I am Jessica Pierson, and I am a lifelong resident of Oklahoma City. I am deeply flawed, virtually feral, and utterly without credentials. I am told from time to time, however, that this wildness is something of a curiosity, particularly to those whose sensibilities are more refined than my own. As this is a group which generally includes anyone who feels comfortable wearing shoes, it is only to be expected that I have grown to think myself quite interesting.
I am the child of “creative types,” which may explain my peculiarities as much as anything else. My mother is Cheryl Pierson, a tremendously talented writer of westerns, historical romances, and even some paranormal fiction. My father, Gary Pierson, a retired FAA instructor, is likely one of the nation’s most gifted songwriters, but alas, a private man. I am Casey Pierson’s big sister, without a doubt my proudest claim. Casey is a mathematician and a maker of music and musical instruments, an actual Renaissance man. Besides this, there is a special kind of luck that gave me my best friend for a little brother, so I feel a duty to try to return favors to the universe as often as possible. This means that I always leave a penny in the “take-a-penny-leave-a-penny” cup and occasionally pay for someone else’s coffee at Starbucks. It’s the least I can do.
I work in commercial production and assist at an acting academy for kids and teens. The latter is a bit like being captain of the Lost Boys and is, without a doubt, the reason I continue to enjoy immaturity. Fortunately, I work for my very dear friend, a wonderful, patient person from whom I learn constantly. Without her guidance over more than half of my life, I would be very much less capable, less confident, and less compassionate.
Day after day, I’m reminded again and again that there are millions of insights to be gleaned from what is otherwise considered wholly ordinary. “Caution To The Winds” is a blog for the tales of surprises that live in “ordinary” occurrences, and wild truth that lives on the American prairie, an “ordinary” place. It is written by yours truly, a wayward prairie girl. These stories are really impressions drawn from the tiny moments of clarity or passion that come to each of us in the middle of the utterly mundane. The full significance is felt only later, within the context of subsequent experience. They are the first puzzle pieces clicked into place, but the entire picture will still be incomplete at the end of a lifetime or more. They are raw and self-edited, so I’ll ask for your patience. In the meantime, it seems worthwhile to share them, on the off chance that perhaps our tiny stories matter more than we think.