Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Katy is represented by
Greg Johnson at
WordServe Literary
Read more Katy at
LateBoomer.net
Recent Posts
- Try
- Becoming Brenda Starr
- Off Beat
- Scattered
- That’s It
- So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What?
- The Spoon
- Sciatica
- Sweetheart
- A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose
- However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time
- After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices.
- As with everything in life, balance is key.
- Slow down, you move too fast…
- Yeah, I know. I have issues.
Syndicate
E me at katy @ ngenius.com
A Moment Like This (#1224)
Now that I’m *ahem* the age I am, I gotta tell ya living in the moment is overrated. In fact, it’s darned near impossible.
I’m quite adept—and becoming more so every day!—at recalling even the most fragmented bits of minutia from the past. I can tell you precisely how much my wedding gown cost, down to the penny, and produce the receipt from Sherri’s Bridal to prove my point. I know how much it cost to deliver each of my three children. Heck, I even know how much my parents had to pay the hospital to produce the likes of me—$140, cash on the barrel.
When I worked for a major pharmaceutical company in the early ‘70s, I was coerced into believing that I could not do my job (data entry clerk) unless I memorized upwards of several thousand product stock numbers. I didn’t realize until much later that NO ONE had been asked to do this before or after my successful feat, but do you think I can forget those numbers to this day? I cannot.
I am able to recreate the details of my mother’s complicated medical history as if it’s child’s play. I know the doses of Valium she’s been prescribed beginning in 1964 up until, well, now.
I’m also quite nimble when it comes to planning for the future. I rarely need to record next week’s appointments on a calendar, though I do so anyway because it seems like the responsible thing to do. I don’t forget birthdays or the fact that we’re almost out of toilet paper. I remember to check our account balances online regularly and certainly don’t skip making a deposit on payday.
I never miss a meal, either, but I’m thinking you’d probably guessed that already.
So, tell me, why can’t I remember a SINGLE simple item long enough to turn off the water in the shower, grab a towel, and find a pen? It could be something REALLY IMPORTANT that needs to happen promptly, like reminding Doug to call his mother to tell her not to put her coat on yet because he’s not picking her up for lunch until next week, and I can’t remember it to save my life.
Many nights I have dreams that seem to hold special meaning for my life RIGHT NOW. I keep a pen and paper on my nightstand for just such purposes, but invariably when the dream occurs, I tell myself it is of such enormous significance that I can’t possibly forget it.
Two hours later, when the alarm goes off? I got nothin’.
So, if you’re one of those people who manages to live in the moment, would you mind clueing me in?
Until then, I’ll keep on reminiscing about the past and plotting out the future. Maybe somehow, with all of that covered, the present will take care of itself.
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Twenty-four (#1223)
Twenty-four years ago this morning, I dropped my two children off at my girlfriend Terri’s house and drove to the hospital to be with my critically ill father.
When I returned for Scott and Carrie eight hours later, it was to the open arms of a lifelong friend who offered me comfort, who mourned with me over Dad’s death and my deep loss.
This morning, Terri called. It is my turn to weep with her, my turn to care. For her own father died today, exactly 24 years after mine.
Every year that’s passed suddenly seems like no longer than a mere moment. Every detail of being in the hospital room as my father drew his last breath has come back to me in vivid memory as Terri told me the story of ushering her dad into eternity.
Sometimes, it can feel like an entire season has elapsed, when in truth only 24 brief hours have become history. Even now, time plays its tricks on me: Has it really been twenty-four years, or twenty-four hours, or twenty-four minutes?
But sometimes, when the passage of time means nothing at all, a hurting friend’s heart means everything in the world.
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Just Don’t Tax My Romance (#1222)
If you’re married to someone who’s romantic even on Tax Day, you know you’ve got it made.
When Doug awakened this morning, he put his arm around me and said, “I love you today.”
Never one to pass up an opportunity to tease, even when I’m sound asleep, I said, “So. How does that make this different than any other day?”
He kissed me then and answered, “It doesn’t. And that’s the point.”
I may have just parted with a huge chunk of change, but I’m never letting go of this man.
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Too Much Fun! (#1221)
Have you ever sat around (with too much free time, obviously) and googled first names, just to see how far down you are?
It seems to me that if you google the name George, either George Bush or George Clooney should be Number One. Instead, we’ve got George Washington. Then the president. Poor George Clooney rates Number Six, after George High Quality Pet Products and a web comic strip called George.
Does that seem fair to you?
I googled Jennifer, since several stars share that name. Jennifer Lopez came in at Numero Uno, but Jennifer Anniston trailed the company that makes sofabeds, Jennifer Convertibles. Weird, huh?
I figured either Nicole Kidman or Nicole Richie would take the top spot for that first name, but it went to a chick in The Pussycat Dolls. Heck, Nicole Richie didn’t weigh in until Number Five.
You’d think of all the Toms out there, Tom Cruise would be at the top of the heap, but no. Tom Anderson, the president of MySpace took the honors. Tom Cruise lagged behind at #4, after (I am not making this up) Tom’s Hardware.
And then there’s the name Katy. Now if I were named Katie, I’d have to contend with Katie Holmes and Katie Couric, among others. I realize that the spelling of my name is not the most common, but it’s not THAT unusual.
People! If you google the name Katy, you’ll get a couple of sites for Katy, Texas, and the Katy Trail, and the Katy Railroad. But of all the individuals named Katy in THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE KNOWN TO HUMANKIND, I am listed FIRST.
I don’t know what this means, honestly. It could just mean that I’ve been blogging longer than most users of facebook have been alive, and so search engines have no choice but to grudgingly acknowledge my longevity. But it is still fun, and if it constitutes my fifteen minutes, I’m sure not gonna turn it down!
Happy weekend, everyone!
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D’Ann Mateer, You Are A Winner!!! (#1220)
Of course, I already knew that. From the first time we met, I knew you were special and wonderful. :)
But now, in addition to all your other many sterling qualities, you’ve won a complimentary copy of Megan DiMaria’s book, Searching for Spice.
If you’ll email me with your postal address, I’ll ship it right off to you. Congratulations!!
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Stuff I Learned While Watching KU Win Some Kind Of Basketball Tournament (#1219)
OK, everyone knows the University of Kansas, my son Scott’s alma mater, won a championship of some sort. A national thing. I remember somewhere along the line there was a Big Eight, and then a Final Four. There might have been, previous to that, a Sweet Sixteen, but I could be mistaken on that one.
On Monday night, it all came down to two teams, of that I am certain. One of them was based in Memphis. In the audience sat a fellow who spent as many as fifteen years, if I recall correctly, as the beloved coach of the KU team. I feel sure that the team he now coaches is located in North Carolina, and I do believe KU squashed his current team in a Final Four game on Saturday night. The thing I don’t understand is why they call it Final Four if there are never more than two teams playing.
Anyway, Monday night, the North Carolina coach formerly known as a KU coach was sitting on the KU side of the stadium (or was it a gymnasium? an arena, maybe?), with a KU emblem attached to his shirt. I couldn’t help thinking his North Carolina team might be a little ticked at him for this, since I would imagine the sting of being beat soundly by KU on Saturday night wouldn’t have eased up quite yet. But the coach shrugged off any concern with a casual comment about how he had to get behind one of the Top Two teams, so KU was his choice.
The nature of loyalties and alliance-formation aside, I am now in possession of, if not the ball, an accumulation of basketball-related knowledge that I would never have acquired if not for Monday night’s game.
Evidently, there is more of a difference between a long and a short shot than a casual observer might realize. Did you know that if you are shooting a basket from outside a certain range, a goal is worth three points instead of a measly two? It made me wonder why players don’t take these “long shots” more often, especially when lots of their short shots look like the efforts of crazed sufferers of some disorder involving lots of pesky twitching.
My opinion on the matter was bolstered in the last seconds of what the announcer referred to as “regulation” play, which I quickly came to understand as all the stuff that happens before non-regulation play begins. As the KU guy was barreling down the field toward his hoop, the announcer said, “This would be a good time for him to make a three-pointer, but KU hasn’t been doing much of that tonight…” And then, as if on cue, the guy threw a long shot, and effortlessly earned the three points.
So, tell me. Why the heck wasn’t he doing that all night long? Anyone—even me—can see that there would have been no need for the non-regulation play if KU had just done the obvious.
A second thing I learned is that a shot can’t take more than a certain amount of seconds. There is a little timer that runs in the lower right hand side of the TV screen. If it runs out of time, that means the guy failed to throw the ball, and I suspect it also means that then the other team gets a turn. However, at the very end of “regulation” play, it seems to me that one guy will hold onto the ball for nigh unto forever, in order to “let the clock run out.” This seems wrong and unfair to me.
Why is regulation play not more regulated?
The final thing I’ve added to my ever-growing repertoire of sports knowledge is that fouling and being fouled increases a lot toward the end of the game. I think it is a way to help the losers get points by trying to make a free throw, but it seems like an ill-conceived plan. During the rest of the game, it’s considered a mistake to bump into an opponent in a manner which is against the rules, but when push comes to shove (so to speak), the referees turn a blind eye and act like they don’t even notice that players are throwing themselves into opponents, virtually begging to be fouled.
All in all, what I’ve learned from becoming the KU basketball aficionado I am today is that my husband really likes it when I watch the Top Two with him. Is there another one next Monday night?
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Spice Up Your Marriage With A Fun Novel! (#1218)
Today, I’m excited to introduce you to debut fiction author Megan DiMaria. Searching for Spice has just been released by Tyndale, and Megan is basking in the glow. If you’d like a chance to win a free copy of Megan’s heartwarming book, leave a comment on this post.
(For added enjoyment, click on Megan’s pic and see her sitting on one amazing front porch!)
Katy: Megan, I LOVE it that you’ve taken on the topic of romance in a long-term marriage. We all know that it makes no sense to let the devil have all the good music, so why should we let the youngsters (and the unmarried) have all the good smooching? Can you tell us how you came up with the idea for the subject of your first novel? (Unless it’s too personal, of course. In that case, DEFINITELY tell us. Ha.)
Megan: Searching for Spice was written as a response to a running joke I had with some girlfriends. You know, despite being long married, women still want romance in their lives. God hard wired us to crave closeness and a special connection with the men we love. Unfortunately, sometimes we need to remind them of that.
Katy: The main chick (Linda) compares her married romance to her best friend’s, and comes up short. She’s even a bit envious. But my mama always told me no one knows what’s going on inside a marriage except the two people in it. Is it the best idea in the world to look to our friends’ marriages when we’re “running the comps”?
Megan: It’s probably never a good idea to compare your marriage with someone else’s. But then it’s human nature to look and think the grass is greener on the other side of the fence.
Katy: But, of course, that’s where the septic field is located.
Megan: Exactly.
Katy: So Linda decides to take action by stirring up the spice with her husband, Jerry. The thing is, Jerry wasn’t romantic even when he and Linda were dating twenty-some years ago. I think he’s a pretty good sport when Linda decides to “search for spice.”
Megan: What she wants is a little more attention and a little more flirting. I think the surprising thing is that once Jerry starts to respond (although sometimes his response is misguided), they both enjoy the resulting boost to their relationship.
Katy: But what about that whole trying to make a guy over into someone he’s not thing? Why does that always seem to backfire?
Megan: I’m not sure Linda wants to change him as much as she wants him to focus on their marriage a little bit more. She wants to have an affair—with her own husband.
Katy: Instead, they end up having serious family problems, not to mention friend problems and issues at work. Plus constant, ahem, interruptions. Should Linda keep trying, or resign herself to flannel pajamas and weekly pecks on the cheek? Or are the interruptions actually romance in disguise?
Megan: I don’t think you should ever give up trying to make your marriage as special as you can.
Katy: Me? When did this start being about me? By the way, my husband will be thrilled to hear the news.
Megan: As much as women like attention, I think it’s flattering to a man to have his wife desire him and crave being with him.
Katy: Do your personal friends now think you and your hubby are on fire?
Megan: Ouch. I hurt myself when I fell on the floor, laughing.
Katy: I feel your pain! No, really. Are they coming to you for advice on how to put the sizzle back in their relationship? Are you considered a paragon of passion? How heavy a burden is THAT? :)
Megan: No, personal friends don’t think any differently about us than before Searching for Spicewas published. However, anyone who’s known me for more than 10 minutes knows how much I value my husband and our marriage. I take marriage very seriously, and perhaps that’s why mine is so blessed.
Katy: Can you tell us a bit about your next book?
Megan: My next book,Out of Her Hands, is scheduled to release this October. Out of Her Hands has the same characters as Searching for Spice, but the focus is more on the relationships Linda and Jerry have with their children.
Katy: Because the parenting never completely ends, does it?
Megan: Not totally. Like many parents of young adults, the Reveres want their children to be careful about making decisions that will impact the rest of their lives. As usual, there is always more than one situation clamoring for Linda’s attention. They’re helping Jerry’s father get on with life after he’s widowed, Linda’s best friend is moving out of state, and then their son decides he’s falling in love, but the object of his affection doesn’t share his Christian values.
Katy: Ah, the Sandwich Generation. I think younger people often underestimate the complexities they’ll face when dealing with the needs of their kids and parents at the same time.
Megan: I agree. And I’m a staunch believer that fiction is a wonderful way to convey truth. When people read Searching for Spice, I hope they come to the conclusion that they shouldn’t be caught off guard when they hit a bump in the road. The message I hope readers gain from Searching for Spice is to know you can trust God despite what your circumstances look like. That was a lesson I learned during a difficult valley I walked through.
Katy: So, are you trying to tell me that life isn’t perfect? Because I gotta tell you, that hurts…
Megan: At the time of my difficult situation, it looked like nothing good could come of it, but now I see the hand of God guided me. Equally important to me is the message that marriage is valuable and precious and should not be lightly regarded. And that friendship is priceless, and we should cherish the people in our lives.
Katy: That’s what I love most about your book. It really is all about relationships, which to me are the most important thing on earth. Thanks for spicing things up here on fallible, Megan!
Megan: It’s been fun, Katy.
Remember, O Fallible Ones, that you have a chance to sample Searching for Spice for free! I will let the comments accumulate for two days or so, and then randomly choose a winner.
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Thanks A Latte (#1217)
If you were to peek inside my husband’s wallet, you’d find a small but impressive collection of Buy Nine Get One Free punch cards from indie coffee shops around town.
I am so jealous of him I could spit.
I have coffee-shop punch cards, too. It’s just that they’re for coffee stands inside various hospitals around town.
Today I’m wondering what it says about my life that 1. I collect these punch cards with something approaching zeal and 2. I’m a wee little bit ticked off that my mother keeps getting discharged from hospitals right before I earn my free latte.
Any opinions?
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Lord Of The Onion Ring (#1216)
Doug knew I’d been craving PopEye’s Chicken, so he stopped on his way home from a day of meetings and picked some up. Not only that, but when he walked into the house, he had a separate box of my favorite feel-good food in the universe—onion rings!!
As much as I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into a piece of chicken, I grabbed that generously sized box of rings and opened it post haste. You should know I can make an entire meal out of a large order of rings from Sonic, so delighted am I with everything about them.
Inside this box, though, were three tiny, pitiful looking specimens. Cold and limp they were, too. My smile must have disappeared as quickly as it had formed.
“There would have been a LOT MORE,” Doug said, “if I hadn’t gotten stopped by a train.”
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FICO NoMo (#1215)
I’ve got a new goal in life. My intention is to go off the financial grid completely. To put it plainly, I am aiming for a FICO score of zero.
This won’t be easy, people. I’m not even sure how many years a person has to have no debt (including no home loan) before falling off the FICO radar screen. All I know is that I’ve had enough of the bizarre belief that a high score ensures my future security. All a high score does, in reality, is label me as someone who loves debt, is committed to it, and who, no matter how long she lives, can’t seem to get out from under it.
I’ve haven’t charged anything to a credit card since I don’t know when, but you wouldn’t believe how much credit I have available to me. Let’s just say that it’s enough to live high off the hog for several years, even if we were completely without income. Until now, I’ve been afraid to close any of these lines of credit. Somehow, they have come to represent an actual cushion to me, especially since Doug and I are self-employed. We have no vacation or sick days or matching 401K to fall back on. If Doug’s business were to fold, we sure wouldn’t have a severance pay to tide us over until the next position came along.
You know what’s truly pathetic? Elevating a FICO score to a godlike position in my life is like thinking of an available line of credit on my home equity as an emergency fund. The truth is, there is no substitute for having actual cash set aside in an interest bearing account, in an amount which could cover many months of expenses should life take an untoward turn.
Besides, the days of imagining that your home equity can save you are rapidly drawing to a close. Many HELOC (home equity line of credit) lenders are sending letters to their customers to let them know the gravy train has reached the end of the line. This morning, I read a story of a homeowner with a $160,000 line of credit on her million dollar house—a line of credit she had NEVER used—who was advised by the lender that, because of falling housing values, the amount she could borrow was being reduced to $10,000. Lenders are free to shut down your lines of credit (including credit cards) whenever they please, for whatever reason they see fit.
So, yes, we are committed to no more car loans and no more credit cards. But what if we were to purchase a different home? Wouldn’t we have to have a FICO score (and a nice high one, thank you!) in order to manage that with the lowest interest rate possible? The answer is no.
While four out of five mortgage lenders will not work with buyers in the absence of a FICO score (and, believe me, I doubt the issue comes up very often…), 20% still will agree to do a “manual underwriting†of a loan application. This represents considerably more work for lenders, since instead of using the customer’s FICO score as evidence of their creditworthiness, they must actually ascertain the character of the borrower (anyone remember character references?), make a rational judgment concerning collateral and capacity for repayment, and gather tons of supporting documents pertaining to income, length of employment, etc.
In other words, any company that agrees to a manual underwriting has to have employees who are capable of and authorized to apply logical thought processes to the transaction, as in the days of yore.
All my excuses for not taking my FICO to zero have officially disappeared. The last thing I want on my tombstone is “She loved her own life, even unto debt.†The best way I can think of to prove it is to eschew borrowing right down to the bone.
The skeleton upon which the bloated body of personal indebtedness is hung these days is definitely the cherished, almost hallowed FICO score. What should be considered vice is now considered virtue.
I say we turn the whole system on its head. It will take more personal responsibility and fiscal discipline that I’ve been able to muster thus far in my life, but I truly desire to join the ranks of those who can honestly say, “FICO score? We don’t need no stinkin’ FICO score!”
Anyone with me?
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The Memory Keeper’s Daughter (#1214)
I worry sometimes that when I’m dead, no one will remember my brother.
It’s a quiet worry, not one that I’ve ever expressed in words until now. But I guess I’ve carried it in my heart all my life.
Do you feel surprised when you open your containers of Christmas ornaments each year? I’m always shocked at the gasps of joy and stray tears of nostalgia that escape me when I see the treasures my children made for me during their school years. They are my most precious decorations.
But there, among these keepsakes, is one I weep over season after season. It’s a tiny red and ivory knit stocking, no bigger than a baby’s sock, with a printed Santa and the words “Baby’s First Christmas.”
I can’t help how I feel when I hang it on my tree. I can’t help thinking of my parents celebrating Christmas 1951 with their three-month-old firstborn child, unaware that he’d only ever spend three more Christmases on this earth. I can’t help it that I’ve already asked my sweet daughter to become the caretaker for Patrick’s stocking someday.
I’ve already asked my daughter to not forget.
Because, you see, my mother now remembers less about her little boy than I do. I repeat back to her the stories she’s told me about his short life, and she shakes her head. “Did I tell you that, really? It was so long ago, like another lifetime…”
It didn’t used to be like this. In one way, my mother’s whole life has revolved around the loss of this one dear son. But now, so much has faded in focus for her, and so I have become, of my own volition, The Memory Keeper’s Daughter.
I know that Patrick’s name will someday—perhaps with the passage of only one more generation—be little more than a brief line in a family tree. A line with no branches descending beneath it. Someday, perhaps one of my own grandchildren will take up an interest in family history and ask about the little boy without a story.
Will the Baby’s First Christmas stocking hang on a tree somewhere for generations to come? Or will the threads finally disintegrate like a mother’s fragile mind? I think I know the truth, but it’s hard to face it.
There are some things I’ll take with me to the grave, but I can still hope my brother’s memory isn’t one of them.
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Ready To Enter Part Two Of My Agent’s Contest? (#1213)
I am thrilled that quite a number of fallible readers entered my literary agent’s fun contest this past week! If you’d like to read the top six “first lines” Rachelle chose from 301 entries, hop over to her site.
Now, you have a second opportunity to get a piece of your writing in front of an agent. Just choose one of the six first lines and write the next 300 words. The rules of the contest are on Rachelle’s site, with the deadline and prize information, so jump on over there.
I sure would love to see one of you fallible ones walk away with the big prize!
By the way, I’ve used the words hop, walk, and jump, probably because I’m excited that my line came in third place. And it’s about shoes. Lots and lots of shoes. All of them dropping. :)
Have fun, you contest-happy people, you!
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Back When I Was Your Age—A Rant (#1212)
Dang. That title is one I didn’t think I’d ever write in this lifetime. And yet, there it is. And with good reason, I might add. For today I’d like to talk about how homes used to be purchased back in the old days.
For the sake of this illustration, the old days will include any days up to and including November of 1994, when we moved into the third house we’ve owned during our marriage.
You may not remember this, or even realize that this is the way the world used to operate, but not very long ago, a prospective homeowner had no choice but to cough up a 20% down payment for a house. Right about now, you may be thinking that coming up with that kind of cash is easy, what with loans from parents and cash advances on credit cards. But here’s the rub: the hopeful buyers had to PROVE that the money they were putting down actually belonged to THEM by providing bank records and paycheck stubs and tax forms and all kinds of other evidence.
No bank on earth allowed you to fall in love with a $40,000 house (as we did in 1979) and then borrow $8000 from dear old Mom and Dad as your very first act of long-term indebtedness. If your bank statements showed a recent and unexplained (read: unearned) infusion of $$$$$, you were of all unsavory characters most to be suspected.
To top it off, in 1979 the prevailing interest rate on home mortgages had risen to something like 12%, and would keep rising over the next couple of years to more than 15%. Now, if you were a saver back then—and there were actually people still committed to saving 10% of their income as a matter of course—you could really pile up some cash with interest rates like that. But if you just wanted to move from a too-small apartment into a starter home, it was going to cost you.
We got in on a great deal, though. We were able to “assume” the loan of a veteran, paying a down payment ($8000) and then taking over his payments for the remaining 28 years of his loan. We locked in his interest rate, which was 8%, plus we did not have to qualify income-wise like we would have with a regular loan. At the time, I was due to give birth to Scotty. Doug was making $600 per month and our house payment was a shocking $300.
Looking back, this was something of a risky move for us. We COULD NOT have a car payment and survive. (Heck, we could barely have a car and survive!) We did not have a credit card between us, so no temptation there. And yet, the risk we took on was NOTHING compared to the sub-prime mess being bought into hook, line, and sinker by lenders and borrowers alike in the current shake-down. Because the fact that we put 20% down provided us with protection against the potential of falling housing prices. If we got desperate, we could always sell the house and get our cash out.
I can’t tell you the last time I heard of a borrower putting down 20% on a house. It used to be that if you did not have 20%, you were “renters.” There was no shame associated with renting, but there was a huge responsibility associated with purchasing.
Another thing that only people on the margins would consider back then was taking out a “second mortgage.” I distinctly remember an episode of All In The Family in the early 70s, in which Archie Bunker (unbeknownst to his long-suffering wife, Edith) took a second mortgage against their home to finance his purchase of the neighborhood pub. My father nearly died when we watched that show together, since he and my mother had just finished paying off a 20-year mortgage in 11 years.
“Never, ever take out a second mortgage,” Dad said. “Not even to do home improvements. You could lose your house!”
These days? Home equity lines of credit are how people fund their vacations, pay for their children’s educations, finance weddings, and buy stocks which are all but guaranteed to go higher. And why not?? EVERYONE KNOWS that home values only go one direction—up! Why not use some (or all) of that equity to provide yourself and your loved ones with all the advantages a line of credit against your one-and-only home can provide?
OK, so technically it might not BE your one-and-only home. You MIGHT have taken the equity out of your primary residence to put minuscule down payments on any number of rental homes, because that’s the American way, right?
It might be the American way, but it’s really, really not smart. Really. Trust me on this.
Now that I’m my age, I look around and see nothing but fall-out from the terrible lending practices that have resulted in consumers with nutty entitlement mentalities overextending themselves with little to no margin on which to fall back.
Doug and I own a lovely home which we built 13 years ago. At the time, we not only put down the required 20%, but we also borrowed scores of thousands of dollars less than the bank begged to lend us. We did not WANT to borrow the maximum allowed by law, because if something—anything—went wrong, our home would be at risk.
Now, our home’s value is being undermined by the foreclosures of a number of houses in our area. Evidently, even in the high-end neighborhood adjoining ours, borrowers were allowed to put almost no money down and to take out jumbo loans with terms that could only be described as “easy credit.” Then when they lost their jobs at Sprint or wherever, or their adjustable mortgages, umm, adjusted, they could no longer make the payments on their McMansions.
Two houses near us, recently valued at 1.5 million each, sold for paltry sums like $850,000. What if you, a responsible borrower with a significant amount of home equity you hoped not to lose, wanted to sell your own home—but lived next door to one selling for half the price you should have been able to get?
Of course, disasters like health crises happen which sometimes force homeowners into foreclosure. But the articles I’ve read about this situation indicate these homeowners borrowed WAY more than they could afford, at terms which were ridiculously liberal to the extreme. Unless the housing market had gone STRAIGHT UP, they were doomed from the beginning to lose their shirts.
I don’t know if I feel sorry for them or not, but I REALLY feel sorry for those who are trying to behave in a fiscally responsible manner and still get caught in the crossfire, with their properties losing value hand-over-fist.
What about you?? Any housing market stories you’d care to share?
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Holy Weak (#1211)
When my mother was in the hospital, she almost died from like a dozen different things, all feeding off each other. It was a systems-wide failure, and quite hard to keep up with. Just when we imagined that it would be respiratory failure that got her, her blood sugar shot up to 500 and stayed there. Then, when we figured the old heart rate of 165 didn’t bode well for her future on earth, her blood pressure would plummet to nearly nothing.
And if she wanted to speak a few words, we’d have to move the oxygen mask from her face, which would make her 02 stats tumble toward the dark side within seconds. It wasn’t pretty.
Now she’s in a nursing home, to receive some much-needed (but, I’m afraid, not terribly beneficial) therapy. I hoped she’d gain better transferring skills (since she has fallen twice already this year trying to get on or off her couch) and some more hygienic bathroom skills (since she now gets back-to-back urinary tract infections and has a hard time negotiating Depends with her broken arm).
They say that by this time next week, she’ll probably have gone as far with therapy as she’s going to go. This is code for “Medicare will only pay for the days on which she is making progress in therapy. If we cannot document that she is progressing, she’s on her own dime….” So, she will either be moving back to her assisted living facility or becoming a permanent resident of a nursing home.
Last night, just to complicate matters, she had her fifth or sixth episode of extremely low blood sugar. Right before dinner time, when the nurse came in to check her blood sugars, she was found in a pond of her own sweat, having drenched her clothing and all the bedding right down to the plastic mattress. Her blood sugar reading was 25!!!!
Literature reveals that a coma can occur at 30, seizures at 20, and irreversible brain damage at 10, but all these numbers are variable depending on the patient, her other medical conditions, and many other factors. In this case, she was able to swallow a serving of Ensure and recovered.
I spent much of the day on the phone with doctors and in the office of the social worker. I explained to the nursing home doctor that her current insulin regimen was initiated by the endocrinologist at the hospital, largely in reaction to the readings of 500. But that Mom’s family doctor had her sugars on a consistently-too-high-but-very-stable track for the past two years. I told the facility doc that I want her regimen returned to what it was before her hospitalization, because her bones are so horrible and she is such a huge fall risk.
And of course because one more episode like last night’s might be the last. I know everyone has to die of something, but THAT seems like a dumb thing if it can be prevented.
One day, I’ll write a lovely, heart-wrenching essay about this whole experience, but today is not that day. Sometimes, I’m just tired.
Please pray for my mom, that her heart will find peace with Jesus. That she’ll surrender her life to the kindness of His love.
I am grateful, in all of this, that God never tires of hearing our voices, of answering our cries. That His faithfulness is constant and His mercy ever new.
I’m depending on Him.
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A Not-To-Be-Missed Opportunity! (#1210)
My agent, Rachelle Gardner of WordServe Literary, has come up with a great contest over on her site. For any of you who have literary aspirations, don’t miss it! It is a great chance to get your ideas and a sample of your writing in front of an agent who is still open to new clients.
Read those rules carefully, and good luck with your submissions!
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