Ken Davis: People don't jump out of the boat at the first speed bump. Boats don't have speed bumps. Let me think that through.
[While trimming trees]
Mom: No, no, no. Leave that one.
Dad: Ok. We'll get it next year.
Mom: Those are cute pants.
Katie: Thanks. I found them in the bottom of my closet and by that I mean on the top shelf. I don't know where they came from.
Mom: You probably wore them in middle school.
Christina: KATIE! Toga expert! I need to borrow your skills [because] it's Salad Dressing Day tomorrow for Homecoming.
Dustin: Jews knew the Old Testament scriptures the way we know songs, so finding OT references in the New Testament not only reminded them of that particular passage but also the context of surrounding passages.
Katie: Jews waited for the Messiah with great anticipation and excitement. It was like waiting for Christmas that wasn't coming... literally!
[playing Harry Potter Wii]
Katie: Look! I'm riding the broom!
Boy, age 10: It looks more like you're riding a bull.
Grandpa: Stinkin' winter lasts all winter!
"Creativity is being comfortable with not knowing what comes next." - Ann Voskamp
Christina: Taylor's sleeping over, too!
Katie: She's sleeping over TOO? That means someone is sleeping over one! AH!
Christina: Michael's bringing Bridesmaids [to my campfire party] just in case the weather is bad.
Katie [Sarcastic]: Sometimes I drive around with two tennis hoppers in my trunk. [Serious] Actually, right now I am driving around with two Haitian drums in my trunk.
Mom: As long as it's not two Haitian drunks in your trunk.
Ezelis: I'm not okay with living in a way this world calls "normal." I am called to be different so people can see how God is real.
Katie: You think I made it up?
Grandma: You coulda; you're a writer. Nah, you wouldn't a thought of that!
Mom: Look! Four-hundred and ninety miles until empty! We can get halfway to--
Katie: Church.
Matthew: She's a transplant.
Katie: Yeah, I moved to Baptist Country but they spit me out.
Dawn: Why'd we take her back?
Katie: Do you pray before you go to bed?
Pastor's Daughter, 8: Sometimes.
Katie: Sometimes?
Daughter: Yeah. Sometimes we forget.
[Playing Harry Potter Wii]
Boy, 10: Just walk around while I'm doing this level. Don't go down. And don't kill yourself by going off the edge... again.
Katie: I didn't mean to! Either time!
"When He says something to you, it will be your own language, significant in a personal and specific way. It will be exactly what you need to hear. All you have to do is listen." - Susan Hill
Katie: You're busier than I am, so give me a call when you're free; I'm probably free too. And if I'm not, I will be free in the next half hour.
Mom: What are you going to do today?
Katie: Sit around and wish I was in Baptist Country.
Mom: That's what you did yesterday!
Automatic voice message: --will expire shortly. Consider this your last notification. To be removed from future notifications, press three.
Mom: No sleeping in the cabin sheets.
Katie: Ok and no eating in the dining room either.
Mom: No four-legged fish sleeping in the cabin sheets.
Mom: These subs are huge! No one can eat all that! Ok, Katie can, but no one else!
Charmaine: With God you gotta always keep a suitcase packed because you never know where He's going to take you!
"It's the art of seeing that makes gratitude possible, and it's the art of gratitude that makes joy possible, and isn't joy the art of God?" - Ann Voskamp
Sorry it's late. It was typed on an iPad magnetic keyboard from a house with no furniture smack dab in the middle of nowhere. I'll fix any grave errors when I have access to a computer again. I hope all is well! <>< K
Showing posts with label Grandpa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grandpa. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Peepers the Goose
Grandpa and I were sitting on my Uncle Boris and Aunt Sasha's patio looking over the rolling hills of their farmland, watching the chickens run loose, and Peepers the goose control the roost.
We were teasing about challenging Big "Woman" on Campus Peepers, but we weren't brave enough to actually do it.
Grandma came out.
"Hey, Grandma, go chase Peepers," Grandpa said.
She did.
Grandma ran at Peepers. Peepers stood still. Less than three feet from each other, Grandma chickened out, and turned to walk away.
Peepers ran at Grandma. Grandma screamed. Uncle Boris came to the rescue. Grandpa and Katie laughed.
Peepers: 1
Grandma: 0
We were teasing about challenging Big "Woman" on Campus Peepers, but we weren't brave enough to actually do it.
Grandma came out.
"Hey, Grandma, go chase Peepers," Grandpa said.
She did.
Grandma ran at Peepers. Peepers stood still. Less than three feet from each other, Grandma chickened out, and turned to walk away.
Peepers ran at Grandma. Grandma screamed. Uncle Boris came to the rescue. Grandpa and Katie laughed.
Peepers: 1
Grandma: 0
Monday, June 27, 2011
As The Deer
During our family's annual birthday celebration my grandpa was telling a story about an interaction he and Grandma had with a deer while they were on vacation.
Apparently they were driving down a woodsy neighborhood road and there were some women walking down the street towards the car. In between their car and the women was a deer. The deer was focused on the pedestrians, so Grandpa slowed down and approached it as slowly and quietly as they could.
The car got right up next to the deer before the deer took its eyes from the women and noticed Grandpa and Grandma. Of course, then it took off running.
I can't help but wonder how often we are that deer. We are the deer focused on what's ahead, the women walking towards us, rather than noticing what's going on around us.
I am that deer. I'm focused on my future career, job opportunities, and the next step rather than focusing on the here and now. I'm concerned about what I'm going to be doing when I get back from China rather than focusing on what I'll be doing while in China.
Are you the deer? Are you looking at what you'll be doing this weekend rather than what you're doing today? Are you expecting something when God's working in a different way?
Oh, deer,
<>< Katie
Apparently they were driving down a woodsy neighborhood road and there were some women walking down the street towards the car. In between their car and the women was a deer. The deer was focused on the pedestrians, so Grandpa slowed down and approached it as slowly and quietly as they could.
The car got right up next to the deer before the deer took its eyes from the women and noticed Grandpa and Grandma. Of course, then it took off running.
I can't help but wonder how often we are that deer. We are the deer focused on what's ahead, the women walking towards us, rather than noticing what's going on around us.
I am that deer. I'm focused on my future career, job opportunities, and the next step rather than focusing on the here and now. I'm concerned about what I'm going to be doing when I get back from China rather than focusing on what I'll be doing while in China.
Are you the deer? Are you looking at what you'll be doing this weekend rather than what you're doing today? Are you expecting something when God's working in a different way?
Oh, deer,
<>< Katie
Monday, March 7, 2011
"Everyone Needs Compassion"
"Daddy, what were your five compassionate things you did today?" I asked. Dad was getting ready for bed, and I was sprawled out on his bed with a book. I wasn't moving until I got an answer.
Dad: Helping people get on the elevator.
Katie: Did you really help people on the elevator today or are you making that up?
Dad: Actually, I helped THREE people onto the elevator today, so that's three things.
Katie: No, "Helping three people on the elevator" is one thing. What are the other four?
Dad: Um... calling Grandma and Grandpa. Calling Laura. Um... Four... Kissing in public.
He walked over to Mom, gave her a hug and a kiss, and smirked at me. Then he came over and gave me a kiss.
Dad: Five! Now get off my bed.
I called him lame, but I did move. He asked my five compassionate things for the day, and I gave an equally lame list.
Compassion is risking your arm in an elevator door to ensure someone in a wheel chair has ample time to get on board. Compassion is letting someone cut you in line because she has a screaming child who needs a nap. Compassion is smiling at the waiter even when he brought you the wrong kind of wine.
Everyone needs compassion. Did you hear me? Everyone needs compassion. Not just those you think are deserving of it. Not just those who cross your path when you're in a good mood. Everyone.
It's hard. Very hard. But let's work on it together.
So, friends, I ask you the same thing, what were your five compassionate things for today? How did you show or receive compassion today?
<>< Katie
"Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you." Ephesians 4:32
Dad: Helping people get on the elevator.
Katie: Did you really help people on the elevator today or are you making that up?
Dad: Actually, I helped THREE people onto the elevator today, so that's three things.
Katie: No, "Helping three people on the elevator" is one thing. What are the other four?
Dad: Um... calling Grandma and Grandpa. Calling Laura. Um... Four... Kissing in public.
He walked over to Mom, gave her a hug and a kiss, and smirked at me. Then he came over and gave me a kiss.
Dad: Five! Now get off my bed.
I called him lame, but I did move. He asked my five compassionate things for the day, and I gave an equally lame list.
Compassion: a deep awareness for others' hurting and acting upon those sympathies.I'm pretty sure kissing doesn't count.
Compassion is risking your arm in an elevator door to ensure someone in a wheel chair has ample time to get on board. Compassion is letting someone cut you in line because she has a screaming child who needs a nap. Compassion is smiling at the waiter even when he brought you the wrong kind of wine.
Everyone needs compassion. Did you hear me? Everyone needs compassion. Not just those you think are deserving of it. Not just those who cross your path when you're in a good mood. Everyone.
It's hard. Very hard. But let's work on it together.
So, friends, I ask you the same thing, what were your five compassionate things for today? How did you show or receive compassion today?
<>< Katie
"Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you." Ephesians 4:32
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Wacky Wednesday
Katie: Sometimes broken things are worth keeping.
Nikki: Like us.
Sara: I'm going to lick Cinderella's castle.
Heather: Or you could lick Mickey's butt. Or you could lick the trash can Goofy touched. Or you could lick the road where everyone walks. Or you could lick David's face. Do all of these sound ridiculous? So does licking Cinderella's castle!
Katie: Go outside by the puke.
Andy: You want us to buy you some puke? That's a waste of money. We could just produce it naturally for you.
Katie: If I ever need any puke, you'll be the first person that I call.
[Elizabeth and Andy kiss loudly]
Katie: I have my own naturally-produced puke now. Thank you.
Elizabeth: Jennifer! Do not chip clip your eyelashes!
Nikki: Katie, I'm pretty sure you're one-fourth dog. I'm going to get a dog whistle just to annoy you because I'm sure you'll hear it.
Katie: Dork.
Jennifer: I'm not a dork.
Katie: "Dork" is a term of endearment just like sassing is a love language.
Jennifer: A dorking is a pigeon with five toes.
Katie: I've also heard a dude is an infected hair on an elephant's butt, but I don't believe that either.
Jennifer: [laughing hysterically] Allyson! Come here, dude!
[She proceeded to call everyone a dude and laughed all night]
Andy [making lunch for our student teachers]: Do you want ketchup or grape jelly?
Amy: A mix of both.
Andy: Don't tempt me.
Amy: Andy, I like my sandwich cut in the same of animals.
Elizabeth: I like mine cut like monuments.
Andy: Amy, yours are cut like quadrilaterals.
Jennifer: I wish I could buy an eraser just to erase things.
Eva: She's high maintenance.
Evan: That's my fiance she's talking about.
Katie: Are you going to let her talk that way about your fiance?
Evan [with pride]: I like maintaining her.
Katie: I'm studying English, Spanish, and American Sign Language. This summer I'm going to China.
Josh: You realize none of those languages are going to help you in China, right?
Hannah: What's Katie's last name? Axelson or Axelton?
Matthew: Have you seen Katie?! It's not AxelTON.
Jennifer: I could be like a hamster and stick the candy in my cheeks, take it up to my tower, and eat it there!
Grandma: Yeah, we had burnt carrots--
Grandpa: --We had burnt carrots, burnt broccoli, and burnt offerings...
Jennifer: Katie, if I finished your sentences they'd start with words and end with numbers.
Danielle: I don't know how to wrestle Katie. I'm afraid I'm going to break her in half!
Katie: I told you, she could lift me with two fingers: it's not a fair fight.
[Later I was wrapped around her body and she was standing and spinning]
Jo: Oh! Don't hurt her head!
Katie: But it's ok to hurt the rest of me?
Nikki: Sometimes I just really don't think it's fair that I am so blessed with so many of you wonderful girls in my life when there are lonely people in this world. [beat] Maybe I should start pawning you off to lonely people. [beat] Katie, you're first!
Katie: The sauce-dressing stuff on this salad is so thick and overpowering that I can't tell what's chicken and what's a crouton.
Josh: I feel like that may be the point.
Jennifer: BRRRR!
Nikki: I'm sobrrrr!
Katie: I'm not.
Nikki: Andy, the word "sloughing" is in this book. And I used it today.
Andy: In a periodical sense?
[In the coffee shop, Amber's giving the attention wave to her computer. She was watching a video. Entire conversation in ASL]
Katie: Are you talking to yourself?
Amber: No, I'm in class, and I'm copying the teacher.
Katie: Why?
Amber: Because it's fun.
Katie: So you are talking to yourself. Or you're four. Which?
Amber: That one! [the four]
Katie: Ladies, you crack me up!
Jennifer: Oh, do you need some glue?
Dr. D: I never sneeze in dark rooms.
Jennifer and Allyson: Do you need anything from the store or the bank or the coffee shop?
Katie: I mean, if the bank is giving out free samples, I'll take some.
Lauren: Oh, man! This scratch paper she gave us is so big and antique-looking. It intimidated me. I had to get a piece of scratch paper for my scratch paper.
Jennifer: I don't want to go to dinner. I forfeit dinner.
[Andy was studying. I was reading with my head in Amy's lap; Amy was studying]
Andy: Katie, you have a laceration on the occipital portion of your head.
Katie: Amy, I'm sorry I'm bleeding to death in your lap.
Amy [pulling away]: WHAT?!
Jennifer [singing]: Holy, holy, holy!
Katie [spoken]: Can I finish my story? Lord God Almighty.
Dr. H [female]: This is my stun gun. POW!
Matthew: Don't taze me, bro!
Jonathan Martin: When the Spirit is working, there is a strange cocktail of supernatural boldness and awareness of my fragility. It's like His calling card.
Nikki: Like us.
Sara: I'm going to lick Cinderella's castle.
Heather: Or you could lick Mickey's butt. Or you could lick the trash can Goofy touched. Or you could lick the road where everyone walks. Or you could lick David's face. Do all of these sound ridiculous? So does licking Cinderella's castle!
Katie: Go outside by the puke.
Andy: You want us to buy you some puke? That's a waste of money. We could just produce it naturally for you.
Katie: If I ever need any puke, you'll be the first person that I call.
[Elizabeth and Andy kiss loudly]
Katie: I have my own naturally-produced puke now. Thank you.
Elizabeth: Jennifer! Do not chip clip your eyelashes!
Nikki: Katie, I'm pretty sure you're one-fourth dog. I'm going to get a dog whistle just to annoy you because I'm sure you'll hear it.
Katie: Dork.
Jennifer: I'm not a dork.
Katie: "Dork" is a term of endearment just like sassing is a love language.
Jennifer: A dorking is a pigeon with five toes.
Katie: I've also heard a dude is an infected hair on an elephant's butt, but I don't believe that either.
Jennifer: [laughing hysterically] Allyson! Come here, dude!
[She proceeded to call everyone a dude and laughed all night]
Andy [making lunch for our student teachers]: Do you want ketchup or grape jelly?
Amy: A mix of both.
Andy: Don't tempt me.
Amy: Andy, I like my sandwich cut in the same of animals.
Elizabeth: I like mine cut like monuments.
Andy: Amy, yours are cut like quadrilaterals.
Jennifer: I wish I could buy an eraser just to erase things.
Eva: She's high maintenance.
Evan: That's my fiance she's talking about.
Katie: Are you going to let her talk that way about your fiance?
Evan [with pride]: I like maintaining her.
Katie: I'm studying English, Spanish, and American Sign Language. This summer I'm going to China.
Josh: You realize none of those languages are going to help you in China, right?
Hannah: What's Katie's last name? Axelson or Axelton?
Matthew: Have you seen Katie?! It's not AxelTON.
Jennifer: I could be like a hamster and stick the candy in my cheeks, take it up to my tower, and eat it there!
Grandma: Yeah, we had burnt carrots--
Grandpa: --We had burnt carrots, burnt broccoli, and burnt offerings...
Jennifer: Katie, if I finished your sentences they'd start with words and end with numbers.
Danielle: I don't know how to wrestle Katie. I'm afraid I'm going to break her in half!
Katie: I told you, she could lift me with two fingers: it's not a fair fight.
[Later I was wrapped around her body and she was standing and spinning]
Jo: Oh! Don't hurt her head!
Katie: But it's ok to hurt the rest of me?
Nikki: Sometimes I just really don't think it's fair that I am so blessed with so many of you wonderful girls in my life when there are lonely people in this world. [beat] Maybe I should start pawning you off to lonely people. [beat] Katie, you're first!
Katie: The sauce-dressing stuff on this salad is so thick and overpowering that I can't tell what's chicken and what's a crouton.
Josh: I feel like that may be the point.
Jennifer: BRRRR!
Nikki: I'm sobrrrr!
Katie: I'm not.
Nikki: Andy, the word "sloughing" is in this book. And I used it today.
Andy: In a periodical sense?
[In the coffee shop, Amber's giving the attention wave to her computer. She was watching a video. Entire conversation in ASL]
Katie: Are you talking to yourself?
Amber: No, I'm in class, and I'm copying the teacher.
Katie: Why?
Amber: Because it's fun.
Katie: So you are talking to yourself. Or you're four. Which?
Amber: That one! [the four]
Katie: Ladies, you crack me up!
Jennifer: Oh, do you need some glue?
Dr. D: I never sneeze in dark rooms.
Jennifer and Allyson: Do you need anything from the store or the bank or the coffee shop?
Katie: I mean, if the bank is giving out free samples, I'll take some.
Lauren: Oh, man! This scratch paper she gave us is so big and antique-looking. It intimidated me. I had to get a piece of scratch paper for my scratch paper.
Jennifer: I don't want to go to dinner. I forfeit dinner.
[Andy was studying. I was reading with my head in Amy's lap; Amy was studying]
Andy: Katie, you have a laceration on the occipital portion of your head.
Katie: Amy, I'm sorry I'm bleeding to death in your lap.
Amy [pulling away]: WHAT?!
Jennifer [singing]: Holy, holy, holy!
Katie [spoken]: Can I finish my story? Lord God Almighty.
Dr. H [female]: This is my stun gun. POW!
Matthew: Don't taze me, bro!
Jonathan Martin: When the Spirit is working, there is a strange cocktail of supernatural boldness and awareness of my fragility. It's like His calling card.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Wacky Wednesday- Friday Edition
Christina: Will it go on your blog?
Katie: You betcha.
Mom: On Wacky Wednesday?
Katie: Yup. I haven't had a Wacky Wednesday in awhile.
Mom: What?! You've been with your family! How could you NOT have a Wacky Wednesday?
Katie: I have plenty of quotes for a Wacky Wednesday, but I haven't written one.
Christina: Have a Friday Edition of Wacky Wednesday.
Mom: On Thursday!
Katie: It seems only appropriate since I have no idea what day of the week it is anyway.
Mom: Ooooh! I'm a trash compactor and I can vacuum seal the bag!
Dad: How did I get in this family?
Auntie Gwennie: Better question: how do I get out?
Katie: We're lost... outside (without the car)... in Minnesota... in January! All because Mom wanted seafood... in Minnesota... in January! It might be August before I warm up!
Mom: Then we can go to Denise and Greg's, and Greg can do the photo shoot in his... jammies.
Laura: As long as he doesn't sleep naked.
Auntie Gwennie: Doesn't iron give you energy or something?
Uncle Bill: Tina, you've taken anatomy. Is that true?
Christina: Well, we studied iodine.
Mom [making white frosting]: There's something green in here. Oh, and red. Who put jimmies in my frosting?
Katie: Jimmy! Get out of the frosting!
Laura: Jimmy want to go in the frosting for a swim.
Katie: No, Jimmy licks the frosting.
Mom: Grandpa!
[Grandpa Jim taught my sisters and me to steal frosting from a cake without anyone noticing]
Dad: What's wrong? Why are you up so early?
Katie: It's ten-thirty, eleven-thirty to my body.
Dad: That's it.
Aunt Denise: Gail! You can't give him a present just because it says his name!
Mom: It says his name, just in the wrong spot!
Dad: Get naked and give me twenty.
Uncle Jay: I am not getting naked in front of you! And I'm not giving you twenty bucks either for that matter.
Mom: I will not put the Advent candles on Christina's birthday cake!
Katie: Ok, Daddy, I'm ready! I'm even wearing Grandma's long underwear. Where'd you go?
Dad: I'm hiding!
Mom: Do you want a poker stick to get the Christmas lights all the way up there?
Dad: I don't need a poker stick. I have Katie!
I was startled out of dream world by Laura's shouting.
Laura: That's ok; she loves me!
Without opening my eyes I knew--much to my dismay--that I was the she.
Katie: No she doesn't!
That wasn't going to stop her. When my bedroom door flew open, I threw my pillow over my face. There was no way to avoid whatever I was about to be the victim of, but my pillow would protect my face as I prayed for the best. Laura crawled on top of me in bed. Between the two of us, we make a normal-sized person, but that doesn't mean I like to be on the bottom of our person.
Laura: Katie, give me a hhhhhhhhug!
Mom [to Dad]: Do not pants your daughter!
Laura: Mom, I saw an animal outside.
Mom: What kind of animal was it?
Laura: Um... a giant white gerbil with a raw tail.
Mom: An opossum.
Man at Quiznos: Chips?
Mom: No, thanks.
Man: Beer, bourbon, scotch?
Mom: Oooh! Scotch, please.
Ben: Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Ax. Sorry in advance for drinking all of your milk.
He and three friends (the one other male among them being lactose intolerant) were here thirty-six hours, and they drank three gallons of milk.
Christina: Katie, what are you going to do when you're married?
Katie: Have kids.
Christina: And make them empty the dishwasher? Even your one year old? Does he have to empty the dishwasher?
Katie: It's a she.
Christina: And your three month old? Does she have to empty the dishwasher, too?
Katie: Yeah, he gets the plates up to the top shelf without needing any help. Wait a second! Why do I have a one year old and a three month old? Oh boy!
Mom: Adoption.
Christina: Your husband was married before. Katie got a used one!
Katie: You betcha.
Mom: On Wacky Wednesday?
Katie: Yup. I haven't had a Wacky Wednesday in awhile.
Mom: What?! You've been with your family! How could you NOT have a Wacky Wednesday?
Katie: I have plenty of quotes for a Wacky Wednesday, but I haven't written one.
Christina: Have a Friday Edition of Wacky Wednesday.
Mom: On Thursday!
Katie: It seems only appropriate since I have no idea what day of the week it is anyway.
Mom: Ooooh! I'm a trash compactor and I can vacuum seal the bag!
Dad: How did I get in this family?
Auntie Gwennie: Better question: how do I get out?
Katie: We're lost... outside (without the car)... in Minnesota... in January! All because Mom wanted seafood... in Minnesota... in January! It might be August before I warm up!
Mom: Then we can go to Denise and Greg's, and Greg can do the photo shoot in his... jammies.
Laura: As long as he doesn't sleep naked.
Auntie Gwennie: Doesn't iron give you energy or something?
Uncle Bill: Tina, you've taken anatomy. Is that true?
Christina: Well, we studied iodine.
Mom [making white frosting]: There's something green in here. Oh, and red. Who put jimmies in my frosting?
Katie: Jimmy! Get out of the frosting!
Laura: Jimmy want to go in the frosting for a swim.
Katie: No, Jimmy licks the frosting.
Mom: Grandpa!
[Grandpa Jim taught my sisters and me to steal frosting from a cake without anyone noticing]
Dad: What's wrong? Why are you up so early?
Katie: It's ten-thirty, eleven-thirty to my body.
Dad: That's it.
Aunt Denise: Gail! You can't give him a present just because it says his name!
Mom: It says his name, just in the wrong spot!
Dad: Get naked and give me twenty.
Uncle Jay: I am not getting naked in front of you! And I'm not giving you twenty bucks either for that matter.
Mom: I will not put the Advent candles on Christina's birthday cake!
Katie: Ok, Daddy, I'm ready! I'm even wearing Grandma's long underwear. Where'd you go?
Dad: I'm hiding!
Mom: Do you want a poker stick to get the Christmas lights all the way up there?
Dad: I don't need a poker stick. I have Katie!
I was startled out of dream world by Laura's shouting.
Laura: That's ok; she loves me!
Without opening my eyes I knew--much to my dismay--that I was the she.
Katie: No she doesn't!
That wasn't going to stop her. When my bedroom door flew open, I threw my pillow over my face. There was no way to avoid whatever I was about to be the victim of, but my pillow would protect my face as I prayed for the best. Laura crawled on top of me in bed. Between the two of us, we make a normal-sized person, but that doesn't mean I like to be on the bottom of our person.
Laura: Katie, give me a hhhhhhhhug!
Mom [to Dad]: Do not pants your daughter!
Laura: Mom, I saw an animal outside.
Mom: What kind of animal was it?
Laura: Um... a giant white gerbil with a raw tail.
Mom: An opossum.
Man at Quiznos: Chips?
Mom: No, thanks.
Man: Beer, bourbon, scotch?
Mom: Oooh! Scotch, please.
Ben: Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Ax. Sorry in advance for drinking all of your milk.
He and three friends (the one other male among them being lactose intolerant) were here thirty-six hours, and they drank three gallons of milk.
Christina: Katie, what are you going to do when you're married?
Katie: Have kids.
Christina: And make them empty the dishwasher? Even your one year old? Does he have to empty the dishwasher?
Katie: It's a she.
Christina: And your three month old? Does she have to empty the dishwasher, too?
Katie: Yeah, he gets the plates up to the top shelf without needing any help. Wait a second! Why do I have a one year old and a three month old? Oh boy!
Mom: Adoption.
Christina: Your husband was married before. Katie got a used one!
Monday, December 27, 2010
Marathon Christmas
I grew up thinking this was normal. I grew up thinking a lot of things were normal, myths my roommates have quickly dispelled. You mean everyone doesn't have four Christmas trees and a 30-hour Christmas? I supposed now you're going to tell me everyone has more than three cousins, too, right?
Christmas Eve
3:00pm- "Get in the car now!"
4:00pm- We start Christmas where all Christmases should begin: in church. We pass the bulletin from one end of the pew to the other, share notes, and split a half a piece of gum thirteen ways. You think I'm kidding.
6:00pm- "And WHY are you snow blowing in your Christmas suit?"
All thirteen of my maternal side of the family is gathered in my aunt and uncle's kitchen. We're munching on meatballs, shrimp, and the world famous cheese dip. We need something in the stomachs as we begin a long night of alcohol consumption.
7:00pm- "Maybe we should open presents."
"Yes, that bow is beautiful on your head."
"What kind of tape did you use? It's impossible to rip!"
8:00pm- Grandpa and Grandma get a fifteen minute head start (we even use the microwave timer) to light candles and turn on lights before the entire party mobilizes to Grandpa and Grandma's house. We open presents first from my grandparents and second from my aunt and uncle from out of town.
9:00pm- Grandpa and Grandma serve us pizza subs on paper plates just to have some substance during our night of grazing. "Sure, I'd love some blackberry wine."
10:00pm- My family's turn for the fifteen minute head start. There are advantages and disadvantages to being the last house in the round-robin. The biggest disadvantage is that the hair and makeup need remedial help before the photograph in front of the tree.
11:00pm- "Who wants to be Santa?"
12:00am- Grandpa and Grandma decide it's time to go home.
1:00am- "Someone has to eat my food!"
2:00am- We karate chop the remaining family out of here, clean up the kitchen, and set up for the morning. Time for bed!
For the next four to six hours visions of sugar plums dance in our heads while Santa flies over head.
Christmas Day
8am- "Santa's been here!"
9am- The family gift exchange and Santa presents are opened on Christmas morning. Dad gets coal. And the grille to go with it. Mom cries when she opens the puzzle photo collage of my sisters and me growing up. My flannel jeans from Cabela's miraculously fit! "Dad, I got you a six pack of beer just because I can. No, I don't want one."
10am- "Get in the car! We're late!"
11am- "Are we there yet?"
12pm- Growing up, my family was always the last to arrive at my paternal grandparents' house. Some traditions die hard. Christmas dinner will be served at two. I regret not eating more than a banana for breakfast and dive into the chips, fudge, and pie on the kitchen table.
1pm- I'm in a photo war with Travel Buddy, my uncle who's a professional photographer. I take literally 178 photos.
2pm- The Charlie Brown Tree.
Every year my grandparents go to the tree farm and find the most ridiculous tree in the $5 bin. It's too thick to put ornaments on it. It's so thin you can see through it. It has two tops. They then barter until the owner lets them buy the tree for $3. They give him a $2 tip. This year the tree branches needed to be transplanted, so they got it for $2 with a $1 tip. Remember, the camera adds ten pounds.
3:00pm- "This restaurant is only open twice a year, so you'd better dig in!"
Thanksgiving dinner is remarkably similar to Christmas dinner. The main difference is that the men are actually allowed to sit in the dining room with the women rather than being banished to the kitchen. We pass rolls by overhand tossing, make the misbehaving adults sit at the children's table, and, heaven forbid, we forget the olives.
5:00pm- Photo shoot!
Each family. "At least pretend like you like each other." All the girls. All the boys. "Stop that!" Three generations. "Where'd Grandpa go now?" All the granddaughters. All eleven of us. The stray people we picked up on the street. All dogs. "Ok, my camera's memory card is full."
6:00pm- "Yes, I'd like a brandy old fashion, please. We're going to be here for awhile."
Commence the longest present opening extravaganza in the history of present openings. Grandma hands the first present to Tina. Tina opens it, throws the wrapping paper on the floor, and examines it for fifteen and a half seconds before she must stand to pick and hand out the next present. If she surpasses her allotted fifteen and a half seconds, the entire crowd shouts, "PICK A PRESENT!"
7:00pm- Fifteen minute intermission to fill the glasses and empty the bladder.
7:15pm- "Pick a present!"
8:00pm- "PICK A PRESENT!"
Every year Grandma and Grandpa give each of their four grandkids a gold ornament engraved with our names, the year, and "Love, Gma & Gpa." After twenty-some years, Wal-mart stopped making the ornaments, so Grandma had to get creative. This year she bought some silver ones from Target and engraved them herself.
9:00pm- "Pick a present" brouhaha is finally over after three hours of present opening! Grandma and the four granddaughters sit in the heaps of wrapping paper for the annual photo. Grandma boasts that she is 71 and can still get down on the floor. We help her up.
10:00pm- Grandma asks who brought the iPod for the traditional Christmas Day dancing in the kitchen. No one has music; no one has the energy to dance. The men are Wii bowling in the kitchen. Grandpa's winning. "That's an awful nice purple dress you've got there, Jim," Greg says, and the crowd rolls. Grandpa's using my Mii.
11:00pm- The food comes back out for those who are hungry. I eat some cherry pie, little smokies, sweet potatoes, and fudge. In that order. "Shhhhh! Someone may be sleeping."
12:00am- That someone should be me. But we're having too much fun retelling old stories, hacking up lungs, and laughing hysterically.
1:00am- That someone is me. It's the only night of the year when I can sleep with socks on because of the heat problems in the old farmhouse. Yet I sleep with a smile on my face. Another great Christmas!
I love hearing about Christmas traditions. What are yours?
<>< Katie
Christmas Eve
3:00pm- "Get in the car now!"
4:00pm- We start Christmas where all Christmases should begin: in church. We pass the bulletin from one end of the pew to the other, share notes, and split a half a piece of gum thirteen ways. You think I'm kidding.
6:00pm- "And WHY are you snow blowing in your Christmas suit?"
All thirteen of my maternal side of the family is gathered in my aunt and uncle's kitchen. We're munching on meatballs, shrimp, and the world famous cheese dip. We need something in the stomachs as we begin a long night of alcohol consumption.
7:00pm- "Maybe we should open presents."
"Yes, that bow is beautiful on your head."
"What kind of tape did you use? It's impossible to rip!"
8:00pm- Grandpa and Grandma get a fifteen minute head start (we even use the microwave timer) to light candles and turn on lights before the entire party mobilizes to Grandpa and Grandma's house. We open presents first from my grandparents and second from my aunt and uncle from out of town.
9:00pm- Grandpa and Grandma serve us pizza subs on paper plates just to have some substance during our night of grazing. "Sure, I'd love some blackberry wine."
10:00pm- My family's turn for the fifteen minute head start. There are advantages and disadvantages to being the last house in the round-robin. The biggest disadvantage is that the hair and makeup need remedial help before the photograph in front of the tree.
11:00pm- "Who wants to be Santa?"
12:00am- Grandpa and Grandma decide it's time to go home.
1:00am- "Someone has to eat my food!"
2:00am- We karate chop the remaining family out of here, clean up the kitchen, and set up for the morning. Time for bed!
For the next four to six hours visions of sugar plums dance in our heads while Santa flies over head.
Christmas Day
8am- "Santa's been here!"
9am- The family gift exchange and Santa presents are opened on Christmas morning. Dad gets coal. And the grille to go with it. Mom cries when she opens the puzzle photo collage of my sisters and me growing up. My flannel jeans from Cabela's miraculously fit! "Dad, I got you a six pack of beer just because I can. No, I don't want one."
10am- "Get in the car! We're late!"
11am- "Are we there yet?"
12pm- Growing up, my family was always the last to arrive at my paternal grandparents' house. Some traditions die hard. Christmas dinner will be served at two. I regret not eating more than a banana for breakfast and dive into the chips, fudge, and pie on the kitchen table.
1pm- I'm in a photo war with Travel Buddy, my uncle who's a professional photographer. I take literally 178 photos.
Every year my grandparents go to the tree farm and find the most ridiculous tree in the $5 bin. It's too thick to put ornaments on it. It's so thin you can see through it. It has two tops. They then barter until the owner lets them buy the tree for $3. They give him a $2 tip. This year the tree branches needed to be transplanted, so they got it for $2 with a $1 tip. Remember, the camera adds ten pounds.
Thanksgiving dinner is remarkably similar to Christmas dinner. The main difference is that the men are actually allowed to sit in the dining room with the women rather than being banished to the kitchen. We pass rolls by overhand tossing, make the misbehaving adults sit at the children's table, and, heaven forbid, we forget the olives.
5:00pm- Photo shoot!
Each family. "At least pretend like you like each other." All the girls. All the boys. "Stop that!" Three generations. "Where'd Grandpa go now?" All the granddaughters. All eleven of us. The stray people we picked up on the street. All dogs. "Ok, my camera's memory card is full."
6:00pm- "Yes, I'd like a brandy old fashion, please. We're going to be here for awhile."
Commence the longest present opening extravaganza in the history of present openings. Grandma hands the first present to Tina. Tina opens it, throws the wrapping paper on the floor, and examines it for fifteen and a half seconds before she must stand to pick and hand out the next present. If she surpasses her allotted fifteen and a half seconds, the entire crowd shouts, "PICK A PRESENT!"
7:00pm- Fifteen minute intermission to fill the glasses and empty the bladder.
7:15pm- "Pick a present!"
8:00pm- "PICK A PRESENT!"
Every year Grandma and Grandpa give each of their four grandkids a gold ornament engraved with our names, the year, and "Love, Gma & Gpa." After twenty-some years, Wal-mart stopped making the ornaments, so Grandma had to get creative. This year she bought some silver ones from Target and engraved them herself.
9:00pm- "Pick a present" brouhaha is finally over after three hours of present opening! Grandma and the four granddaughters sit in the heaps of wrapping paper for the annual photo. Grandma boasts that she is 71 and can still get down on the floor. We help her up.
10:00pm- Grandma asks who brought the iPod for the traditional Christmas Day dancing in the kitchen. No one has music; no one has the energy to dance. The men are Wii bowling in the kitchen. Grandpa's winning. "That's an awful nice purple dress you've got there, Jim," Greg says, and the crowd rolls. Grandpa's using my Mii.
11:00pm- The food comes back out for those who are hungry. I eat some cherry pie, little smokies, sweet potatoes, and fudge. In that order. "Shhhhh! Someone may be sleeping."
12:00am- That someone should be me. But we're having too much fun retelling old stories, hacking up lungs, and laughing hysterically.
1:00am- That someone is me. It's the only night of the year when I can sleep with socks on because of the heat problems in the old farmhouse. Yet I sleep with a smile on my face. Another great Christmas!
<>< Katie
Sunday, December 26, 2010
The Christmas Miracle
Our motto for this family get together has been, "It's a Christmas miracle!" The pants I bought you actually fit? It's a Christmas miracle! You guys made it here safely through the snow? It's a Christmas miracle! You found some extra dipping sauce in the back of the fridge? It's a Christmas miracle!
It's been a bit overkill. Don't get me wrong, I love acknowledging everyday miracles but "Christmas Miracle" is kind of a term already on reserve.
A few days before Christmas 2006, we received a phone call from my grandma. Our family friend Arnie, 81, had a seizure during dinner. He vomited, aspirated, and earned himself a flight for life ride to the intensive care unit.
While the rest of the world was preparing for a joyful holiday, we were preparing for the worst. Decisions were to be made on December 26. The decision was that life support would be terminated the following day after everyone had the opportunity to say goodbye to a warm hand.
The following morning, my dad received a wake-up call asking him to make the drive to be with them. While he was showering my grandma called back. She had to hand the phone to my grandfather because she was crying too hard to talk to my mom. They were tears of joy. Arnie was awake, sitting up, and by that afternoon he was asking for a drink.
Arnie lived for eight more months before he passed away peacefully. There was no reason he should have survived that December. His funeral was planned! Even my agnostic grandparents admitted it was a Christmas Miracle.
Sometimes God works in life-saving miracles and sometimes He works through everyday miracles. The question becomes, will we acknowledge them?
I pray you all had a miraculous Christmas, my friends.
<>< Katie
It's been a bit overkill. Don't get me wrong, I love acknowledging everyday miracles but "Christmas Miracle" is kind of a term already on reserve.
A few days before Christmas 2006, we received a phone call from my grandma. Our family friend Arnie, 81, had a seizure during dinner. He vomited, aspirated, and earned himself a flight for life ride to the intensive care unit.
While the rest of the world was preparing for a joyful holiday, we were preparing for the worst. Decisions were to be made on December 26. The decision was that life support would be terminated the following day after everyone had the opportunity to say goodbye to a warm hand.
The following morning, my dad received a wake-up call asking him to make the drive to be with them. While he was showering my grandma called back. She had to hand the phone to my grandfather because she was crying too hard to talk to my mom. They were tears of joy. Arnie was awake, sitting up, and by that afternoon he was asking for a drink.
Arnie lived for eight more months before he passed away peacefully. There was no reason he should have survived that December. His funeral was planned! Even my agnostic grandparents admitted it was a Christmas Miracle.
Sometimes God works in life-saving miracles and sometimes He works through everyday miracles. The question becomes, will we acknowledge them?
I pray you all had a miraculous Christmas, my friends.
<>< Katie
Saturday, December 18, 2010
A Carpenter's Hands
You can tell a lot about a person from his or her hands.
When this was first brought to my attention, I immediately thought of my grandfather. I thought about the hours I spent as a child lotioning his rough carpenter hands. I thought about how appalled my child-self was that he let his hands get so chapped and cracked.
I look down at my own hands now and realize my child-self would be appalled. Calloused from holding a pen. Blistered from raking leaves (yes in December). Red and rough from the cold, despite the gloves. I thought about the abuse they receive throughout the day.
Hands vital for communication. Hands that fidget. Hands ready to hold. Ready to perform. Hands that spell "Hi!" with veins. Hands that are washed way too often. Hands that work just as easily in polar fleece gloves as they do independently. These hands hurt. These hands are cold.
These hands don't care. These hands will do their best for God's glory. These hands were made to praise Him. These hands were made to serve Him. These hands may have to work slowly, but these hands will work and He'll get the honor.
As a child, I never wanted to have the hands of my grandfather, the hands of a carpenter. As an adult, I want to be the hands of a carpenter, Christ Jesus.
A carpenter's hands are beat up, bruised, and rough. When I say, "Lord, I want to be Your hands" am I willing to be beat up and bruised? Am I willing to accept that life will be rough? Am I willing to accept the scars?
If you can tell a lot about a person by his or her hands and we are called to be Jesus's hands and feet, what are we saying about Him?
<>< Katie
When this was first brought to my attention, I immediately thought of my grandfather. I thought about the hours I spent as a child lotioning his rough carpenter hands. I thought about how appalled my child-self was that he let his hands get so chapped and cracked.
I look down at my own hands now and realize my child-self would be appalled. Calloused from holding a pen. Blistered from raking leaves (yes in December). Red and rough from the cold, despite the gloves. I thought about the abuse they receive throughout the day.
Hands vital for communication. Hands that fidget. Hands ready to hold. Ready to perform. Hands that spell "Hi!" with veins. Hands that are washed way too often. Hands that work just as easily in polar fleece gloves as they do independently. These hands hurt. These hands are cold.
These hands don't care. These hands will do their best for God's glory. These hands were made to praise Him. These hands were made to serve Him. These hands may have to work slowly, but these hands will work and He'll get the honor.
As a child, I never wanted to have the hands of my grandfather, the hands of a carpenter. As an adult, I want to be the hands of a carpenter, Christ Jesus.
A carpenter's hands are beat up, bruised, and rough. When I say, "Lord, I want to be Your hands" am I willing to be beat up and bruised? Am I willing to accept that life will be rough? Am I willing to accept the scars?
If you can tell a lot about a person by his or her hands and we are called to be Jesus's hands and feet, what are we saying about Him?
<>< Katie
Monday, December 6, 2010
That's My Daddy
Every Christmas my entire extended family worships together to start our Christmas Eve brouhaha.
As a toddler, I would walk between the knees of my relatives and the pew in front of us. One of my uncles, neither will fess up to being the culprit but it could have feasibly been either one, handed me a piece of paper and told me to take it to my other uncle.
I looked down at the piece of paper, recognized a big "D" scribbled and loudly proclaimed, "That's my daddy!"
The paper really said, "Dork."
Yeah, church was pretty much over for my family at that point in time.
Happy Monday!
<>< Katie
As a toddler, I would walk between the knees of my relatives and the pew in front of us. One of my uncles, neither will fess up to being the culprit but it could have feasibly been either one, handed me a piece of paper and told me to take it to my other uncle.
I looked down at the piece of paper, recognized a big "D" scribbled and loudly proclaimed, "That's my daddy!"
The paper really said, "Dork."
Yeah, church was pretty much over for my family at that point in time.
Happy Monday!
<>< Katie
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Christmas Wishes from the Fire Department
Somewhere between ten and eleven on Sunday night reality hit. It was bedtime and we still had "miles to go before [we] sleep and miles to go before [we] sleep." Three hours worth of miles.
I offered to switch and drive for awhile, but Amber pointed out that might be futile since I was yawning too. She said she'd just curl up and go to sleep rather than keep me awake, but I wouldn't fall asleep while she was driving. Probably true. A few days earlier we'd learned the hard way that her reaction time is good even when she's tired.
Hit was a sudden, God-send burst of energy, I began the most animated, elaborate retelling of one of my favorite Christmas Eve stories. Followed by three hours worth of other stories, laughter, and no yawns at all.
It was Christmas Eve afternoon and I was almost done getting ready for the traditional brouhaha when the smoke detector went off.
As a teenager, what to do in case of a fire had been drilled into my head. I went out the garage door and passed both cars in the garage. I found out later that my sisters were in the car ready to go, unaware that the smoke detector was going off. When I rounded the house and headed towards our "meeting place" I realized there is a flaw in our plan: snow makes the meeting place hard to get to. But it didn't matter because I saw both of my parents just chilling in the kitchen.
I opened the backdoor and walked back in. Apparently my mom had spilled something in the oven earlier in the day and wanted to clean it out before everyone came over. She used the self-cleaner oven feature for the first time and it set the smoke detector off. Other than a hazy house, everything was fine.
The security system on our house is supposed to call the police if our house is broken into and fire department if the smoke detector goes off. We were literally five minutes away from leaving for six hours. We didn't want to come home (with the entire extended family fifteen minutes behind us) to discover our door had been broken down because we didn't answer.
Dad called the non-emergency fire department number to tell them everything was fine.
Fireman: Since you called, we have to send a truck out.
Great. Although, we later learned if the security system had called they would have sent trucks from two different stations because we're right in the middle between the two. As it were, the other station got an ambulance call around the same time. I like to think that in inconveniencing ourselves we saved a life. Whatever, Katie.
Anyway. Fire truck came. Big flashing lights. Alarmed neighbors called. Firemen stood in the back hall and listen to our crazy story. They didn't even go into the kitchen! They left. Dad called the security system people to make sure the fire department isn't going to be called again. Ultimately, against their advice, he disconnected our security system.
We showed up to my aunt and uncle's church a half hour late. My cousin's choir, the reason we were going to church there, was returning to their seats. We did make the pastor's day because the sanctuary was full, so they put seats in the atrium for us. This is why we don't save seats on Christmas Eve anymore. You never know when some firemen are going to make you late to church.
After church we began our normal round-robin at my aunt and uncle's house. Food, drinks, presents, cookies, moving on. The entire party of 13 journeyed to my grandparents' house for a repeat. Food, drinks, presents, cookies, moving on.
Our house was the last in our parade. We are also the only house with a functioning fire place. My uncle from out of town wanted to roast chestnuts over our fire. It made the kitchen a little smokey, but we didn't think anything of it.
Until my aunt shouted, "FIRE IN THE OVEN!"
Some bread dish--the same dish that had spilled earlier--was literally flaming inside of our oven. That's bad. One uncle grabbed a hot pad, pulled out the pan, and held it over the sink. The other uncle blew out the flames. Dad took the scorched pan and threw it in a snowbank in the back yard where it stayed for the next three days.
Of course, the fire alarm went off again and the house is full of smoke. For the second time that day we opened all of the windows to let the frigid winter air into our home and the smoke out into the world. I'm pretty sure the temperature in my kitchen was below freezing that Christmas. I camped out in the basement, the warmest place in the house.
No more chestnuts roasting over an indoor fire. No more flaming bread dish. Just a great Christmas tale. And a year full of photos with the fire extinguisher in them.
About a week later my mom's oven still needed to be cleaned. So she set the self-cleaner again and opened the kitchen window. She was on the phone with my aunt when she heard sirens in our area. It's not really that uncommon because there are two deadly traffic corners within a mile of our house. Except this was a fire engine siren. Getting closer. And closer. And closer.
Mom: I've got to go. That firetruck is coming down our street.
It stopped two houses away where they had a small electrical fire.
I hope this Christmas there are no unexpected guests. Especially those that drive a big red vehicle and wear yellow suits. Happy December First!
<>< Katie
I offered to switch and drive for awhile, but Amber pointed out that might be futile since I was yawning too. She said she'd just curl up and go to sleep rather than keep me awake, but I wouldn't fall asleep while she was driving. Probably true. A few days earlier we'd learned the hard way that her reaction time is good even when she's tired.
Hit was a sudden, God-send burst of energy, I began the most animated, elaborate retelling of one of my favorite Christmas Eve stories. Followed by three hours worth of other stories, laughter, and no yawns at all.
It was Christmas Eve afternoon and I was almost done getting ready for the traditional brouhaha when the smoke detector went off.
As a teenager, what to do in case of a fire had been drilled into my head. I went out the garage door and passed both cars in the garage. I found out later that my sisters were in the car ready to go, unaware that the smoke detector was going off. When I rounded the house and headed towards our "meeting place" I realized there is a flaw in our plan: snow makes the meeting place hard to get to. But it didn't matter because I saw both of my parents just chilling in the kitchen.
I opened the backdoor and walked back in. Apparently my mom had spilled something in the oven earlier in the day and wanted to clean it out before everyone came over. She used the self-cleaner oven feature for the first time and it set the smoke detector off. Other than a hazy house, everything was fine.
The security system on our house is supposed to call the police if our house is broken into and fire department if the smoke detector goes off. We were literally five minutes away from leaving for six hours. We didn't want to come home (with the entire extended family fifteen minutes behind us) to discover our door had been broken down because we didn't answer.
Dad called the non-emergency fire department number to tell them everything was fine.
Fireman: Since you called, we have to send a truck out.
Great. Although, we later learned if the security system had called they would have sent trucks from two different stations because we're right in the middle between the two. As it were, the other station got an ambulance call around the same time. I like to think that in inconveniencing ourselves we saved a life. Whatever, Katie.
Anyway. Fire truck came. Big flashing lights. Alarmed neighbors called. Firemen stood in the back hall and listen to our crazy story. They didn't even go into the kitchen! They left. Dad called the security system people to make sure the fire department isn't going to be called again. Ultimately, against their advice, he disconnected our security system.
We showed up to my aunt and uncle's church a half hour late. My cousin's choir, the reason we were going to church there, was returning to their seats. We did make the pastor's day because the sanctuary was full, so they put seats in the atrium for us. This is why we don't save seats on Christmas Eve anymore. You never know when some firemen are going to make you late to church.
After church we began our normal round-robin at my aunt and uncle's house. Food, drinks, presents, cookies, moving on. The entire party of 13 journeyed to my grandparents' house for a repeat. Food, drinks, presents, cookies, moving on.
Our house was the last in our parade. We are also the only house with a functioning fire place. My uncle from out of town wanted to roast chestnuts over our fire. It made the kitchen a little smokey, but we didn't think anything of it.
Until my aunt shouted, "FIRE IN THE OVEN!"
Some bread dish--the same dish that had spilled earlier--was literally flaming inside of our oven. That's bad. One uncle grabbed a hot pad, pulled out the pan, and held it over the sink. The other uncle blew out the flames. Dad took the scorched pan and threw it in a snowbank in the back yard where it stayed for the next three days.
Of course, the fire alarm went off again and the house is full of smoke. For the second time that day we opened all of the windows to let the frigid winter air into our home and the smoke out into the world. I'm pretty sure the temperature in my kitchen was below freezing that Christmas. I camped out in the basement, the warmest place in the house.
No more chestnuts roasting over an indoor fire. No more flaming bread dish. Just a great Christmas tale. And a year full of photos with the fire extinguisher in them.
About a week later my mom's oven still needed to be cleaned. So she set the self-cleaner again and opened the kitchen window. She was on the phone with my aunt when she heard sirens in our area. It's not really that uncommon because there are two deadly traffic corners within a mile of our house. Except this was a fire engine siren. Getting closer. And closer. And closer.
Mom: I've got to go. That firetruck is coming down our street.
It stopped two houses away where they had a small electrical fire.
I hope this Christmas there are no unexpected guests. Especially those that drive a big red vehicle and wear yellow suits. Happy December First!
<>< Katie
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Give Thanks
"Happy Thanksgiving," said the man on the other end of the phone. Those two words caught my off guard and it wasn't just because the phone was answered on the first ring.
Every holiday my dad answers the phone by wishing the caller a happy day. Happy Thanksgiving. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Happy Labor Day... you get the idea. I've listened to him do this all my life, but we've always been on the same side of the phone.
"Happy Thanksgiving," I choked back.
Two words was all he needed to recognize my voice, and I heard the smile in his. For the next hour we played "Pass the phone" with my nine relatives.
I was told that this year our family was not separated by gender. Instead of men in the kitchen and women in the dining room, all nine of them fit around the dining room table. Somebody got the bright idea that they should all share something they're thankful for. I'm thankful I wasn't there for Sap Fest.
Christina: I'm thankful for Jesus.
Aunt: I'm thankful for our family and that we don't fight.
Uncle: [to my aunt] I'm thankful we're not facebook friends.
Grandma: I'm thankful we're all alive and here and...
Mom: I'm thankful Laura loves her college, and they were able to "unbreak" our dog.
Dad: I'm thankful we're all healthy. [insert sappy sermon here]
Grandpa: I'm thankful for your momma and that she puts up with me. I love her.
I've never heard my grandparents express love to each other. Love pats here and there but sassiness is more common. For my grandfather to compliment my grandmother and say he loves her in front of all of those people made Grandma cry. I've seen the video to prove it.
Every holiday my dad answers the phone by wishing the caller a happy day. Happy Thanksgiving. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Happy Labor Day... you get the idea. I've listened to him do this all my life, but we've always been on the same side of the phone.
"Happy Thanksgiving," I choked back.
Two words was all he needed to recognize my voice, and I heard the smile in his. For the next hour we played "Pass the phone" with my nine relatives.
I was told that this year our family was not separated by gender. Instead of men in the kitchen and women in the dining room, all nine of them fit around the dining room table. Somebody got the bright idea that they should all share something they're thankful for. I'm thankful I wasn't there for Sap Fest.
Christina: I'm thankful for Jesus.
Aunt: I'm thankful for our family and that we don't fight.
Uncle: [to my aunt] I'm thankful we're not facebook friends.
Grandma: I'm thankful we're all alive and here and...
Mom: I'm thankful Laura loves her college, and they were able to "unbreak" our dog.
Dad: I'm thankful we're all healthy. [insert sappy sermon here]
Grandpa: I'm thankful for your momma and that she puts up with me. I love her.
I've never heard my grandparents express love to each other. Love pats here and there but sassiness is more common. For my grandfather to compliment my grandmother and say he loves her in front of all of those people made Grandma cry. I've seen the video to prove it.
How was your Thanksgiving this year? Was it the typical sweet potatoes, turkey, and pumpkin pie? Was it merely a the precursor to Christmas? Or was it really a time of reflection and thankfulness?
My friend Caitlin is extending Thanksgiving for a year. For the next 365 days she's going to share something she's thankful for. I'd love to be able to do the same thing. Look at every day with the realization that I do have something to be thankful for.
Even when it rains. Even when my suitemates pick on me. Even when my computer refuses to cooperate.
I still can be thankful. I can still tell someone I am thankful for their influence in my life. Thankful for their love. Their smile. Their encouraging word.
I can tell Christ I am thankful for His sacrifice. Thankful for His love. Thankful for His controlling, disciplining hand.
I wasn't going to post about being thankful. After all, it's Thanksgiving. That's kind of the cliche thing to do, right? Wrong. It's something we need to do more often than we do. Not just on the fourth Thursday of November. Be thankful around the year.
Cyber friends, I am thankful for you.
<>< Katie
Saturday, November 20, 2010
A Beer with the Boys
The weekend before Thanksgiving has always been reserved for deer hunting. My dad would go up to my grandparents' house, kickback, relax, and hunt. Long before any sane person would even consider leaving the depths of their plush, warm bed, Dad and Boppy would be donning their layers and blaze orange to head into the woods.
They always hoped for a nice layer of fresh snow as they hunted the same land year after year. The tree line and a corn field belonged to our goodfriends Herb and Arnie, two brothers in their 80s who lived independently in neighboring homes.
Sometime after the sun came up, our two men would trudge into Herb's kitchen where the fridge was full of Miller. Not because Herb drank beer but because Dad and Boppy drank beer. Arnie would come over and the four would sit around solving the world's problems.
As everyone grew older, hunting became harder and harder. The time in the woods was shorter and the time in Herb's kitchen longer. "Deer hunting" became a pretense for a good time with old friends. It has been years since we've had any venison.
The day I started college I got a phone call saying Arnie passed away. This was eight months after the contemplation of terminating life support, the planning of the funeral, and the Christmas Miracle. That year Dad and Boppy BYOB-ed it to Herb's room at the nursing home.
Herb passed away on New Year's Eve that same year. The only time I've ever been to the gravesite was when we almost froze to death in the sub-zero temperatures and wild winds ripping off the surrounding barren fields.
Even though the will brouhaha had not yet been settled, Dad and Boppy hunted Herb and Arnie's land that year. But it was too hard. Instead, they took a drive to the cemetery in the middle of nowhere. The one that only has two remaining plots, graciously given to my grandparents to use sometime in the distant future.
With the headstones protecting them from the wind, two grown men wearing blaze orange sat on a nice layer of snow to have a beer with the boys.
They always hoped for a nice layer of fresh snow as they hunted the same land year after year. The tree line and a corn field belonged to our goodfriends Herb and Arnie, two brothers in their 80s who lived independently in neighboring homes.
Sometime after the sun came up, our two men would trudge into Herb's kitchen where the fridge was full of Miller. Not because Herb drank beer but because Dad and Boppy drank beer. Arnie would come over and the four would sit around solving the world's problems.
As everyone grew older, hunting became harder and harder. The time in the woods was shorter and the time in Herb's kitchen longer. "Deer hunting" became a pretense for a good time with old friends. It has been years since we've had any venison.
The day I started college I got a phone call saying Arnie passed away. This was eight months after the contemplation of terminating life support, the planning of the funeral, and the Christmas Miracle. That year Dad and Boppy BYOB-ed it to Herb's room at the nursing home.
Herb passed away on New Year's Eve that same year. The only time I've ever been to the gravesite was when we almost froze to death in the sub-zero temperatures and wild winds ripping off the surrounding barren fields.
Even though the will brouhaha had not yet been settled, Dad and Boppy hunted Herb and Arnie's land that year. But it was too hard. Instead, they took a drive to the cemetery in the middle of nowhere. The one that only has two remaining plots, graciously given to my grandparents to use sometime in the distant future.
With the headstones protecting them from the wind, two grown men wearing blaze orange sat on a nice layer of snow to have a beer with the boys.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Green Beans on the Ceiling
Back in the day when my mom fed my sister green beans out of the jar, I learned some life lessons. Once, Mom accidentally dropped the jar, and green beans went everywhere. To my four-year-old self, this was fiasco. The ultimately BIG MESS! Mommy should have gone to time out.
But she didn't. She laughed. She laughed so hard we had to write a song/poem about it in order for Daddy to fully grasp the magnitude of the mess we (she) made.
But Mom wasn't mad. I panicked. Mom laughed. Sure, there was a huge mess to clean up but so what? It was almost as funny as the time Grandpa sneezed egg all over the wall.
In that moment, she taught me that messes are ok. She taught me to laugh at myself. She taught me sometimes things don't happen was we plan but that doesn't mean it's the end of the world.
And she did it all with a jar of green beans.
Learning to decorate with green beans,
<>< Katie
But she didn't. She laughed. She laughed so hard we had to write a song/poem about it in order for Daddy to fully grasp the magnitude of the mess we (she) made.
Green beans on the ceiling.There really were green beans everywhere. We found them splattered on the cabinets fifteen feet away. We found them on the nine-foot ceiling. I don't think we could have created such a massive green bean explosion if we had tried.
Green beans on the floor.
Green beans in the kitchen.
Green beans galore.
But Mom wasn't mad. I panicked. Mom laughed. Sure, there was a huge mess to clean up but so what? It was almost as funny as the time Grandpa sneezed egg all over the wall.
In that moment, she taught me that messes are ok. She taught me to laugh at myself. She taught me sometimes things don't happen was we plan but that doesn't mean it's the end of the world.
And she did it all with a jar of green beans.
Learning to decorate with green beans,
<>< Katie
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The Birthday Bash
My extended family of thirteen took our annual birthday celebration on the road to a cabin in a world where pine trees are planted in perfect rows, motels pride themselves on having cable tv and air conditioning, and the nearest town had a high school but no grocery store. I've written two blog posts about our journey but both left me with a "Who cares?" feeling. So I'm going to try something a little different. Let me know if you like it or not.
<>< Katie
(Most photo credits belong to Laura but some are mine and some Mom's)
One day we went tubing and kayaking down the river. We were expecting a two-hour adventure, but it really took upwards of four. The beer cooler got its own tube, but we forgot to pack food. I felt like a message in a bottle; except at one point I was being blown upstream rather than down.
We had four dogs with us. This is Holly, Queen of the World. I was less than thrilled when she decided I needed a wake-up kiss on my nose at 8am...
Cassie, my family's dog, seems to think eating is optional. Before we left, my aunt looked up the nearest animal ER: twenty-one minutes away. She forgot to look up a people ER. We teased there we were so much in the middle of nowhere that there was no 911. That joke was a whole lot funnier before we had an incident when calling 911 would have been appropriate.
One uncle tried to make a pudgy pie with no spray and only one piece of bread. I'm glad I caught the novice... crisis adverted.
Dad: Breakfast is always good when it involves a hammer. Katie! Write that one down.
My uncle walked in one afternoon and found my male cousin painting my sister's toenails. My uncle laughed at my cousin. Personally, I think painting fingernails and braiding hair are two life-skills that boys should have. My uncle--who has a wife but no children--claimed he could braid hair, so I let him try. It took two tries before he got this in my head but gave up before he had to use a ponytail holder... hence the twisty stolen from the bread bag.
My favorite thing: fire
Laura's favorite thing: feet
(both sarcastic)
Grandpa: What do you guys have against feet? Feet are wonderful people!
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
One of my Favorite Stories
On August 2, 1989, Freddy arrived home from a work dinner to find his house empty. Nothing unusual. He called his in-laws who lived down the street. He says he knew the moment his father-in-law answered the phone.
His wife, Parah, didn't know. She was too busy running up and down the stairs trying to relieve the cramps caused by eating a whole bowl of green beans for dinner. After the stairs, she moved on to the stationary bike before resolving herself to the bathroom floor. She still had three weeks.
A few hours later, they were in the car on the way to the hospital. Freddy's eyes rotated between the road, the clock, and his screaming wife. Less than five minutes. As they drew nearer, he expressed his lifelong dream of being pulled over at that very moment. Through gritted teeth Parah told him to shut up and drive the car.
One stoplight away and an ambulance appeared on the horizon. Freddy didn't stop to think. He knew he had to get his wife to the hospital before that ambulance arrived. He ran the red light and threatened to park in the ambulance bay. He parked in the on-call physician spot instead.
Inside of the hospital a few floors up, their sister-in-law Sasha heard about Freddy and Parah's late-night arrival. She slowly meandered downstairs thinking she had plenty of time. Stopping at the nurse's station to talk to her friends, she was told about a patient in Room One mere minutes away from giving birth. Suddenly the pieces fell into place and she rushed into the room, almost missing the birth of her goddaughter.
She wasn't the only one who almost missed it. The doctor almost missed it, too. He arrived at the hospital and poked his head in Parah's room. "Do I have time to change my clothes?"
"If you hurry," the nurse said.
They teased he could have been there sooner if Freddy hadn't been parked in his spot. Luckily, the doctor did make it back in time to deliver a baby girl at 1:35am on August 3.
That was 21 years ago tonight. How do you think I should celebrate?
<>< Katie
His wife, Parah, didn't know. She was too busy running up and down the stairs trying to relieve the cramps caused by eating a whole bowl of green beans for dinner. After the stairs, she moved on to the stationary bike before resolving herself to the bathroom floor. She still had three weeks.
A few hours later, they were in the car on the way to the hospital. Freddy's eyes rotated between the road, the clock, and his screaming wife. Less than five minutes. As they drew nearer, he expressed his lifelong dream of being pulled over at that very moment. Through gritted teeth Parah told him to shut up and drive the car.
One stoplight away and an ambulance appeared on the horizon. Freddy didn't stop to think. He knew he had to get his wife to the hospital before that ambulance arrived. He ran the red light and threatened to park in the ambulance bay. He parked in the on-call physician spot instead.
Inside of the hospital a few floors up, their sister-in-law Sasha heard about Freddy and Parah's late-night arrival. She slowly meandered downstairs thinking she had plenty of time. Stopping at the nurse's station to talk to her friends, she was told about a patient in Room One mere minutes away from giving birth. Suddenly the pieces fell into place and she rushed into the room, almost missing the birth of her goddaughter.
She wasn't the only one who almost missed it. The doctor almost missed it, too. He arrived at the hospital and poked his head in Parah's room. "Do I have time to change my clothes?"
"If you hurry," the nurse said.
They teased he could have been there sooner if Freddy hadn't been parked in his spot. Luckily, the doctor did make it back in time to deliver a baby girl at 1:35am on August 3.
That was 21 years ago tonight. How do you think I should celebrate?
<>< Katie
Monday, June 7, 2010
Godspeed and Good Luck
"One Sunday afternoon in June, you'll walk across a stage and I'll hand you a diploma" the headmaster of our school told us for years. For me, that one Sunday afternoon in June came three years ago. For Laura, it was yesterday.
At my graduation, tears welled up in my eyes but not until I sat down, diploma in hand. I kept a smile, and they never leaked out, but my family in the front row knew exactly what was happening.
For Laura's graduation, the tears appeared as soon as I walked into the gym where I recognized the set and the colored lines on the floor underneath it all. Again, I kept a smile and the water in my eyes but it was like someone hit me upside the head with emotion all of the sudden.
We took our seats in the back row and I fought to regain my composure. Before this one, every graduation we have purchased front row tickets at an auction. This year, my parents were competing with the wealthiest family in our town. She owns a company that probably affects your everyday life. He owns a professional sports team. There was no possible way Dad was winning those tickets. Instead, we took our seats in the back. At first we were worried about photos, but then I pointed to the end of our row: Uncle Greg. Tucked safely under his arm was the expensive camera of this professional photographer. We'd have photos from Laura's one Sunday afternoon in June, that's for sure.
The ceremony began with the graduates lining the aisle to applaud the faculty as they progressed into the seats that faced the audience. The graduates double back and sit in front of the faculty. At the end of the ceremony, the faculty progress out first, lining the aisle to applaud the newest batch of alumni. It's a special moment and a powerful tradition.
A more powerful moment and special tradition is that parents who are on the board or staff of the school are given the opportunity to call their graduate's name. For Laura and I, this meant we received our high school diplomas directly from the hand of our father. For Dad, this means he writes our names on his hand, so he doesn't forget what he's going to say (and then hopes he doesn't sweat it off). A friend's father took a photo of me hugging my father on the stage. It's a photo I cherish. I tried to do the same for Laura and was successful, but it's less than perfect quality.
An equally important photo to me is one of me in my robe with all four of my grandparents standing beside me. Sure, Boppy's sticking out his tongue (he refuses smile for photos, isn't that right, Boppy?), and Grandma's looking the wrong direction. But it's still the five of us, healthy and happy. Even though it's been three years since that one Sunday afternoon in June, that's still my desktop photo on my computer. I was too busy talking to Brian (my favorite advisor) to know if Laura got that same photo, but even if she didn't: we're still some of the lucky ones. Lucky enough to have our parents still married. Lucky enough to have four living grandparents. Lucky enough to have our aunts, uncles, and cousins take time out of their busy schedules to sit through a two-hour graduation ceremony celebrating our achievement. Lucky and blessed beyond belief.
As I looked around at the rest of Laura's graduating class, I realized not everyone was so lucky. Some of them come from broken homes, incomplete homes. One of her classmates lost an older brother a few years ago. Two classmates who graduated from a different school, lost their older brother. The class as a whole hasn't been so lucky either. In eight grade, they lost one of their own to leukemia. Two years ago, a classmate committed suicide.
For some, one Sunday afternoon in June is a day that never comes. For some, it is an end, a goal achieved. For some, it is expected. Either way, it is a milestone and everyone who meets it deserves a pat on the back. A sad ending to the book of high school but a great beginning of the future. For Laura and I, that has meant a move to a small, out-of-state college. For others, it means something else. It is s time to be celebrated (but tears are expected). Godspeed and good luck.
Well done, graduates!
<>< Katie
PS: I kind of rambled today... sorry. Thanks for reading!
At my graduation, tears welled up in my eyes but not until I sat down, diploma in hand. I kept a smile, and they never leaked out, but my family in the front row knew exactly what was happening.
For Laura's graduation, the tears appeared as soon as I walked into the gym where I recognized the set and the colored lines on the floor underneath it all. Again, I kept a smile and the water in my eyes but it was like someone hit me upside the head with emotion all of the sudden.
We took our seats in the back row and I fought to regain my composure. Before this one, every graduation we have purchased front row tickets at an auction. This year, my parents were competing with the wealthiest family in our town. She owns a company that probably affects your everyday life. He owns a professional sports team. There was no possible way Dad was winning those tickets. Instead, we took our seats in the back. At first we were worried about photos, but then I pointed to the end of our row: Uncle Greg. Tucked safely under his arm was the expensive camera of this professional photographer. We'd have photos from Laura's one Sunday afternoon in June, that's for sure.
The ceremony began with the graduates lining the aisle to applaud the faculty as they progressed into the seats that faced the audience. The graduates double back and sit in front of the faculty. At the end of the ceremony, the faculty progress out first, lining the aisle to applaud the newest batch of alumni. It's a special moment and a powerful tradition.
A more powerful moment and special tradition is that parents who are on the board or staff of the school are given the opportunity to call their graduate's name. For Laura and I, this meant we received our high school diplomas directly from the hand of our father. For Dad, this means he writes our names on his hand, so he doesn't forget what he's going to say (and then hopes he doesn't sweat it off). A friend's father took a photo of me hugging my father on the stage. It's a photo I cherish. I tried to do the same for Laura and was successful, but it's less than perfect quality.
An equally important photo to me is one of me in my robe with all four of my grandparents standing beside me. Sure, Boppy's sticking out his tongue (he refuses smile for photos, isn't that right, Boppy?), and Grandma's looking the wrong direction. But it's still the five of us, healthy and happy. Even though it's been three years since that one Sunday afternoon in June, that's still my desktop photo on my computer. I was too busy talking to Brian (my favorite advisor) to know if Laura got that same photo, but even if she didn't: we're still some of the lucky ones. Lucky enough to have our parents still married. Lucky enough to have four living grandparents. Lucky enough to have our aunts, uncles, and cousins take time out of their busy schedules to sit through a two-hour graduation ceremony celebrating our achievement. Lucky and blessed beyond belief.
As I looked around at the rest of Laura's graduating class, I realized not everyone was so lucky. Some of them come from broken homes, incomplete homes. One of her classmates lost an older brother a few years ago. Two classmates who graduated from a different school, lost their older brother. The class as a whole hasn't been so lucky either. In eight grade, they lost one of their own to leukemia. Two years ago, a classmate committed suicide.
For some, one Sunday afternoon in June is a day that never comes. For some, it is an end, a goal achieved. For some, it is expected. Either way, it is a milestone and everyone who meets it deserves a pat on the back. A sad ending to the book of high school but a great beginning of the future. For Laura and I, that has meant a move to a small, out-of-state college. For others, it means something else. It is s time to be celebrated (but tears are expected). Godspeed and good luck.
Well done, graduates!
<>< Katie
PS: I kind of rambled today... sorry. Thanks for reading!
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Jenny the Cow
First off, Hannah hates me because I didn't blog yesterday AND I cut in front of her in the snacks line last night. Sorry, girl, I just needed some chocolate. Will you forgive me? Can I be un-voted off of the island and back into Amber's car?
Anyway.
I've been cranky, irritable, and frustrated this week. I'm sore from ice skating on Saturday; it baffles me the number of people that have never skated on a natural body of water. Irony is that the first time all winter when my hands have actually been warm was while I was ice skating. I'm sick of being freezing cold; maintenance can't fix my air conditioner but the room temperature has peaked at 63, so they gave me a space heater. Oh, and if you are one of those brave souls who gave up chocolate for Lent and suddenly have this overwhelming desire to remove this temptation from your life, I am willing to take one for the team and will not object your sending it to me. :-)
For these reasons, I feel the need to write a blog that will make me smile. We all have those stories that have influenced our life. Perhaps we aren't even characters in the story but it still merits regular retellings. This is one of those for me because it was a classic bedtime story while my sisters and I were growing up. Of course, some creative liberties have been taken through the years but the basis of the story is true. Without further ado, and I'm pretty good at ado-ing, this is "Jenny the Cow" as told to me by my father.
<>< Katie
I was in class just like any other day. The teacher was talking about something, but I don’t remember what since I wasn’t listening anyway. All of the sudden there was a strong rap on the door. The teacher answered to a police officer who asked if I was in that class. Now, I’m not a perfect little angel; I get into my share of trouble but nothing bad enough for the cops to be involved. Plus, I had no idea what I’d done. Silently I followed the officer towards the front door of the school.
Am I being arrested? What the heck? I wondered to myself.
As we crossed over the threshold and into the parking lot, I realized the cause of the commotion. Standing in the middle of the school yard stood my cow, Jenny. Yes, I think Jenny wanted to try out for the soccer team. How did she get here? What was she doing here? Why was she here? I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, but I didn't have time to figure them out either.
Standing a few feet from my beloved Jenny was a police office poised to shoot. I panicked. How do you prevent an officer from shooting your cow without getting shot yourself? I had no idea.
"Don't shoot!" I heard a distant wailing. I looked up towards my house and saw my mother running down the hill flailing her arms. "Momma's here, Jenny, come to Momma."
I was mortified. Surely the entire school was watching from the window. I think a stray cow in the middle of the soccer field warrants a break from useless math. In case having my cow visit school wasn't bad enough, my over-weight screaming mother was not helping the situation. The officer's arms were still extended, finger on the trigger.
"Don't shoot! I'll get her to move! Don't shoot! Jenny, come to Momma, Jenny. Momma's here. Come to Momma, Jenny," my mother's cries continued. I don't understand why she can't sound a bit more grown up, even if she is just talking to the cow. For a brief moment, I almost wished I was back in class, bored to death.
Mom drew nearer to us, the police officer failed to lower his gun, and Jenny refused to move. He wouldn't really shoot Jenny, would he? He can't shoot her, can he?
I didn't know. All I really knew was that my mother was running out of ideas and the cop was growing impatient. In the distance, I could see a yellow truck approaching our brouhaha. Instantly, I recognized it as my dad's. How many people do you know with a big yellow trucks? On second thought, how many people do you know with cows at school? Pa pulled over to the side of the road and barely shifted the truck into park before he hopped out of the cab. The focus shifted from Jenny to Dad.
"Jenny, there's Dada, go to Dada," Mom whined.
Much to our surprise, Jenny did run to Pa. The officer lowered his gun, my mom stopped screaming, and I breathed a sigh of relief. On to our next problem: how are we going to get Jenny home? Luckily, Pa already had that all figured out. He opened the tailgate and Jenny hopped into the truck bed. He drove Mom and Jenny home. Sadly, I was sent back to class.
Anyway.
I've been cranky, irritable, and frustrated this week. I'm sore from ice skating on Saturday; it baffles me the number of people that have never skated on a natural body of water. Irony is that the first time all winter when my hands have actually been warm was while I was ice skating. I'm sick of being freezing cold; maintenance can't fix my air conditioner but the room temperature has peaked at 63, so they gave me a space heater. Oh, and if you are one of those brave souls who gave up chocolate for Lent and suddenly have this overwhelming desire to remove this temptation from your life, I am willing to take one for the team and will not object your sending it to me. :-)
For these reasons, I feel the need to write a blog that will make me smile. We all have those stories that have influenced our life. Perhaps we aren't even characters in the story but it still merits regular retellings. This is one of those for me because it was a classic bedtime story while my sisters and I were growing up. Of course, some creative liberties have been taken through the years but the basis of the story is true. Without further ado, and I'm pretty good at ado-ing, this is "Jenny the Cow" as told to me by my father.
<>< Katie
I was in class just like any other day. The teacher was talking about something, but I don’t remember what since I wasn’t listening anyway. All of the sudden there was a strong rap on the door. The teacher answered to a police officer who asked if I was in that class. Now, I’m not a perfect little angel; I get into my share of trouble but nothing bad enough for the cops to be involved. Plus, I had no idea what I’d done. Silently I followed the officer towards the front door of the school.
Am I being arrested? What the heck? I wondered to myself.
As we crossed over the threshold and into the parking lot, I realized the cause of the commotion. Standing in the middle of the school yard stood my cow, Jenny. Yes, I think Jenny wanted to try out for the soccer team. How did she get here? What was she doing here? Why was she here? I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, but I didn't have time to figure them out either.
Standing a few feet from my beloved Jenny was a police office poised to shoot. I panicked. How do you prevent an officer from shooting your cow without getting shot yourself? I had no idea.
"Don't shoot!" I heard a distant wailing. I looked up towards my house and saw my mother running down the hill flailing her arms. "Momma's here, Jenny, come to Momma."
I was mortified. Surely the entire school was watching from the window. I think a stray cow in the middle of the soccer field warrants a break from useless math. In case having my cow visit school wasn't bad enough, my over-weight screaming mother was not helping the situation. The officer's arms were still extended, finger on the trigger.
"Don't shoot! I'll get her to move! Don't shoot! Jenny, come to Momma, Jenny. Momma's here. Come to Momma, Jenny," my mother's cries continued. I don't understand why she can't sound a bit more grown up, even if she is just talking to the cow. For a brief moment, I almost wished I was back in class, bored to death.
Mom drew nearer to us, the police officer failed to lower his gun, and Jenny refused to move. He wouldn't really shoot Jenny, would he? He can't shoot her, can he?
I didn't know. All I really knew was that my mother was running out of ideas and the cop was growing impatient. In the distance, I could see a yellow truck approaching our brouhaha. Instantly, I recognized it as my dad's. How many people do you know with a big yellow trucks? On second thought, how many people do you know with cows at school? Pa pulled over to the side of the road and barely shifted the truck into park before he hopped out of the cab. The focus shifted from Jenny to Dad.
"Jenny, there's Dada, go to Dada," Mom whined.
Much to our surprise, Jenny did run to Pa. The officer lowered his gun, my mom stopped screaming, and I breathed a sigh of relief. On to our next problem: how are we going to get Jenny home? Luckily, Pa already had that all figured out. He opened the tailgate and Jenny hopped into the truck bed. He drove Mom and Jenny home. Sadly, I was sent back to class.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Part I: Story Telling
This is Part I of a two-part blog series. Part II will be posted tomorrow.
"How many of you like to tell stories?" A professor asked one morning. Every hand in the room shot up. Of course, this is a creative writing class.
"How many of you like to hear stories?" Again, every hand went up.
"How many of you like to hear your parents or grandparents tell stories?" A bit hesitantly, the hands raised themselves into the air.
"Only the first time," Chelsea whispered to me. A little bit of laughter erupted from our side of the classroom. She'd voiced my exact thoughts. Only once do I really need to hear about how you walked to school everyday through the snow. Yes, I realize it was up-hill both ways.
However, there are some stories I don't mind hearing over and over again. Toddler Dad being brought home by the school girls because he had lost his clothes somewhere in the neighborhood (I like to think this was a recurring story and therefore truly happened as often as Dad tells it). Or how Mom's boyfriend took a flip off of the roof into a snowbank and a passer-by thought it was Grandpa.
I am blessed to have four grandparents and two parents, all healthy. Unfortunately, they're 900 miles away not telling me stories as we sit around and chat. Sometimes I miss that. Somedays I miss dinner being interrupted by a "Hey, did I ever tell you about the time our family cow followed me to school?" Yes, you have, only every day since I was old enough to remember but please tell it again!
As a writer, you never know when these stories are going to come in handy. Maybe they're the substance you need for a good poem, a great situation to plug into your novel, an amusing blog post, or even something to write about when you're suffering from writer's block. Recording and rewriting these stories in your Writer's Notebook is an excellent exercise.
What's a Writer's Notebook? That's tomorrow. See you then!
Go write about your family's classics,
<>< Katie
"How many of you like to tell stories?" A professor asked one morning. Every hand in the room shot up. Of course, this is a creative writing class.
"How many of you like to hear stories?" Again, every hand went up.
"How many of you like to hear your parents or grandparents tell stories?" A bit hesitantly, the hands raised themselves into the air.
"Only the first time," Chelsea whispered to me. A little bit of laughter erupted from our side of the classroom. She'd voiced my exact thoughts. Only once do I really need to hear about how you walked to school everyday through the snow. Yes, I realize it was up-hill both ways.
However, there are some stories I don't mind hearing over and over again. Toddler Dad being brought home by the school girls because he had lost his clothes somewhere in the neighborhood (I like to think this was a recurring story and therefore truly happened as often as Dad tells it). Or how Mom's boyfriend took a flip off of the roof into a snowbank and a passer-by thought it was Grandpa.
I am blessed to have four grandparents and two parents, all healthy. Unfortunately, they're 900 miles away not telling me stories as we sit around and chat. Sometimes I miss that. Somedays I miss dinner being interrupted by a "Hey, did I ever tell you about the time our family cow followed me to school?" Yes, you have, only every day since I was old enough to remember but please tell it again!
As a writer, you never know when these stories are going to come in handy. Maybe they're the substance you need for a good poem, a great situation to plug into your novel, an amusing blog post, or even something to write about when you're suffering from writer's block. Recording and rewriting these stories in your Writer's Notebook is an excellent exercise.
What's a Writer's Notebook? That's tomorrow. See you then!
Go write about your family's classics,
<>< Katie
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Broken Glass
"You cannot say you've never had the urge to throw a glass against a fireplace," my family said, almost in unison, as all eyes fell on my aunt.
I thought for a second about the question.
Honestly, no. I haven't ever had the urge to throw a glass against a fireplace much less the lack of self control to act on such an impulse. Sure, I've wanted to throw people against walls and sometimes I've thrown other things but never a glass. It'll break.
"You're never so frustrated you just need to break something?" The family continued.
Sure but not glass. Perhaps it's because my mother spent most of my childhood walking behind me, "Don't touch broken glass. Don't walk in the street barefoot just in case there's broken glass. Leave the broken glass alone. You don't want to cut yourself." Grandma has the scar to prove broken glass isn't something I want to be playing with.
"Yes," my aunt confessed. She once threw a glass against the wall out of frustration, "But then I was even more mad because I had a big mess to clean up!" Broken glass is pretty common at her house. When she and my uncle buy wine glasses they always buy two and without fail one is broken on the first use. We tease at her house no one needs individual charms to identify wine glasses everyone just gets an unique glass because no two glasses are the same.
Everyone else concluded the mess isn't a problem for them. Cleaning it up helps relieve the frustration (until they cut themselves and then they're re-living the frustration, I'm sure).
"Dad throws glasses against the fireplace all of the time," Grandma said.
"Once... MAYBE twice," Grandpa defended himself. This made everyone laugh remembering a similar conversation a few years ago. When my mom and her siblings were growing up my grandpa sneezed egg all over the wall. According to my aunt, this was a weekly occurrence. My mom realizes not quite weekly but quite often. Grandpa, on the other hand, swears it only happened once. Just like he only threw the glass against the wall once.
<>< Katie
I thought for a second about the question.
Honestly, no. I haven't ever had the urge to throw a glass against a fireplace much less the lack of self control to act on such an impulse. Sure, I've wanted to throw people against walls and sometimes I've thrown other things but never a glass. It'll break.
"You're never so frustrated you just need to break something?" The family continued.
Sure but not glass. Perhaps it's because my mother spent most of my childhood walking behind me, "Don't touch broken glass. Don't walk in the street barefoot just in case there's broken glass. Leave the broken glass alone. You don't want to cut yourself." Grandma has the scar to prove broken glass isn't something I want to be playing with.
"Yes," my aunt confessed. She once threw a glass against the wall out of frustration, "But then I was even more mad because I had a big mess to clean up!" Broken glass is pretty common at her house. When she and my uncle buy wine glasses they always buy two and without fail one is broken on the first use. We tease at her house no one needs individual charms to identify wine glasses everyone just gets an unique glass because no two glasses are the same.
Everyone else concluded the mess isn't a problem for them. Cleaning it up helps relieve the frustration (until they cut themselves and then they're re-living the frustration, I'm sure).
"Dad throws glasses against the fireplace all of the time," Grandma said.
"Once... MAYBE twice," Grandpa defended himself. This made everyone laugh remembering a similar conversation a few years ago. When my mom and her siblings were growing up my grandpa sneezed egg all over the wall. According to my aunt, this was a weekly occurrence. My mom realizes not quite weekly but quite often. Grandpa, on the other hand, swears it only happened once. Just like he only threw the glass against the wall once.
<>< Katie
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