A Fat Tuesday message for you

...woven from many stories

Ever since my debut novel The Art of Falling was published in 2014, Fat Tuesday has been the anniversary of my dancer-protagonist’s fourteen-story fall. She survived a lot of stories—haven’t we all? But for Penny, as for me, survival was not enough. The story I wanted to tell, about whether Penny could thrive after such a brutal setback, was just beginning.

When I took a close look at the “anniversary” photo my husband took this morning, I saw evidence of so many meaningful stories.

Don’t worry, I’m not sick. My husband brings me coffee in bed every day.

Did I hear a sigh of envy? Hey, I know how lucky I am. And I’m a bit of a princess about it—just out of sight on my nightstand is a cup-sized hot plate that ensures that my coffee stays hot throughout my online language lessons (right now I’m reviewing French and learning Chinese). Dave thoughtfully chooses which mug to use. would it be “Eat. Sleep. Read.”? “I ❤️ NY”? Not today. This one says, “Choose Love.”

Obviously, he surprised me with a bit more than coffee this morning. Each item is significant.

The penny he placed on the plate is in honor of Penny, my protagonist. Its issue date is 2014.

Also on the plate is a box of powdered donut holes that my lifelong bestie, Ellen Gallow, had delivered to me yesterday. El reminds me of the anniversary every year. (I dedicated the novel to both her and Dave, and they take the honor seriously!) El’s choice of this gift is significant in many ways.

• One reason fictional Penny survived was that she landed on a tray of boxed fastnachts that had been resting on the Jewish baker’s car below. These are from a Jewish bakery.

• Fastnachts, a Pennsylvania Dutch tradition, a doughnut-like confection designed to use up the fat and sugar in the house before Lent. For 27 years I lived on a small farm in Pennsylvania Dutch country—the site of my second novel, The Far End of Happy.

• These are gluten-free, satisfying a health accommodation I had to make last year that has been helpful but in no way satisfying. These were actually tasty! (Don’t take this as an invitation to send more. The box said a serving was three donut holes, hahahaha! They’re gone.)

Now for the plate. If you’ve been following me for a while you know that Dave and I have a beloved lakeside summer home (known as a “camp” in the Adirondacks) in Northern NY State. According to the journal of E.J. McMillan, who previously owned the camp, my Dad—who would buy the camp in 1960—started visiting “Uncle Mac’s” camp in the 1930s. Uncle Mac attended my dad’s sister Anne’s wedding in 1942, and Aunt Anne passed the dishes on to me.

The pewter candlestick was a gift received at my wedding to my first husband. The ridiculously tall candle sitting on top: an homage to the high-rise Penny fell from, or simply Dave’s sense of humor?

The tray: this was the “sick tray” of our youth. It was only used when one of my parents’ five children was consigned to bed. I used it a lot—I missed 16 days of school in fourth grade due to throat infections, even though no one deemed my tonsils a lost cause until I was in 9th grade.

The bed table the tray is sitting on was a thoughtful gift from my talented middle-grade-author friend, Donna Galanti, when I’d needed surgery several years ago. She knows that nothing stops a writer when an idea grabs hold, even when consigned to bed!

And beneath the table is…just me, musing about whether anything is worth keeping if it doesn’t have a story attached.

~ Kathryn