Author: Kathleen Fisher

With Oprah in reruns and closing up shop, I think we need a new Favorite Things Sheriff in town.  Okay, I’ll be it. 

The Daily Show
I heart anything on t.v. that does not make the assumption that I am stupid.

Headbutler.com
See above.

Pinterest
I am addicted to this website.  Like I need an intervention.

Stevie Wonder, Dean Martin, Usher, James Taylor & Michael Buble
I love me a man that can sing me out of a bad mood.

Chip and salsa.  Chips and guacamole.  Chips and hummus.
No explanation needed.


Savers Thrift Store
Recently purchased an Ann Taylor black silk dress for $12.99 less 30%.  Score.


Gin and tonic.
The go to drink of the summer for me and The Big Daddy.


Garnet Hill, Sundance and Pottery Barn catalog.
Add to make-believe shopping cart with make-believe pile of money.


Sparks Flea Market
Two times a year.  Lots of farmers clearing out their barns of vintage goods with a little flirting to go with that deal we’re bound to make.


The Book of Wisdom
A spiral I’ve kept for many years of great writing – be it quotes, articles, advice or motivation.  I add to it and look it over all the time.

Malted Milk Balls
When the kids were little, I kept a stash hidden inside the crockpot.  Whenever there was a meltdown at the OK Corral (like every day), the kids would be sent off somewhere to “think about their behavior” and I’d head for the balls to de-stress.


I plan to update this from time to time, but I’ve kept the first one basic and inexpensive, because that’s how I roll these days.  Most good things in life are the simple pleasures, right?  I kinda crack myself up sometimes with my AHA moments.

This photo has been on my fridge for six months.  My dream kitchen.  See, I even wrote that on there in case somebody needed an idea for a birthday present.  Oh Lordy, how I love looking at this picture.  I imagine myself in there getting ready for a dinner party.  I look pretty.  I’m standing under the chandelier and the soft light is making me glow.  Good working dimmers.  I’ve washed my hair.  For once.  I have makeup on and took time putting on concealer so my undereye circles look sufficiently concealed.  I’m wearing wedges and a cute, ruffled apron over my little black dress.  Big Daddy comes down and he looks handsome and smells good.  He puts his arm around me and says, “Would my lovely wife like a glass of wine?”  I smile, he whispers in my ear and I throw my head back and laugh.  Oh, it’s the dream life I have in that kitchen.

Do you see how the whole corner was ripped off?  The Big Daddy needed some scratch paper and used this piece of paper.  My dream kitchen picture.  I can’t even have a copy of something nice.  How am I supposed to daydream about my dream life in my dream kitchen when the photo looks like the dog chewed on it?  My dream kitchen photo has become a snapshot of my real life, as if I needed a reminder of something that started out nice until it got into this house.

Isn’t this a great little dresser?  It’s next to The Big Daddy’s side of the bed.  It’s much bigger than his last dresser and gives him more room to store his books and other reading material in all the drawers.  It’s also where we store all our sex toys.  I kid. I kid.

He likes having it on his side of the bed for many, many reasons. 

Sheesh, this is where the fur handcuffs are supposed to go.

Mallie Bee and I were at CVS, each buying some things.  I was before her and when all my items were rung up, the cashier asked me if I would like to donate $1.00 to ALS.  One dollar.  I said no because it’s automatic to me when someone is trying to upsell me something at the register to turn them down.  When I had ten seconds to think it over, I said of course, yes, add that on, what was I thinking.

Mallie Bee went next, paid for her items and we left.  When we got in the car she said, “That lady never asked me if I would like to donate $1.00.”  Would you have, I asked her.  Yes, she said, I think that would be a terrible disease to have and I would want to do something for someone who has it.

It nearly made me cry to think in all of my fumbling and bumbling through parenthood, I raised a teenager who makes minimum wage handling other people’s dirty clothes and she doesn’t have to think long about parting with some of it to help another.  It also nearly made me cry to think I was close to blowing it all by example.

Mr. Handsome B.D. and I have been married 28 years today.  It was wicked hot on the day we got married and geez, it’s still hot.  Har, har, har.

Many years ago, we invited some old neighbors over for dinner.  For whatever reason, it felt awkward to me and hard to make conversation.  After about thirty minutes, Big Daddy blows in from work and sorry I’m late,  I’ve missed you guys in the hood, how’s the new place, everybody got something to drink, the cement business treating you well, da Bears are killing me this year………..

I  remember that night vividly for many reasons.  I knew I married a guy who loved the company of other people, who got the party started the second he walked in the door and was the perfect compliment to my often shy self.  Since that first blind date at Denny’s, to marriage, to three kids born in three different states, to ups and downs, he has always felt like home to me.

I’m kind of afraid of birds.  They creep me out.  The Big Daddy, he loves ’em.  Sometimes, I think we have absolutely nothing in common except gin.  When my brother, Tom, was younger he got attacked by a bird right outside the front door.  “Gull damn blue jays”, my mom said.  To this day, if she hears a bunch of birds squawking, she’ll say, “It’s those gull damn blue jays.”  I was about 40 before I knew that she was saying “goddamn” instead of naming a species of the blue jay.

The Big Daddy and I are headed out with the Chillens on a road trip to a family wedding.  From here to Iowa to Illinois, he will point out every hawk he sees along the way.  On wires, fence posts, along the road.  Hawk.  Hawk.  Kath, a Hawk.  This is what I do in the car on a road trip.  Read, nap, eat Skittles.  Sometimes I yell at The Big Daddy, “For chrissakes watch the road and not the hawks or you’re gonna get us killed.”  Then I go back to snacking on my Skittles because I’ve got low blood sugar.  Or maybe it’s high blood sugar.  I can’t remember which ailment I have, but it’s the one that needs sugar in order to stay alert in case the gull damn birds start attacking.

It was recently reported that men use “the sniff test” to determine their clothing choices and will sometimes wear their whitey tighties 2 -3 times before changing them.

Oh. My. God.

This is new information to me and I was raised with three brothers.  I know men are slobs.  I know they drink milk out of the carton, scratch their butts, pride themselves on making fart sounds with their armpits and don’t give much thought to their appearance most days.  I know I have to tell The Big Daddy that the hair on his ears needs to be shaved because he’s looking a little too Thriller.  The BD, on the other hand, doesn’t have to point out any chinnies I have because I maintain that area like a Master Gardener at the Arboretum.  I stay on top of my grossness.  That’s the way chicks roll.  With one exception.

I wear the same bra for several days before washing it.  How many days I don’t keep track of.  With this heat wave the number of times I can wear the same bra is limited, so I did the sniff test.

If I wore that thing one more day, I would qualify to be a guy.  Alarming?  I tried to scream but terror took the sound before I could make it.

I met Brenda a few years ago when I got a job at a clothing boutique in my neighborhood.  I loved the store, I loved my coworkers, I loved the owner, I loved our retail neighbors.  I loved that place.  That place employed many women and each of us would arrive for work in our fashionable attire, accessorized with a trendy tote of the baggage we all carry that comes with living.  Brenda’s bag contained a painful divorce after 30+ years of marriage, and many a time when business was slow, we’d talk over the jewelry counter about her troubles.   She was trying to adjust to a very different life than the one she’d known for so long and it ebbed and flowed daily.  She ended up leaving the store for full-time employment elsewhere, and when this recession started forming, the store that was so beloved by so many became one of its earliest casualties.

The friendships I made working with all of those people remains one of the loveliest surprises of my life.  Like the good mom of three kids, Brenda made sure we all stayed in contact and we’d get together occasionally to catch up.  Now, Brenda is leaving her life here to take a job managing a store in San Francisco.  After all those years of carrying that tote and all its baggage, she gets to start anew, rewrite her story and be in charge of the narration.

I can’t even think about her not being around to meet for a cup of coffee, a bottle of wine or sampling some of her cooking without it making me cry. She has been a dear friend to me and my family as well as many others, but her time to shine has arrived.  Like watching a bird who’s broken wing has been mended, our Brenda is about to fly.