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author
Lill Hawkins
I believe it was my first boyfriend who told me, “You think funny.” He’s also the one who said, “You think too much.” He was right about the first pronouncement, but I didn’t think too much of him...view moreI believe it was my first boyfriend who told me, “You think funny.” He’s also the one who said, “You think too much.” He was right about the first pronouncement, but I didn’t think too much of him after the second one. Well, yeah, I do think funny. Can’t help it. Wired that way. No matter how dire the situation or how depressed I get – I’m a bipolar bear – there have only been a few times in my life when my mind hasn’t seen the humor in my plights.
I’m the one who has to bury her face in her memorial program at a funeral because I realize that the dearly departed has daisies in the bouquet covering her hands, and she was allergic. Will she sneeze, I wonder as I try to suppress a snicker without much success. My mind conjures up a picture of 91-year-old Aunt Helen sitting up and asking for a tissue, as mourners faint onto the folding chairs like toppling dominoes. I start giggling uncontrollably as I add in the funeral director and his minions racing around in their black and white funeral garb like hysterical penguins trying to catch the fainters and restore order.
I write, because I’m a writer. I’m also as curious as a barnful of cats. From plotting polecats to why you shouldn’t pet an armadillo without gloves on, there are so many eclectic subjects that attract my interest. My kids are launched, but my writing spark isn’t quenched, and I’m not ready to sink into geezerdom. Crow’s Feet and Magpie Mind, that’s me. Coincidentally, that’s the name of the book I’m working on now.view less