Tonight is the season opener of Naked Angels Tuesdays@9 Chicago and I’m excited! We’ve been off since May and have had four full moons since our last show. For every full moon, I wrote a haiku.
I always give Tuesdays@9 my “all” so by the end of every season, even though I am proud and grateful, I’m also thoroughly exhausted. Here’s the haiku I wrote on the May 23 full moon:
don't howl at the moon when she's full -- she needs quiet give her space
But after a couple weeks of recuperating, I was ready to be vulnerable and creative again. Here’s the haiku I wrote the night of the June 21 full moon.
the moon shows herself fully once a month i must do the same
In July, I focused on understanding the wild yet reliable nature of creativity. I wrote this haiku on the night of the July 21 full moon.
creativity is the moon and the moon is creativity
That haiku is more of a mantra than a poem but at least it reminds me that my creativity — like the moon — is always there, waxing and waning, and part of something much bigger.
***
In August, I took at solo writing trip to Boston. Even though I have TSA Precheck, I was frisked at O’Hare security because the username on my phone’s flight app said “Connie” and my full name is “Constance.” As she patted me down, the agent told me, “The names have to match.”
Later, I arrived at my hotel in Boston.
“Hello. May I help you?”
“Hi! I’m here to check in. My name is Connie Kuntz.”
With absurd and short-lived glee, I slid my drivers license across the counter. I was ecstatic to be in Boston.
The concierge proceeded to look up my reservation.
With a troubled look on her face, she repeatedly looked at me, my ID and her computer screen. After a minute or two, she picked up her phone and called for backup. A woman came out from the back. As she walked to the counter, she made direct eye contact with me. I’m not sure why, but she scared the shit out of me.
Actually, I do know why. Several years ago I read Heads in Beds, a tell-all memoir about the hotel industry that convinced me that everyone in the hotel industry is a coke-head who hates their “guests.”
Anyway, when she arrived at the counter, she looked at her colleague’s computer screen, then at me, then at my ID, and finally muttered, “‘Connie’ is a nickname for ‘Constance.'”
The concierge looked at me and earnestly asked, “So what should I call you?”
I panicked and said, “Uhhhh….Constance?”
It didn’t feel right. First of all, I have successfully avoided saying “uh” for years. I was pissed at myself for breaking my “no ‘uh’ streak.” On top of that, I wanted to apologize to them and ask for forgiveness. I’ve felt silly about my name my whole life and suddenly found myself wondering why.
There’s nothing wrong with Constance but it does take up a little more space. Why is it so hard for me to make space for my own name?
On the night of the August 19 full moon, I decided it was time to fully embrace Constance so I wrote this haiku.
as the river flows into the ocean, Connie flows into Constance
So there you have it. Four haiku poems for the four full moons since Tuesdays@9 broke for the summer. And now you know what my plans are for tonight!
***
For the record, Constance is a work in progress. I still feel a surge of embarrassment and shame whenever someone calls me Constance but at the same time I also realize I am simply trying to flow into myself, into my truth. It’s not that radical a concept and I should have done this years ago. Right?
Rockford Day takes place on the 15th day of the eighth month (8/15) and our main area code is 815. Now you know why today is Rockford Day.
The first Rockford Day took place in 2016. Since then, the city’s small businesses and non-profits have offered specials and discounted rates to celebrate the day. For instance, if you go to a local restaurant and if you say, “Happy Rockford Day” you’ll get a 8.15% discount off of your bill. If that doesn’t make you have 8.15 orgasms, I don’t know what will.
***
When I studied foreign languages in high school and college, the teachers and profs encouraged my classmates and me to choose names that reflected the language and culture we were learning. So in Spanish class, I was Constanza. In Greek class, I was Konstantina (Κωνσταντίνα). In Russian class, I was Konstancia (Констанция).
This wasn’t the same as being called “Punky” or “Muffy.” These weren’t nicknames, for crying out loud. These were cultural expressions. We were expected to think of ourselves — and each other — existing in the culture we were studying. There were giggles at first, but by the end of the year, we were addressing each other with serious respect and admiration for each other and the cultures we were studying.
***
Going from “Connie” to Constanza/Konstantina or Konstancia put a peculiar grit in my heart. It made me itch for something else, something beyond Rockford.
Being a foreign version of myself challenged me to think in new ways, not just about myself, but about my classmates, teachers and profs. There are still some classmates and teachers I automatically refer to in their “foreign” names. There’s Alexandros, Boris, Hermana, Mercedes, Rodrigo…to name a few. I may think of them very often, but when I do, I feel happiness for them. I also feel the grit shift a little bit in my heart, and I go back to longing for something beyond Rockford and Rockford Day.
***
A few days ago, I read the book Constancia and Other Stories for Virgins by Carlos Fuentes. I bought the used book from Powell’s Books Chicago simply because my name (a version of it) is in the title. You might consider this is egotistical. It is! But it’s also therapeutic and mind-opening, so if you ever see a book with your name (or a version of it) in the title, grab it!
Fuentes’s “Constancia” is a 61-year-old menopausal Andalusian who likes to take naps. I’m a 54-year-old perimenopausal Rockfordian who likes to take naps! I found myself laughing and sighing as I read her story and before I knew it, I was transported to that “place” that only exists when I think of myself by a foreign name, studying a foreign language. I love it so much.
Here is a short slideshow that explains what I mean:
***
My kids took ballet lessons for several years. They learned some French along the way and, for a short time, studied the language through Rosetta Stone, an online language-learning program. One early morning Angelo, then a very sleepy six- or seven-year-old, came down the stairs one step at a time. Before he reached the bottom, he paused and said, “Bon jour, Maman” in perfect French, then turned around and went back upstairs.
Since then I have never heard him utter a single word of French. Was he sleep-walking? Sleep-talking? It was a delightfully strange and fleeting moment. I saw him in a whole new light and was instantly reminded of that feeling of being in Spanish, Greek and Russian classes. Angelo starts high school this year and I was delighted to see that he signed up to take French.
***
Thanks for reading. I had to write this quickly because this Rockford Day, I’m going to Madison, Wisconsin! -Connie
P.P.S. I also studied Latin. I didn’t have a name but often went by “puella” which means “girl.”
I once saw a solo show written and performed by man who spent more than 20 years of his life in prison.
I marveled at how confident he was in front of the audience. Most of us in “the theatuh”* go through years of education, formal training, and trust-building exercises to achieve such ease. With zero formal education, he carefully guided us into his carceral experience. It was impactful!
Excellent storytelling aside, the fact remains that this man, like millions of Americans, was overcharged and lost several years of freedom and safety in a thoroughly unjust justice system.
When I got home, I was fired up. I told my husband I was never going to vote again because Democrats and Republicans are responsible for our horrendous prison system.
“How the hell can I vote in a system that’s so broken?” I asked. “And why the hell isn’t prison reform our number one political issue!?”
I threatened to “go Libertarian” and proclaimed it was “high time we live off the grid!”
Spoiler: I still vote, I’m still a registered Democrat, and I still prefer cities and convenience to rural settings.
Storytelling…it riles me up.
Some more personal theatrical, cinematic, and literary history
In 2002, I saw a play about convicted serial killer Aileen Wuornos. She was a prostitute who shot seven of her johns to death in 1989 and 1990. At the time of the play, Wuornos was on death row for the murders. After learning about the rape, abuse, and humiliation she endured in her young life, I left the theater angry that she was the one in jail awaiting execution.
Theatre…it riles me up.
A few months later, Wuornos was executed by lethal injection. About a year after that, a film about her (starring Charlize Theron) was playing in most cinemas across the United States. The movie wasn’t as good as the play (they never are) but millions of people like me were outraged at the unfairness of it all. However, it wasn’t until I started writing this blog post that I realized that Theron and other folks in the movie-making industry made millions from Wuornos’s tragic life.
Exploitation…it riles me up.
***
Approximately 14 years ago, before it was a Netflix series, I read Piper Kerman’s book Orange is the New Black. It was upsetting, yes, but also insightful and even inspirational because there was a long list of resources for women prisoners at the end of the book. I was so moved that I dressed up as Kerman at a local “Come Dressed as a Literary Character or Author” event.
Me as author Piper Kerman. Look at that snatched waist!
A few years after I read the book, I watched the series. I was once again outraged and disturbed by the injustices each “inmate” endured. And today, as I write this, I am just now realizing how Netflix and the television industry has profited from the stories of the overcharged, wrongly charged, and wrongfully executed. The overcharged, wrongly charged, and wrongfully executed have not profited one cent and the prisons have not been reformed! Am I riled up? Yes. But…
A little personal history and personal hypocrisy
A few years ago, three completely separate then-friends of mine — people I had invited into my home — went to prison for crimes involving children. Though my family and I were unharmed by them, it was a very disturbing and shocking slew of events.
Betrayal…it riles me up!
And betrayal scares me. What else were they capable of? I suddenly stopped caring about prison reform. I wanted them to go away forever and never again come near my family.
Am I a hypocrite for cutting them out of my life? Or was I forced to make clear boundaries in order to protect my family? Or a little of both? Or a little of both and something else? Jesus hung with prisoners. Hell, he was a prisoner. He was crucified as a prisoner alongside prisoners.
Should I have supported my “friends?”
WWJD?
I did WAMWD. What any mother would do. Cut them off.
A little political historyand political hypocrisy
Republican nominee and twice-impeached former president Donald Trump, the biggest hypocrite this country has ever seen, was recently convicted of 34 felonies. It’s unlikely he’ll serve even one minute for his crimes. If anything, the conviction has only endeared him to his base. They’ll vote for him on November 5 and Trump will vote for himself.
If he wins, we’ll have four years of mind-numbing rhetoric.
If he loses, will he incite another riot? Will another police officer die? Will more Americans die while the “normal grandpa” kicks back at home?
To think I once said I’d never vote again is beyond pathetic and ironic, but I felt that way. I did. Hypocrisy, change, and the human condition will always blur the lines of my personal politics. But I will not let that stop me from voting blue, and only blue.
Where we are now
I audibly gasped when Biden announced he would not be seeking re-election. I was on my laptop and immediately slapped it shut.
“What’s wrong?” my husband asked.
“I don’t even want to talk about it,” I said. “I’m too pissed.”
“Just tell me.”
“Guess.”
“Biden dropped out.”
I nodded my head and sobbed.
Politics…they rile me up.
Fandom or Fan Dumb?
It took me a couple days to deal with my Biden grief. I knew I would support Kamala but at first I wanted to hear who her running mate would be and I wanted to wait for the official nomination at the Democratic National Convention. For a hot minute, I half-wondered if Illinois Governor JB Pritzker was going to run. But once President Biden addressed the nation, I felt better. He has that affect on many people, not just me. His resounding praise and endorsement of Kamala Harris made sense and I decided I was all in, even before the DNC.
It may be a dumb way to put it, but I’ve been a Biden “fan” for a long time. Among many things, I love the president’s compassion and that he created a cabinet that actually looks like America. I love that he brought Amanda Gorman to his inauguration. I instantly became a fan of the national youth poet laureate before she uttered one word of her poem. When she clearly enunciated, “Mr. President, Dr. Biden, Madame Vice President, Mr. Emhoff, Americans, and the world” in her greeting, I knew I had to pull my car over and just listen. And when she recited her poem, “The Hill We Climb” I sat there in my car speechless, dumb with hope. Only Biden could give us that moment.
***
I’ve been a Kamala fan ever since she showed up on my political radar in 2019. She’s sharp, tough, and experienced.
Before becoming the vice president, Harris has served as senator, prosecutor, and attorney general. I don’t agree with every move she makes; her record as a prosecutor and attorney general conflicts with what I say I want for prison reform, but she said she has a unique plan to end the war in Gaza.
“The war in Gaza is not a binary issue,” she said.
Neither is prison reform. Neither is immigration. Neither is education. Neither is my political journey. Neither is life! But when it comes to voting, let us vote in a very binary way: ALL BLUE.
Harris is racking up all kinds of support. She’s raised millions on top of the millions she’s inheriting from Biden’s campaign funds. The Obamas endorsed her and over the past few days, my social media filled with renewed democratic hope. I felt hope with Obama, I felt hope when Gorman read her poem, and I feel hope for Kamala.
My family supports Kamala, too. We have a goldfish named after her, for crying out loud. Actually, the fish’s name is Vice President-elect because when we got the goldfish, Harris was still the vice president-elect.
Stretching the binary
A couple days ago, I heard Kamala say her platform will be about the middle class and abortion rights. Fine, but I want to point out that she used the word “binary” when she talked about war. If she sees that war is not a binary issue, she probably sees that nothing is! I believe her nuanced and intentional use of the word is a signal to how she’ll inform and include everyone in our country. I am so sick of the Republican “there are only two genders” hate speech and insipid DEI comments.
Oh please let Kamala win.
What I want for prison reform
Nobody asked, but I’d like carceral life to include weekly nature hikes, pet ownership, access to good libraries and music instruments, performance opportunities, and daily trust-building exercises. It’s what I want, not what I expect.
I’m not riled up. I just thought I’d put it out there.
In conclusion
Most of the time, I’m riled up. I’ve spoken with many a friend and family member about this. Alas, I remain…riled up.
Thank you for reading. Vote Blue! -Connie
*None of us in theatre pronounce it “theatuh” but blogging…it riles me up.
Photo Credit: Vice President-elect is the goldfish closest to the surface of the water.
Every morning, I read a couple NPR stories in bed before I officially get up. Today I only skimmed the headlines. I watched the presidential debates last night and am still thinking about what I observed. I’ll catch up with the news later today.
The debates were interesting and tense. Both candidates were effective at conveying their concerns, but the moderators were the clear winners.
Dana Bash and Jake Tapper were sharp, professional, open, and clear. They repeated questions to keep the candidates on task and stayed true to the fairly-timed format. Their skill and expertise allowed me to learn a new things about each candidate. By example, Bash and Tapper showed us that we, the people, can and should rise and shine to any task with patience, determination, and grace.
I mention the moderators first because regardless of who wins the November election, Bash and Tapper reminded me that the responsibility to create a more perfect union is on us, the people. It is on us to lead, love, and create example.
Trump’s example of leading, loving, and creating includes dog whistle politics (Jan. 6), extramarital affairs, and creating chaos in his home (three wives), his business (numerous bankruptcies), his cabinet (record-setting turnover), his country (Roe v Wade, West Virginia), and across the world (Paris Accord, China, N. Korea, Russia).
He has painted his red platform with broad black strokes. Immigrants bad, swoosh. China bad, swish. Abortion evil, swoosh. Trump’s finishing touch was to slap MAGA on in all white letters.
Much like a prison gang leader, Trump leads and performs well with racist whites, which makes sense because he is a convicted felon — a convicted felon who loves to use the word “legal” until he’s been “legally” impeached, “legally” convicted, and “legally” defeated in the 2020 election. In those cases, he says the legal system was a fraud.
President Biden continues to paint his blue platform with detail and specificity. He speaks up for people who are different genders, colors, orientations, and religions than him. By referring to policy, data, structures, and anecdotes, Biden outsmarted and outperformed Trump in last night’s debate, just as he has as the 46th president.
I was raised to always find something good about my enemies so I will say that Trump had better hair and makeup than Biden last night. But looks don’t matter to me. Neither do tax cuts for the rich, calling the coronavirus the “China virus,” inciting riots, bragging about grabbing women by the pussy, or bragging in general. I’ll tell you what does: Black Lives Matter. Pell Grants matter. International relations matter. Health care matters. Abortion rights matter. The environment matters. Science matters.
I’d like to move beyond “voting your conscience.” Wouldn’t it be nice if folks voted beyond their personal feelings and desires? Even “Ask not what your country can do for you but what you can do for your country” suggests a sameness between asker and country. It encourages the asker to do only for those who look like him.
This election, why not think less about yourself and more about the needs of someone less fortunate than you. Think about what the planet needs. Think about what future generations need. Think of how important it is to have educational and business opportunities for everyone. Think of someone who has been unfairly charged, overcharged or incarcerated because they are Black. Think of how marginalized the mentally ill are. Think of those living in poverty.
Let’s finally support those who need access to the same rights and opportunities as the white middle class. And when it’s time for us to work with the bully, let’s remember it is on each of us to demonstrate grace, patience, professionalism, and skill.
Thank you for reading. Vote blue. -Connie
About the Featured Photo: I habitually look forward to seeing “Father Stands in the Rain” by Alice Klock every morning when I come downstairs. Its meaning and emotional impact change for me every day. Here is another picture of it if you’d like a closer look.
I’m a road-trip kinda gal, but a few days ago Jesse asked if I wanted to fly to Boston with him. I was packed and ready to go faster than you can say Beantown. Though I had only been there once, briefly, ten years ago, I love Boston; plus I was eager to spend some time alone with my man.
It was a quick trip — we only had one full day in Boston. Jesse had to work and I was there to research The Quarter Millennial Experience which is a play I am writing. The QMX takes place on a commuter train in Boston so I visited places that would be familiar to the characters: the Freedom Trail, a train station, the North End (Boston’s Little Italy), the Holocaust Memorial, the Irish Famine Memorial, Chinatown and two museums. I spent a grand total of $15 — the price of museum admission.
Walking around Boston. I was headed to the Old State House which is the red brick building in the center.
While I walked around Boston and people-watched, Jesse had a site visit for a multimillion dollar show he will be working on next month. His work-day cost several thousands of dollars. When we met back at the hotel that afternoon, he said the information gathered at the site visit could have taken place over Zoom and a couple emails.
The difference in the way we “spent” our days is representative of how my husband and I spend our lives. He’s a spender; I’m not. He’s strategic and corporate; I’m artistic and have a short attention span. He’s the best at what he professionally does — always in demand. I’m…dispensable. After twenty years of marriage, we’ve given up trying to change each other, but we haven’t given up on each other.
It’s a simple thing to love someone and be loved back so sustaining our marriage is somewhat brainless for us. No one has ever tried to break us up and we both have an “us versus them” mentality about society. No way in hell are we going to let society win. Besides, marriage is a place to be fully human with another person. Where else can you say that is true?
I have to finish my chores, which includes weeding the vegetable garden, watering the plants with rain water I collected from the last storm, stirring the compost, and scrubbing the floors with hot earth-friendly soapy water. And I need to work on my play. While I do that, Jesse will be invoicing and working on estimates. When we’re done with our respective tasks, we’re headed to a nearby nature preserve for a hike which is something sustainable we always enjoy doing together no matter how different we are.
Thanks for reading! -Connie
P.S. I took the featured photo about a week ago at the forest preserve we will be visiting later today. The prairie is really coming to life and will be even more beautiful and colorful now through July. Here’s how to RSVP for a free public hike at that preserve.
When my husband wakes up in the morning, he slides open our bedroom curtains, peers through the window and says, “Good morning, Rockford!” I laugh every single time because, you see, Jesse hates Rockford and I sorta do too. But starting the day with a little irony is something that brings us both a little happiness. Recommend.
Four more very simple “everyday things” that bring us happiness include:
waving the other driver in
answering our email & texts with alacrity
speculating who –or what — our new next-door neighbor is (currently think it’s a out-of-state dude running an Airbnb)
hiking in or at nearby woods and prairies
Now here are some simple, everyday things that bring me happiness:
fresh water in clean bowls for our cats & dog
backyard wildlife
our Little Library
not using the Oxford comma
seeing what the Royal Family is up to
And here are five things that bring Jesse everyday happiness:
being nice to gruff people
his decibel meter (not a euphemism — he likes measuring sound levels)
socks that are especially snug around his arches
combing his beard while he talks to me or the kids
his backyard pond and goldfish
Things that don’t happen every single day, rather weekly or monthly, that bring us happiness include:
paying extra principal on the mortgage
finding a really insightful book, podcast, series or movie
playing Trivia or meditating on “interactive” Netflix
TSA pre-check
watching Wheel of Fortune
And here are a five happiness-inducing things that happen a few times a year:
when the price of gas goes down for a few days
when a new animal (wild or domesticated) visits our yard or house
camping and hiking in a different state
discovering a new recipe that our entire family loves
Cookie Dasher
The real happiness comes from:
each other
our kids
our extended family
theatre / performance art
our friends
our pets
But you already know that. Thanks for reading! -Connie
P.S. That is not our dog. He just hung out in our backyard for a few minutes. That’s Angelo on his way to school.
P.P.S. We also kinda love Rockford. That’s just how it goes.
I am an optimist but things don’t happen on an “great, amazingly fantastic” level in my world. They also don’t happen in an “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” way. But anytime I have “news,” I talk to my husband.
There have been the “biggies” that I’ve, of course, told him immediately:
I’m pregnant
I got the job
They turned me down
There have been texts that aren’t necessarily urgent but are important.
Paul Reubens died
Wordle in two
They closed the Starbucks at the Belvidere Oasis wtf
I have texted him news that may seem ordinary but is actually quite shocking:
I just saw the mayor and he was wearing shorts
Karl is being nice to me today
Tiffany told me she likes anal
And I’ll text him quick photos like the one below that require no words. Because you don’t know me, I’ll explain the photo: Our son Sam fell asleep while strumming his guitar.
Sharing our daily news, breaking or boring, is our “great, amazingly fantastic” way of life over here and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Thanks for reading my not-so-great, un-amazingly non-fantastic blog! -Connie
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For as long as I can remember, I have gained weight every winter. I usually lose it in the spring and summer, but once it starts to cool off, I pack on the pounds.
A few nights ago I asked my husband Jesse, “How much weight can I gain before you stop loving me?”
“I won’t stop loving you, Connie.”
“You sure?” I asked. “It’s getting pretty bad.”
“I’m sure.”
“We have months to go before it’s warm again.”
“I’m sure.”
***
And of course he won’t stop loving me and I won’t stop loving him.
***
When you are lucky enough to love — and be loved — unconditionally, it’s unnecessary to spend even one second publicly complaining.
***
Jesse and I are headed to Tuesdays@9 so I only had a few minutes to write a shorty tonight. Thanks for reading a blog post I will resist calling “Fatty’s Shorty.”
-Connie
P.S. The photo is from the holiday show at Tuesdays@9 Chicago when I played Santa. No padding needed for my costume!
The morning after the Cubs won the 2016 World Series, I saw my neighbor in his front yard. I was neatening my little library and he was walking toward his car which was parked on the street. It was unusual for his car to be there. He usually parks in his driveway, which has a “Cubs Fan Only” sign in it.
“You must be in a pretty good mood today,” I said to him.
He crossed over to me and said, “I am.” He was smiling and looked joyous.
He shared with me me how he had “watched” the game with his adult daughters over the phone and how stressful and fun it was. He told me how happy they all were when the Cubs won. He was still smiling.
“I picked up a few extra copies of the paper this morning,” he said as he patted the newspaper that was tucked under his arm.
He told me he was on his way to meet his brother at their dad’s gravesite. He unfurled his newspaper. It had CUBS WIN plastered across the front page.
“I’m going to leave this for my dad,” he said. “He won’t believe it, not even in heaven.” And off he went.
I loved that moment, but I don’t watch or play sports or necessarily believe in heaven. But I love it when my friends’ and families’ teams win.
Thanks for reading. -Connie
P.S. I live in Rockford have been commuting weekly to Chicago for several years. It was fun to see the city skyline light up in different ways to support their team during the games.
In 8th grade, we read The Lottery by Shirley Jackson in English class. We watched the film, too. Reading the short story, seeing the film and, several years later, reading the Brainerd Duffield play, still feels like a literary win to me. It is one of those rare stories that is excellent on the page, on the stage and on the screen. I just asked my two youngest kids if they’ve read it and they shook there heads. I texted Sam and he said “no.” Jocelyn is at college but I’m pretty sure she hasn’t either. How did I let this happen? Note to self: Show kids The Lottery during Spring Break.
***
At Cornell College, where I went to college, there was a dorm lottery every year. If your number was drawn, you and your roommate(s) could pick whatever dorm you wanted. Some dorms, especially in the old Victorian houses, were more spacious than others, so if your number was called, you could nab one of the nicer rooms. My friends Ishanee, Betsy and Mona won this lottery and lived in the sprawling “attic” in Rood House. I lived in the same “house” but in a different dorm but was over there all the time. It felt like my win because they were awesome theatre friends and we had a lot of laughs. After every rehearsal or performance or class or whatever, we’d meet in their room and talk it over. More than 30 years later, I still need to “deconstruct” after every rehearsal, reading and performance.
***
And there was that lottery with the Minnesota Fringe Festival. In the early aughts, so many people would want to perform, the administration was forced to draw names to see who could participate. I was one of the winners! My name was drawn and my four short plays The Rub, The Catholic, The Mason Jar and Mother’s Nature were part of the 2002 Minnesota Fringe Festival. This blog post’s “featured image” is a cast photo. Can you find Jesse in there? He still has that t-shirt.
Two Bonus Lottery-like Wins
In 2003, I unexpectedly received a check for $450.00 It was a state tax return and to this day, I have no idea why I got it. I thought it was a mistake and made several calls to verify the veracity of this windfall. Once I knew it was true, I got a manicure at the Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota and bought new work wardrobe from Old Navy, also located at the Mall of America. Do I know how to have a good time or what?
In 2004, I had a day job at Coldwell Banker Burnett. After working there for several months, I was promoted from receptionist to listing coordinator, probably because of my sharp business wardrobe. A few weeks into my new position, I received a paycheck that was a few hundred dollars higher than what I was supposed to receive. I talked to my boss Roberta about it. I was sure she’d tell me I have to give it back but she said something about things being in “arrears.” Later, she verified that “monies” from my first paychecks had been in some type of holding and now were deposited into my bank account because I had a new position. I couldn’t believe my good fortune! Why did God love me so much? This was definitely a win but I still don’t know what “arrears” or “monies” are.
***
There haves many lottery and lottery-like wins in my life and it stands to reason there will be a few more and that’s more than enough for me.
Thanks for reading! -Connie
P.S. Verify the veracity? There has to be a better way to say that, but I have to go.
Constance Kuntz 