My daughter, Anna Sara, set up my computer for me so that I can write my newsletters easily.
Speaking of my daughter, she’s amazing. I always knew she would be. In fact, I named her Anna Sara because I wanted her name to look pretty when she signs her autograph. I always loved the name Anna, because of the famous Russian ballerina. She’s so elegant and graceful, flowing and beautiful. Marie was too often used as a middle name, so I knew I couldn’t use that. Sara is just fitting. However, I had to eliminate the “h” at the end that is used in typical spellings. My daughter is not typical, and the “h” just wouldn’t look quite right in an autograph.
So now you have it, Anna Sara, my beautiful, talented and amazing daughter who has set up a workspace for me. Her grammar needs a bit of work, with too many commas and run-on sentences. Clearly, she isn’t going to be a guest columnist any day soon.
My workspace is not only a writer’s desk, but it’s also an artist’s studio. I have the most open and inviting space looking out on the cotton fields that my family has called home for generations beyond generations of farmers and community members.
My sun room has been restored to its natural glory and beyond by this never-to-be autograph-signing daughter of mine. I merely shared in passing that I was hosting the Plantation Garden Club at my house and I would love to have a nice space for these lady friends of mine. Never mind, it’s August still and said meeting isn’t until March 2023.
That’s what I get for mere mentions of potential brainstorm ideas I have tucked away in my mind. She grabs ahold of it and takes it by the jugular. She completely upset my apple cart and everything is in a completely new place for this garden club meeting ... next year. I won’t be able to find anything I actually need, and Lord knows I won’t be able to maintain her unrealistic organization system.
Really, tell me now, who opens mail and actually puts it in a special tray to be promptly resolved? That’s right, nobody. My mail will continue to pile up on my desk until it’s falling on the floor like the rest of the talented writers and general population in the world.
This is what I get for giving birth north of the Mason- Dixon line.
Bless her heart, my Yankee daughter has somehow turned into “News from the West Side” after all.
Until next time, take care.
~ Lydia Dunavent (by way of Anna Sara)
