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It’s been a “who’s on first” sort of week.

Though to play it straight, most everyone who loves me knows, without a shadow of a doubt, WHO has been at the top of my list these last seven days.  So the question of the hour — the one that has me juggling  all sorts of puzzle pieces that may have come out of more than one box — is who the heck has been on second, third and home base?

While laying in bed this morning I composed an entire post on this topic in my head.  The flavor of it reminded me of that Faulkner stream of consciousness piece I hated and never finished:  “The Sound and the Fury.”  Forget the story, the title alone should give  one pause — though, in this case, it doesn’t.

My imaginary musings went like this:  Paint Sunday morning birthday party Sunday night Karson will be seven; cold calling Daddy’s back-east family who wouldn’t know me from Eve all Monday but for tending a few EBAY bids and attending Kara’s second baby shower held after-school — while sitting in a kindergarten chair, I won one, lost the other. Score: 1 vintage Pop-Kola advertising sign and 1 photo of  Great-grandmother Victoria, who deserves a story all her own.

Wednesday I was writing a letter to Aunt Carol about all I had earned from the cold call cousins back east before flying to my sister’s place in Shawnee and those three loose ends which needed tying while Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday I spent up on my tip toes and down on my knees at  ‘First’ except for that quick time-out in the dugout for a spiritual direction session that left me with good food for thought which stills needs to be chewed.  That I just described the results of my spiritual direction session like a Happy Meal received through a McDonald’s drive-in window should give me pause.   But in this case, it doesn’t.

Friday I arrived home to the other EBAY prize I won and a piece of mail holding even greater prizes — photos of my grandfather’s sister Anna and her husband and their young family and a jewel of a letter from my 85 year-old second cousin John who now knows me from Eve.  Score:  One Pop-Kola bottle, from the very company my great-great uncle once owned and four old family photos I am thrilled to call my own.

Later this morning I’ll be back on First, which again, is a lovely story all its own that has much to do with that Suessian-flavored poem I cooked up a few weeks ago with son Kyle who played sous-chef which daughter Kate later stuffed into invitations for daughter Kara’s third and final baby shower next Sunday.

Whew!  So a week from now, I hope to be resting on my laurels.   We should find Kara’s home decorated for Christmas.  And playing off the tinsel and lights and the mystery of not knowing WHO this new grandchild will be — a little Cindy Lu or a boy like Jo-Jo Who — we are throwing a baby shower by the tree. Of course, we christened it Who-ville.

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