My second daughter, Sarah, got married last weekend in a very small but very emotional ceremony. Only immediate family was invited; even the officiant was a family member, my son. While I have to admit that the way we got to marrying Sarah off was not the smoothest transition in the world, I am happy for her and for her husband, Dan Smith. They are just about perfect for each other. And it’s not about how I feel anyway.
My sister, Karla, helped me get over an ego-blindness about it all. In so many ways, although she is my baby sister, she is an older soul than I.
Suffice it to say that legally, Sarah is my step-daughter, but in my heart she and Dan are as much a part of my family as any natural (or un-natural) relation. I wish long life and long happiness to the new married couple.
I get lost in my passions sometimes. I am ready to tilt at a new windmill every decade (or half-decade) or so. There have been some notable exceptions but they are few.
One exception was poetry. But you might be aware that I broke up with Poetry a couple of years ago. She broke my heart. I don’t wanna talk about it.
I loved stunt kites for a long time too. Still love their lighter than air spirits trapped in heavier than air bones.
I spent a lot of time on motorcycles in my youth and while, today, I am unlikely to find myself on a Hog, a Sportster would be a wonderful diversion in warmer weather.
This falls in the “Lottery-only” category of my life.
But even when I have tried not to be a writer, I still would read like a writer. And complain about writing like a writer. And praise writing like a writer. And in the last several weeks I started a new relationship with the idea of the memoir. Please see that I said “the idea,” not the actual memoir. But I think part of what this little column will be about is prep work for memoir writing. Wanna be in a book? Give me something to remember you by.
