Mobile Order For Karen

The alarm rings. The Keurig starts brewing. I weigh in. My phone greets me “Good morning Kiki” and Alexa turns on my lights.

First up is a selection on Apple’s “Aura”. There are thousands of meditations and selections to choose from. I’m proud to say that this morning I completed my 1,647th day on Aura.

After Aura it’s a click on to the New York Times site to complete Wordle. I try not to miss a day. Some days this hurts my brain but I am fiercely loyal and competitive with myself each morning. Five letters can really fire me up at 5:30 a.m.

After Wordle I am midway through cup one of black coffee (with my scoop of collagen). I open Instagram. There are hundreds of pages I follow which range from dance instructors to Spartan Races to cute dog videos. Last year I stumbled upon a gentleman from my area who tragically lost his son in a car accident four years ago. Every morning he makes a video in his car just talking about the need to keep going and never giving up. I will not miss a day with this guy. I’ve never met him and probably never will but I’m drawn to his messages and hope.

Later in the day after the gym is complete, dinner is done, and the laundry is folded, I can be found scrolling through Pinterest. Here I’m bombarded with new style ideas, messy bun hair styles, new tattoo ideas, recipes for anything lemon, and outdoor landscaping ideas.

Thanks to all of you for being a part of my new world. Spending time here on Jetpack and WordPress is a gift. You all know how to make this blogger smile and appreciate our craft of writing.

Kiki Meets Katrina

For three quarters of my life, my birthday celebrations meant everything. Epic parties started at I do not know…maybe age 5 when my Mom threw me a birthday party in my backyard at 36 Grant Avenue. Anyone who has visited that address knows that the backyard was beyond tiny. Ok not tiny but “boutique-ish”. A small patio surrounded by lush rows of grass and incredible wall of rosebushes. That set the scene for an ice cream sundae party to beat all ice cream sundae parties. Mommy handmade aprons and smocks for all of the girls and cloth napkins for all of the boys. We had a row of ice cream tubs with every type of topping you could think of. I do remember being in a dairy and sugar coma while staggering around with a sharp tack in my hand looking to pin the tail on the donkey. Each birthday that followed was wonderful. Because it fell in August, many of my birthdays were celebrated on family vacations as we always had a trip planned a few weeks before school started. As I got older, my friends and family would plan weekends away, Karaoke bashes, Scavenger Hunts, and days at the beach followed by a night out with dinner and our favorite band.

My 40^th birthday had arrived, and Ernie booked one of my dream vacations. Key West. The plan was to fly into Fort Lauderdale in Florida, rent a convertible, and drive to Key West stopping to sample local food stops along the way. My hair was flowing behind me in the red Chrysler Sebring convertible as we cruised Route 1. As we drove closer to Key West, I noticed that I no longer needed my sunglasses. The clouds increased. It was now 3 o’clock in the afternoon and I realized that it was pitch black ahead of us. We looked at each other and said “storm.” 

We did not stop. We just said let us push on. Rumor had it that Jimmy Buffet would be performing at Margaritaville that night and the newly turned forty girl was not going to miss it. When we arrived at our hotel down by the piers, we were greeted by a staff that explained we would have lots of alone time that weekend since most travelers had cancelled due to the storm. We are from Long Island. What is a little rain? We lived through countless Nor’easters as kids. Tropical storms by the beach were so damn common. We were ready for a little wind-soaked adventure. 

By dinnertime, the black skies outside were now purple. A category F2 tornado had just touched down in Marathon Florida (50 miles east of Key West). The airport had been wiped out. Hmm. This was not such a good sign but hey it was my birthday celebration. Yay me! The resort recommended that we dine with them due to expected power outages so at least we would be close. After a delicious dinner we decided to walk towards Duvall Street. Jimmy Buffett awaits I thought.

The lobby door of the hotel swung open on its own. The wind picked us up under our arms and pushed us a few feet. A WALL of rain hit us like a plate of glass. Within minutes the rain was up to our calves. I felt something hit my leg. I looked down and I saw two garden snakes swimming in a pool around me. I wanted to pass out. I wanted to run too but running in this volume of water was damn near impossible. Why we kept walking, I do not know. We looked around and realized we were not alone. We kept walking until we hit Sloppy Joe’s on the corner of Duvall Street. The manager motioned they were open and to come on in. How? I thought. Waves of water were now moving in the street. Suddenly a small wave appeared and literally carried us over a sandbag into Sloppy Joe’s open front door. What an entrance!

A few beers later, we decided to walk down the street to Margaritaville in search of Jimmy. No dice but we certainly had the chance to hang with absolutely genuine Parrotheads before heading back to our resort. The night had just begun. The power was on and off all night. Fire alarms were stuck in the “ring” and “on” position the entire night. We did not have any tv and were relying on our step above a flip phones to keep us informed of what was going to be one of the most momentous storms in our U.S. history. 

We crawled down the stairs to breakfast the next morning. The staff did their best to make our morning complete but in the end all we could do was drink copious amounts of coffee on the back deck and watch the waves crash over the rocks in the harbor. The water level rose to record heights and a storm surge took over the entire first floor of the hotel. Part of the ocean I didn’t even have a name for were literally floating out of every nook and cranny of the ground floor. There was nowhere to go. We were trapped in the rain. Walks downtown even in the monsoon were no longer encouraged as downed wires would possibly electrocute walkers. 

Somehow, we made it through night two. Sunlight found its way through the window and kissed my cheek good morning. We quickly showered and headed downtown. The water had receded and we found some incredible eateries to have breakfast and lunch in. The news reports were up and running. Cell service was partially restored and my family was frantically checking in. They called it Hurricane Katrina. It was expected to move below the Keys and crash into Gulf. Instead, it had nudged north and grazed Key West as a Cat 2 hurricane. After another day…well you know the story. You know that history now contains the deadly storm that destroyed New Orleans. We were stunned. We had made the best of the storm but others were not so lucky. 

Three days earlier I was smiling and breathing in the salt air as I soaked in the ride in the convertible like I was Geena Davis in “Thelma and Louise”. Now, I was a grateful girl having had the chance to just make the best of it in what could have been a much more powerful storm than it was. That was the last birthday where I celebrated in such grand style. Lately my birthdays are beyond “low-key” (no pun intended). I am happy to be here after weathering many more storms since my 40^th trip around the sun – a historic event that I somehow lived through.

You’ll often hear my rate topics or categories. I’ll hear a song in car and blurt out “This is in my Top 20 songs of all time.” Sometimes I think I’m blurting it out, but I really am silent. Trust me though – I’m forever editing and shuffling lists and playlists in my mind. I’m like a human Alexa some days in that if you ask me about one of my favorite artists, I can launch an entire catalog of their work at will. 

I have had my faves from back in the day of course while others have bubbled up over the years because of different exposure and experiences. Actors, musicians, writers, dancers, photographers, make-up moguls, and chefs are all artists to me. I appreciate what they have crafted and presented to the world. Sharing their style is a true gift. Certain artists call to me louder than others. I am in awe of their talent and am free to share it with anyone who wishes to listen! 

Based on today’s prompt which actually did ask – I will share some of my choices from a few categories. Favorite actor? I have a few that I am particularly fond of but the cream of the crop for me is Billy Crystal. He just so happens to star in my second favorite movie of all time – When Harry Met Sally. Before that though I fell in love with his wit on Saturday Night Live when he portrayed Fernando Llamas. How I would HOWL at this sketch and completely break up when I’d hear “You look marvelous” each week. It was though – Billy’s Harry Burns that made me love cinema so very much. It was written by my favorite author – Nora Ephron. 

I’d followed Nora Ephron through all of her cinematic creations of course but it was her “I Feel Bad About My Neck” (2006) which was a tell all memoir that slayed. Every page was a confession and descriptive entry into her brilliant story-telling mind. She grabs a reader and hugs you with passion and laughter all at the same time. I followed her into “I Remember Nothing” in 2010. I read forward to her other blockbusters and then went back in time to her works in 1978. I am still exploring her catalog – savoring each passage in each creation. 

Early Kiki fans will know that I started dance lessons a little before I was five years old. I continued through age 19 with formal lessons. I miss it terribly. Over the years I became mesmerized by choreography. I hear a song’s beat and will be choreographing little numbers in my head. The style that completely engaged me though was Bob Fosse. His style is beyond iconic and speaks to my love of dance that I still can’t put into words. 

If anyone is ever speaking to Ina Garten or “The Barefoot Contessa”, please let her know that she has a super-fan on Long Island. I have devoured each cookbook she’s written like long novels. I can recite ingredients and tell you what I made from each book for various family parties and occasions. My heart is with you and Jeffrey, Ina!

As for music – heavy sigh. So many of us have responded to this prompt that we love so many genres of music and are fans to oodles of artists. I cannot read music, but I swear I was a songwriter in another lifetime. I do have a ton of musicians who have touched my soul with their gifts, but it is Kenny Chesney who lives in my heart. He wrote the songs that knocked on the door to my mind. What I love the most – besides the melodies of course is the storytelling. My God -it is his ability to sit you down and tell you a story. Each song to me is a story and leaves you in a better place than where you were when the song began. 

Artists create. They perform. They challenge you. They spark embers in your mind that give light to things forgotten or things to come. Here’s hoping your favorites live within you forever just like mine will always whisper to me “thank you for welcoming me into your world”

The story goes that there was an actress in 1965 that had named her daughter Karen. I believe there was some type of Scandinavian lineage involved which spoke to my half Norwegian born mother as she was about to give birth to her first born. And so I was named Karen on that sweltering Monday in August.

At the time it was not a very common name until I entered school and realized I was one of a handful of Karens. I loved my name and was proud of it. My mother would and still always calls me Ka in the best New York accent anyone can have.

Enter social media when the world began to thrive on memes, unsolicited comments, and rants. Women who complained..asked to speak to a manager for said complaints…had horrific haircuts…or just plain whined were now called “Karens”. My name became a thing. An object. I’ve even heard it used as a slur.

If you know me I am not anything like what these memes or slants portray yet the snickers and eye rolls I encounter when I give my name still amazes me.

Sometime during my college years I developed a nickname during a night of drinking. Kiki stuck and has become my go to name at times. It’s easy to remember and quite frankly not as laughable reactions I get when I introduce myself with my birth name.

What’s in a name? In my case pride except when used as a label which is miles away from who I truly am. Now I just smile and know that my name was given to me and that will never allow me to be anyone else in this world.

Daily Prompt 08/12/2025 

The question was asked “What profession do you admire most and why?”

My opening statement is that I respect all positions. Let’s face it – everything we do in life relies on a procedure or product made my somebody. The people who harvest our coffee. The engineers who develop machines to brew our coffee. The manufacturers who make coffee cups to hold the coffee. Even the dental community who develops tooth whiteners to erase the coffee stains from our teeth. Do you see where I’m going here? There are endless jobs and positions out there that affect every single aspect of our lives on a daily basis. 

The position I admire most? It is a tried and true profession of Teaching. I have loved and respected teachers throughout my entire educational career. There was only one teacher I did not care for and to be honest the only reason for not being fond of her was because of her smell. That didn’t make her a bad teacher. It just meant her odor was distracting and I couldn’t completely engage with her during the 38-minute period in middle school. I digress.

I remember each of my teachers and most of the day-to-day lessons vividly. Yes, I have somewhat of a photographic memory but how I responded to each teacher with the desire to learn is what has stayed with me over the years. There are a few teachers who stood out as my favorites because they sparked interests that ignited passions such as writing. Sitting in a sixth-grade classroom every day after lunch and listening to Mr. Dalven read excerpts from novels taught me how to listen to a writer’s voice and tone. That tone taught me story structure and how to reach an audience. Those few minutes each day shaped how I wanted to communicate with people through my own literary style. 

During my first few months of college, I came to know that 95% of my dorm were Special Education teachers Speech and Language majors. I was the lone English Literature and Business Management major. I posed the topic of switching majors to my parents during my first visit home. My Dad quickly put his hand up and said “Karen Anne – you need to consider the job market in the next few years. While it is an amazing profession, the world of Special Education is very specific. You need a much broader base – one where you will always be able to branch out in employment.” While his point at the time was valid, it was not specific enough and since he was paying the bills and I was a total rule follower – I put my head down and showed up to my Management 101 course on Monday morning. Flash forward to 2001 when my son was diagnosed with Autism. My Dad recalled our conversation one weekend and said, “I now know I misspoke”. We smiled and passed the mashed potatoes. 

My love of the teaching profession wove itself into our relationships with the kids’ teachers throughout the years. I dove into our district PTA to support this incredible pool of talent in any way I could. This led to my love of the education administration and landed me where I am today – supporting a school district. 

I truly believe that the love of teaching a child to read – to understand – to navigate – and to be a good human being is a true gift. Not everyone is cut out for it. I know this. The ones that are though shine bright in my mind. Thank you all for your decision to light up minds throughout our world.