May 27, 2017


I’m an original. I love that about myself.
It’s possible that someone has the same name and initials as I do. But, I wasn’t named after anyone. When my parents came up with my name, they had no ideal in mind. Just me.
It’s important to me. Because I’ve had people assume many things about me based on my height or my upbringing or my preferences.
Sometimes they are right. Those are the people who choose to know me and know me well. They range from my college roommates to my literary book club to my coffee mates to the local baristas that make my favorite coffee every day. They include my husband who told me just today he loves the crazy that I am. Being understood by them is like the enduring hug of my three boys–the ones they give to me and to each other.
Occasionally someone reads me wrong. That’s a choice, too. And it’s a bad one. Because the original intent of my life story is meant, above all, to be readable. If something has been lost in the translation, why not ask? It might be amazing what is discovered about this original article.

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