Kathleen Fisher

The Knitter

The busloads of people from Crazy Town have been pulling into the shopping district every day since Thanksgiving and they haven’t been taking their meds.

Since I need this job I can’t tell you the best stories, but there was a customer in this week that can’t wear turtlenecks because she’s a Taurus.

True story.

Twelve. More. Days.

Today we had a return customer. I helped her last month when she came in to buy some yarn for a scarf she is making for her mom. She is all of about fourteen and came in her school uniform with a backpack bigger than she was. She needed to look at some of the other colors. When she’s done with her Mom’s gift she’s making something for herself, but right now she is under pressure.

Her dad paid for the yarn. If she doesn’t finish this gift (“because I’m known not to finish things”) she has to pay her dad back. She taught herself how to knit by watching youtube videos. She loves our yarn but she’s getting a new bike for Christmas so there won’t be much else under the tree. Maybe, she said, her Grandma would come in and get her a couple of skeins. “Okay, thanks for letting me look. I’ve got to go home and do my homework so I can knit tonight.”

My trampled spirit was restored by my new little friend. Pure of heart. Pure gold.

The Office Party

Over past years, The Big Daddy’s occupation has required us to go to many Christmas parties. While it may have been fun at the beginning of the month, by the end of the month staying home and watching “It’s A Wonderful Life” began to seem far more appealing than getting dressed up again and making small talk.

Except for the big party at the hotel in town where there was a small fire at our table.

I’m not naming names.

George.

This occupation of The BD lives and breathes on the ability to get grants, and one’s success and self-esteem hinges on the dollars you bring in. When you hit the jackpot (which has gotten ever so unlikely over the years), it’s like winning the Heisman Trophy. We had a string of years where try as he might Mark could not get funding, and it was painful at times to be at some of these parties with others who were having far more success while we struggled with a mediocre base salary and a lab on the verge of shutting down.

It is the nature of the business.

Every request for research money is a crapshoot at best. Years of work and months of writing a grant mailed on a wing and a prayer, can be shot down in a heartbeat and rejection is never easy to get used to, although everybody in his field gets rejected. A lot.

From the perspective of a spouse watching this all these years, it remains a frequent stress. Will he manage to hang on? Will we be able to send the kids to college? What will happen if he doesn’t get the next grant, however small it may be?

I am a bystander in this Worry Department, but the people he works with every day, regardless of research dollars, are all rowing the same boat. Hanging on and still committed to finding cures for Parkinson’s, diabetes, Lou Gehrig’s disease, MS, cancer, AIDS, kidney disease, Lyme disease, Alzheimer’s……………..

They care so very much about what they do and about each other. The number of parties has been scaled back these last few years and that’s o.k., but there are no other people I’d rather haul out my little black party dress for than the biochemistry department.

Lurking

Awhile into working at our new location, it was brought to the attention of the staff that we had a rodent in the basement. What specifically would you mean by this? You know, a rodent. Would you say the rodent was big? Perhaps. Mouse big or rat big? Probably the latter.

That was the last time I worked at that location that I wasn’t scared to death. I have taken to wearing boots when I’m there and when I have to get something from the basement I clomp really loud down the stairs and say, I’M GOING DOWN TO THE BASEMENT TO LOOK FOR A TURTLENECK. HERE I COME. LOOKY HERE. I’M ALMOST ALL THE WAY DOWN.

This is to notify the rat that he should probably hide (and not by the turtlenecks) so as not to give me a heart attack

This strategy has worked except for the time I was eating lunch (with my feet up) and thought I saw something black from the corner of my eye. I scrambled to safety due to my high alert status but the blackness followed me.

Because it was my hair.

Though an exterminator was called and there hasn’t been a speck of evidence of any problem since then, I cannot relax when I’m in that basement. Can’t stop wearing boots. Can’t stop shouting like I’m FDR making a speech from the back of a train.

Last week I was driving home from work and a raccoon ran across the front of the car. He was coming from the golf course and I thanked my lucky stars we were too poor to live in that part of town.

Two days later I was driving down the same street and saw a mountain lion. A. Mountain. Lion. I came home breathless and shaky and told The Big Daddy to lock the doors. They. Are. Coming. For. Us.

He said what I expected him to say on my nature observation………You did not see a mountain lion. It was probably a big cat.

Don’t you think I know the difference between a cat and a mountain lion?

No, I don’t. Not at all.

I knew you were going to say that. That was no “big cat”. It was big, spotted, fast. A mountain lion.

Impossible.

True story so help me God.

We live in Kansas. You cannot have mountain lions when you have no mountains.

Oh yeah. There’s that.

An internet search determined that what I saw was a bobcat. A bobcat just two miles from home and IT SURE WILL BE HARD WEARING BOOTS DAY AND NIGHT BUT ONE MUST BE READY WHEN THE OUTSIDERS COME KNOCKING.

The Hofmeister Ham

This is a repeat from last year and a reminder to my dear brother.

Many years ago, my brother stopped by my mom’s house, popped open the trunk of his car and pleaded with us to take a ham. Take two, he said, I’ve got to get rid of these things. He is a salesman and his company gives a Hofmeister Ham to its best customers during the Christmas season. He had a serious overstock issue.

I took one, put it in a cooler and drove it back to Kansas. We stuck it in the fridge until Easter and IT WAS THE BOMB. Everybody raved about the Hofmeister. I entertain a lot of people at Easter. A ~~free~~ good ham is essential to my dinner being a success. And to people liking me. Really, really liking me.

Now I make it my business to get in touch with my brother in early December. Hey, how you doing? How’s Sharon? The kids? Good, good. Work? Good. Yeah, well, since you brought up work, how ’bout securing me one of those hams?

Last year in exchange for a Hofmeister, I offered him a mint condition, collectible Scottish snowman in golf attire. What could be more perfect for a guy who loves golf? He emailed me back. “Nice job trading crap from your basement. You sure know how to make a guy feel special…..like-wearing-a-helmet-short-bus-special.” Always the short bus jokes with the brother even when you’re both old enough to qualify for AARP. I told him he’s always been my my special boy and to go easy with the tinsel on his helmet this Christmas so things didn’t short out upstairs. If you know what I mean.

From there, the email got sent to my sister and all of his kids. It was a hamstorm of activity….like chimps at the zoo flinging crap at one another. There were accusations of me being cheap, regifting and of him only hearing from me during Ham Season. I was offended. I remained mature and generous (me Scotty Snowman was still on the table), but I really wanted a Hamosaurus for Christmas.

No crocodile.

Sure enough, The Man In Brown shows up one day and I could hear the choir of angels singing as he walked up the drive. The shepherds watched over their flocks, the people who walked in darkness had seen a great light, and unto us a Child was born.

Oh, and The Mighty Holiday Hofmeister in refrigerated packaging was sitting on my doorstep like the best damn gift ever.

Hit it angels………………

Making Merry: The Ornaments

Last fall I was in my favorite thrift store when my cell phone rang. It was my cousin and he wanted to know if I wanted something of his. He had offered it to my sisters and sister-in-law and they all turned him down and said to call me.

His wife had died the year before and he didn’t think he’d ever put up much in the way of Christmas decorations. That was her thing not his and if I was interested in some of their stuff he’d save it for me.

I was.

Just before New Year’s we went to his house and he started hauling out boxes. Plenty of it was stuff I didn’t need and we put that in a pile to donate. Then he showed me boxes of ornaments. Glass vintage ornaments and oh, pitter-pat. Some were ones they bought years ago and some were his mom’s.

Belle? These were Belle’s? As in Mallory Belle.

One in the same.

After nearly a year in my basement I brought them out, and there were so many of them I couldn’t put them all on the tree. I have never have loved decorating the tree part of Christmas, but this year was different thanks to my new old ornaments.

I was finishing up and had two vacuum cleaners out and the slipcovers in the wash. In the middle of my very big mess my friend came over to return the chairs she borrowed for Thanksgiving and I told her about Belle and Carol’s ornaments.

She stood next to me admiring the tree and said, “Oh my goodness, you know they’re right here. I can feel them.”

Yes, I know.

What a perfect way to start the season

Making Merry: The Lights

It has been our experience that maybe the Chinese are trying to break us, drive us to Crazy Town, send us over the edge. It’s those lights. Those bloody #%&*@#% Christmas lights.

Last year, half the tree went out less than a week into the season. This year I started with three strands. They all worked. I sent The Big Daddy to the hardware store for another set.

They worked. I unplugged them. I plugged them back in and there was one little bitty one that wasn’t lit. The Big Daddy said that’s o.k. Just one is o.k. That’s how they work now. If one goes out it doesn’t take them all out.

No. No. Let me just pull this one out and put it back in.

No, don’t, said The Big Daddy. Just leave it alone.

I couldn’t leave it alone and that is how half the strand went dark and The Big Daddy bellowed, “WHY CAN’T YOU EVER LEAVE THE LIGHTS ALONE WOMAN??????!!!!”

Because I can’t.

Maggie and Nate showed up for the ~~fun~~ shitstorm and grabbed the camera. Here’s me acting like I know how to fix the lights. I am cursing.

Here’s The Big Daddy checking out the situation. He is cursing.

And here he is after he got them working again.

Made in China lights versus The Gun Show? Smackdown.

Making Merry: The Tree

The Big Daddy and I have been going back and forth about a tree. Real or fake? Actually, I’m the one going back and forth. He doesn’t participate in my anxiety-filled decisions as they are frequent. And quite meaningless.

After shopping around for a fake one I made a last try at The Hob Lob. I found a skinny, flocked frasier fir that was pre-lit. Marked half price at $199.00 and it was the perfect fit for my little living room. I stared and stared at it but couldn’t bring myself to pay that much money for a fake tree. A fake tree made in China.

The decision was made.

On Friday night we decided to go to the local hardware store’s tree lot which is where I fell in love with the tree salesman. He was bustling around by himself when we showed up and started talking to him. He was about our age or a little older and has been working there since August. Moving all those mums and pumpkins and now trees these past few months and he’s lost fifteen pounds.

We picked our tree out and he cut the bottom of the trunk and down below were all these little wood tree circles and I asked if I could have a few for something I want to make. “Well, heck, you can have ’em all,” he said. I was going to have a couple feet of garland cut and he scrounged a couple of branches on the ground and threw those in so I wouldn’t have to buy any garland. “You folks are the recycling type, aren’t ya?” Why yes we are.

I went inside for something and when I came out he and Mark were having a deep discussion about composting. Come here after dark and you can raid the dumpster for all the compost you need, he told us. Then he wished us a merry everything and said we made his night a little more fun.

When I was a little girl, my dad would sometimes take me to the hardware store on Saturday mornings and I would hold the brown paper bag while he counted nails and dropped them in. Don’t mix ’em up, Kate. We’ve got to keep them straight. We’d carry them up to the front to pay, walking along the creaky wood floor and one of the employees would always say to my dad, “Looks like you brought a little helper along today.” Yep, Dad would say and she’s a good one.

Guys who work in hardware stores……..a crush that goes way back.

The Second Act

The other day at work, a woman came in and bought a pair of jeans. They were a very hip, skinny jean treated with a sparkly taupe color. Of all the things there were to choose from that is the last thing I thought she’d buy, but she had plans for those jeans and a New Year’s Eve party.

She was 91.

Last week our local paper had a story about a woman who was a customer where I used to work. In a conversation I had with her I found out she volunteered in the inner city. The program is called The Front Porch Alliance and Betty is one of a group of people who developed and has fostered a partnership with the residents of this low income area. They provide tutors for school-age kids, home repairs, fitness and gardening classes as well as counseling on finances – particularly payday loans that target these neighborhoods. She has been a fixture there for years.

Betty is a grandmother many times over.

Today’s paper had a story on SueEllen Fried. Ms Fried has made it her life’s work to educate kids about bullying. She is a rock star in this area and if you ever heard her speak (like I did several years ago) you would not forget her message. Empathy, kids, you’ve got it. Use it, stand up for each other. Don’t let one kid attack another and do nothing. You are not helpless. You have a voice. Besides working in schools, she started another program in prisons. Nearly every person behind bars has been a victim of physical, verbal and/or sexual abuse. The anger that rages from them has everything to do with these unaddressed issues. This program teaches them how to recognize and address those feelings so that they don’t resort to violence. Inmates who have attended 60+ hours of this program have a recidivism rate of 8%.

SueEllen is 80.

Earlier this month when Nancy Pelosi was introducing dozens of new congresswoman, Luke Russert asked her to address concerns that she was too old to be the minority leader again and that perhaps it was time she stepped aside for someone younger.

The woman who is the same age as Harry Reid and two years older than Mitch McConnell could barely hide her disdain………for the kid with the last name that opened the reporter door was painfully ignorant of how confident women become when their first career was raising people.

Reserved Parking Only

This is a repeat from last year……….probably one of my favorites because sadly, it is an accurate description of immaturity.

I may have mentioned a time or twenty that The Big Daddy and I are from the Chicago area. As you know, they get some mighty wintry winters. What you may not know is that if you are a Chicagoan, and you shovel a space for your car, say in front of your house, and say you set up some 2 x 4s propped on some webbed lawn chairs, say in January, it means that you have reserved that area and are the rightful owner. The law may say that it is public property, but street law says it belongs to the shoveler. Messing with it and thinking you can park in a space you did not clear could get you one of those 2 x 4s upside the head.

When all three kids were really little, there was a new store opening in town called HQ. It was like Home Depot, but more designery. The Big Daddy offered it up for the team and agreed to take the kids and I there for a fun family outing on opening weekend with thousands of other people. We circled the lot forever and finally found someone who was leaving. The BD turned his blinker on and we patiently waited for them to pull out. As they did, another driver whipped around the corner and beat us to the spot. “SON OF A BITCH”, The Big Daddy yelled. “DID YOU SEE WHAT THAT BASTARD JUST DID?” Oh my God, he stole his space. With his blinker on. He totally ignored Blinker Etiquette. This was Parking Space War and we waited patiently for the thief to get out of his car so we could lay down some ef bombs.

With three young children in the backseat.

After a few minutes and off in the distance we could hear sirens and The Little Boy Child said, “That’s the police. They’re coming to get that guy and they’re going to poke both his eyes out until they bleed and put him in jail for taking our space.”

I’d like to thank the Academy on behalf of The Big Daddy and I for naming us Parents of the Year. Again.

A few years later, with the three kids in the car, I was meeting a friend at a festive holiday shopping center for lunch. We were running late, the parking lot was jammed and I was circling and circling until I finally found a space near the door. I got all the kids out and an older couple stopped and said, “Didn’t you see the sign? It says compact cars only.” Well, no, I didn’t see the sign and there was my minivan and geez, it wasn’t even a tight fit. Kids, I said, we’re just gonna leave it there. The Teacher Girl was in a Mother Theresa phase and said, “No, Mom, you can’t. We’ll get in trouble for not following the rules.” Oh, for God’s sake. I put all the kids back in the car and looked for a regular space. A minivan space. Which is how I scraped the entire driver’s side when I pulled in too close to a concrete pole.

We got into the shopping center and I was so rattled and stressed that I needed a drink or three. Instead I sat with my friend and six kids with a paper engineer hat on my head waiting for my burger and fries to be delivered by a choo choo train. That I thought about punching. I told her about my mishap with the pole and my encounter with the Parking Lot PoPo.

When we were leaving, I happened to spot Deputy Fife and The Mrs. and stopped them for “a moment of their time.” That’s when I told them that when I moved my car the entire side was hit and maybe they should mind their own beeswax when it comes to people parking their car. I did leave out the fact that it was me pulling in too close to a pole that caused this crime against my car because I like to blame other people when I mess up. “Oh my, oh dear,” the Mrs. said, “Are the children o.k.?”

What are you talking about lady??? What children??? Oh, ya mean those three watching Mom get her crazy on.

As we enter the hap-happiest time of the year, it’s all about parking, parking lots, parking etiquette. For The Big Daddy and I, it means working hard to suppress that Chicago thing that’s in our DNA. Oh, but our hearts sure would be glowing with holiday greetings if only we could bring our lawn chairs and 2 x 4s to those gay happy meetings at the mall.

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Source: google.com via Mady on Pinterest

The Late Shift

For the holidays, the store is now open until 9:00. That would be p.m. when I am usually in my p.j.s.

Jude and I worked the late shift together on Monday. During those evening hours, we had about six people come in the door. One was drunk.

We straightened and dusted, refolded, checked the emails, spritzed the greenery, had some tea and talked.

Did I tell you about the pie I made for Thanksgiving? Apple, wasn’t it? Yeah you told me.

Should I get a real tree or fake this year? I thought you were doing fake.

Oh yeah.

I think I might get this sweater. I thought you decided not to.

Oh yeah.

Have you seen Lincoln yet? No.

What do you think Hilary Clinton is going to do next? I don’t know.

Did you see both episodes of The Dust Bowl or just the first part? Both.

I think I’d have gone mad with all that dust. Yeah, you said that the other day.

Did you see that video of the dog and baby talking to each other? No.

I can’t decide if I like Real Simple Magazine? Sometimes they have good recipes.

I know but all that organizing drives me nuts. Yeah.

Is Modern Family going to be new this week? I don’t watch that.

You should. It’s really funny. I know. I forget.

Did you ever wear tights that you have to yank up about every thirty seconds? Yes.

I think they’re making me insane. Yes.

A mere two days later and Jude and I will be working together again tonight. Not a single thing has happened to me since then so I think I’ll tell her the story about the time Jimmy Castelnuovo tripped me in Sister Morrison’s 4th grade class.

I’m pretty sure he did it to see my underpants. I’m pretty sure she’ll find it fascinating.