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Leaving Time (#1164)

Leaves streak in swirling flurry
Finishing the season’s business.
Hurrying to close the year’s books,
The drably dressed
Scamper to catch
November’s early train,
The sleek easily overtaking the rotund,
Both unaware of the
Downwardly mobile fate
Awaiting them.
Bohemian types wend their way
Through time and space
On perennial holiday,
Playing dress-up
In gaudy costume,
Partying with starving artists,
Unsuited for common work.
All fall down,
Each unconscious of the fall.
A lonely golden leaf
Floats
Like a cotton handkerchief,
Landing on an empty branch.
Moistened then with tears of grief,
It attaches itself to the next aching limb,
And the next.
On a mission,
The handkerchief scurries
From tree to sorrowing tree,
Fleeing time’s chase,
Lending comfort to the bereft
While it’s able.
Until it, too, stumbles,
For the first and final time,
Upon the greedy earth.

Posted by Katy on 11/05/07
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S.A.B.L.E. (#1163)

I’m a fairly crafty chick, or at least I thought I was until now.

This morning, I read about a term thrown around in knitting groups—S.A.B.L.E. Have any of you heard about this? It stands for Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy!

There are evidently millions of women who collect yarn “for comfort,” like folks who survived the Great Depression might hoard bits of twine “just in case.”

These ladies talk of being invited to a baby shower and not having enough time to run to the yarn store, but HAVING enough time to make an entire baby sweater before the event. So they MUST have that baby yarn stored in their home! I’m thinking when the invite comes, it provides another reason to add to their SABLE. What do you think?

I’ve got my own Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy, but it’s not yarn. It’s quilt fabric. Doug gave me a new sewing machine some ten years ago (to replace the one Dad gave Mom, which I’d been using since the 5th grade). The first thing I did, upon acquiring the machine, was scope out a thousand sales of quilt fabric. I bought several books on rotary cutting, and thought I’d teach myself how to do the piecing on the machine.

I’ve made a number of quilts, but I’ve done everything completely by hand. And while I imagined myself making the transition to the sewing machine, it hasn’t happened. Sheesh. I ain’t getting any younger here, and as my life expectancy shortens, my pile of fabric looks that much bigger.

Here’s the deal: When my crafty grandma died, she left behind a SABLE. I inherited her SABLE, because I’m the only one of her grandkids who’s much into needlework. She died when I was 19 (you do the math!), and I’ve STILL GOT HER SABLE!! I am the possesser of her embroidery floss, button box, needlepoint yarn, cotton crochet thread (she did fantastic filet crochet bedspreads and tablecloths), unfinished quilt tops, and etc.

I feel WAY more sentimental about her SABLE than my own. I feel like the Keeper of the SABLE, the one girl in the world given this responsibility, this sacred trust.

It’s completely nutty. When I die, my kids won’t know the difference between my SABLE and my grandmother’s. They never knew my grandma, so her SABLE will definitely get pitched. And I’ll be sitting up there in heaven, wondering why I held onto it all those years, when it was going to end up in the trash bin anyway.

And what about my own SABLE? What exactly is the POINT of having more craft supplies (or anything else…) than you can reasonably expect to use in a lifetime? What will my kids do with all that fabric? I sure don’t want them to feel like they have to keep it because they love me.

I JUST LAST WEEK got rid of some of my mother-in-law’s SABLE—several long lengths of cute-printed corderoy she’d purchased when her girls were young, with the intention of making them pants or jumpers. She gave me the SABLE when I got married to her son, 30 years ago. My own daughter is now 25, and her SABLE didn’t get used by her, her daughters, me, or my daughter. Time to pass it on!

I can’t dispense of any of my fabric SABLE yet. I still feel guilty for over-purchasing and not using it. And God forbid that I should EVER walk into the bedroom where it’s stored and not feel guilty!

SABLE isn’t just about craft supplies, I’m sure you realize. It’s about ANYTHING you’re hanging onto in quantities which respresent an obvious belief that you don’t ever intend to exit this world.

Got any SABLE in your life?

Posted by Katy on 11/03/07
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You’re Kidding, Right? (#1162)

Some of you (many, I hope!) will remember how utterly kind, full of consolation, and accomodating I have been during Doug’s ordeal involving back pain.

You may recall that he’s endured a series of three epidural shots in his lower back, and that while he seems to be doing much better now than at any time since April, I continue to baby him.

That’s right. The Housekeeping Duties Formerly Known As Doug’s, which include but are not exclusively limited to taking out the trash, have not been strictly done by Doug in recent months. If I have not accomplished these Duties on his behalf with the regularity they demand, at least I have not nagged him about it.

I have tried to be The Nicest Wife A Man In His Condition Could Have, but now…he’s turned on me.

A couple of years ago, I had issues with a cyst on my middle finger, which kept getting infected, risking problems with the bone. I finally had it operated on, but the surgeon warned me that the cyst, with its accompanying pain, swelling, and stiffness, might recur.

I just finished editing a book-length manuscript for my pastor, and I guess my fingers hovered over the keyboard for too many hours each day during the last month, because man, my finger is SORE. The joint is twice as big as my other middle finger, with kind of a white ring around the top joint and then a purplish fingertip. Lovely, but Halloween’s over.

Anyway, I guess I was looking for a bit of sympathy, the kind a husband feels right before he says to his wife, “Maybe you just need a jaunt over to the Penney’s Outlet Store to give your finger a break and your mind a rest…”

Instead, this is what I got:

“Well, writing is what you do…”

“I know, but look at this thing. Don’t you think I should spare it an afternoon’s worth of trauma?”

He examined my finger before raising his hands in the air and fake keyboarding with nine fingers. He purposely kept his right middle finger extended straight out while he worked the rest of those puppies, trying to get me into the spirit of the thing, I guess.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“About what?” I gave him one of those looks, but he missed it.

“Can you work without that finger?”

Posted by Katy on 11/02/07
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Reader’s Choice (#1161)

Lord knows I’m not a focused blogger.

Back in the day when I started fallible, nearly seven years ago, most of us were what I’ll call generalists. I had one goal, I guess: to make my writings not sound like I’d pulled them from one of those old-fashioned 5-year diaries in which every day is allotted a crummy three lines.

My grandfather kept a diary like that for most of his adult life. He’s been dead 30 years, but we still have those volumes. In the five-year book which contains his summary of 1955, October reads like an abbreviated horror novel.

“Bought candy for the trick-or-treaters. Hope we have a few.”

“Carved pumpkin after work. Bernice fixed the fried chicken we slaughtered on Saturday.”

Then, in the third week of October, he speaks about my parents and my big brother, Patrick, who’d just turned four years old.

“Scotty and Mary took Patrick to hospital for heart surgery tomorrow. Kate will stay with us.”

“Patrick made it through surgery. Kate doing fine here.”

And finally this:

“This is the worst day of my life. Patrick died.”

My Papoo stopped keeping a diary for a while. Even now, when I scan those old books, my heart stops on the blank places. Only three available lines for each date, and he could not write, did not dare put his thoughts on paper.

I get it. After all, it’s what he didn’t say that decades later still gives me chills.

I’ll probably never be a focused blogger, at least not here on fallible. And sometimes, like Papoo, I can’t fill more than three lines to save my soul. But today I’m wondering: Are there any blank, fallible spaces you’d like to see filled with something specific? Anything I’m not writing that you’d like to read?

Tips on holiday shopping? Low-carb Thanksgiving dinners? Humorous tales about The Moms? Personal finance fiascos? Marital mishaps? Serious, funny—you decide.

Throw out a subject and let’s see what sticks. I may not be able to compose a heartbreaking work of staggering genius, but then again, who knows? My grandfather made my heart break using no words at all.

It’s Reader’s Choice! I’ll send some kind of Award to the suggesters of the Top Three Subjects about which I actually compose a post. Don’t let me fall into a blogging slump when you, dear readers, have it within your power to inspire me, if not to laser-like focus, then at least to astonishingly good generality.

I’m depending on you!

Posted by Katy on 11/01/07
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The Six Love Languages (#1160)

OK, technically, psychologist Gary Chapman has only identified five primary love languages. A love language is a way of communicating which, when someone directs it toward you, expresses love better than other methods they might try.

It’s a really smart thing to know your partner’s love language. If Doug likes to be loved by me suggesting we take a hike through a park with swirling autumn leaves falling all around us (and he does), that’s an indication that his primary love language might be “Quality Time.”

I’m always a little suspect when a person claims their primary love language is “Receiving Gifts,” and even if I felt that was mine, I wouldn’t admit it here. :)

Besides those two, Chapman writes about “Words of Affirmation” (“No, your butt does NOT look big in those pants!”), “Acts of Service” (“Hey, babe, I’m out of clean underwear!”) and “Physical Touch” (“How about we watch that movie at home so we can cuddle?”)

I think I’ve finally figured out my primary love language and it’s none of the above. It’s “Spontaneity.” I can’t TELL you how much I love it when Doug unexpectedly suggests we blow this pop stand and take what my Scottish father always called a “half-dee” (his pronunciation for “half-day”).

We’ve taken a couple half-dees in the past ten days, and it was bliss. No big plan, no need to spend big money. Just a few hours away from the phone and the computers and the clients, alone with each other.

Spontaneity makes me feel so loved precisely because I DON’T sense that Doug feels obligated to be with me or to give me stuff or to say certain things, like about my butt size. He wants to be with me just because he thinks it would be FUN.

Spontaneity makes me feel like the most loved girl in the world. How about you? What’s your love language? And do you know what floats your beloved’s boat?

No sense offering him a massage when he really wants you to mate his socks. I’m just sayin’.

Posted by Katy on 10/31/07
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My Scariest Halloween (#1159)

You might think it’s weird that I celebrate the 30th anniversary of my first major surgery, but that’s the kind of girl I am.

On Halloween in 1977, the year we got married, I had an operation to remove cysts from both ovaries, and to take out my appendix, just in case. As it turned out, that darned appendix was about to burst, and was most likely the cause of all my pre-operative pain.

I was in the hospital for a full week (we’re talking the good old days) and several goofy things were said and done during those seven days. Why I can recall them all with utter clarity, I don’t know, but I can.

As I came to after surgery, my mother was on hand, holding a cup of chipped ice, a commodity every post-surgery patient craves.

“Would you like some ice?” she asked, trying to be helpful and kind. The thing is, back in 1977, the two most popular colors for appliances and carpet and, by extension, hospital paraphernalia, were harvest gold and avacado green. The cup of ice my mother held in her hand happened to be harvest gold.

“NO!” I said with more emphasis than a skinny girl should have been allowed to have. “Those are Dorritos and that’s fattening!”

If only I’d held on to my early leanings toward low-carb, I could have saved myself years of heartache (and expansive rear end), but no….

Later that day, I told my dear mother, in a fit of profundity, that I had “something of extreme relevance to share.” Those are the exact words I said, people! What kind of chick says stuff like that? Of course, you need to understand, in case you’ve never gone under the knife, that anesthesia can make you feel WAY more relevant than you really are.

“OK,” my mother said, very willing to hear me out, the poor thing. “What is it?”

The next sound she heard out of my mouth was profound snoring.

That first night after surgery, on Halloween, the RN instructed me about how I was to behave in order to prevent pneumonia from setting in.

“Every time you wake up,” she said, “take ten deep breaths in and out.”

I’m such a conscientious girl, I did exactly as she directed. The thing was, I woke up every sixty seconds all night long, and obediently did my ten breaths, which took me at least 30 seconds. Needless to say, I didn’t get pneumonia. But I didn’t get any rest, either.

Those are my spooky Halloween remembrances. Got any you want to share?

Posted by Katy on 10/30/07
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Getting To Know Him, Getting To Know All About Him (#1158)

I think you’ve figured out by now that Doug and I really are Empty Nesters. Not counting, of course, that we crammed upwards of 50 people in here for an OctoberFest Friday night, that is. But those were the kind of people who have the good sense to leave by, like, midnight, unlike us. We stay here, together. Just the two of us.
I’m getting to know my husband all over again these days, and it occurs to me that you should have that privilege as well. My little friend Galadriel just interviewed her young man over at I Hate Laundry, and she inspired me to do the same. (I think her idea of regularly interviewing a randomly chosen commenter is SO fun that I might hafta copy offa her. Stay tuned.)

Happily even after But we’ll start with Doug, the poor fellow. If you have any follow-up questions for him, feel free to post them in the comments. I am sure he will be more than happy to answer!

Katy: I distinctly remember the moment we met. The near proximity of a drinking fountain was involved, with a water-stained brown carpet underneath it. Our Bible teacher was in the next room, waiting for class to start up again. A mutual friend of ours introduced us. Can you tell me her name?

Doug: Dorothy. (Or possibly Annie). I always wanted to buy and frame the little piece of stained carpet, but it’s gone now.

Katy: Do you remember what I thought the moment we met? Oh, wait. Can you remember things I thought, or just things YOU thought?

Doug: You’ve told me you thought “I will marry this guy.” A better thought might have been, “I’ll check up on this guy later when he figures out what he’s doing with his life.”

Katy: OK, then. What did YOU think at the moment we met? Did you like the cute little red-haired girl even a little? Or were you wanting to get back to class so you could focus on learning Greek words and talking about raising people from the dead?

Doug: I always had my eye out for cute little red-haired girls, and, lucky for you, you were the only one in the school. I was quite distracted during class that semester, which is unfortunate since raising people from the dead would have come in handy.

Katy: Two and one-half years later, I gave up hope on you becoming aware of my existence. Did you?

Doug: This is when I sat around with the guys talking about the great women of the church, and you were always top of the list. Everyone’s list—so I figured my chances were slim.

Katy: But then we finally had that one date. You know the one, on July 8, 1976?

Doug: You were about to leave for Scotland for a month, so I figured I better feed you since the food over there is so awful. But that was one awesome date, and segues nicely to your next point.

Katy: That we got engaged on August 21.

Doug: Is that a question? Because it’s a little late to reconsider now. The park where I popped the question was on its way to becoming a scary, crime-ridden hang out. When you said “of course,” I wasn’t sure if you meant it or just wanted to get out of the park fast.

Katy: Tell my fallible readers about what you like to do now that the kids are raised and you have a bit of leisure time on your hands. Travel? Golf? Raise people from the dead?

Doug: Nay on the resurrections per the lack of training noted above. The kids are gone? I guess I should come out of my office more often. Let’s travel, girl!

Katy: Then there’s your music. You’ve written some darned good songs over the years. What do you plan to do with them? Record them? Do videos of yourself performing them on YouTube? Sing them while attempting to raise people from the dead?

Doug: I’d love to get some worship songs published, shared, distributed free inside Cheerios boxes, etc.

Katy: If you could only come up with three major reasons why you’re madly in love with me, what would they be? I know it must be very extremely difficult to limit yourself to three, but try.

Doug: The red hair (which you bravely told me was L’Oreal right after we got engaged), your fun, witty, snarky sense of humor, and the amazing way you give yourself away so selflessly.

Katy: If neither of us croak in the near future, where do you see us in 5 years? Ten years? Twenty years is pushing our luck, so we won’t go there.

Doug: Don’t worry about the croaking part, because I still have those textbooks, and I have every intention of catching up on that lesson. In case I die first, I’ll leave a sticky note on that chapter.

Katy: Do you think God has some plan for us as Empty Nesters and how the heck do we figure out what it is?

Doug: Seriously, I’m sure He does. The writing and music will find more space to happen, but we’ve also talked lately about teaching ESL locally, and taking missions trips (but only to moderate climates ;)

Katy: If you could name three of my cutest personality traits, what would they be?

Doug: Riotous laughter, total honesty, and true kindness.

Katy: Do you know I think you are the most handsome, brilliant, spiritual, talented, and sexy man in the universe? If you DON’T know, you might not be as brilliant as I thought. Because, honestly, I tell you all the time. Discuss.

Doug: I think you know I know you think that’s true in our little corner of the universe on Rolling Hills Road, and that’s good enough.

Katy: Can we go to Starbucks now?

Doug: Do you have a coupon?

Posted by Katy on 10/28/07
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Yes, Your Life Really CAN Change Forever! (#1157)

I couldn’t be more shocked if I tried.

Three weeks ago, my life changed forever. I had NO IDEA when I met my friend Terri for lunch that I was on the very cusp of a monumental revolution. Terri and I, you should know, have been friends more than 35 years. I was 17 and she was 13 when we met, so yeah. We’ve spent our formative years…together.

Somehow, though, I have eluded the lessons Terri has to share. Doug reminded me a few days ago that when he and I got married, Terri tried to help me set up my kitchen in an organizational manner that would make sense for longer than it took to unload the dishwasher, but I didn’t get it.

I’ve never understood how less could be more, and how a few good tools could make up for a whole junk drawer full of nonsense. I actually LIKE junk drawers. I like not knowing what I might find if I go foraging there, or—as my darling grandmother used to say—“swishing.”

I have not one, but two swishing drawers in my kitchen. If I ever thought I might need a bigger kitchen, it wouldn’t be to accomodate a granite-countered island or a commercial sized refrigerator or a huge stove. It would be so I could have more swishing drawers, especially now that the kids are gone and I have the leisure time to enjoy swishing to my heart’s content. :)

Terri hasn’t had her way with me in the kitchen. In fact, she gave up trying twenty years ago. But as we sat across from each other over salads and French onion soup, I noticed her new purse—the very purse I had nearly purchased for myself at WalMart a couple days earlier.

“I LOVE that purse!” I said.

She just looked at me, amazed at my excitement. “So buy yourself one. WalMart, clearance-priced at $7.”

“I almost did, but then I decided I don’t really need a purse…”

“If you get a new one, get rid of one of your old ones. What are you keeping all of them for?”

“You’re right, of course. I am going shopping after we eat. I am getting that purse. We’ll be purse twins!”

She gave me that look again, but I didn’t mind. Since she already thought I was a little off-balance, I went ahead and asked her something I have never asked another woman on this earth.

“Terri, may I see the inside of your purse?”

“Sure,” she said, like she gets asked that every day. She said it with the tone of voice you’d expect from a woman with nothing to hide and nothing about which to be humilated beyond belief, like coupons dated 1983 or paper money not all facing the same direction.

She opened her purse, and suddenly everything clicked in my addled brain. Inside her handbag, she didn’t have a bunch of junk rolling around loose. Instead, she had not one, but two different sized make-up bags. In one (yes, I made her open them so I could get the whole story…), she kept make-up, a mirror, nail files, a Tide spot remover, and other small essentials. In the other, she stored medication, Kleenex, a contact lens case, pens, etc.

Besides those two bags, she had a spot for her phone, her keys, and the thinnest, most functional wallet I’ve ever seen. In her wallet, unbelievably, she kept her MONEY! And her cards and receipts.

Who knew those weren’t things that women had free-floating in their purses? Along with band-aids, earplugs, capless lipsticks, a random sock, a skanky toothbrush, and a gunky bottle of nail polish?

I don’t know if Terri realized she’d just changed my life. I wouldn’t believe it myself, except that three weeks have passed and the inside of my new purse is as glorious as it was the moment I got home from WalMart and set it up. In addition to the purse I wanted, I got two matching lavendar make-up bags of differing sizes (so I would remember which things are stored where…) and a very thin wallet.

Besides the things Terri carries, I have a small Moleskine journal, which I can’t live without even if I CAN (it ends up) ditch the stray sock. That’s all she wrote, folks! One thin wallet, two make-up bags, a journal, keys, and phone.

And here’s the truly amazing thing: When I want to switch purses, it only takes five seconds, instead of upwards of eight hours! Did you people KNOW about this? Or have I just discovered the miracle of the ages?

I hope you enjoy my before and after pics. And Terri, there’s hope for me, after all. It only took 3.5 decades, but it goes to show old chicks can still learn new tricks. I, too, finally am reaping the benefits of the purse-driven life.

Posted by Katy on 10/23/07
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Nancy Wood, Come On Down! (#1154)

You are today’s book winner! Kristin and I are proud to present you with a copy of Split Ends. Hope you enjoy Kristin’s novels as much as you have Diann Hunt’s!! Congratulations.

Posted by Katy on 10/17/07
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Kristin “The Chick” Billerbeck! And A Free Book Giveaway! (#1153)

Yesterday, my author friend Kristin Billerbeck and I caught up via email.

She’s in Silicon Valley and I’m in Kansas City, but that doesn’t stop us. Neither does the fact that she loves Italian leather handbags and I’m all about the Wal-Mart $5 clearance bin. I could joke that the characteristic we most share in common is that we both read her books, but honestly, it’s more than that.

I love Kristin because she’s honest, and I always find that quality so refreshing. If you visit the group chick blog she co-hosts with fellow authors Colleen Coble, Diann Hunt, and Denise Hunter, you’ll see what I mean. Each of the girls has such a distinctive writing style, you know whose entry it is from the first phrase you read.

With Kristin, it’s all about laying it on the line—no matter what it turns out to be!

Kristin is a chick-lit writer who happens to be a Christian. And while you’ll find Christian themes in her stories about flawed and foibled chicks, you’ll also have a lot of fun second-guessing what her characters will do given the circumstances they find themselves in.

I gotta tell ya, I was surprised by the ending of Split Ends. Surprised in a good way, that is. Sarah Claire, the main chick, has fallen in love, but darned if a little detail isn’t revealed about her intended that would make me run screaming into the night. What the heck will Sarah do in the wake of this revelation? You’ll have to read the book, or wait….maybe Kristin herself will tell all.

Katy: Tell us how much of Sarah’s decision to move away from small-town Wyoming to Hollywood had to do with her career aspirations, and how much had to do with her iffy relationship to her alcoholic mother.

Kristin: I wanted to show the codependence relationship and how unhealthy it is, and hard to get out of. It’s not just a matter of leaving; there are all these huge issues that she’s been sacked with. Sarah’s running had consequences.

Katy: Maybe getting away helped her see the nature of their relationship?

Kristin: Yeah. The thing was, it was healthy for her to go. I hoped to inspire someone out there who may not see the pattern for what it is.
Katy: You are such a wonderful chick lit writer, you’ve even been on The Today Show, chatting up Ann Curry! And now, look at you—appearing at fallible! You’ve come a long way, baby!

Kristin: I know!

Katy: Can you tell my fallible audience where you get the inspiration for your fun characters?

Kristin: Chick lit is just my natural voice. I am snarky by nature and yet…a Christian. Go figure.

Katy: You? Snarky? No, really, I understand. Completely.

Kristin: I think that humor is a great way to grow a character because it’s not painful. I can’t stand pain, so I have to laugh when life gets too serious. Hence, the chick lit.

Katy: Yeah. Endless Angst can only carry a girl so far. Sometimes, you just gotta let loose and giggle.

Kristin: It helps that I never really grew up.

Katy: That would make a difference!

Kristin: My inspiration often comes from something I’m watching a friend grapple with. For example, in the Ashley Stockingdale series, it was watching really great single women and men miss out on relationship because they couldn’t commit to ANYTHING, much less another human being.

Katy: So, you’re a consumate oberver of human nature, eh?

Kristin: Yeah. In Split Ends, the inspiration for Sarah Claire came from a friend in an unhealthy relationship.

Katy: I couldn’t wait to find out whether Sarah would cave in and bail her alkie mother (who’d followed her to the city) out of jail again, like in the old days…

Kristin: So, did she? Just kidding. Then, the idea for Trophy Wives Club came from watching a woman—whose husband didn’t attend church with their family—trying to navigate where she fit in by joining Sunday School.

Katy: About Sarah—was it hard to write a lovable character who doesn’t know the difference between quality leather and cowhide-grained vinyl? In other words, do you love me?

Kristin: Ha! Since we moved back to Silicon Valley, I can’t afford anything, so I can relate. And it’s never ANY trouble for me to write clueless chicks. I come by clueless naturally.

Katy: Just for fun, finish this sentence: “I’d be able to do without BLANK, but only if I knew I’d be getting some serious BLANK down the road.”

Kristin: I’m a car chick. Always have been. I’m able to drive a minivan because I know, at some point, my children will grow up and yeah, yeah, I’ll be sad to see them go.

Katy: Uh-huh. Fill in the BLANKS.

Kristin: But I will be happy to get a car that does not have French Fries smashed in the seats and a week’s worth of mismatched socks for four on the floor.

Katy: Ain’t it the truth? One last question: If you had to choose between great shoes and a fantastic purse, which would it be?

Kristin: Always the purse. I’ve got MS, and I don’t always have good balance. Great shoes are sometimes elusive. I have Michelle K’s in every color and I’m happy with that.

Katy: What’s a Michelle K? Is that like Dr. Scholl’s?

Kristin: But a purse that feels like buttah? That is a necessity in my life. In college, I bought my first luxury purse at the outlets. My rent was $210/month and my purse was $199.

Katy: Yeah, but could you sleep in it? Or take a shower?

Kristin: It was a Kenneth Cole, whom I’d never heard of.

Katy: Isn’t he that televangelist?

Kristin: I don’t really care much about names, only that the leather is like buttah. : )

Thanks for joining us today, Kristin! And if you’d like to read a book that goes down like buttah, leave a comment for a chance to win a free copy of Split Ends.

Posted by Katy on 10/14/07
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Come Saturday Morning (#1152)

You may not know how empty nesting couples talk to each other. I exist to provide the important service of giving you an insider’s peek into this It-Could-SO-Happen-To-You phenomenon.

We’re sitting here inside Caribou Coffee, commenting on our respective outfits.

“I thought you said those pants were navy blue?” I asked.

“They are.”

“Look at them in this light, next to the navy stripe in your shirt. You bragged when we left the house that your clothes matched!”

“They DO match. The shirt has both light blue and dark blue, and the pants are also dark blue.”

“But the two blues in the shirt are VERY far apart, so that no one has to wonder whether you tried to match those stripes and failed.”

“WHAT?”

“You know EXACTLY what I’m talking about! The blues in the shirt aren’t close in hue, and the dark stripe in the shirt and the color of your pants are way TOO close.”

“Yeah. They MATCH.”

“Doug, your pants are black.”

“You canNOT tell ME that these pants are not navy blue!”

I’m staring at his pitch black t-shirt poking out the top of his two-toned blue shirt, but I hold my peace. Really, I am a model of self-control.

“And another thing,” he says. “You’re dressed all in black, but your shoes, shirt, and pants are three DIFFERENT blacks.”

“And you would know that HOW?” I ask.

He moves one of his errantly clad knees closer to one of mine. “See? My pants are navy blue.” He says it with an accent like Martin Short’s Frank in Father of the Bride, only much less endearing.

“Oh, yeah? Well, those socks you’re wearing? I know you bought fifteen identical pairs so you could always find a mate, but I’m here to tell you they are brown. What about when you’re wearing black? Do you wear those socks to business meetings?”

It took me thirty years to notice his wardrobe choices, but baby, now I’m on red alert.

“These socks go with everything.” He reached down to pat them with something like romantic affection.

“Except navy blue pants,” I said.

“For the last time, they’re NOT blue!”

Finally, he sees things my way. All is still not lost.

Posted by Katy on 10/13/07
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Checking Me Out (#1151)

Yesterday I had an enlightening discussion with an eighteen-year-old teller at Bank of America.

The poor thing couldn’t imagine how I’d managed to acquire quite a number of small checks dating back several months. When I told her I just wanted to cash them, she said, “How do you not lose them? If someone were to write me a check, I’d have to cash it right away, or I’d never find it again.”

“Oh, that’s easy, ” said. “I have this little slot in my desk, and my uncashed checks go there. Then when I’ve got a respectable stash built up, I cash them all at once.”

Maybe it was the words “little slot” that got her, I don’t know. Looking back, she didn’t seem like the kind of girl who’d settled down enough to have cubbyholes. And her countenance definitely glazed over when I revealed my surefire system for holding onto pesky checks. I decided maybe I should clarify.

“When you get old,” I said, as she counted out my cash, “you develop all these regular routines and patterns for remembering stuff. You kind of find your groove…”

She met my eyes, but just for a moment, before shutting me down with a deadpan response. “Can’t wait.”

I found myself singing a Beatles’ song on my way out of the bank, smiling all the way.

“I was so much older then; I’m younger than that now…”

Posted by Katy on 10/11/07
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O, Multi-Culturalism, Where Art Thou? (#1149)

I get a huge kick out of all the stories that surface during the school year about which holidays will be observed by public schools and what they’ll be called.

These days, celebrating Christ’s birth isn’t overly popular, but I’ve heard of schools embracing Kwanzaa and Hanukkah after they’ve unceremoniously debranched the fake Christmas tree.

Often, of course, the schools opt for a Fall Festival (to veneer over any lingering religious implications attached to Halloween and Thanksgiving), a Winter Wonderland (to gloss over everyone’s pesky religious gift-giving occasions), and a Spring Fling (to de-emphasize any latent preferences for Passover, Easter, and etc.).

I saw an article today about a school that’s keeping Halloween and Christmas, and—for good measure—adding Ramadan. I hate to be the one to mention this, but I can tell them exactly where this is leading.

It reminds me of the old days, honestly. Now, my parents put us five kids all the way through Catholic schools. I’m talkin’ K-12, people! My personal experience with public schools is limited to using the fantastic public library in my local high school, taking swimming lessons in the same building, and finally, learning all about multi-culturalism from the kids who went to Southwest High.

Trust me, multi-culturalism ain’t what it used to be. In fact, back in 1968, no one called it that. What the kids at Southwest called it was “getting out of school for the day.” I’d often ride the city bus home from St. Teresa’s and on the way, the bus would pick up some Southwest kids. I got to know public school kids from the major religions of the day, at least the religions represented in my neighborhood—Catholic and Jewish.

Those kids knew how to work the system. If a Catholic “Holy Day of Obligation” was coming up on the church calendar, they didn’t need a PDA to remind them. On a Holy Day, Catholics were obligated to attend Mass, which meant they would need to skip class in order to fulfill their religious duties. There were maybe 10 or 12 Holy Days during the school year, and you wouldn’t BELIEVE how many Jews converted to Catholicism on those days!

Same thing with the Jewish holy days. Catholic kids denied the Messiah so fast heads would spin, if they thought they’d get another day off school. All they had to do was sign the list in the main office, verifying that they were observant Jews, and voila! Bagels and lox at the New York Bakery during Algebra class!

I envied those public school kids, I really did. As a Catholic school student, we took an hour off for Mass in the middle of the school day, but then right back to classes. No Holy Days off for us! No, if you were REALLY religious, public school was the place where your beliefs—ALL of them—could flourish and prosper without interference from the state.

Now, THAT’S multi-culturalism!

Posted by Katy on 10/04/07
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Bullet Points (#1145)

I really am alive. Doing well, too. Just so goofily busy!

OK, if you’ve never typed the word goofily, I suggest you do it RIGHT NOW. This was my first time, and it is indeed one of those fun words to key. Don’t ask me why, but trust me, you’ll find out when you do it!

I am busily getting my novel proposal in even better shape, according to some recommendations I received from pros at the ACFW conference. Then I’ll be forwarding it to the editors who requested it—a big step for me.

I’m also editing a longish manuscript written by my pastor, which is a fun project and will hopefully turn out to his satisfaction.

And I’m working on getting ready to launch a new blog. Maybe next week? Doug’s working on the design part and I’m writing some entries. It should be entertaining and hopefully inspirational, with an actual focus—something fallible has managed to survive without for almost seven years!!

Fallible, though—focusless though it may be—will go on. Weird, but when I wrote “will go on,” I started humming the theme song to Titanic. Now I’m singing out loud.

Sometimes, I scare myself.

Posted by Katy on 10/02/07
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Little Kid Within (#1140)

I’m sitting here at LatteLand on the Plaza in Kansas City, watching the passersby strolling with their very extremely funky umbrellas in the pouring rain.

It’s puddleluscious out there, and I’m in here, way too dry for my own good.

And then it hits me, what I’d spend my considerable piggy-bank money on if I could right this second. I want a yellow rain slicker (the shinier, the better), with the kind of giant metal clasps that enclosed me in my first-grade raincoat.

I also desperately desire plaid Wellies, a matching tartan umbrella (Black Watch will do, since that’s the kilt my dad wore during his stint in the British Army), and—just because I can—a bookbag. Not a backpack. Not a shoulder bag. An old-fashioned, circa 1960 bookbag.

I am smiling like a nut job, but I don’t care. Downpours on the Plaza make me feel like a little girl again, a little girl who just wants to have fun.

What sounds like childhood fun to you today? Any real reason why you can’t have a tiny dream come true?

Posted by Katy on 09/25/07
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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	Leaving Time (#1164) Leaves streak in swirling flurry Finishing the season’s business. Hurrying to close the year’s books, The drably dressed Scamper to catch November’s early train, The sleek easily overtaking the rotund, Both unaware of the Downwardly mobile fate Awaiting them. Bohemian types wend their way Through time and space On perennial holiday, Playing dress-up In gaudy costume, Partying with starving artists, Unsuited for common work. All fall down, Each unconscious of the fall. A lonely golden leaf Floats Like a cotton handkerchief, Landing on an empty branch. Moistened then with tears of grief, It attaches itself to the next aching limb, And the next. On a mission, The handkerchief scurries From tree to sorrowing tree, Fleeing time’s chase, Lending comfort to the bereft While it’s able. Until it, too, stumbles, For the first and final time, Upon the greedy earth. Posted by Katy on 11/05/07 Permalink S.A.B.L.E. (#1163) I’m a fairly crafty chick, or at least I thought I was until now. This morning, I read about a term thrown around in knitting groups—S.A.B.L.E. Have any of you heard about this? It stands for Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy! There are evidently millions of women who collect yarn “for comfort,” like folks who survived the Great Depression might hoard bits of twine “just in case.” These ladies talk of being invited to a baby shower and not having enough time to run to the yarn store, but HAVING enough time to make an entire baby sweater before the event. So they MUST have that baby yarn stored in their home! I’m thinking when the invite comes, it provides another reason to add to their SABLE. What do you think? I’ve got my own Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy, but it’s not yarn. It’s quilt fabric. Doug gave me a new sewing machine some ten years ago (to replace the one Dad gave Mom, which I’d been using since the 5th grade). The first thing I did, upon acquiring the machine, was scope out a thousand sales of quilt fabric. I bought several books on rotary cutting, and thought I’d teach myself how to do the piecing on the machine. I’ve made a number of quilts, but I’ve done everything completely by hand. And while I imagined myself making the transition to the sewing machine, it hasn’t happened. Sheesh. I ain’t getting any younger here, and as my life expectancy shortens, my pile of fabric looks that much bigger. Here’s the deal: When my crafty grandma died, she left behind a SABLE. I inherited her SABLE, because I’m the only one of her grandkids who’s much into needlework. She died when I was 19 (you do the math!), and I’ve STILL GOT HER SABLE!! I am the possesser of her embroidery floss, button box, needlepoint yarn, cotton crochet thread (she did fantastic filet crochet bedspreads and tablecloths), unfinished quilt tops, and etc. I feel WAY more sentimental about her SABLE than my own. I feel like the Keeper of the SABLE, the one girl in the world given this responsibility, this sacred trust. It’s completely nutty. When I die, my kids won’t know the difference between my SABLE and my grandmother’s. They never knew my grandma, so her SABLE will definitely get pitched. And I’ll be sitting up there in heaven, wondering why I held onto it all those years, when it was going to end up in the trash bin anyway. And what about my own SABLE? What exactly is the POINT of having more craft supplies (or anything else…) than you can reasonably expect to use in a lifetime? What will my kids do with all that fabric? I sure don’t want them to feel like they have to keep it because they love me. I JUST LAST WEEK got rid of some of my mother-in-law’s SABLE—several long lengths of cute-printed corderoy she’d purchased when her girls were young, with the intention of making them pants or jumpers. She gave me the SABLE when I got married to her son, 30 years ago. My own daughter is now 25, and her SABLE didn’t get used by her, her daughters, me, or my daughter. Time to pass it on! I can’t dispense of any of my fabric SABLE yet. I still feel guilty for over-purchasing and not using it. And God forbid that I should EVER walk into the bedroom where it’s stored and not feel guilty! SABLE isn’t just about craft supplies, I’m sure you realize. It’s about ANYTHING you’re hanging onto in quantities which respresent an obvious belief that you don’t ever intend to exit this world. Got any SABLE in your life? Posted by Katy on 11/03/07 Permalink You’re Kidding, Right? (#1162) Some of you (many, I hope!) will remember how utterly kind, full of consolation, and accomodating I have been during Doug’s ordeal involving back pain. You may recall that he’s endured a series of three epidural shots in his lower back, and that while he seems to be doing much better now than at any time since April, I continue to baby him. That’s right. The Housekeeping Duties Formerly Known As Doug’s, which include but are not exclusively limited to taking out the trash, have not been strictly done by Doug in recent months. If I have not accomplished these Duties on his behalf with the regularity they demand, at least I have not nagged him about it. I have tried to be The Nicest Wife A Man In His Condition Could Have, but now…he’s turned on me. A couple of years ago, I had issues with a cyst on my middle finger, which kept getting infected, risking problems with the bone. I finally had it operated on, but the surgeon warned me that the cyst, with its accompanying pain, swelling, and stiffness, might recur. I just finished editing a book-length manuscript for my pastor, and I guess my fingers hovered over the keyboard for too many hours each day during the last month, because man, my finger is SORE. The joint is twice as big as my other middle finger, with kind of a white ring around the top joint and then a purplish fingertip. Lovely, but Halloween’s over. Anyway, I guess I was looking for a bit of sympathy, the kind a husband feels right before he says to his wife, “Maybe you just need a jaunt over to the Penney’s Outlet Store to give your finger a break and your mind a rest…” Instead, this is what I got: “Well, writing is what you do…” “I know, but look at this thing. Don’t you think I should spare it an afternoon’s worth of trauma?” He examined my finger before raising his hands in the air and fake keyboarding with nine fingers. He purposely kept his right middle finger extended straight out while he worked the rest of those puppies, trying to get me into the spirit of the thing, I guess. “What do you think?” he asked. “About what?” I gave him one of those looks, but he missed it. “Can you work without that finger?” Posted by Katy on 11/02/07 Permalink Reader’s Choice (#1161) Lord knows I’m not a focused blogger. Back in the day when I started fallible, nearly seven years ago, most of us were what I’ll call generalists. I had one goal, I guess: to make my writings not sound like I’d pulled them from one of those old-fashioned 5-year diaries in which every day is allotted a crummy three lines. My grandfather kept a diary like that for most of his adult life. He’s been dead 30 years, but we still have those volumes. In the five-year book which contains his summary of 1955, October reads like an abbreviated horror novel. “Bought candy for the trick-or-treaters. Hope we have a few.” “Carved pumpkin after work. Bernice fixed the fried chicken we slaughtered on Saturday.” Then, in the third week of October, he speaks about my parents and my big brother, Patrick, who’d just turned four years old. “Scotty and Mary took Patrick to hospital for heart surgery tomorrow. Kate will stay with us.” “Patrick made it through surgery. Kate doing fine here.” And finally this: “This is the worst day of my life. Patrick died.” My Papoo stopped keeping a diary for a while. Even now, when I scan those old books, my heart stops on the blank places. Only three available lines for each date, and he could not write, did not dare put his thoughts on paper. I get it. After all, it’s what he didn’t say that decades later still gives me chills. I’ll probably never be a focused blogger, at least not here on fallible. And sometimes, like Papoo, I can’t fill more than three lines to save my soul. But today I’m wondering: Are there any blank, fallible spaces you’d like to see filled with something specific? Anything I’m not writing that you’d like to read? Tips on holiday shopping? Low-carb Thanksgiving dinners? Humorous tales about The Moms? Personal finance fiascos? Marital mishaps? Serious, funny—you decide. Throw out a subject and let’s see what sticks. I may not be able to compose a heartbreaking work of staggering genius, but then again, who knows? My grandfather made my heart break using no words at all. It’s Reader’s Choice! I’ll send some kind of Award to the suggesters of the Top Three Subjects about which I actually compose a post. Don’t let me fall into a blogging slump when you, dear readers, have it within your power to inspire me, if not to laser-like focus, then at least to astonishingly good generality. I’m depending on you! Posted by Katy on 11/01/07 Permalink The Six Love Languages (#1160) OK, technically, psychologist Gary Chapman has only identified five primary love languages. A love language is a way of communicating which, when someone directs it toward you, expresses love better than other methods they might try. It’s a really smart thing to know your partner’s love language. If Doug likes to be loved by me suggesting we take a hike through a park with swirling autumn leaves falling all around us (and he does), that’s an indication that his primary love language might be “Quality Time.” I’m always a little suspect when a person claims their primary love language is “Receiving Gifts,” and even if I felt that was mine, I wouldn’t admit it here. :) Besides those two, Chapman writes about “Words of Affirmation” (“No, your butt does NOT look big in those pants!”), “Acts of Service” (“Hey, babe, I’m out of clean underwear!”) and “Physical Touch” (“How about we watch that movie at home so we can cuddle?”) I think I’ve finally figured out my primary love language and it’s none of the above. It’s “Spontaneity.” I can’t TELL you how much I love it when Doug unexpectedly suggests we blow this pop stand and take what my Scottish father always called a “half-dee” (his pronunciation for “half-day”). We’ve taken a couple half-dees in the past ten days, and it was bliss. No big plan, no need to spend big money. Just a few hours away from the phone and the computers and the clients, alone with each other. Spontaneity makes me feel so loved precisely because I DON’T sense that Doug feels obligated to be with me or to give me stuff or to say certain things, like about my butt size. He wants to be with me just because he thinks it would be FUN. Spontaneity makes me feel like the most loved girl in the world. How about you? What’s your love language? And do you know what floats your beloved’s boat? No sense offering him a massage when he really wants you to mate his socks. I’m just sayin’. Posted by Katy on 10/31/07 Permalink My Scariest Halloween (#1159) You might think it’s weird that I celebrate the 30th anniversary of my first major surgery, but that’s the kind of girl I am. On Halloween in 1977, the year we got married, I had an operation to remove cysts from both ovaries, and to take out my appendix, just in case. As it turned out, that darned appendix was about to burst, and was most likely the cause of all my pre-operative pain. I was in the hospital for a full week (we’re talking the good old days) and several goofy things were said and done during those seven days. Why I can recall them all with utter clarity, I don’t know, but I can. As I came to after surgery, my mother was on hand, holding a cup of chipped ice, a commodity every post-surgery patient craves. “Would you like some ice?” she asked, trying to be helpful and kind. The thing is, back in 1977, the two most popular colors for appliances and carpet and, by extension, hospital paraphernalia, were harvest gold and avacado green. The cup of ice my mother held in her hand happened to be harvest gold. “NO!” I said with more emphasis than a skinny girl should have been allowed to have. “Those are Dorritos and that’s fattening!” If only I’d held on to my early leanings toward low-carb, I could have saved myself years of heartache (and expansive rear end), but no…. Later that day, I told my dear mother, in a fit of profundity, that I had “something of extreme relevance to share.” Those are the exact words I said, people! What kind of chick says stuff like that? Of course, you need to understand, in case you’ve never gone under the knife, that anesthesia can make you feel WAY more relevant than you really are. “OK,” my mother said, very willing to hear me out, the poor thing. “What is it?” The next sound she heard out of my mouth was profound snoring. That first night after surgery, on Halloween, the RN instructed me about how I was to behave in order to prevent pneumonia from setting in. “Every time you wake up,” she said, “take ten deep breaths in and out.” I’m such a conscientious girl, I did exactly as she directed. The thing was, I woke up every sixty seconds all night long, and obediently did my ten breaths, which took me at least 30 seconds. Needless to say, I didn’t get pneumonia. But I didn’t get any rest, either. Those are my spooky Halloween remembrances. Got any you want to share? Posted by Katy on 10/30/07 Permalink Getting To Know Him, Getting To Know All About Him (#1158) I think you’ve figured out by now that Doug and I really are Empty Nesters. Not counting, of course, that we crammed upwards of 50 people in here for an OctoberFest Friday night, that is. But those were the kind of people who have the good sense to leave by, like, midnight, unlike us. We stay here, together. Just the two of us. I’m getting to know my husband all over again these days, and it occurs to me that you should have that privilege as well. My little friend Galadriel just interviewed her young man over at I Hate Laundry, and she inspired me to do the same. (I think her idea of regularly interviewing a randomly chosen commenter is SO fun that I might hafta copy offa her. Stay tuned.) But we’ll start with Doug, the poor fellow. If you have any follow-up questions for him, feel free to post them in the comments. I am sure he will be more than happy to answer! Katy: I distinctly remember the moment we met. The near proximity of a drinking fountain was involved, with a water-stained brown carpet underneath it. Our Bible teacher was in the next room, waiting for class to start up again. A mutual friend of ours introduced us. Can you tell me her name? Doug: Dorothy. (Or possibly Annie). I always wanted to buy and frame the little piece of stained carpet, but it’s gone now. Katy: Do you remember what I thought the moment we met? Oh, wait. Can you remember things I thought, or just things YOU thought? Doug: You’ve told me you thought “I will marry this guy.” A better thought might have been, “I’ll check up on this guy later when he figures out what he’s doing with his life.” Katy: OK, then. What did YOU think at the moment we met? Did you like the cute little red-haired girl even a little? Or were you wanting to get back to class so you could focus on learning Greek words and talking about raising people from the dead? Doug: I always had my eye out for cute little red-haired girls, and, lucky for you, you were the only one in the school. I was quite distracted during class that semester, which is unfortunate since raising people from the dead would have come in handy. Katy: Two and one-half years later, I gave up hope on you becoming aware of my existence. Did you? Doug: This is when I sat around with the guys talking about the great women of the church, and you were always top of the list. Everyone’s list—so I figured my chances were slim. Katy: But then we finally had that one date. You know the one, on July 8, 1976? Doug: You were about to leave for Scotland for a month, so I figured I better feed you since the food over there is so awful. But that was one awesome date, and segues nicely to your next point. Katy: That we got engaged on August 21. Doug: Is that a question? Because it’s a little late to reconsider now. The park where I popped the question was on its way to becoming a scary, crime-ridden hang out. When you said “of course,” I wasn’t sure if you meant it or just wanted to get out of the park fast. Katy: Tell my fallible readers about what you like to do now that the kids are raised and you have a bit of leisure time on your hands. Travel? Golf? Raise people from the dead? Doug: Nay on the resurrections per the lack of training noted above. The kids are gone? I guess I should come out of my office more often. Let’s travel, girl! Katy: Then there’s your music. You’ve written some darned good songs over the years. What do you plan to do with them? Record them? Do videos of yourself performing them on YouTube? Sing them while attempting to raise people from the dead? Doug: I’d love to get some worship songs published, shared, distributed free inside Cheerios boxes, etc. Katy: If you could only come up with three major reasons why you’re madly in love with me, what would they be? I know it must be very extremely difficult to limit yourself to three, but try. Doug: The red hair (which you bravely told me was L’Oreal right after we got engaged), your fun, witty, snarky sense of humor, and the amazing way you give yourself away so selflessly. Katy: If neither of us croak in the near future, where do you see us in 5 years? Ten years? Twenty years is pushing our luck, so we won’t go there. Doug: Don’t worry about the croaking part, because I still have those textbooks, and I have every intention of catching up on that lesson. In case I die first, I’ll leave a sticky note on that chapter. Katy: Do you think God has some plan for us as Empty Nesters and how the heck do we figure out what it is? Doug: Seriously, I’m sure He does. The writing and music will find more space to happen, but we’ve also talked lately about teaching ESL locally, and taking missions trips (but only to moderate climates ;) Katy: If you could name three of my cutest personality traits, what would they be? Doug: Riotous laughter, total honesty, and true kindness. Katy: Do you know I think you are the most handsome, brilliant, spiritual, talented, and sexy man in the universe? If you DON’T know, you might not be as brilliant as I thought. Because, honestly, I tell you all the time. Discuss. Doug: I think you know I know you think that’s true in our little corner of the universe on Rolling Hills Road, and that’s good enough. Katy: Can we go to Starbucks now? Doug: Do you have a coupon? Posted by Katy on 10/28/07 Permalink Yes, Your Life Really CAN Change Forever! (#1157) I couldn’t be more shocked if I tried. Three weeks ago, my life changed forever. I had NO IDEA when I met my friend Terri for lunch that I was on the very cusp of a monumental revolution. Terri and I, you should know, have been friends more than 35 years. I was 17 and she was 13 when we met, so yeah. We’ve spent our formative years…together. Somehow, though, I have eluded the lessons Terri has to share. Doug reminded me a few days ago that when he and I got married, Terri tried to help me set up my kitchen in an organizational manner that would make sense for longer than it took to unload the dishwasher, but I didn’t get it. I’ve never understood how less could be more, and how a few good tools could make up for a whole junk drawer full of nonsense. I actually LIKE junk drawers. I like not knowing what I might find if I go foraging there, or—as my darling grandmother used to say—“swishing.” I have not one, but two swishing drawers in my kitchen. If I ever thought I might need a bigger kitchen, it wouldn’t be to accomodate a granite-countered island or a commercial sized refrigerator or a huge stove. It would be so I could have more swishing drawers, especially now that the kids are gone and I have the leisure time to enjoy swishing to my heart’s content. :) Terri hasn’t had her way with me in the kitchen. In fact, she gave up trying twenty years ago. But as we sat across from each other over salads and French onion soup, I noticed her new purse—the very purse I had nearly purchased for myself at WalMart a couple days earlier. “I LOVE that purse!” I said. She just looked at me, amazed at my excitement. “So buy yourself one. WalMart, clearance-priced at $7.” “I almost did, but then I decided I don’t really need a purse…” “If you get a new one, get rid of one of your old ones. What are you keeping all of them for?” “You’re right, of course. I am going shopping after we eat. I am getting that purse. We’ll be purse twins!” She gave me that look again, but I didn’t mind. Since she already thought I was a little off-balance, I went ahead and asked her something I have never asked another woman on this earth. “Terri, may I see the inside of your purse?” “Sure,” she said, like she gets asked that every day. She said it with the tone of voice you’d expect from a woman with nothing to hide and nothing about which to be humilated beyond belief, like coupons dated 1983 or paper money not all facing the same direction. She opened her purse, and suddenly everything clicked in my addled brain. Inside her handbag, she didn’t have a bunch of junk rolling around loose. Instead, she had not one, but two different sized make-up bags. In one (yes, I made her open them so I could get the whole story…), she kept make-up, a mirror, nail files, a Tide spot remover, and other small essentials. In the other, she stored medication, Kleenex, a contact lens case, pens, etc. Besides those two bags, she had a spot for her phone, her keys, and the thinnest, most functional wallet I’ve ever seen. In her wallet, unbelievably, she kept her MONEY! And her cards and receipts. Who knew those weren’t things that women had free-floating in their purses? Along with band-aids, earplugs, capless lipsticks, a random sock, a skanky toothbrush, and a gunky bottle of nail polish? I don’t know if Terri realized she’d just changed my life. I wouldn’t believe it myself, except that three weeks have passed and the inside of my new purse is as glorious as it was the moment I got home from WalMart and set it up. In addition to the purse I wanted, I got two matching lavendar make-up bags of differing sizes (so I would remember which things are stored where…) and a very thin wallet. Besides the things Terri carries, I have a small Moleskine journal, which I can’t live without even if I CAN (it ends up) ditch the stray sock. That’s all she wrote, folks! One thin wallet, two make-up bags, a journal, keys, and phone. And here’s the truly amazing thing: When I want to switch purses, it only takes five seconds, instead of upwards of eight hours! Did you people KNOW about this? Or have I just discovered the miracle of the ages? I hope you enjoy my before and after pics. And Terri, there’s hope for me, after all. It only took 3.5 decades, but it goes to show old chicks can still learn new tricks. I, too, finally am reaping the benefits of the purse-driven life. Posted by Katy on 10/23/07 Permalink Nancy Wood, Come On Down! (#1154) You are today’s book winner! Kristin and I are proud to present you with a copy of Split Ends. Hope you enjoy Kristin’s novels as much as you have Diann Hunt’s!! Congratulations. Posted by Katy on 10/17/07 Permalink Kristin “The Chick” Billerbeck! And A Free Book Giveaway! (#1153) Yesterday, my author friend Kristin Billerbeck and I caught up via email. She’s in Silicon Valley and I’m in Kansas City, but that doesn’t stop us. Neither does the fact that she loves Italian leather handbags and I’m all about the Wal-Mart $5 clearance bin. I could joke that the characteristic we most share in common is that we both read her books, but honestly, it’s more than that. I love Kristin because she’s honest, and I always find that quality so refreshing. If you visit the group chick blog she co-hosts with fellow authors Colleen Coble, Diann Hunt, and Denise Hunter, you’ll see what I mean. Each of the girls has such a distinctive writing style, you know whose entry it is from the first phrase you read. With Kristin, it’s all about laying it on the line—no matter what it turns out to be! Kristin is a chick-lit writer who happens to be a Christian. And while you’ll find Christian themes in her stories about flawed and foibled chicks, you’ll also have a lot of fun second-guessing what her characters will do given the circumstances they find themselves in. I gotta tell ya, I was surprised by the ending of Split Ends. Surprised in a good way, that is. Sarah Claire, the main chick, has fallen in love, but darned if a little detail isn’t revealed about her intended that would make me run screaming into the night. What the heck will Sarah do in the wake of this revelation? You’ll have to read the book, or wait….maybe Kristin herself will tell all. Katy: Tell us how much of Sarah’s decision to move away from small-town Wyoming to Hollywood had to do with her career aspirations, and how much had to do with her iffy relationship to her alcoholic mother. Kristin: I wanted to show the codependence relationship and how unhealthy it is, and hard to get out of. It’s not just a matter of leaving; there are all these huge issues that she’s been sacked with. Sarah’s running had consequences. Katy: Maybe getting away helped her see the nature of their relationship? Kristin: Yeah. The thing was, it was healthy for her to go. I hoped to inspire someone out there who may not see the pattern for what it is. Katy: You are such a wonderful chick lit writer, you’ve even been on The Today Show, chatting up Ann Curry! And now, look at you—appearing at fallible! You’ve come a long way, baby! Kristin: I know! Katy: Can you tell my fallible audience where you get the inspiration for your fun characters? Kristin: Chick lit is just my natural voice. I am snarky by nature and yet…a Christian. Go figure. Katy: You? Snarky? No, really, I understand. Completely. Kristin: I think that humor is a great way to grow a character because it’s not painful. I can’t stand pain, so I have to laugh when life gets too serious. Hence, the chick lit. Katy: Yeah. Endless Angst can only carry a girl so far. Sometimes, you just gotta let loose and giggle. Kristin: It helps that I never really grew up. Katy: That would make a difference! Kristin: My inspiration often comes from something I’m watching a friend grapple with. For example, in the Ashley Stockingdale series, it was watching really great single women and men miss out on relationship because they couldn’t commit to ANYTHING, much less another human being. Katy: So, you’re a consumate oberver of human nature, eh? Kristin: Yeah. In Split Ends, the inspiration for Sarah Claire came from a friend in an unhealthy relationship. Katy: I couldn’t wait to find out whether Sarah would cave in and bail her alkie mother (who’d followed her to the city) out of jail again, like in the old days… Kristin: So, did she? Just kidding. Then, the idea for Trophy Wives Club came from watching a woman—whose husband didn’t attend church with their family—trying to navigate where she fit in by joining Sunday School. Katy: About Sarah—was it hard to write a lovable character who doesn’t know the difference between quality leather and cowhide-grained vinyl? In other words, do you love me? Kristin: Ha! Since we moved back to Silicon Valley, I can’t afford anything, so I can relate. And it’s never ANY trouble for me to write clueless chicks. I come by clueless naturally. Katy: Just for fun, finish this sentence: “I’d be able to do without BLANK, but only if I knew I’d be getting some serious BLANK down the road.” Kristin: I’m a car chick. Always have been. I’m able to drive a minivan because I know, at some point, my children will grow up and yeah, yeah, I’ll be sad to see them go. Katy: Uh-huh. Fill in the BLANKS. Kristin: But I will be happy to get a car that does not have French Fries smashed in the seats and a week’s worth of mismatched socks for four on the floor. Katy: Ain’t it the truth? One last question: If you had to choose between great shoes and a fantastic purse, which would it be? Kristin: Always the purse. I’ve got MS, and I don’t always have good balance. Great shoes are sometimes elusive. I have Michelle K’s in every color and I’m happy with that. Katy: What’s a Michelle K? Is that like Dr. Scholl’s? Kristin: But a purse that feels like buttah? That is a necessity in my life. In college, I bought my first luxury purse at the outlets. My rent was $210/month and my purse was $199. Katy: Yeah, but could you sleep in it? Or take a shower? Kristin: It was a Kenneth Cole, whom I’d never heard of. Katy: Isn’t he that televangelist? Kristin: I don’t really care much about names, only that the leather is like buttah. : ) Thanks for joining us today, Kristin! And if you’d like to read a book that goes down like buttah, leave a comment for a chance to win a free copy of Split Ends. Posted by Katy on 10/14/07 Permalink Come Saturday Morning (#1152) You may not know how empty nesting couples talk to each other. I exist to provide the important service of giving you an insider’s peek into this It-Could-SO-Happen-To-You phenomenon. We’re sitting here inside Caribou Coffee, commenting on our respective outfits. “I thought you said those pants were navy blue?” I asked. “They are.” “Look at them in this light, next to the navy stripe in your shirt. You bragged when we left the house that your clothes matched!” “They DO match. The shirt has both light blue and dark blue, and the pants are also dark blue.” “But the two blues in the shirt are VERY far apart, so that no one has to wonder whether you tried to match those stripes and failed.” “WHAT?” “You know EXACTLY what I’m talking about! The blues in the shirt aren’t close in hue, and the dark stripe in the shirt and the color of your pants are way TOO close.” “Yeah. They MATCH.” “Doug, your pants are black.” “You canNOT tell ME that these pants are not navy blue!” I’m staring at his pitch black t-shirt poking out the top of his two-toned blue shirt, but I hold my peace. Really, I am a model of self-control. “And another thing,” he says. “You’re dressed all in black, but your shoes, shirt, and pants are three DIFFERENT blacks.” “And you would know that HOW?” I ask. He moves one of his errantly clad knees closer to one of mine. “See? My pants are navy blue.” He says it with an accent like Martin Short’s Frank in Father of the Bride, only much less endearing. “Oh, yeah? Well, those socks you’re wearing? I know you bought fifteen identical pairs so you could always find a mate, but I’m here to tell you they are brown. What about when you’re wearing black? Do you wear those socks to business meetings?” It took me thirty years to notice his wardrobe choices, but baby, now I’m on red alert. “These socks go with everything.” He reached down to pat them with something like romantic affection. “Except navy blue pants,” I said. “For the last time, they’re NOT blue!” Finally, he sees things my way. All is still not lost. Posted by Katy on 10/13/07 Permalink Checking Me Out (#1151) Yesterday I had an enlightening discussion with an eighteen-year-old teller at Bank of America. The poor thing couldn’t imagine how I’d managed to acquire quite a number of small checks dating back several months. When I told her I just wanted to cash them, she said, “How do you not lose them? If someone were to write me a check, I’d have to cash it right away, or I’d never find it again.” “Oh, that’s easy, ” said. “I have this little slot in my desk, and my uncashed checks go there. Then when I’ve got a respectable stash built up, I cash them all at once.” Maybe it was the words “little slot” that got her, I don’t know. Looking back, she didn’t seem like the kind of girl who’d settled down enough to have cubbyholes. And her countenance definitely glazed over when I revealed my surefire system for holding onto pesky checks. I decided maybe I should clarify. “When you get old,” I said, as she counted out my cash, “you develop all these regular routines and patterns for remembering stuff. You kind of find your groove…” She met my eyes, but just for a moment, before shutting me down with a deadpan response. “Can’t wait.” I found myself singing a Beatles’ song on my way out of the bank, smiling all the way. “I was so much older then; I’m younger than that now…” Posted by Katy on 10/11/07 Permalink O, Multi-Culturalism, Where Art Thou? (#1149) I get a huge kick out of all the stories that surface during the school year about which holidays will be observed by public schools and what they’ll be called. These days, celebrating Christ’s birth isn’t overly popular, but I’ve heard of schools embracing Kwanzaa and Hanukkah after they’ve unceremoniously debranched the fake Christmas tree. Often, of course, the schools opt for a Fall Festival (to veneer over any lingering religious implications attached to Halloween and Thanksgiving), a Winter Wonderland (to gloss over everyone’s pesky religious gift-giving occasions), and a Spring Fling (to de-emphasize any latent preferences for Passover, Easter, and etc.). I saw an article today about a school that’s keeping Halloween and Christmas, and—for good measure—adding Ramadan. I hate to be the one to mention this, but I can tell them exactly where this is leading. It reminds me of the old days, honestly. Now, my parents put us five kids all the way through Catholic schools. I’m talkin’ K-12, people! My personal experience with public schools is limited to using the fantastic public library in my local high school, taking swimming lessons in the same building, and finally, learning all about multi-culturalism from the kids who went to Southwest High. Trust me, multi-culturalism ain’t what it used to be. In fact, back in 1968, no one called it that. What the kids at Southwest called it was “getting out of school for the day.” I’d often ride the city bus home from St. Teresa’s and on the way, the bus would pick up some Southwest kids. I got to know public school kids from the major religions of the day, at least the religions represented in my neighborhood—Catholic and Jewish. Those kids knew how to work the system. If a Catholic “Holy Day of Obligation” was coming up on the church calendar, they didn’t need a PDA to remind them. On a Holy Day, Catholics were obligated to attend Mass, which meant they would need to skip class in order to fulfill their religious duties. There were maybe 10 or 12 Holy Days during the school year, and you wouldn’t BELIEVE how many Jews converted to Catholicism on those days! Same thing with the Jewish holy days. Catholic kids denied the Messiah so fast heads would spin, if they thought they’d get another day off school. All they had to do was sign the list in the main office, verifying that they were observant Jews, and voila! Bagels and lox at the New York Bakery during Algebra class! I envied those public school kids, I really did. As a Catholic school student, we took an hour off for Mass in the middle of the school day, but then right back to classes. No Holy Days off for us! No, if you were REALLY religious, public school was the place where your beliefs—ALL of them—could flourish and prosper without interference from the state. Now, THAT’S multi-culturalism! Posted by Katy on 10/04/07 Permalink Bullet Points (#1145) I really am alive. Doing well, too. Just so goofily busy! OK, if you’ve never typed the word goofily, I suggest you do it RIGHT NOW. This was my first time, and it is indeed one of those fun words to key. Don’t ask me why, but trust me, you’ll find out when you do it! I am busily getting my novel proposal in even better shape, according to some recommendations I received from pros at the ACFW conference. Then I’ll be forwarding it to the editors who requested it—a big step for me. I’m also editing a longish manuscript written by my pastor, which is a fun project and will hopefully turn out to his satisfaction. And I’m working on getting ready to launch a new blog. Maybe next week? Doug’s working on the design part and I’m writing some entries. It should be entertaining and hopefully inspirational, with an actual focus—something fallible has managed to survive without for almost seven years!! Fallible, though—focusless though it may be—will go on. Weird, but when I wrote “will go on,” I started humming the theme song to Titanic. Now I’m singing out loud. Sometimes, I scare myself. Posted by Katy on 10/02/07 Permalink Little Kid Within (#1140) I’m sitting here at LatteLand on the Plaza in Kansas City, watching the passersby strolling with their very extremely funky umbrellas in the pouring rain. It’s puddleluscious out there, and I’m in here, way too dry for my own good. And then it hits me, what I’d spend my considerable piggy-bank money on if I could right this second. I want a yellow rain slicker (the shinier, the better), with the kind of giant metal clasps that enclosed me in my first-grade raincoat. I also desperately desire plaid Wellies, a matching tartan umbrella (Black Watch will do, since that’s the kilt my dad wore during his stint in the British Army), and—just because I can—a bookbag. Not a backpack. Not a shoulder bag. An old-fashioned, circa 1960 bookbag. I am smiling like a nut job, but I don’t care. Downpours on the Plaza make me feel like a little girl again, a little girl who just wants to have fun. What sounds like childhood fun to you today? Any real reason why you can’t have a tiny dream come true? Posted by Katy on 09/25/07 Permalink Page 16 of 84 pages « First < 14 15 16 17 18 > Last »


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

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