My After-Christmas Poetry Blog

Our House on Christmas Night -- Before the lights went out! (Kate's LRDC, 12/25/10)



It started slowly, did Christmas this year;

Early we woke, to nobody here.

Lights we turned on, coffee we poured,

Showers we took; the gifts, we ignored.



(Waiting 'til later, were they.)



First come was Dj, our favorite son;

Breakfast was started, Christmas begun.

Eyes still averted from under the tree;

When arrived the right time, surprised we must be!




(Waiting 'til later, were we.)



"Walking, let's go," said I to my son.

Agreed, then did he, though expecting no fun.

Chill was the air; the sky was pure gray.

"Snow now it should, this fine Christmas day."




(Waiting 'til later, was it.)



Back home, we headed; before we were there,

Falling was snow, right out of the air!

Fluffy and white, those flakes, came they thickly!

Hurried we home. now walking quite quickly.



(Waiting 'til later, not we!)



Posed we for pictures, out there in the snow.

(Rare, a White Christmas in these parts, you know!)

Arrived then, soon after, Meagan and Joe,

And Charlie; this Christmas, the first one she'd know.



(Waiting for them, had we been.)



Time, 'twas at last to return to the tree;

Presents to open, delightment to see.

Hungry we were then, but patient were we.

Guests yet were coming; still needed we, three.



(Waiting for them, were we.)



Present, at last, all parties expected;

Opened were presents; not one rejected.

Dinner aplenty; the table was laid.

Grateful we were; thanksgiving we made.



(Waiting for this, had we been.)



Stored in our memories, this Christmas just past,

Lasting as long as mem'ries can last.

Special, the Christmas snow fell on that day,

But people it was, who made it that way!



(Waiting no longer are we.)

Happy Birthday, Taylor!!!!

Taylor's First White Christmas, 12/25/10 (Kate's LRDC)

Happy Birthday, Sweet, Beautiful Taylor...Your 13th!

I didn't get you a present. (That will have to wait until you get back from Nashville. I will look forward to spending time with you while you choose something for yourself!)

I didn't make you a card. (My mind was too crazed with all the excitement of Christmas to settle down and be creative.)

I didn't put together a flash mob for you. (I wouldn't even know where to begin.)

I didn't write you a song. (I've never written a song for anyone in my life!)

I didn't bake you a cake. (If you really want me to, I'll buy you one, though.)

I didn't send flowers. (They'd be all withered and dry before you get back from Nashville.)

I didn't really know what to do to show you how much I love you. I've known you since you were an adorable two-year-old with wild curly hair and huge brown eyes. I remember the first day I met you...You were so tiny, yet so brave -- We were perfect strangers to you, yet you came to our house to play while Mommy had to work. You immediately found a place in our hearts, and there you will always be!

I can hardly believe you're 13 today. Sure, I can see that you've grown into an impossibly beautiful young lady. And I can look at pictures of you we've taken through the years, and see how you've gradually changed...I guess I just have to accept the fact that you're a teenager now!

I know this is a special birthday for you. I hope it is full of wonderful memories that you will always keep.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO A GIRL WHO HAS BROUGHT MAGIC INTO OUR LIVES -- WE LOVE YOU FOREVER!

Christmas is for Kids! (December 26, 2010)

Christmas always makes me nostalgic. (I wonder if, when I was eight years old, I reminisced about my fourth or fifth Christmas and sighed, "Everything seemed so sweet and simple back then...")


A photo collage of my kids visiting Santa Claus through the years. (The "centerpiece" is Meagan when she was three.)

I remember Meagan's second Christmas, just days after her first birthday. That was the year her Grandpa Florian (Greg's dad) thought she should have her first tricycle. Meagan agreed, and demonstrated that she knew how to use it by climbing up and standing on the seat -- without even wobbling!

I remember the Christmas she had just turned three...she was sick and ran a fever all day. But she was the first grandchild; I don't think anyone even considered calling off the trip Grandma and Grandpa's!

She looked adorable in her red dress with the candy-cane striped pinafore. She was a little trooper, demonstrating how much she loved the wicker table and chairs from her aunts by sitting in each of the chairs. But you can tell from the photos that her heart wasn't in Christmas that year; those big brown eyes had no sparkle.

...Until later in the evening, when we dressed her in her new red flannel pajamas before heading home. Apparently she had undergone some sort of a miraculous cure, or perhaps her fever had simply run its course. Whatever it was, we were all delighted to see her suddenly running around in circles like a puppy, climbing up and leaping into the air from Grandpa's footstool...You can tell from the center picture above that she was finally enjoying Christmas!

Photos from subsequent years show Meagan posing in front of our tree with her current Favorite Gift. One of my all time favorites is the one where she's wearing her Wonder Woman utility belt, tiara and cuffs over her pajams, looking like she truly had the power! (Actually, she does that every year -- We just don't take pictures of it anymore.)


Meagan made this "self-ornament" in Brownies when she was about nine.


Then, by Meagan's 10th Christmas, there was Dominc...more popularly known as Dj. Santa would live on for another decade!

Our holiday photos now featured two smiling little faces, playing with toys, showing off new outfits, acting silly and making us very happy!

(On a sad note, the Christmas that Dj was five, he asked for a Jeep Safari -- one of those awesome cars that little kids can actually drive. Unfortunately, Santa decided that since Dj was a tall child, he probably wouldn't be able to sit comfortably in it for very long -- something Santa should know about -- so he brought him a different present. Dj asked for a Jeep Safari for the next 20 Christmases, but Santa always deemed him "too tall." Ok. I'm kidding. But it really did go on for another two or three years!)


Another precious ornament that finds a place on the tree every year; Dj was in 2nd grade when he made it.

I like to think that my holiday memories will always be there to be brought out and enjoyed like a favorite book that is read and re-read. But I can see that most of what I remember (aside from what is documented in photos) is the overall feeling of love and happiness that has always been part of our Christmases. Yesterday was no exception. I hope I find time to blog about it before the pictures start to get blurry!

Meagan's Birthday Blog

For me, my daughter's birthday will always be intertwined with Christmas. She was supposed to arrive on December 2, which would have put a few weeks between her birthday and Christmas. But she waited until December 22 to make her [overdue] appearance. And she complains because the two celebrations often seem to overlap. (Sorry, Meagan -- Remember: On your birthday, you get presents. On Christmas, you give presents.)



(Meagan and Charlie, Sept. 2010, by Kelly Kano Photography)


This is my beautiful daughter, Meagan, with her beautiful daughter, Charlotte. Meagan and I are alike in a lot of ways, although she'd probably say we're dissimilar in more ways. But without question, one way in which we are identical is the way we feel about our daughters!

Meagan has said things like, "I just can't believe how much I love her," to which I reply, "So now you know how much I love you." It's true, and I can prove it; I wrote it in the journals that I kept for Meagan when she was a baby. I once wrote about holding her for hours, just watching her sleep. I had started crying because the love I felt for her was so overwhelming. (I came across that entry shortly after Meagan had told me the same thing about holding Charlie while she slept.)

So now Meagan's a mom, and one of my greatest joys is watching her with Charlie. The joy on Charlie's face whenever Mommy walks in the door is enough to trigger those "overwhelming" tears -- or maybe it's the look on Meagan's face that does that to me. She can't seem to put her stuff down and get out of her coat fast enough to get that baby back into her arms!

I am proud of my daughter for a lot of reasons, but seeing the way she loves and cares for Charlie fills me near to bursting! This Birthday/Christmas celebration will be even more special because of little Charlie. Our family has been blessed, and I am grateful.

Happy Birthday, Meagan -- I hope you have a beautiful day!

The Pieces of Christmas

This post is a variation on "I Found It!", December 23, 2008.





I'm missing some of the pieces. Important ones.

I'm not sure when I lost them, or whether I lost them all at once. Maybe I lost them piecemeal. I only know that I haven't had all of the pieces since the beginning of Advent this year. (You know -- that's the time when we're supposed to be getting ourselves ready for Jesus to be born again in our hearts; in other words, gathering up all the pieces.)

One of the pieces I'm missing is Solitude. My life is busy, and it is full of blessings disguised as my family and friends. These blessings keep getting in the way of my Solitude. And when I do think I may have found a small piece of it, I usually fall asleep. When I wake up, it's gone.

Of course without Solitude, I have nowhere to put my piece of Reflection, even if I find one. There is no quiet place inside of me. Instead, it's always noisy and confusing there.

That means I don't have a piece of the Calmness that comes from knowing that I need only trust God to accomplish the things that are important to Him. No. In the place where Calmness should be is a large piece of Anxiety. Anxiety that Christmas will come, and I'll still be searching for more pieces -- one more gift, one more decoration, one more project...

Tomorrow is the last Sunday of Advent. I will go to Mass with hope and faith, and pray that there I will find all of the pieces that are necessary for Peace.

I hope you are also finding all of your pieces of Peace this Christmas!

"You Are My Special Angel..."

Tree Top Angel (12/16/10, LRDC)

This little angel has been with us since the first Christmas we were married -- 1973. I remember picking her out at Meier Thrifty Acres with My Awesome Husband Greg, along with a box of little puppies and kittens in baskets (ornaments, that is). The puppies and kittens now reside with our Beautiful Daughter Meagan, but the angel is still standing duty at the top of our tree, 37 years later. She looks pretty good for her age, don't you think? Sure, her hairstyle is a little outdated, and I doubt that the color is natural any longer (if it ever was), but all in all, I'd say she's holding up pretty well!

Well, actually, she's only topped 36 of our trees. She got a break last year, because that was the Christmas all of the boxes didn't make it down from the attic. It was Christmas Eve, and Greg said, "That's it -- There's enough stuff on that tree!" So our pretty little angel, along with a bunch of Santas and tiny Christmas trees, remained in her shoebox. (Maybe that's why she looks extra perky this year.)



My Awesome Husband Greg Angel (12/16/10, LRDC)

This is my other Christmas Angel. See how he's risking life and limb, standing on a wobbly stool (Okay, so you can't actually see the stool -- Use your imagination!) so that I won't have to? That's just one of the millions of things this man does for me. I could call him my Every Day Angel, but that sounds dumb. Besides, I already call him My Awesome Husband Greg. I think that's enough.

Reality Check: Christmas Morning

Christmas Morning 2009 (Kate's LRDC)


If you read my previous post, Visions of Flash Mobs Dance in My Head, you know that I've been "picturing" Christmas morning very precisely. So I was caught off guard this morning when My Beautiful Daughter Meagan said, "I don't know how you and Dad are picturing Christmas this year, but..." (Apparently she hadn't read my blog.)

Of course my flash mob fantasy was just for pretend. But I really hadn't troubled myself with thinking about how this Christmas -- Charlie's first -- might vary from Christmases past...

Besides Charlie, this will also the first year when My Awesome Husband Greg and I will be alone on Christmas morning. Our son, Dominic, moved in with his girlfriend, Sydney, last February. (He recently hinted that he might need/want to "sleep over" on Christmas Eve so he could wake up in his old bed; but since his television moved out with him, I have a feeling he's going to reconsider.)

I'm sure Dominic also forgot to factor Charlie in when picturing his Christmas morning...

Charlie -- Sweet, wonderful Charlie! We're all so excited to be part of her first Christmas. But she changes everything!

(1) Meagan and Joe won't be getting up early this year, donning sweats and joining us for Greg's home fried potatoes and a frenzy of present-opening beside the tree. Instead, they'll wake up to the excitement of watching Charlie open her presents, teaching her how to extract toys from boxes, and that ribbons and paper are not for eating. Which means that

(2) Dominic probably won't be waiting in his room for Meagan to wake him with the news that Santa has come.

(3) Charlie will need a mid-morning nap, of course; it wouldn't make sense to arrive at Grandma and Grandpa's until after that has occurred, so

(4) Dominic might as well stay home in his own bed and wait for the phone call telling him that Meagan, Joe and Charlie are on their way. So that means

(5) Greg and I don't even have to wrap presents until Christmas morning -- No one's going to be here before noon anyway. (You know us -- We never do anything until one minute before too late. Heck, if more stores were open on Christmas Eve, we'd probably wait until after Midnight Mass to start shopping.)

Well, I know it's silly for me to speculate on how Christmas morning will come down this year, worrying that the future can't possibly be as wonderful as the past. Yes, it is hard to let go of the things that have always brought us so much pleasure; but that doesn't mean something new can't be just as much fun...

And we have Charlie this year -- The most beautiful, funny, amazing baby! We will all be together to celebrate this most glorious day, along with dear friends and "Borrowed Babies." It just won't begin quite as early.

Our Christmases past will always live on in our hearts -- The ones when we were the kids and Mom and Dad made the magic and held it all together; when the house was full of noise and chaos and Santa Claus; the long drives to spend part of the day with our grandparents...

Our kids will treasure their Christmases past, too. And for all of us, this one will be remembered as Charlie's First Christmas. What's not to love and celebrate about that?!!

Visions of Flash Mobs Dance in My Head!

I love this video so much! When I first saw it posted on facebook, I immediately added "Be somewhere -- anywhere -- when a flash mob breaks out" to my bucket list. Then my daughter posted it, and told Santa that all she wanted for Christmas was a flash mob of her very own. Which prompted me to tell her that all I wanted from her and her brother this year was for them to set one up for me. Then I started to imagine what that would be like...

It would be Christmas morning, and even though I'd be sort of halfway expecting it, I would act so surprised, they'd never wonder -- especially Dominic. We'd all be sitting around in our pajamas (or sweats for the ones who'd had to drive over early). This being Charlie's first Christmas, of course she'd be drawing most of the attention -- Which would allow My Awesome Husband Greg to slip unnoticed from the living room in order to get his video camera ready.

I'd probably be the one whose job it was to keep Charlie from eating bows and wrapping paper, and to show her how to play with her new toys, so Meagan and Dominic -- and Joe, if he was willing -- would be able to take their positions without my noticing (or seeming to notice)...

I picture Dominic stepping up onto the coffee table (and if Sydney's there, she could be on his shoulders), while Meagan straddles the bannister. Joe would maybe be doing a handstand on the rocking chair to start off, but he'd probably have to flip onto his feet after a couple of minutes. In my vision, they're singing "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen," and they sound just like Barenaked Ladies and Sarah McLachlan. And since that song doesn't usually bring out the sentimentality in me, I'd have to force myself a little bit, but I imagine myself crying (and looking pretty while I do it. I'll have to remember to put on waterproof mascara that morning.)

You know, dreams are what keep me going sometimes. I can't wait until Christmas!

First Snow!

The First Snow of the Season (12/4/10, My LRDC)

It snowed today in Greensboro, North Carolina. It wasn't in the forecast. (If it was, I missed it.) It was just an ordinary, overcast, late-fall day, for all I knew. It was cold. So cold, in fact, that I was uncomfortable when I started my afternoon walk, even though I was wearing a fleece jacket zipped all the way up, and a scarf and gloves. But I decided to tough it out, even if I only lasted 15 or 20 minutes...

Then it started to snow. At first, I wasn't acutally sure it was snow, because it was one of those days when the sky is colorless, and just looks kind of wet. But then I saw little white things that could only be snowflakes. (I hadn't heard of any volcanoes erupting around here lately, so I didn't think ash was a likely explanation.) These tiny little white things felt cold on my face. Yep, definitely snow...

Snow! Before Christmas! Two years in a row! (Last year it snowed on December 18. That was the first time that had happened since the year we moved here -- 1982.)

I love snow. I have always loved snow -- even when we lived in Michigan and had lots of it, and it stayed around long enough to get dirty. Ok, I didn't like the dirty snow so much. And I actually hated any snow that came after April 1. But oh, those first few snows of Winter -- Loved 'em!

Of course, since we've lived in North Carolina, I haven't seen enough snow to make it a ho-hum thing...Maybe because it's seldom cold enough for it to last more than a day or two. Last winter was an exception, and I was very happy about last winter.

But enough about last winter!

I already had Christmas spirit, picturing the tree we would be bringing into the house later this afternoon. I had been listening to Christmas music since Thanksgiving, and there were miscellaneous boxes of ornaments and snowmen strewn about the house...

My walk was just an attempt to shake off the cold I've been fighting, and maybe drum up some energy for an afternoon of cleaning and decorating -- after the nap I was was eagerly anticipating (and feeling like I was earning, after burning off the chips I ate with lunch).

When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but snowflakes that were so tiny at first, they were almost unidentifiable, but that, as I walked, grew in size and quantity, and by the time I finished walking, were absolutely, positively, no-doubt-about-it snowflakes! And by the time I had taken off my walking shoes and hung my wet jacket on the back of a chair, were definitely starting to stick to things!

Talk about Christmas Spirit! I felt like shouting "Hallelujah!" and turning cartwheels in the the snow. Of course, I never have been able to pull off a cartwheel, so I curled up in my chair by the window and attempted that nap I'd been thinking about. Alas, I found I was so excited about all that white stuff out there, I couldn't sleep!

I'd like to report that I was so full of energy and spirit, that I cleaned and decorated the entire house -- perhaps even baked a couple of batches of Christmas cookies. But that would be a lie. The truth is that I sat in my chair, looking out the window and feeling really happy that it was snowing. Then I came down here to my computer to blog about it. (Oh -- I took a few pictures first.)

There's a New Blog in Town...

...and it's written by a little kid!

Jordyn, Summer 2009

I've written a post or two about this little girl. Jordyn is one of my "Borrowed Babies." She's eight years old now, and in second grade. She loves to sit at the computer and type. She loves to draw and make all kinds of art. She loves to read books, and then write about them. I thought a good way to combine all of these "likes" in a way that would be fun and educational would be for Jordyn to have her own blog -- a place where she could freely draw and write and display pictures of the people and things that she loves. Of course she's too young to have her own e-mail address, so the blog is set up as one of mine. But it's totally Jordyn.

Here's the link: http://lifeofjordyn-kate.blogspot.com. The title is "Jordyn Upside Down Cake," and hopefully everything else will fall into place!

Afterword: I see that, since I apparently don't know how to properly include links in my blog, I didn't actually share a link with you. If you'd like to get to Jordyn Upside Down Cake, just click on "View my complete profile" at the end of the "About Me" section. That will take you to the page that includes "My Blogs." That's where you'll find it.

Thanksgivings Past...

The original log home on my friend, Julie's, farm near Reidsville, NC. To me, it says, "Over the river and through the woods..."


It probably has something to do with my age, but I'm finding now that holidays remind me more and more of other holidays -- ones that happened a long time ago.

Our Thanksgiving this year was wonderful, as all those other ones have been. Last year will always be remembered as the year we were waiting to be grandparents, speculating about what this Thanksgiving would be like. And, of course this year will go down in the annals as Charlie's first Thanksgiving (which I blogged about at http://charliesprout.blogspot.com)!

And that reminds me of Thanksgiving 1977, when I was pregnant with my beautiful daughter, Meagan. Our official due date was December 2. So I decided that Thanksgiving was a very good day to start saying, "Any day now!" Thus began nearly a month of climbing [cumbersomely] into my bed each night, thinking, Tonight's the night...

Meagan will celebrate her 33rd birthday on December 22. If you had told me back then that she was going to be three weeks late, I don't know what I would have done! (I didn't realize then, that when I got to this age, three weeks would go by in a minute!)

I also remember a Thanksgiving Day early in our marriage...We still lived in Michigan then, so holidays were double; we alternated whose family we blessed with our presence first, and who got "satiated seconds." That year, we were headed to Metamora first, to eat with my family. I can see myself, dressed [adorably] in high-wasted turquoise courduroy pants and a striped sweater with a big, square collar, shoveling snow in the driveway.

I remember that year because it was one of the few times in my life I have ever shoveled snow! Also, because, even in Michigan, it was unusual to have snow on Thanksgiving Day! (I remember what I was wearing because my memories are vivid and complete. Don't argue with me -- I remember everything! For instance, I remember that on the aforementioned Thanksgiving 1977, I was wearing an oversized wool shirt that I had made, with a turtleneck underneath. And my pregnant body was entirely too hot to be comfortable!)

And of course I remember the one and only Thanksgiving (maybe the year before the snow) when I actually cooked a turkey. I dropped it on the floor when I took it out of the oven. (If you were there that day at our humble little home on Adams Street, you're probably hearing this for the first time -- Sorry about that!) Strangely, I don't remember what I was wearing; probably because it wasn't a good memory...

Now, let's go way, way back: Thanksgiving at Grandpa Borg's house, with all the cousins and aunts and uncles. Grandpa had the most awesome basement, complete with a bar! We have home videos of the entire family -- Grandpa and Grandma and their six offspring (my mom was third from the last), with spouses and a buttload of grandkids -- sitting at a long row of folding tables laid end-to-end and covered with white paper, which was covered with the remains of a Thanksgiving feast. Well, maybe it was just the adults sitting at the table. In the video, it appears that the kids just ran back and forth to the bar, taking turns "riding" on the swivel stool. (What doesn't appear on film was what we did in the other room with the steam bath and the laundry shoot.)

Now that Thanksgiving 2010 has become a memory, I can clearly see that what I remember most about all those holidays is the wonderful feeling of being part of a family, and of always having more to be thankful for than to complain about. And that each one was truly a celebration. And I am so thankful for the memories!

Random Thoughts About My Random Dad

Tom Karlek, Thanksgiving 2007, by Karen Branson

September 23 would have been my dad's 80th birthday. (It's been three years since we've had him with us to celebrate.) That day, I began writing a post called, "Random Thoughts About My Dad on His 80th Birthday." Other than the title, I wrote only one sentence before it went into extended "draft" status: "Random is a good term to apply to my dad."

After I began the blog, I decided to look into my "Dad" file. Some of what's in there are things that I had saved -- Letters Dad had written to me, copies of articles he'd sent. But some of it is stuff that he had saved. Dad loved to write limericks, but before he'd come up with his final version, he'd sometimes have pages of drafts. I found a yellow legal page of his attempts at "A Lady Named Rose."

There once was a lady named Rose
Who liked to wear good looking clothes.
She gave some away.
Bought more today
So she can look good wherever she goes.

and

I once knew a lady named Rose
Who, when bedding, had icy cold toes.
She turned all her locks
And put on some socks
And bedded whomever she chose.

Alternate ending: What happened then, nobody knose (sic).

Dad was random in the things he saved...There was also a copy of a paper my son had written when he was in third or fourth grade entitled, "The Worst Thing That Ever Happened to Me!" (It was about the day he was born.) And a handwritten copy of a poem he (Dad) had written for Dj for his eighth birthday. The title? "Random Thoughts." Of course I'm going to share it:

D.J. Whacker, Peanut Cracker,
Few are loved as you.
If I was there, surely there
Are some things that we could do.

Ride our bikes, take some hikes,
And walk the course, at night.
Try to play, night and day,
And never have a fight.

Sounds pretty good -- I knew that it would,
'Cause it's dreaming, after all.
You are there and I am here,
While you grow strong and tall.

I don't see you as often as I'd like.
I hope that will change some down the pike.
Time can't be caught up, or ever be hurried,
But that is not something about which we should be worried.

We will just use the time given us
To play and to learn and not make a fuss,
'Cause you probably know whenever I'm there,
I don't spend my time in no damn rocking chair!

Perhaps the most random thing about the poem was the way Dad had it laid out. Lines would end and new ones would begin somewhere, randomly, in the middle of what was clearly the natural rhyme pattern (which changed randomly from verse to verse).

Dad had also saved copies of poems and articles that my sister Melissa had written, and a multi-verse limerick I wrote for him one Father's Day. The third verse is my favorite:

It was you, Dad, who always would take us
To the fair, and there you would make us
Ride Tilt-a-Whirls
Until we'd all hurl,
But not once did you ever forsake us.

I loved writing for my father -- In fact, I still do. I know that I inherited my love of words -- and playing with them -- from him. I have said that when Dad died, I lost my best audience.

Another of Dad's "treasures" that was returned to me after he'd died was a pillow on which I handstitched:

There's this guy that I like called "My Dad,"
And when I see him, I'm usually glad.
He's got pretty nice hair,
And to show him I care,
I made him a pillow that's plaid.

(Of course it was a plaid pillow.)

Dad did -- and said -- all kinds of "random" things. He was creative, as evidenced by his poetry. Another outlet for his creativity was his coloring. I remember him sitting at the table with us when we were kids, asking us why the grass had to be green, or why we could only color the sky blue. (Remember Harry Chapin's "Flowers are Red?") I was never a big fan of coloring (probably because I wasn't any good at it), and I hadn't realized that Dad's love for it had extended well past the years when he would sit and color with his kids. I remember being surprised (and later, delighted) when he told me that he was coloring a book for each of the grandkids so they'd always have something that Grandpa had done!

There's a book and television show right now based on Twitter posts some guy writes called "Shit My Dad Says." The posts are hilarious. Perhaps my dad wasn't quite as prolific as the subject of those tweets, but from time to time, some of his lines will pop into my head, randomly, and make me smile. Once, riding in the back of my brother's boat, he seemed to be meditating as he watched the wake churn away from the boat. Suddenly, he looked at me and said, "You know, water's funny. You can cut it with a knife, or a propeller...whatever...and it always goes back where it was." (I think there's a message in that, but I haven't figured it out yet.)

Something else I found in my Dad File was a stack of printed out "Sympathy Messages" from the funeral home. One was from one of his co-workers at Detroit Edison. In part, it said:

"...He looked great as usual and what a smile...His legacy to me will always be his wonderful attitude on life and others. He always looked for the positive in a person. His more recent years of volunteering with hospice can attest to his compassion. Albert Einstein said 'Only a life lived for others is a life worthshile.' God bless you. Your dad would be embarrassed that I wrote this. Tom is smiling above us all."

I don't know the person who wrote that, but he certainly knew my dad, and I am grateful for his words. Dad is smiling. And I think Dad is still reading what I write. Dad looks forward to reading my silly "smile" status updates on facebook. (In fact, if he were still here, I think he'd be on facebook just so he could read them!) I love to write, and the person I am always writing for, most of all, is my dad...

Happy Birthday to My Sunshine!

It's been a while since I've done a Birthday Blog, but today is a perfect occasion for one...





Jordyn, Autumn 2009, My LRDC


This is Jordyn, and she is my Sunshine, as the song says. Today is Jordyn's eighth birthday. She's in second grade.

I first held Jordyn in my arms when she hours old. In all her tiny perfection, she moved straight from my arms and into my heart, where she will remain forever. I call her my Tiny Best Friend.

I no longer see Jordyn every day, but on the days that I pick her up from school, I wait in the "car rider" line in happy anticipation. I never know what she's going to say as she climbs over Charlie's carseat and buckles herself in, but I know it's going to make me smile. Sometimes, though, I try not to let her see. Like the day she said, "I didn't know it was 'Wacky-Tacky' day today." I looked at her athletic sweatshirt and pink camo capri pants (which had once been pink camo bootcut jeans) and pink sandals with flowers on them, and thought, You could have fooled me!

These days, by the time I get to school, I'm generally exhausted from having kept up with Charlie -- just barely -- all morning; but Jordyn usually manages to get me excited about some project she's been working on in her mind -- either an assignment, or "just for fun." She loves school, and is wonderful about getting her homework done as soon as we get home. (Sometimes even before her usual snack of fresh, homemade [Kraft] macaroni and cheese). After that, she sometimes likes to do "crafts," but lately she's developed a liking for doing book reports for extra credit!

This little girl -- along with her entire family -- has enriched our lives (mine and My Awesome Husband Greg's) beyond count, so as Jordyn celebrates her eighth birthday, we are celebrating another year of joy and love that she's brought into our lives!

We love you Jordyn. Please have The Best Birthday Ever today!

Finding Friends: A facebook Blog

I have enjoyed a pretty steady relationship with facebook ever since my daughter convinced me to join. Sometimes I feel a little sad that facebook has eaten into the time I used to spend blogging, but it hasn't kept me from blogging about my facebook experiences -- including how My Awesome Husband Greg sees it as a mostly negative influence in my life, given my tendencies toward obsessiveness ("Things I've Learned About My Husband on Facebook," May 2009).

But I recently made a facebook connection that had even Greg (the facebook "Grinch") feeling happy for me...



Mark Thomas, Patricia Blevins, Kate Lillie, Peter Thomas and Matthew Thomas with Belle, front and center.


See the smiling faces in the photograph? Those faces make me smile, because they are faces associated with so many happy memories.

I think I was about 10 years old when my mom and dad became friends with Belle and Norm Thomas. **In my story, they met at a bowling alley. But my sister remembers something entirely different...She thinks my mom and Norm Thomas worked at the same place.

Please allow me to clarify, before I delve further into the past: I have come to terms with the fact that my memory may be somewhat lacking, and where details are missing, I may have filled in the spaces with other details -- details that I will swear give an accurate depiction of what actually happened. Scientists have recently demonstrated that this happens to all of us; the more we think about something remembered from the past, the less reliable our recollection becomes. That's okay. What's important here is that my memories, although perhaps not 100 percent accurate, are happy memories...memories of a time when time seemed limitless, and the whole point of waking up in the morning was finding something fun to do that day.

To anyone reading this: I invite you to make corrections and/or additions to what I have written; maybe together we can reconstruct a "truer" picture...


How We Met...

I don't specifically remember meeting the Thomases and their kids -- they had four to our five -- but I do remember that it seemed like a party whenever we got together. Kathy became something of an idol to me, being a year older. I thought she was the epitomy of cool, and I envied the relationship she had with her mom. The times my mom would bring us over to the Thomases for a visit, and the times our parents would get together to socialize -- kids included -- were much anticipated occasions for me. I regret that our families lost touch after the Thomases moved away. I guess we all just got older and our lives got busier...

Reconnecting...

One evening a few months ago, I logged onto facebook and there was a friend request from a Kate Lillie. I didn't recognize the name, but I was sure I recognized the face in the tiny thumbnail photo -- Kathy Thomas! I can't explain my excitement...It seemed that somehow, all of those memories that had been relegated to my "lower stacks" suddenly came flooding to the foreground. As I said earlier, even Greg the Grinch was excited for me!

Since making the connection on facebook, Kate and I have discovered that, in addition to both of us being the-oldest-daughter-Kate-formerly-known-as-Kathy, that both of us have morphed from brunettes into "silverettes," and that we both were gifted with baby brothers when we were 19 years old -- bringing the total kid count to 11)!

Times Remembered...

On hot summer days, Mom and Belle would take us to Bronson Lake to swim. At least one time they did. Usually, it was my dad who took us swimming when he got home from work at the end of the day. But one morning we were at the Thomas', playing outside, knowing that in a little while, our moms were going to take us to the lake...Or maybe just Belle was taking us. What I remember for sure is seeing a daddy-longlegs spider on the side of the house and Kate forbidding me to kill it; that would make it rain, and we wouldn't be able to go swimming. (If she had told me that killing that spider would make all my hair and teeth fall out, I'm sure I would have belived her.)

I remember playing in the Thomas' backyard, where there was a small hill that ran the length of the yard. We had broken down cardboard boxes, and were "sledding" down the hill. My memory is aided in this instance by a corroborating home movie of the event. Featured in the movie is Kate, ripping sheets of newspaper into strips for the sole purpose of being able to play the tape in reverse later; we couldn't wait to see the strips of paper magically grow together again.

Also witnessed by my mom's handheld movie camera is the time we vacationed with the Thomases at Fife Lake...

There we all were -- except for Mom the Photographer. Kathy, myself, and my sisters, Bev and Karen, all splashing each other, running and jumping off the dock, diving into and out of inner tubes. (I remember how those valves would scrape our shoulders as we popped up from underneath, and how our underarms would be chafed from hanging over the rubber for so long.) In the film, our mouths were constantly moving, our expressions showing how excited we were; but of course, in those days before digital camcorders, there was no sound.

We also see Norm take a running leap from the dock, where Belle is sunnning herself on an air mattress. (And we see an impish Belle wave at the photographer with her middle finger -- Rated PG-13!) My dad was running back and forth with my baby sister, Melissa -- for whom Belle had originated the nickname, "Litty Poo." Peter, Mark and Patti Thomas and my brother, Mark, also flitted in and out of the camera's reach as they played and splashed. Ah, summer vacation at its best.

There were other trips to Fife Lake -- both with and without the Thomases. One memory from our last vacation together marks the beginning of the end of innocence for me...

The summer I was going into eighth grade, another family -- friends of the Thomases -- joined us. The Tompkinses had two daughters, Sue and Deb, who were close in age to Kate and me. One evening after dinner (though it was still daylight), the four of us were allowed to go walking on the dirt road that ran behind the cottages. I remember feeling pretty big, out strolling with my buddies, no visible sign of parents or siblings...

When we noticed a car coming toward us, we moved closer to the edge of the road, expecting the car to drive on. We were surprised, but not alarmed -- yet -- when the car moved over, too. We got over further -- off the road and into the tall weeds. The car edged over, too. (I don't know about the others, but by that time, I was kind of wishing for some parental protection.)

I don't remember any of us being hit or harmed in any way, so I imagine the car then pulled back onto the road and proceeded on its way, and that we got back on solid ground and composed ourselves. I know we couldn't have walked far -- the road wouldn't have allowed it -- before we had to turn around and retrace our steps. Hearing a car behind us, we looked back, and someone said, "Oh no -- It's that same car!"

We ran all the way back to the cottage. (Could I possibly be correct in remembering one of us saying, "Split up -- They can't catch us all!?" Perhaps that was just an overactive imagination, fueled by too much television.) Although I'd like to report that we ran about 50 miles, camping overnight in the great northern woods, fishing and foraging for food...more accurately, our journey was probably closer to a hundred yards. We told our parents what had happened -- at least I did -- and it seems like someone went out and looked for that car. Or not. I know that I was terribly excited and scared at the same time, and that I wrote about our big adventure for my back-to-school-what-you-did-over-the-summer assignment.

This photo, though so blurry it hardly seems worth sharing, shows the Thomases and the Tompkinses in front of one of the cottages that housed so many fun memories. Front, Left to Right: Patti, Mark and Peter Thomas, Donald and Sue Tompkins, Kathy Thomas; Back, Left to Right: Deb, Frieda and Don Tompkins and Bell and Norm Thomas (Summer 1965).

There are more memories...Sleepovers, songs we listened to (Leader of the Pack by the Shangrilas and Hey There, Little Red Riding Hood by Sam the Sham and the Pharoas). I remember listening in our parents' conversations, and Kate remembers being allowed to play pretend cigarettes and beer...I remember being excited about showing Kate my first pair of bell-bottom hiphuggers -- My mom got them for me at Robert Hall!...I even remember a couple of visits back and forth, after our families were separated by the width of the State of Michigan.

My parents are both gone now, but I know my dad visited the Thomases a few years ago when Norm died.

I miss those people. But I have some memories, and those memories make me smile!

Trippin' Down Memory Lane

My first (and only) Barbie Doll, circa 1960 (Kate, 6/18/10, MSN Paint)



Oh, Barbie...I wanted you so desperately that I said a Novena. My ninth birthday was coming up, and you were the only gift I asked for. (My mother later told me she'd heaved a huge sigh of relief when I told her about that Novena...Imagine if I'd had to learn at that young age that God doesn't always answer our prayers the way we'd like!)

By the time you were mine, a lot of my friends had already abandoned their dolls. Thank God I had younger sisters with whom I could continue to indulge my fantasies...



Oh, those wonderful outfits! Back then, each ensemble came with all the required accessories...Shoes, hats, bags, belts. And always, those little white nylon mittens that were supposed to be gloves...Apparenlty, no properly attired lady would have been without them in the 60's. Each outfit also came with a tiny little catalog depicting the other amazing fashions that could be purchased. Sigh.

Best of all, though, were the outfits my mother sewed...I still have the patterns. Circular skirts and sheath dresses with matching jackets. A cape with slits for the arms. Suits, sportswear (bathing suits and tennis outfits). And fabulous wedding dresses!

I never had a wedding dress for my Barbie, but that was the subject that set me off on this memory journey a few days ago...

One of my recently acquired facebook friends -- also one of my favorite childhood friends with whom I lost touch after her family moved away in high school -- asked if I remembered trading Barbie clothes.

Memories -- at least mine -- are funny. I did remember specifically wanting to trade for her wedding dress, but she couldn't give it up because her mother had made it. She remembers being in an upstairs bedroom...

Many times, a suggestion will become a memory for me. I think I remember that, too. But I remember being in a different house...Apparently we moved shortly after becoming friends.

I also remember playing with Barbie dolls in a wooded copse behind our house, but perhaps my friend wasn't there. That was always a favorite place for my sisters and I to play.

I'm sure my friend and I did trade Barbie outfits, although never the wedding dress I so coveted. Her mother had sewn her Barbie an entire wardrobe, and today she can't believe she ever parted with any of the pieces. And I can't believe that I have no recollection of what became of my treasured Barbie doll!



Oh, Barbie -- How could I have loved you so much that I would play with you into my teens, and then somehow just let you slip from my life with no fanfare; no memorial service? Where are you now, Barbie?

Hey -- Maybe we can become facebook friends...

Chasing Ambulances

Early yesterday morning -- before 8:30 -- my son, Dominic, phoned to say that he was following his girlfriend, Sydney, to the hospital in an ambulance (Sydney, not Dominic).

Dominic and Sydney, Easter 2010

So Dominic was "chasing" an ambulance; but this post is not really about that ambulance...

First, however, let me assure you that Sydney is fine, if somewhat "out of it," resting at home after having her appendix removed yesterday afternoon. Yep. The tummy ache that had her doubled over, writhing in so much pain that Dominic could not move her on his own, turned out be acute appendicitis. The happy couple spent their entire Saturday (and Sydney, Saturday night) at the hospital. Quite a learning experience for Dominic -- and one I'm sure Sydney will be happy never to repeat!

But hearing the concern in Dominic's voice as he told me he was following the ambulance took me back more than 23 years, when my husband, Greg, followed an ambulance carrying me over icy roads. It was two days after Dominic had been born, and he'd been transferred the previous evening to a different hospital -- one with an Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Greg had followed that ambulance, too, knowing that I'd be well cared for until the next morning, when I could be moved.

Cared for, I was. Frantic with worry, I was. Sleep, I did not.

I remember that my cot, or stretcher -- whatever it's called -- was inclined enough so that I could see Greg in the car behind us. He looked frantic and sleepless, too.

So far, that's the only time I've taken a ride in an ambulance. It wasn't much fun. Thank God I was delivered safely, reunited with my baby boy. Thank God there was a hospital with a NICU nearby for us to be transferred to. Thank God for wonderful doctors and nurses -- and for miracles. Because of all of that, we were able to bring Dominic home in our car a month later. And now he's able to "chase" ambulances in his own car.

I Still Love My Dr. Pulmonologist...

For a while, I wasn't sure, though. Really. I thought we might be through...

After treating me so kindly, listening to all my worries, and then sometimes changing his planned course of treatment so that I would feel more comfortable...after making me feel like a real, thinking, breathing person, and not just as a bottomless drug receptacle...after assuring me that I could call him whenever I felt like I was getting sick, or even if I just had a question...After all of that, my beloved Dr. Pulmonogist just turned up...



...[Gasp] missing!



I was sick -- really, really sick. Fever-of-102 sick. I needed Dr. Pulmonologist, but I was told he wouldn't be in this week -- or next. I was offered an appointment with his Nurse Practicioner; I accepted.

Now you know all about My Awesome Husband Greg, right? How he loves taking care of people -- especially me? How, at the beginning of my being really-really sick, he couldn't do enough to make sure I was warm/cool/quenched/comfortable? But I was taking a long time to get over being really-really sick, and life (i.e., The Show) had to go on. It was Valentine's Day, and Greg had obligations to fulfill with The Greensboro Tarheel Chorus...Singing valentines promised must become singing valentines delivered!

So with a fever that should have precluded my operating a motor vehicle (or other heavy machinery), I drove myself to Dr. Pulmonologist's office, hoping for some relief from his N.P.

N.P. seemed like some sort of an angel to me -- But then, I was so wrought with fever, I had hugged the trash can in the hallway because it didn't give me a dirty look when I accidentally bumped into it. She spoke in the most loving, soothing tones. So did all of the other nurses and attendants -- even the one who put that little germ-catcher mask on my face. I know that's supposed to be their job, but I still wanted to lie my head on their collective shoulders and let them soothe away all my aches and pains...

Yep -- In my feverish vulnerability, I was pulled in by all the free-flowing kindness going around that day. That's why I could only argue weekly -- and unconvincingly -- when N.P. told me she was going to inject me with 80 milligrams of prednisone, and then have me take decreasing doses of the stuff for a week. She smiled affectionately when I told her that I'd just gotten that monkey off my back, and didn't care to pick it up again. (Later, sans fever, I realized the smile was part of her caring/compassionate act, and that she really wasn't even listening to me.)

That's why I walked out of that office with prescriptions for cough syrup with codeine, musinex, and an antibiotic I would later discover cost the insurance company nearly 500 dollars after my co-pay. (Poor insurance company.) That's Me -- the one who doesn't want to take drugs...anymore.

So I didn't take them. I smoked herbal cigarettes, hand-rolled by my Helpful Husband Greg. I steamed my head and face over pots of boiling water and sea salt. I ate raw ginger root.

I'd like to say I got "cured,", but I can't. I did, however, recover from whatever was causing my fever/chills/achy feeling all over -- kind of like the flu, but apparently not.

And I did finally have a follow-up visit with Dr. Pulmonologist. Who, although he may have been acting out of fear, asked me lots of intelligent-sounding questions about my holistic remedies, told me he wasn't against my using them, and told me to let him know if anything helped so he could pass the info along to other patients. You know -- kind of like I was his partner or something.

Best of all, he told me that, even though the Pulmonary Function Test I took that day showed that my pulmonary was not functioning as well as it had been six months ago, if I was happy with the way I was feeling, he'd be okay with my not taking any prednisone for a while. (Even though he thinks I should probably be on at least a small dose.)

So because I'm trying to be an optimist here, I've decided to stay in love with my Dr. Pulmonologist, because he lets me make up my own stuff. (If I were not being an optimist, I might think he really doesn't know what to do, and has decided to just wait and see. Hey -- maybe he's hoping for a miracle, too!)

The Butterfly Connection

"Blue Butterfly," August, 2009, Kate's LRDC

Please use your imagaination on this one...i.e., imagine that you are listening to a beautiful symphony, or Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" (my preference), if you will, as you watch the beautiful butterfly lift and lower its wings. Because if I were more techno-savvy, I would be able to figure out how to have that happen for you. Then you wouldn't have to listen to the cars passing by in front of the house as you watch my little video clip. (Yes, I will accept applause and other accolades for figuring out how to upload the video...but I must share credit for that with my talented fellow-blogger, Liz Abruzzo (http://humaneegoist.blogspot.com)...I remembered, Liz!)

Now, on to the blog...

Today (February 25) marks the ninth anniversary of the day my mother died. It was winter then, as it is now. Girl Scout cookies had just been delivered, same as this year. It was a cold, rainy day, brightened only slightly by the cookies, just like many days we've recently had. But late that Sunday afternoon, as our family headed to the hospital after receiving word that Mom had died (It was my beautiful Meagan who called us...She was the one Grandma chose to share her special moment with), the sun broke through and began working on our broken hearts...

Of course we haven't stopped missing Mom, haven't stopped thinking of her, hearing her voice or her laugh at least once a day. We cry less now, although that does still happen. Time has made it easier, as they say. It doesn't lessen the missing part -- It's just that the muscles that you use for missing get stronger, and less tender, I guess.

Somehow we got through the rest of that winter.

I remember playing tennis with some friends on one of the first beautiful spring days we had in April. The sun was so warm and the air so clean. I remember consciously thinking, I feel good!, surprising myself by doing so.

I don't remember anything about the tennis; it would probably be fair to say I was not a "winner." But still, I felt good! As I was getting into my car, one of my friends walked over to me and said, "Kate, I don't know what it is, but I have to tell you...when I look at you, I see you surrounded by butterflies!"

I got a lump in my throat, knowing it had something to do with Mom. I called Donna when I got home to tell her that my mom had recently died, and I felt that the butterflies she saw must somehow be connected to the good feeling I had had on the courts. She reminded me then that butterflies are a spiritual medium...

Ever since that day, whenever I see a butterfly, I know my mom sent it.

That is why I was so pleased to be able to capture this one with my Little Red Digital Camera last summer. I wanted to share it. I wish I could also share some beautiful music...

My Lost Weekend

"The Lost Weekend," 2/8/10 (Kate, MSN Paint)

Being sick is no fun. I know I really shouldn't complain, because except for this past weekend, I can't even remember the last time I was sick -- In spite of working with the public, in spite of having "compromised" lungs, and in spite of not getting a flu shot this year. So maybe I'm just being a big baby. But still...

Oh sure, I've had all the usual issues associated with inhaling toxic quantities of dust (and God knows what else) in My Very Own Fabric Store. Those I can deal with. That's why, when I came home from work on Saturday feeling like I'd been run over by a delivery truck, I just thought Oh, well, a couple hours of breathing uncontaminated air, and I'll be fine. And I went merrily along with My Awesome Husband Greg to play Wii Bowling with our friends.

And I did ok -- for some reason, I did much better throwing the "ball" under my leg or swinging it around my head a couple of times before releasing it -- for two games. Then I realized that my throat was hurting, I was shivering, and even my teeth felt bruised. I knew I was more than "overly tired."

By the time MAHG (who really is awesome, because he was having a fantastic time "bowling," yet he complained not at all about having to leave the party) got me home, I wasn't interested in washing my face or brushing my teeth. I managed to change into pajamas, because let's face it -- blue jeans do not make good sleepwear -- and climbed under the covers, having MAHG add a couple more for good measure. And I slept.

At some point Sunday morning I left my bed and found my way to the living room chair and a different pile of blankets. But that's all that changed. I stayed in that chair, in my pajamas, for the entire day. (MAHG, of course, brought me juice, water and acetaminophen, because that just how he is.)

And then I got up and went to bed again. And slept.

Today, I'm still a little feverish, but I did get up. I took a shower, washed my hair, and put on a clean pair of jeans. And some makeup. I did some laundry, and I did some office work for MAHG. (I figured I owed him at least that!) I still feel kind of lousy, and I'm still dosing myself with Tylenol, but I hope by tomorrow this will just be a memory.

Well, of course it won't be...I never remember when I'm sick. That's why it hits me so hard when it happens. But you know what I'm saying, right?

Charlie-Bean and Multi-Blogging

This is just to let you know that I have started a new blog. Because one blog wasn't enough of a distraction to keep me away from all of the other things I'm supposed to be doing. I needed more...

My new blog (which link should be available on my profile page) is entitled "Beansprout, and you can find it at http://charliesprout.blogspot.com. That is where I will be writing about my life and times with my new granddaughter, Charlotte...

Oh -- Haven't you heard?

Charlotte Rose Kopp made her debut this morning at 3:26. You can read all about it in my other blog! I'll still be writing here from time to time, of course...You know, all those posts where I whine and complain about stuff. But for photos and stories about Charlie, please check out my Beansprout!

Thanksgiving 2009: A Retrospective Blog

Meagan and Joe, Thanksgiving Day 2009 (My LRDC)

This past Thanksgiving, just like all of the other Thanksgivings before it, was filled with blessings for which I am thankful. But this one had something extra...

At the end of the day, after the feast had been consumed, the food put away, the dishes washed...after the table had been taken over by the "players" (those who chose to take part in games like Balderdash and Catch Phrase , My Dazzling -- and Expecting -- Daughter Meagan and I shared a special time on the living room sofa...

As the games commenced in the kitchen, the two of us put our feet up and pored over the journals I had kept for Meagan while I was looking forward to her imminent birth.

Although I had read through some of my entries when I pulled the notebooks out of storage a few days earlier, there was much that I had forgotten about those days of anxious anticipation, coupled with a desire to keep things status quo; I knew it would never again be so easy to provide my child with everything she needed!

It's hard for me to describe what it meant to me to sit there on the couch with my hand on the warm little mound that is "The Bean," listening to my daughter read out loud, sometimes exclaiming, sometimes laughing. It brought back memories of all those other Thanksgivings -- and all of the other just plain old days -- which I can clearly see have all been blessed beyond belief by the gift and the love of my family!

My Hair: A Trivial Matter of [No] Small Concern

This week my hair has become the topic of an ongoing "thread" of discussion on facebook. Well, not just my hair. We were also talking about some of my friends' hair. You know, the tendency hair gets to need be reminded what color it's supposed to be...How, when it starts fading to gray, we have to apply something that resembles its "true" color. Or not. Sometimes we just say, "Oh, to hell with it!" and pick some other color -- even if it's a color not normally seen on hair. Like this...


Kate, June 2005 -- The "Crazy" Summer

Actually, what started the discussion was a comparison of childhood hairstyles. I remembered how my mother always cut "smiley" bangs for me, and spent God knows how long coaxing it around her finger into "banana curls." (She later subjected me to pincurls over my ears so I could resemble Bozo the Clown. Too bad she never thought about dying it red back then!)


Kate, circa 1955 -- "Smile!"

But back to the subject at hand -- The way my hair looks now!


Kate, January 22, 2010 -- A Work in Progress

And this is a good hair day. Those are few, and far between. (Actually, the only difference between a good hair day and a bad hair day is that on a bad hair day (i.e., three out of four), the sides of my bangs curl out from my face in a smiley flip.)

Although I have received a few compliments recently on what I've "done with my color," I would prefer to withdraw from my life until I've returned to what I hope will be a nice, silvery gray. (Because, you know, the most important thing in life is to look good -- or at least look like you're trying!) But since I can't do that, I look at old photos of when I did have gray hair to remind me that it might be worth waiting out...


Kate, circa 2003 -- Talk-Talk-Talk...

And to show that I bear no grudges against my mom for the bangs and pincurls, I'd like to include this picture of My Dazzling Daughter Meagan, Mom and me from Mom's last Thanksgiving. I think she'd approve of my gray hair now. (And she'd definitely aprove of me becoming a grandma in a couple of weeks!)


Meagan, Rose and Kate, Thanksgiving 2000

HEY -- CAN YOU SEE MY FACE?!!

Can you?

Because this is what My Face is doing:


"My Face" (MSN Paint, 1/19/10)

Do you know why My Face is doing that?

My face is doing that because you just ran a red light, causing me to slam on my brakes to avoid being t-boned -- and possibly injured. That's why My Face is doing that!

But, of course you can't see My Face -- You can't even see my car, can you?

So My Face and I are following your car as you veer crazily down the road strictly for our own entertainment. (And possibly entertaining one or two other drivers, as well.)

But it makes me feel good, following you with My Face like this -- like maybe you'll see My Face and think Oh My God! I've just run a red light! I should be more careful...I could have hurt someone!

Well, here's where I turn off to go to work...I have to stop following you now, and fix My Face some other way. You have a nice day -- And do be careful!

Getting Physical: Another Blog About Hazards in the Workplace

At first I preferred to think of it as Tough Love. I later decided that it was simply Verbal Abuse. But when I returned home from My Very Own Fabric Store last night looking like this...

"The Day it Got Physical" (Kate, Pencake Ecards, 1/18/10)

...I recognized its name: Physical Abuse.

Oh, yeah. That's what it was, all right. Not that she actually pulled that huge roll of decorator fabric down on my face, but she was just as responsible for my injury as if she had!

If she had not just chided me for working too slowly as I measured and cut massive quantities of fleece fabric, stopping between each cut to re-roll the fabric left on the bolt so that it could more easily be replaced later...

If the memory of her hounding me as I pushed a dustmop over that filthy floor last weekend, pointing out every dustball that managed to escape my reach, was not still relatively fresh in my mind...

If I hadn't been reflecting earlier about how she had chastised me for spending too much time with my customers, walking around the store with them, helping them decide what might work best for their various projects...

Well, then I might not have been so angry that I let Rage take the place of Reason. But she had, it was, and I had been.

So there I was, trying to replace one of those gi-normous rolls of Home Dec on its metal rod, holding it over my head, blindly trying to find the right slot for that rubber-tipped pole, all the while fantasizing about how I would say, Look, Bitch! I do a good job around here, okay? I'm not even allowed to touch sharp objects at home! I have my own skill-set, and it doesn't include running with scissors and mopping floors. Maybe my gift is that I know how to be nice to people. So maybe you should just shut up and start sweeping!

Unfortunately, anger is not compatible with jobs that require manual dexterity. I thought I had located the bracket that would hold the end of that rod securely as I slid the other end into place; I thought incorrectly.

I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but the next thing I knew, a heavy roll of cream-colored brocade was crashing into my face, knocking my glasses askew and tenderizing my nose. (I'm okay. The two tears that I surreptitiously let fall were more from my frustration at not being able to actually say those things than from pain.) I didn't realize until later, when I felt the scab on my chin as I waited for a customer to hand over the cash, that I had been scarred by the experience.

Physical Abuse, it was. Sigh. Wish I could find my rose-colored glasses!

Bow Tie: The Award

My Awesome Husband Greg and Some Other Guys Wearing Bow Ties (Kate's LRDC, Oct. 24, 2009)

Last weekend the awards gods were smiling on the Fischers...

First, as I've already documented in this blog ("Barn Scene/Pencake Free Ecard">, Jan. 9, 2010), I found out that I had been named a co-winner in a drawing contest. Nothing worth blogging about, really, but I was inordinately pleased with myself for several hours.

Then, as My Awesome Husband Greg and I were on our way to the installation banquet for the Greensboro Tarheel Chorus later that evening, he informed me that he'd been informed by our Dazzling Daughter Meagan that her Awesome (but Untouted) Husband Joe had been dubbed "Employee of the Year" the night before! Now that's something to blog about. Unfortunately, Meagan doesn't blog; and since Joe doesn't, either, I get that he's not the kind of guy who likes to tell everyone about everything he does. So I'll just say that we're very proud of him, feel certain that he deserved the honor, and leave it at that...

But really, congratulations, Joe -- We've very proud of you, and know that you deserved it!

(On top of that, Meagan and Joe's team won the company's annual Trivial Pursuit tournament, but they probably wouldn't want me bragging about that either.)

Now let's see...Seems like there was something else...

Oh yeah! That installation banquet I mentioned earlier...the one we were on our way to when I heard Joe and Meagan's good news? Well, that was where MAHG was given a fine-looking framed document declaring that he was the Barbershopper of the Year! (That's BOTY. Bow Tie. Get it?)

You talk about proud!

Of course, I'm talking about myself being proud, not Greg. Greg was, in fact, humbled by the honor. He really hadn't seen it coming. But everything that the group's president said in presenting the award was absolutely true: Greg is always there, ready to help in any capacity necessary; but more than that, he's a natural leader -- he's able to see what needs to be done to improve a situation, knows how to get it done, and does it.

Greg's like that at home, too, but I'm sorry to say that he doesn't get plaques and accolades for it. He probably should, but he's lucky if I stop complaining and remember to say thanks every once in a while. That must be why he was so surprised to be lauded for those qualities.

Well, let me say here that MAHG also deserved his award, and that I was very proud to stand up with him that night (even though I'd worked all day, hadn't had time to put on fresh makeup, was wearing colors that were not on my "most flattering" list and my hair looked like a pile of multi-colored crap -- Sorry, Honey!)

Oh, one more thing: Greg has a wonderful voice, and he loves to sing. That's why he joined the Chorus. His singing around the house (as he has done nearly every single day that we've been together) is one thing about him that I will never take for granted!

This is Where I Would Flip a Switch...

Sigh. It's over. My hope for each new day...my motivation for getting out of bed...dare I say -- my reason for living? The Christmas tree is gone.

Every morning for the two or three weeks before and the week or two after Christmas, getting out of bed becomes something I actually look forward to, because I know that once I make it down the stairs on my creaky ankles and knees, I need only take three or four more steps before I can reach the switch that lights the miniature white bulbs on our Christmas tree. Just a flip of that switch and, voila! The room (which, for me, symbolizes the day that has just dawned) takes on a beautiful, warm glow that elicits feelings of love and goodwill toward men.


"Oh, Christmas Tree..." Kate's LRDC, December 2009

Alas. Now, two and a half weeks after the Most Wonderful Day of the Year, the tree is gone. It's been lying naked by the curb, bereft of its glorious lights, stripped of all of those beautiful, shiny ornaments, since last Saturday, when My Awesome Husband Greg decided it was becoming a fire hazzard. (True, I can still admire the ornaments as they adorn the coffee table...I'll probably leave them there until at least Valentine's Day. But without the greenery and lights, they don't hold quite the same charm.)

I guess you could say we're back to "normal" now. But I still like to pretend, as I head down those cold, dark stairs in the morning, that within seconds I'll be flipping a switch and lighting up a new day. Sigh.

Seriously, People?!!

Do you remember this picture? It's me, reveling in my fine fortune almost a year ago, when I first began working in MVOFS. (My Very Own Fabric Store, March 15, 2009.)



Back then, I loved absolutely everything about My Very Own Fabric Store! As a matter fact, I posted several blogs declaring that love, which I thought would never fade.

But there was something that didn't show up in my self-portrait that day...



...the rose-colored glasses!


Well, I'm here now to admit that perhaps I was a bit delusional when I wrote about how kind, wonderful, considerate and patient all of the customers were in MVOFS. Maybe I was being overly effusive when I gushed about how much I loved thread and zippers and planagrams...

Ah, but now the glasses are off.



Perhaps it's just post-holiday letdown -- the customers' and mine. Or maybe we're all a little bit cranky from working so hard to hold it all together as we tried to find some Comfort and Joy. Whatever it is, something is causing my undying love to become more, well, dying.

Maybe it began with the woman who wanted to know why she could not return a pattern, when the store policy taped to the check-out counter clearly states that we don't allow customers to do that. "It's the store policy" is like "Because I'm your mother." I shouldn't have to explain it to her.

Then there was the lady who came in carrying nary a fabric swatch, a spool of thread, or a bottle of nail polish for comparison. She simply declared that she wanted some watermelon pink fabric to make a bridesmaid's dress. We had, at the time, at least eight different fabrics that I would describe as "watermelon pink." But to each one, she said, "No. That's not watermelon pink."

Or the lady who interrupted my conversation with another customer -- the one who was asking if I could get those five huge rolls of home dec fabric off the top row so she could see if she liked them -- to ask, "Is there someone here who makes Indian doll clothes?" (Happy as I was to be pulled away from hefting gigantic bolts of fabric from lofty heights, all I could do was gape at her and say, "Huh?")

Or how about the man who accosted me as I was rushing back to tell the lady on the phone that no, we no longer had any UNC fleece fabric...He wanted to know if we had any of that fabric you cover kitchen chairs with. And also, could I tell him now much he would need. He'd never sewed before, but he had this idea that he could take his ladderback chairs and turn them into parsons chairs with a little bit of foam and the right fabric. Oh yeah -- and a pattern, too, of course.

But just as perplexing was the whiny little woman wanting to know why a particular pattern didn't come in her size -- And she expected me to have an answer.

I don't know -- Maybe it's just me. I do seem to be a little on the dark side lately. Maybe everything will seem brighter when I go back tomorrow...

You know, now that I think if it, I'd been there for about an hour yesterday before I realized that all of the elastic had disappeared from the waistband of my tights, and, and that I was struggling to walk around with the crotch just a couple inches above my knees. Do you suppose something like that might have affected my attitude? Hmmmmmm.