About . . . Debbe’s Strange ramblings

Today I am trying out new titles for my bio . . . or an obituary and folks who know me understand perfectly that I couldn’t possibly have the standard newspaper job that is a litany of genealogy connections.  Nope, I would be far happier with a list of thoughts and ramblings that offer my unique perspective of the world.

So, for those titles, I suggest:

1. Dang, and I thought I was supposed to be an only child . . . what were they thinking?

2. I waited for nine months to see my new living quarters and this is the best you could come up with?

3. Hey, Mr. Stork, yohoo, are you sure you let me go at the right place?  Absolutely certain?

Growing up on a farm in the middle of Nowhere, Pennsylvania I didn’t exactly have a gang of playmates that I could interact with on a daily basis.  Instead, I had six brothers and sisters and a strict, slightly dysfunctional family unit.  I learned quickly that I had to be manipulative if I wanted to stay out of trouble and if I wanted playmates that weren’t ten years older than myself or one like me in any way, I had to imagine them.  So, imagine I did.

Okay, so there’s the start of creating playmates and living pretty much in a fantasy world of my own creation.  But later on in life, things got tough so I had to come up with Debbe’s coping mechanisms that I developed over the last few years.  First, meet Sally Younger . . .  Sally isn’t exactly a superhero but her abilities are not of this mundane world either.  She is my alter ego and each time the world hands me grief, she makes me younger.  What a great deal is that, I ask?  Hey, bring it on stupid banks and unreliable friends, and the back-stabbing general public . . . I really and truly want to be thirty again!  Now, if that mirror of mine would simply stop showing Grizzard Glower the Witch’s sagging face every morning instead of my young and gorgeous one, I would be simply delighted!

My second coping mechanism, Eraserman, came into being only recently.  I won’t give you the background there . . . too sad.  But he is the one who erases heartbreaking events so I don’t have to dwell on them.  A  funeral . . . just bend that head of yours over here dude and erase it.  Atta boy.  Sharp and to the point this character is and I cannot wait until you meet him.  Actually no, now that I stop to think about it.  I’m rather hoping that this one stays in the closet . . . or my desk drawer because that would mean life is going just swell.

Okay, so now you are beginning to understand why I like creating characters and sometimes I think it is becoming entirely too crowded around here.  Can’t wait until you meet the rest of the gang.

Until next time . . . to the teapots, please.