woman, I see an undeniably graceful, vivacious beauty. Her shoulder length, dark hair glistens as her light brown eyes sparkle with dark brown specks; there is an amazing gleam from within. Her eyelashes are to die for. With her elegant bone structure and high cheek bones, I know she is a European model. Such an even, smooth ivory skin tone, it looks almost too soft to touch, like that of a porcelain doll. I want to reach out and touch her face, but I dare not, I fear she may break. She is a tall woman, standing at five-foot eleven-inches, and I can see by looking at her structure she is athletic. Everyone else calls her by her given name, Vida, meaning life in Hebrew. I call her mom. She was born February 9, 1939, in Liverpool, England.
By sandra gunderson7 years ago in Families
Found
It was a beautiful August day with the sun shining brightly down on my face with a slight breeze. I could see the flowers bloom in front of my eyes as the butterflies were resting their tired wings upon the delicate flower petals. The birds were chirping a lovely song as they serenaded one another. That is when I first saw her, sitting outside alone, smoking a cigarette, and using her laptop computer. She seemed to be deep in thought, typing away as if it were a marathon. I noticed she was older than your average college student, her short red curly hair framing her freckled face, and her glasses that seemed to suit her. I did not pay her any mind; I was hungry; food was my only concern at the time. A few days had passed and there she was again, sitting in the same spot, still typing away on her laptop. I went into the cafeteria, and when I came out with my tray a fellow-class mate was sitting with her. I stopped and sat down.
By sandra gunderson7 years ago in Humans
Perfection
Perfection is in a world all on its own. There is no perfection, there is only good enough at that moment in time. It cannot be regained or lost as it has passed and cannot be recaptured to find a new. Perfection must be accepted for what it is or was in that moment in time, it was so close to being non-perfection. Step forward, step away from what you thought was but was not. Do not let it draw you into its web of disconcert. Let it entice you to reach for it in all the glory that we all strive to get to, a step better than the step before.
By sandra gunderson7 years ago in Poets