One of a Kind
February 22, 2022
Hailey, ID
It’s been eleven years and one month since numerologists had such a field day.
Not since January 11, 2011 has a date been so unanimous in its numbers. Yet today is even more momentous. After all, how often does 2/22/22 fall on a Twos-day?
It’s a quirky occasion. For such a unique event, it seems appropriate to honor a one-of-a-kind person.
This is George Washington’s birthday…the anniversary of the day he was actually born, not the farcical contrivance he’s forced to share with a fraternity of frauds.
But it’s not the Father of our Country whom we laud this morning. Apparently, we did that yesterday, amid the Presidents’ Day sales, almost as an afterthought.
America created a phony holiday to honor one legend a day too soon. So we conscript today’s legitimate commemoration to hail another luminary a week too late.
Last year, my mother’s side of the family gathered in Walla Walla…primarily to celebrate a slew of “milestone” birthdays. But it was also an excuse to reunite, and to revel. And we did.
Seven of our clan left last year with a new “zero” at the end of their age. Had my cousin Katy been born seven weeks earlier, she would have been part of that pack. And had she been born five days later, this belated birthday wish would actually be timely.
But I’m glad she arrived when she did. It would’ve been out of character for her to accommodate my tardiness or to join the crowd.
Katy has always gone her own way. No way she’d turn forty if it meant refracting a sliver of light from anyone else. But this year, and in this essay, she takes center stage.
As one who’s always followed a more predictable path, I’ve always respected Katy for carving her own (even if it meant chopping down a few cherry trees along the way). And for being an inspiration to those of us who can be too timid to try new things, or blaze untrodden trails.
She’s always had a great imagination, and a creative mind. An apologetic child of the Midwest, Katy lived for a time in Los Angeles and New York. She squeezed all she could from those respective sponges, even as she saturated both with her intrepid personality.
But the Midwest always beckoned. Katy relocated to Chicago, where she met her match, and made her mark.
She wrote books, began a blog, and launched podcasts…the latest of which is so well written and read that we’re in suspense even when we already know how each episode ends (for whoever it’s about, it usually ends badly).
We envy her imagination. She sees things that others don’t (like sharks in Lake Michigan), and appreciates much that many miss. What most of us might ignore as a passing detail, Katy captures as a memorable moment.
Like an impressionist painter by a Provençal pond, she sees hidden scenes that escape notice of less perceptive people. Her special sensitivity and artistic gift wend their way into her work, where it’s amplified by her enviable wit and good humor.
But that’s how…and who…Katy is. We’ve had the pleasure of seeing her and Perry a couple times in each of the last few years. Whenever we do, our mood brightens faster than the movie theater once the credits begin to roll.
On several occasions, they’d drive a couple hours to join us atop the beautiful bluff above Lake Michigan, a place for which she had a justifiable affinity. The last few Decembers, they’ve come to Atlanta. We usually see them when they’re there, and catch up over lots of laughs and plenty of wine.
Altho’ we’re at a distance this week, I’ll take a moment to raise another glass. I’m not doing it when I should, but I somehow think Katy wouldn’t have it any other way.
JD
