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Imagine (#967)

Doug and I just finished reading through 1st and 2nd Corinthians together. Like out loud. Yeah, baby—that kind of together!

I admit I don’t always get St. Paul, especially in Corinthians. But when I do get him, I love the dickens out of him. The Scripture that’s got me going right now—because of the changes we’ve been making in our lives, I’m sure—is this passage:

“And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that always having all sufficiency in everything, you may have an abundance for every good deed…....you will be enriched in everything for all liberality…” (2 Cor: 8, 11)

Let me tell you, it’s not always easy to believe this verse. Especially when you’re in debt, addicted to spending beyond your means, sucked into shopping for recreation, and dulled to the genuine needs of others.

Don’t get me wrong: Rich or poor, we’ve always managed to eke out a tithe check for the Almighty. That’s the least we could do to acknowledge that He, the Maker of the Universe, really does own it all. Right?

Right.

As we turn a spiritual corner in our thinking, it’s getting a lot easier to envision a future in which liberal giving is the norm. As we begin this journey of imposing a few needed restrictions upon ourselves and experiencing the joy that comes with freed-up resources of time, energy, money, and more, we are starting to believe in the might of Paul’s words.

You know what? Even now, before we’ve completed the climb out of this hole we’ve dug for ourselves, we’re excited about becoming liberal. Can you imagine how wonderful it must be to throw a cautious brand of generosity to the wind and have its place taken up by a radical life of giving?

We’re not there yet. Not even close. But our imaginations are on fire, exactly how imaginations are meant to be.

Posted by Katy on 07/11/06
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The Pantry Challenge (#966)

Since the Raymonds have been hitting it on nearly every front in their effort to eliminate debt, raise funds for their son’s last year of college, trample waste, obliterate clutter, and vanquish fat, why not add a good old-fashioned pantry challenge to the cause?

I’d actually told Doug a couple of weeks ago that I’d be tackling this, since vowing to stay out of the stores unless absolutely necessary. But then I started reading on personal finance and frugality blogs about how others had done it, too, and got even more motivated.

So, here’s the challenge we’re taking on: Until Sept 1, we will only purchase in the grocery store those items needed for the sake of freshness, such as milk, eggs, fruit and veggies. Other than those few items, all meals will be made from items already contained in our pantry and freezers.

I’m thinking that just by using what we’ve got, we can pocket a couple hundred dollars. More, of course, if you count the meals we’re not eating out, which by now are legion. We’re not eating out at all, in other words.

This morning, I got a powerful hankering for an omelet from a local dive. With coffee and tip, it would have cost the two of us maybe $14 to get out of the place. Instead, Doug made me one of his beautiful omelets, with bacon bits and mozarella and onion. I figure with eggs costing ten cents each, we spent less than fifty cents per omelet. Including coffee.

We got the satisfaction of the omelets themselves, plus the joy of not spending another $13 to eat them.

Now, I’ll say up front that around mid-August, I plan to have a going-away party for my son, who will be gone the better part of a year in Switzerland. It goes without saying that I won’t be able to pull off a party for 50 people or so using just the ingredients in my pantry, but the rest of these six weeks?

Ah, yes. The Pantry Challenge has begun.

Posted by Katy on 07/11/06
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Not To Brag Or Anything…. (#965)

But I’ve lost 11.5 pounds! Yeah. I’m excited. My derrierre is not so nearly derri-there as it was 4 weeks ago. My jeans are loose, my mind is clear, and I’m pumped.

Iron, however, still isn’t pumped, but that’s because of the herniated discs in my neck. You weren’t expecting miracles, were you?

Posted by Katy on 07/10/06
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It Only Took Once (#963)

Thirty years ago tonight, I had to ask my little sister, who was celebrating her 19th birthday, if she’d excuse me from her party just that one time.

She said yes, because finally (finally!) the guy I’d been dreaming of for over two years (unbeknownst to him) had asked me out!

This was back in the day, around the time the guy who wrote “I Kissed Dating Good-bye” was conceived. We kissed dating good-bye, too, the group of Jesus Freaks that Doug and I hung with. Oh, sure, a guy and a chick might go out for dinner just for fun, but no one dated for years on end or even months—unless marriage was definitely in the works.

Doug and I? We went on one date, on July 8, 1976. We went to a country buffet-type restaurant, with yummy fried chicken, brisket, and the best cinnamon rolls anywhere. Knowing me and remembering the tiny dress I wore that night, I probably ate all of three bites. Besides, who could eat with those beautiful green eyes staring at me from across the picnic table?

The next week, I left for five weeks in Scotland with my fam. The week after I got back, Doug popped the question.

Now, trust me, I knew all along that he was the man for me. But I didn’t let on to him that I felt that way. I figured if God wanted us together, He’d get us together.

Still, that HAD to have been some date, huh?

Posted by Katy on 07/08/06
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Having None Of It (#962)

I can’t say that Doug and I have ever really been the types to think we should “have it all.” Honestly, a lot of it doesn’t even appeal to us.

We’re not into cars, so while we’ve owned quite a number of new ones, we’ve never purchased one that cost more than $20,000. Most have cost much less than that. We’ve yet to make an appointment for a couple’s massage at the neighborhood day spa, and my face still hasn’t met Botox, though the two of them might get along great. I don’t even care much for acryllic appendages extending from my fingertips, and I can’t imagine letting a stranger caress my feet during a pedicure.

I suppose, though, that after the first time, the pedicurist wouldn’t be a stranger anymore.

Ken Lay of Enron fame, who died something like $100 million dollars in debt, had noted recently that yes, he’d gone ahead and had the $200,000 birthday party for his wife on a rented yacht. He said that enormous debt notwithstanding, it was awfully difficult to switch spending gears completely and give up all the little luxuries, when you were used to such things.

Doug and I talked about this yesterday, and came to the conclusion that this same difficulty could arise at any income level, since lots of folks at every level live beyond their means and may be confronted with the need to make astonishing personal reformations.

I’ll tell you what: This past month has changed our lives. The first couple of weeks on this spending diet, we found ourselves not only sorely tempted by our usual bugaboos, but also acutely aware of the myriad of ways the “system” is designed to suck the dollars from our pockets. On one trip into town to drop another load of stuff at the thrift store (a ten minute drive), I passed nearly 100 establishments where I could have easily (and without a second thought) spent money.

Even the post office, the only other place on my planned excursion, offerred an array of teddy bears, tote bags, collectible framed stamps, and stationery. Believe it or not, because I’d been avoiding shops for many days, the stuff at the post office looked really good to me! But I digress.

Now, after 30 days on our anti-spending-on-worthless-pursuits-and-junk plan, we are starting to get in the groove. We’ve committed to turning down our occasional “date night” at Sam’s. This would not be the type of trip in which we have a list and stick to it, you understand. This would be a spontaneous, we’ve got nothing to do, let’s take a drive over to Sam’s and visit with the stuff trip. Which would end up costing an average of $300 each time. Now, granted, we only did it a few times a year, but honestly. Isn’t that ridiculous?

And it’s not just Sam’s. What about Walmart? I buy groceries there, but I don’t head to the food aisles till I’ve checked out the other departments: clothing (always the clearance racks, because I am very thrifty), purses, sleepwear, DVDs, magazines, books, and crafts. And electronics. And shoes. Don’t forget shoes.

I’m not saying I always bought extras that I didn’t plan for or need. Okay. I am saying that.

The stores don’t miss me. By this late date, even Starbucks (where everybody knows your name) has forgotten. It’s been so long that even if the baristas did ask themselves if anyone had read our obits in the KC Star and if not, WHERE ARE THEY, some new schlups have bellied up to the counter. Replacing our dollars in the Bucks coffers, no doubt, and maybe even more. For that is the way of things: If two people manage to jump off the wheel-to-no-where, two or three more are thrilled to take their place.

We have taken the leap. We’ve become anti-comsumers. It’s been a huge challenge so far, and oh, so much fun. It’s left us with voids of time and space and emotions that we don’t know how to fill, and that is a bit frightening at first. But we’ve promised ourselves not to rush to fill them. To hurry only guarantees that these spaces in our lives will be filled by something equally as worthless as what we’ve eliminated.

And this time, that just won’t do.

Posted by Katy on 07/06/06
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Liposuction? (#961)

One great thing about really buckling down to drop some pounds: When I’m being diligent, I pop out of bed in the morning (with no alarm at 5 a.m.) because I can’t WAIT to weigh myself. I know, really sick. But you know what? It still beats sleeping in and gaining weight all to heck.

So I walked out of the bathroom before the crack of dawn, all smiles even though it was too dark for Doug to see me. “Lost another one-half,” I said. “So that makes eight pounds.”

He didn’t roll over or open his eyes. But somehow he always knows just what to say.

“That’s an Oreck XL.”

What a guy.

Posted by Katy on 06/30/06
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It’s All About The Mo (#960)

It there’s any force of nature that can work either strongly in your favor or horribly against it, it’s momentum.

I ought to know. Last August 6, the day my mother fell and permanently broke her humerus, the mo started moving against me. I knew that day that I was about to lose 6 or 8 months of my life, since she would likely spend that much time in hospitals and nursing homes over this injury.

Once the mo starts to go, what can you do? I’ll tell you what I did: I ran straight over to the Russell Stover’s Outlet Store and participated in their Biggest Blow-out Sale Ever! I got enough sugar-free chocolate to fill my freezer, all for about $20. Not that I needed to obsess about available freezer space, you understand.

Who needs long-term storage when you’ve got a rear end?

The bad, bad mo took me down, folks. Yesterday, I looked back over my (very sketchy) record of my weight ups-and-downs, and saw that I’ve gained SIXTEEN POUNDS since August. People, I’m only 5’2”. I can’t afford to gain sixteen pounds over the course of my entire adult life, much less in ten months. I virtually inhaled sugar-free chocolate for most of those months.

Actually, I gave it up for Lent and that broke its hold over my mind, but sadly, not over my butt. It’s not Lent’s fault, of course. Never confuse Lent with Dr. Atkins. Two entirely different deals.

Anyway, the hardest thing about momentum, since it moves so forcefully and steadily, is change. Momentum, I’ve found, makes change nigh unto impossible.

Nigh unto. But not completely and hopelessly impossible. No, indeed.

The mo began to reverse when a dear buddy of mine told me she and her fam would be in KC for a few days starting July 5, and could they stay with us? Of course! That’s what I said, but then I panicked. Our poor house had seen better days, and all of those days occurred before Mom’s accident. The place was a freakin’ disaster.

So Doug and I set to work. I bragged to my friend that the upstairs would be their bed-and-breakfast—two bedrooms and a full bath, with loft area for reading and coffee drinking. In reality, the upstairs was a burial ground for dead furniture and a gallery of atrocious art. It would take a miracle for my words to become truth, but we dug our heels in and started to make it happen.

When we’d finished one bedroom and the bath, to the point that I swear the rooms could be featured in a Pottery Barn catalog, my friend emailed. They can’t come! Doug and I laughed our heads off and took the first break from working on the house that we’d had in a month. Since then, we’ve painted his office and started on our bedroom, thinning out all the superfluous possessions that have tied us down.

The mo had changed directions, thanks to my bud. And when the mo changes, you can make that change apply to as many areas of your life as you wish. The next arena? The old caboose.

Seven pounds down now, in just under two weeks. I feel great! The nice thing about this change is the clear-headedness that goes with eliminating junk foods. And with clarity comes….you guessed it, more change.

The Starbucks thing? Gone. I’ve lost track of the days. Fifteen? Sixteen? It doesn’t matter. They’re not getting my money anymore, and they will no longer have the privilege of contributing to my other “bottom line,” either.

Piling up money for Kevin’s final year of college? Oh, yeah. It starts with foregoing the Fourbucks, but it doesn’t stop there. Suddenly, we see all the frivilous ways we’ve wasted money, and it’s amazing how much we’re enjoying cutting back. Now, if we do decide (after really thinking about it…) we want to spend $13 at the Twilight Hour to see Mission Impossible, it’s so much more fun. These days, thankfully, they don’t even look at you funny when you bring in your own drinks and snacks. Yes, people, we are that cheap.

The best part of all about the flow of the mo is that I’m actually working on my novel. It’s essentially done, you know. Except for some not-too-major revisions, it’s ready to send out. But when the mo’s not working with you, you just can’t see how to make it happen.

All in all, the past six weeks or so have brought some much-needed change to our lives. Actually, it began when we went to the Old Country. That’s when I realized that my mother didn’t need me nearly as much as I’d imagined, evidenced by the fact that she got along so well without me. And a realization like that can really shake a girl to her core.

If your mo’s going to heck in a handbasket, don’t give up. It’s not the end of the world. In my case, Jesus was right there with me, patiently waiting until I was ready to embrace His gift of a change in direction.

I made up a motto once, one I’ve used off and on through my life. It first came out of my mouth when Doug would race down the road on auto-pilot, always late for wherever he was bound. Half the time, he’d turn to me and ask, “Where is it we’re going again?”

And I’d say, “You’ll never make up for with speed what you lack in direction.”

Pretty good motto, huh? Remember, you heard it here first.

Posted by Katy on 06/27/06
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If This Is My Manic Phase, So Be It (#959)

I wish I could tell you how much detoxing the old bod of all the junk you’ve been eating (low-carb meal replacement bars, sugar-free chocolate, sugar-free cookies, sugar-free cheesecake—do you see a theme emerging?) leads to all kinds of other good things.

Man, oh, man. My house is starting to look like a million bucks. I am whipping this puppy into shape right along with my sorry rear end. Does anyone else out there still “file”? You know, actually put hard copies of documents into folders and then into a file cabinet or milk crate? It had been 18 months since I’d filed, and this morning I finally caught up.

Interesting thing, that. Since my new way-of-life does not include keeping paper for which I will never have a use again in my natural life, almost ALL the 18-months’ accumulation got pitched in the bin.

I feel on top of the world at this very moment, clean and unencumbered by the physical exhaustion and mental confusion caused by too many useless possessions (junklets, I call them) and too much clutter.

I remember my grandmother, when she was just a few years older than I am now, saying, “Don’t ever again buy me something that has to be dusted.”

Amen, Grandma! Life’s too short. If I don’t love it or desperately need it, it’s outta here.

Posted by Katy on 06/24/06
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Extreme Butt Takeover (#958)

I can never do something “just a little bit.” Maybe you’ve noticed that about me.

So when I say I am going to get back into a serious weightloss groove, I really mean it. (Anybody got a peanut?)

I’ve dropped 4.5 pounds in 9 days, which for me is great. I’m motivated, organized, and self-sabotage has ceased to be a factor. And, just so you know, I don’t NEED no stinkin’ Starbucks! That’s right: Today is Day Nine Without.

I even have a few new words to live by. I’d give credit where it’s due if I knew where that is. If you happen to know, please comment here.

“The difference between need and want is remarkably similar to the difference between success and failure.”

I don’t need what I thought I needed, folks. And the things I truly want (things of lasting and especially eternal value) won’t be the ones that make a fat, cash-poor addict out of me.

So.

Posted by Katy on 06/23/06
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Whatever Works (#957)

I mentioned that Starbucks was going to have to go, didn’t I?

Today marks Day Seven Of Starbucks Withdrawal. (Mantra: God is in control, and this is good for me.)

The thing is, Doug and I have racked up quite a habit at our local establishment. It’s four years running now, and frankly, we could have financed a significant hunk of our baby’s college education on what we’ve imbibed.

And not only that: Every time I read about the investors who got into Starbucks on the “ground” level and made their fortunes, I see cappucino. Or mocha. Or maybe green tea. Take your pick.

I lamented about it to Mom this morning.

“You know what? If I’d invested a measly $10,000 in Starbucks in 1987, I’d be sittin’ on 5 mil right now.”

“It seems to me,” she said, “that you’ve invested quite a bit in that place.”

“Yeah, but Mom, I’ve peed it all away.”

What she said next made me realize how much I love the old girl.

“Well, Katy, you DO like to pee.”

Posted by Katy on 06/21/06
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Repentance (#956)

I’ve been following a completely sugar-free, reduced-carb diet for approximately 2372.5 days, give or take an hour or two.

Who’s counting, you ask? Normally, no one. Not even me, really. I stopped counting after the first 24 monthiversaries, that’s how NOT O/C I am. Doug, on the other hand, is suddenly aware of every hour that passes with me in a carb-controlled zone.

Why? Because, just for fun, he’s attempting it himself for a tiny 24 hours. Maybe 36, if his nerve holds.

My dear husband, you see, is addicted to bread. And toast. And bagels and croissants, both in their toasted and untoasted forms. Did I mention plain old toast? Just so you know, the man consumes upwards of eight slices of toast per day, not counting any of his other floury delights.

It was about this time yesterday that he ate his last toast. You’d think someone died. When I ask him how he’s doing, he says, “Life is barely worth living.”

Tell me about it.

He’s repented for a number of sins over the past 24 hours. Fasting will do that to a man. Without comfort foods to satiate the beast within, the intentions and failures of the heart become plainer than the butter on your face.

“I’m sorry for the six and one-half years worth of pizzas I’ve eaten in front of you,” he says. “And especially for describing how great the crust was, how it melted in my mouth after I crunched into its parmesan-coated outsides.”

“I forgive you, honey,” I say, but who knows for sure whether a man in his condition is truly contrite or only using the occasion of his abstinence to dream aloud of his favorite foods?

“And I’m truly sorry for all the french bread, lasagne, manicotti, burritoes,the Pringles, Doritoes, the Hot Pockets, the mashed potatoes, and the Rice-A-Roni.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Does he have to write me a grocery list?

“Babe, really, it’s fine,” I say. “I know you didn’t mean it. You couldn’t possibly have known how hard it was for me to watch you eat all those foods when I couldn’t have—”

“When this experiment is over, I promise you, things will be different around here. I’ll be a changed man….”

“That’s so sweet, Doug—”

“Life is short, Katy. Forget toast. From now on, I’m eating dessert first.”

Posted by Katy on 06/20/06
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Have You Got A Deal For Me? (#955)

My husband and I, both rather ancient by many of your standards (he’s 53 and I’m 52) need just a tad of advice on how to lower our communications costs.

Now, lest you think I’m only angry or bored with my current services, and am just in the market to switch to something new—well, you might be onto something.

I already mentioned in this space my intention to ditch cable TV altogether, but guess what? Evidently, we’d rather switch than ditch, because we ended up moving from DirecTV to Dish Network. It’s ten bucks less per month to keep basically all the channels we currently have, plus we get that DVR thingie. Kind of like TiVo, if I understand it correctly.

Don’t let me fool you. When Doug tries to explain TiVo to me, I just lose it. How can you be recording something at the exact same time you’re playing it back? Or is that really what he said? I don’t know, people. And I’m not sure I want to know.

Our cell phone family plan is a huge issue right now, and it’s not just because the two grown kids who are members of the fam use most of the shared minutes. It’s also because Doug and I often fail to keep our cells near our bods. So if a member of our closeknit group tries to call us using (I think this is correct) free minutes, we don’t answer because, well…we’re too old to chase phones. We wait for them to call us on the regular old landline phone, which happens to be on the desk or bedside table right next to us, and they always do.

But I suppose that kind of defeats the purpose of those free minutes from fam member to fam member, huh?

Last month, the two kids used 850 of the 1000 shared minutes. Doug used a few over 100 (and he’s running a corporation) and my phone registered a measley 26. Honestly, someone must have taken a turn at my phone, because I haven’t spoken 26 minutes on it in the last year. I can’t hear on the darned thing, because of being deaf in one ear, so I don’t even try.

Then why did you get your own cell phone, silly? you might be asking. Because, of course, it only added $9.99 to our monthly bill. And don’t discount peer pressure.

On top of the 850 shared minutes the kids used, they also accumulated another 500+ minutes of the type that are nebulously described on my invoice as “other.”
Not on-peak or off-peak or on-plan or off-plan or roaming or in-area—just other.

Thanks for that, Verizon Wireless.

One of these grown children is going to be out of the country for ten months starting in late August. The other is also grown. My feeling is that since we are no longer of child bearing age, we should not have to invest in any further “family planning,” and that includes family plans of the cell phone variety.

What do you think?

If one adult child went on the “me and my friends” plan and the other went on the “buy a cheap phone in a foreign country and load it with prepaid minutes” plan, then we could dump my phone and Doug could have a cell phone for business, just like the old days. Hmmm….sounds like a plan.

I’m not sure what the very cheapest way will be for the adult child in the foreign county to call the U.S. on a semi-regular basis. Anyone have any ideas? Calling cards? Skype? What exactly IS Skype?

I did it one day with my friend Mary DeMuth, who lives in France, but I was younger then and I didn’t know what we were getting into. We had a Skype fling, I guess you’d say, but I swear I haven’t done it since. Now Doug is looking over my shoulder and says that I didn’t go too far with Mary—we only used Skype to instant-message an interview she did here at fallible. He says Skype is a also voice dealie—wow!

Then while I’m learning that little tidbit, I get an email from my friend Will Samson. In an earlier email, he said I should “chat him up” sometime if I needed more information for an article I’m proposing. I know that Will was raised by a Scottish parent, as was I, but my dad never said “chat me up.” I had a feeling Will meant something else entirely, something that might have been included in that suspicious-looking secret code of links underneath his signature line.

“What precisely is meant by chat up?” I asked in all my elderly innocence.

He just now responded that it can mean using any of the instant messaging thingamabobs, as well as Skype (there’s that word again!) and Gizmo. Gizmo! Are any others of you out there using Gizmo? We need a free or very extremely cheap way to communicate long distance.

Our other communication prob is our regular phone line. It’s all AT&T now, I guess. It was SBC, but you know how these things go. We used to have cable Internet, but now I think we have DSL through AT&T. Not cheap enough, IMO. We also have two phone lines. Doug uses the home phone quite a bit for business, but so much that we need another line? Why? We’ve got caller ID on both lines, and CallNotes, as well. Something tells me this is significant overkill.

We do need a phone line for Internet and fax, but hey—here’s something else I don’t get: How come people who have no phones in their homes except cells have Internet access? With both wi and fi? Please explain that to me, because something’s gotta give over here.

Okay, look. I happen to know you savvy techie types are holding your communication expenses down to a low roar and what I need to know now is HOW? You’re young, you’re hip, you’re smart, you’re attractive. Please help us out here!

All we really want is to be more like you. As long as you don’t advise text messaging.

Posted by Katy on 06/19/06
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Good Grief (#954)

Since we got home from the Old Country, I’ve been going through the six stages of grief. You may have heard of them?

Denial, Anger, Depression, Bargaining, and Acceptance. Oh, wait….that’s only five. Something’s always disturbed me about that list, and I finally realized what the problem is. Whoever came up with it left out The Biggie that should be squeezed in right before Acceptance: Rebellion.

There is nothing like some great time away to give an old chick much needed perspective on her life: what’s working, what’s not, why, and what to do about it. We’d barely gotten on the plane and over the water before I turned to Doug and said, “If anything happens to Mom, I won’t be able to be reached until we land in Ireland. There’s nothing I can do for her now…”

This was one of a thousand revelations granted me on this journey, all small and obvious in and of themselves, but all huge in their implications should I choose to apply their truths upon returning stateside.

And choose, I have.

Do you know that TV ad for Luzianne iced tea? Where the old coot is sitting on his front porch, saying how he and his woman have lived in that same house for fifty years, and how they’ve been in the other-brand-of-iced-tea rut that whole time? Then his neighbor gives him a glass of crystal-clear Luzianne, and his eyes are opened to what he’s been missing.

“Kind of makes you rethink your whole life.”

That’s how I feel. I’ve rethought my whole life, and man, I’ll tell you what. I’ve not only been getting tossed to and fro by the six stages of grief (you don’t go through them in chronological order one time only, you know. Like a team of careless surgeons, they toss your miserable self around on the operating table of your soul), but I’ve been dealing with a number of losses at one time.

None of them are huge. No one close to me has died, at least not in the past two years.

But sometimes, in this life, there are other kinds of losses that we need to define as such. In my case, I needed to realize that in many ways, I’ve lost several years being over-vigilent on my mother’s behalf. I’ve hovered, protected, and instantly responded as if she wasn’t a person capable of many of her own decisions—be they good or bad.

That’s the thing: I really, really hate it when people make life-altering bad decisions. I really, really hate watching people live with the consequences (so easy to foresee!) of those bad decisions so much, sometimes, that I don’t want to allow them the freedom to screw up their own futures.

So I screw up mine instead. I lose days, weeks, months, years—time that can’t be recaptured, ever. I try to “do” someone else’s life—to protect them from themselves, of course. Or wait? Could it be something else? Could my real motivation be something I’m even less proud of?

Ummm….yeah. When I do someone else’s life, it’s to avoid my own.

Now, to most of you sane folks out there, this is not exactly a heavy revvie. But to me? A veritable epiphany.

It’s not just about Mom. I’ve had to weigh myself. Yes, on the bathroom scales. Yesterday. I’ve avoided the scales (can we say “Denial”?) for many months, which is never a good thing for me. In fact, it can only mean one thing: I’m out of control.

Six and a half years ago, I started low-carbing. It took me two full years to lose 68 pounds. Now it’s taken me four and a half years to gain back thirty. I’m just a little angry about all this, since I’ve never tasted sugar in all this time, and don’t intend to. Shouldn’t that be sacrifice enough? I don’t personally know a single diabetic who doesn’t eat sugar, much less a member of the healthy population. For all these years, I’ve been living the sugar-free lifestyle alone. It ain’t easy, which is why I’m mad.

I’m not in denial any more. I’ve looked in the rear-view mirror, and the truth ain’t pretty. And I’m only angry part of the time. The rest of the time, I’m depressed, bargaining with God, or just plain rebelling. However, acceptance is starting to seem like a real possibility now, and with it comes forward motion.

You know how St. Paul wrote in one of his epistles, “I have many more things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now”? I’m going to let you off easy today. A bit about changing how I relate to my mother, and one about changing directions weight-wise.

I’m embracing change, folks. I’m not too old, even though I’d like to tell myself I am. (Excuses Backwards R Us.) I’ve teased before that Starbucks loves me and has a wonderful plan for my life, but at best, their plan is a poor substitute for the Real Deal.

I’m getting back to the Plan.

Posted by Katy on 06/16/06
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Worth (#953)

I’ve already admitted that Doug and I are not paragons of financial virtue. What? You thought I was kidding?

Compared to the millions of other families out there who are obviously “doing it right,” (if you believe the profiles in Money Magazine in which they are described as opening 529 college savings plans for their children who are still in utero), we are losers.

Here’s the deal: We’ve pretty much bankrolled college educations for our kids one year at a time. It hasn’t always been pretty, and we still don’t have a working knowledge of that whole compound interest thing we keep hearing so much about, but hey. It’s worked for us.

Our youngest child, Kevin, is enrolled in a not-very-cheap school for this fall. He’s finished his first two years of college at the community college here locally, which is—thank You, Lord—very extremely cheap.

Kev is our last child to put through college. We committed to paying for four years for each kid, and so far it’s worked out, even though we qualify for NO financial aid whatsoever. (The high cost of making a good income, and no, I’m not complaining….)

Anyway, this last phase of funding a child’s college education will not be without its unique challenges. In fact, we are going to bite the luxury bullet and cut out some things we really don’t need, in order to finish what we’ve started.

Kev will be leaving the area and won’t need a car at the school he’ll be attending, so first of all we’ll sell his car and put the cash toward his tuition. Then we’ll cancel his car insurance for the duration of his academic career, saving us $125 per month.

Health insurance coverage is included in the tuition, so we’ll cancel our private policy on him, as well. Again, big bucks per month, because (phooey!) we’re self-employed. I’ll also probably raise our deductible on our home owner’s insurance (thus lowering the monthly premiums), because we would hesitate to make a claim on it even if we had one. Ditto the car insurance.

Cable TV? Do we really need it? It’s a flippin’ $50 per month, and you know what? We can totally live without it. I’m cancelling it tomorrow.

We even had season tickets (a table for four) to the local dinner theater, which represents our social life, since we view it as a set-in-concrete way to make sure we are socializing with our treasured friends. Cost for the year? Over $600.

I don’t need a cell phone AT ALL, and it’s time to cut our daughter loose from the Family Plan, on which we’ve continued to pay her portion even though she is grown and gone. Savings? I don’t know—$100 per month?

In addition, we’re selling Doug’s Uillean (Irish) bagpipes for (hopefully) $2500, since the darned things have a 20-year learning curve and he didn’t get them until he was 50. Just so you know: Uillean bagpipes might be the most difficult instrument to learn in the entire world. But if you give it the old college try (Ha!) and realize it’s not going to happen, why hang onto to the things?

Today, we hauled a load of books to Half Price Books and got $45 in return. But we neglected to make it home with the Rubbermaid container we transported them in, so I’ve got to make a second trip. Hey, the container cost me $6.99! This afternoon, we gathered another assortment of VHS and DVD movies, and even more books, so I hope to score another $50 or so when I head back tomorrow.

There are other, smaller steps we’ll need to take, too. Fewer meals out, fewer trips for coffee, consolidating errands to save on gasoline—it all adds up.

When you have a goal that’s really important—such as seeing your baby’s education through to completion—it’s amazing how financial priorities can make themselves crystal clear. It’s amazing how you can do pretty much whatever you determine in your heart to do.

Kevin, I hope you know how happy we are to throw ourselves and our resources into getting you through school. The bottom-line truth is this: You mean more than the whole wide world to us.

Posted by Katy on 06/13/06
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Funny Emails (#952)

I love the emails I get in response to blog entries. Sometimes, they are from people who would like to leave a comment on fallible, but who are embarassed to reveal that much about themselves on the Internet.

I got a great one in response to the entry about zit-picking. Looking back a whole week, I can’t believe I had the chutzpah to make such a gross confession in this space, but heh—confession is good for the soul. Or the face. Whatever.

Anyway, this lady and I have formed our own little support group now. We are encouraging each other to fight the good fight, keep our fingers off our faces, and persevere to the end. I tell you what, when next you see the two of us together, you will think to your collective selves: “Wow! Such amazingly clear complexions! How do they do it?”

That’s the power of email.

Then this morning, I got a message from a girl I’ve only known for a year or so, who lives just twenty minutes down the road. She’d read my last post and felt like she’d learned something about me she’d never known before.

“Looks to me like you were raised by one of those wealthy Kansas City families down on the Plaza! Do tell more!”

Honestly, I had to go back and read my post to understand how she could EVER get that false impression! Yep, there it was in all its fallible glory—references to my girls’ school and the boy’s school and prep schools and high-powered careers.

Sheesh. My family lived fifteen minutes south of the Plaza. Believe me, fifteen minutes can make a world of difference! My parents didn’t have two nickels to buy a bottle of Coke the whole time I was growing up. I got a scholarship to that school, for one-quarter of the price of tuition. I started there in 1968, when the cost for an entire year was $400. (I’m guessing it’s something like $7000 per year now.)

My mother has told me often that my $100 per year scholarship made the difference in whether or not they could send me there. And that for them, coming up with the other $300 was no simple matter. Whenever I hear the phrase “Sacrifices were made,” I think of my parents. They put five of us through Catholic schools—K-12—on a bank teller’s salary.

So. If you’re ever walking around on the Plaza (make sure you pronounce it “plaaah-za”) and you see two clear-faced middle-aged chicks, at least one of whom dresses like she didn’t grow up in that neighborhood, well. Stop and say Hi! Chances are it’ll be me and the other half of my support group.