I'm not just looking off in the distance in an artistic manner.
I'm also developing a fabulous essay in my head.
Of course it's entirely possible none of those things is going on, in which case
I'm merely standing around waiting for someone to take my picture.
This is the far more likely scenario.
I am an essayist. You should know that before we go any further. But unlike many legendary essayists - Moses, for example - I'm really good at uploading digital images to my blog. It's too bad for Moses, because there is no question Leviticus would go down a lot easier with a few pix of Miriam and Aaron waving at the camera from atop a couple of camels.
That geometrically interesting item behind me is my Yamaha grand piano.
I love it for two reasons: One, it's big and black and shiny, and two, I can park it in the motorcycle slots at Walmart.
I realize it looks like I'm pinching my own cheek here, but that's only because I'm almost positive I'm adorable.
Or it could be that I left my BMI calipers at the gym and was really needing an accurate read on those jowls.
Don't be fooled; behind that kind and pleasant exterior beats the heart of ...um... well, actually, a very kind and pleasant guy.
But he's got the gall bladder of a killer, people. Seriously. We're talking 'coiled spring' here.
And don't even get me STARTED on his foul-tempered appendix.
Now, as if all of this weren't enough, I'm also a professional writer, consultant, and public speaker, and I'm the mother of four great kids and three terrible ones. (Ha! Just kidding about those last three. But don't you always expect people to follow up those kinds of statements with that last bit? "I'm here with my lovely wife, Buffy. We left Gertrude - the ugly one - chained to the water heater.")
Relax and enjoy yourselves here in my virtual living room. Just please don't drink all the digital Diet Coke.

