Author’s Note

I always figured Author’s Notes were attempts to inject the reader with “secret knowledge” that may not other wise be found in the writing or to apologize for some historical inaccuracy or beg for the forgiveness of anyone the text may resemble. I know there is very slim chance of my work ever resembling an actual person or situation and I don’t flatter myself to think my work would ever be historically significant. I have recently come to appreciate the value of the Author’s Note. I believe every writer, nay, everyone should have one. So here it is, my very own “Author’s Note”.

My first husband’s name was Aaron. The marriage was never consummated as I was only ten years old. I loved him with my whole heart for the better part of ten years. This became the meter against which I gauged all of my other romantic relationships.

I have my father’s eyes. My daughter has my eyes. When ever I look in the mirror, I see them both staring back at me.

I once had a dream that I gave birth to a dead baby. Crying all the while, I performed CPR on the still and helpless body until, exhausted and near death myself, I collapsed. I awoke with a purring cat curled against my chest.

About cheese. American. Only. White on roast beef sandwiches, yellow in eggs. No exceptions.

When I first met Christopher, I didn’t love him. In fact, I was sort of scared.  I think the first thing I said to him was “I like bread” or something insane.  However, I knew I wanted to marry him. Funny how the human heart can fathom what the human brain can never wish to understand.

I am deathly allergic to rabbits.

When someone tells me how I resemble one of my parents, I always enthusiastically reply “Thank You!” as if I could ever be so lucky.

I pretend I’m a Tyrannosaurus Rex when I eat Pringles.

Unless your arms are broken, make your bed when you leave it in the morning.

This is Kelly. He is a Koala Bear. He is slightly over weight. I first met him on my eighth birthday. He has seen me through most of my grade school dilemmas, laughter and tears, adolescent growing pains, graduations, bidding bitter sweet farewells to friends, lovers, grandparents, a couple college dooms, the loss of several beloved pets, the excitement of my marriage and the joy and fears of 79 weeks of pregnancies. He has earned a spot of honor on my bed. I am forty. That stuffed bear brings me no shame.

That scar on my right shoulder is from a third degree chemical burn.

When I was nine, my mother received the movie “The Sound Of Music” with Julie Andrews as a Christmas gift from my grandmother. When I watched it, I couldn’t help but wonder how all those children got those parts. My love of the performing arts and story telling was born.

My favorite thing to shop for is a book. If the book is for myself, I enjoy the anticipation of the journey. If the book is a gift, I smile as I thumb through the text, imagining the thrill the recipient will experience as they touch the very same pages.

I believe if life were a movie, Ted Danson would play me. His characters are always such a great combination of gruff, sweet and playful. Or perhaps James Roday from USA’s “Psych”. His character “Shawn” is reminiscent of my pre-marriage/baby life. Actually, never mind. I think they would both make pretty ugly women. Does anyone know what Natalie Portman is up to these days?

Fleece pajamas out of the dryer = bliss.

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