Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Katy is represented by
Greg Johnson at
WordServe Literary
Read more Katy at
LateBoomer.net
Recent Posts
- Try
- Becoming Brenda Starr
- Off Beat
- Scattered
- That’s It
- So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What?
- The Spoon
- Sciatica
- Sweetheart
- A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose
- However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time
- After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices.
- As with everything in life, balance is key.
- Slow down, you move too fast…
- Yeah, I know. I have issues.
Syndicate
E me at katy @ ngenius.com
In The Spirit! (#1179)
The ice crashed from the trees on our three-acre lot all afternoon yesterday. You should have heard the cacophonous racket! There were actually warnings on TV to “watch for falling ice!” It’s a good thing most of it melted, since tonight we may end up with 4-8 inches of snow.
We’ve had a boatload of winter weather in December, so much so that retailers have likely suffered. It’s hard to carve out the time (and the driveway) between storms in order to do our duty to the Cash Registers of America.
Even so, I’ve managed to discover the single best gift EVER for the obsessive/compulsive guy (or gal) in your life. I ordered it on Amazon, had it delivered, and Doug and I used the last good weather day (11 days ago…) to test it out. What is Doug’s early Christmas present? A power washer!
If you are a homeowner, you seriously might want to consider plunking down $100 or so for one of these puppies. We now have many power washing extravaganzas planned for nice-weather-days to come, because we SO ENJOYED cleaning the garage.
Yes, folks, removing EVERY SINGLE ITEM from the abyss, power washing all surfaces both vertical and horizontal, and then returning (in a very extremely organized fashion) only those items which MAKE SENSE for our lives NOW is our idea of “decorating for the holidays.”
It’s sick, I know. And really, tomorrow the wreaths will be hung, the tree will be trimmed, and the mantle will be the happy bearer of garlands and ribbons and stockings galore.
But for today, we’re going to revel once more in a totally clean garage, in which we can house two cars who’ve spent their whole lives braving the elements. The poor dears.
Here are the pics to prove our diligence, and the fact that “getting in the Christmas spirit” means different things to different people.
This decluttering thing? It’s got me MAJORLY in the spirit! Now, get thee to the Home Depot and get your own power washer!
It’s really fun to use the focused stream of stinging water to calligraphy “Merry Christmas” into the big oil stain on the garage floor. That and some hot chocolate, and you’ll be sighing with contentment.
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Happy SEVENTH Blogiversary To Me! (#1178)
In honor of the day, I am posting again my very first post, this time with (ta-da!) pictures. Mary Beth, is—as you’ve probably guessed—the pixie cut. The picture of us with the corsages? That’s our joint 14th birthday party! My grandpa sent us the matching corsages—a first for both of us.
And now, for Fallible Post Number One:
 Mary Beth 1959  Katy 1959  14th Birthday | Today is my very first best friend’s birthday. We were five years old when we laid eyes on each other, in Mrs. Pendergast’s afternoon kindergarten class. Mary Beth was playing with the three-story doll house, which dwarfed her, and I was overwhelmed by her tinyness. I was a fragile girl myself, but being the oldest child in my family, I felt big. Mary Beth was the baby of five children, and looked and acted the part. We wore sturdy, navy blue, Catholic jumpers, starched white blouses, and impossibly cumbersome black-and-white saddle oxfords. Mary Beth’s minuscule body was lost in these symbols of sameness, but her sparkling expression was anything but uniform. I thought she was delightfully different. Suddenly, this little living doll was tip-toeing toward me, happily interrupting my project involving a huge sheet of manilla paper and a virgin box of eight perfect crayons. And there, trailing around, behind and beside her left clod-hopper was a 24-inch long shoelace, which threatened to be her undoing. And then, she spoke. “Can you tie my shoe for me?” Could I? Interruptions like these were to become the essence of our childhood union. Best friends like Mary Beth are forever calling when you’re doing your homework, or coming over when you’re supposed to be washing the dishes. She’ll want to exchange gifts when you’re supposed to be at Christmas Eve Mass, and talk about boys while you’re watching Ozzie and Harriet. |
When she’s grown older and less self-absorbed, she begs you to dump your English pen-pal and start writing to her big brother Vinnie, who’s in Vietnam, so he won’t be lonely. A first best friend doesn’t happen often, but she happens with an unmistakeable audacity. Happy 47th Birthday, Mary Beth! You can interrupt me anytime.
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Blogging With The Stars (#1177)
All I had to do was get a REAL comment from the very REAL Peter Walsh (star of “Clean Sweep” and author of “It’s All Too Much”) and suddenly all the stars want a piece of me.
Maybe they’re jealous of Peter, I don’t know. But I’m starting to understand how they must feel getting chased by the paparazzi when they’re in their scuzzy sweats and make-up-less. There’s no where to hide from the rich and famous here on fallible! I’m breathless from trying to escape the attention.
Some recent visitors in the comments section include Natalie Portman, Nicole Kidman (twice just this morning!), Hugh Jackman, Lindsay Lohan, Adam Sandler, and Angelina Jolie.
I’m not complaining, but I gotta say I keep waiting for George Clooney, and so far? Nothing.
Any of the rest of you getting lots of visits from the stars?
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Fallible Winners, Send Me Your Addresses! (#1176)
Some weeks ago, I wrote a post called “Reader’s Choice,” in which I asked for your ideas about what to post. Yeah, I get desperate sometimes, and you guys are great at bailing me out!
I’ve chosen three commenters to receive a vintage Christmas album called “Let Us Go To Bethlehem.” This CD—recorded in a basement by Marc Haney and friends—includes narration, singing, and instrumentation by none other than Doug Raymond, circa 1974. Guaranteed to please, fresh off the CD press. The winners are: Anna, Carrie K, and Joshua.
Then, a few days back, I asked for recs of Christmas books, movies, and music, promising a CD to a randomly chosen commenter. Melodyrose is the winner!
If you four would send me your postal addresses, I’ll get your Christmas cheer in the mail to you! Congratulations!
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Peter Walsh Rules! (#1175)
OK, I’m going to indulge in a bit of Friday night hero worship. Of course, you all know Doug is my main man in the hero department, but sometimes, I gotta tell ya’, other guys step up.
On my post entitled “Shock and Awe,” in which I describe the wonderful effect Oprah’s episodes about hoarding and de-cluttering have had on me, I mentioned Peter Walsh and his great work with the couple on the show.
Guess what? He left a comment on that post! He’s just motivated me to take another pass at the linen closet! :)
I love Peter’s book “It’s All Too Much,” and won’t be ridding myself of it in any purging process in the near or distant future. Now I’m looking forward to his next release, “Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Fat?”
Um…clutter may not be completely responsible, but it sure doesn’t help!
Thanks for the encouragement to straighten up and fly right, Peter. I owe you, big time.
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So I Posted That Last Post, Which Led Directly To Posting This Post (#1174)
Brandy commented on my previous post that I needed to avail myself of the Christmas music of Andrew Peterson. I assured her I would do just that.
While thinking about Christmas music, I decided I’d better dig out those tickets Doug and I purchased for a concert at our church and put them in my purse, since the event’s tonight. Way to get those neurons firing, eh?
So then I actually LOOKED at the tickets, beyond just to see what time the doors open. I mean, I actually read the names of those performing. Here is what my ticket says:
“Behold the Lamb of God: The TRUE tall tale of the Coming of Christ. A concert with Andrew Peterson and special guests Sara Groves, Andrew Gullahorn, Bebo Norman, Andrew Osenga, Jill Phillips, and more.”
So, Brandy! Amazing, wouldn’t you say? Here you mention a musician I know NOTHING about, and it turns out I’ve got tickets to see him tonight!
How cool is that?
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Reading, Watching, Listening (#1173)
I plan to spend a fair amount of time this Christmas season curled up with a good book (or movie) and a cuppa something yummy.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read A Christmas Carol during December. And while Doug did not love John Grisham’s Skipping Christmas, I got a huge kick out of it and read it almost every year.
Of course, I can’t survive the holidays without a viewing of It’s A Wonderful Life. Even if I could survive, it would feel wrong.
Now I’d like your suggestions. Any books or movies that have become traditional Christmas fare for you?
Weigh in with your fave Christmas music, too. I’ll share mine: A lovely album called “Let Us Go To Bethlehem,” by Marc Haney and friends. One of the “friends” happens to be Doug Raymond, my favorite musician and singer in the whole universe. This vintage album was recorded in (I think) 1974, but is one for the ages.
I will randomly choose a commenter to receive a CD of “Let Us.” It’s sure to become one of your very own holiday treasures!
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Shock And Awe (#1172)
It’s been two full weeks since Oprah aired her episodes about the hoarding couple. Two full weeks since I witnessed Peter Walsh, who wrote “It’s All Too Much,” go through that house with a nit-picking comb, subjecting himself to a fungal infection that spread from his leg up to his scalp.
If you could see the transformation that has taken place in our home since those fateful episodes, well. You’d be proud, and maybe even motivated. We should have taken pictures, but the idea of looking at the pictures seemed very overwhelming at the time. And I didn’t need anything else to feel overwhelmed about!
It’s been well-established by now that hoarding—which of course occurs across a spectrum of severity—is a type of obsessive/compulsive disorder. As hoarders go, I’m not bad. Really, I’m not.
Much of my hoarding seems to be related to my image of myself as some kind of benevolent Earth Mother. I can’t begin to describe the amazing preparations I made for Y2K, and more recently for the possibility of a bird flu epidemic. OK, now you all think I’m nuts, but I’m reasonably certain most of you had arrived at that conclusion already, so what have I lost by being honest? :)
The thing is, I’m getting a little old for the Earth Mother role. I’m ready to hang my hopes for survival on someone much younger and more energetic than I am. Don’t worry, though. If I end up at your house in the case of a disaster either God or man made, I promise to bring the few paltry items of sustenance and OTC meds I haven’t pitched by then. I may even have a blanket to spare, and one of those crank radios.
Beyond that, I’ll expect you to have stored up enough food, water, rechargeable batteries, generator fuel (you do have a generator, right?),bedding, gasoline, and unground wheat to last until kingdom come. Just remember, I would have done it for you, even though—as it ends up—I didn’t.
But this isn’t about you. It’s about Doug and me, and how we are freeing ourselves from junk. So far, we’ve made two runs to the Goodwill, with a station wagon absolutely loaded. This weekend, we’ll pack the station wagon with the third full load of pure trash. (Wow, an oxymoron, wouldn’t you say?) In addition, we’ve listed many large and heavy items on Craigslist, though we haven’t had any luck with those yet.
Our final steps will be to rid ourselves of all the chemical waste in the house, garage, and basement—paint, and everything else that falls into that category. Then, whatever we can’t sell on Craigslist or give away through Freecycle, we’ll have hauled out of here.
I know how hard it is to do this level of dumping when you still have kids in the house. During the summer of 2006, when both Carrie and Kevin moved all their things back in, I realized it would be fall of 2007 before we’d be able to make much of a dent. We were cool with that.
But here’s the deal: If you miss your window of opportunity to get rid of it, it may not come again. Both of our mothers were young widows (around my age), and once our dads died, all bets were off.
Both ladies continued to accumulate junk until the day we had to shovel them out of their homes and into assisted living. Their homes became way too much for them to manage by themselves, especially since they both tended toward being, let’s just say, packrats.
I am so grateful Doug can help me with this. I do not have the type of brain that can easily make decisions about what to let go of and what to keep. I tend to justify holding onto things because I got “such a good deal,” whether I ever actually loved or needed the items at all.
I also tend to consider myself the protectress of Other People’s Stuff. I have purchased furniture at garage sales when the owner mentioned that the piece had originally belonged to her grandmother. By golly, if the granddaughter wouldn’t honor her own grandma by hanging onto her couch, then I would! Because that’s the kind of granddaughter I am!
By Christmas, we’ll be done with this gigantic purge. It will feel so good that I won’t need another gift to celebrate the season.
If you can’t resist getting me something, promise me it won’t be anything I’ll have to pay big bucks to have carted off. Or anything that belonged to Someone Else’s Grandma.
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Black Friday—Deal Or No Deal? (#1171)
I don’t do Black Friday. I just don’t.
It’s a matter of principle, really. The principle is that I’m very extremely short, or at least it sure feels that way when I’m surrounded by giants cramming their way through a store’s door. The air down here gets awfully thin, and I tend toward hyperventilation. I’m afraid the rushing, crushing throngs will pop the lunch bag I use to manage my breathing, and that would be a true crisis, don’t you think?
I did try a bit of Amazon Black Friday shopping, though. One item interested me. It went on sale at precisely 8 am, and the sale ended at 9 am. One whole hour of leisurely online shopping. I poured a cuppa and waited for 8 am. Clicked “buy” the second the clocked rolled over the time. Too late! The item had already sold out.
On a lark—since I have to go up into town to the bank and post office—I asked Doug to call Westlake Hardware about an advertised power washer we could REALLY use to clean all the newly exposed surfaces of our garage floor and basement floor, not to mention our expansive front porch and our house’s siding.
The store had ONE power washer—the display model without a box—and they AREN’T offering rain checks! I think this is a bizarre policy for a store to have on ADVERTISED day-after specials, especially when retailers claim their whole year’s bottom line rests largely on this one day.
Ah, well. I remember now why I don’t do Black Friday. But I’m curious. Did you venture out, or online? Any luck actually getting what you went for? See any brawls break out?
I’ll give the frenzy a couple days to die down, and then take a run at it. Frenzy and I just don’t get along well. It SURE doesn’t make me feel in the holiday spirit—whatever that is.
If you can define “holiday spirit,” I’d like to know about it. Does it have ANYTHING to do with Black Friday? I’m thinking it’s GOT to be something else altogether, something that doesn’t involve sleep deprivation, fisticuffs, and surliness. And really awful Christmas music.
What do you think?
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As Always, Less Is More (#1170)
It was brought to my attention by a number of thoughtful readers that they weren’t able to access fallible for several days. Sure enough, I couldn’t access it, either! I think the problem is fixed now. Leave me a comment if you missed me!! :)
Ever since last weeks’ Oprah episodes on Thursday and Friday, I have been on a decluttering rampage. Doug is joining me in my renewed mission to make sense of, manage the quantity of, and be good stewards over our possessions.
On Sunday, we took two loads (in our small station wagon) of trash down to the street. Plus, I hauled one enormous load (barely room for my purse in the car!) to Goodwill. Here’s a tidbit I found fascinating: I got to Goodwill, and the person receiving donations came out to the car to help me.
“Are all these things being unloaded HERE?” she asked.
I figured one look in my car would tell her the answer. It was obvious I hadn’t been shopping. No bags from Kohl’s or WalMart or Target were mixed in among the giveaways.
“Um…yes?” I said.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “I’m not sure we’ve got room.”
I stepped into the warehouse and was shocked. In all the years I’ve been donating to this store, I have NEVER seen the warehouse so excruciatingly full. It looked like the lady’s house which was featured on Oprah! Only narrow paths between mounds of boxes and bags, stacked so high I felt frightened for my very extremely short self.
How we managed to add my carload to that warehouse full, I have no idea. We were throwing the lighter weight items onto the top of the heap and hoisting the heavier ones as high as we could, wedging them into whatever crevice happened to make itself available.
It occurred to me on the way home that half the people in the country saw Oprah’s show about drowning in clutter, and got the message—at least to the point that they made one run to Goodwill. What tipped me off was that the employee said ALL the donations in that enormous warehouse had come in THAT DAY. Unbelievable.
I will get back to posting after the holiday. Until then, may you have much—or even less—to be thankful for! I know I do.
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Oprah! (#1169)
You guys! I don’t watch Oprah often, but I am Tivoing yesterday and today’s episodes.
If you are at all interested in the subject of too-much-clutter, compulsive shopping, hoarding, and being owned by your possessions, you have got to see these episodes. If you aren’t able, go to Oprah’s websites and click through the photos.
You know what fascinates me most about this empty nesting couple? The wife didn’t begin compulsive shopping and hoarding in earnest until her first child flew the coop. When the second left, things got worse. By the time the final child exited, she didn’t know how to cope with the loss. Then, in the last couple years, as two of her own siblings died, things accelerated even more, until by now she and her husband could not sleep in the same bed because THERE WASN’T ROOM.
I am endlessly intrigued with this subject, since—as you know—I’m on a never-ending mission to downsize the number while upgrading the quality of our possessions. I have a friend who used to have regular garage sales in which she unloaded her antiques and other truly valuable items for a song, while holding onto all her crap. I was mystified by her faulty logic, and I think I always have her in the back of my thinking as I work my way through our own junk.
Unlike the lady on Oprah, though, I’ve gotten a little more free of the need to hang onto stuff as the months and years go by. Still, I know I tie too much of my identity to being able to snag a great bargain, even if I have no use for it whatsoever. These days, I enjoy shopping for baby outfits marked down to within an inch of their lives. When they go below a certain pre-set price, I purchase them and donate them to a local ministry. I get to experience the thrill of the hunt while making a real difference to some needy parents.
It took a team of one hundred professionals EIGHT WEEKS, under the direction of Peter Walsh, to deal with the scores of TONS of junk in this couple’s house.
If it would take a miracle to deal with yours, don’t miss these episodes!!
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Concierge (#1168)
We live right next door to one of the richest counties in the nation, which happens to fall in Kansas.
The county we live in, by contrast, is not only NOT one of the richest, it’s even in (gasp!) Missouri. When you live in the KC metro area, the State Line is everything. It’s funny, though. Forty or fifty years ago, the flight from Kansas City, MO, began in earnest. Most who fled didn’t consider it sufficient to flee to the outlying suburbs on the “Missouri side.” They hightailed it over to AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT STATE, where there was NO risk whatsoever of their children ending up in “those schools” or them ending up with undesirable neighbors.
Now, as poetic and regular justice would have it, the urban core of KCMO is undergoing a resurrgence. Doug and I couldn’t afford to move to town—where I grew up!—if we wanted to. But many of those life-long Kansans are buying lofts downtown. I think for some of them, the day they shopped for their city dwelling might have been the first time they’d ever crossed over.
Yeah, we tease about this stuff here. “They” talk crazy about us Missourians, too. It goes with the territory and makes living here interesting.
Doug just ran across a sales brochure for a business based in the Rich County. I wonder if they’d consider crossing over to help me out?
Here are the services offered by this personal concierge:
Errands, general pick-up and delivery, waiting service, organization, vendor referrals, reservations, light housekeeping, grocery shopping, vacation research, event planning, invitations, post-party clean-up, customized home checks, mail pick-up, stock fridge, gift buying, party preparation, holiday cards, decorate, graduations, weddings, new moms, relocations.
All services are offered on an a la carte basis, but membership pricing is available.
This really DOES raise the question of what people are still willing to do on their own behalf, doesn’t it?
I’ve got a few things I’d like on this list instead of the things on this list. If someone wants to do my items for me, I’d have the energy to do the fun stuff on the concierge’s list.
1. I don’t need someone to do light housekeeping. I need a heavy housekeeper. Someone who moves all the furniture and major appliances out from the walls and cleans behind each piece. Someone who removes every book from every shelf and dusts not only the shelf, but the books. Someone who does all the corners, and edges, and baseboards. Someone who will take my perfectly adequate but DIRTY indoor trash cans all outside for a good bath. Someone who will scour the siding on our house, and the outside of all the windows, on the same day. I need someone who’s greatest joy is to use a toothbrush on tile grout and on the metal track of a sliding glass shower door. Or patio door. Her choice.
2. I don’t need someone to pick up my dry cleaning. I’m too cheap to buy clothes that need dry cleaned, except for Doug’s suits, which he doesn’t wear often. I need someone to treat the stains he keeps getting on his everyday shirts. I need someone to catch me up a on a huge basket or ironing so I can wrap my own Christmas presents.
3. I don’t need someone to stock my fridge. I need someone to clean my fridge with a freakin’ scrub brush. I need someone to remove all the glass shelves (if you can pry them loose from whatever spilled substance has adhered them to the fridge) and the door shelves and clean them to within an inch of their lives. I need someone to get rid of all the salad dressings that are circa 1988, and combine the bottles of ketchup, mustard and KC Masterpiece BBQ sauce. I need someone who’s singularly unafraid of penicillin that isn’t contained in a sterile syringe, but that grows unencombered in my fridge.
4. I don’t need someone to do “customized home checks” while I’m on vacation. All my plants are already dead. I can cancel the mail delivery on my own, thanks. And if what you mean by “customized” is that you’ll take a peek into my lingerie drawer in my absence and giggle, I don’t think I’ll give you the key.
5. I don’t need a “waiting service.” Waiting is a welcome activity for me. It’s my down time. It’s when I can tell others who want a piece of me, “Oh, sorry. I need to be here from ten till six, waiting. Maybe next time!” It’s when I get some writing done, or some praying, or some reading. Oh, the bliss of waiting. You don’t need to pay me the big bucks to wait, and I won’t part with any of my money to lose the privilege.
6. I don’t need any more vendor referrals. I’ve got friends, who all use vendors. Most of said friends live in the Rich County, and know some quality providers. On the other hand, some of my favorite (read:cheap!) vendors are the down-and-dirty MIssouri folks I’ve come to depend on. For instance, if I want one of those fantastic professional cleaning jobs done on my car, I can go over to Kansas and spend $100. Or I can stay on this side and spend $45. My guess is that you would not be referring me to the fantastic $45 guy, so I’ll pass.
7. I don’t need anyone to perform “vacation research” on my behalf. I’m pretty sure personal concierges must have heard the saying “Half the fun is in the planning.” Do you think I’m going to let ANYBODY take away half my fun? I don’t have that many good years left, people!! I am hanging on to all the fun I can.
8. I don’t need anyone to take over my party planning, wedding planning, graduation planning, gift buying, holiday decorating, or any of the other sometimes ONCE IN A LIFETIME amazingly wonderful stuff that happens in a family’s life. Why should YOU get to do all the fun stuff, and I get the leftovers??
If there’s a personal concierge out there who wants to do the stuff I need done, I’m very extremely open to reading her brochure.
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Fine Print (#1167)
So I’ve been getting some nice holiday sales circulars in the mail. Many of them have me pegged in the wrong demographic entirely, but I still like looking. Just so you know, among my fave catalogs, even if I don’t buy a blasted thing, are Travelsmith, Levenger’s, Coldwater Creek, and Victorian Papers. Those four companies alone give me so much pleasure in the browsing department, that I owe them big-time.
I’ve purchased from each of them, too. Probably not enough for them to justify the continued hope they display by sending me catalogs, but who knows? ;)
I love getting ads from J.C. Penney’s Outlet store, which I frequent with a modicum of regularity. I rarely, however, go into the “real” Penney’s, since it went upscale sometime after my teenage years and started being pronounced with a French accent and all.
I don’t know how else to say this except to just say it: I’m cheap.
But I got this ad from Real Penney’s that looked pretty darned interesting, including in it several items I imagined giving as Christmas gifts. Then, yesterday, I received a coupon for $10 off a $50 purchase, which I thought would complement my buying plan nicely.
Then I read the small print, and because I love you and wish to spare your eyesight should you receive a coupon from J.C. Penney, I am copying it here. Tell me what you think of this establishment’s gift to us weary consumers:
”$10 coupon is valid for one-time use on a purchase of $50 or more, excluding taxes and shipping charges, in our stores, jcp.com, or catalog from Sunday-Tuesday, November 11-20, 2007. Coupon must be surrendered at time of purchase. One coupon per customer. Discount does not apply to purchases of: Value Right, “2 or more” prices, Cosmetics and Fragrances, Cookware, Cutlery and Gadgets, Jewelry Bonus Buys, Floor Care, Furniture and Mattresses, Personal Care & Fitness products, Small Appliances, Clarks (I’m thinking this must mean “Clocks,” but who knows?), Columbia Sportswear Co., Easy Spirit, Hunter Douglas, Levi’s, Webkinz, Afterschool Promotional items, Outlet Stores, Services, Salon Services and Service Contracts, Gift Cards/e-Gift Cards, or prior purchases, and the following additional jcp.com/catalog merchandise purchases: JC Penney Custom Fit Clothing, Jodee Catalogs, Combo Prices, Housewares, Infant (Bedding/Furniture/Wheeled Goods/Accessories), Video Games, Grand Patrician, Oreck and Teleflora. Discounts cannot be combined with any other discount coupon/certificate or be applied to orders currently being processed. Unauthorized duplications, reproductions or facsimiles of this coupon cannot be accepted. Discount is applied to all qualifying items purchased on a prorated basis; any applicable refunds will be given in the prorated amount. No cash value.”
If that doesn’t crush your urge to shop, I don’t know what would. If anyone would like to use this coupon, I will spend 41 cents to send it to you, and then honor you here in the space for your bravery. First person to comment requesting this valuable piece of holiday cheer wins! Personally, I could have saved $10 worth of my time by NOT READING the freaking fine print.
But, hey, that’s just me.
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Tales From The Funny Farm (#1166)
My mother-in-law, God bless her, has some type of dementia. We don’t know for sure that it’s Alzheimer’s, but the doc has her on medicine as if it is.
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, she called our house very confused. When we moved her into her current assisted living facility, we equipped her with a bulletin board. On it, we wrote—in LARGE letters she can see from across the room—the names and phone numbers of her three children.
The night she called, she was disturbed to hear Doug’s voice, because she thought she had called her daughter Lynn.
“Who are YOU?” she asked.
“I’m Doug, your son.”
“Where do you LIVE?”
He told her the town we live in, a suburb of Kansas City where we’ve lived for thirteen years.
“Oh,” she said. “Where do I live?”
“In the room you’re sitting in right now,” Doug answered.
The next couple days were even worse as far as her disorientation went. I suggested that Doug suggest that the doctor order urinalysis, since a urinary tract infection in an elderly person often exacerbates dementia. Sure enough, she tested positive and has been on antibiotics ever since.
Hoping she’d revert back to her previous level of dementia, we’ve been keeping close tabs on her. Lynn and Nancy took her out to lunch on Sunday, and Lynn sent us the email report to let us know how Adele behaved:
__________________________
Mom was OK at lunch, and very funny. We went to Olive Garden… It was a zoo. They forgot to put in Nancy’s order, and forgot Mom’s coffee.
So while Nancy is waiting, and Mom and I are eating, Mom leans over and says, “Hey, I don’t have any coffee!”
So I say, “Well, Nancy doesn’t even have any food!”
To which Mom replies, “So that means I can’t have my coffee?”
___________________________
I think she’s getting better.
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But What If It Is Brain Surgery? (#1165)
In the comments under my post Reader’s Choice, my long-time reader Joshua has requested that I write about a time my faith was tested. And while I’ll soon be writing about my most embarassing moment, I think I’ll tackle this subject first.
A test of faith, I’d like to say up front, is designed to be passed. God actually sets up the test so we, His students, have every advantage. He hands out the syllabus well in advance of the course beginning, so we have time to skim through the text and get to know His personality as an Instructor before the first lecture is scheduled.
He administers frequent pop quizzes. We learn He means business when He says to pay attention in class because we’re accountable to recall anything He says, does, or jokes about doing. At first, the pop quizzes are murder because they’re unexpected, but after a while, they become well-anticipated and much less frightening.
The Big Tests, though—even though they typically come with startling, almost predictable regularity—are always scary. Even if you’ve aced the pop quizzes.
And even though a non-believer might scoff and say, “Whatever. A test of faith isn’t brain surgery…”, the real truth is that sometimes it is brain surgery.
Eight years ago this month, that’s what the test boiled down to for me. Brain surgery.
If you’ve never had brain surgery, you may wonder what it feels like to get a call from your doctor, who’s ordered an MRI because you’re dizzy, and to hear him say this:
“Well, the good news is that you don’t have MS.”
Praise the Lord, right? Isn’t God faithful? Everything turned out to be fine, nothing to worry about. Now you can get on with your life, the perfect life God promised you in the Bible! That is what He promised—isn’t it?
“Great! Thanks for calling, Doc!”
“We do have an incidental finding, though…”
(Right about now, the doctor is supposed to ask, “Are you sitting down?” My doctor accidentally eliminated this step, not advised for those of you doctors or doctor wannabes contemplating effective phoneside manner.)
“Um…okay.”
“You have a brain tumor.”
What does it feel like to hear that news? It’s a casserole of emotions, not the least of which is fear for your life. You know that expression, “She came face-to-face with her own mortality”? I’ve never bought into it. I grew up with a hyper-consciousness of death and of the brevity and fragility of mortal life. I came face-to-face with mortality when I was two.
I think what’s scary is to come face-to-face with your own immortality. We all know we’re gonna die, right? No big surprise there. But when we come to believe than our souls are going to live forever, we’re faced with some serious questions. Like, for instance, where?
Eighteen long months passed between hearing the news that I had a brain tumor and my surgery date. The tumor was located on the acoustic nerve on the right side of my brain, and was unlikely to be cancerous. It was also quite small, and probably destined to slow growth, so a “wait and see” approach was adopted. As long as I could hear perfectly, we decided not to let anyone mess with my head.
At least, not physically. But let me assure you, my head got messed with every day. My general health was not good, and I feared that if I ever had to go under the knife, I would not survive. A tumor is like a ticking time bomb, folks. Even if you don’t imagine you have a long life expectancy, you figure it’s gonna catch up with you before you croak. You can think Happy Thoughts all you want, but you’ve got a FREAKIN’ brain tumor. Happy doesn’t cut it anymore.
My Ticking Time Bomb caught up with me in October of 1999. Home alone, I was working at my computer and talking aloud to myself, when all of a sudden I realized I could only hear myself out of one ear. When that happens, you hope to God you can hear His voice with only one ear, because you know you’re going to need His precise direction big time.
The tests—and The Test—continued. Surgery was scheduled for November 15, with the goal of removing the tumor while attempting to recover the hearing. (The tumor, which hadn’t grown, had pressed precipitously upon the hearing nerve, causing the complete loss of hearing in one fell swoop.)
No one was more surprised than I was to survive brain surgery. Sure, I was permanently deaf in one ear, and yeah, bizarre complications set in. Like my head swelling to twice its size, the whole right side of my face developing palsy for two months, and my right eye popping open and staying open with me sound asleep. (A bad look, that.)
But I lived. And that represented something like the Final Exam of the Semester for me. Because I knew I owed God a better Rest Of My Life than the one He would have gotten had He not pulled me through this experience.
My life has changed in so many ways since that day eight years ago. My head has shrunk to its previous size, and my body has shrunk by one-third. My eyes open and close in tandem, a relief to the man I’m sleeping with. There are plenty of negatives to report: I have a constant ringing in my deaf ear. My balance isn’t what it was. If I tried to stand in a pitch-black room, I’d keel. My spatial relationships aren’t too whippy, either, although my special relationships are better than ever. :)
Most importantly, though, I have a sense of God going with me everywhere—even into the Valley of the Shadow of Death—that I didn’t quite have until now. I have a sense of purpose that I can’t and won’t ignore.
Sometimes, it really is brain surgery, and for me that’s what it took to come face-to-face with my own immortality. From now on, every day matters. Because when the Teacher says to put our pencils down for the last time, all of Eternity awaits.
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