By age nine, I would delicately,
with my right hand, fold down the sharp fins of a Sunfish.
Why?
So I could use my left hand to insert the rusty pliars into the gasping mouth of my catch to retrieve the swallowed hook.
If I was lucky.
If I wasn’t lucky, I’d stare at my motionless bobber for hours.
*Some backstory: My older brother (third of eight) allowed me to fish with him if I did whatever he said, and didn’t cry. He was SERIOUS about fishing. I had glasses and greasy blonde hair.
**Some backstory about the backstory: My brother was born in September, and I was already a sprouted seed in our Mom’s belly by the next Summer.
I think I’ve used the bobber-watching metaphor before, but it is APT. Everyday, I wait for my agent to tell me to get the rusty pliars.
Why doesn’t he ever tell me to get the rusty pliars??
He just tells me to “hang in there.”
Oh, back to my Mom… She has 22 grandkids. This is her with the latest:
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!
Doesn’t Henry look ashamed?
Eight rejections so far… twelve still unresponsive. But don’t worry about me, I LOVE waiting, and see rejection as an opportunity to grow as a person.
They wouldn’t print it if it wasn’t true.
This card was also on the list, but I refused to pull it because I’m not afraid of her.
BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY, I sent 20 little book samples to 
So now he can go pitch them to 20 publishers.
ALSO, I wrote/designed a new cover for my book… Kara is busily drawing pictures while I bark directions at her. I’m sure she’s already made a voodoo doll of me.
We murdered thousands of ants
before Jen and I had an important meeting to decide which cards should be included in our next release.
What began as an optimistic, joy-filled journey down Minnehaha Creek turned into a somber, personal purgatory.
No, no… it’s not a miracle. Just one woman’s attempt to make the world a better place.
Tickets are available by our back gate and the fight will be held in the driveway.
My life is an endless sacrifice.
And because I need attention, I made this:
See, it’s a profound cultural statement? DO YOU SEE?!
Oh, what do I do after the gong show? I chase and scold the cat.
until it peed and died in my hands.
Settle down. SETTLE DOWN. They’ve led us on before — I’m not going to fashion a wooden stool into a potty chair so that I can sit by the phone day and night.
I also took the time to create this:
So I think that makes us even.
Who would do such a thing?
The hydrangeas are blue enough.
And the dead people are still dead.
PHEW!
