"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.