The Light Who Shines (42 page)

I’m currently forty-two, but that could differ depending on
what year you read this. Unless some fundamental laws of nature change, I
expect that number to only get higher. I am half Italian and half Irish. Well,
the Irish side is sort of an Irish/German/English/French/Scottish mix, but
since I believed I was truly half Irish until my mother’s foray into genealogy,
I’m sticking to that story. Despite this reputably volatile combination, I am a
remarkably calm person.

I live amidst the Smoky Mountains and can sometimes see the
shadows of clouds lying on the mountains from my front porch. I am not yet
snobbish enough to call it a veranda, but time will tell. I’m a great believer
in the proof being in the pudding. Sometimes my young adult daughter joins me
on the veranda… err, porch to admire the view. Often my Australian Shepherd
runs around the veranda looking for things to shepherd in the yard. Because we
are decidedly lacking in livestock, he frequently presents me with slobbery
balls to throw. I, in turn, do my best to ignore them. I feel justified in this
neglect because I am planning on adopting a girlfriend for him soon so they can
wrestle over the slobbery ball together to wagging tails’ content.

I started working full time while in high school and haven’t
stopped since. My illustrious career began with a smattering of service
experiences at various fast food and restaurant chains, went on to fine jewelry,
slipped into property management for housing projects, morphed into corporate real
estate, then ended up in mergers and acquisitions. Please don’t ask me how that
happened as I would have to kill you if I told you. However, I can reveal that
I pertinaciously enjoy calling my manager “My Boss” so that he remembers that
sometimes I only agree with him because he pays me. All the rest of the time I
actually agree with him.

My home is a modestly sized ranch, recently purchased and
still not completely unpacked. The walls are a boring light beige, but they
make the perfect backdrop for my brightly colored Gustav Klimt canvas prints.
Van Gogh hopes to join Klimt on my walls soon, but right now the brakes on my
Cube need to be fixed, and the washer overflows if I place the water level on
super-duper high. Priorities, priorities.

More importantly than all of the above, you absolutely must
know that my favorite color is purple. Not Barney purple, no offense to Barney,
but more of a medium eggplant purple. I like to think of it as a “mature”
purple, but deep down I know it is really just purple.