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

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

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I Don’t Know About You, But I’m A Rockin’ Boomer Babe! (#1121)

OK, it’s official. Once Allison Bottke, of God Allows U-Turns fame, pronounces you (or, in this case, me!) a Rockin’ Boomer Babe, well. Let’s just say she ought to know.

Not only has the lady had phenomenal success with her series of inspirational true-story compilations, she’s now writing fun and fabulous novels that go hand-in-hand with her new organization for chicks-of-a-certain-age: Boomer Babes Rock.

That’s right. Now there’s a group for the rest of us, the ones who may need a bit more rest than we used to, but who still don’t quite feel sleepy, thank you very much. Allison has a way of motivating, inspiring, organizing, and energizing women to dream big, achieve more, and celebrate well.

I’m thrilled to welcome Allison to fallible today, and hope you enjoy getting to know her as much as I have!

Katy: One of the things I love about your novels (the first being A Stitch In Time, and now your just released book, One Little Secret) is that both contain peeks into industries I know nothing about—executive fundraising and Grammy-award-winning music recording. Does your own Boomer Babe experience include a background in these fields?

Allison: I spent almost two decades as a professional fundraiser in southern California. In writing A Stitch in Time, I used a great many of my own life experiences as foundational plots. I’ve also had weight loss surgery (I’ve lost 120 pounds) and it was fun to give my character Dee Decker that experience.

Katy: Only you could make weightloss surgery sound like fun! Hey, I’ve kept off 60 pounds for seven years, but if I had one of my characters do the same, neither one of us would have fun! Maybe I have a bad attitude?

Allison: Katy, repeat after me: “I am a ROCKIN’ Boomer Babe…” Good! Now, in writing One Little Secret, I depended more on my obsession with People Magazine to base my story. (Insert a big smile here.) However, remember, I lived in Southern California and worked in the world of philanthropy, so I have rubbed shoulders with people in the entertainment industry and people who have more money than imaginable.

Katy: Yeah, about that money thing. I joined up at your Boomer Babes Rocks website as soon as I saw the word “food” in the tagline. If the word “money” had been there, I would have signed up even sooner! Tell us, is there a connection between the storylines of your novels and the purpose of your new website?

Allison: I love it! Yes, there’s a connection! Our tagline is: “Where fun, fashion, food, family, and faith merge to empower and inspire baby boomer women around the world.” Katy, I’m 52 years old now…

Katy: You and me both, girlfriend. Except for the 52 part. I’m 53, but math is one of the first things to go, so it’s all good.

Allison: Who needs math? I’m finding myself more and more drawn to my boomer babe sisters. I want to encourage them to reach for the dreams of their hearts. I have been so blessed in my life and I know I’m no different from anyone else—we can all achieve our dreams.

Katy: OK, I’m feeling very confident about you, but sometimes I wonder about me….

Alison: Hang in there, Katy! I’ve just been signed to write three more “Boomer-Lit” novels for the new David C. Cook publishing company. All the lead boomer babes in these books will be business owners—entrepreneurs who are working against all odds to achieve their dreams. It’s all intrinsically connected—what I write and what we share on the web site and in our boomer babe blog and in the monthly Dream-Zine. This isn’t about me, Katy. It’s about a whole generation of women.

Katy: Would it take God Allowing a U-turn for you to be on the path to achieve your most closely held dream, or are you already heading that direction? Can you share your biggest unfulfilled boomer babe dream with us?

Allison: Wow, that’s an easy one! Ever since I was a very little girl, I have wanted to work in the film industry. I started writing scripts when I could barely hold a pencil—little plays where I got to be the damsel in distress, rescued by Prince Charming.

Katy: Does he by any chance resemble George Clooney? (Sorry, Doug.)

Allison: My goal when I grow up is to write for the silver screen. In fact, I’d love to adapt One Little Secret for the screen—don’t you think it would make a great movie?

Katy: A really great movie! Heck, I’d pay to see the inside of the characters’ homes, and I know my husband would pay to see the decked-out sound studios…

Allison: Well, here’s the cool thing. We’ve developed a Hollywood Casting Call Contest on our web site for readers to vote for the actors and actresses they feel would best portray the lead characters in One Little Secret. We’re offering an all-expense-paid trip to Hollywood for the person who selects the dream cast that is actually cast in the event the book does get optioned as a screenplay.

Katy: I want to win that prize! Where can I vote?

Allison: Cast your ballot here and yes, you can vote for George Clooney!

Katy: Anything else fallible readers can do to help make your motion picture dream a reality?

Allison: You know, Katy, they say it’s a small world—and I believe that. I keep praying that someone will know someone who knows someone who can get One Little Secret into the hands of a producer or a film star or anyone who has the power to make this dream come true. Does anyone out there know Oprah? ☺ All I would ask is that if one of your readers knows someone who can help and if they read One Little Secret and enjoyed it, that they would share the book. Thanks for asking. ☺

Katy: Speaking of reading One Little Secret, I have a copy bubble-wrapped and ready to address to one lucky commenter. Anyone who leaves a comment on this post (and who knows, Allison may check in to comment herself!) will be entered in a drawing in which a name will be randomly chosen (by the completely unbiased Rockin’ Boomer Guy Babe Doug) to win a free copy!

Allison: Hope your fallible readers enjoy the book!

Katy: One more question, Allison. I guess you could say we’re ending on a bit of a serious note, but I’ve been thinking about boomers and their dreams a lot lately. If you could name three hindrances women face that most often prevent them from achieving their dreams, what would they be? Any hope for overcoming these hindrances after the age of fifty? How about sixty?  :)

Allison: I’d have to say one of the biggest detriments we have is listening to negative dream-stealers.

Katy: Whoa. Dream Stealers. I know a few of those. Heck, sometimes I’ve been known to be one myself….

Allison: You know, those opinionated, negative folks who see the glass as half empty and not half full. We must banish negative people from allowing them to insinuate their feelings into our heads and hearts!

Katy: I’ve never quite succeeded at this, but I am working on it, I promise.

Allison: The second would be a feeling that we don’t deserve to achieve our dream. That for whatever reason it’s too late, or we’re too old, or too tired, or too broke, or to “whatever” to make it happen. God has placed a dream, a desire, and a purpose into each and every heart. He has given us gifts and talents he wants us to use. We do Him a disservice when we bury those gifts under a bushel.

Katy: I"ve been so guilty of bushel-burying. But I’m trying to mend my ways.

Allison: The third would be that we keep ourselves so over-busy with tasks that, when all is said and done, don’t really need to be handled by us.

Katy: OK, now you’re scaring me. My motto is: “If I don’t do the dirty work, who will?”

Allison: We’ve allowed ourselves to shift the focus off of our own dreams to filling the time with busyness.

Katy: Ouch.

Allison: Most often, I think, this is because we are fearful. Fearful of failure, or success, or what someone may say, or….fill in the blank. Women are notorious for trying to do it all. Yet at the end of the day, have we done even one thing that brings us closer to achieving our hearts’ desires? I’m not talking about being totally selfish—but a balance of selfishness and selflessness is a healthy thing. If we find ourselves at fifty, or sixty, or seventy with unmet desires that weigh heavily on our hearts—then it’s time to do what is in our power to make our dreams come true.

Katy: So, as someone who has yet to achieve her potential, I gotta ask: are you saying there’s hope?

Allison: There’s always hope, Katy. As long as there is breath, there is hope.

 

Posted by Katy on 08/05/07
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Speaking Of Utter Breathlessness… (#1120)

Does anyone among my knowledgeable readership understand the meaning of “glycolysis”?

I’m trying to buy a life insurance policy, and in the process a nurse came to the house to do blood and urine tests. I got the results of my lab work in the mail yesterday. My glucose test (which should have been completely normal, since I was fasting and don’t eat any sugar whatsoever…) came back with this notice: Test invalid due to glycolysis.

I have googled this term into the ground, and am still unsure what the heck it means. I believe it’s an indication of me having poorly oxygenated blood, which *ahem* explains a lot. By the way, I do have a call in to my doctor’s office, but haven’t heard back from them yet.

Anybody understand biology here? Yikes!

Posted by Katy on 08/01/07
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Sweep (#1119)

It’s very extremely important, when tackling a project like reclaiming your own home as the Dear-Lord-Let-It-Stick-This-Time Empty Nest looms, to take things a bit at a time. At least, that’s what the experts say.

You may have guessed by now that I’m not a bit-at-a-time kind of girl. With me, it’s all or nothing. Love or hate, skinny or fat, rich or poor, feast or famine—you get the idea. It’s no great feat for me to swing among these extremes on a daily basis. Minute-by-minute isn’t out of the question.

So those fantastic books and websites which aim to help a poor woman conquer her clutter test my patience. Why on earth would I want to start with clearing off the tiny table in my front entranceway? And then slowly make my way to the hall coat closet? Seriously, people. I couldn’t get any satisfaction with teeny tiny yawn-inducing steps like that. Where’s the drama?

No! If I’m going to do this thing—and by the grace of God, I am—I’m doing it in a no-holds-barred kind of way. If you could see my living and dining rooms right now, you’d swear I spend hours each day viewing tivo’d episodes of Clean Sweep. Those two rooms have become the equivalent of the TV show’s front lawn, filled to overflowing with piles of sellables, giveawayables, storeables, and trashables.

As of this morning, I can’t breathe when I pass through those rooms. I try to avert my gaze and walk really, really fast so my respiration can return to some semblance of normal before I croak, but my all-or-nothing way of dealing with my junk has finally gotten to me.

Fortunately, I am good at identifying and parting with genuine trash. I have the discernment to be able to pull the tax documents out from under the pile of grocery ads on a nearly daily basis. I actually throw away junk mail within a few minutes of it entering the house.

We had a garage sale on the spur of the moment two weekends ago. Made some quick money, but not enough to justify the work. Every time I try to sell my stuff, I realize I’d much rather give it to a thrift store or charity and take the tax deduction. Of course, an even better solution would be not to bring home surplus stuff to begin with, and trust me, I’m slowly but surely getting to that point.

The category I have the biggest problem with is the “storeables.” I tend to believe that in a disaster, either natural or man-made, I would instantly morph into the kind of benevolent Earth Mother that makes everyone—adult children, siblings, nieces, nephews, moms, friends, and neighbors—flock to my warm (thanks to that huge propane tank out back), well-stocked refuge in the boonies.

The truth is, of course, that I’d be utterly useless in a disaster. With my luck, the bird flu will be the catastrophe-du-jour that draws a big crowd to my place. Hey, I’ve got some Tamiflu on hand and tons of vitamins, too. Even have a supply of masks, just in case. But have you ever tried on one of those masks, people? Talk about hyperventilation! I’m afraid that my calling as the Mother may be precipitously short-lived.

Doug and I aren’t getting any younger. We should probably be making arrangements for ourselves to be taken care of by those with youth, strength, and kindheartedness on their side, in case the worst happens. Maybe then I could let go of some of those emergency preparation supplies I’ve stored, what do you think?

All I know is, until I get this place under control, I’m not giving up my 300 brown paper lunch bags. Right now, I’m keeping a pile in the living room and another in the dining room. I have a feeling those puppies will come in handy yet.

Posted by Katy on 08/01/07
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Revelation (#1118)

I honestly thought my only daughter was the packrat of the universe. She just packed it up and moved it out, I’m sure you’ll remember, a couple weeks in advance of her wedding, which was four weeks ago.

I had her throw all the clothes and assorted paraphernalia overboard (from the upstairs loft into the living room) as she sorted and purged and cleaned. Then I took over, assigning a value to her giveaways so that I could haul the loaded trash bags up to the thrift store.

The bags didn’t actually make it to the store until last week because life—that is, the other parts of it—got it in the way. In the meantime, Kevin moved back home after his stint in Switzerland and we threw the wedding of the decade.

Now our little buddy’s moving out, since he apparently believed us when we told him on the plane home from his graduation that he had two months to find a job and an apartment. He starts his job—at a fabulous European-style hotel on the Plaza called The Raphael—on Tuesday. By August 11 (the EXACT end of the two-month grace period), he’ll move in with some friends who live in a house one of them owns.

So he’s throwing his old clothes and assorted paraphernalia overboard, from the upstairs loft into the living room. (It’s like deja-vu all over again, huh?) In addition, he’s carting up all the junk he’s got in his old bedroom in the basement. Trust me that when I say “junk,” I mean complete and utter junk. I’m afraid to touch some of it without rubber gloves.

I’ve told him he can store a few things here, for the day when he moves into a space larger than one room. But everything he wants us to hold onto has to fit into the totally emptied and vacuumed walk-in closet in the basement bedroom. EVERYTHING. He’ll have to stand the couch on one arm, but that’s life.

It’s SHOCKING how much stuff he’s getting rid of that I haven’t laid eyes on since the day his dad and I gave it to him for a birthday or Christmas present. Stuff I remember thinking he’d LOVE at the time I plunked down a chunk of change for it. The same thing happened just a few weeks ago with Carrie’s stuff, so the point is, we’ll just say, being driven home to me.

We have spent upwards of a gazillion dollars on stuff the kids didn’t want, need, or know what to do with. Kevin even made me promise when he started dragging stuff into the living room that I wouldn’t get mad about anything he wanted to get rid of. I promised, but man, I had a hard time biting my tongue a few times.

Of course, I’m not mad at him. Or at Carrie or Scott, either. But I am first, second, and third guessing myself. I am questioning a value system which would drive me to believe (or worse yet, FEEL) that three or four nice presents for Christmas aren’t enough, that I must “fill in” with all kinds of dumb stuff to make the space under the tree look full and festive and exciting.

So I’ll take my tax deduction for donating the whole lot of it to the thrift store. Mere pennies recovered for untold hundreds of dollars spent (thousands, really, but who’s counting, right?). And that’s not considering the value of my time as I drive from sale to sale, shop, wrap, dust, store forgotten on basement shelves, regret purchasing, evaluate for tax-deduction purposes, box up, and haul to the charity shop.

I guess you could say I’m going through the Empty Nest Syndrome. But in my case, the birds ain’t the only ones to go.

Posted by Katy on 07/29/07
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We Were Jesus People, Then, And Young… (#1117)

More than thirty years ago, when we were Jesus freaks and young, Doug and I had the privilege of knowing some wonderful people.

We were idealists, I guess you’d say. And in our immature but idealistic theology, we cherished the closely held belief that Jesus’s Second Coming was imminent. Like, it would probably happen tonight, and we’d be surprised if He held off until tomorrow morning.

Sometimes, beliefs like this keep Christians from actually doing good in the world, so convinced are they that He’s about to deliver them out of it.

This morning, when I awakened once more to find He’d tarried even longer, an email awaited me. It was from a close personal friend of mine from back in the day, a Jewish believer in Jesus, a beautiful girl now—how can this be, Lord?—a grandmother many times over.

She told me about another couple we used to know, who moved to Israel many years ago and raised a family there. If you can help our old friends, she wrote, let me know. They have taken in a refugee family from Darfur, to protect them from being sent back to Egypt, where their persecution was as bad as it had been in their homeland…

Who knew the Lord would wait so long? So long that Israel must now build prison camps in the desert to contain those fleeing from Sudan? So long that our friends, who moved to Israel with their zeal for the Lord’s return a blazing fire, are now sheltering a long-suffering man, wife, and tiny baby?

Darfur hadn’t really drilled down into my consciousness, until today. With one note from a trusted friend, though, my eyes began to open.

No Prince of Peace, crowned with righteousness and riding on a white horse, has appeared at the foot of my bed as if in a dream. Jesus still hasn’t come back as I struggle into wakefulness this morning, and yet, somehow He has.

He’s right here, speaking to me, leading me beside still waters, moving upon my heart as in the days of my youth.

For we are Jesus people now, and old.

Posted by Katy on 07/20/07
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Enough Of Me To Go Around (#1116)

Once I got my British passport, I should have been happy, right?

And I am happy, really. Doug and I can live and work anywhere in the European Union, and after a few years of living with an official Brit, I’m pretty sure Doug can become a citizen, too. He loves that idea, but then again, he thinks it’s sexy that he’s married to a British citizen. Some men are SO easy to please!

The countries about which I have an abiding passion (as I’m sure you’ve realized by now!) are Scotland, Northern Ireland, and the Republic of Ireland. Scotland and Northern Ireland are part of Great Britain, of course, and the Republic is an EU nation. It’s all good!

So why am I so obsessed with also getting my Irish passport? Probably because they’re making it so freakin’ hard!

On three separate occasions now, I’ve asked the Edinburgh officials to send me umpteen copies of the “long-form” birth certificate for my father, the one which should show the ages and birth places of his parents. Three times, they’ve ignored the specifics of my need and sent me birth certificates which list my grandparents’ names only. Without the birthplace of my grandfather shown (County Monaghan, Ireland), it will be nigh unto impossible to establish to the Irish Consulate’s satisfaction that my father has an Irish-born parent.

And unless I can make that connection, I can’t claim my rightful citizenship and passport.

I emailed the Irish consulate after hearing back from the Scottish authorities again today. I told the Irish that the Scottish say their birth certificates do NOT list birth places of the child’s parents. Period.

The Irish lady said, “The English certificates ALWAYS show the parents birth’ places. ALWAYS.”

Already, she had me where she wanted me, which was in a defensive, I’ll-never-amount-to-anything-much-less-be-an-Irish-citizen posture. ENGLISH? I’d told her I’d been corresponding with a woman in EDINBURGH which, last time I checked, is NOT in England!!! Great Britain? OK, I’ll concede on that point. But Scotland and England are TWO DIFFERENT COUNTRIES!

Irish people know this. Do they just like to rub it in, or what?

Then, trying to be as conciliatory as possible so she didn’t blacklist me from candidacy for future citizenship, I asked the Irishwoman, “In the absence of the type of birth certificate you’d like to see, what other documents might you accept?”

I was thinking I’d try to get the death certificate for my great-grandfather. It shows him dying in Ireland, and my grandfather (who was in his early twenties at the time) coming over from Scotland to report the death to the authorities. It other words, it helps demonstrate that my grandfather’s people were from Ireland.

“Well, I don’t KNOW!” she hissed. “I haven’t seen your application yet! But I’ll tell you this much: There’s no way we’ll accept your application as is!”

You probably know how that set with me. It didn’t go down easy. Let me just put it this way: From the sounds of her, I’m the younger woman. I’ll wear her down or wear her out, but I will persevere with every scrap and shred of evidence I can produce until they grant me the credentials I’m entitled to.

My dad always said that to be Scots-Irish means you beat yourself up coming and going. He was right, but if the bureaucrats either Scottish or Irish think I’ll give up without a fight, well…stay tuned.  :) 

Posted by Katy on 07/19/07
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The Do-Unto-Others Because They’ve Done-Unto-You Meme (#1115)

This is ALL author BJ Hoff’s fault!

She’s been tagged so many times by friends wanting her to do memes that she finally created her OWN meme, just to get them back!!! Even though BJ and I are good friends, she did not tag me directly, presumably because I have had the good sense not to tag her, ever.  :)

But her fellow-author, Deb Raney? BJ got her good, and then SHE got me. The very, very fun thing about the Do Unto Others Meme is that the questions appeal to readers and writers—and I think my fallible audience contains plenty of those!

Please do go visit Deb Raney’s site, and BJ Hoff’s, too! And if you want to Do Unto Others on your own site, please leave me a comment linking to it so we can all take a peek!

1. What’s the one book or writing project you haven’t yet written but still hope to? Although I’ve had a number of articles published, I would REALLY like to be publishing books. It’s been pointed out to me by the type of people who tag me for memes that in order to have a book published, one must write one. All the way to the end. I hope to do that. (Someday, I want to write an historical Irish saga, set during the famine years, on the Rose Estate in Tydavnet, County Monaghan, where my grandfather was born. The Rose Estate had a Scottish Protestant landlady, who actually helped prevent starvation from ending the sorry lives of my Irish Catholic ancestors. The LEAST I can do is write a novel in her honor!)

2. If you had one entire day in which to do nothing but read, what book would you start with? I had a day just like that today! I ordered this book for my hubby: The 4-Hour Workweek. And I can’t put it down. Amazingly shocking principles contained in this book!

3. What was your first writing “instrument” (besides pen and paper)? A Royal manual typewriter. Dear Lord in Heaven above. I was a sophomore in high school, and took typing to get out of Home Ec. (In the ‘70s, a bunch of us girls thought ourselves too liberated to learn to sew and cook. Little did I realize how naked and hungry a growing family can get.) Anyway, I got a crummy C- in typing. Half the girls in the class got to use electrics, and of course, their grades reflected it!

4. What’s your best guess as to how many books you read in a month? I read maybe six books per month. Sometimes, as many as ten. Mostly fiction these days, but then a book like The 4-Day Workweek comes along, and MAN.

5. What’s your favorite writing “machine” you’ve ever owned? This little baby right here! My iBook G4. Although I won’t cry when it dies, as long as I can have what BJ has.

6. Think historical fiction: what’s your favorite time period in which to read? I learned SO much from the WWII books by Brock and Bodie Thoene, and I ADORE the Victorian-era novels by my Scottish love, George MacDonald.

7. What’s the one book you remember most clearly from your youth (childhood or teens)? Like so many girls, I read Little Women over and over. Along with Eight Cousins and Rose In Bloom, also by Louisa May Alcott. But my VERY favorite was “Don’t Call Me Katie Rose.” My mother purchased it for me at a school book fair when I was eleven. It was one of the first books I ever owned, since until then I’d virtually kept the public library in business. By the way, my name IS Katy Rose.

Anybody want to play? I’d love to read your answers!

Posted by Katy on 07/19/07
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A Very Fun Monday, Except For The Whole Replacing The Half Of My Bottom Tooth That Broke Off Thing (#1114)

If it’s not one thing, it’s your mother, right?

I’m finally starting to figure out that even while waiting for the ubiquitous other shoe to drop and mentally doing the math and coming to the realization that YES, there are WAY more than two shoes, I can have fun at the same time. The VERY same time.

Today, it wasn’t my mother at all. It was my tooth. It happened Thursday afternoon. I bit into something and my tongue came to the quick (and familiar, since this isn’t the first time I’ve been thus afflicted) conclusion that the upper half of the back of my bottom front tooth had broken off.

I hate when that happens, don’t you? I called the dentist’s office immediately, because I knew my tongue would be worn raw rubbing over that rough surface and that I’d need to get it fixed FAST. But my dentist doesn’t work on Friday, and the earliest she could fit me in was Tuesday afternoon—tomorrow! I told her I knew this was the same tooth that had broken before, and that the doctor just bonded some type of filling compound to the back of my tooth and filed it smooth and PLEASE couldn’t he fit me in?

This morning, I called back in desperation. My tongue was practically bleeding from the irritation, and I couldn’t wait another 36 hours. They fit me in, but guess what? It WASN’T the same tooth as before, but its next-door neighbor. So now both my bottom teeth have done a crazy front-to-back split thing, and I’ll tell you what: it makes me think maybe I should this instant stop my lifelong habit of using my teeth as tools. They’ve served me well in the absence of scissors, pliers, screwdrivers, and staple removers, but I think its time to give the poor dears a rest.

Normally, an event like a traumatic tooth problem would do me in for the day, but hey. I had a coupon for 25% off my total purchase at the nearby Penney’s Outlet store, so why not turn lemons into sugar-free lemonade?

I purchased seven tops for myself, all marked down to less than 10% of their retail value, plus a pair of shoes that started at $55 and I got for $5. Leather. The blouses were approximately $1.50 each. By now, I was feeling pretty good about my day, but it got better.

I visited the infant department, as I always do in department stores. I love to buy outfits for newborns, which I donate to a ministry based here in Kansas City, Mercy & Truth Medical Missions. They have a birthing clinic for struggling families, and it’s fun for me to make sure each new baby has a brand-new outfit of the mom’s choosing from the little clothing rack we stock there. Often, these mothers—many teenagers—live in houses unheated in the winter, and the winters here can be brutal. They are so thrilled to think that “strangers” care about them and their babies enough to give them something new. A very small gift often leads to an opportunity for the staff at the clinic to share more about God’s care for these families.

Today was my best baby clothing day EVER! I purchased 17 NICE sleepers, at an original cost of $14 each, marked down to $1.50 each!

This small ministry of mine costs me very little, either in time or money, and yet God has used it to touch those in need. He’s multiplied my effort and dollar expenditure so many times over, plus I get to advertise a bit about Mercy & Truth when my tactics are questioned.

Invariably, the folks who check me out say the same thing. “I know what you’re doing. You’re buying these up for nothing and then reselling them on eBay.”

Gosh! I never even thought of that! I could be getting rich! Actually, I’d make a really crummy entrepreneur, but that’s OK. At least, I’m learning that I can have a LOT of fun on the very same day they stuff my mouth with cotton, puncture my gums with needles, and gas me.

So that’s something, isn’t it?

Posted by Katy on 07/16/07
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Universe (#1113)

I’ll just go ahead and admit it. Why not? It’s not like you haven’t already figured me out. My name is Katy, and not only am I a pathetic tagger, I’m a horrible tagee, too.

That’s right. I have recently been tagged by some of the most fabulous people in the universe, and have failed to step up to the meme plate. In the last couple weeks, during the wedding craziness and the all-backs-are-out-and-the-chriropractor’s-on-retainer recovery period, I’ve been tagged not once, but twice.

The first tag was to notify me that I’d been crowned with a Rockin’ Girl Blogger cyber-tiara, an honor indeed. I visit the taggers’ site every day, and always get a kick out of these author buddies of mine. It’s a four-chick blog collaboration, filled with fresh inspiration, humor, and insight. And lots of talk about coffee and chocolate. Diann Hunt, Denise Hunter, Colleen Coble, and Kristin Billerback blog at girlswriteout, and they are a blast. Visit them, and then read their books! You won’t be sorry.

And then there’s the wonderful Robin Lee Hatcher, who just yesterday tagged me to do a 7 Random Things About Me meme. Something seemed familiar about this one, though. I left her a comment telling her I’d post last night, but then realized I had recently done this exact meme. Somehow, 14 Random Things About Me seems like AT LEAST 7 more than I should inflict upon you!

Instead, I’ll direct you to Robin’s fabulous blog, where (in season and sometimes out) you can read her take on American Idol, keep up with the other authors she graciously features, and learn more about the 55 (count ‘em!) books she’s written. Robin’s latest (Return to Me) has such a beautiful, autumnal cover that it’s drawing me in…can’t wait to read it!

Whether or not I ever get published, I am so grateful for the gift of friendship God has given me in these amazing women. I’ve met all five of them in person, and they are delightful ladies one and all. The writers’ universe is a relatively small one, but even as a humble wannabe I’ve found myself accepted, encouraged, trained, and applauded.
Thanks to my five taggers, and here’s hoping some fallible readers can now share in the joy you’ve given me!

Posted by Katy on 07/15/07
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Even I Am Not ALWAYS Embarassed (#1112)

I am evidently one of those bloggers who generates the most comments when she opens a post with the line, “OK. This is so embarassing.” (See previous post.)

In spite of that, I am hoping to receive even MORE comments on this post, although I am in NO WAY embarassed by its subject. (And believe me, when you’re as fallible as I am, an utter lack of embarassment doesn’t happen that often!)

Here’s the deal: I have come to be in personal possession of two brand new novels by a wonderful emerging author, Mary DeMuth. How I came to own them is neither here nor there at this point, but let’s just say that these two titles—“Watching the Tree Limbs” and “Wishing on Dandelions”—have been signed by the author not to me, but to a girl named Teri.

And not just any girl named Teri. These books were gifts to actress Teri Hatcher, whose “people” returned them to Mary evidently unread. One can only assume Teri herself begged her assistant to help her carve out time in her busy schedule for novel reading, so enthusiastic was she about the prospect of reading these beautiful novels. I can picture her running her lovely hands over the pastel covers and becoming misty-eyed when she finally realized she had to pass them by.

Her loss has now become your opportunity!! I already own my own copies of both books, and am giving these signed copies (along with a letter from Mary to Teri Hatcher proving their provenance) to a fortunate commenter.

No need to be creative with your comment, either. Just pop in, say Hi, and give me a way to contact you. In a couple days, I will choose a happy winner.

Bon chance, everyone!!

Posted by Katy on 07/12/07
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Don’t Know Much About History (#1111)

OK. This is embarassing.

I just gave myself a little quiz, and then my poor unsuspecting hubby was subjected to the same darned thing. First I tallied up the number of presidential elections we’ve voted in, starting in 1972, and came up with nine.

I gotta’ tell you, it seems like more. A LOT more. But since there have only been nine, wouldn’t you think we could rattle off the Republican and Democrat nominees and name (confidently!) the nine folks who received our cherished votes?

Before I divulge this bit of history, try it yourself. Maybe if you’ve only been voting a few years, you’ll have an easier time, but maybe not. It’s AMAZING how quickly we tend to forget candidates after the results are in.

Here are the stats, starting with…

1972: Incumbant Republican Richard Nixon ran against Democrat George McGovern. By then, my father was already calling Nixon “Tricky Dick,” and besides, I had just graduated from high school and was a freakin’ hippie. Of COURSE I voted for McGovern, and I very nearly remember the election night party I attended at which we all wept into our…whatever. (Hey Lori, if you’re reading this, call me!)

1976: Tricky Dick had stepped aside, as you’ll all recall, but who the HECK stepped into the office, making him the Republican candidate that year? Even when I reminded Doug that the guy’s wife admitted being an alcoholic and got help, and went on to found a renowned center for recovering alcoholics, he COULD NOT say the man’s name! Gerald Ford, the reigning president, ran against….whom???? Oh, yeah! The born-again guy who did interviews with Playboy magazine! Democrat Jimmy Carter! Believe me, I LOVE Habitat for Humanity, but that’s the only thing I now love about Jimmy Carter. Even though I DID vote for him.

1980: I wouldn’t vote for him twice, though. Even though he did run for a second term. Did he win in 1980? Or did the Republican who became known for something called “trickle-down economics,” which did NOT trickle down to my poor little family of four? Never mind that, I loved the guy and I am proud to have voted for him: Ronald Reagan.

1984: Even Doug and I remembered that Reagan served for eight years, and we remembered voting for him twice. But who on EARTH did he run against the second time? I could have scratched my head from now till kingdom come and not come up with the name of George Mondale.

1988: Well, everyone knows that a President can only be in office eight consecutive years, so Reagan was on his way out. It wasn’t too difficult to come up with George the Elder as the winner of this year’s election, and I did vote for him. But his opponent remained a complete mystery to me no matter how long I pondered. Doug, however, remembered one detail: “You know, he had his picture taken in the tank.” Oh, dear Lord. Yes! Michael Dukakis!

1992: The senior Bush ran again, and I did vote for him a second time. He lost to Bill Clinton.

1996: Bill Clinton won again, running against the man I voted for—Bob Dole. About that time, we purchased a church pew at a garage sale for $50. The pew was reputed to have come from the church in Russell, Kansas that Bob Dole attended. I don’t know if the lore is true, but if so, our dog Bono has potentially shared a piece of furniture with the 1996 loser. In addition, because of Dole’s loss, Viagra rose to prominence. A fine couple of consolation prizes, hmm?

2000: Bill couldn’t run again, but his veep could and did. Al Gore didn’t take over the office, though. George Bush the Younger did. I voted for him.

2004: I voted for Bush again, this time against John Kerry.

I’ve been giving my voting history some thought, perhaps because that’s all it is—a record of holes punched. Of the candidates I’ve voted for, the only one I’d proudly choose again would be Ronald Reagan. Of the remaining candidates—the ones I didn’t vote for—there’s not one I regret dismissing.

At my age, with so much of my voting life already behind me, I’ve got to start asking myself some serious questions. The first question is this: Why do I wait to care until the final two (and sometimes, three) candidates have been named? Until, as it so often seems, the choices have come down to what we often call “the lesser of two evils”?

What if in each of the nine elections I’ve taken part in there had been candidates who might have become viable if only I (and millions of other voters) had gotten invested in the process earlier in the cycle?

Could it be that there’s a statesman or stateswoman out there somewhere actually worth supporting? And if so, wouldn’t NOW be the time to throw some time, energy, and money into the process of moving that person into an electable position?

I know this much: If I wait, like I’ve always waited, until it’s down to the wire, I probably won’t be happy with the choices. And I’ll only have myself to blame.

Posted by Katy on 07/07/07
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Lang May Yir Lum Reek (#1110)

Yesterday, I received my traditional Fourth of July email greeting from my cousin-by-marriage across the pond, Frank Quinn. Frank is married to Mary, one of my seven girl cousins in Scotland.

Frank is a man of few words, email-wise, though he can talk your ear off in person. Not that you’d understand a word of it, mind you, though he may very well claim with a grin (as my father used to) that he speaks the King’s English.

Here is the sum total of his message:

“HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY. LANG MAY YIR LUM REEK.”

I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking the Brits still resent us just a WEE bit, especially upon even the slightest recollection of the events of 1776. Come on, people! How would YOU feel if it was suggested to you that YOUR lum reeked, hmm?

Yeah. I thought so.

It took me until this morning to be brave enough to google the darned thing. I thought I might have to hold my nose just to endure the stench of the translation.

His wish, in good old U.S. English, reads “Long may your chimney smoke.” I thought I could live with that until I read a longer version of the same traditional Scottish saying. “Lang may yir lum reek wi ither fowk’s coal.” Call me confused when I read that this means, “Long may your chimney smoke with other people’s coal.”

I’m sorry, but that makes me sound like a bit of a thief, a swindler, or a shyster, don’t you think? Or at least someone very good at using OPM—Other People’s Money? Was this personal, or some veiled reference to the New World riding its way to success on Britain’s prosperous red coattails?

Actually, it’s believed the saying may refer to the old Scottish New Year’s Eve custom of bringing a piece of coal into each home visited, of adding warmth to the fire of a friend. It’s a way of saying something like, “Have many friends, live a long time, and good luck.”

So guess what? I think Frankie likes me!

It’s a good thing, too. As it turns out, the whole lot of them are stuck with me on BOTH sides of the pond.

Yes, it’s official! I GOT MY BRITISH PASSPORT!!

If any of you fallible readers want to drop by to help me celebrate, please do! But remember, in July there’s really no need to bring a piece of coal. Really.

And if my lum reeks, keep it to yourself, OK?

Posted by Katy on 07/05/07
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What A Feeling (#1109)

Maybe you’ve never had this feeling, a feeling like the sound of many rushing waters.

Then again, you might have given birth to a baby, not realizing beforehand that your whole life would change in an instant at the sound of your helpless infant’s insistant wail. You might have lost a parent, or a brother, or a friend, and felt the sudden completeness of their absence with a furious intensity you didn’t know existed.

Or maybe you, like Doug and I, have given your only daughter in marriage.

You don’t know what to expect. You have no roadmap, no manual, no role models whose paths exactly mirror your own, no precise predictions or prophecies on which to hang your hopes for this beautiful young woman, the joy of your heart.

You can’t even say for certain whether you will laugh or weep when the groom kisses his bride, when the father dances one last time with his baby girl, or when the two of them—now one—drive into the barely lit night, into a new life of their own making.

You are surprised by the tiniest of details, then. You’re stunned by the fragility of the falling petals strewn in the aisle, petals you want to gather back into virgin rosebuds as if they are your own life’s spent heartbeats. You’re astonished by the trembling hands of the strong man placing the ring on her finger, by the very womanliness of the child now fully grown in the merest twinkling of an eye. 

When the feeling happens to you, even if you’ve never felt anything quite like it before, you’ll recognize it. It arises from a place so deep-seated in your breathless soul that it feels like salvation, like redemption, like a sudden escape from earthboundedness to heaven itself.

It’s fleeting, but real.

It can’t last, but you will remember it always.

For this much, this much is forever true: Many rushing waters cannot quench love, and the mightiest of rivers cannot wash it away.

Posted by Katy on 07/01/07
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The Pain Now Is Part Of The Happiness Then (#1108)

The Father of the Bride, whose privileges tomorrow night will culminate in navigating a 100-foot-long aisle with the most beautiful daughter in the world, has acquired just a wee bit of a sciatic nerve problem.

It’s goofy when both of us land on the disabled list at the same time. Actually, this may be the first time it’s ever happened, because Doug is like the healthiest guy on the planet. But my back has improved by about 75%, so I’m trying to baby him. I’m enlisting all the strong backs I can to do the heavy lifting and teaching Doug how to use his pointer finger.

I know this much: When he takes that short walk down a long aisle, he won’t be thinking about back pain at all. It will be a once-in-a-lifetime pleasure to entrust Carrie into Marc’s care, knowing the love God has put in their hearts for each other.

I’m not saying his eyes won’t burn from attempting to hold back the tears of a Daddy’s lifetime, the ones he might have shed when she broke her foot rollerskating, or played Lisyl in The Sound of Music, or received a medal for Irish dancing.

His eyes will burn with a different kind of pain, one he’s never quite felt before. He may shed a tear after all, and who knows? His back may be completely healed when that little girl smiles up at him, takes his arm, and says, “Dad, it’s time.”

Posted by Katy on 06/29/07
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Taking My Lumps (#1107)

He could have just greeted me with a cheery “Good morning!”, but no.

“Would you like to be a lump?” he asked, before I’d even had my first cup of coffee. Man, I could have gone off on him right then and there, but I held my peace.

He pointed to a verse in 1st Corinthians, New King James version in case you want to do the comps.

“Well,” he continued with only the slightest trepidation, “it says right here that you should ‘purge out the old leaven, that you may be a new lump.’”

I swear he smirked and then chuckled under his breath, but don’t imagine I couldn’t hear him. Even with my deaf ear pointed his way. I’m talented like that.

I’ll admit that purging sometimes sounds like a plan (one I would not follow through on), but if it’s only to be a new lump, what have I gained? Might as well keep my old familiar lumps, if you know what I"m saying.

Which brings me to Katy’s Dilemma Of The Day.

My back’s out. I mean, really out. The kind of out that makes me scream when unanticipated spasms shoot through my sacroiliacal region, which is approximately every three seconds, making the shooting pains fall clearly into the realm of the should-be-anticipated-if-you’re-halfway-intelligent, but you wouldn’t want to quibble with a medicated woman, would you? I didn’t think so.

One week from today, when our beautiful daughter is easily slinking her unlumpy 25-year-old body into the wedding dress of her dreams, I’ll be confronting my new girdle. That’s right—girdle.

Honestly, I did not know they’d come back out with the kind of undergarments I remember my grandmother wearing in the ‘50s. I’m talking high-rise, thigh-covering, midriff eliminating, rear-end lifting—the works. The thing actually has STAYS in it—I guess what would be the equivalent of underwires in a bra, only more…dear Lord, deliver me…heavy-duty.

Anyway, I saw this contraption at Kohl’s. So, in honor of the grandma I loved and in memory of the lumps of fat she so carefully and tastefully contained, I plunked down a hefty chunk of change and got me one. I even gave it a test drive a few weeks ago, when I still had my strength and wits about me. Believe me, a woman must be in GREAT SHAPE to apply one of these puppies and have a ragged breath leftover to tell the tale.

But now, alas, my poor body has fallen into disrepair. My biggest fear today is that my back will not be sufficiently cured for me to sausage myself into my expensive smoothing apparatus next Saturday. And even though my dress is a respectable size six, it’s VERY fitted. Suffice it to say that if I can’t pull the girdle up, I won’t be pulling the dress down.

In answer to my husband’s theological question du jour, I glared at him and said, “No, I do NOT want to be a lump.”

Sometimes, our Bible studies are really short.

 

 

Posted by Katy on 06/23/07
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