“Sure, I like cheeseburgers,” the random hostess replied to my mother, smiling, as my mom exited the breakfast bar. .
This might have seemed the perfect, polite response to an inquiry if my mother had actually asked about her menu-choice preferences, but that wasn’t the case
In my college years I met a wonderful man. We’ll call him James.
He struggled with drinking, as most college boys do, but he exemplified the smartest and sexiest man I’d ever known. My 20-something self wanted to marry him in spite of his drawbacks.
My mother and grandmother supported the coupling but for different reasons. For my mother, I feel it was a bit of a check mark – yes, I’ll finally get my youngest daughter married. For my grandmother it reflected a more romantic and basic idea. Continue reading
“The best thing that WAGM-TV can do for business news is get Kim off the air,” one viewer emailed. “Not only does she look like a drug addict, she constantly looks like the camera is above her head.”
That encapsulates my first TV hate mail. Continue reading
My mother once said: “Kim, you can’t do everything yourself.”
I’m pretty sure she declared that when I was atop a ladder, cursing, as I attempted to replace some outdoor lighting at her own house.
Continue reading
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Drug addict.
Drug addict, who?
Cooties, schmooties. From birth, I thought boys were fantastic!
To my four-year-old girl friends who thought otherwise…well, I don’t understand your reluctance. Boys were awesome! (Unless you were gay. Then I completely understand, though I didn’t at the time.)
Peter was my first boyfriend. It was a pre-school kind of infatuation – the kind most would quickly dismiss. But not I.
He was the Goldar to my Silvar (a bad but popular 1970s’ reference to Space Giants).
There’s a reason I rarely write fiction. I struggle with “keeping it real” – the advice my middle-school teacher gave me years ago.
“Your ending seems a bit far-fetched,” she wrote in the margin. “Good fiction should be grounded in reality.”
Little did she know that my story was based on real life. I’d just tweaked the names, the setting and added a detail or two.
My recent trip overseas reminded me of how life can be stranger than fiction.
Last night I got what I’ll call an unexpected (and unwanted) delivery. Working late at home on a Friday night, tired and famished, I ordered in.
When my doorbell rang, my stomach greeted the driver with a happy growl and somersaulted over the sweet, savory smell. Yum!
Then I opened the box. There, atop my sandwich, appeared two fliers.
Ok. True confessions time. My motivation for creating this blog comes from the fact that I can be a slacker (not to be confused with being lazy, which I’m not…most days).
But I am undisciplined, sometimes, even about things that I profess to love. In this case, writing.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to “be a writer.” That began in 1st grade with my first, simple, published work, “All about Spring.”
Awkward Laughter 