Oh, good grief! I’ve got to get out. This library book is not going to float itself to the library. Hottest day of the year – 95 with a heat index of 111. After a two-hour-plus movie of Sex and the City II and two helpings of French fries, I managed to hit the shower. I swear, I could do a load of laundry and make a trip to the library in the amount of time it takes for my shower water to heat up. As I wash my hair, I ponder the state of George Zimmerman. The media sure does need to move on. I throw on a big sunflower sundress and brush my hair into a ponytail. I decide to go barefoot and get in my candy red scooter. Oh yeah, my name is Kansas Kaye. Everyone calls me KK. I am a really funny lady with a Southern Cerebral Palsy drawl whose day job is co-chairman of the housing and accessibility committee of Memphis City Advisory Council for Citizens with Disabilities, freelance writing, proofreading wedding invitations, editing poetry and who solves mysteries in her spare time. And I have Cerebral Palsy. Just call me crazy KK - who wants to be normal person when it’s much more fun to be a crazy person everybody remembers.

I drive a scooter (aka my car), and I live in downtown Memphis in a one bedroom loft apartment with my sidekick Sam. Sam is an orange tabby I adopted at the age of one when a friend told me the owner had him locked in a closet because the dumbwit owner was allergic to cats. That was thirteen years ago and Sam has outlived one husband, three serious relationships, a plentitude of dumbass relationships, four apartments, three cars, two brain implants (okay, no but it sure feels like it). I get in my convertible and maneuver my way through the obstacle course of the apartment complex and enter the Memphis oven. Damn, its hot!

I work my way down Main Street, trying to avoid dumbass people who are texting and talking on their cell phones. Oh good grief! What is so important that can’t wait until you are seated in your office? Drives me nuts. I go down the alley, Center Lane, and wave at Jim Bob, also known as “the homeless dude.” This alley is like a backalley interstate for me. It will take me to the library and bank in a matter of minutes avoiding all the traffic of trollies and people on Main.

I turn on Monroe. If I kept going I’d run right smack into the Mississippi River. I make a right hand turn. I open the door and kinda make a grand entrance. I stop and breathe and enjoy the cool air. I breathe in the smell of history and books.

Cossitt began its existence in 1888 as the Cossitt-Goodwyn Institute, the first public library in the young city of Memphis. On April 23, 1893, at 33 S. Front Street, an original sandstone structure was constructed on the Downtown Memphis Promenade and the Cossitt Library began service. At that time, and for nearly 62 years, Cossitt was the headquarters for Library administration. Named for its founder Frederick Cossitt, and updated in 1959, Cossitt still serves as one of eighteen library branches and remains at the same location in the busy downtown community.

I was only dreading going to the library because of the heat. The library is my favorite place in the world. No, it's not as fancy as the Central Library, or as big, but the librarians are awesome, and the selection of new releases is ample.

I visit Cossitt weekly, scanning the shelves for the newest books by James Patterson, Janet Evanovich, Earlene Fowler, Kathy Reichs and other mystery authors. This library is not as busy as the Central Library, and titles are usually available. I usually spend a little time chatting with the sweet ladies behind the desk as we discuss what to read next or chat about the top newsheaders. They really go out of their way to make the customers happy. Over the years, I have established a relationship with Xania. She attended my wedding and I consider her a very good friend.

I do my usual swing by the seven day popular books. I picked Ladies Night and the movie “Flight”. I want to compare the disaster of Seoul’s Asiana Flight 214 to the movie “Flight”.

As I approached the desk, I noticed there was a woman who was yelling because she owed a dollar fined. Xania tried to explain the fines pay for extra materials for the library. I just hang back and waited. I really wanted to tell her to go roll in the mud as baby elephants do when they get upset. Good grief. Take a chill pill!

Xania was glad to see me after that debacle. We just laughed and said “Another day in Paradise.” I checked out my books & movies and bid farewell.

I cut through the alley and I swing by Walgreens to say hi to Fred the Pharmacist, grab a box of cat litter and a 12 pack of mini cupcakes.

Zooming down Main, I see gales of tourists, usually taking pictures of the trolley. They act like it’s their first trolley sighting

I made my way home.

I checked my mail which I hate to do – it is usually all junk mail. I was surprised to find an envelope that contain a crayon masterpiece from my niece, Katey. The masterpiece is that of a crayon house with fishes and princesses – very Kateylike. Katey is seven years old and the apple of my eye. Her and my 3 month old nephew Jacob are the kids of my brother William and his wife Molly. They live out in the boondocks of Collierville, a suburbs of Memphis, along with my parents, Martha and Ward.

I make my way up to my apartment and open the door and run right into my dead husband, the Orge.” DAMN’T ORGE! You scared me. “ He is this big white glob suited in a hospital gown and sweats. While I park my car in the hall way aka garage, Orge floats and laughs (mostly all he ever does) , replies “Hiya LUVBUG”.

I grab my walker and walk down the hallway that displays all of our art and mutter FUCK YOU. You see I am still bitter (somewhat) over how he died. Sam greets him with a swat of the paw and a meow and ignores me.

I said.” I see you haven’t started dinner or clean up.” He whistles,” DO I EVER”? And floats right by my ear. He grabs the movie and says O lets watch this in bed. I yelled, “ NO! You know I always fall asleep. And plus I need to start dinner”, as I get out the roast, mushrooms and put them on the cart. SWOOSH, he disappears. I yelled “Ya come back now, you hear.” I cracked up. Orge as a ghost can not handle food. I contributed it to his undying love for my cooking while he was alive. I always tell him,’Hon, as a ghost I guess you got to give up some pleasurable things such as sex and food.’

Orge died while in bed having mad passionate sex with me. It was so good his ticker couldn’t handle it and gave out. He was pumping and pumping and just collapsed. The EMT’s and medical examiner didn’t believe me. They never saw the headboard I pulled off the wall of the hotel in Birmingham, either. This is when “the poor crazy crippled girl” comes into play. The cause of death was heart attack, but WE know, I guess that’s why St. Peter won’t allow him into the pearly gates in heaven - the cause of death.