I am so excited to discover that my town has its own version of Moth Radio, the storytelling show.
The group meets at different venues around town. Certain submissions are picked and the people tell their stories.
The theme of the next one is immigration.
This is my pitch. I would love feedback.
My great-great grandfather’s name is Kris Kringle. He immigrated from Denmark in (?)
My mother had a photo of him. He had a long beard. He was wearing a tall top hat. He was surrounded by his twelve children outside of his farmhouse in Denmark.
He fathered his youngest child at some stupidly old age, like 76.
I know nothing of this man except that there was a time Denmark changed its sir name system because there were too many Sorensons and Eriksons. People were told to pick a name. Kris Kringle picked Kringle because they lived on Kringle Creek.
One day I got the big idea to try and find the farmhouse on Google Maps and Earth.
After many hours I found Kringle Creek. Lo and behold there’s an old farmhouse B&B run by Hazel Kringle. I messaged her. Turns out we’re related.
My dream trip is a visit to that B&B. It’s just a hop, skip and a jump from the fjords in Norway.
I’m Kathy. With a K not a C. Sometimes I want to say, “K or C. You pick. You could put a M there and I really wouldn’t care except I am definitely not Mathy in a multiplying fractions kind of way.
My mother says, “I’ll never forget your birth. Goodness, it was terrible.” She says it after my sister gives birth to an eleven pounder born breech and I say, “That’s a whole lot of nope.”
I ask, “How so?”
Mom says, “Something went wrong with the stirrups. That’s all I remember.” Then she laughs nervously.
I think, “You laugh but Miss Possibly Brain Damaged Daughter over here doesn’t think it’s so funny.”
My introduction to my therapist:
“Hi, I’m Kathy. Apparently, something went wrong with the stirrups. Details are sketchy. Also, I used to run behind the Mosquito Truck in a cloud of Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane also known as the endocrine disruptor DDT. Oh and one time I tried riding my bike down the neighbor’s concrete steps. You know what happened? A big ol’ concussion and a visit to the emergency room is what happened. Does this help lay the foundation for why I have lived an uppercase odd existence during my 53 years on the planet?”
For eighteen years I’ve been working as a paralegal for four attorneys who do child abuse work. Unsolicited advice: Don’t do that. One attorney is plenty. None is ultimate. Working for four attorneys means odds are at least half of them are uptight egomaniacs whose head you would not want to be inside. That’s saying a lot because my head is no day in the park. Also, the child abuse gets old after one day. Four thousand six hundred and some days later I’m still doing it. Exhibit A of why I am a crazy person.
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Your pining for the fjords? That’s a great story!
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Thanks, Mike! Oh my god the fjords would be something. That did not go wrong…..
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Love it
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Is it a hop, skip and a jump by sleigh? Awesome history. Hope you get to visit! Mona
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