Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Katy is represented by
Greg Johnson at
WordServe Literary
Read more Katy at
LateBoomer.net
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Recent Posts
- Try
- Becoming Brenda Starr
- Off Beat
- Scattered
- That’s It
- So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What?
- The Spoon
- Sciatica
- Sweetheart
- A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose
- However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time
- After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices.
- As with everything in life, balance is key.
- Slow down, you move too fast…
- Yeah, I know. I have issues.
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E me at katy @ ngenius.com
(No Title)
Toward morning, I dreamed of attending a huge party at the home of a lady acquaintance of mine. This lady possesses little, and if she isn't poverty-stricken, she behaves as if she is. Her furnishings could be called shabby-chic, without the chic. Still, the quiet crowd seemed to be enjoying the modest refreshments she had laid out, and chatting among themselves. "She doesn't have a lot to offer," one commented sincerely, "but isn't it nice how she's sacrificed to put this party together?" "I'll bet she gave her last dime to pull it off," the other added, kindly. About then, I needed to use the restroom, and had noticed someone else heading up the stairs to the guest bath. Having frequented this home on many occasions, I knew there was another bathroom in the unfinished basement, and made my way down the stairs. The light is probably burned out, I thought, since no one ever comes down here, but I don't need it anyway. The only room I need is the first one I'll come to. I used the facilities, turned away, and put my foot on the first step before being overcome by curiosity. What else is down here? I wondered. Probably a lifetime's collection of trash in need of a good dumpster… I pulled a frayed string dangling from the ceiling, and was surprised when a bright light instantly illuminated the depths. There, lining both sides of the narrow hall, lay shop after shop of antique stores, all with glass picture windows, and all with padlocks. The hall of shops continued far past where the foundation of the house should have ended, or perhaps the house itself had been built much skimpier than the foundation would have permitted. Suffice it to say, the basement was enormous, and overflowing with fabulous treasures: original Monets and Renoirs, jewels from the Russian czars, antique furniture from England and France, all intertwined with the aged cobwebs of disbelief. My friend imagines her treasures are worth nothing, I thought, while upstairs her guests subsist on leftovers. And the locks on these rooms are not meant to keep the thieves and the curious away. She's actually afraid that if the doors were opened, all her old stuff might fall out and hurt someone. ------------------------------------------------------ Doug just walked by my desk, knowing nothing of my dream, hugged my shoulders and whispered, "You have so much to give…" It was only a dream, I know. But it happened toward morning, just before awakening.
Posted by Katy on 01/03/02 at 04:12 PM
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