We went to Jean’s Place for our usual Saturday morning breakfast, Kelsie, the daughter of Kelly, the co-owner (with her brother Kevin) of the restaurant, waited on us.

She was all dressed in sparkles, even working in the kitchen, Kelsie reveals more attitude than most people do working in corporate offices.

She confessed to some wild partying the night before, she says she and her friends are all turning 30 and are kicking up some dust while they can.

The restaurant staff had fun with a post I wrote last week in which I wrote that Kevin, the head chef, was Kelly’s son. I got some pretty good ribbing for that, the staff had a lot of laughs.

It’s no big deal, but I don’t know why I wrote that.  Maria and I both knew he is Kelly’s brother, but this happens to me fairly often. Some days I wrote the equivalent of the news section of a good newspaper, and I have no proofreader but me.

Some of my typos come from my Dyslexia, I think, some come from being distracted, some come from writing so much.

This usually reminds me that I am forever an outsider looking in, my favorite position. I I really am never anyplace long enough to keep all the details in my head,  or truly belong, although, in another few years, my town will be the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere.

Dyslexia has shaped a lot of my life, and it took me a good long while to get used to being laughed at.  It used to make me wary, but you can’t be an honest writer and be wary.

This fits me in a way because living outside the tent is my comfort zone, it feels natural for me.

There are a lot of outsiders in and around Jean’s, and that might be why I feel so comfortable there. Kelsie is one, for sure.