The Meme Story of Threes

So, Lori, the fineartist, tagged me with a meme. but I don’t do such things. So I had to find a creative way to respond without responding. . . .

Once upon a time, in a blog very near here, there lived a little big girl who had three names Maribeth, Liz, and ME. In the world of computers, she had three more. WhizLiz, LizWhiz, and Lizsun were those three. She favored the last of all of the names. It was most special to her heart and her ears. Lizsun. It’s like what you do with music, and she would Lizsun to music whenever and wherever she could. She’s always listening to Peter Gabriel, John Hiatt, and Johnny Clegg. They were in her headphones, on her computer, and in her little blue car—three musicians and three things she couldn’t do without.

Almost a princess, this little big girl, she was a saloonkeeper’s daughter, she learned storytelling at her father’s knee, while street-smarts was what her mother taught her. The rest of her heritage was that of a first-born, last-born, replacement child, the only girl who followed one who died. That she never made up for the missing one, doesn’t mean she never tried. She likes her towering height, her three-foot legs and eyes of shining blue. She isn’t crazy about her nose, her over-shy toes, or the prescription for her failing eyesight. Such a smart one, you would think that nothing scares this girl, but in fact she’s scared of people, of high, windy, open places, and of claustrophobic tiny, kinds of spaces.

Tonight after just writing about all three scary things, she decided to daydream about a perfect movie relationship.

She would be on vacation with Liam Neeson in Trieste, Italy, listening to “Desperado,” and then in Bologna with Val Kilmer singing along with John Hiatt’s “Have a Little Faith in Me. ” Lastly maybe she’d have a fling with Russell Crowe singing “Higher Love” in Tuscany. Every guy who watched her would promise love, honesty, and kindness. She would answer with lies—that she is predictable, dumb, and easy to get along with. Soon enough they would figure out the truth that also comes in threes: she can’t play chess; she can’t swim; and she can’t lie without people telling.

As the three men in her movie vie for attention, they would ask what appeals to her. She would say 6 foot 2, black hair, blue-eyes, and speaks no English. please. At which point, a nice Italian boy, fitting that description would draw a picture of him and her flying kites, listening to music, and driving with the top down. M-L-M would call him three names she liked, Lucas, Gabriel, and Michael. They would do three things she has always dreamed about: see the Aurora Borealis, fly in an airplane with a kingsized bed, and ride off into the sunset in a 1932 Model J Dual Cowl Duisenberg Touring Car.

“And that’s the end, the end, the end,” this little big girl said. “I don’t do memes. I won’t answer anymore. Besides I’ve mixed them up. You figure out what’s missing.”

—me strauss Letting me be