Who Am I?

I ask myself that question a lot. Who am I? What am I? What’s my purpose? I guess we all ask ourselves that question. Some people define themselves by what they do. Others define themselves by what they own. Still others define themselves by what they surround themselves with. I’ll define myself by what I love.

I love my family–my husband, Peter, and my kids, Ian and Shayla. Sometimes I’m selfish and sometimes I don’t give myself over to them like a good Supermom should, but I love them. I just happen to know that I’m a better wife and mother when I have my alone time.

I love being alone. Nothing makes me more content than curling up in bed on a lazy afternoon beneath the cool breeze of an open window with a good book in my hands. And as you may surmise from that, I love to read.

And I love to write, a natural extension of reading. Over the past few years I’ve lost my urge to write fiction, but I think I’m finding it again. Once upon a time a short story I sold to a now-defunct online lit journal called Conversely caught the eye of an agent with the William Morris Agency. (Yes, that William Morris Agency.) He was looking for a novel, and since I didn’t have one written he told me to get back to him when I did. That was at least 6 years ago. Hopefully I’ll write something someday that will attract another agent.

I love to play music. I’ve played keyboard instruments since I was 5 years old. I play primarily by ear, although I can read music to a certain degree. When I was in kindergarten my mother received a Magnus chord organ for Christmas. I played it constantly, figuring out songs and the chords that matched them with relative ease. I started out with Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and moved right along to The Entertainer (The Sting was a popular movie at the time, and that was its theme song). I was proud of myself and decided I would demonstrate my skills in the all-school talent show. About that time my great-grandmother, who always meant well but, out of some sense of German propriety, always managed to say the wrong things, told me that I “mustn’t make a fool of myself.” I think that kick-started my insecurity about music. The tales of my musical woes are epic. I’ll save them for another time.

I love my greyhounds. We have two beautiful, soulful dogs–Quin, the goofball, and Ella, the skittish princess. They never fail to make me laugh, sigh, and cry. I imagine you’ll find a good amount of greyhound chatter amongst these virtual pages. You’d also find hair on my furniture if you visited my house. Yep, I’ve got dogs. And a cat.

I love gardening. I’m a complete garden newb, but I love it nonetheless. Planting something and then watching it poke through the soil, grow, and then bloom fascinates me. I tend to get lazy about my gardening by fall, but I can usually tidy things up come springtime when I’ve got plenty of enthusiasm.

I love a million things. I’ve tried a million things, from jewelry-making to baking to digital painting to reading tarot. I am a Jill of All Trades, and perhaps a master of none. I bristle when someone else talks about their talent as a seamstress or a chef or a carpenter. I want to do it all. And I want a clean house, for chrissakes. (I’ll never have that…at least not for any length of time.) I want I want I want. I need. I need too much.

I’m a perfectionist. I often don’t like myself a whole lot. Sometimes I like myself more than I deserve.

And that’s me–the Reader’s Digest Condensed version. The rest I imagine you’ll discover as you wander these pages. Assuming you do wander these pages, of course. Welcome to them. Welcome to me.