I'll go first.
Here are seven things no one knows about me:
- I have a Ped Egg. There, I've said it. I bought it a few years ago in the checkout line at Wal-mart. And, though it hasn't as much as been removed from its plastic shell, I have one; and I think it's important that you know.
- I like John Denver. I really do. I might be the only person who continues to watch the special, in its entirety, they always replay during the pledge week on PBS. I know the whole thing . . . I know the part where the ex-wife gets a tad emotional and I always tear up at the end when it's just John and his guitar in that empty auditorium and he sings sweetly about his friend, This Ole Guitar. And my children were adept at Country Roads at a very early age and knew just when, on a car trip, to begin its verses. And, while we are still here at number 2, I should mention a couple of other things. When I sing Anne Murray, I am a total star - really. You wouldn't believe how well I can hold my own. She is my rock star moment; that's how very cool I am. Believe it.
- I once believed in Zima - I really did. It was my drink of choice. I'm divulging here, people, one layer at a time. I'm exposing, being vulnerable, telling the truth, setting it free, shedding the hard, protective exterior, inviting you in.
- If I could, I would travel everywhere by motorcycle. Everywhere. I know that motorcycles are not safe and I know I'm a mother and I know that I just cannot do that - but let it be known in the world of 'Press Pause' that if this bright and wonderful world was perfect, I would arrive everywhere atop a motorcycle. Amen.
- There is a stack of books beside my bed; I imagine that there is one beside yours, too. The titles are varied. Some of the books I have read, some I have not. Some of them are the books I continue to reach for, rereading favorite sentences, again and again. Some, I don't. The title of one of the books is Sink Reflections
- In my youth, the tender years of feeling my way along, step by step . . . I left my curling iron on for four years. I did. I'm sorry you're having to read this here, Dad. I'm sorry. I left it on for four years, and I loved it. I loved that it was toasty and ready each time I reached for it. I'm not at all sure why, but it never burned down the house. It made bruisy, brown mark on its corner of my pale yellow desk, but it never started a fire. I would not do it now, but I did it then. I did. I came and I went. I lived and I learned. I laughed and I cried. And, all the while, that mid-size instrument of destruction, never let me down.
- I worked at McDonald's. I did. There, I've said it. You know. I wore a doo-doo brown polyester 2-piece pant suit that made me look like a dream. I longed to work in the back, to fry up the burgers and be the one to use the magic water to bring the freeze dried onion kernels into the day, but I never got the call. I was destined to work with the public at the counter. Fish Fillets and coffee to the saltier among us and McDonaldLand Cookies for the kids - I passed out tray-sized portions of the American dream, day in and day out, for four months. Then I reached the summit. I got the call. I went to Chic-fil-A.
There friends. There you have it. I have peeled away seven layers, wiped free the shroud of darkness and exposed myself. I am voluntarily chipping away at the hard exterior that protects me from your sneers. It is freeing. I am lighter. I am better now.
What do you need to release? What do you need to admit? Let it out. Let it go. Travel no more with the weighty drain of secrets dragging along behind you. Release.
We are Anne Murray, we have Ped Eggs and we will accept you.