About Kathi D.

Creative lying about my age

I’m a 30-something-something-something-plus-something who grew up in a family of storytellers. Mom and Dad were Southerners, and there is nothing like a front porch full of Southern men for tall tales. The women could be found in the kitchen, telling their own tales while peeling potatoes or rolling out pie crust.

Doctor, is this normal?

I try to be truthful most of the time, but I can’t help when a story takes on a life of its own and sprouts wings. Sometimes they just get away from me, as hard as I try to hold onto them. I blame the ADD. Rather late in life, I was diagnosed with ADD. It was sort of a slam diagnosis. I halfheartedly asked my doctor if he thought I might have ADD and he nearly fell off his stool as he said something like “No duh!” Well dang. Why did he wait all that time for me to bring it up? I started taking the standard medications, and imagined that I would be Cured Overnight. Well, guess what? There is no cure, there is just management. Some days the management works pretty well, and some days the employees are on strike. It is an interesting life.

The arrival of the chickens

After a lifetime of suburban living, I have decamped to the country and taken up the raising of chickens and vegetables. Despite persistent rumors, it is not true that I am in the Witness Protection Program, or that I am on the lam from John Law. As far as I know.

And then the puppies

When our beloved Sheltie Bronco died in August of 2008, we desperately needed a puppy. After much consideration (ha ha, we don’t do that here) we decided that Bronco’s best friend Bonnie, our elderly Sheltie girl, would be so pestered by a single pup that we should get two, so that they could entertain each other and give her a break.

Now I am continually on Puppy Time, which means I am sleep-deprived and a little more distracted than usual. This could be a problem.