The Stories of Our Lives

I've come to the conclusion that few of us--if any--ever fully believe in the strength of our own stories.

My mother is a prime example. The woman is a natural born story teller. Her best ones, aged with the valued patina of exaggeration and hear-say, might become altered in small points with the episodic retellings. But the comedic timing remains flawless and the punchlines never change.

She can tell a story that has a roomful of progeny howling and after she's got us where she wants us, she puts on this innocent expression and says, "What? Was that funny?"

Does she truly not realize how hilarious she can be? Or is this schtick her leg-puller of a lifetime?

All I know is, yesterday she nailed me.

I spent a couple hours at her place, filling her next month's worth of pill containers. She takes 17 different medications, some of them three times per day. She's got four containers, each with seven days, each with four compartments per day. So, yeah. It actually takes two hours to complete this task.

It requires some concentration on my part to do it accurately, and even though Mom knows I need to pay attention lest I cause her some horrible pharmaceutical mishap, she doesn't stop telling stories the whole time I'm working. To be fair, I guess I get a couple tales in sideways, too, but I only do it for her, to give her a chance to catch her breath.

At the end of my visit, as I gathered up all the empty pill bottles and got ready to leave, Mom couldn't resist recapping our stories and though I certainly wasn't expecting it, she gave one of mine the BOD (Best of Day).

"You know that one about how Terri's such a wonderful friend that she'd give you the pants right off her behind?" (See my last entry.)

"Yeah," I said.

"That's a blog."

I hadn't thought of my public bathroom story as a blog until Mom pointed it out, just like she doesn't know she's funny until she hears our laughter. It made me think how much we need to learn to trust our own stories, to understand that this is our material, the stuff of which our lives are made. When will we learn to use it?

Mom will be 75 next week, and I'm wondering if maybe she was born before her time. All I know is, she would have made some blogger.

Posted by Katy on 04/07/05 at 02:14 PM

Fallible Comments...

Your mother sounds amazing.
-----
Posted by Crystal on 04/08/05 at 03:44 AM
If only Crystal knew...lol :)
Posted by Bridget on 04/08/05 at 05:51 AM
I love how you honor your mother in print. It's very lovely.
Posted by relevantgirl on 04/09/05 at 02:39 PM

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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 Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 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. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	The Stories of Our Lives I've come to the conclusion that few of us--if any--ever fully believe in the strength of our own stories. My mother is a prime example. The woman is a natural born story teller. Her best ones, aged with the valued patina of exaggeration and hear-say, might become altered in small points with the episodic retellings. But the comedic timing remains flawless and the punchlines never change. She can tell a story that has a roomful of progeny howling and after she's got us where she wants us, she puts on this innocent expression and says, "What? Was that funny?" Does she truly not realize how hilarious she can be? Or is this schtick her leg-puller of a lifetime? All I know is, yesterday she nailed me. I spent a couple hours at her place, filling her next month's worth of pill containers. She takes 17 different medications, some of them three times per day. She's got four containers, each with seven days, each with four compartments per day. So, yeah. It actually takes two hours to complete this task. It requires some concentration on my part to do it accurately, and even though Mom knows I need to pay attention lest I cause her some horrible pharmaceutical mishap, she doesn't stop telling stories the whole time I'm working. To be fair, I guess I get a couple tales in sideways, too, but I only do it for her, to give her a chance to catch her breath. At the end of my visit, as I gathered up all the empty pill bottles and got ready to leave, Mom couldn't resist recapping our stories and though I certainly wasn't expecting it, she gave one of mine the BOD (Best of Day). "You know that one about how Terri's such a wonderful friend that she'd give you the pants right off her behind?" (See my last entry.) "Yeah," I said. "That's a blog." I hadn't thought of my public bathroom story as a blog until Mom pointed it out, just like she doesn't know she's funny until she hears our laughter. It made me think how much we need to learn to trust our own stories, to understand that this is our material, the stuff of which our lives are made. When will we learn to use it? Mom will be 75 next week, and I'm wondering if maybe she was born before her time. All I know is, she would have made some blogger. Posted by Katy on 04/07/05 at 02:14 PM Fallible Comments... Your mother sounds amazing. ----- Posted by Crystal on 04/08/05 at 03:44 AM If only Crystal knew...lol :) Posted by Bridget on 04/08/05 at 05:51 AM I love how you honor your mother in print. It's very lovely. Posted by relevantgirl on 04/09/05 at 02:39 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Yeah. I Am A Sentimental Sap, And You Might As Well Know It Right Up Front Previous entry: Bottom-Line Friendship << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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The Stories of Our Lives

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri