Last

The first time I took a breath, celebrated with a yearly rememberance.

The first time I slept in a real bed instead of the crib, solemnly watched over by my parents.

The first note I played on a piano, beginning a love affair.

The first paycheck, commemorated with a photograph.

The first time behind the wheel of a car, journaled thoroughly .

I have a close friend I sometimes call out of the blue to begin a conversation with the words, "I had a first today...."

So many firsts, so carefully observed.

***

The last time I used a pacifier.

The last time I fit into my favorite pink dress.

The last time Dad braided my hair.

The last time I played "house."

The last time I held my brothers and sister on my lap.

The last time I saw each person in my life who has died.

The lasts...

...slipping by unacknowledged, unnoticed, unrealized. But as precious, as life altering, as any first.

Treasure. Each. Moment.

This Modern Hand

I am pretty sure I invented modern art. Or at least I practice modern art? Can you practice art like you practice medicine? And isn't it scary, when you come to think about it, that doctors are still in "practice" after all that school? But I digress.

I was tucking Peter in last night -- minus the tucking in part, which means I was kissing him goodnight & exchanging stories from the day -- when he spotted my right hand. His eyes got big.

"WHAT is THAT?" he finally wondered aloud.

Puzzled, I glanced at my hand. Oh yeah....those black ink blots all over my hand. I'd forgotten about those.

"Well, um," I explained, "I was in a meeting this afternoon."

So maybe I didn't invent modern art, but I'm pretty sure whoever did invent it was just like me. A little ink happy. Especially while thinking hard, listening, or suffering from boredom.*

* For posterity: Boredom was not a factor in the meeting described in this page.

I Have A Blog?

Oh yeah... That's right! I have a blog!

I am also the possessor of (in no particular order):

* Cold feet.

* An amazing family

* A clean room.

* A dizzyingly busy life.

* Too many cookies.

* Too little time.

* Amazing friends

Spring? Here.

I didn't think it would ever come.

Well, at least I wasn't certain it would come before I died in an avalanche or on a patch of black ice.

But it has. I have seen the yellows, pinks, & blues. With my very own eyes. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Spring has to be my favorite season.

Today I celebrated by not washing my car (again) & also by playing badmitton. I was kind of focusing on the "spring" part & forgetting the "in Washington" part. But my oversight didn't last long.... Mud Badmitton really is a whole new level of the game. And the mosquitoes are enjoying spring too.

Client Services Moments

Katie: "Ok, how about you try rebooting your computer?"
Client (three seconds later): "Ok, it's off, shall I turn it back on?"
Katie: "Please."
Client (two seconds later): "It came back to the same error screen."
Katie: "Wow, it's back on already? It didn't ask you to log in again?"
Client: "No."
Katie: "When you turned it off, did you press the button on your monitor or some other button?"
Client: "The button on my monitor"

****
Client: "When I click on stuff in your software, it doesn't do anything."
Katie: "That's strange. Does it work if you click somewhere else on your computer that's not in our software?"
Client: "No. It doesn't work."
Katie: "Sounds like a problem with your mouse..."
Client: "My mouse! Oh....do you think maybe it got unplugged?"
Katie: "Hmmm. I'm not sure. Does it have a cord coming out of the mouse?"
Client (after a pause): "Nooo. It doesn't. Oooh. Guess what? The battery in my mouse is dead...."

***

Katie: "Ok, try closing the program."
Client: "I can't. It's not closing."
Katie: "Are you clicking on the red 'x'?"
Client: "Oh, I have to click on the red 'x'?"
Client (after a pauce): "It's still not working. Whenever I click on the red 'x', the program is still there. It just gives me a message that says, 'Are you sure you want to terminate this program?'"

***
Katie: "Ok, let's go back to that other program."
Client: "It's not there. It disappeared."
Katie: "That's really strange.... Hmmm, if you look at the blue bar at the bottom of your screen does it say the name of the program that disappeared?"
Client: "Yes."

***

I should call these lessons in patience. But they make me laugh myself silly (off the phone, of course). I don't usually think of the "patience lessons" as very much fun.

In The Spirit Of Facebook

Katie is convinced!

Katie will keep blogging & thanks her friends for...being there!

Katie is going to be going to be at a speech tournament this afternoon. Maybe her sister will win another trophy.

Katie misses Paul (terribly) & hopes he is acclimating to below-zero weather quickly.

Katie thinks it has been snowing too much where she lives.

Katie has cold toes.

Katie needs to clean her car. Badly.

State of the Blog Address

I'm not all-knowing, but I'm guessing I don't have many people who even occasionally check my blog any more at all. This, I fully deserve.

The question remains--what to do with this corner of blogdom?

Perhaps a lack of readers gives me permission to turn this into one of those deeply introspective, horribly personal sites blossoming on the WWW.

Nah, I don't s'pose I'll ever be quite that open to the World of Strangers.

Or an essay corner, since I wouldn't have to worry about anyone having to plod through the hifalutin thoughts I am sometimes full of. Now that idea has possibilities....

Or maybe I'll just carry on. From where I left off.

Except that I'm over a year older since I last regularly blogged, so when I go back to where I left off, I don't find myself there anymore.

Some things never change, though. I still love life & everything about it. (Except spiders & bannanas, that is.) I still love my family & my friends. I still love my Lord. I still love clouds, shadows, & yellow roses.

I'm still Katie.

Oh, and writing. I still love to write.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

About four years ago, I bought John a stopwatch for Christmas. I had it stashed in my closet before wrapping it & that was when I realized that it was somehow set on an alarm which went off every few hours. Every time it did, I went & pushed buttons on it until it silenced. Keywords "every time." Because it happened over & over & over....

Finally, I didn't hear it for a couple of days! Breathing a sigh of relief, I wrapped it up & put it under the tree.

That was when I realized that I hadn't succeeded in turning the alarm off entirely.....

Every few hours for two weeks, I had to tremble & talk loudly so John wouldn't hear his present beeping under the tree. I was glad when it was time to open that package.....

Ah. Good times.

Off We Go (and other tales)

Probably, perhaps, it is barely possible that you may have been wondering what has been up in my life through these past months of silence.

Most importantly, the answer is that my status in life has forever changed. From Katie, sister of ordinary civilian Paul I have metamorphasized into Katie, sister of Airman Basic Paul. I'm SO proud of his successful graduation from basic military training in the airforce. His next promotion is up and comin' & he's stationed in Missouri going to school for now.

I miss him.

Otherwise, I've managed a couple of vacations in between family, church, work and resting & recovering from my illness (yes, still...!).

First came a fabulous camping trip over labor day weekend. I lost miserably at Yatzhee & discovered that in a battle between a canoe & the ocean surf, the canoe loses. But I sort of learned to fly a stunt kite. And being dumped in the ocean is more fun that it sounds.

In September, I went to Georgia to visit a close friend for her birthday. I enjoyed surprising her with my appearance on the scene & we had a great time together...just too short.

Then, I spent my Thanksgiving vacation in San Antonio for Paul's graduation from Basic. Thanksgiving on the Riverwalk!

I read Gone with the Wind. I have been lost only rarely, thanks to Jeeves--the GPS which is still one of the best gifts I've ever received. I am on the lookout for a pair of boots at decent price. My eyes need to be checked. I took Abigail to a Gilbert & Sullivan operetta for her birthday & felt like I was celebrating my birthday at the same time. Which reminds me, I did have a birthday during my long silence. Gas is below $2/gallon. I had to explain to someone recently that, yes, I remember when gas was $2/gallon before. Apparently, I am as adorably youthful as ever. I took on four piano students. I got four cavities filled. I love my life.

Also, my toes are wretchedly cold.

Are we feeling up to date yet?

After You

Abigail & I love to cuddle warmly in our beds in the evening alternately reading, giggling, & chatting. Eventually, we work ourself into a comfortable state of sleepiness. That is approximately when we run accross the major bone of contention in our otherwise amicable relationship.

The light.

By way of blame, a minor reconfiguration of our home created a mild inconvenience in the girls' room. By way of explanation, our light switch is outside of our bedroom. By way of a solution, our tentative rule of thumb requires the girl who last got in to bed to be the one who gets up to turn it off. I say tentative because rule though it is, it does not eliminate a (friendly) argument at least twice a week. And that's after the (friendly) race to be the first to bed.

The other night after an especially long chat-fest, Abigail & I wound down in an especially warm & cozy state. Turning off the light was an especially undesirable chore. Sweet girl that I am, I finally dragged myself grumbling out of bed to perform the duty. Reaching the doorway, I turned just in time to see Abigail leap laughing from bed. "Actually, I have to go to the restroom," she giggled, "I was just waiting for you to get up...."

After I finished growling at her, she finished her unrepentant exaltations, and we finished laughing, I announced that she is solely responsible for the light switch for the next week. At least.

The Smell Of Freshly Mown Grass....

It's one of my favorite scents.

In November, it's just wrong.

Boy Talk

Overheard while I was putting on makeup a few days ago:

"Click..." ('twas the sound of a dart gun)

"You're dead."

"No I'm not."

"Yes, you are; I hit your shoulder. The bullet went into your heart."

"No, you hit my shoulder and my shoulder is just broken...."

"Well, I shot you point blank."

"That's why my shoulder is broken. It was a blunt blow. "

"If I shot you right *here*, you'd be dead..."

"No, then my jaw would just be broken."

Tough Going

I haven't forgotten how to write, I promise. But my germs-of-ideas for writing topics are simply refusing to be written. Frustrating, I call it.

Exercise is...

A trip to Wal-Mart.

How come there is never a parking place by the door, never an item you need that is near the front of the store, never a line that is short?

Or is it just me?