In the interest of self indulgence a well-rounded blog, I give you the “Being Keri” part of Eat, Drink, and Be Keri.
So – a word of warning to kick things off:
I have a long-standing identity crisis. I’m the daughter of a hard-working plumber and a work-your-way-up secretary who instilled some good old-fashioned values in their twin daughters on their way to owning the company my daddy worked for when I was little.
I am also, however, the granddaughter of a share-cropper/groundskeeper on my daddy’s side and a plaster and drywall man with Kansas oil field work in the background of his younger days on mom’s…. I was raised on Country Sunshine and I am NOT just talking about digging that Dottie West song. Coming up in an upper middle-class Denver Suburb, I took some heat for embracing that – believe me.
It SO doesn’t stop there though. There was the “punk rock phase” around the time I dropped out of Culinary School. Oh my yes. Hello, prominently placed arm tattoos. Hello, Social Distortion CDs. Hello, story of the time I got stuck in in a port-a-potty outside of Rock Island. (Oops – don’t want to give away the farm on the first post now, do we?)
And of course there is me with my country-club raised, North Houston suburb bred husband; dusting the Pottery Barn TV console, rooting for his Ohio State Buckeyes, and perfecting my dirty martini recipe as we watch the clouds roll by from our chairs on the patio of our Denver high-rise.
Oh – and thrown in there in between and around, just for good measure, was “New Wave Keri”, “Too Many Jimmy Buffett Concerts Keri”, “Crazy Liberal Vegetarian Keri” (even I didn’t really get along with her though,) and all the countless other sides to this one Keri.
And they are all still here – and they all still like to hang it out there every once in a while, wrapped in a little blonde package of a girl who tends to talk like she just fell off the turnip cart from Mayberry (I regularly use the term “Oh my stars.” You’ve been warned.)