Category: On Any Given Day

Kitty Katke

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Kitty © jb katke

Perfect. We can afford this.

Ours is a family of cat lovers. Visiting my mother-in-law gave us the golden opportunity of picking a kitten from a litter her cat had a while back. We enlisted our son Jamie to be the selection committee.

I wasn’t hot for the couple yellow/orange ones and hoped he would choose one of the others. Of course he did not.

“Are you sure you want that one Jamie?”

“Yep.”

Piquing my husbands’ curiosity, he asked, “How can you tell the difference between the two orange kittens?”

“I don’t know, I just like this one better.”

For sure we didn’t want a female. Mom’s husband insisted Jamie’s choice was a male. She wasn’t. Maybe that’s when things went sour.

On the four hour drive home, the kitten positioned herself on the back of the driver’s seat. She yowled her displeasure inches from my husband, Dave’s ear. Jamie and I took turns trying to comfort her but she would have none of that. Never had I ever heard such a small cat produce such loud cries.

It took us several weeks to come up with a name for her. But it was all for naught. We had called her kitty for so long, she wouldn’t respond to anything else.

We had intended Kitty to be an indoor/outdoor cat, but she had other ideas. She freaked each time the wind ruffled the grass. That might have been for the best. We discovered she had an extra claw that didn’t retract. If she got hung on something it could put her in danger.

Later on, we took her to the vet to be spayed. She was so upset she wouldn’t let the attendant bring her out to me, I had to go get her. If cats can suffer depression, Kitty did.

But Christmas day made everything better. Nothing brought her more joy than running through the giftwrap littering the floor and making it crinkle.

I couldn’t decide if Kitty had anger issues or if she took delight in tormenting people. When family visited, she would either race up the back of the couch scaring people or growl at them to feed her. My dad declared we needed a sign at the door warning others of the attack cat. She appeared to have the temperament of a Siamese.

Our daughter Cindy loved all creatures great and small. Sometimes she would hug Kitty too long or hard. The claws came out and thankfully Cindy’s eyes never were the recipient. We probably shouldn’t have kept her, but she had crept into all our hearts.

Kitty had a special friendship with Dave. As pets do, she would beg at the dinner table. If Dave took too long sharing, Kitty would gently pat his leg. If she didn’t get a treat, she would remind him of her presence with claws extended. When he was finished, Dave would wipe his hands together indicating that’s all. Only then would Kitty walk away.

For the most part Kitty enjoyed her position in our family, until she was dethroned by a puppy. Her nose was permanently out of joint. It was a grudge she held to her dying day.

Looking back on her life, I recognize Kitty had some human-like traits. She had days when she was up and others down. Like a child, she didn’t appreciate smother love. With the arrival of our puppy, Kitty felt a type of sibling rivalry. Unfortunately, she allowed someone else to ruin her life. When that happens beware, you may turn into…wait for it…a sourpuss.

 

Just One Word

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© jb katke

 

https://youtu.be/7lfaSmDxVZQ

How are you doing on your New Years resolution?

Long ago I abandoned making one because I was constantly disappointing myself. Why set myself up for failure?

A friend challenged me to take one word and look around scripture and see what it had to say about it.

“One word to work on is a lot easier than overhauling all your habits at once,” claimed Marnie. But focusing on a word took some time. Looking at where my life was at helped.

We were empty nesters contemplating moving to a smaller home. My problem was I come from a family of savers. Not hoarders by any means, but stuff that piles up through the years can become burdensome. I was next in line of acquisition.

This challenge of just one word had potential of lifestyle change. Mentally I thought of “Submit,” but that has a marital connotation. Then I considered “Surrender,” but that sounded like giving up. ”I settled on “Relinquish” because that was a positive willful action.

Memories can be wonderful but we were in a constant state of shuffling things out of our way. The kids didn’t have the space and/or desire to take them either. That worried me and I confess it was hard.

My family saved so many things for future use that I was getting rid of. Would I be sorry later? As if that were my only concern. Tears were shed.

What if I were to lose my sight, how could I quilt? One lady does to my knowledge. Or how could I write as God has impressed me to do? This business of handing willful relinquishment over to someone that has power to take things away is frightening!

But here is what I found.  Poking around the Bible was surprising:

John 16:33 said this world will have trouble, but not to worry. God has already conquered it.

I Peter 5:7 told me to dump my cares on God because he cares.

Genesis 2:15 tells me we are to maintain things and keep order in our tasks.

Matthew 6:25 indicates I shouldn’t fuss over things, God provides what we need when we need it.

II Corinthians 12:9 speaks of Gods grace being enough and shows best through our weaknesses.

Amazing century old words that I can put to use in my life today. Who would have thunk it? Another thing for me to keep in mind, when I move on to eternity, I ain’t takin’ this stuff with me. I’m telling you, burdens lifted gives a mighty light and free feeling.

Park Benches of America

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We were in for a fun time. Well my mother-in-law and I anyway. Maybe not so for my husband Dave. But he’s a good man.

Our destination was central Missouri, specifically a quilt shop. Mom, we were close enough that I considered her my mom too, were both fabriholics. Dave would always enter the shop with me to size it up as to how long I might be. A big shop=a long time, small shop=only a short time.

Before he exited, he always said the same thing, “Take as long as you like, there is a park bench outside calling my name. I’m conducting a study on the park benches of America. I’m thinking of writing a book that I know husbands would appreciate. I’ll include the GPS stats of where the best ones are located.”

Inside, Mom and I were finishing up our purchase when the alarm went off at the fire station across the street. It was deafening and encouraged us to stay in the store a little longer.

As we chatted with the shopkeeper we learned the fire department was made up of volunteers. The alarm raged on for what felt like hours instead of minutes. Dave, being the trooper that he is, remained manning the bench getting a front row seat to the action.

A pick-up roared up from out of nowhere parking at the fire station. The driver leaped out running inside the station. The garage doors flew up revealing the red engine ready to go. But it stayed there.

Soon after, a second pick-up rumbled to the scene and thundered to a stop… The first arrival stuck his head out of the window of the fire truck, “Have you got the keys?”

Apparently he did. The shrieking alarm was turned off which made the silence as deafening as the alarm had been. The fire truck came to life and lumbered off to the emergency. We were relieved to know this small town had same day service.

To date, my dearly beloved hasn’t written a single word of his book. Such a shame as so many men would find it a valuable resource.

Remembering Grandma

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20200209_154330“A stainless steel colander? Don’t you think that’s asking too much?

So said Grandma Andrews. She had a way of letting me know how she felt.

Our conversation revolved around the requests in my bridal registry shortly after my engagement. For starters, JL Hudson was the only store that offered a registry for soon-to-be couples. Secondly, it was a high end department store. They didn’t sell junk.                                        © jb katke

My husbands’ grandmother claimed I didn’t ask enough on my registry. Some grandmas you just can’t please.

This time every year I think of my grandma. Her birthday was on Valentine’s Day. I think of her whenever I use my colander too.

Grandma Andrews was a practical lady. She lived through the Depression and knew how to make do. She had a plastic colander from the early days of plastic. Hers got a little too close to the heat from the stove and bore a melted souvenir from the experience. But it still worked.

Her home was always meticulous. She even washed her walls. I recall she had a coal furnace when I was very little, and over the long Michigan winters it would leave a residue on the walls. Hence, spring cleaning.

After I was married she asked me, “Do you get on your hands and knees when washing the floor?”

“No Grandma I don’t.”

I considered myself more modern than that. There are mops that make that unnecessary. But I learned getting down on hands and knees does a better job. Likewise when I clean the woodwork. Grandma would be proud. However I do wait to make the effort worthwhile.

I wish I had gotten to know grandma better, I think I could have learned much from her. She wasn’t the talkative sort and I never questioned her past. Too bad for me. You can understand why people are the way they are if you have a sense of what they experienced.

I do know she loved baseball. And she had what I call a British sense of humor. During the Christmas season a popular song, Jingle Bells, came out sung by a clucking chicken. Grandma said it was a fowl song. Her favorite was The Little Drummer Boy.

All this is a distant memory now, my colander is going on fifty years old.  Grandma would probably flip if she knew my kitchen now sports a second smaller colander. Yep, it’s stainless steel too.

Keynote Speaker

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20200202_141930 © jb katke

“Do any of you ladies have an open morning to chat with a few college girls?”

Our missionary sponsor had entered the Belarussian hotel lobby where we were basking in the warm sun shining through the window. We were part of a group of business people attending a Business Conference in Belarus, the former USSR.

I volunteered and Boris, a national, was escorting me to the college.  “How is this person we are to meet going to know us,” I asked. It seemed a legitimate concern as neither of us knew this individual.

Had I given it a moment’s thought would have realized I looked very American.

Upon arrival I was hustled into the Dean’s office. “What is it you intend to speak on?” Speak on? I just came to for a short visit with your students. She seemed to approve of my explanation that my husband and I have a small home business and would be sharing how that came about.

I was lead into the front of the classroom and offered a cup of tea I never had time to drink. I should have noticed the podium a few feet from me.

Eager young women were pouring into the room until eventually it was standing room only. I could feel excitement in the air.

The light dawned. Suddenly ‘the visit’ began with an introduction of their guest speaker and invited me up. Oh no, my speaking notes are back at the hotel!

Taking a deep breath, I dove in. Giving a brief history of our business. A venture that grew with time. Immediately a hand shot up from one of the instructors, “Is this going to take very long?”

My warm welcome plummeted. Except for the girls, they seemed to soak up every word I spoke. I mentioned that we hadn’t planned on becoming a business. But the skills of my husband were passed on by word of mouth as one construction opportunity led to another. The business evolved and God was blessing us.

The students listened intently because back in 2005 self-employed businesses were unheard of in this third world country. They wanted to know more, about our home, family and about my quilting hobby. They were enthralled by the pictures I showed them.

To my amazement I recalled everything my notes had and was able to give these young women a vision of life in America.

We came to offer encouragement and hope to a people that have limited opportunities. We came home with a deeper appreciation for what God has done in our life, the country we call home, and the freedom we take for granted.

I highly recommend traveling to another country, not the vacation areas, but where the people live. I guarantee it will be an eye-opening experience.

A Day of Celebration

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WP_20150825_001 © jb katke

Have you ever accomplished something out of your realm? It gives you that Wow feeling of celebrating.  Happy anniversary to me.

I’m sharing with you the biggest balloon I could find. (This big boy landed in my front yard)

My blog posts are one year old this month. For a person that had no desire to blog, and isn’t fond of computers, this is remarkable.  Just for the record it wasn’t my idea.

Have you been following me? If you haven’t read my Intro , let me explain with a little background. For years I have been learning to love Jesus. I’ve been reading his book, it’s been on the best seller list for almost ever.

But it’s a process that takes some time. At least it did for me. There comes a point in what do you do with this stuff you’ve learned? It was suggested I tell others about it.

Don’t be thinking I’m gonna give you this big ole sermon. Instead, let me paint a few word pictures for you. Some of these scenarios may not take too much imagination.

Imagine your car breaking down on the highway in the middle of nowhere. A tow truck comes along and the driver says, “I know who could fix your car, but I’m not helping you get there.”

Perhaps your basement has flooded. A cleaning service comes to access the situation but tells you, “This place is a mess, but there is nothing I can do about it.”

Or your doctor’s diagnosis is cancer, but refuses you treatment.

You get the idea. Frustration, helplessness and anger can be the recipe for stress levels and blood pressure to skyrocket.

That is why someone broaches the name of Jesus to you. I’m your gal to do that. He works in ways that can astound you.  A friendship with this guy can make such a difference in life.

So I blog to tell you how Jesus has been involved in my life. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it hurts big time. But bottom line, I know he is aware of my situation. It’s a mystery how he always works things out, but it’s always good. It can take time, but it gives me the opportunity to trust.

Stuff will still happen. There have been occasions that I got put out with circumstances that aren’t going my way. But then I remember Jesus’ dad isn’t Santa Claus. He’s God. Usually my heart hasn’t been in the right place, so he waits for me to catch up to his perfect plan.

He wasn’t dragging his heels, I was. Eventually I come around and I hope you do too. If my words mean something to you, I invite you to follow me on this journey.

Better yet, invite Jesus into your life, I promise it will be a ride!

Those 9-9 Girls

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Looking in my daughter’s eyes, I could feel her heart sink. She supposed her teacher and I would be rehashing the good old days. That was not to be.

We were at her junior high open house. Lo and behold, she had the same Home Economics teacher I had so many years ago. As I re-introduced myself, Mrs. Tada rolled her eyes. “Oh, those 9-9 girls.”

Turning to Cindy, she explained, “That was my first year teaching.” I could hear what she didn’t say. I never want to relive that year.                                                                                                                                                                                               © JB Katke

 

When I was in school, back in the dark ages, students met in homeroom. It was there that we listened to announcements over the PA, attendance was taken, then dispersed to our various classes. We were numbered by grade and group, hence my 9-9 status.

My Home Ec class was a little on the rowdy side. Not me of course, I considered my sewing class as recess. It was the only subject I excelled in. But poor Mrs. Tada had trouble keeping order in the classroom.

My friend Belinda got into a heated disagreement with one of our tablemates. Belinda picked up a seam ripper and as if shooting a dart, took aim at the girls face. I freaked out, fearing the girl was about to lose an eye. Thankfully nothing happened.

Cindy feared comparison with the sewing skills of her mother. Instead she learned Mom was young once and part of a class filled with immaturity. My school days were challenging too. .

Home Ec didn’t ‘click’ with either of my girls. But that’s okay. Both of them has excelled in areas I could never have imagined. I think it’s interesting how they have grown up in the same home, with the same parents, but blossomed individually. My children make me proud.

At birth, each of us are given differing gifts and talents. Sometimes it just takes a long time to realize them, like myself. I’m finding life is a giant learning process.

Barry and Sharon

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20190529_180025                                                     © jb katke

Disclaimer: The pictured gun was not the weapon used in this story. Additionally, names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Sharon didn’t wake up until she sat bolt upright in bed.

“Barry! Are you alright?”

The stillness of night returned.

It couldn’t have been a dream, the shot was too real. “Barry, answer me, are you okay?”

All was quiet. As she sat pondering what to do, a second shot rang out.

Never again would Sharon hear her brother’s voice. Or her father’s.

The reality was Sharon and Barry lived a nightmare life. Their dad was mentally unstable. The siblings learned at an early age to look after each other.

Their paternal grandparents were well-known and influential in the community. The stigma of their son in a mental institution would have been more than they could bear.

Instead they live with this.

It was the Viet Nam era and Barry was in his senior year of high school. His dad was under doctor’s care and doing quite well. But as father’s do, got thinking…

Soon Barry would be eligible for the draft. The thought of his son going to war was too much for this dad to handle. There was only one way he could see to spare him of that horror.

Now reality set in. What he did was reprehensible and the remaining family will suffer from his action.

The next morning I learned what had taken place down the street. There are no words for that kind of pain and loss. At the funeral I merely held Sharon’s hand. The following year Sharon and I graduated high school and we lost contact with each other.

After all these years, I still pray for the family. I’ve heard there is a reason for everything. Maybe that is why we have established interventions now? Perhaps our world needed a wake-up call to learn better treatments for mental illness.

Or should we just depend upon God for all the things that we don’t understand, because he does?

Humble Pie

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20191227_110826© JB Katke

A lady I know will go on and on about apples. In her opinion McIntosh are the only apples worth eating. I can’t believe how opinionated she is. As if she were some kind of apple expert or something.

Do you know anyone like that? Who cares about her opinion anyway? The best one can do, is smile, let them vent, then walk away. Don’t bother trying discuss the pros or cons, she has a deaf ear.

This year though, she experienced a comeuppance. It was hilarious, I wish you could have been there. It was Christmas day and this lady was in full-blown praise of her precious apple pie. “The only apple pie I’ll eat is my own.”

Her son-in-law made note to never bake her an apple pie because she wouldn’t eat it.

As she is slicing her pie to serve, she notices it’s really juicy. “Darn, I wonder why? That’s never happened before.”

Okay, it’s me.

I have my reasons for being so apple biased. What many people look upon as desirable apples to bake with I find lacking. Other apples hold their shape and don’t cook down. I like cooked down.

McIntosh apples could easily be on a grocers list of unwanted produce because they are fragile and bruise easily. That makes them hard to find. So when I found a local grocer that carried them, I praised the managers in charge. It was important to me that they keep on coming while in season.

Too late, I realize why this pie bombed. My pie plates are deep dish. Normally one would think that’s a good thing because it holds more filling. And fill it I did.

Because McIntosh are soft and moist, made for a very juicy product. Humble pie. Note to self: Don’t use so many apples.

Isn’t that typical in life though? We think if a little does a little good, a lot will do a lot of good? Or bigger is always better, right? Wrong on both counts.

Good golly, now I must exercise food discipline in the kitchen as well as at the table. Life sure can get complicated. But if I’m not mindful the outcome may be undesirable, like being overweight or juicy.

I bet that’s why the good Lord gave us a conscience. The mind and heart are not always in agreement, best to let a wise conscience prevail.

My Plastic Career

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The auditorium was full of ambitious women in a selling mood.  My endeavor was to become a representative for home sales in a plastics company. My manager and I took a seat in one of the rows of folding chairs in preparation for the presentation.  Nothing could have prepared me.

The meeting started off with the introduction of a new product line. Demonstrations took place on how to convince my hostess and her friends that the new item was essential to their kitchen.  

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“To the homemaker, storage and organization is key.  Remember to encourage the guests to invite you into their home.  Don’t listen to the first three ‘No’s.’ That’s how we stay in business girls, by continuous demonstrations.”

This reminded me of my high school pep rallies.

Then came a testimonial.  A manager stood before us heralding one of her newest recruits.

“Her husband is currently in the hospital and she has three children under five years of age. Her car broke down last week but still Veronica made it to her hostess’ home keeping her commitment.”  One could almost hear the violin playing.  Yes, I’m being sarcastic and I’m sorry. I find it distasteful to put a person on a pedestal.

No doubt my face reflected that deer in the headlights expression.  This was more than information overload. This was sell, sell, and sell.

Trying to take in all this pomp and circumstance was over the top.  My thoughts turned to Christians that have this same drive for sharing their love for Jesus.  This was a turning point in my life.  Passing on hope to someone for their benefit, not for my profit, deeply impacts me.

At one of my own demonstrations a guest challenged whether a container was water proof. Oh no, onfrontation!  I held my breath as we put a camera into the container; trying to submerge it in a sink full of water.  Thankfully it floated, but that was more stress than I needed.

Mine was a short-term business venture.  We took that experience as a business loss at income tax time.  I prefer not to force myself on others. Even the husband of my manager gave encouragement, but not in the sales realm. She didn’t care what he did as long as he didn’t bother her.

This was not for me. But it did a world of good for my spiritual growth.