Kay's Blog

Keep the Change

I’ve been hearing a lot about “change” lately. Take the Presidential candidates; they talk about change more often than most Panhandlers. Here’s the problem: “change” implies things will get better, when the fact is, they could get worse. Anyone over the age of 40 knows what I’m talking about.

I won’t argue with the fact that some things need to be changed, sometimes desperately. Like diapers. Otherwise, I think most things should stay the way they are. An example is my favorite grocery store. I shop at Fred Meyer, a northwest supermarket chain. I love shopping there because they carry everything from tools to tortillas. Their slogan: "What's on your list today? You'll find it at Fred Meyer!”

Only now I can’t find it, because they are changing the store “to serve me better.” They are installing new fixtures, shiny floors, and updated signage. In the process, they are taking away the thing I like best; knowing where everything is.

A couple weeks ago I went to “Freddy’s” to do my weekly shopping, which I normally complete in an hour, on autopilot. I zipped over to the spot formerly known as the Meat Section. What? Gone! Like the old lady in the Wendy’s commercial, I called out, “Where’s the Beef?”

Next I went to the aisle where the dairy USED to be. I rounded the corner and cried, "I Can't Believe it's Not Butter!"

At one point I got so frustrated I found a store employee and asked in desperation, “Got Milk?”

Finding the things on my list became a game of hide and seek,  and I was losing. I was also getting worn out. Honestly, I haven’t worked so hard to get food since I tried to break open a Pinata. And this time I couldn’t use a baseball bat.

The next week I went back, and everything had been switched again, which was even more frustrating.  I know I’m not alone.  I heard about a guy who wrote a best-selling book called “Who Moved my Cheese?”

I think he's a Fred Meyer shopper.

The Big Give

I just saw Oprah's new show, "The Big Give," featuring inspirational stories of generosity. The show had a special meaning for me, because I recently wrote a large check for my own favorite cause: The Girl Scout Cookie Drive.

My friend, Cheryl, is a Girl Scout Leader for her daughter's Brownie troop. Last month she stopped by with Christine, who's nine, to take my "pre-order"€ for Girl Scout Cookies.

"Would you like Shortbread, Thin Mints, Thanks a Lots, Peanut Butter Sandwiches, Caramel deLites Cinna-Spins, Lemonades or Peanut Butter Patties?"€ Christine asked, looking adorable in her Brownie vest.

"Yes!" I answered.

I couldn't help it. I've never been able to resist a Brownie, even if it's not made of chocolate.  Besides, I feel such a sense of satisfaction when I'm giving - especially when I'€™m giving into my craving for a Girl Scout Cookie.

On Saturday Cheryl called to tell me the cookies had arrived, and she was on her way over to deliver them.  When I heard my husband, Steve, call out, "Cheryl's here!" I raced to the door. I was feeling anxious - I'd gone a little overboard with my cookie order, and didn't want him to find out.

I stood next to Steve, looking outside. "I don'€™t see Cheryl's van," I said.

"€œShe'€™s driving a forklift," he answered.

Oops.

Cheryl made several trips inside, panting as she stacked the last of my cookies near the door.

"Do you really need all these cookies?" Steve asked.

"€œHey, get off my case."

"I'€™m just asking."

"No, I mean you'€™re leaning on my case of Caramel deLites - and I want some."

I dug in; like last year (and the year before), they were dangerously yummy. I knew I'd be tempted to eat too many, and vowed to limit myself to one a day.

The first day I was successful. I chose Peanut Butter Patties, and ate just one box.

The second day, I picked Thanks a Lots. After I ate the box, I kept my promise, and stopped. Then it hit me: How can I be so selfish? This is about helping the Girl Scouts!

That begged the hard question: Am I the type of person who helps a little, OR A LOT?

I cracked open a box of Thin Mints.

After I ate the Thin Mints I selected Lemonades, and kept on eating. You might wonder - did all those cookies give me a stomach ache? Yes. But I reminded myself that giving isn't always easy. When you make a difference, there can be a cost.  In my case, it's a big one; I'€™m sacrificing my stomach. That practically makes me an organ donor!

A few days later I ran out of cookies. I wanted to help even more, so I called Cheryl to order a few extra boxes. She was excited to hear from me. "€œOur troop is selling a ton of cookies!  And it looks like you will be our biggest customer!"€

Their biggest customer? That didn't sound good. Come to think of it, my jeans ARE feeling pretty tight, I realized. Looking in the mirror confirmed the fact that I'd packed on a few unwanted pounds. I was becoming a big customer.

I ordered more cookies anyway. I can'€™t stop giving just because there'€™s a personal downside. Besides, I might inspire others to give, like Oprah. If I keep going, maybe I'€™ll even get my own show.

If that happens, I have a name: "The Big Giver."€

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Got Got Cookies?

Email me at kay@kaymiller.net to buy them from my favorite Girl Scout, pictured above!

Trying Times

My daughter, Kelly, is 15. Like a lot of moms and daughters, we fight about what type of clothes are appropriate to wear out in public. Unacceptable outfits get the following response:

"You're not wearing THAT, are you mom?"

I heard it last week as I headed out the door, on my way to meet a friend for dinner.  When Kelly saw what I was wearing, she grabbed my arm. "C’mon." She pulled me down the hall. "You've gotta have something better than that," she said as she stood in front of my closet.

"Mom, all your clothes are like, from the Eighties."

"No they're not," I argued. I pulled a shirt from the hanger and held it up. "This one's from the Seventies!"

If I'm stuck in the past, it's because choosing clothes at my age is hard. I'm a middle-aged "Tween" - too old to be young and too young to be old. Not sure what to wear, I rely on those tried and true styles of my youth. That's what I told Kelly as she rifled through my stuff.

"But mom...seriously, stirrup pants???  she asked. "Tomorrow, I’m taking you shopping."

Kelly took me to the mall, and headed toward American Eagle. She cruised through the store, scoping out the clothes racks. As I followed her, I saw clothes with names like Campus Hoodie. I felt out of place; my college days are a distant memory. The only campus I've been on recently is the Medical Campus where I got my mammogram.

"Kelly, I'm 48 years old. I can't wear something called a Campus Hoodie."

"But you can wear that?" she asked, pointing at me. "What's that called, an Assisted-Living Sweaty?"

Funny. I stood in the center of the store, and watched Kelly dart between the racks, emerging with an outfit consisting of a camisole, coordinating sweater and pants.

“Mom, this would look super-cute on you!"

Doubtful.

In the fitting room, I ran into trouble right away with the camisole. It had a built in “shelf-bra." Because of my exposure to gravity, let's just say the camisole's "shelf" was a little too high for my "books."

I strained and tugged; finally everything was in place. Barely. What would happen if I decided to move? I found out; my shelf-life quickly expired when I tried giving my reflection a friendly wave.

Argh.

For the second time, I loaded the shelf. Then, carefully, I pulled on the pants. I gave a firm tug. They seemed to be on, but the top only reached my hips.

""They're too low!" I called to Kelly.

"Mom, you can't keep wearing those dorky high-waisted pants!"

Maybe not, but these were giving me a hangover. And not the kind you get from drinking.

Next I tried the sweater.

"How’s the fit?"

I'm about to have one, I thought. This thing is sized for a Barbie Doll.

"I think this sweater was made by Stove Top," I said. "Because right now I'm not dressing, I'm stuffing."

"You should work out, mom."

"Trying on these clothes IS a workout!"

Kelly wasn't discouraged, and brought more clothes in more sizes. All that trying was wearing. Still, I had to agree that some of the outfits were kinda cute, and a definite improvement over my old, tired wardrobe. Maybe it's time, I thought. If 50 is the new 40, I'm still somewhat young. And if 150 pounds is the new 125, I'm even somewhat thin. Why not dress like the thin young person I am? I handed over my Visa card.

If you see me around, I hope you like my new look.

Just don't expect a friendly wave.

Valentine's Day

Sometime on Valentine's Day, I’ll receive a gigantic bouquet of roses from my husband, Steve. I know he’ll send me flowers on Valentine’s Day - he sends them every year. Why flowers? Obviously because he thinks I'm fat.

"Why don't you ever give me candy on Valentine's Day?" I asked him.

"You told me not to! You said you didn’t want candy around because you'd eat it all!"

"Since when do you listen to what I say??” I asked.  “Anyway, I've decided if I get candy this year, I'll only eat half the box."

"You mean, at a time," he said.

He knows me too well…I’m a sucker for anything sweet.

Pleasing a woman on Valentine’s Day can be tricky. Guys are stumped for ideas. That's why the airwaves are flooded with helpful ads like this one:

(Scene: two women having coffee in an espresso bar).

"Brian surprised you by proposing? The ring is perfect! How did he give it to you?"

“He hid it ..in the microwave! I almost COOKED it!”  (Giggle, giggle).

“I wish I could get one of those.”

“A ring?”

“No…a husband like Brian!”

This ad has more fake sweetness than a case of Diet Coke. Besides, giving jewelry is risky business, because taste in jewelry is very personal. I’m reminded of the sign outside the plastic surgeon's office: Let Us Help You Pick Your Nose. Not me. I want to pick my own nose and my own ring -- not to mention my own nose ring.

For any guy tempted to surprise someone with jewelry on Valentine’s Day, here’s my version of a jewelry commercial:

(Scene: a man and woman are eating dinner in an upscale restaurant. Soft music plays in the background as the woman opens a velvet box).

Woman (stunned):

"You got me a diamond ring? We've only been dating for two months...are you INSANE??"

Man (startled): "But...but...you said you wanted me to give you a ring!"

Woman: "You dweeb! I was asking you to call me!"

When you think about it, Steve is a pretty smart guy. He can’t go wrong with flowers. That’s why I’m guessing that on Valentines Day the doorbell will ring, and standing on the porch will be someone selling replacement windows. But later in the day I’ll hear a knock. I’ll open the door to find a huge bouquet of roses and a romantic card.

Even after twenty years of marriage, it will give me a thrill.

As I said, I’m a sucker for anything sweet.

A Heated Exchange

We just paid $4000 to have a new furnace installed. You may be wondering why we got a new furnace. I'm wondering, too.

Our old furnace seemed to work just fine. In fact, I had no idea anything was wrong with it, because it was providing the one and only thing I expect from a furnace: heat. Everything was just dandy until I made the mistake of getting it serviced.

I'd signed up for an "Annual Maintenance Agreement." This means the furnace company comes out every year instead of waiting until something breaks. Financially, it's a much better deal -- for the furnace company, anyway.

On the morning of the appointment, Chad, the "technician," worked on the furnace, banging around for awhile in the laundry room, possibly to prove he was actually doing something. Then he came to see me in my office down the hall.

"You have a problem," he said.

Duh, I thought, I have a lot of problems.

He continued, "You have a crack in your heat exchanger."

Oh. A new problem.

I followed Chad to the laundry room, where he told me that even though my furnace looked fine, sounded fine and even worked fine, it wasn't fine.

Yeah, right, I thought. Obviously the furnace isn't the only thing that's full of hot air.

He went on, "This happens with old furnaces because of the high temperatures.  The heat exchanger develops a crack, and it's dangerous.  Carbon Monoxide could be leaking right now and if gets worse, you could die."

That sounded like some sort of scare tactic, which made me...well...scared.  My mind started racing. I felt nervous. I imagined the heartbreaking newspaper headline: Family of Three Killed by Crack.

I looked at the furnace. "Where is the problem, exactly?" I asked.

"You can't see it from the outside. But trust me...you have a fairly large crack."

No kidding.

He reached into the furnace. "Yep, there it is...do you want to feel it for yourself?"

"Um, no thanks...I believe you."

And I did believe him -- as soon as I heard the same thing from two other furnace companies that I called for second opinions. Neither one argued with the fact that I had a large crack.

The bottom line? I have a new furnace. Like the old one, it seems to work just fine.

Football Fever

Everyone knows being sick can cause a fever.  But last weekend I had the kind of fever that can make you sick: Football Fever.

I caught it from my husband, Steve.  He’s not a huge fan (though like me, he could probably stand to lose a few pounds). Still, he gets interested when his team makes the playoffs, like the Seattle Seahawks did this year.

The game had just started last Saturday when I heard Steve shouting at the TV. That part isn't unusual, but he sounded especially excited, which made me curious. I came downstairs in time to see the Seahawks score their second Touchdown…in just three minutes…against the favored Green Bay Packers!

That’s when I caught the fever.

I plopped down on the couch to help cheer the Seahawks on to victory. At that moment the Seahawks fell apart, crumbling into a such a pathetic mess I thought they might get a visit from Dr. Phil.

It was a huge letdown to see the other team score the first of SIX unanswered touchdowns in the icy Green Bay stadium.  It got worse; large flakes started falling onto the field (besides the Seahawks).

Those first snowflakes developed into a full-fledged Blizzard. The fans and players from Green Bay are used to that kind of weather. But the Seahawks are from Seattle. The only kind of Blizzard we can handle comes from Dairy Queen.

Here’s the crazy part: most of the players wore short sleeves. I guess they wanted to look tough, because even though the temperature was below freezing, they all showed off their rippling biceps (or “guns,” as they call them), by baring arms.

The game dragged on, and watching the Seahawks lose after their promising start was sickening. It was even more painful when they kept calling “Time Outs.” As a mom, I’ve used Time Outs as punishment, and being on the other end was a bummer.

Eventually the Seahawks lost, by a depressing score of 42-20. Because even though both teams had the same number of Quarterbacks, Running Backs, Tailbacks and Fullbacks, the other team had something we didn’t.

A Comeback.

What Can Brown Do For You?

Mother Nature gave me brown hair. Now, Father Time is taking it; my beautiful sable locks are being replaced by a color of gray that's as dull as a Presidential Debate.

Luckily I don't have a ton of gray hair - yet.  But I have too much gray hair for a woman in her mid-thirties, which is how old I am...trying to look.

I first noticed the strands of silver in my hair a few years ago. I didn’t mind, because there were only a few.  But their numbers keep growing, and I’m afraid soon I'll have so much silver someone will try to polish it.

There’s a solution, of course. Unfortunately the solution contains harsh chemicals, is a pain-in-the-butt, and costs an arm and a leg. It’s easy to see why some women say, “no way” to hair color. As for me, I'm vain; I firmly support the right-to-dye.

Every six weeks I go to my hairdresser, Stefanie, to get my locks changed. She mixes a combination of noxious chemicals into a goopy potion and smears it on my head. She slaps on a shower cap. Then we wait.

At this point, I avoid glimpsing myself in shiny surfaces, because I look ridiculous. When it comes to getting your hair colored, it’s the Destination, not the Journey; on the way to the land of the Beautiful, you travel through the town of Ugly.

Guys are lucky. They don’t worry as much about having gray hair. My husband, Steve, has gray hair, and he only covers it up once in awhile. Even then, he eventually ends up taking off his hat.

Most women feel differently. If someone asked me, “What Can Brown Do for You?” I’d answer: Make me look younger.  Yesterday I felt fantastic when I walked out of Stefanie’s as a shiny brunette.

I’ll be back in six weeks to do it again. Because for me, dyeing is just part of getting older.

Balderdash

"It doesn't matter whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game."

Whoever said that was obviously a loser.

Saying that winning doesn't matter is Balderdash, which means nonsense. Balderdash also happens to be the name of the lively game I played the other night with some friends.

Here's how the game works. You're given a word, person, movie title, etc. You have to bluff your opponents into believing YOU have the right definition, answer or plot. Here are examples:

Who is Jesse Reno?

Janet Reno's Identical Twin.

What's the plot of the movie, "If Ever I See You Again?"

It's a gripping saga of lost socks in the dryer.

Because of brilliant answers like these, my game piece overtook my friend Cheryl's to win the game. As I crossed the finish line, there was a loud cheer.

The cheer went on for awhile; meanwhile everyone else left to get snacks.

Maybe I was a little obnoxious, but I was excited - I haven't won too many things.  I've never won any trophies. The only plaque I had was removed by the dentist.

The next day I was still basking in the glory of my win when the phone rang.  It was my friend, Cheryl.

"You were probably waiting for me to call," she said.

"Yeah, I was pretty awesome last night, huh?"

"Actually, I'm calling to say that something felt wrong; I couldn't stop thinking about the game all night. Then I realized I made a mistake - I didn't move enough spaces on my last turn. I won after all."

I thought about it for a minute.

"You snooze, you lose," I said.

I couldn't help it; calling me to claim my victory took a lot of nerve. I felt peeved. I felt irritated. I felt like calling her something nasty.

But is there a name for a person who is that petty? That competitive? That obsessed with winning a trivial party game?

The only one I could think of was Kay Miller.

That New Year's Diet? Here's the Skinny

It's January, which means it's time to think about New Years Resolutions. I have a long list. On the top is my bottom.

Along with the rest of my body. I ate way too much over the holidays; now I'm carrying more pounds than the British Treasury. When it comes to my weight, I need to make like those out-of-town relatives and take off.

That's why I paid close attention to a recent article about healthy eating in Time Magazine.  (Yes, I subscribe to Time magazine, thankyouverymuch. I've found reading it makes me a lot smarter-looking).

You might not want to read Time magazine -- I know I don't. So if your New Year's Resolutions include weight loss, here's a summary of the latest healthy eating tips, along with my thoughts:

"When you eat carrot cake, scrape off the icing." 

I already do that; the icing is my favorite part.

"Use tub margerine to make a Hot Buttered Rum. It will have less cholesterol - and fewer calories."

It won't have ANY calories when you offer your guests a Hot Margerined Rum and they say "Um, No Thanks..."

"When dining with a friend, order one dessert and 2 spoons."

Try to choose a friend that's coming down with the stomach flu, which you'll probably catch.  By the time you finally recover you'll be 5 pounds thinner.

"Instead of Cream, substitute Evaporated Skim Milk."

However, when describing something as REALLY GREAT do not substitute the saying "the Evaporated Skim Milk of the Crop."

"Use portion-control. When it comes to meat, estimate your portion size using a deck of playing cards."

Be careful when eating in restaurants, where portions are estimated using the size of an actual deck.

To get the proper nutrients in your diet, include all colors of the rainbow."

Easy if you like M and M's.

Only eat while sitting down.

While keeping one hand on the steering wheel.

---

By following these healthy eating tips, winning the game of losing should be a piece of cake.

With the icing scraped off, of course.

The Perfect Christmas

Some people live too far away from their families to spend the holidays with them.

Others aren't so lucky.

The holidays are stressful enough without extra people around. Of course, like that very first Christmas, most of the work falls on the woman.

It's our own fault; women get caught up in a holiday vision that's sappier than a Christmas Tree. We not only buy the gifts, we buy the idea of perfection. Even though it's just a dream, we drive ourselves crazy trying to make it come true. We shop. We cook. We do more Wrapping than Ice Cube.

When it comes to all these details, nobody else seems to care. In fact, the only guy I know that worries about Christmas is Santa (I've heard he carries that extra weight because he's a Stress-Eater).

When I woke up on Christmas Day, I admired my perfect house. It was sitting on the coffee table. And it was made of Gingerbread.   

Meanwhile, our hair-do's looked like hair-don'ts, our menu for the day consisted of Chips and Dip and the floor was littered with dead pine needles.

Nobody seemed to care.