Author: Kathleen Fisher

Kathleen Fisher is a Chicago girl at heart though she moved from there many years ago when a handsome scientist swept her off her feet. What started as a light-hearted blog about life, marriage, and kids turned more serious in September of 2018 when her husband of 35 years ended his life. A new journey began that day and she now writes about unexpected loss, grief, and finding a path towards healing.

Drip Drip Drip

When the weather gets nice, we live on our screened-in porch.  It’s all kinds of cute and homey and summery.  And the best place to have a gin and tonic.  It is also so much work to keep clean and maintained that I sometimes curse it.  When we had it rescreened many years ago, I wanted it painted white.  Between primer and paint, it took THIRTEEN gallons.  If you saw it’s teeny size, you would think I’m lying, but that raw wood sucked up that primer, spit it out and said “more please.”

A couple of years ago, we noticed the paint on the ceiling kept peeling in the same spot, and we would scrape it and patch the paint job.  Then we noticed it was wet.  Then we said screw it.  We own this porch, it doesn’t own us.  By the end of last summer, chunks of paint would fall down, and if you sat in the corner it wouldn’t have been a bad idea to put a hardhat on.

This called for action.  Ya think?

Back in the day, The Big Daddy was a roofer, and considers himself to be an expert at finding leaks.  After many trips up to the roof, he couldn’t find where the water was coming in and said, “It’s the goddamn shingles on the house.  The water has to be getting in underneath the shingles.”  He took me outside to show me the goddamn shingles and pointed out the goddamn gutters, too.  Home ownership sometimes always wears on his last nerve.

I called a repairman who found a hole in the corner of the roof about the size of the tip of your finger, and with some checking and double checking to make sure, he put some caulk in it and we should have no more problems.  Total cost $50.00.  I was so happy we got off that cheap that I TOLD EVERYONE, and in the telling The Big Daddy would huff and puff about this leak that eluded him.

When The Leak Hunter came back for the fix, The Big Daddy kept him company.  He told BD that he’s been doing this for eight years, that leaks are a very tricky business, and he once found the source of one 200 feet from where the ceiling stain was.   Wow.  I guess.

The Big Daddy took a liking to that repairman, for in the midst of fixing this troublesome roof of ours, he restored his customer’s bruised Man Card. 

Hats & Babies

Fifty five years ago today, I made my entrance……which BLOWS MY MIND because it hardly feels like I’m that old.  Oh, but I am. 

The Big Daddy and the kids had a celebration here on Sunday.  There I was standing at the kitchen counter clipping the Sunday coupons that I never use, and in comes The Boy Child from the university to surprise me with a day visit.  And that turned my mood right side up.

The story my parents related to me of my birth day goes like this…………My dad took the train to work.  He got to work, hung up his hat and was about to take off his coat when the secretary said, “Not so fast.  Gerry called and she’s in labor so you need to get home.”  He turned around and went back to the station he’d just come from, and waited for a train that would take all morning to get him back home. 

These are my dad’s hats which hang in my house.  Sitting beside him on the seat of the train that day, the felt Stetson was the keeper of his worries while he made his way home to his wife, and the new baby that was on her way.

Before There Were Trophys

This was my 1st grade report card that I found last week.  The one where I was below average in every single subject the entire year.  They sure didn’t sugarcoat anything back in the day if they thought you were dumb.

Sheesh.  I was six years old.  According to them, I even sucked at praying.  Who grades a little kid on how she prays?  The Archdiocese of Chicago in 1963, that’s who.

One day when my older brother was on locker duty, he walked out the door and headed home because my grandparents and Aunt Belle were coming to town.  At 8:00 in the morning.  No cops were called, no code red, no worries.  Just a call from the principal telling my mom he was missing.  I’d give them an UNSATISFACTORY in Christian Doctrine for not getting on their knees and begging God to find that missing boy who disappeared on their watch.

He showed up at home awhile later and Mom told him he had to go back.  “You can’t walk out of school every time we have company come to town.”

He was pissed.  I don’t blame him.  By the looks of my year I wasn’t having much fun there either, and if I knew what he was up to I’d have taken my thumb-sucking, scared self right out the door with him.

Words From The Wise

Yesterday, I was hell-bent on finding something I drew back in the day.  I took an art class in college, and I’m no artist.  It was a pear and it got a raving review from the teacher and a big, fat “A”.  I saved it, came across it recently, and when inspiration struck first thing in the morning, I could not find it.

I did find my 1st grade report card that was a collection of four semesters of straight L’s.  As in low.  Even in Christian Doctrine for God’s sake.  I found my high school journal and yearbooks.  I found a print The Big Daddy and I bought ten years ago and surprised him when he came home from work with it framed and hanging on the wall. 

Alas, no pear.

In my digging, I found a letter my dad wrote from him and my mom to all of us on the occasion of their 25th wedding anniversary.  The six of us kids pooled our dollars and came up with enough money for them to take a trip to Hawaii that Dad’s company was sponsoring.  I remember getting the squeeze from one of my brothers to come up with more cash, I remember the party for them, and I remember them being over the moon about this trip.  For once, we got our act together and did something great for them.

These are some of my dad’s words, written 36 years ago…………..

As we said in our invitation, we looked upon it as “the birthday of our family.”  It was not something that belonged to the two of us exclusively.  Rather, it belonged to the eight of us collectively.


God did not bring the two of us together just solely to please each other.  He joined us so that we may serve others……..and in doing so together discover true happiness that comes from trying to live unselfishly with each other’s help.


It takes a lot of years……….one whole lot of years of living……….to even come close to understanding that fact.  For us it seems we’re only beginning to learn.  After 25 years we’re just emerging from the kindergarten of discovering what life is really about.

He was a great writer, a great dad, a kinder man I have never known.  I’ll keep looking for the pear, but in the meantime, the company of my dad by way of letter was a lovely way to spend the morning. 

I think it’s what he’d call a discovery. 

Intervention

Today on the news here in Kansas City, was a story about a family that paid off all their credit card bills and saved $89,000.00 in one year.  WHAT??????   I wanted to see what that was all about.  The mom told the reporter that she has learned how little she needs to be happy, and that her and her husband and their six kids have found dozens of ways to save money.  Their biggest tip?  They no longer use toilet paper.  They cut up old tshirts to wipe their butts, and did you know that 99.9% of bacteria is killed in a washing machine?  I did not.  There next to the toilet was a basket of “wipes”, and Ace Reporter never asked where the used ones go until it’s laundry day.

This is when it’s helpful in life to have a sister, because a sister would be over to your house in a hellfire hurry to tell you that your budget busting ways may get you some face time on the local news, but you have crossed the line to bat shit crazy.  Then she’d tell you to crack open the safe and go buy some candles cuz your crib smelled like a zoo.

I Work Out

Sometimes when Henry and I go for our walk, we have some pep in our step.  We’re moving.  Crack-a-lackin.  It’s at those times that I think that if I walked like this every day, I could be in some kind of shape.  Then I imagine myself in a Little Black Dress at a cocktail party, and people looking at me and saying, “Girl, you could give Madonna a run for the money with those arms of yours.”

I throw my head back.  I laugh.  I’m fit.  In the party.  In my head.

While on one of those walks, I chatted with another walker, pumped my arms, waved to the guy with the beagles on the other side of the park, stopped along the roadside to pick up poop, walked it over to the trash can, continued down the busy street, waved to a friend driving by, and waited at the corner for the light to change.

That’s when I discovered my exercise pants were inside out, so through the park, bent over, down the street and on the corner, the white sewn in undies were exposed for all to see.

Spectacular exercise fail and I bet I got talked about that day.

The Worst Date Ever

Before The Big Daddy came along and stole my heart, I was in a long, dry spell.  Then, as if the universe took note, I ran into a guy I knew from grade school and he asked me out.  The Queen Mum was really excited.  “Good, good, good.  He’s a nice Catholic boy AND his father is an attorney.”  This meant they had bucks, and any secret worries she was harboring about her daughter being a lesbian could be put to rest since the Catholic boy found her date worthy.

Mr. Date picked me up and said we might go with some of his friends to see a White Sox game, but first he had to make a stop at his buddy’s house.  Once there, Buddy and him left me alone in the basement of a house I’d never been in, in a destination I wasn’t certain of, to go buy some pot.  An hour later they returned and we picked up a few more of his loser friends and went to a movie.

By the time the night ended and he pulled up in front of my house, I was more than ready to get out of the car after being left alone, laughing at his stupid friend’s stupid jokes, and being disappointed that this guy I thought was so cute in grade school grew up to be A Gigantic Douche.

I said good night and reached for the door handle, and that’s when he made his move…..which confirmed his douche status.

The Queen Mum wanted to hear the details the next morning, and I gave her the lowdown, save for the tongue part.  She listened to it all, then shook her head and said, “It’s a good thing that dad of his is an attorney, cuz that gull damn idiot kid of his is going to need one.”

F150

I love trucks.  Whenever I see one I think, oh, if only I had one of those, I could really drag some shit back here for the shop.  I am partial to vintage trucks.  What a surprise, eh?  There’s one in a driveway that I pass often, and one of these days I may drive right off the road because I have to have me a good look-see when I’m passing by, and it’s a curvy road that you shouldn’t be look-seeing at anything but what’s in front of you.

Oh, sigh me a river.

Since I can’t have one of those until we win the Lotto, I buy toy trucks.  Like this one that hold our remotes.  It’s fake.

I also have one in my garden……a front loader that’s about fifty years old.  I would show you a picture but there’s a butt load of leaves on top of it.  When my garden is planted it looks like it’s scooping a load of dirt.  That one cracks me up.

I was at an antique mall and came across this beauty with a cracked windshield for $8.00.   That’s a picture of the kids in the background when they were wee.  We were on the way to the pool.  We. went. there. every. single. day. I. kid. you. not.

The new old truck sat on the bench by the front door where all randoms stay until there’s a plan, Stan.  Today I cleaned the bathroom.  Really cleaned it instead of the usual half-ass job.

The truck is back in operation.  It is happy now.  It is hauling a mega roll.