|Me & my cutie-pie, a few years back, |
doing one thing I like to do.
(I'm going to tell you some things about myself in this post. But first, a bit about trophies.)
Wouldn't that be something to get a trophy every Tuesday? Oh, you made dinner last night?! Here's your trophy. Look, you showed up for work! Here's your trophy. You didn't run out of gas yesterday?! That's right... here's your trophy.
I'd get a lot of trophies if this were true. Especially for the gas matter. However, I'm not normally the recipient of shiny metal objects perched on wood slabs. (Unless it's a butcher knife jammed in the cutting board.) I don't get trophies like my kids get trophies. I think the fanfare's a bit overdone, especially as it relates to sports. My kids aren't yet in high school and they barely have enough shelf space for all their trophies, medals, and ribbons. A few are hard earned, but some—most—are simply for participating. Interestingly, my kids are as confused as I am about this.
You participated in the pinochle tournament! Here's your trophy.
Huh? But I didn't win. I didn't even place.
Don't sweat the details, kid, just take the trophy.
I never got trophies like that when I was a kid. I know, oh woe is me.
But this isn't Tuesday's Tantrum, this is Tuesday's Trophy. My trophy! And I'm not sweating the small stuff.
Last week, I received my very own special Blogger trophy (prettier than metal and wood)—an award from the very kindhearted Barbara over at Notes from the Second Half. Yes—thank you, Barbara!
Barbara has some very interesting stories, and she's the champion of introducing and welcoming new bloggers to the blogosphere, so make sure you pay her a visit.
Accepting the award means rule compliance, a show-and-tell-and-pass-along-thing, but you know I've a little rebel in me, so those bloggers who receive this award from me are welcome to show-and-tell-and-pass-along as they please.
Thing 1) I'm a middle child. Third in line in a family of six children. Middle sister. There you have it. That should explain a lot of things.
Thing 2) I'm having an affair. (Don't tell my husband.) With Chekhov. You'll understand when you hear why: Not only is he a brilliant doctor and writer, but he is sexy and hunky. (Look at him!)
|Do you detect a hint of Eric Clapton here?|
Thing 3) But, I'm also fickle. So when I've turned his last leaf, crinkled every corner, see that the end is indisputably THE END, you know I'll be moving on... darling Anton.
Thing 4) Many years ago, when I waited tables at a swanky Italian restaurant in New York's South Street Seaport, along lower Manhattan's waterfront, a very kind waiter and actor (they were all actors, except for me) gave me a set of six miniature Mexican warrior dolls, nestled in a woven, oval box. I think he felt sorry for me. I was/am a klutz. I couldn't open a bottle of wine, I fumbled over every plate, couldn't memorize orders, and certainly didn't earn my share of the tips we had to split equally. The worry dolls were good for me. They didn't magically make me a savvy waitress, but they made me feel special. I still have them. I think I lied a wee bit to get the job. Maybe that's why I was so worried.
Thing 5) My hair was kinky back then. In New York. Very kinky.
Thing 6) I listened to a lot of Grace Jones. In New York. She's kinky.
Thing 7) I was engaged back then. In New York. To a man I never married. He was kinky. Too kinky for me.
Thing 8) This is how I have fun with myself. Outside of New York. Just a little kinky.
And who would want an award from klutzy, kinky me?
Friends, I present you with the following "must sees":
Nessa Roo from Words from the Wench. Nessa's confused. And somewhat ordinary—so she claims. However, she's anything but. She's sharp and talented, and cranks out some engaging fiction.
Bth from A Little Light in London. Bth is a young London dreamer, whose visions are dusted with elegance and luminosity.
Billy Pilgrim, child of the universe, from Enjoy the Moment. Because he always makes me laugh. And anyone who goes by the name of Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five protagonist (loosely based on Vonnegut himself) deserves an award. Now, I wonder if Billy is as tall and magnanimous as Slaughterhouse-Five's main soldier?
To whom—the above—I happily bestow The Versatile Blogger Award. Best to all of you. Bravo!
(Do tell us about your trophies!)