Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Most Recent Posts
- Bunnies
- Gracie and Sandi, You Are The Winners!!
- American Idol’s David Cook Homecoming In Kansas City
- Through Irish Eyes
- Sleepless In Kansas City
- I KNEW My Son-In-Law Was A Winner!
- Anybody Wanna Make A Quick Five Bucks?
- Looking To Connect With A Wonderful Agent?
- This I Believe
- Beans And Rice, Rice And Beans
- There’s A Whole Bunch Of Stuff I’m Not Being Paid To Do--A Mild Rant
- A Moment Like This
- Twenty-four
- Just Don’t Tax My Romance
- Too Much Fun!
Syndicate
E me at katy @ ngenius.com
Bunnies
I got a call from my literary agent this morning. It’s freakish how much fun we have talking on the phone, about everything from Mother’s Day, to getting lost in the big city, to not being able to keep houseplants alive.
But I digress. Apparently, a lot.
The good news is that Rachelle has read my book and loves it! However, she’s got a few “ish,” ones she and I will clear up together before she starts submitting my manuscript in earnest.
“You go off on bunny trails,” she says.
“But did you see my post about going downtown to see American Idol’s David Cook?”
I KNOW she and her daughters are huge David Cook fans. She will want to talk about David Cook, right?
“Yeah, I did. Very cool, Katy. Now about the bunny trails...it happens most often during dialogue.”
“We TOTALLY got on the wrong bus leaving downtown. Ended up in kind of a scary part of town. There was a guy on the bus saying stuff into his cell phone like, ‘You’re my Tasmanian Devil, baby.’ Can you imagine?”
“No, honestly, I can’t,” Rachelle says. “Now, about your book, which--please remember--I really, really love. Sometimes, you have two lines of dialogue, followed by a bunny trail, and then another two lines, followed by another bunny trail.”
“We live on acreage, you know. TONS of bunnies,” I say. “I am not kidding, Rachelle. I can sit here near the window and count literally hundreds of bunnies in, like, an HOUR. You would not BELIEVE the bunnies!”
“I’m thinking we could do a bit of an edit on your book and deal with the bunny trails. It needs to happen.”
So she wasn’t calling about David Cook or taking the wrong bus or fear of killing my Mother’s Day orchid? This was sobering, indeed.
“Katy, the bunny trails have to go.”
“But...what about the bunnies?”
“We’ll build a hutch.”
Gracie and Sandi, You Are The Winners!!
Congrats to Gracie and Sandi, who’ve each one a copy of BJ Hoff’s newest novel release, Song of Erin. If you’d both email me (Katy at ngenius.com) with your postal addresses, I will put your books in the mail right away!
Congrats, and Happy Reading!!
American Idol’s David Cook Homecoming In Kansas City
David Cook, who’s now arrived in the top three on American Idol for VERY good reason, was home in Kansas City today to celebrate among his peeps. And celebrate we did!
Before appearing in a parade in his honor and then singing to a stadium full of fans, David took the stage outdoors in the new Kansas City Power & Light entertainment district downtown. With a canopy overhead to shield the audience from sprinkles and multi-levels for great views, the venue proved a perfect one, especially since it’s directly across the street from the acclaimed Sprint Center arena where the top ten Idols will be performing in August.
David opened by seeming genuinely shocked by the turn-out, saying to the crowd, “Why are you all HERE?” I’ve got to think it’s such a different thing to be in the “Idol Bubble” for all these many weeks and then to suddenly be out with the rest of everyone--the regular people who are rooting for you and proud of their hometown boy. He sang Living on a Prayer and Always Be My Baby.
Speaking of pride, I could not be prouder of my husband Doug, who practically got arrested (okay, that might be a small exaggeration, but not much of one at all considering how excited I am!) by positioning himself and his camera within one foot of the limousine door through which David Cook eventually entered to leave the area.
My son Kevin, our friend Rocky and I stood across the street and watched Doug’s boldness increase moment by moment. He was not deterred by officers of the law (who tried to push him out of the way!), by bodyguards (who gave him threatening looks!), or by Kansas City Chiefs cheerleaders (who honestly had on almost no clothing!) from fulfilling his mission of getting THE BEST POSSIBLE close-ups of David that he could.
 “There’s Katy! Make sure you read her book when it comes out.” |
The pic of David pointing? He was looking RIGHT AT ME. I mean, we locked eyes. Read the caption to get the full impact. You will be amazed!
Here’s the whole set of photos from my flickr photostream.
After Doug took the close-ups, by the way, he crossed the street to where the three of us stood cheering and said, “Wow. David seems like such a humble guy.”
See, THAT’S how we should feel when we get to know someone as closely as Doug now knows David.
Through Irish Eyes
I will eventually read all of BJ Hoff’s historical novels, but you probably won’t be surprised to know that I’ve started with the Irish stories. I know, I know. I can’t help myself! I have learned so much about my own heritage by reading her books that I just can’t say enough good about them.
Today, I’m thrilled to present BJ to you right here on fallible. If you haven’t had the occasion to enjoy her blog, allow me to recommend it to you! You will find a wealth of information there about books, music, mac computers, culture, faith, and writing. And I’m blessed to have two copies of her latest release, Song of Erin, to give away to a couple of very fortunate commenters. So don’t hold back, fallible readers!
Katy: BJ, you had me completely hooked when you opened Song of Erin with a character attempting to survive the devastating 1839 hurricane on the island of Inishmore, off the west coast of Ireland. As I read closer, I realized that the fort in which Terese finds herself trapped (Dun Aengus) is one Doug and I visited in 2000! (I’m posting two photos to prove it…)
BJ: Katy, you should know that you’re the first person I’ve heard from who’s actually seen the old fort up close.
Katy: I’m telling you, once I climbed to the top of the hill (click on the pic to the left to see me huffing up the path) on which the fort was built supposedly around 1000 B.C., I didn’t have ANY strength left to cling to a rock for survival like Terese did!
BJ: Isn’t it a wild and formidable sight? Can’t you just imagine a hurricane blowing through there? Oops—I forgot that you’re supposed to be the one asking the questions!
Katy: Ha! Okay, here’s a question: Can you tell fallible readers how you choose such fascinating bits of history around which to build your novels?
BJ: So much of what turns into story ideas originally comes from my own leisure reading (and, of course, my own family tree!). I tend to incorporate pieces of history that captured my interest and intrigued me when I was reading not for research, but simply for my own interest.
Katy: My own family is new to this country. My father came directly to Kansas City, sponsored by his Irish immigrant uncle. So somehow I’ve missed out on the Irish/New York story as it unfolded in the 1800s. How my family in County Monaghan avoided starvation during the potato famine, I’m still discovering…
BJ: Before I ever wrote my first historical novel, I spent years reading about the Irish potato famine (the “Great Hunger”) of the mid-1800s that resulted in the near devastation of Ireland and in the mass immigration of the Irish to America. It seemed that every book or journal I read caused me to go searching for more.
Katy: Before reading Song of Erin (a re-release of two novels—Cloth of Heaven and Ashes and Lace—in one volume), I devoured all five books of your Emerald Ballad series. I couldn’t read them fast enough—or slowly enough, either—to make me happy. I loved (and hated) learning about the notorious slums of New York (such as Five Points), in which the Irish immigrants often found themselves subsisting.
BJ: By the time I decided to write the first book of my Emerald Ballad series, I had more ideas waiting to be developed than I knew what to do with! In Song of Erin, I deal again with aspects of the Irish making America their new home.
Katy: Tell us a bit about your writing process. Does the setting occur to you first or an inciting incident, perhaps? Or do characters appear and dictate what situations you place them in?
BJ: Every book I’ve ever written has begun with my anchor character. I’ve been asked time and again where my characters “come from,” but I’ve no idea. They simply … happen. First comes the main character, then the others. The story evolves from the people. Always. That’s been the way of it from the first book, and it’s never changed.
Katy: I love the way you say, “That’s been the way of it.” Sounds very Irish to my well-trained ear.
BJ: Well, I don’t mean to make the process sound at all “mystical,” but I truly have no real explanation for the way my stories develop.
Katy: Speaking of main characters, I think you’ve said that if a movie were ever made of Song of Erin, your choice for the dashing character, Jack Kane, would have been a young Sean Connery. (Be still my heart.)
BJ: You would not believe how many readers have sent ideas to me about the casting for some of my novels! And out of all the suggestions I’ve seen for Jack Kane, a young Sean Connery is the one most often posed. Well, we can’t roll back the years for Sir Sean, so if the need ever presents itself, I’m not sure where we’ll look.
Katy: Will anyone else do? I don’t suppose Pierce Brosnan could fill in?
BJ: Sorry, Katy. Not Pierce.
Katy: Give me one good reason! I would be perfectly happy with Pierce.
BJ: He just wouldn’t do, not at all. Maybe Clive Owen or Gerard Butler?
Katy: Pierce Brosnan! Perfectly. Happy. Oh, wait. This isn’t about me…
BJ: I understand, Katy. These things happen.
Katy: I’ve read somewhere (perhaps on your blog?) that you attach particular importance to infusing your stories with hope. Toward the end of Song of Erin, I could not see how you could possibly pull off such a feat!
BJ: I honestly don’t believe I could write a book that’s without hope. Our God is a God of hope, and if we genuinely believe in Him, we have to believe in that hope.
Katy: But everything conspired at once to almost guarantee your characters would fail in their quests, and that their dreams would die a morose Irish death complete with old ladies keening at the wake.
BJ: Ah—but that’s only how it seemed, right? Seriously, the most miserable people (and characters) in the world must be those who don’t believe in hope or who have never come to know the God who makes it possible to hope.
Katy: Of course, not all of your characters meet a happy ending, but somehow the reader is left sighing with satisfaction that there is indeed hope for man and womankind. Tell us about the redemptive nature of hope and why it’s important to you to impart it through fiction.
BJ: This isn’t the kind of hope that “wishes for the best” or some fluffy mist of self-deceit we try to impose upon ourselves and others, but a gift. A God-gift that enables us, even in the midst of suffering and struggle and sorrow, to believe that He’s still in control, still guiding our lives, and still working His best will for each of us. So if hope truly does permeate my fiction, it’s because I believe this … because I believe Him.
Katy: It’s been a true joy to have you with us here on fallible, BJ! Thank you for coming.
BJ: This has been fun, Katy. Thanks for inviting me.
Leave your comments, one and all! I’ll give away two copies of Song of Erin sometime on Friday.
Sleepless In Kansas City
I have some relatively young readers, and I’m afraid you may be misled into believing that when you have babies and small children, you are living through the most sleepless nights of your lives. You may actually be deceived into looking forward to your later years, when you plan to snooze undisturbed.
If you’re anticipating the type of “deep and dreamless sleep” that would do a Christmas carol justice, think again. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since Scott Douglas Raymond, soon to turn 29 years old, took three days to be born.
“How can that be?” you might ask. “Three whole days?” Yeah, and three whole nights, too. OK, technically, they charted my labor at 26 hours. Scott was born at 2 a.m., which means that whole night was lost, sleepwise. However, I was in mild labor the entire night before that one, and after enjoying him during the day after his birth, I was too excited to sleep the NEXT night.
It was like REALLY bad jet lag, but with a darling baby and a sitz bath for scenery.
Scotty was a wakeful child. Day and night, from birth. I once complained (while pregnant with Carrie) to his pediatrician that I was desperate to find a cure for his naplessness. Hoping to connect on an intellectual basis, the doctor turned to two-year-old Scott and said, “You need to take a nap in the afternoon because your mother is very tired.”
It’s safe to say I haven’t slept more than three hours at a time for all these years. And if, during those three hours, so much as a faint shadow passes in front of my closed eyes (indicating someone standing near me in the room), I’m SO awake it’s pathetic.
Once all the babies are born and getting older, you might think things settle down. You only think this if you’ve never heard of ear infections. Or throwing up. You don’t think these illnesses strike during daylight, do you? Where have you been all your life??
The nocturnal sicknesses begin to die down when the first child gets his driving permit. You will lie wide awake, your eyes fixated on the ceiling, just imagining the day your podunk backward state grants a license to your obviously terrible driver of a child. You will pray the age to drive is raised to at least 35, quick. You might even circulate petitions to that effect.
Then, when the inevitable happens and your incompetent license bureau grants permission for your kid to wreak havoc on interstate highways at a speed that may very well be faster than guardian angels are able to fly, your eyes won’t close for upwards of four years. Per child. This is where having twins would come in very handy.
During this time, your prayer life will experience a remarkable resurgence. The main thing you will pray about, besides the safety of your driving children and every vehicle with which they come into contact, is that you will be able to function for a much longer time than you ever thought possible on no sleep. None whatsoever.
About the time your youngest child has been driving for four years, and you are catching a cat nap of fifteen minutes or so every now and then, your oldest child will decide on backpacking across some very iffy countries in Asia--alone--for several weeks. He will email you that he is staying in hole-in-the-wall dives to the tune of $1 per night. He will even email you a picture of the so-called room.
You will discover that most of your children’s traveling passions--whether for missions or personal fulfillment--involve countries with epidemics of malaria, non-existent legitimate governments, and State Department warnings urging Americans to STAY AWAY. (Waving to Carrie and Kevin!)
You will be scared, very scared. Jesus will soothe your fears, but will you sleep? Try it and let me know how it works for you.
Mixed up with all this kid stuff, there will probably be a few parent things going on, too. In 2008 alone, I have spent five nights thus far with my mother in the ER. I’m talking all-nighters, people! I used to get sick if I stayed up all night at a slumber party, and I was only fourteen at the time. My body wasn’t made to stay up for 24 hours at a time, and yet--I do.
A good night for me is now one during which I’ve got a kid galavanting around a country in which a ton of travelers end up caught dead while also dealing with Mom and her seriously infectious bacterial infection of the intestine. (Please don’t ask for a list of symptoms.) When you ain’t sleeping anyway, you might as well double dip. You know what I’m sayin’?
Just when you think things are settling down a bit, your daughter will get married to a terrific guy. A really stable guy, you know? But the weather isn’t stable, and that’s when he comes to life. For you see, he’s a meteorologist.
Kansas City, as you may know, is in the thick of what’s known as Tornado Alley. I have spent fourteen years in this house, and I can count on a few hands how many times I’ve visited my own basement--and none of them have been during a storm. But now? I’ve got my darling daughter Carrie calling me at 1 a.m. saying, “Mom, Marc says you and Dad HAVE to go to the basement! NOW!!”
“Carrie,” I say, “honestly, we’ve just now gotten to sleep. Can’t this wait till morning?”
“Mom! Tornado! Promise me you’ll go to the basement!”
And so I promise her. Because that’s the kind of mom I am. And I’ll just bet you’re that kind of mom, too.
The kind of mom who goes from staying awake worrying about others to staying awake while others worry about you.
That, fallible ones, is the Sleepless Circle of Life. I’m not sure it lasts forever, but you might as well know that I’m at 29 years and counting.
But, oh, the beautiful people over whom I’ve lost all that sleep.
I KNEW My Son-In-Law Was A Winner!
Marc Ryan Dahmer, you are now the proud owner of $5 you didn’t own before leaving a comment on my blog!
I’m actually shocked by how close your answer was. You guessed Americans spent $4.5 billion on ATM fees in 2007. According to this article in the New York Times, we spent $4.2 billion.
Isn’t that just the craziest amount of money to blow on something so nutty?
Marc, I trust you to handle your extra five bucks with the utmost wisdom!!! :)
Anybody Wanna Make A Quick Five Bucks?
I’ve got five bucks that says we Americans are paying WAY too much for ATM fees.
I’ll tell you right now that I’ve never used an ATM machine, except for a few times in Europe and man, did we pay for the privilege. But this isn’t about the Old Country. This is about the good old U.S.A.
The reason I’ve never used an ATM machine is simple. It costs money, and it’s no more convenient for me (perhaps even less) than getting cash when I use my debit card at WalMart or Target or the grocery store. ALL of those places---and a gazillion more--routinely ask upon checkout if I want “cash back.” If I realize that I need a bit of green for walking about, I ask for a $20 or whatever. It’s a free service. FREE.
Here we are, calling into Idol Gives Back and contributing millions of dollars out the goodness of our hearts, helping the disadvantaged both in our own country and in Africa. Here we are, planning how to spend our rebate checks, or even planning how to get out of debt with that money or start a much needed emergency fund.
I’ve got an emergency fund for you, fallible ones! I just read how much Americans spent on ATM fees in 2007. I’m not going to link to the article just yet, but let’s just say the amount could pay off the national debt of a few small countries.
For the commenter who guesses the closest (and I’m trusting you not to search for the answer before commenting), I’ll send you a $5 bill via the US Postal Service. That should cover your next cash withdrawal, assuming you use an ATM not associated with your own bank, and get charged twice for the so-called convenience.
While I’m at the USPS, I’ll probably ask for a $50, just in case you’re wondering.
Looking To Connect With A Wonderful Agent?
Wanna get in on another fun (and not time consuming!) contest on my agent Rachelle Gardner’s blog?
Check it out! You may win your choice of a $20 Amazon gift certificate or a 5-page critique of your writing from Rachelle.
As of this writing, 89 people have entered the contest, and I’m thinking it stopped being about the $20 forever ago.
This could be your break, O ye fallible ones!
This I Believe
I BELIEVE in the sanctity of sock marriage. Socks are, by their very nature, knit together in monogamy. If the clothes dryer perchance puts them asunder, a pair of socks never pursues divorce. The missing mate is merely vacationing somewhere, such as on the vast white beach of that new sheet I got on sale at Target. Therefore, the sock which languishes in loneliness waiting for its partner’s return must never be cast away, for then it would surely lose hope.
I BELIEVE that the tube of mascara, the tube of lipstick, and the tube of toothpaste are veritable bottomless pits, but in a good way. Upon awakening from a deep and dreamless sleep on the morrow, I shall be blessed with the daily manna of one more portion from each of these tubes, for such is the strength of my belief. If upon arising I am unable to squeeze, extract, or dip one additional measure from one of my beloved tubes, I shall allow such a tube to lie fallow for a period of a week, at which time I shall give it another whirl.
I BELIEVE that emory boards that have lost the power of their emory shall, after reproof, be put to rest inside the linen closet, lo, even mixed in among those quality emory boards of which it could be rightly said that “iron sharpens iron.” Upon blindly reaching in to lay hold of a random emory board with my set of ragged fingernails in a fortnight or so, I believe that the smoothness of the affected emory board shall have been restored to the glory of its former abrasiveness.
I BELIEVE that an item for retail sale with a slogan emblazoned on the packaging in the upper corner bearing the fortuitous words “As Seen On TV” is verily 99.94% more likely to be effective. Therefore, I believe I shall buy it.
I BELIEVE that if I compose a fresh to-do list, all the items on my previous to-do list must have obviously been accomplished heartily, as unto the Lord, even if they weren’t exactly checked off. I believe I do not need to look back at the old list ever, ever again.
I BELIEVE that if I am faithful to apprehend a cumbersome piece of exercise equipment and drag it home, that I will have burned so many calories and built so much strength, it won’t much matter if I use it a second time. Kind of like Samson knocking down those huge pillars, but with a better haircut.
I BELIEVE that sour milk, if returned to the fridge from which it came, will thusly smell miraculously better the next day.
I BELIEVE that vengeance is not mine, but the Lord’s, and therefore that a multitude of ballpoint pens--no matter how poorly they produce ink--shall be saved by grace. Of course, if they fail to work after experiencing a merciful junk-drawer salvation quite a few times, I reserve the right to banish them into the abyss forever.
Beans And Rice, Rice And Beans
I feel sorry for nationally known financial advisor Dave Ramsey, I really do.
I love the guy. LOVE. I think he can be credited for getting more regular folks on track with their finances than maybe anyone out there.
But here’s the deal: He regularly advises those who are serious about getting out of debt to get “gazelle intense,” to start delivering pizzas in the evenings for extra money, and to go on a diet of “beans and rice, and rice and beans.”
Hello! Word is that the economy’s gotten so stinkin’ bad that Americans will be spending their so-called stimulus checks not on something exciting like electronic gadgets or Alaskan cruises, but on gasoline and FOOD.
It’s just that the food they buy might not be beans and rice, if stores keep up the trend of rationing these supplies. The food purchased with a stimulus check might not be flour, oil, or corn, either. And if you think you can rely on your old cheap standby for great protein--eggs--check that price tag!
So I’m proposing that Dave change his motto to “Rib-Eye and Cheesecake, Cheesecake and Ribeye.” If we’re all going to the Poorer House anyway, why not go in culinary style?
Now, THAT’S a stimulating financial plan!
There’s A Whole Bunch Of Stuff I’m Not Being Paid To Do--A Mild Rant
My husband and I are both self-employed, working from home. It’s been eight years since either of us worked for Someone Else’s Company, which suits us just fine. We even, usually, enjoy the fact that we’re together almost 24-7. If we can ever afford to retire, we’ll already have made THAT adjustment.
We’ve also gotten plenty used to the fact that we’re frequently called upon to handle duties that are difficult for those who must keep regular 9-5 hours. It’s not easy--since we are only paid for the hours we actually work, and not necessarily for all of those--but we deal. We really are the ones most available to handle the needs of The Moms during the work day, and in the middle of the night, too.
But what I’m coming to increasingly resent is the attitude out there in the world that not only should we be doing our own jobs and taking care of extended family responsibilities, but we should also be doing bits and pieces of the work of every clerk, salesperson, repairman, server, and admin assistant on the face of the planet.
Here’s my most recent example. I take several prescriptions on a regular basis. Every month, two days before I really need to, I call the automated line at my pharmacy to order refills. Occasionally, the recording informs me that the doctor must be called to authorize the refill, and to allow extra time. That’s precisely why I call two days before I really need to.
Two days after I call, I run into the pharmacy to pick up my scripts. The new habit of the pharmacy technician is to say to me, “One of them isn’t ready. The doctor still hasn’t called back.”
“But I’ve waited two days,” I say. “Your directions say to allow one day, unless the doctor must be called, in which case to allow two days. It’s been...” and then I look at my watch for effect, “...two days.”
Then she says, “Have you tried calling them? Because they never called us back...”
Starting a few days ago, this is my new answer: “No, I haven’t tried that. And I’m not going to try that.” Mind you, I say all of this with a very pleasant voice and a friendly expression on my face. When the technician looks at me like I’ve lost it, I add, “Because, you see, that’s your job. I’ve got a job, and calling my doctor to beg him to fill my monthly prescription is not it.”
“I could try calling again...” she says.
I smile. “I think that is an excellent idea.”
I really don’t get paid enough to do my job and parts of everyone else’s jobs, too. So I’m setting up boundaries. I’m betting that, if sufficiently challenged, there are a lot of workers out there who are capable of fulfilling every jot and tittle of their job descriptions. Far be it from me to deny them the opportunity.
Got any people who’ve tried to pass off parts of their jobs on you recently? How do you deal with it?
A Moment Like This
Now that I’m *ahem* the age I am, I gotta tell ya living in the moment is overrated. In fact, it’s darned near impossible.
I’m quite adept--and becoming more so every day!--at recalling even the most fragmented bits of minutia from the past. I can tell you precisely how much my wedding gown cost, down to the penny, and produce the receipt from Sherri’s Bridal to prove my point. I know how much it cost to deliver each of my three children. Heck, I even know how much my parents had to pay the hospital to produce the likes of me--$140, cash on the barrel.
When I worked for a major pharmaceutical company in the early ‘70s, I was coerced into believing that I could not do my job (data entry clerk) unless I memorized upwards of several thousand product stock numbers. I didn’t realize until much later that NO ONE had been asked to do this before or after my successful feat, but do you think I can forget those numbers to this day? I cannot.
I am able to recreate the details of my mother’s complicated medical history as if it’s child’s play. I know the doses of Valium she’s been prescribed beginning in 1964 up until, well, now.
I’m also quite nimble when it comes to planning for the future. I rarely need to record next week’s appointments on a calendar, though I do so anyway because it seems like the responsible thing to do. I don’t forget birthdays or the fact that we’re almost out of toilet paper. I remember to check our account balances online regularly and certainly don’t skip making a deposit on payday.
I never miss a meal, either, but I’m thinking you’d probably guessed that already.
So, tell me, why can’t I remember a SINGLE simple item long enough to turn off the water in the shower, grab a towel, and find a pen? It could be something REALLY IMPORTANT that needs to happen promptly, like reminding Doug to call his mother to tell her not to put her coat on yet because he’s not picking her up for lunch until next week, and I can’t remember it to save my life.
Many nights I have dreams that seem to hold special meaning for my life RIGHT NOW. I keep a pen and paper on my nightstand for just such purposes, but invariably when the dream occurs, I tell myself it is of such enormous significance that I can’t possibly forget it.
Two hours later, when the alarm goes off? I got nothin’.
So, if you’re one of those people who manages to live in the moment, would you mind clueing me in?
Until then, I’ll keep on reminiscing about the past and plotting out the future. Maybe somehow, with all of that covered, the present will take care of itself.
Twenty-four
Twenty-four years ago this morning, I dropped my two children off at my girlfriend Terri’s house and drove to the hospital to be with my critically ill father.
When I returned for Scott and Carrie eight hours later, it was to the open arms of a lifelong friend who offered me comfort, who mourned with me over Dad’s death and my deep loss.
This morning, Terri called. It is my turn to weep with her, my turn to care. For her own father died today, exactly 24 years after mine.
Every year that’s passed suddenly seems like no longer than a mere moment. Every detail of being in the hospital room as my father drew his last breath has come back to me in vivid memory as Terri told me the story of ushering her dad into eternity.
Sometimes, it can feel like an entire season has elapsed, when in truth only 24 brief hours have become history. Even now, time plays its tricks on me: Has it really been twenty-four years, or twenty-four hours, or twenty-four minutes?
But sometimes, when the passage of time means nothing at all, a hurting friend’s heart means everything in the world.
Just Don’t Tax My Romance
If you’re married to someone who’s romantic even on Tax Day, you know you’ve got it made.
When Doug awakened this morning, he put his arm around me and said, “I love you today.”
Never one to pass up an opportunity to tease, even when I’m sound asleep, I said, “So. How does that make this different than any other day?”
He kissed me then and answered, “It doesn’t. And that’s the point.”
I may have just parted with a huge chunk of change, but I’m never letting go of this man.
Too Much Fun!
Have you ever sat around (with too much free time, obviously) and googled first names, just to see how far down you are?
It seems to me that if you google the name George, either George Bush or George Clooney should be Number One. Instead, we’ve got George Washington. Then the president. Poor George Clooney rates Number Six, after George High Quality Pet Products and a web comic strip called George.
Does that seem fair to you?
I googled Jennifer, since several stars share that name. Jennifer Lopez came in at Numero Uno, but Jennifer Anniston trailed the company that makes sofabeds, Jennifer Convertibles. Weird, huh?
I figured either Nicole Kidman or Nicole Richie would take the top spot for that first name, but it went to a chick in The Pussycat Dolls. Heck, Nicole Richie didn’t weigh in until Number Five.
You’d think of all the Toms out there, Tom Cruise would be at the top of the heap, but no. Tom Anderson, the president of MySpace took the honors. Tom Cruise lagged behind at #4, after (I am not making this up) Tom’s Hardware.
And then there’s the name Katy. Now if I were named Katie, I’d have to contend with Katie Holmes and Katie Couric, among others. I realize that the spelling of my name is not the most common, but it’s not THAT unusual.
People! If you google the name Katy, you’ll get a couple of sites for Katy, Texas, and the Katy Trail, and the Katy Railroad. But of all the individuals named Katy in THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE KNOWN TO HUMANKIND, I am listed FIRST.
I don’t know what this means, honestly. It could just mean that I’ve been blogging longer than most users of facebook have been alive, and so search engines have no choice but to grudgingly acknowledge my longevity. But it is still fun, and if it constitutes my fifteen minutes, I’m sure not gonna turn it down!
Happy weekend, everyone!
