Interactive meme

[mari4212]

Stolen from lady_tigerfish, because it is cool.

If you read this, even if we do not speak often,
Comment with one memory of me.
It can be anything you want, good or bad.
Just as long as it happened.
Then post this on your livejournal to see what other people remember about you.

Now, I know that with most of you, I've never met you in real life, but still. We've talked, and there must be journal entries or comment conversations that you think of when you think of me.

And Dad, yes you may tell the Bishop Tutu story to my flist. (Why do I have a feeling I'll regret this?)

Edited to add: Okay, if anybody wants to hear my parent's embarassing stories about me, they're below in the comments. Go right ahead and ignore them otherwise.

Comments

Memories

[(Anonymous)]

Does that man I get to tell the "Should we have a funeral" story?

Mommy

Re: Memories

[mari4212.livejournal.com]

sure Mommy. Go right ahead.

Re: Memories

[(Anonymous)]

OK. When you were about 18 months old, you liked to take me fwalk. one day you fell and skinned your knee. You cried like Audry. I picked you up and asked Are you going to die? Should we have a funeral? With Cake & ice cream & strawberries? By the time I got to the strawberries you were laughing and we finished our walk.

Re: Memories

[(Anonymous)]

First Time Margi met Uncle Scott Memory - We had just gotten into town for a visit - we were standing in the living room of the house and Margaret came running up to Scott and threw herself around Uncle Scott's knees, looked up at him, batted her incredible baby blue eyes with all that red hair flowing around her face and said - "I love you Uncle Scottie" - and he was LOST! Still is!

[ljmckay.livejournal.com]

Ooh, me likey...

Just one memory? Hmmm...

Well, I remember when we first started working on "Ties" and I was a little nervous, because I'd never written with another person before. I was worried I might not like your editing style or you wouldn't like my writing, or something equally as horrible. But then I got your first edits on chapters 1 and 2 and they were just perfect! You strike a great balance between critique and praise that just warms an authors heart.

[mari4212.livejournal.com]

*hugs*

I was really nervous about sending that edit too. I wasn't sure how you'd take it.

backrub story

[(Anonymous)]

I've been a good boy, and didn't tell this story on your LJ until you gave me permission in this entry.

At our church, Margaret started giving people backrubs on Sundays, during our coffee hour. There were quite a few parishioners who looked forward to this every week. At the time, she was only about six years old, so her interest in physical therapy goes back quite some time.

One week, my wife and I were told that our church would have a special guest attending our services, along with our diocesan bishop. This guest was also a bishop, and was in town to lead an interdenominational service at the University of Dayton Arena that afternoon. He wanted to attend an Episcopal service in the morning, and our diocesan bishop chose our parish church. In our denomination, a bishop is always given the option of preaching the sermon, and celebrating the Eucharist, but our guest said that he wanted to sit in the pew instead.

That Sunday, my wife, our kids and I sat in our regular pew, the second one from the front on the gospel side. We always use this pew so that Margaret's older sister Sara (who is severely disabled) can see what happens. The first pew is always reserved for the deaf community, and on this Sunday, for our special guests. Just before the service started, our diocesan bishop, his wife, our special guest and two bodyguards entered and sat down right in front of us. Our guest was right in front of Margaret.

The service proceeded normally until just after the sermon and prayers of the people, when our rector stepped up to the pulpit to give some announcements. Margaret thought that this was the perfect opportunity to greet our visitor, so she stood up, and started giving him a backrub. As I looked over at the two of them, I saw our guest lean backwards into the backrub, with an absolutely beatific smile on his face. Then he turned around, picked up Margaret's hand and kissed it. That's when I wished that I had brought a camera into the church that day. How many times will you ever see a living saint, and a winner of the Nobel Peace Prize kissing your daughter's hand? Our special guest was Archbishop Desmond Tutu.

Margaret still gets embarrassed whenever I tell this story, but according to one of the other memes on her LJ, she is secretly proud of it too. She was too young to know who it was that she was welcoming to our church. To her, this stranger dressed in purple was just another visitor to our church, who deserved to be welcomed in the best way she knew how. I like to tell this story not because of it being about Archbishop Tutu, but because it shows what kind of person my daughter is.

Re: backrub story

[mari4212.livejournal.com]

I am now beet red.

[heylittleriver.livejournal.com]

You explaining the crunchy dragons. I think I must have been giggling for days. And that, in chat, you always seemed to be leaving just as I was arriving. :P

And Margaret's Mum and Dad? I think I love you. Thank you for the stories. :D

[mari4212.livejournal.com]

It's a funny saying.

I'll pass along the love.