"Borderline sane, a little bit crazy, clinically approved
and kitchen tested."
Karen was probably
born 973 years ago, but came into this world sometime in the twentieth century
amidst fields of soybeans. She is in
complete denial of having been raised in the Midwest and to this very day still
believes she is from the Eastern Roman Empire.
At birth, she was
very young and completely sane. In her
11th month of life she rolled off a coffee table in her parent’s
living room and onto a hard wood floor. It
has never been determined whether this was an act of defiance or
stupidity. Regardless, she hit the
ground running and headed straight for crazy.
She started writing
at a very early age, when at around two, she wrote her first masterpiece on her
mother’s kitchen wall with a crayon.
Soon after, her second, and most important work, was created with a
permanent marker on the hood of her dad’s ’55 Chevy 2 door hardtop.
At their wits end
with what to do about Karen, her parents decided to send her off to school in
Dublin. There she learned about
shamrocks and leprechauns and drinking Irish beer at a place called the Bogey
Inn. And she studied French.
When she reached
the age of 20, she relocated to Columbus, Ohio, in order to be near the Ohio
State University. She was an obsessive
student, and majored in every country rock band that happened to be on the
campus bar scene.
Quite by accident,
Karen met the wrong guy and they wound up living on the Funny Farm. One day while looking for a needle in a
haystack, she discovered Farmer Wrong mooing around with a tall blond cow. After
some thoughtful words of literary wisdom on her closet walls, she decided to
disillusion him. She bid him farewell
and left him sitting on his tractor in the middle of his alfalfa field.
Jumping back into
society feet first, she returned to doing what she had been educated for at
OSU. She took up following bands around and
before long, she was traveling the country with a well-known country singer. They hit Nashville with bells on, recorded a
few songs, then rolled out of town on well worn tires of an old beat-up Dodge
van, charming crowds everywhere they broke down landed.
She and her guitar
picker got married and went to live up in the high country where their life was
filled with many creative adventures. It
was a life filled with never ending solar energy, lots of music and good friends,
a few rattlesnakes, breathtaking sunsets and monsoon rains. It was a life in
which they found themselves in constant search of that lost Dunlop .60mm guitar pick.
In this
mountainous paradise, Karen wrote her stories beneath the dancing shadows of diesel
fueled oil lamps, the old fashioned way, with pen and paper. Over time, however, a computer arrived
bringing with it electricity and a phone line, the internet and email and
indoor plumbing. She soon became an
addict of this electronic device and mastered the art of spider solitaire.
After about 23,471
digital card games, out of fear of becoming completely normal, she decided to
became a mother. Twice. In a row.
After giving birth
to her children, she experienced something magical that turned her into a
Goddess. Perfect in every way, the ground
underneath her every step was worshiped and her beauty was matched by no other
woman. Alas, her children got a little
older and suddenly Karen was once again seen as a mere mortal.
Karen feels
passionately about having taught her kids everything at home, like how to read
and write and fetch slippers, thus has never seen a need to send them to
school. Currently, she is teaching them
how to fly, so that one day, they can leave the nest as happy and well adjusted
kids to start dysfunctional families of their own.
Karen’s Blog is
her way of practicing her writing and she intends to keep doing it until she
gets it right.
Incidentally, there
is no coffee table in her living room, but there has been an occasional
motorcycle.
