12 February 2009


This post is narcissistically inconsequential, but eh, it's my blog.

Did you know my middle name is Kathryn? It is, and I've always been very proud of it. My family's stuffed with Kathryns; my mother's middle name, 2 cousins' middle names, an aunt's first name, a cousin's first name, this cousin's daughter's first name, I could go on. These are some of the best Kathryns to ever girate across the globe. I think it's a beautiful name, even when spelled with a C (happy, Annie?), but in my family the consistent design sings K-A-T-H-R-Y-N. Since, as previously mentioned, there are so many of us Kathryns amongst my maternal extended family, I didn't know this until I was 19, but it turns out I am a specific namesake here. My parents chose it for me after my Great Aunt "Katie," a woman of whom I have not a blip of memory, but by all accounts was very sophisticated, very headstrong, very creative, very snarky, very witty, very much so an enemy of PETA, judging by the heaps of fur shawls and coats that she left behind when she went to receive her eternal reward. In my head I think of her as a happy Cuisin-Art blend of Greta Garbo, one of Brigham Young's more bossy wives, and Audrey Hepburn. My mom tells endless stories of her and I can't wait to meet her one day and have a long, juicy conversation.

Which brings me to, is the fact that families are forever not the best?

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