All I do is giggle when I look at it, and I have not the talent KMoore’s other half, Paul (PMoore…tee he he) has for marrying words with photos. In fact, in 8th grade I applied to be on the yearbook staff but accepted an office aide position instead. I was one of those kids who got to walk the halls and interrupt class to hand out messages from parents and parole officers- my 5 minutes of coolness in the Belton School District. As I was filing papers one day into students’ (top secret) files, I came across my yearbook application complete with the lame photo we were supposed to showcase our skills with. In the top right corner of the paper, scribbled in Mrs. W’s handwriting was simply, “No.”
Failure. My therapist* says to surrender this burden and let people help me. So, I turn to you.
Do you see this hat? Erica made it. There are shoes, too. She made them. There was also a baby quilt she found while thrifting with these sweet girls on them. Erica found it. Erica has my number big time. I cried. My conversation with Curt went something** like this:
[me holding up tear-stained hat and shoes and blanket]
[me holding up card]
Chris and Erica? Cake-topper Chris and Erica?
You love you friends, don’t you, Kate?
[me crumbling into a sobbing mess on the floor]
Well, that’s nice. You wanna go for a walk?
I love you, too.
*I don’t have a real therapist; she’s just my imaginary therapist because I don’t think we could afford the therapy I need…especially after diving into Dutch world where every salad is made with whipped cream and apples.
**conversation not to scale…author’s emotions have been known to affect memory recall