Try

Which Brand Of Toothpaste Do They Use Up There? (#521)

So Mom and I were discussing the fact that now she's spent all these many weeks in physical and occupational therapy, only to be told she'll have to go through surgery after all.

"I've used ankle weights to make my legs strong," she said, "and they've taught me how to dress myself with one arm in a sling. I can comb my own hair and brush my own teeth...and now I'm starting over."

I tried to think of something to say that would make her feel that all this effort hadn't been wasted. "Mom, think how much muscle you've got now, and how your fine motor skills are developed. That will serve you well on the other side."

Her eyes got big and then a knowing look crossed her countenance.

"Heaven?"

For my mom, jumping to this conclusion very nearly approximated a religious experience.

"Mom, I'm hoping we don't have to brush our teeth in heaven! I meant the other side of surgery..."

"Oh," she said. "That."

While we were still chuckling, an announcement came over the loud speaker. "Bible study at 2:30 in the activity room. All are welcome!"

"Let's go, Mom. We could use a little Bible study."

She protested at first, but finally changed her mind. Just considering "the other side" must have made an impression.

Posted by Katy on 09/29/05
Permalink

An Easy Confirmation? (#522)

The news is hashing and rehashing the possible candidates President Bush might nominate for Supreme Court justice. This little linguistic gem of a phrase stood out to me:

"If he chooses someone who is perhaps a woman..."

You gotta love it.

Posted by Katy on 09/29/05
Permalink

Not Exactly Onomatopoetic (#523)

I just heard a politician on the news say these words, and I must say I envied him for having the opportunity: "I had absolutely no fiduciary responsibility whatsoever."

Every once in a while, there's a beautiful-sounding word that doesn't mean what I think it should. I'd forgotten how much I LOVE the word fiduciary, because I just never have a good opportunity to use it. Even if I HAD a fiduciary responsibility, I probably wouldn't admit it in public. I'm just not that kind of girl.

Any words you wish you had occasion to use more often? If you can top fiduciary, I'd like to hear about it!

Posted by Katy on 09/28/05
Permalink

Mama Mary! (#524)

It's been nearly eight weeks since my mom fell and broke the humerus in her left arm, and a right rib for good measure.

Along with her orthopedic surgeon, we've hoped and prayed that keeping her arm immobilized for these weeks would foster the healing she needs, but it hasn't happened. She's gone through tons of physical and occupational therapy on the rest of her body in the nursing home context, and now--as of October 7--we'll be starting over.

She'll have a three hour long surgery that day, and then be put in a full-arm cast for two-four weeks. After some days in the post-surgery wing, she'll either be moved into the rehab unit at the hospital or go back into the nursing home context for therapy. She'll be fortunate if she's her old (iffy) self by Christmas.

We could use some prayer, folks. I'm so hyper-adrenalized, I'm starting to think they need to check out my adrenal (flight or fight) gland to make sure it's not malfunctioning. Right now, I'm obsessing about all my mom's fragile bones, the ones which they describe as "hot spots" on her bone scan.

I know a bit about what happens during surgery. What if they break her shoulder while putting a plate in her arm? That's the number one thing I want to talk to her doc about.

BE CAREFUL WITH MY MAMA!

She's been through an awful lot, and it's no where near over. In fact, if she lives long enough, this pattern of breaking bones will likely repeat as often as someone who actually reads the back of a shampoo bottle for directions.

Just because that's the way life is, Doug's sister Lynn is scheduled for an appendectomy at a different hospital the same day Mom's having her surgery. So--as we often have to do--Doug and I will divide and, hopefully, conquer!

I'll be blogging as often as I can, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm pretty darned worn out from The Lost Summer Of 2005, which began with my mother-in-law's near death experience (and subsequent miraculous recovery) in June. And these next weeks promise to be harrowing at best.

And yet...and yet. These are my people. They are the dear ones God has put in my life to care for. And they deserve for their lives to be chronicled, to be celebrated, and in the end, to be remembered.

I'm called to care for my mom. Whether old, infirm folks are "the least of these" whom Jesus so tenderly described, I can't say.

All I know is that to care for her is the least I can do.

Posted by Katy on 09/28/05
Permalink

Invisibility Interrupted (#525)

Last night, Doug and I went to the local dinner theater with our dear friends Eben and Annie. The play wasn't good, but the side show was fabulous.

The theater is configured in elevated tiers, so that there's no such thing as a bad seat. The row of tables directly behind us was raised by a couple of feet and situated behind a wall.

At first, I only noticed the couple sitting at the table, because their heads and shoulders could be seen above the wall. Before long, though, a young boy peeked over the wall to gaze at the carpeting on our level.

Turns out, he was playing fish with a long piece of curling ribbon (a decoration strewn across each table) and a spoon. He'd tie the spoon onto the ribbon and slowly lower it over the wall to the floor. He'd wait a few minutes, then jump out of his chair, bound down the steps, and retrieve it--only to do the whole thing over again with just as much enthusiasm each time.

The boy's parents never looked his direction. They looked at each other only, and occasionally spoke, but never to him.

"Let's have some fun," Annie said. I'd seen that same mischievous look in her eyes any number of times since we met at age seventeen, and I knew enough to go where she led.

"Don't turn around," she said to Doug and Eben, "until I'm ready. Katy, you keep watch out of the corner of your eye. Make sure the kid doesn't catch on."

Annie grabbed the matching ribbon from our table. "What should I attach to this?"

I got into the spirit. "A chunk of bread stick."

Annie tied a bow around the middle of a piece of bread, giving it an attractively svelte waistline. I kept a lookout, and the boy was clueless. All we needed for was for him to take the next step in his practiced sequence of events, which was to drop the end of his ribbon over the side of the wall, where the spoon already waited on the floor.

"Eben, when Katy gives the signal that the boy's not looking, take the bread on a string and put it on the floor. Doug, you grab his spoon on a string and hide it in your lap."

The parents continued chatting, oblivious to their son. He might as well have been invisible.

"I'm good to go," Annie said, handing the breadstick to her husband.

The parents failed to respond to the boy when he dropped the end of the ribbon and then turned toward them with a comment, but his turning provided the opportunity we'd sought.

"Now!" I hissed. The men did their jobs with the faultless precision of well-trained husbands, while Annie and I looked across the table at each other with straight faces.

"Don't look his way," Annie cautioned. "Just wait for it."

Fifteen seconds elapsed, and finally the boy leaped up and bounced down the steps to retrieve his spoon. He stared in disbelief at the breadstick on a string, picked it up, and ran back to his parents. The four of us continued to chatter as if we didn't realize that an amazed little boy dangled a bow-tied breadstick in front of his mystified parents, who all of a sudden took a focused interest in their son.

The boy's mother caught my eye when I hazarded a peek in their direction, and she winked. I saw her fumbling in her purse for something, and the father whispering in his son's ear.

So that's how it was going to be, huh? Them against us? That's exactly what I'd hoped would happen!

The next thing we knew, the fishing line flew over the top of the wall and began its inch-by-inch descent to the floor. We pretended not to notice, because we knew the little boy hoped to trick us.

When it hit the ground, Eben whirled around and acted surprised when he said, "What's this?"

Dangling on the end of the ribbon was a chewed off piece of crust with a note in a childish scrawl. He picked it up and read the words aloud, so that everyone could hear: "Not Funny! But Can I Have Some More? Cause I'm Hungry!"

All seven of us let out a roar of laughter. The four at our table had fooled a little boy, and he'd fooled us right back.

And the best part? In the process, a couple of young parents became foolish, too, for the love of their very own child.

Posted by Katy on 09/26/05
Permalink

Of All The Things I’ve Lost, I Miss My Mind The Most (#526)

Honestly, people.

You know that saying, "Pride goes before a fall"? It's not just a saying, of course. It's a Scripture. I've been diligently attempting to follow the words in the Holy Bible for many, many years, but this particular verse doesn't grab my attention nearly as often as it should.

Just yesterday, I had blogging fun at my husband's expense. (Don't let me fool you, though. He has as much fun with teasing entries as I do, if not more.) I posted about him leaving his cup of coffee in the linen closet, just a few days after placing a box of baggies in the fridge.

This morning, I read him the comments of all you entertaining folks, losers and non-losers alike. He felt vindicated that so many of you took losing things in stride, like he does--that so many of you just shrug it off, grab another cup, and start over, never panicking in the slightest until you run out of cups.

"I can't live like that," I said. "And that's why I never, EVER lose things. Why, to misplace an item makes me frantic! It makes me feel irresponsible, and--"

"Calm down," he said. "You don't have to worry about how you'd feel if you lost something, because as you've already made perfectly clear, you never, EVER lose things."

"You're right," I said. "And if I ever did, I'd treat that lost item like the pearl of great price. I wouldn't rest until the lost had been found. I'd sell everything in order to treasure it again--"

"Katy, that's a bit extreme. What if you just lost an umbrella or a pair of gloves? You wouldn't sell the cars or the house to replace it, would you?"

"OK, bad example. What about the chick in the Bible who lost a single coin, and swept her whole house until she found it? And then threw a big party if I remember right--or was that the father of the prodigal son?--and invited all her neighbors to celebrate with her that the coin that was lost had been found--"

"Katy, really. You're over-thinking losing stuff. I didn't give it a second thought when I left my vintage 1977 highly collectible Mossman guitar in a parking lot and drove away, never to see it again, did I?"

He had a point there.

"Okay, I'll stop obsessing about it. It's just that you and all my commenters make it seem so normal to lose stuff and then take it in stride, that I'm feeling a little left out..."

I needn't have worried. Against all odds, I've lost my driver's license!

Posted by Katy on 09/25/05
Permalink

Red Alert! (#527)

I guess since I'm living in the land of "a three and a two," Mama-lingo for "Wednesday and Tuesday" respectively, I can't help but notice certain other individuals' little idiosyncracies. Or idiosyncrasies. Whatever.

On September 9, Doug's 53rd birthday, I did not hesitate to report to you that he put a box of baggies in the refrigerator. In that same spirit of compassion, then, I offer you the update: Today, I opened the door of the master bathroom's linen closet and found there, on the shelf with the hand towels, a cup of coffee.

"I must have set it down when I was looking for Kleenex," he said. In his defense, he developed an icky cold last night, and therefore might be mildly delirious.

"Hmmm. Well, did you at least find the Kleenex?"

"No."

If things ever get so bad that I can't blow my nose, I sure hope I manage to hang onto my coffee.

Question: When you do something like leave a cup of java in the linen closet, do you miss it? Or do you just continue on with your life as if NOTHING HAPPENED? Could you really feel that unattached to the very beverage of Heaven above?

I'll tell you what, if my cup of coffee were lost, I'd leave the 99 empty cups that have no need of being found and search diligently until I lifted it once again to my grateful lips.

Posted by Katy on 09/23/05
Permalink

Make New Friends (#528)

I don't know what's better in this life than discovering new friends with whom you can truly be yourself.

The really fun thing is when these friends are smarter, younger, more attractive, better educated, and more successful than you are, but they love hanging out with you as much as you do with them!

What's up with that?

Tonight, we're entertaining Steve and Mary in our home. We'll serve them steaks and salads and cheesecake. Then, to their everlasting credit, they've agreed to watch our favorite movie with us.

You should know that we watch art films at their house. And we peruse their books about artists, and oooh and aaah over the lithograph they've just purchased at auction.

At their house, the French films have English subtitles for those of us who ne parler pas francais. At our house, the American movies have English subtitles because I'm bloomin' deaf!

But they love us just the same, and maybe even because we're approaching this stage of life from very different vantage points. The friendship feels like grace to me, like God's smile, even a little like the weightlessness of being forgiven.

And tonight, it won't be an American movie we view together anyway. It's the hilarious Irish film, Waking Ned Devine.

We hope they love it, but even if they don't, I think they'll still love us with all our peculiarities. New friends at our age--what a truly splendid gift.

Posted by Katy on 09/23/05
Permalink

Solving The World’s Problems, One Comment At A Time… (#529)

As many of you will have already discovered, there are tons of problems in this old world.

And this one may not rank at the very top of the trouble chain, but it's disturbing enough to me and One Of The Four Michaels Who Comments Here (In this case, Michael Snyder, whose kind acquaintance I just made this past weekend in Nashville, and whose status as Michael Number Four I do not wish to disturb by any means) that I must address it here.

Please let me know if you, like Michael Number Four, are having any difficulties posting comments on fallible. He has tried any number of times with only one episode of success, and frankly, that's not good enough.

If the problem is on fallible's end, I need to know!

If you're having no problems whatsoever that you know of, but would like to prove it once and for all to yourself and to me, feel free to check in for your periodic "howdy."

Howdy? Where did THAT come from? Oh, yeah. Nashville!

Posted by Katy on 09/21/05
Permalink

I’ve Heard Of 3-2 Baseball And 3-2 Beer, But What Did You Say? (#530)

So today, of course, I went to see my Mom. When I walked into the dining room where she was eating lunch, Mom was chatting with the "pill passer."

"I'm going home," Mom said to me. "In just a couple more days."

Obviously, she and the tech had been discussing this stroke of good fortune, and when I started to wheel Mom back to her room, several ladies in the dining room called out to congratulate her.

"We hear you're getting out of here," one said, and Mom nodded and smiled.

"Wow," I said. "Good news sure travels fast around here. Who told you that you're getting sprung?" If you know me at all, you've probably already surmised that I was duly suspicious.

"Everyone says so," she said. "Steve who walks me around the halls said how much stronger I am today. And Sue said she's amazed at how well I can dress myself with only one good arm. Bill who lives a couple rooms down said he can tell I'm a lot steadier on my feet."

"But who said you're going home?"

"Everyone. They say they're dismissing me in a couple of days."

Sheesh. I know what "everyone" means when they say "dismiss": They mean she's gone as far as she can go in their particular therapy, she's plateaued, she will no longer benefit from ongoing therapy, and from now on--whether she needs to stay in the nursing home because of safety concerns or not--she's on her own dime.

And when they say "dime," they mean $5000 per month. Medicare and Blue Cross will only pay for her to stay in a nursing home if she's making "progress."

I told her I needed to leave her for a bit so that I could make the rounds of nurses, therapists, and social workers and get filled in on what I've missed in five days. As I figured, Mom had misunderstood. She's not being dismissed from the nursing home, only from the therapies. Everyone I questioned said she cannot safely live in a more independent environment just yet.

I broke the news to her and said I was going to try to move up her appointment with her bone doc, so we can find out whether or not she's going to need surgery on her arm.

"The appointment's this Friday," she said.

"Actually, Mom, it's on October 3, which is too long from now. You're going to be paying for this room through the nose, just waiting to see your doctor."

"You may have written on your calendar that it's October 3, but you're wrong. It's this Friday."

I made the call to the bone doc's nurse, to make sure that from their perspective, it would be OK to move the appointment up a week. Then I changed it from October 3 to September 27. If the bone has healed sufficiently, she'll stay a while longer in the nursing home to receive therapy for her bad arm, back on insurance's dime. If he says surgery is in order, she'll be in the hospital some days, then back in the nursing home for therapy, again on insurance's dime.

It's the gap on her dime I closed by making one sixty-second phone call.

"Hey, babe," I said. "I figure I just saved you a thousand bucks. So what do you think of that?"

"That's great," she said. "But tell me again when the appointment is..."

"Well, this Wednesday, you have an appointment with the lung doctor. And then next Tuesday, with the bone doctor."

I showed her the calendar she keeps in her drawer and wrote down the appointments. While I was at it, I flipped to October 3, to show her that nothing had been written on that date. Just a big blank.

"So cross through that date for me," she said.

Since there was nothing to cross out, I wrote two words on October 3: Free Day. She thought that was hilarious.

"Okay," she said. "Now I know what's happening. A three and a two."

I'm sure I looked at her funny, but she didn't flinch.

"Um...well, Mom...one appointment is on the 21st, and the other is on the 27th."

"I know. A three and a two."

"I'm not sure what you mean, Mom. Wednesday's appointment is at 11, and next Tuesday's is at 9:45..."

"Three and two."

"If you say so, Mom. It's this Wednesday and next Tuesday."

I replayed this with Doug as we ate lunch a little while later.

He shrugged, unable to make sense of it, but I found myself needing to get inside her head and understand. Maybe it's because an agent I met with over the weekend said my manuscript contained some iffy point-of-view difficulties that I needed to address.

Finally, when I forced myself to think like my mother thinks, it hit me. A "three" is Wednesday on her mental calendar, and a "two" is Tuesday. She actually pictures a five-day work week in the shape of a wall calendar, the kind with the big squares in which she like to write her children's and grandchildren's birthdays diagonally.

A three and a two it is, Mom. And even if it is a little scary sometimes, it's a pleasure knowing you.

Posted by Katy on 09/19/05
Permalink

Would You Trust This Woman? (#531)

In my previous post, I prematurely gushed about my high hopes for a grand relationship with my new critique partner, Kath Atwell.

That entry was written in the free wifi-enabled lobby of the Music City Sheraton, before Ms. Atwell and I resumed our travels together back to Kansas City.

Let's just say you learn a lot about a person in crummy airport restaurants.

We both ordered the salad with the fried chicken strips on top, and Kath ordered a Coke. Sounds simple, huh? One check, divide it evenly by two, and be done with it. Even math-challenged word people can handle routine assignments like this.

The bill came and we rummaged through our purses. I didn't spend any money to speak of during the conference, so I knew I had a small wad of twenties left. I knew my cash so well, in fact, that I felt certain I pulled one of those puppies out and plunked it down on top of the bill for $20.10.

"I've only got twenties," I said, thinking we'd cover the basic charge first and then come up with a tip. "Do you have a ten you could give me?"

Kath pulled one out and handed it to me with no apparent reservation. "Sure." Then she hesitated before adding, "But now I've paid $30."

Have I mentioned I don't know her that well?

I pointed at the $20 on the table. "That's mine."

"No, it's mine," she said.

So I added her $10 to the $20 on the table, scooped them both up and handed them to her. What else could I do?

"I don't know what's happened," I said, "but let's just forget the whole thing and start over."

I reached into my purse for another twenty.

"Okay," she said. "Should I say the same thing?"

Man! She's good!

Posted by Katy on 09/19/05
Permalink

Do YOU Have A Critique Partner? If Not, Why Not? (#532)

I sat in on a helpful session today with chick-lit author Kristin Billerbeck and romantic suspense author Colleen Coble. These two have been critique partners for the past seven years, trading chapters back and forth on an almost daily basis.

During that length of time, their careers have really taken off, and they take delight in having helped each other find such wonderful success.

My travel buddy Kath Atwell and I have decided to give this arrangement a try. We've agreed to be honest and hold each other accountable, unless or until it stops working for one or both of us.

I'm excited. I've never tried having a critique partner, and I think it might provide the boost both Kath and I have needed.

We haven't signed in blood or exchanged rings or anything, but she did offer me a bite of her Krispy Kreme. Sounds like a commitment to me!

Posted by Katy on 09/18/05
Permalink

The Nicest People Anywhere In The Very Extremely Huge Universe (#533)

I'm telling you what, people. I have met some of the most gracious, generous, and hilarious people at this conference!

Robin Lee Hatcher, Christian fiction writer extraordinaire and blogging buddy, greeted me with open arms like we'd known each other forever. I missed her class on staying organized as a writer, but I've got to get the tape, since everyone's talking about how great it was.

Her good friend, Tammy Alexander, who recently signed a three-book deal with Bethany for a historical fiction series, is a doll, too. And I'm not just saying that because she reads fallible, either!

Then there's Marilynn Griffith, another wonderful blogger who also serves as the publicity coordinator for American Christian Fiction Writers. This lovely lady has seven children and claims she writes her chick-lit stories in a closet. I sat in on her session yesterday, and she is such an encourager! I couldn't take notes fast enough.

Deb Raney, a tremendous author, is so darned sweet and down-to-earth that you just want to hug her all the time. I'm sitting in on her ongoing classes for intermediate level writers, which are geared toward embracing the rewrite. She's got a true talent for teaching that I'm grateful I didn't miss.

I'm leaving people out, I know. I've met so many folks that I knew only through the group's email loop, and putting the names with the faces has been pure joy.

My travel buddy Kathy Atwell and I head back to Kansas City tomorrow, but I'll have Nashville in my heart and mind for many years to come.

And you know what? I think I'll keep on writing.

Posted by Katy on 09/17/05
Permalink

Attention All Fiction Writers! (#534)

Even if you're still in the aspiration phase, you'd do well to get thee to a good conference. Keep American Christian Fiction Writers in mind for next year. We are all fiction, all the time!

I've already had a great meeting with an editor this morning (I won't name names or publishers at this early stage...), in which she asked me to send my synopsis and three chapters to her attention. Woo-hoo!

The great thing about a conference is that if you're in attendance, you can bypass much of the typical "no unsolicited submissions" guidelines in place at most publishers these days.

Once an editor has asked to see your work, baby, you're all of a sudden "solicited."

Yeah. I'm having a good day.

Posted by Katy on 09/16/05
Permalink

Michael Main Is One Of The Most Very Extremely Intelligent Men Alive Today! (#535)

He tried to get other commenters here to take him on. He really did.

How could anyone have truly believed that I could resist blogging until next Monday? Six whole days, people? It's just not gonna happen!

So here I sit, not at all wifi disabled, in the lobby of the beautiful Sheraton Music City in Nashville. Kath Atwell, a fellow-writer I'd only met once before, flew with me out of KC with only a few goofy mishaps. In my experience (of which I have beaucoup), the bonds of friendship are made of goofy mishaps.

So I already have a lovely new friend.

Last night was a first for me. You will find this hard to believe, but in nearly 52 years, I've never spent a night alone in a hotel. Or a motel. Or a youth hostel. You get the idea.

Boy, was it fun! Except for the 2:30 am false alarm fire drill, during which I learned more about the average grumpy citizen's sleep attire than I EVER wanted to know.

Conference registration starts at one o'clock this afternoon. I've already spotted authors Colleen Coble and Brandilyn Collins scooting through the lobby, so I'm excited.

If this joint only had a Starbucks kiosk, it'd be perfect. Especially if the baristas hung around for the 2 am fire drills.

Posted by Katy on 09/15/05
Permalink

Page 38 of 84 pages « First < 36 37 38 39 40 > Last »


		more fallible attitude »

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	Which Brand Of Toothpaste Do They Use Up There? (#521) So Mom and I were discussing the fact that now she's spent all these many weeks in physical and occupational therapy, only to be told she'll have to go through surgery after all. "I've used ankle weights to make my legs strong," she said, "and they've taught me how to dress myself with one arm in a sling. I can comb my own hair and brush my own teeth...and now I'm starting over." I tried to think of something to say that would make her feel that all this effort hadn't been wasted. "Mom, think how much muscle you've got now, and how your fine motor skills are developed. That will serve you well on the other side." Her eyes got big and then a knowing look crossed her countenance. "Heaven?" For my mom, jumping to this conclusion very nearly approximated a religious experience. "Mom, I'm hoping we don't have to brush our teeth in heaven! I meant the other side of surgery..." "Oh," she said. "That." While we were still chuckling, an announcement came over the loud speaker. "Bible study at 2:30 in the activity room. All are welcome!" "Let's go, Mom. We could use a little Bible study." She protested at first, but finally changed her mind. Just considering "the other side" must have made an impression. Posted by Katy on 09/29/05 Permalink An Easy Confirmation? (#522) The news is hashing and rehashing the possible candidates President Bush might nominate for Supreme Court justice. This little linguistic gem of a phrase stood out to me: "If he chooses someone who is perhaps a woman..." You gotta love it. Posted by Katy on 09/29/05 Permalink Not Exactly Onomatopoetic (#523) I just heard a politician on the news say these words, and I must say I envied him for having the opportunity: "I had absolutely no fiduciary responsibility whatsoever." Every once in a while, there's a beautiful-sounding word that doesn't mean what I think it should. I'd forgotten how much I LOVE the word fiduciary, because I just never have a good opportunity to use it. Even if I HAD a fiduciary responsibility, I probably wouldn't admit it in public. I'm just not that kind of girl. Any words you wish you had occasion to use more often? If you can top fiduciary, I'd like to hear about it! Posted by Katy on 09/28/05 Permalink Mama Mary! (#524) It's been nearly eight weeks since my mom fell and broke the humerus in her left arm, and a right rib for good measure. Along with her orthopedic surgeon, we've hoped and prayed that keeping her arm immobilized for these weeks would foster the healing she needs, but it hasn't happened. She's gone through tons of physical and occupational therapy on the rest of her body in the nursing home context, and now--as of October 7--we'll be starting over. She'll have a three hour long surgery that day, and then be put in a full-arm cast for two-four weeks. After some days in the post-surgery wing, she'll either be moved into the rehab unit at the hospital or go back into the nursing home context for therapy. She'll be fortunate if she's her old (iffy) self by Christmas. We could use some prayer, folks. I'm so hyper-adrenalized, I'm starting to think they need to check out my adrenal (flight or fight) gland to make sure it's not malfunctioning. Right now, I'm obsessing about all my mom's fragile bones, the ones which they describe as "hot spots" on her bone scan. I know a bit about what happens during surgery. What if they break her shoulder while putting a plate in her arm? That's the number one thing I want to talk to her doc about. BE CAREFUL WITH MY MAMA! She's been through an awful lot, and it's no where near over. In fact, if she lives long enough, this pattern of breaking bones will likely repeat as often as someone who actually reads the back of a shampoo bottle for directions. Just because that's the way life is, Doug's sister Lynn is scheduled for an appendectomy at a different hospital the same day Mom's having her surgery. So--as we often have to do--Doug and I will divide and, hopefully, conquer! I'll be blogging as often as I can, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm pretty darned worn out from The Lost Summer Of 2005, which began with my mother-in-law's near death experience (and subsequent miraculous recovery) in June. And these next weeks promise to be harrowing at best. And yet...and yet. These are my people. They are the dear ones God has put in my life to care for. And they deserve for their lives to be chronicled, to be celebrated, and in the end, to be remembered. I'm called to care for my mom. Whether old, infirm folks are "the least of these" whom Jesus so tenderly described, I can't say. All I know is that to care for her is the least I can do. Posted by Katy on 09/28/05 Permalink Invisibility Interrupted (#525) Last night, Doug and I went to the local dinner theater with our dear friends Eben and Annie. The play wasn't good, but the side show was fabulous. The theater is configured in elevated tiers, so that there's no such thing as a bad seat. The row of tables directly behind us was raised by a couple of feet and situated behind a wall. At first, I only noticed the couple sitting at the table, because their heads and shoulders could be seen above the wall. Before long, though, a young boy peeked over the wall to gaze at the carpeting on our level. Turns out, he was playing fish with a long piece of curling ribbon (a decoration strewn across each table) and a spoon. He'd tie the spoon onto the ribbon and slowly lower it over the wall to the floor. He'd wait a few minutes, then jump out of his chair, bound down the steps, and retrieve it--only to do the whole thing over again with just as much enthusiasm each time. The boy's parents never looked his direction. They looked at each other only, and occasionally spoke, but never to him. "Let's have some fun," Annie said. I'd seen that same mischievous look in her eyes any number of times since we met at age seventeen, and I knew enough to go where she led. "Don't turn around," she said to Doug and Eben, "until I'm ready. Katy, you keep watch out of the corner of your eye. Make sure the kid doesn't catch on." Annie grabbed the matching ribbon from our table. "What should I attach to this?" I got into the spirit. "A chunk of bread stick." Annie tied a bow around the middle of a piece of bread, giving it an attractively svelte waistline. I kept a lookout, and the boy was clueless. All we needed for was for him to take the next step in his practiced sequence of events, which was to drop the end of his ribbon over the side of the wall, where the spoon already waited on the floor. "Eben, when Katy gives the signal that the boy's not looking, take the bread on a string and put it on the floor. Doug, you grab his spoon on a string and hide it in your lap." The parents continued chatting, oblivious to their son. He might as well have been invisible. "I'm good to go," Annie said, handing the breadstick to her husband. The parents failed to respond to the boy when he dropped the end of the ribbon and then turned toward them with a comment, but his turning provided the opportunity we'd sought. "Now!" I hissed. The men did their jobs with the faultless precision of well-trained husbands, while Annie and I looked across the table at each other with straight faces. "Don't look his way," Annie cautioned. "Just wait for it." Fifteen seconds elapsed, and finally the boy leaped up and bounced down the steps to retrieve his spoon. He stared in disbelief at the breadstick on a string, picked it up, and ran back to his parents. The four of us continued to chatter as if we didn't realize that an amazed little boy dangled a bow-tied breadstick in front of his mystified parents, who all of a sudden took a focused interest in their son. The boy's mother caught my eye when I hazarded a peek in their direction, and she winked. I saw her fumbling in her purse for something, and the father whispering in his son's ear. So that's how it was going to be, huh? Them against us? That's exactly what I'd hoped would happen! The next thing we knew, the fishing line flew over the top of the wall and began its inch-by-inch descent to the floor. We pretended not to notice, because we knew the little boy hoped to trick us. When it hit the ground, Eben whirled around and acted surprised when he said, "What's this?" Dangling on the end of the ribbon was a chewed off piece of crust with a note in a childish scrawl. He picked it up and read the words aloud, so that everyone could hear: "Not Funny! But Can I Have Some More? Cause I'm Hungry!" All seven of us let out a roar of laughter. The four at our table had fooled a little boy, and he'd fooled us right back. And the best part? In the process, a couple of young parents became foolish, too, for the love of their very own child. Posted by Katy on 09/26/05 Permalink Of All The Things I’ve Lost, I Miss My Mind The Most (#526) Honestly, people. You know that saying, "Pride goes before a fall"? It's not just a saying, of course. It's a Scripture. I've been diligently attempting to follow the words in the Holy Bible for many, many years, but this particular verse doesn't grab my attention nearly as often as it should. Just yesterday, I had blogging fun at my husband's expense. (Don't let me fool you, though. He has as much fun with teasing entries as I do, if not more.) I posted about him leaving his cup of coffee in the linen closet, just a few days after placing a box of baggies in the fridge. This morning, I read him the comments of all you entertaining folks, losers and non-losers alike. He felt vindicated that so many of you took losing things in stride, like he does--that so many of you just shrug it off, grab another cup, and start over, never panicking in the slightest until you run out of cups. "I can't live like that," I said. "And that's why I never, EVER lose things. Why, to misplace an item makes me frantic! It makes me feel irresponsible, and--" "Calm down," he said. "You don't have to worry about how you'd feel if you lost something, because as you've already made perfectly clear, you never, EVER lose things." "You're right," I said. "And if I ever did, I'd treat that lost item like the pearl of great price. I wouldn't rest until the lost had been found. I'd sell everything in order to treasure it again--" "Katy, that's a bit extreme. What if you just lost an umbrella or a pair of gloves? You wouldn't sell the cars or the house to replace it, would you?" "OK, bad example. What about the chick in the Bible who lost a single coin, and swept her whole house until she found it? And then threw a big party if I remember right--or was that the father of the prodigal son?--and invited all her neighbors to celebrate with her that the coin that was lost had been found--" "Katy, really. You're over-thinking losing stuff. I didn't give it a second thought when I left my vintage 1977 highly collectible Mossman guitar in a parking lot and drove away, never to see it again, did I?" He had a point there. "Okay, I'll stop obsessing about it. It's just that you and all my commenters make it seem so normal to lose stuff and then take it in stride, that I'm feeling a little left out..." I needn't have worried. Against all odds, I've lost my driver's license! Posted by Katy on 09/25/05 Permalink Red Alert! (#527) I guess since I'm living in the land of "a three and a two," Mama-lingo for "Wednesday and Tuesday" respectively, I can't help but notice certain other individuals' little idiosyncracies. Or idiosyncrasies. Whatever. On September 9, Doug's 53rd birthday, I did not hesitate to report to you that he put a box of baggies in the refrigerator. In that same spirit of compassion, then, I offer you the update: Today, I opened the door of the master bathroom's linen closet and found there, on the shelf with the hand towels, a cup of coffee. "I must have set it down when I was looking for Kleenex," he said. In his defense, he developed an icky cold last night, and therefore might be mildly delirious. "Hmmm. Well, did you at least find the Kleenex?" "No." If things ever get so bad that I can't blow my nose, I sure hope I manage to hang onto my coffee. Question: When you do something like leave a cup of java in the linen closet, do you miss it? Or do you just continue on with your life as if NOTHING HAPPENED? Could you really feel that unattached to the very beverage of Heaven above? I'll tell you what, if my cup of coffee were lost, I'd leave the 99 empty cups that have no need of being found and search diligently until I lifted it once again to my grateful lips. Posted by Katy on 09/23/05 Permalink Make New Friends (#528) I don't know what's better in this life than discovering new friends with whom you can truly be yourself. The really fun thing is when these friends are smarter, younger, more attractive, better educated, and more successful than you are, but they love hanging out with you as much as you do with them! What's up with that? Tonight, we're entertaining Steve and Mary in our home. We'll serve them steaks and salads and cheesecake. Then, to their everlasting credit, they've agreed to watch our favorite movie with us. You should know that we watch art films at their house. And we peruse their books about artists, and oooh and aaah over the lithograph they've just purchased at auction. At their house, the French films have English subtitles for those of us who ne parler pas francais. At our house, the American movies have English subtitles because I'm bloomin' deaf! But they love us just the same, and maybe even because we're approaching this stage of life from very different vantage points. The friendship feels like grace to me, like God's smile, even a little like the weightlessness of being forgiven. And tonight, it won't be an American movie we view together anyway. It's the hilarious Irish film, Waking Ned Devine. We hope they love it, but even if they don't, I think they'll still love us with all our peculiarities. New friends at our age--what a truly splendid gift. Posted by Katy on 09/23/05 Permalink Solving The World’s Problems, One Comment At A Time… (#529) As many of you will have already discovered, there are tons of problems in this old world. And this one may not rank at the very top of the trouble chain, but it's disturbing enough to me and One Of The Four Michaels Who Comments Here (In this case, Michael Snyder, whose kind acquaintance I just made this past weekend in Nashville, and whose status as Michael Number Four I do not wish to disturb by any means) that I must address it here. Please let me know if you, like Michael Number Four, are having any difficulties posting comments on fallible. He has tried any number of times with only one episode of success, and frankly, that's not good enough. If the problem is on fallible's end, I need to know! If you're having no problems whatsoever that you know of, but would like to prove it once and for all to yourself and to me, feel free to check in for your periodic "howdy." Howdy? Where did THAT come from? Oh, yeah. Nashville! Posted by Katy on 09/21/05 Permalink I’ve Heard Of 3-2 Baseball And 3-2 Beer, But What Did You Say? (#530) So today, of course, I went to see my Mom. When I walked into the dining room where she was eating lunch, Mom was chatting with the "pill passer." "I'm going home," Mom said to me. "In just a couple more days." Obviously, she and the tech had been discussing this stroke of good fortune, and when I started to wheel Mom back to her room, several ladies in the dining room called out to congratulate her. "We hear you're getting out of here," one said, and Mom nodded and smiled. "Wow," I said. "Good news sure travels fast around here. Who told you that you're getting sprung?" If you know me at all, you've probably already surmised that I was duly suspicious. "Everyone says so," she said. "Steve who walks me around the halls said how much stronger I am today. And Sue said she's amazed at how well I can dress myself with only one good arm. Bill who lives a couple rooms down said he can tell I'm a lot steadier on my feet." "But who said you're going home?" "Everyone. They say they're dismissing me in a couple of days." Sheesh. I know what "everyone" means when they say "dismiss": They mean she's gone as far as she can go in their particular therapy, she's plateaued, she will no longer benefit from ongoing therapy, and from now on--whether she needs to stay in the nursing home because of safety concerns or not--she's on her own dime. And when they say "dime," they mean $5000 per month. Medicare and Blue Cross will only pay for her to stay in a nursing home if she's making "progress." I told her I needed to leave her for a bit so that I could make the rounds of nurses, therapists, and social workers and get filled in on what I've missed in five days. As I figured, Mom had misunderstood. She's not being dismissed from the nursing home, only from the therapies. Everyone I questioned said she cannot safely live in a more independent environment just yet. I broke the news to her and said I was going to try to move up her appointment with her bone doc, so we can find out whether or not she's going to need surgery on her arm. "The appointment's this Friday," she said. "Actually, Mom, it's on October 3, which is too long from now. You're going to be paying for this room through the nose, just waiting to see your doctor." "You may have written on your calendar that it's October 3, but you're wrong. It's this Friday." I made the call to the bone doc's nurse, to make sure that from their perspective, it would be OK to move the appointment up a week. Then I changed it from October 3 to September 27. If the bone has healed sufficiently, she'll stay a while longer in the nursing home to receive therapy for her bad arm, back on insurance's dime. If he says surgery is in order, she'll be in the hospital some days, then back in the nursing home for therapy, again on insurance's dime. It's the gap on her dime I closed by making one sixty-second phone call. "Hey, babe," I said. "I figure I just saved you a thousand bucks. So what do you think of that?" "That's great," she said. "But tell me again when the appointment is..." "Well, this Wednesday, you have an appointment with the lung doctor. And then next Tuesday, with the bone doctor." I showed her the calendar she keeps in her drawer and wrote down the appointments. While I was at it, I flipped to October 3, to show her that nothing had been written on that date. Just a big blank. "So cross through that date for me," she said. Since there was nothing to cross out, I wrote two words on October 3: Free Day. She thought that was hilarious. "Okay," she said. "Now I know what's happening. A three and a two." I'm sure I looked at her funny, but she didn't flinch. "Um...well, Mom...one appointment is on the 21st, and the other is on the 27th." "I know. A three and a two." "I'm not sure what you mean, Mom. Wednesday's appointment is at 11, and next Tuesday's is at 9:45..." "Three and two." "If you say so, Mom. It's this Wednesday and next Tuesday." I replayed this with Doug as we ate lunch a little while later. He shrugged, unable to make sense of it, but I found myself needing to get inside her head and understand. Maybe it's because an agent I met with over the weekend said my manuscript contained some iffy point-of-view difficulties that I needed to address. Finally, when I forced myself to think like my mother thinks, it hit me. A "three" is Wednesday on her mental calendar, and a "two" is Tuesday. She actually pictures a five-day work week in the shape of a wall calendar, the kind with the big squares in which she like to write her children's and grandchildren's birthdays diagonally. A three and a two it is, Mom. And even if it is a little scary sometimes, it's a pleasure knowing you. Posted by Katy on 09/19/05 Permalink Would You Trust This Woman? (#531) In my previous post, I prematurely gushed about my high hopes for a grand relationship with my new critique partner, Kath Atwell. That entry was written in the free wifi-enabled lobby of the Music City Sheraton, before Ms. Atwell and I resumed our travels together back to Kansas City. Let's just say you learn a lot about a person in crummy airport restaurants. We both ordered the salad with the fried chicken strips on top, and Kath ordered a Coke. Sounds simple, huh? One check, divide it evenly by two, and be done with it. Even math-challenged word people can handle routine assignments like this. The bill came and we rummaged through our purses. I didn't spend any money to speak of during the conference, so I knew I had a small wad of twenties left. I knew my cash so well, in fact, that I felt certain I pulled one of those puppies out and plunked it down on top of the bill for $20.10. "I've only got twenties," I said, thinking we'd cover the basic charge first and then come up with a tip. "Do you have a ten you could give me?" Kath pulled one out and handed it to me with no apparent reservation. "Sure." Then she hesitated before adding, "But now I've paid $30." Have I mentioned I don't know her that well? I pointed at the $20 on the table. "That's mine." "No, it's mine," she said. So I added her $10 to the $20 on the table, scooped them both up and handed them to her. What else could I do? "I don't know what's happened," I said, "but let's just forget the whole thing and start over." I reached into my purse for another twenty. "Okay," she said. "Should I say the same thing?" Man! She's good! Posted by Katy on 09/19/05 Permalink Do YOU Have A Critique Partner? If Not, Why Not? (#532) I sat in on a helpful session today with chick-lit author Kristin Billerbeck and romantic suspense author Colleen Coble. These two have been critique partners for the past seven years, trading chapters back and forth on an almost daily basis. During that length of time, their careers have really taken off, and they take delight in having helped each other find such wonderful success. My travel buddy Kath Atwell and I have decided to give this arrangement a try. We've agreed to be honest and hold each other accountable, unless or until it stops working for one or both of us. I'm excited. I've never tried having a critique partner, and I think it might provide the boost both Kath and I have needed. We haven't signed in blood or exchanged rings or anything, but she did offer me a bite of her Krispy Kreme. Sounds like a commitment to me! Posted by Katy on 09/18/05 Permalink The Nicest People Anywhere In The Very Extremely Huge Universe (#533) I'm telling you what, people. I have met some of the most gracious, generous, and hilarious people at this conference! Robin Lee Hatcher, Christian fiction writer extraordinaire and blogging buddy, greeted me with open arms like we'd known each other forever. I missed her class on staying organized as a writer, but I've got to get the tape, since everyone's talking about how great it was. Her good friend, Tammy Alexander, who recently signed a three-book deal with Bethany for a historical fiction series, is a doll, too. And I'm not just saying that because she reads fallible, either! Then there's Marilynn Griffith, another wonderful blogger who also serves as the publicity coordinator for American Christian Fiction Writers. This lovely lady has seven children and claims she writes her chick-lit stories in a closet. I sat in on her session yesterday, and she is such an encourager! I couldn't take notes fast enough. Deb Raney, a tremendous author, is so darned sweet and down-to-earth that you just want to hug her all the time. I'm sitting in on her ongoing classes for intermediate level writers, which are geared toward embracing the rewrite. She's got a true talent for teaching that I'm grateful I didn't miss. I'm leaving people out, I know. I've met so many folks that I knew only through the group's email loop, and putting the names with the faces has been pure joy. My travel buddy Kathy Atwell and I head back to Kansas City tomorrow, but I'll have Nashville in my heart and mind for many years to come. And you know what? I think I'll keep on writing. Posted by Katy on 09/17/05 Permalink Attention All Fiction Writers! (#534) Even if you're still in the aspiration phase, you'd do well to get thee to a good conference. Keep American Christian Fiction Writers in mind for next year. We are all fiction, all the time! I've already had a great meeting with an editor this morning (I won't name names or publishers at this early stage...), in which she asked me to send my synopsis and three chapters to her attention. Woo-hoo! The great thing about a conference is that if you're in attendance, you can bypass much of the typical "no unsolicited submissions" guidelines in place at most publishers these days. Once an editor has asked to see your work, baby, you're all of a sudden "solicited." Yeah. I'm having a good day. Posted by Katy on 09/16/05 Permalink Michael Main Is One Of The Most Very Extremely Intelligent Men Alive Today! (#535) He tried to get other commenters here to take him on. He really did. How could anyone have truly believed that I could resist blogging until next Monday? Six whole days, people? It's just not gonna happen! So here I sit, not at all wifi disabled, in the lobby of the beautiful Sheraton Music City in Nashville. Kath Atwell, a fellow-writer I'd only met once before, flew with me out of KC with only a few goofy mishaps. In my experience (of which I have beaucoup), the bonds of friendship are made of goofy mishaps. So I already have a lovely new friend. Last night was a first for me. You will find this hard to believe, but in nearly 52 years, I've never spent a night alone in a hotel. Or a motel. Or a youth hostel. You get the idea. Boy, was it fun! Except for the 2:30 am false alarm fire drill, during which I learned more about the average grumpy citizen's sleep attire than I EVER wanted to know. Conference registration starts at one o'clock this afternoon. I've already spotted authors Colleen Coble and Brandilyn Collins scooting through the lobby, so I'm excited. If this joint only had a Starbucks kiosk, it'd be perfect. Especially if the baristas hung around for the 2 am fire drills. Posted by Katy on 09/15/05 Permalink Page 38 of 84 pages « First < 36 37 38 39 40 > Last »


copyright 2011, ngenius media inc.

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

Recent Posts

Search

Syndicate