Sometimes I wish I were a Weeble. That toy that can never completely fall over.

Yesterday, I had some setbacks, nothing I’ll bore you with here, but let’s just say I had some expectations and they were completely obliterated.

I don’t always bounce back easily from deflating events. But I’m doing okay today despite the occasional flicker of poor-poor-pitiful-me.

Tomorrow’s guest blogger will be a breath of fresh air and a reminder to me and hopefully to all of you, why we get out of bed every day. So I’m looking forward to introducing you to him. Many of you may know him already but I couldn’t be more excited that he’s actually taking a few minutes to stop by my little blog.

So that’s something to be happy about.

When the Weeble thought came to mind today, I remembered that about a year ago, I wrote an essay sharing my joy and love for the Weeble, and you’re likely to see that essay as part of a bigger collection in a book someday. That’s the plan anyway. But why the hell don’t I just run that essay right here, right now? Seems appropriate enough. Occasion almost calls for it.

And here’s an even more bizarre offering. You can also hear me read this essay by clicking here and listening to it read aloud on AudioBoo. (If you have any difficulty listening in Internet Explorer, you should find it works well in Mozilla Firefox.)

So pick your format. Either way, I hope you enjoy it, get a chuckle, think a bit and go on merrily with your day. And if you, too, are bouncing back, well, good luck, channeling your inner Weeble, too.

Happy reading!


Remember Weebles? They were these little two-inch high encased pear-shaped figures with no appendages whatsoever covered in a shiny plastic encasement and when you thumped them, they would bob to the side but never completely fall over. As I’ve gotten older, my shape has gotten progressively more and more WEEBLE-like. But best of all, WEEBLES were so tough and indestructible that they had their own little jingle. (Doesn’t everything that really matters?)


“WEEBLES wobble, but they don’t fall down…”


I remember singing along to it as a kid and thinking to myself, how cool would that be. No matter how powerful a gust of wind, how torrential a downpour, how mighty a wallop to the jaw, wouldn’t it be fantastic to have that ability to simply POP back up again with resilience, confidence and buoyancy?


We’re all a bit Weeble, aren’t we? Some of us may carry an extra long strand of the chromosome. Bouncing back: it’s an art form. Remember Nancy Kerrigan? Clearly the American Olympic Silver Medalist ice skater was equipped with her own WEEBLE DNA. She recovered and even prevailed following the wrath of Tonya Harding’s slugfest in Harding’s own bizarre and ultimately unsuccessful attempt to bridge the World Wresting Federation and professional figure skating by taking a hard whack at Kerrigan’s leg (you youngsters can look it up on Wikipedia).


While I have no bone-crunching personal attacks in my own history, I can point to plenty of occasions where it would have been really easy to channel my inner Fisher Price Little Person, succumb to the emptiness running through my core and topple over with one swift swat. But nope, I embraced my WEEBLE and the pain and lessons that tango with bad decisions about men, money, jobs and apartments, and prepared for that sideways dip, knowing that someday, the horizon would be a stationary, solid straight line again, once this annoying, gag-inducing sway back and forth finally came to an end.


I miss WEEBLES. Playing with them, I mean, which occasionally involved positioning them in death-defying, dangerous scenarios to see just how far I could go with testing that wobbling tenacity. Sure, WEEBLES are still around but how often have you seen a 42-year-old woman pull out her water bottle, laptop, Bluetooth and WEEBLES village at the table at Panera? Besides, they don’t really look and feel like the ones I remembered as a kid when Playskool first launched them in the early ‘70s. If you sneak off on your lunch break to the nearest Toys R Us, you’re bound to find them. That’s more than I can say for most of the things I loved and adored as a kid. Like so many things from my childhood, I have watched old playtime friends become extinct as children of later generations find other ways – often much more expensive ways – to entertain themselves. My play didn’t require a web domain, wireless network, password or credit card to initiate; just a little free time (another somewhat extinct commodity for 21st century tikes), some imagination and freedom to roam and play independently.


I remember as a child wondering: when will I finally “feel” like an adult, when would I just know the answer to…everything, whatever question that came up? So many topics seemed too complex to understand, so many processes looked too complicated to carry out. Surely, someday it will all make sense, I thought to myself as I pretend-drove from the backseat while my dad manned the real steering wheel. Everything was so much simpler in my pretend world where I drove everywhere (and quite well, I might add), bought and possessed anything I could possibly want (I just had to plant the picture in my brain and voila – instant ownership!) And best of all, I lived in a world where I could be a songwriter-rock star Monday, a famous actress or TV reporter on Wednesday, and by Friday afternoon, a teacher presenting my elaborately planned lessons on general psychology, English composition, basic math, or whatever other subjects I could expound on from the vast intellectual universe that was my bedroom bookcase – maybe letters F-G-H in Funk & Wagnall’s? And who was fortunate enough to fill my classroom? Why, a lumpy pile of corralled stuffed animals who astutely watched from the bed with fascination, reverence and silence, that’s who.


When could I just stop all of this pretending and embark on the real adventures, I frequently wondered. And you know what happened? I found out, but without any warning whatsoever.


Somewhere along the way, life stumbled into the picture and I went from playing housekeeper to actually becoming housekeeper (on those rare occasions when I actually keep house).


Somewhere along the way, my imaginary boyfriend who always sat beside me while I pretend-drove went from becoming my pretend fiancé and pretend husband to a real husband, and a really bad one at that. (The first one, that is. The second one thankfully turned out to be a keeper.)


Somewhere along the way, I went from a child to a student to an employee to a spouse and ohmigod, to a grown up. Too bad I didn’t reach the grown-up stage before first becoming an employee and spouse. I could have saved myself a tremendous amount of heartache and disappointment during those early years.


But much like information (and some fast food), life doesn’t always arrive in the most convenient order. Some unexpectedly become parents before graduates; others, soldiers before skilled career professionals; and still others, believers before inquirers or learned students. Sometimes the landscape looks an awful lot like one of those big Jumbo Pad Search-A-Word puzzles. There may be a word straight across here, and up and down over there, but to find the other word, you’ve got to look diagonally and this one is so tucked away in the corner, you probably won’t even find it. And that other one? Forget it. It’s going backward instead of forward. Much of the time, you might not even know what you’re looking for until after it’s been here and gone.


So when does that moment arrive when truth shines so brightly it makes your eyes water, and decisions no longer seem like obstacle courses to navigate while your ankles are tied up for a three-legged race?


I’m still waiting, but I won’t sit quietly.



CHRIS’S CORNER Welcomes Guest Blogger Kim Jorgensen Gane: The Judy Blume Project (Part 2)

Yesterday, I handed the reins of my blog over to blogger and writer Dana Talusani as part of my Friday guest blogger feature CHRIS’S CORNER. She and her colleague Kim Jorgensen Gane have launched an ambitious endeavor to capture the widespread love and adoration of female readers everywhere across generations for the soothing words and life lessons so gently and thoughtfully doled out by young adult author Judy Blume. Their plan to collect this positive feedback and put it into a lovingly wrapped anthology of heartfelt gratitude is called The Judy Blume Project.

In Part 1, Dana talked about what led to the evolution of the Project. Today in part 2 of this week’s guest blog, Kim picks up with the story and shares what kind of support and feedback have been received so far and how readers can potentially participate in the special anthology tribute.

You can also follow Kim on Twitter here.



It took six days. And the Judy Blume Project was born, and we’ve had some wonderful support from people like Chris, in offering us this opportunity to be guests on her blog and wax poetic about our delicious collaboration.  We had a fantastic break from editor, Heather Clisby, of @BlogHerLife with the recent feature of Kim’s post on the CALL FOR SUBMISSION. 

And why has our little #JudyBlumeProject resonated with people?  Because Judy Blume has impacted the lives of so many angst-ridden tween and teenage souls out there, and the soul never forgets.

We remember how Judy helped us deal with puberty and confusion in ways that made us feel like we were neither crazy nor abnormal.  We vividly remember that Judy helped us understand our raging hormones, first love, how fleeting it is and the fact that it was perfectly reasonable for that to be the case, and what to expect when “Ralph” made his first appearance.  Judy helped some readers deal with the loss of someone close and very special to them, and how many different emotions are awakened and that those feelings are perfectly acceptable.

Most importantly, we remember Judy’s unfailing honesty in the face of just about any experience, and the fact that she didn’t talk to us like we were kids.  Like the favorite aunt that slips you Boones Farm Strawberry Hill for the first time, and holds your hair when your puke smells of the putridly sweet stuff, Judy Blume listened and was there any time you could smuggle a flashlight beneath the covers—honesty without the side of judgment.

Chances are if you’re reading this, you feel the same way.  There is no wrong answer, there is nothing too poignant or too horrific or too funny to share with us about your memories of the works of Judy Blume, and how they impacted you, rescued you, saved your sanity, or made you laugh.

So here’s what you need to do:

1. Write the damn thing! (Around 500 words, but we’re not picky.)

2. Grab our cute little badge from Dana (source code is listed below this #2 entry), apply that and the links to either or both Kim’s or Dana’s CALL FOR SUBMISSION posts (this is so that all posts are cohesive and recognizable, and of course so that your friends and followers can find us and participate as well—the more the merrier!).

center><a href=”http://thekitchwitch.com/2013/03/the-judy-blume-project-update/“><img border=”0″ src=”http://thekitchwitch.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/blume-button.jpg“/></a></center>

3. Post it to your blog (if you have one, if you don’t, email it to either Kim or to Dana).

4. Post the link for YOUR #JudyBlumeProject blog post/submission to OUR Facebook page.

5. Tweet, retweet and promote the crap out of it on Facebook, too (using the #JudyBlumeProject hash tag, @thekitchwitch and @KimJGaneWCPosse—we want to TREND on Twitter), and implore your followers and friends to join in the fun. Persuade them that they do NOT have to be a writer to participate! They need only have a vivid memory of and love for Judy.

6. SUBMISSIONS are OPEN THROUGH THE END OF JUNE 2013…but please don’t make us wait that long!

7. Selected submissions may be subject to light editing, and participants can expect to be contacted sometime in July as to whether their piece will be included in the finished anthology. For some, this could be a first official author credit!


CHRIS’S CORNER Welcomes Guest Blogger Dana Talusani: The Judy Blume Project (Part 1)

Last week, I launched a new #FollowFriday-inspired feature called CHRIS’S CORNER. Every Friday, I ceremoniously hand over control of my blog to a special guest whom I feel has a message or expertise of interest to my readers and blog subscribers. In the inaugural edition, author and blogger Carrie Bailey of Peevish Penman introduced herself and shared wonderful advice on what to expect if given the responsibility of being a guest blogger. Seemed an appropriate enough topic, and one met with enthusiasm from readers.

Today, I’m excited to touch upon a very different subject— the impact and legacy that one woman’s work can have on generation after generation of women of all ages, ethnicities, social backgrounds and geographic locations. (No, this blog is not about E.L. James.) Her name is Judy Blume and for most women ages 18 to 50, she has served in any number of prestigious roles, from second mama or big sis to guide, counselor or friend. Her books have reached many of us at a time when trying to understand what was going on within our minds, our hearts and especially our bodies was far more difficult to comprehend than any subject in grade school.

I recently came upon two thoughtful and witty writers who learned of just how far-reaching Blume’s impact has extended and an intriguing and global endeavor they’ve taken on to capture that impact in one loving, affectionate anthology, a love letter of sorts, to an author who has left an indelible impression.

It’s called The Judy Blume Project, and the women behind it are bloggers and writers Dana Talusani and Kim Jorgensen Gane. I even blogged about my discovery of the project earlier in the year. I asked them if they would share the story of how the project evolved and what my friends here reading this blog can possibly do to take part, should they feel a special kinship with Ms. Blume and her legion of fans worldwide.

Here in Part 1, Dana shares the impetus behind the Project. Tomorrow, Kim will share in Part 2 exactly what you can do for a potential opportunity to participate.

You can also follow Dana on Twitter here.



On a warm evening last September, I failed my ten-year old daughter.

Don’t get me wrong—I’ve made mistakes a-plenty since the day she was born—but somehow it always shocks me, this coming up short.

I should have been more present, more prepared. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t prepared on the morning when she shyly asked me to shave her underarms. I wasn’t prepared to discover that there was hair sprouting in other places, too. I wasn’t prepared to see the stretch marks—red, angry tiger stripes—on her budding breasts. I thought I had so much more time.

True, I’d bought her 3 cute sports bras last year and stealthily placed American Girl: The Care and Keeping of You on her nightstand, but for puberty to swoop down and snatch my daughter in her vicious, whirlwind talons seemingly overnight?  Seven kinds of wrong.

I couldn’t decide how to feel…angry or proud or panicked or cheated or sentimental. Turns out, it was all of those things.

So on a September evening, I sat next to my daughter on the front porch, grasping for my bearings, my breath, my words. I didn’t know an elegant way to explain the mechanics of things to a ten-year old and I didn’t expect to bungle it so badly. I didn’t understand that I needed to be okay with her growing up before talking to her about growing up.

She kept her gaze firmly focused on the rabbits scampering in our front yard, squared her jaw,  jiggled her legs staccato-fashion, and did not want to hold my hand.

It hurt when she didn’t want to hold my hand because I really, really wanted to hold hers.

Instead, the hand that I coveted went militantly into the air.

“Mom. Mom. Just stop talking. STOP. Stop talking, okay? I’d rather read about it in the book.”

So I let her go, my little rabbit, back inside to safe territory. I remained on the porch, dug my fingers into my scalp and wept a little. I wept and thought, “Dammit, where is Judy Blume when you need her?”

At that moment, I desperately wanted Judy sitting next to me on that porch, extending her hand. She’d know how to make this all better.

Judy Blume:  Surrogate mother of my generation.  Sparing no detail, she explained the weirdo stuff happening to my body— stuff that I was mortified to broach with my own mother. She made me not so frantic about the roaring in my head and in my heart. She gave me a compass when I was convinced I was lost in the woods. And here I was, a grown woman, fumbling through the woods again; needing guidance.

It took me a few days to lick my wounds before I could write about failing my daughter.  It was a hard and humbling piece to write, and I wrestled with myself before hitting “publish.”  But I did.

I hit publish because it wasn’t just a piece about puberty suckage and my parental failure. It was also a love letter of sorts; a love letter to a woman who meant so much to me in those tender, thundering years. I thought Judy deserved that kind of tribute.

Turns out, a lot of other women agreed. A lot. Almost as soon as I hit that publish button, comments and emails and texts came tumbling in. From women of many nations, of many faiths, of many colors. Women raising their hands in a collective roar of “Me too! Me too! She meant so much….”

I wasn’t necessarily surprised that Judy Blume shaped many women, but I was surprised at the willingness of women to respond and open themselves—many of them women who didn’t know whodahell I was or whatdahell my blog was about or wheredaheck to find me. But it didn’t matter, because none of these women were strangers. We were all connected by the Sisterhood of Judy.

One of these unknown sisters read through the responses/comments on my post and said something to the effect of: “Wouldn’t it be great if *someone* brought all of these voices together? Maybe in anthology form? GOOD LUCK !”


Thought #1: Who is this chick?

Thought #2: She is clearly mentally unstable or at least teetering on the ledge, because this idea is crazy.

Thought #3: But what if?

So I emailed Probably Weirdo Crazy Lady.

She responded:

#1. I am Kim and I am a mom and writer who lives in Michigan.

#2. I am only a little mentally unstable. I am a mom, after all. But isn’t life a little richer with a bit of crazy?

#3. What if, indeed. You are onto something here. You should go with it.

Email to Kim: Umm, I don’t think you understand. I am a nervous small dog of a person and just the idea of something this big makes me crackerjackbatshitcrazy.

Email to Dana: I like small dogs. Plus, I am more of a Saint Bernard kind of person, so I can bring you rescue whiskey and carry you on my back down the mountain if you pop crackerjacks.

Email to Kim: Dude, this is not something I can do. I’m a quitter. I am afraid of everything.

Email to Dana: Didn’t you just share a parental  fail on the Internet? You’re not as afraid as you think. This is going to go somewhere. Do it.

Email to Kim: Look man, I’m not going down alone. If I’m gonna fail, I’m taking you with me.

Email to Dana: Let’s Go.

*Some woman* on the internet who just so happened to read my blog and who firmly believes in helping other women to find their voices, their confidence, their bliss and to recognize their true potential, whom I’d never met or talked to in my life, offered her hand and strangely, I found that one hand is sometimes all you need.

One hand. One matchstick can set a fire. 

It took six days. And the Judy Blume Project was born.


…to be continued tomorrow with Part 2 and how you can get involved with The Judy Blume Project. Stay tuned!

Happy reading!

And That’s the Name of That Tune

Take away a chatty girl’s ability to talk, and it’s fun to watch her climb the walls.

Well…not if you’re that chatty girl.

If you follow me on Twitter, you know that I’m contending with this right now. Doctor’s orders. No talking for 72 hours. Sure, I work alone at home during the day, but no phone calls, no calling out to the dog, no yammering to myself and no belting out along with Amy Winehouse blaring out of my speakers at this moment. And if you don’t know how tempted I am to do this, then you don’t know me that well.


Music and writing…we go together. Like peanut butter and chocolate. I can’t remember a time I didn’t compose verse to music. And when I write, the mood must be set just perfectly. Certain artists are better for writing than others. As of late, I find David Gray, Avett Brothers and Crowded House great for some work. Fiona Apple, Iron & Wine and Enigma for others. Black Keys and Amy Winehouse when I need a certain spirit and …MMMPH.

And I find it amusing because back in high school and college, it was the Beatles. All of the time. I could type to Rubber Soul like you wouldn’t believe – U.S. edition. Sorry, I can’t even listen to the original U.K. edition. The difference in song order and inclusion throws me off completely.

So now as I await my editor’s feedback on my book The Muse Unlocked, I’m working on web content for the book/author website to come. And that has to mean playlists for me. I know as a reader I really appreciate hearing the soundtrack that the author imagined as they wrote and threaded the story. And I’m looking forward to also soliciting for readers’ own songs that they imagined as they read certain scenes. I think the first author I remember doing this really well and interacting with readers was Stephanie Meyer with the Twilight series. It’s how I discovered Muse. (So it wasn’t a complete loss, was it now? No, it wasn’t.)

I started putting my playlists together while I was writing the book, so I really did listen to the songs as I moved the story forward.  And there are, in fact, a few scenes that are specifically occurring as a song or whole album is playing in the background, so music is and will always be an integral part in anything I do. For me, including this within the process made the scenes very real. I am curious to hear from other writers about what kind of role music played in the development of their own stories, if any.

Since I was a kid, I see everything like one big movie and everyone knows that a good movie has a stellar soundtrack and score. I can’t see something without imagining music behind it. Not to mention the fact that if Name That Tune were still on the air and didn’t include music after 2000, I would kick everyone’s ass. I can name a song at the drop of a single note or two. It’s a freaky talent I haven’t been able to monetize into any useful skill set or payoff value. (Know of anything???)

I suppose I should return to my mission at hand. I think we’ll leave Amy for a bit and move to my favorite angry young man who I suppose now would be called a little bit less angry old man, Elvis Costello.

Soon, the music will be playing. Patience, grasshoppers. Patience.

Happy reading!

It’s Springtime! Adolescent Memories Are in Full Blume…

So I only found out about the Judy Blume Project this morning, and already my heart is stirring and my mind is spinning.

You see, Judy Blume and her many early works written for fragile prepubescent girls helped me get through a really awkward and confusing time of my life.  Hair sprouting in places for no reason, boobs that appeared to show up out of nowhere and thoughts – lots of thoughts, bad thoughts, dirty thoughts, about…well… you know… boys, boy parts and why all of the really good shows on HBO were on much, much later at night.

I’m still waiting for the awkward phase to end.

When does that happen anyway?

The Judy Blume Project is the brainchild of blogger Dana the Kitchen Witch and  blogger/author Kim Jorgensen Gane of West Coast Posse. They are putting together an anthology honoring the prolific author and soliciting Blume’s legion of fans across many generations to contribute entries to capture their own memories, perspectives and thoughts on the author and the impact of her work.

If you know me well, you know that I grew up reading two series – no, not Laura Ingalls Wilder. (Do I look and sound like a prairie girl to you? Come on…)

The Hardy Boys (not Nancy Drew – she was too wimpy even for me) and Judy Blume.


These are EXACTLY what my editions looked like back in the early ’80s, by the way. Someone’s selling her entire collection for $14.95 on eBay. Sigh. Heartbreaking.

I must have read Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing a dozen times. Blubber and Then Again, Maybe I Won’t, a few dozen times.

Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret… okay, for this one, I think I read passages daily every day throughout middle school! (Anyone else out there remember sleeping with it tucked under their pillow or that little space between the nightstand and the bed?)

Last year, when my blog was less-focused on my new adventure of writing my first novel, I instead posed questions each week to spark creativity and inspiration in others – I called them Kuhnspirations. Yeah, admittedly, the title’s a bit cornball, and I was teased by good friends about that one, but one week, I asked others who wanted to journal with me what their dream dinner party guest list would look like, and in fact, Ms. Blume was an esteemed member of my list.

I don’t know if later generations who fell in love with J. K. Rowling’s and Stephanie Meyer’s series will truly understand what Judy Blume meant to those of us who grew up with Blume’s messages of self-love, acceptance and forgiveness.  And don’t get me wrong – I adore The Twilight series myself and have enjoyed several of the Harry Potter books so far. But there was something far more personal and intimate about the Blume books that just doesn’t compare.

I do plan to take part in the project – submissions are due to the bloggers by end of April, by the way. The format guidelines are pretty flexible and they’re open to a variety of styles for responding. You can even  follow along with the project at its Facebook page, and I recommend you do.

I can’t say that Judy Blume has inspired me as a writer as much as she influenced me as a thinking, feeling young woman. She made a tremendous impression on my heart as a young girl. When I felt like the misunderstood alien from outer space or gawky, geeky pudge muffin, she reminded me that there was so much more to me than met the eye of those who ridiculed. It didn’t stop the tears or doubts, but it did help me become a little tougher, more introspective and more confident where I knew I excelled, whether those insecure teasers who badgered me realized it or not.

I don’t follow this age category in today’s young adult literature genre.  Is there a similar Judy Blume for this bully-taunted 21st century generation, aside from the Judy Blume herself? I sure hope so.  She was a real life-saver for young girls like me.

Judy Blume, you will hear from thousands of readers everywhere very soon. You will know you made a difference in your own way, if you don’t already. You will feel the gush and the mush, and we will probably embarrass you far beyond you’re comfortable experiencing. But you will feel the love.

Sniffle. Sniffle.

Behold…Where All the Madness Happens

Busy writing away as always…currently, for a few clients. But soon, I’ll be back diving into my own novel again.

Someone asked me a question the other day, and mused about what could possibly be going through that creative head of mine. So I pondered that inquiry a little further and decided there was only one real way to share that with you, my blog followers and hopefully, future book readers and fans.

My brain.

Some things are better shown than told.

MyBrainSo there you are.

I suppose those little crevices bulging with pop culture, hanging on to pointless pockets of seemingly useless information could in fact be helpful to me as I write this first book and others to come. I don’t know how to write any other way. Music, film, television, literature, art, sports — it’s all a part of who I am as a writer, a thinker, a friend, a lover,… a human being. I can find a direct link to any of these beautiful facets of life regardless of whatever emotion or life plot point is prevailing.

I’m sure it hasn’t escaped anyone’s eyes that the “sex and other smutty stuff” lobe is impressively large. (Why, thank you.) I can’t decide if my Monty Python obsession is nestled here, in the great big purple pop culture portion or deep within that pink glob at the rear where my love for all things British — U.K. really — resides. Sigh. Love that smut.  To quote a pivotal film in all self-proclaimed nerds’ lives in response to that question we can only hope to hear, “Are all nerds as good as you?” we have the great Lewis’s response:

“All jocks ever think about is sports, all we ever think about is sex.”

Aah, yes. Revenge of the Nerds. An oldie but a goodie that about covers it. So what would your brain look like? Do tell…

Happy reading!

Blog Double-Take 2012

Chris_FSUCanSince the year is coming to a close, I thought it might be a good time to offer a little flashback to the year here at my blog.

Simply put, I want to give followers a chance to check out some blogs that they may or may not have seen during the year.

If you just began following me, you’ll find some earlier entries you might enjoy and if your life was a whirlwind this year and you missed some along the way, well, here ya go. An opportunity to do a double-take and read what you may have missed the first time around!

So on this lovely 30th day of December 2012, I bring you… Second Chance Blogs… a second look at Kuhn Stories for 2012. Bottoms up!

Cheers for finding that daily spark in your life!

Second Chance Blogs at KUHNSTORIES
Yep, these are some of my favorite blogs from the year – most, in response to Kuhnspiration Challenge questions posed. I can only hope that maybe by sheer stroke of luck or a sudden case of reader madness, my words might amuse, enlighten or maybe even inspire. Happy reading!