The Backs of People's Heads and Baby Faces

Creative Writing - Week 1

2012-01-10T01:08:00.000-05:00

Well, I have no idea if I did the assignment well, but I kind of like the little story I created (partly fiction and partly non-fiction - as if they'd get up before 10 AM. Ha!).
The question was: Youhave one free hour to yourself. What do you do?
I was supposed to use lots of concrete details and sensory details to describe the situation and the minimum number of words was 250. I exceeded that by at least 100%. Let's hope my teacher is understanding of being a blabber-mouth.

One,Stress-Free Cup of Coffee

Ihave finally dropped my husband off for work and returned home to my sleepingteenagers. There’s no school today, so I decide to forgo the usualbreakfast mayhem and let the kids sleep in. What do they have to dotoday, anyway? We were just planning to clean and put away Christmas. That can wait for an hour. I could use an hour of quiet andrelaxation. Usually, by the time the kids leave for work and school, myears are ringing from the music in the bathroom and the “Where’s my shirt?”questions. I live for the moments of peace and quiet.

Ilook over at the sink, piled with dishes and sigh. Nope. I’m notgoing to do those, either. That’s Mikey’s job. “I wouldn’t want thepoor bugger to be bored,” I think with a wry chuckle, “He’ll be so thrilled tohave something to do.”

Iwalk over to the coffee maker to start the coffee. I don’t usuallydrink coffee at home so it takes me a while to gather all the stufftogether. The coffee we have is whole bean and has to be ground. Iwonder where that grinder is.

Ibegin to dig through the cabinets to find the coffee grinder. Thesecabinets are a mess. They’ve got baking pans in with pots and pans,and what is the cat’s bowl doing here? I start pulling things out of thecabinet while I stand on my head and feel all the blood rush to my brain. Finally, I locate the grinder and put all the pots and pans and cake pans andpie plates back into the cabinet. Of course, the grinder had gottenpushed to the very back of the cabinet. Nothing is ever easy.

I plugin the grinder, dump the coffee beans into it and push thebutton. The grinder does its job and I pull the lid off to put thegrounds into the filter. The sharp, pungent smell of the freshground coffee breaks through the musty smell of the dirty dishes in thesink. It pierces the fog of my morning thought. Mmmm… This isgoing to be so good.

I draw the water, pour it into the reservoir and hit the "on" button. Thecoffee pot begins to make its chugging and popping sound indicating that it’sworking, thank God! I use it so infrequently that it's always a gamble.
I sit down at the computer and bring up my email andread “The Writer’s Almanac” and check to see if any of my friends have writtento me this morning. Nope, it’s all spam:

“Buy a new bra from Lane Bryant!”

“Save 60% with Groupon!”and

“Come see Mr. Jones at The BookLoft, where he’s signing his new book!”

Thebold letters scream at me from the little box on my iGoogle page. Idelete all of them and hear the coffee pot sputtering and spitting in itsefforts to expel the rest of the water I put in, turning those last few dropsinto life-restoring, brown, caffeinated water, otherwise known as coffee. I have a friend who once remarked that she believed that Juan Valdez (you know, the Columbian Coffee guy) should be canonized because he brings the dead to back to life every morning, right in her kitchen. The coffee smells divine. It smells like home.

Iclose my laptop and walk over to the counter to pour my coffee, only to realizethat there are no cups clean. Really? Yes. I turn on the hot water and wait for it to get warm for what seems like an eternity. After I wash a nice big mug and pour a nice cupof hot coffee, I add a generous helping of fancy coffee creamer and sugar toit. I take a sip and let it warm my tongue and sting the back of mythroat. Man, that’s good coffee. I breathe in the smell of theIrish Crème laced perfection in my mug and sigh contentedly.

Turningto the living room, I look for a spot to sit among the piled up laundry andschool books. I have to set my mug down and move some laundry back to abasket so I can sit on the couch. I get caught up in the task and beforeI know it, I have cleared the whole couch and separated Michael's laundry fromCelia's and ours. I have to remember to have the kids take this allupstairs and put it away.

Finally,I have a spot to sit with a book to visit with some long-lost literary“friends” and relax for the last 15 minutes of my hour alone. I sit backand grab another sip of my coffee, which is now the perfect drinkingtemperature and relax back into the couch with a smile. Thank God forthis hour long break.

Facebook and Charity

2012-01-08T04:43:00.000-05:00

Facebook is a destroyer of Charity. No, you will not convince me otherwise. I am quite sure of this. As soon as that familiar cornflower blue "F" comes up, the gloves come off. If you are looking for a fight, all you have to do is log onto Facebook, especially during an election year or, heaven forbid, a full moon during an election year. The things that people say to one another are amazing!

Fighting on Facebook is the equivalent of having a brawl at a cocktail party. It's public and everyone can see it (no matter how tight your privacy settings are). People say things that they would never say to a person's face (I am guilty, as charged.). They drag outside parties into the fight, too. It's like that iconic bar fight scene in any Western. It starts out with two guys and pretty soon everyone's involved and the piano player is getting hit over the head with a bottle.

You know, if you had a fight like this at a party, someone would go to jail. I'm serious!! If that person were standing in front of you and all the same things were said, punches (or at least hard objects) would be thrown. Blood pressure goes up. Sleep is lost. Friendships and family relationships are damaged. Is keeping in touch with your old friends from high school really worth all this? Is having the last word worth sacrificing your health and the feelings of everyone around you?

Sure, you could just use it for positive posts, but what you see as positive, may be viewed by someone else as contentious. And whatever happened to not talking about sex, religion or politics in public. This is public, people!! You can't get much more public!

I have a priest friend who hates Facebook. He says that he has seen more family problems arise from Facebook than any other single source in the last few years. It has caused marital problems, fights between siblings, misunderstandings between friends and out-and-out wars between people who don't even know each other, but have a mutual friend. In addition, things that are said on Facebook will frequently bleed over into real life violence. I was upset one day over a fight that I had with my sister and he said, "Don't tell me this had something to do with Facebook or I'll scream." I didn't want him to scream so I didn't say anything else. It was Facebook.

Remember, hiding behind that smiling picture of your family member, friend or acquaintance (or their family member, friend or acquaintance), there is a real, live, breathing, feeling and thinking human being. Act accordingly. If you wouldn't say it to their face, you shouldn't be typing it on Facebook. Read your comment again before you hit post. Read the whole thread to make sure you really understood what it said. If your comment gives you pause, hit cancel, instead. If you really feel that something must be addressed in Christian charity, write to the person privately and don't embarrass them in public. Just like you wouldn't correct someone in front of the whole party, don't correct them on a Facebook wall or a News Feed.

I'm not giving up my Facebook anytime soon, mind you. I enjoy keeping in touch with my friends and family who are far away from me. But, things that offend me are getting deleted or hidden.

Face Down in the Middle of the Nave (or Why We Had The Best Christmas. Ever)

2011-12-28T10:59:00.000-05:00

That's where I was four days before Christmas. There was no money for presents. There was no hope of having any, really. My house was a mess, the Christmas tree was looking like a very unlikely prospect for this year and I felt buffeted by every malady known to man. I was worried (really, beyond worried) about the music for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I was worried about my daughter and son and all the things that they have been faced with these past few months. I had been fighting with my daughter over even the smallest things. And then, I lost an old friend the week before Christmas. So, I found myself, finally, face down in front of the Blessed Sacrament sobbing. Believe it or not, those tears were the best gift I got this Christmas.

During the months of November and December, I had been to the doctor every week for something new. First it was pneumonia, then it was strep, then I had to be hospitalized for a TIA (a mini-stroke). Because of all this time off, I was failing two of my three college classes and realized that I was going to have to take them again in the Spring. And then, to top it all off, I tore the meniscus in my knee. By the time it was the week before Christmas, though everything was healing up and I was beginning to regain control of the household (as much control as I ever have,) everything felt so wrong. I can't really describe it any other way. Nothing was going the right direction. I couldn't please anyone and I felt like I was getting nothing done. I felt as if everything was spinning out of control.

When I talked about it with my friends and my husband, they all counseled me to slow down. This was good advice, but, when you are a church musician, there is nothing slow about Christmas. My daughter, ever at the ready with a quip or smart remark, told me "'Jesus take the wheel.' That's what you have to do, Mom. Just say it." In my usual control-freak way, I just laughed at her. "Oh sure...I'll just do that, kid. You just don't understand." But, really, it was me that didn't understand.

Every morning, when I drop my husband off for work, I turn on our local Catholic radio station (AM 820 - St. Gabriel Radio, for those in the Central Ohio area). On the Wednesday before Christmas, the speaker for the timeslot I usually catch was a woman by the name of Kitty Cleveland. Kitty was speaking of her surrender of her will to God's will. Having just written a post about remembering that control over "the situation" is what got Eve in trouble in the first place, I was intrigued to hear her story.

I had already decided to go to church and spend some time in prayer. Our parish has no mass on Wednesday morning (we have it on Wednesday evening,) so I knew the church would be empty and I could just rest, but as I listened to Kitty's story about surrendering her will to God, I knew that this was what I had been missing and I began to cry. I had been trying to be God. I had taken control, all right. But in the process, I had made a mess of everything. God wanted my attention and I was too busy trying to do whatever it is that I do to listen. It had been ages since I had done any Eucharistic adoration (except for a little time on First Fridays after morning mass) and I knew that I needed some "face time" with Jesus. I was headed to the right place.

Now, lying prostrate on a tile floor is not the easiest place to be when you have an injured knee, but it was the only place I wanted to be. I didn't care how much it hurt to get down on that floor and I wasn't even considering how I was going to get back up. I opened the Church up and went straight to the front to throw myself at the foot of the altar. There I cried. I grieved. I burned for forgiveness and comfort, direction and purpose. I made a puddle on the floor with my tears and I was not sorry for having done so (but I did have to get a mop to clean it up). And God comforted me.

Words of hymns came into my head as I lay there. I could suddenly remember every word of "I Heard The Voice Of Jesus Say". I remembered all of the :"Memorare" (a prayer that I have never memorized and couldn't recite it today). I know that I spent at least an hour on the floor. Once the tears had stopped, I just continued to lay there and praise God for His work in my life and the wonderful gifts he had given me in my music and my friends and family. It was at that moment, that I realized that none of the stocking stuffers or beautifully wrapped Christmas gifts I could put under my tree would ever be greater than the gifts I already had been given. I managed to drag myself over to a pew and sat there for about another 40 minutes, reading Morning Prayer and singing "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" and really focusing on the words and praying them. I finally left when the staff began to arrive. My face was swollen and I really didn't want to explain why.

When I finally arrived home, my daughter asked me where I'd been and I told her, "Face down in the middle of the floor at St. Stephen's. Crying."
"Mom, why would you do that?" she asked
"Well, sometimes you just find that you have to do that. You know...surrender..." I trailed off.
She looked at me and said, "Oh, I get it, Mommy. 'Jesus take the wheel.'"

On Friday morning, I went to Mass. Father spoke about how sin diminishes us and makes us less than we were before. Like an illness, it takes time to recover, even after you've been to confession and done your penance. The reading was about Zechariah naming John the Baptist and about how Zechariah's first words after his speech was restored were words of praise for God's great gifts. Father talked about how Zechariah took what little he had left in him and used it for praising God. It took all he had to give up his will and then praise God for the gifts he had been given. This really hit home for me. There was no way Father could have known about my time in the church on Wednesday. No one was in the building at all and even if they had been, I hadn't been speaking out loud.

After mass, at coffee hour, Father came over to announce that the poinsettias had arrived for Christmas. I went over to see if I could help put them out. We went back to the storage room and got out the wreaths and I discovered that we had no Christmas tree at the church. And as I was standing in there, I realized that I could decorate the church. I didn't need to decorate the house. I needed to bring what I had and decorate the church. So, that's what I did. I didn't care if I got the house decorated. It was no longer important. I wanted to use what I had to make something beautiful for God and that act of surrender opened the door for the most beautiful Christmas I have ever had.

The next day, Christmas Eve, the kids and my husband cleaned up and decorated our house while I rested up for Christmas Eve mass. We got some small gifts for the kids. Nothing big. In fact, one got a can of Hot Cocoa and the other got Cap'n Crunch. I got a small gift for my husband and somehow, the children managed to find time to buy me a pair of cloisonne earrings. That was it. No piles of presents. No 2 AM wrapping of gifts. No bags of wrapping paper and blister pack remnants. And because we were expecting nothing at all, it was that much sweeter. It reminded me of the fact that even though we could never merit the grace of God, he gives it to us anyway. All we have to do it open our hearts to it.

The Christmas Masses were beautiful. The music was lovely and we gave glory to God for the gift of His Son in the incarnation and all other Christmas gifts pale by comparison.

"Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus!"

Merry Christmas to all of you and best wishes for a blessed new year!

Another suggestion to help prepare for Christmas

2011-12-12T14:29:00.001-05:00

From my good friend, Mary Frances, an excellent idea for preparing your heart for Christmas.

Gaudete in Domino semper! Ember Days as Advent calm in the storm of Christmas prep

In the western church, we have lost much of the penitential nature of Advent. From friends who were Byzantine Catholic, I had learned that there was an Advent fast. It is not as severe as the Lenten fast, but in both liturgy and actions our eastern rite brothers and sisters were a bit more focused on trying to make Advent a real time of preparation.

Game on, Santa?

2011-12-12T09:18:00.001-05:00

The New Fruit of the Tree of Life? Not any more than it was the first time.

So, I have been thinking about this since I first saw Best Buy's 2011 Christmas Ad. The ad can't be found anywhere on the web at this point, and that is probably because many people consider it offensive. If you thought it was just cute, I'd ask you to reconsider.

In the commercial, a mother is standing at Best Buy talking to a clerk about buying the latest Apple gadgets at low prices. The clerk remarks, jokingly, "Yeah, Santa better watch his back this year." The mother, with a steely and greedy look in her eye, replies, "Yep."

In the next scene, Santa is arriving to leave presents on Christmas Eve and Mom is waiting for him, to gloat over how much she bought and how she beat him to the punch AND got better gifts for her family that he did. Santa appears bemused and startled at her apparent lack of respect for the gifts he had in mind for her family.

If I was going to write a modern retelling of the Fall of Man in the Garden of Eden, I could not have done it better.

Just as he had in the Garden of Eden, God gives us all we need. Not always what we want, but everything that we need. Santa's gifts at Christmas are (and always have been) a metaphor for God's grace. But we, as our common mother, Eve, always seem to want more. We want to be in control. The mother in this ad is a perfect metaphor for Eve. She takes control of the gift situation from Santa, much like Eve wished to be "like God" when she took the apple (well, it was not really an apple, but that's the traditional symbol). It's really no coincidence (I don't think) that the products that the mother purchases from Best Buy are Apple products.

Wow. Just really. Wow. Do you think they realize the parallel?

Psychologically, Christmas is the most dangerous time of year. It is used as an opportunity to make you feel like less than you are because you don't have what everyone else has. It is a time that many people become control freaks (raising my hand, here) in their households trying to make a perfect Christmas, only to find that NOTHING in this world is perfect. People charge around the city trying to fill their broken hearts with things that will break or wear out. It is also the time of year when there are the most suicides because people feel that they can't keep up and they can't do anything to change their own situation. Coincidence?

There is no coincidence that at the exact time that we prepare to celebrate the coming of Jesus to our broken and weary world, Satan attacks us at our most vulnerable and oldest wound: Pride.
I have been having a lot of trouble letting go of the dreams of a perfect Christmas. Who doesn't want the "Perfect Christmas"? But what IS the perfect Christmas? Is it the beautifully decorated home, roaring fire, the gifts that are exactly right and the best food you've ever eaten?

No.

It is the perfectly prepared heart. It is a heart prepared to receive the gifts that God provides, often without our participation. In fact, to make them even better, sometimes he has to break our hearts of stone to make room for the gift of His Grace. It hurts when your heart is breaking, but the grace is so much more wonderful than we can possibly imagine. We just have to allow God to fill our hearts with His joy. Sometimes He uses other people to do this. Sometimes it's just a revelation that He drops there. But we have to be open and ready to hear and accept His grace.

Go to confession, go to Church, give to the poor, and consider going without something you want, but don't need. Then have a truly Merry Christmas.

Flexibility is the key

2011-12-05T17:49:00.001-05:00

Hoo-boy. Well, that was a short-lived dream.

A couple of months ago, I was talking about going on pilgrimage to Spain to walk the Camino Santiago de Compostella. That's not looking very likely at this point.

Friday, while shopping for cheese (yes, Peccorino Romano for pesto, to be specific), I took a bad step and tore up what was left of my left knee. The doctor who saw me says it looks like an ACL and/or meniscus tear. So, for the next several weeks, my knee is immobilized and, depending on what the upcoming MRI shows, I may have to have surgery.

Yep, not a lot of walking going on around here. Currently, I am using a walker to get around My daughter has decided to call me "Walker: Texas Ranger" and even changed her ring tone for me to the theme from the show. ("Well, the eyes of the ranger are upon you...") Thanks, kid.

It's just not the right time. And surprisingly, I am okay with it.

There are plenty of pilgrimages that are much more local that I can take. There's one just north of here in Carey, OH: Our Lady of Consolation. The last time I was there, I noticed that there were many, many crutches, walkers and wheelchairs abandoned by people who had been healed there. Maybe that's where I need to go.

15 miles a day.

2011-09-01T12:56:00.003-04:00

15 miles a day.

That's how far you have to walk each day to make the entire pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostella on el Camino de Santiago. I can handle a couple of miles a day right now. At one time I could walk for 10 miles a day. But I was 14 and I was in terrific physical shape. Hmmmm...

No one said it would be easy. Better start moving, huh?

The pilgrimage begins now.

2011-08-30T14:05:00.003-04:00

I have made a crazy decision. I am going on pilgrimage in Fall of 2013 (I previously posted 2014). Not just anywhere, mind you. No, I live big. I am going to walk the Camino de Santiago in Spain. The invitation just sort of popped up.

I thought about it. I dismissed it. The invitation persisted. I thought some more and then I decided to pray about it. (Why is prayer always the last thing I think of?)

So, I said a St. Therese novena and asked for a rose if I should go. Beginning on the ninth day I started to see roses in rather unexpected places. All of them were a bright pink. One of them was actually blooming in full shade.

I ignored signs and thought, "No, that's just a coincidence. Novenas are not magic tricks, after all." I finally told my husband that I had been praying about this and that I had been seeing pink roses everywhere. "You don't think that's an answer, do you?" I asked him. Yes, those roses are for me. (Thanks, St. Therese.) So, why is this crazy?

I am in terrible physical shape.
I have no money.
My Spanish is um....well, I can find the bathroom, order food, go to Mass and describe my family.

Yep. I am nuts. But you know who else was nuts? The apostles. Can you imagine? I can just hear it: "You've left your home, your family, your friends, you quit your job, and for what? To follow some guy? What are you thinking?" Their co-workers and families must've thought they'd lost it. And they had. They gave up their lives so that they could inherit the Kingdom of Heaven.

Now, I am not saying that I am on a par with the apostles and that their evangelization of the world is equivalent to my going on pilgrimage. I am saying that God asks us to do things for Him that we think are crazy, but if we keep walking on and trust in His divine providence, it all works out.

I don't know why I am being called to go on this journey, but there must be a reason. Maybe it has nothing to do with me. I do know that all long journeys begin with the first step. There will be a lot of steps to this journey before my feet ever touch Spanish soil. The first step is beginning to walk (so I don't die somewhere in northern Spain) and really pray, as if my life depended on it, because it does. Apart from God, I can do nothing.

Teenagers

2011-08-02T22:59:00.003-04:00

An acrostic poem for an assignment

Teenagers

Tickety-tackety, texting non-stop,
ever in doubt of where she'll end up,
endlessly fumes she's not pretty enough,
never predictable, always in flux,
a teenage girl is a wonder, it's true. She's
gentle one moment,
egregious the next,
rages against all authority, but
she sighs in your arms as you wipe all her tears.

Comments? Suggestions?

Spring

2011-04-11T07:31:00.003-04:00

O, gracious and bountiful spring!
Your breezes, soft and sweet, call me from my kitchen.
"Forget your books! Forget your chores!
Come and bask in my glories!" you sigh.
Emerging from my sleepy haze of work as you beckon,
The magnolias, narcissus awaken my longing for movement and light.
I begin to believe.
I tentatively hope.
But ever fickle, your coldness and wrath threaten.
Clouds mount in the west and as the breeze turns colder,
I remember that you are just a flirt.

Haiku from Last Night*

2011-03-30T07:55:00.002-04:00

I can't find my pills
Dude, where the hell did they go?
Oh wait - here they are...

-Celia O'Keefe

* Based on the popular "Texts from Last Night", "Haiku from Last Night" is evidently the way that my insomniac daughter has chosen to communicate with me. I found this and 3 others written on a piece of paper laying across my keyboard this morning. This was the best one.

Manners

2010-10-29T06:48:00.005-04:00

I have been thinking a lot about manners recently. Going beyond the simple "please" and "thank you", and the art of eating with silverware instead of your hands is really rather rare these days, it seems to me.

Manners used to be taught in schools as part of a well-rounded curriculum. Sometime in the 1970's or 1980's, manners ceased to be important enough to address as a subject of education in the classroom (and indeed, in some cases, were scorned as old-fashioned) and were relegated to the ranks of "things we learn at home". At the same time, parents, who had always been responsible for instilling and developing social skill training were being told to let their children be "free to be who and what they wanted to be". In addition, many families were coming apart at the seams and families who previously had a parent at home to administrate and supervise the children gave way to a culture of "latch-key kids" and unsupervised teenagers. There was no way to transmit the culture of "mannerly behavior" that sustains our restraint and charity (or kindness toward others) as a society, because there was no one around to teach or enforce it. And now, those kids are the parents of today.

Today we have two problems in society that are, I believe, directly related to this lack of social training or "manners". The rise in bullying (and its cousin: violent crime) and the rise in violent political debate correspond with shocking clarity to the decline in the importance of manners in our schools and homes. Why?

There are a couple of reasons. Manners are a set of rules that give a person something to fall back on in unfamiliar situations. It's a framework of what to say and do (or what not to say and not to do). But, it is like using a tool in an emergency. When your car has a flat, if you have never tried to use that lug wrench or jack when it is not raining and dark, it's going to be really hard to use for the first time it when it is. Practicing manners, then, is a way to use a set of tools that will stand you in good stead when the unexpected happens.

For example, if you are at a dinner party where you know only your host, you have a set of rules governing what you talk about with your fellow partygoers and how to go about it so you don't offend anyone. That seems pretty esoteric, but imagine that you are the new kid at school and all the same rules apply (to everyone). Suddenly, you have a structure for how to act and what to say (and so do they), that, if enforced, could save you embarrassment and a lot of grief.

The second reason that manners are important, is that they give you a sense that you are not the most important thing in the room. It demands respect for your fellow man. From a Christian perspective, each person is created in the image and likeness of God and that is enough to keep us from harming another in body mind or spirit, but in the world of secular society, we had to legislate it. Hence, manners. And, if followed as the societal norm, the type of respect that comes from adhering to manners could save kids' lives. Heck, it could save your life.

"But what about my right to say what's on my mind?" You wouldn't believe how often I hear this from kids who are caught saying something inappropriate to a peer, or worse, an adult. Each of us has the right to Free Speech in this country. I realize that this is a hotly contested freedom right now. Where does that right end?

When I was very young, my mother told me that I had my rights as long as they did not interfere with another person's rights. That means, that as long as I allow another equal time and do not personally attack (physically or verbally) another person, I am within my rights to speak my mind as regards my political values and ideals. And they are within their rights to speak theirs. So, why do we have all of this politically based violence? I can only assume it is a complete lack of manners. There is no way that a gentleman or lady would ever lay hands on another person if he or she disagreed with that person.

So it seems to me that these are pretty basic rules to teach and enforce:

Keep your hands to yourself.
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.
Do not whisper in a public setting. Anything you need to say to your neighbor can wait until you are alone.
Do not interrupt people when they are speaking. Your turn will be next.
Never talk about religion or politics at a dinner party (or in the lunchroom).
Do not address private matters in public. (I do not want to know what goes on in your bedroom. Did you want to know what goes on in mine? I didn't think so.)

If these seem simplistic let me share a story. I had a couple of children in my choir that were bullying another child. They weren't using their fists. They were using their tongues. They were teasing this young man because he was overweight and it was getting to be a weekly occurrence to find this young man in the car crying. This kid was a "tough guy", but he'd never lay his hands on a girl and he wasn't witty enough to take them in a battle of wits. It was very frustrating and hurtful.

Finally, I asked my husband to address the problem with the girls' mother and the girls themselves. He asked them if they knew the "Golden Rule". They replied that they did not. He taught it to them, had them explain what they thought that meant, and then explained that they needed to abide by it whenever they came to practice. Pretty basic manners, right? Yet, the mother was furious, saying that he had humiliated her children and sent their father to me to complain. He told me, "We just don't do things like that anymore." I responded, "Maybe we should." Let me further explain that these girls were not young hoodlums, they were middle-class suburban dwelling girls. They definitely, in my opinion, should have known better.

I know that I am certainly guilty of treating people with a lack of respect when they displease me. I have gotten very sloppy with my manners in the past few years and I did not enforce them adequately with my children. But I intend to redouble my efforts.

What about you?

Just a little plug for one of my favorite children's manners books: "Miss Manners' Guide to Rearing Perfect Children". Not only is it hilarious (and, therefore, a good read,) it's invaluable information for every age your child will pass through all the way through college. Let me also say that when we follow Miss Manners' advice things really do run more smoothly around here.

Setting the Priorities Straight

2010-10-11T08:47:00.003-04:00

Well, in my last post, more than two months ago, I kvetched about being over committed. As I dropped things, and lowered commitment levels, the biggest challenge became Homeschooling vs. Working Full(ish) Time. Needless to say, homeschooling won.

It was not simply a matter of time, but of focus. And it wasn't so much getting my daughter to focus as it was getting myself to focus. I found that I had a hard time switching gears between work and school. If I was concentrating on one, the other suffered and that was serving no one. So, after much deliberation, compromise and consternation, I said my final good-byes, packed my things and came home.

Financially, this will be a challenge. I won't lie about that. But, it won't be impossible, either. We've gotten ourselves to a place where we can sustain ourselves on what we make without my job. Quite frankly, the long-term benefits of the care and attention I give my daughter and her education right now far outweigh the extra things we would get to do if I was working full-time.

I still maintain my children's choir and my duties at the church, but those are much more manageable. I can plan a liturgy at any point during the day. I can practice anytime I wish. Besides, my daughter is actively involved with those projects as part of her musical training so it doesn't take away from her learning, but adds to it.

I feel so much better about this. I feel like I have just jumped out of a plane and am in free fall, right now. It exhilarating, yet slightly terrifying. What if the chute doesn't open? But I am certain that I packed my parachute correctly. This is the right choice.

Too many things to do...

2010-08-10T09:46:00.003-04:00

I do this every year at this time. I over commit myself. I become entangled in the weeds of 4,000 little projects that I took on because "they're just little, right?" So, now I am at the point where I must decide what the most important of the projects are. This is never an easy job. I never like to disappoint people.

Fortunately, two of these "little projects" are over and done with, for this year. But, I am still staring down two choir seasons and full(ish) time job, homeschooling and a burgeoning AVON business. Oh, and I'm moving. What was I thinking??

I started my AVON business because I was hoping to make enough money to quit my regular job and be able to really devote my time to my choral work and homeschooling. But, when I turned in my resignation, my bosses ganged up on me and created a way for me to bring the princess to work with me and homeschool her there. It was SO very generous and I really appreciated being valued so much. Problem solved. Well, not quite...

See, there were all these other things that I wanted to accomplish with the extra time. One of them being getting a better grip on my choir repertoire and working on my keyboard skills. Now, that's not happening.

The AVON is going well, and I really like it, but when I get off of work, I have to immediately jump into AVON work, leaving me no time with my family or to accomplish the other stuff. And, if I had the time to devote to building my business I would be moving along much more quickly. Plus, AVON would allow me to work my job no matter where I am. It incorporates into your schedule, unlike a desk job. So, what to do? What do I drop?

I feel overwhelmed. But then, it's always like the at the end of summer.

While we are in a poetic mood...

2010-07-02T15:14:00.002-04:00

You need to read this poem.
And this one, too
Because Kate is Awesome.
Seriously.
With a capital "A".

Dancing Cardbord to Cardboard

2010-07-02T13:17:00.003-04:00

My cardboard cutout dances across the floor with yours, smiling.
It is always good to dance with you,
but tonight feels different.

I can feel the touch of your hands,
but it doesn't feel like your hands.
Imperfection

I can feel their weight through my dress,
but it doesn't feel like my dress touching my skin.
Implication

I can hear the words coming from your lips,
but I am certain that they are not yours.
Impossibility

I can see your eyes,
but they are only relentless reflections of your lively eyes.
Impenetrable

We bow, and part, and promise to dance again.
We return to our places to wait our turn.
Impassively

Love like an Ocean

2010-04-16T11:08:00.004-04:00

This love is like the ocean:
As vast as it is beautiful.
Turbulent and tranquil all at once.
It could swallow me whole,
but instead I lie on it,
floating weightless...
Trusting.
I have forgotten all about the storms.

On the question of Charity

2010-01-24T23:28:00.003-05:00

While surfing around on Facebook, I came across this post:

Shame on you America: the only country where we have homeless without shelter, children going to bed without eating, elderly going without needed meds, and mentally ill without treatment - yet we have a benefit for the people of Haiti on 12 TV stations. 99% of people won't have the guts to copy and repost this.

I had heard about this post going around from my sister-in-law at Sunday Dinner this evening, but was shocked to find it popping up on my friend's statuses. I was shocked. Did the person who posted this even consider what this said? Are you seriously saying that we should not help a foreign country whose entire infrastructure was completely obliterated through no fault of their own? Are you saying that we need to take care of our own first and then worry about everyone else? Is that what Jesus did? (Yes, these people are purportedly Catholics.)

I understand that you might be surprised or even a little outraged by the lack of care that the poor in our own country receive. Often times, it does not seem like enough. Everyone can tell you an anecdotal story about someone they know, or some one who knows someone who needed help and couldn't get it. However, I will tell you, there is a great deal of help out there for those that need it. All they need to do is ask. Often, they are too proud to do so. And I don't mean to sound hard, but I know. I know what it's like to sit in the welfare office. I have been there.

Something else to consider, if you are a person who agrees with the above Facebook post: What are YOU doing to change it? Likely, simply throwing money at the problem will not be the solution. I have found that people make the difference. Don't wait for "someone else" to do it! If you are really concerned about the poor and the homeless sit next to them on the bus. Be kind to them, even when they smell horrible. When they ask you for money, offer to buy them a sandwich. If they are really hungry, they'll take you up on that. If they're looking to score, they won't.

If you are worried about the elderly, go visit them. Show them that you care. Make sure they take their meds. Every drug company in the country offers a discount program. Help them take advantage of those programs.

The mentally ill...well, I could tell you all about that. Most of those who are not receiving treatment do not wish to. They feel that it dulls their senses. Good luck convincing them otherwise, but please do try. It may be the only hope they have.

In our country's history the only times we have suffered great financial and diplomatic hardships have been in periods of isolationism. This post made my blood run cold. I was reminded of the hundreds of thousands of lives lost in World War I while the U.S. isolated themselves from the "problems of Europe". A war that could have been cut much shorter had the U.S. been involved earlier. I was reminded of the tariff war that followed World War I. The United States, desperate to protect their own borders and interests, sparked a tariff war with rebuilding European nations. It has been argued that the spiraling tariffs were a major contributing factor to the Great Depression. I was also reminded of the Holocaust in the 1930's and 1940's, where the United States stood by and insisted, "Oh, it's not our problem."

Devastation to the human race is everyone's concern. It always has been and always will be, no matter what color the human's skin happens to be or what language they speak.

A Toaster, a Piano and a Pipe Organ

2010-01-11T06:20:00.002-05:00

The organ at our church is a rather old Rodgers electronic organ, that we affectionately call "The Toaster". The organist, the substitute organist, and I dislike the Toaster and have been hoping for its demise so we could replace it with a real organ, a pipe organ. You may ask, "Why? Isn't it the same as an organ?" Well, no, it isn't.

The main problem with an electronic organ, (in my opinion,) is that the sound is uni-dimensional. The sound of an electronic organ is produced by a reaction of transistors and capacitors and not by the vibration of air common to all musical instruments. Furthermore, all the sound comes from one set of speakers, instead of several different pipes. In a pipe organ, each individual sound is created by an individual pipe (unless it's a mixture in which case it's a couple/few pipes at a time, but I digress). Because the sound of an electronic organ is uni-dimensional, it's very "in-your-face". There's also a very "buzzy" quality about the sound. It's really very hard to sing with. So, the Toaster was not my favorite instrument, but our pastor warned us not to hope for its death too soon. You know the old adage, "Be careful what you wish for". We could end up with a dead Toaster and nothing to replace it with.

Over the Christmas Holiday, our pastor located and purchased for us, a real pipe organ: a Schantz two manual, five rank pipe organ. The organist and I were ecstatic! Early last week the pastor and a friend of the parish went to Knoxville, TN to retrieve it, and on Tuesday, a work crew started setting it up in the back of the church. Things are moving along quite well, but it will take some time before the organ is really ready to go. It needs to be tuned. Some modifications need to be made to it to make it work in the space we have for it. It needs to be made a bit louder. I was expecting to maybe have it in use by Easter.

So, Saturday I was working with a group of girls who are training to be cantors at our parish, and they were doing a mighty fine job, indeed. I was very pleased with the progress they were making on learning the type of chant tones that we use at my parish and decided to introduce them to another type, as well. That way, if they ever saw something that was set out and metered, they'd know what to do with it. In order to do that, I needed to use the Toaster. I was sitting on the bench working with the girls when, completely out of the blue, it made a sound like a book was dropped on the manuals (that's what the keyboards are called) and the whole thing shut off. Of course, the girls screamed (it was loud) and then dissolved into giggles. Obviously, this was not going to do for Mass.

After the workshop Father and I tried re-creating the effect. Which we successfully did two more times and then decided that perhaps we would have to use the piano this weekend.

On the surface, the piano may sound like a pretty good idea, but you know it is really remarkable how different the sound is from an organ (even from the Toaster) and how much less sure the congregational singing is. The piano was easier to sing with in many respects. Because it is a real instrument, it has dimension to its sound, which makes it easier to match pitch with. I didn't feel like I was straining as hard and it sounded like the choir was having an easier time, too. However, I don't think the congregation could hear the piano. I wasn't hearing much singing from them.

Additionally, much of the music that we use for Mass was simply not written with a piano in mind. On an organ, when you are holding a key, it is making a sound until you stop holding the key. It stays the same volume throughout. On a piano, because it is a struck string, there is an attack and decay. Eventually, the note stops sounding, even if you hold onto the key. Some of the music we do, requires that you hold a chord to support the singing for an extended period of time. Pianos do not excel in this area.

So, it was determined that the piano would do for Mass on a very temporary basis. But, we are kicking the pipe organ project into high gear. The goal is to have the new pipe organ somewhat serviceable for next weekend and then make improvements as we go.

This could have been a lot worse. We could have had nothing to replace the Toaster with. But one parishioner commented that maybe the Toaster was jealous and that's why it died. The new organ is awfully pretty.

Epiphany and epiphanies

2010-01-08T07:14:00.005-05:00

Every year we go to a party at one of my friend's houses for The Feast of the Epiphany (the 12th and last day of Christmas). She is a musician, like I am, and her husband is an artist. Though I only see him a couple of times a year, this particular gentleman is a man that I respect, not only as an artist, but as a person. He's unbelievably intelligent and insightful. He is charitable and prayerful, but in a quiet way. When I speak to him I get the sense that he is drawing from the springs of the greatest silences in the world. A place where things that have been unspoken dwell waiting to be given words to express what they are. He seems to have the gift to see right into your soul and say to you exactly what needs to be said at exactly the right moment. You find that you must listen carefully and completely to get the full impact of what he has to say because it is as rich as a really good cheesecake: you want to savor every morsel of it and get every crumb of meaning out of what he says.

Several years ago, I had quit singing. There were many reasons for the decision, some valid, some not so valid; some my own reasons and some were reasons that were foisted on me. My soul was just withering up and I was becoming a very bitter, angry and sad person.

I was at this Epiphany party and our host made the point to seek me out and talk to me. He told me that the music was as much a part of who I am as my body was. He told me that my particular gift was the ability to sing from"inside the song". He told me, "It's a gift that not all singers possess. There is something that moves me every time you sing at church. It moves me like no other singer."

As he spoke to me, I began to cry. I couldn't stop myself. I just stood there holding my wine glass and my plate of desserts with silent tears streaming down my face. My husband came to try to "rescue me", but I didn't really want to be rescued. I wanted to be told the truth. Not singing was eating away at me. I was dying inside.

My friend never broke eye contact with me, "I know this might be painful for you, but I really feel like I need to say this to you. I couldn't let you leave without telling you: You need to sing. You have to find a way to sing."

I nodded. I don't think I could even speak. I knew he was right. I did take his advice and found a way to sing. It truly has made all the difference. I couldn't pray without my music. Sure, there are times when it's nice to just go to Mass and not be "on". But, week after week, the music is where I find my prayer. It's where I find encouragement, a kick in the rear and comfort. With out it, I am diminished.

This year, I was chatting with him about this blog and about how I haven't posted much on this blog in the past year. He kind of smiled and said, "You know, I find that I have to wait a few years for things to become a story. If I try to write about things that are going on right now, they become to big and overwhelming to me. They have no perspective. It's better to let them sit for a while until they can be encapsulated into an 'episode' and then they can be dealt with as a story."

And, you know, again, he's so right. This past year was overwhelming. Between the four people in our family we had 10 hospitalizations, a car accident, a death in the family and all the attendant drama of being a modern family with special needs children. How on earth could I hope to give some perspective to that mess while I am still going through it?

I don't think it is an accident that both of these revelations happened on The Feast of the Epiphany. God puts people in your life at the most unexpected times and places. He provides guidance from the most unlikely sources. I never expected to have the direction of my life changed by idle cocktail chatter. But, that's how it is sometimes. Sometimes, Epiphany is quite literal.

In the meantime, I am so grateful to have friends in my life to help me get through the rough times. For all of you who have said prayers for us, sent us cyber hugs or just thought fondly of us in this past year, I thank you. My thoughts and prayers are with you all this morning.

Hopefully, 2010 will provide some perspective so that I can start writing again. I know it's not great stuff. It's not the height of political prowess. It's not the grandeur of life-changing prose or poetry. It may not be anything important or moving or consequential that I am writing about. But, I appreciate you reading it all the same.

The Christmas Tree that I absolutely, positively could not get up before Christmas Eve

2009-12-24T13:24:00.003-05:00

Years ago, my husband and I started a tradition born of a conflict between two family traditions. His: Put the tree and every piece of tinsel you can find out on the weekend after Thanksgiving so we can enjoy it all the way through December. Mine: Get the tree up, simply decked out with just enough lights and no tinsel, on the weekend closest to Christmas Eve.

I adored his Mom's fabulous Christmases! And I wanted more flash and dazzle than my Mom did, but I didn't think it was appropriate to put it all up quite so early. So, we compromised and decided that St. Nicholas would "bring" the tree on December 6th. We always put the tree up on the 6th or the weekend closest to it and then it comes down on Epiphany (January 6th). Up for a nice, neat month that brackets the entire Christmas celebration, we thought we had the perfect solution. This worked for years. The kids grew up under this model and there was great joy in the O'Keefe household. But times have changed.

Last year was the first time it happened. The weekend closest to the 6th, we had a concert. The next weekend was a party. As there was the following weekend. And, because I direct choirs, just forget all about evenings. Those are completely booked from November 1st until Christmas Eve.

And so it happened that the children were in bed, we had guests coming over the next day and my husband and I sat sagging on the couch. We stared at the little grouping of trees, set up and lit, but not one ornament on them, at 2 AM, following Midnight Mass. Without looking at each other, we conversed. We were that tired.

"Well," he said," you know, they kind of look nice that way."

"Hmmm...." I replied, kind of absently, "Kind of rustic."

"Maybe we could just leave them that way, " he suggested hopefully.

"Well, I think they need a few ornaments." I said, sitting up a little to get a better view of them. "Maybe we'll just use our very favorite ornaments." I started digging through boxes. "At the very least we have to find Engel Elsa." (Engel Elsa - "Angel Elsa" in English- is our tree topper.)

"OK, we'll just work for a little bit and see where we get."

Well, we worked until 4 AM and the trees were beautiful. We used every ornament in the boxes (once they were open they all came out). The next day we garnered rave reviews of the decoration job, even if we had bags under our eyes, it was worth it. On the downside, we didn't actually take the trees down until February (or so...)

Well, it looks like this year, we are headed in the same direction. When I left for work this morning, there weren't even any lights on the tree. We are as far behind as we were last year. This year, however, I do not have to sing a Midnight Mass, which will make things earlier. Plus, we are planning it all out. We have a dinner planner and snacks for setting the tree up (donuts and mulled cider...). But, of course, anything could happen.

Whatever the outcome, whether the tree is dressed or not, Christmas will come. Just as Jesus comes to us, ready or not, in His birth at Bethlehem. Mary was certainly not prepared to have her baby sleeping in what amounts to the animals' food bowl. I am sure that she never imagined that a manger is where she would lay her Lord and Son. The Shepherds were surely surprised. They were sleeping, after all!

But, Jesus didn't seem too concerned about all the trappings of His Kingship. He was ready to be here. It was the fullness of time. He wasn't embarassed by sleeping in a manger. That was the plan. The star shone brightly and all the angels sang of the Glory of His coming to us on Earth. All we are asked to do is show up and pay him homage, and then go out and tell of His glory.

Not prepared for Christmas?
Maybe the only person that has ever really been ready for Christmas is Jesus.

Painting: Nativity (Holy Night) - Correggio

Chicken McNuggets and Christmas

2009-12-21T13:52:00.002-05:00

I don't know why, but of all other times of the year, Christmas brings with it a craving for certain things. Those of you who know me know that I am rarely parted from my Dr. Pepper. It is a staple at my house. My children tease me mercilessly about being an addict. I actually count the cans before I go to bed and before I leave in the morning to see if anyone has taken any without permission. I am still not sure if that says more about me or about them.

But, during the holiday season, I drink Coca Cola. Yes, Coke is "it" for me in December. I love how it tastes in December. It's so biting and fresh! Actually, I think it's those adorable Santa Claus drawings on their labeling.

Chicken McNuggets are also a hot item for me during Christmas. And although my favorite sauce is Barbecue, I will frequently branch out into such wild things as "Sweet and Sour". There is something about McDonald's Chicken McNuggets that make it a Christmas thing. Maybe it was all those years of getting McDonald's Gift Certificates in my stocking and then going out to shop the big clearance sales with my best friends. We always thought we were so cool, walking to Northland, finding the deals and then hitting McDonald's on the way back to my friend's house. It was even more cool to get to pick out my own lunch and not have to get whatever my mom thought I ought to have. Invariably, I chose Chicken McNuggets. I am certain that it had nothing to do with the wonderful ad campaign they ran for Chicken McNuggets all during the holiday season (with a roaring fire and a very plush looking stocking with McDonald's Gift Certificates (just like the ones I got in my stocking)).

And so it is, that this year, I have discovered that I am a creature of advertising. Half-starved from working to catch up from an entire month off of work and armed with a McDonald's Gift Card, I headed to the drive-thru this afternoon. This year, McDonald's is advertising their McRib sandwich and, despite the fact that I am allergic to pork, I actually considered ordering one. But somewhere inside of me, that little girl with a fistful of McDonald's Gift Certificates said, "No, thank you. I'd like a 10 piece McNugget with barbecue sauce and a medium Coke."

Sometimes the strangest things become holiday traditions.

What time did you say that would be?

2009-12-10T23:46:00.005-05:00

Son: Can I have some chocolate milk, Dad?

Husband: Sure, son. (pours milk in a glass) Now what do you say to God for the blessing of chocolate milk?

Son (rolls eyes): *Thank* you.

Husband (chuckles evilly): And what would you say to God if he were German?
Wife raises eyebrows but refrains from responding "Gott sei dank!"

Son (rolls eyes even further back into his head and replies while walking away into the next room): Danke Schoen!

Wife to husband (raising one eyebrow and smirking): So, um.... are you saying that God isn't German?

Son (interjecting from the next room): Of course not, Mom. If He was German He would have given us a time for the end of the world.

Ah Yes! Sociology lessons at the O'Keefe house.

Woodcut: The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by Albrecht Dürer

Silly things that I do (Part 962,000)

2009-10-15T11:02:00.003-04:00

So, night before last, I spotted my poor basil plant languishing in the cold weather on my porch. I decided that it needed a change of scenery (or at least of temperature) so I thought I would bring it inside. My husband, however, suggested that I take it to work with me, to brighten up my office.

Now, let's understand each other. I have a black thumb. I can grow things: all one has to do is make sure the plant gets light and water. However, I always forget my plants. I actually had a swamp plant that my brother would regularly bring back to life when I would forget to water it. It became a joke at the office. Last year, I successfully killed a Norfolk Pine. In my defense, I did manage to keep it alive and thriving for more than six months. But then I went on vacation, and it was never the same afterward.

But, I digress. I decided I'd give the basil plant a try in my office. I dutifully loaded it up into the new minivan, which smells like the inside of an ashtray right now. (Thanks, former owner.) And I drove to work.

Somewhere in the middle of all of the commuter traffic, I forgot about the plant. I went inside my office building and forgot all about it. I only remembered when I went to get back in the car this morning and the entire car smelled like pesto.

"What the heck smells like pesto?" I thought, incredulously. And then it hit me: The Basil Plant.

You would think, with all the coming and going we do in our family, that someone would have said something like, "Hey, Mom? What's this plant doing on the floor in the back seat?" But, no. We're so odd that it's evidently not totally weird to have a basil plant sitting in the back of the car.

On the up side, the plant does look much better. It seems very happy where it is. Maybe I'll leave it in the car. If only I could remember to water it. The fresh clean scent of basil beats the heck out of cigarettes any day! Maybe I'll put oregano and rosemary in there, too. Heck, I could take my own spices to the Pizza parlor.

Wait, that would really be too odd, wouldn't it?

We will miss you, Grandpa D

2009-09-27T22:38:00.006-04:00

Missing Man Formation

I am re-posting a blog from many months ago. Today we lost my husband's grandfather. This post was written with him in mind. We will miss him, but I am sure in the knowledge that he has gone to be with his beautiful wife and is no longer in pain or confused.

I'm going to put in a plug here for "The Writer's Almanac", published by Garrison Keillor. The Writer's Almanac comes to my mailbox daily with a poem and then tidbits and biographies about authors who had significant events on this day in history.

Today's poem was written by a man who, to my knowledge had only one poem to his name: John Gillespie Magee, Jr. He was a pilot in WWII and flew with the Royal Canadian Air Force, before the US entered the war. Today is his birthday. Like me, you have probably heard this poem before, but today, it really moved me. I'll tell you why after you read it.

High Flight (an Airman's Ecstasy) by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air...

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, nor even eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

My grandfather-in-law is an aviator. He flew at around the same time as Magee, fighting in WWII and then again in Korea. After he retired from the Army Air Corps, he continued to teach in his flight school in Texas. One of his students was my brother who tells me that Grandpa has nerves of steel. Yep, I'll bet he does.

This brave man has more decorations than you could shake a stick at, including several Purple Hearts and at least one Bronze Star. In WWII, he was shot down in enemy territory and crawled out on his belly with a broken jaw, after watching his friend be killed. And yet, he is good hearted, humble and kind. His love for his grandchildren and great-grandchildren so very great. It even extends to me, outsider that I am, and I am doted upon.

But now, he suffers from Alzheimer's and we are watching this fantastic man slip away. But he is not slipping away into nothing. He is still the kind hearted, humble, loving grandfather I have always known him to be. True, he no longer teaches flight. True, he needs a little more help, but would I give back even one second of this time we still have with him? No. Do my children benefit for having him in their lives even in a diminished capacity? Yes. I do not believe that any time that we have left with this great man is a waste in any way. I am so honored to know him one of our great American Heroes and to be loved as one of his children.

And when he does finally pass on from us, though right now he cannot take flight, I know that he will be going to touch the face of God once again.

As we sat with Grandpa last night for the last time, holding his hands and reading to him from the bible, I realized that, though he was unresponsive, every time one of my children spoke, he would twitch his hands and his face would relax. I am grateful for the time we had with Grandpa. My kids are so lucky to have been able to get to know and love him, and he to get to know and love them.

Sleep

2009-09-22T09:45:00.000-04:00

This morning one of my friends updated her Facebook status to "I take back all the times I didn't want to nap when I was young." I am SO there. I was so there, that I changed my status to "What is it about the rain that makes me want to stay under the blankets and not come out until the sun does?"

I could barely get out of bed this morning. It was so nice and cozy under the blankets. Every time I sat down on the bed to put on my shoes, or pants, or socks, I had to fight the urge to lay back and rest. It was a delicious feeling, but frustrating at the same time. After all, I have things to do...but OH that bed felt cozy!

So, of course, these posts led to a discussion about sleep and how it affects us as adults. When a kid doesn't get a nap, they are always really difficult. Is it the same with adults? The consensus of our friends is: Yes. And we are pretty sure that there would be world peace if everyone was required to take a nap and have a mid-afternoon snack.

In fact, I am pretty sure that health care costs would go down, too. Imagine if the stress level dropped, how many fewer strokes and heart attacks we'd have. In addition, a better rested population of workers would make fewer mistakes and fewer accidents would happen.

I think this is a plan. So, how about it, Mr. President? Maybe tier 1 of the Healthcare reform should be a mandatory nap time.

Now, about my cup of coffee...

2009-09-01T22:13:00.000-04:00

They're finally here! The tomatoes I have been waiting for all summer are here. Tonight I served them cooked down with onion, fresh basil, olive oil and a little red wine. There is nothing better...except for BLT's with tomatoes straight from the garden.

Anniversary

2009-08-31T15:41:00.004-04:00

As I sat at lunch today, eating a sandwich with my husband in honor of our 18th anniversary, I had a memory that I shared with him. I remembered being a child and deciding that what I wanted to get for my parents for their anniversary was "dinner out". So, my brother and I talked to Dad and convinced him (somehow, who knows how) that he should take us all out to dinner for his anniversary.

Michael laughed and said, "And it was your present to him, right?"

I laughed too, "Yeah, 'Hey Dad, we want to take you out to dinner for your anniversary, but we don't have any money, so you have to pay.' Yep. Just like that."

And then Michael said, "Wow! That's a great analogy for the Gift of God's Grace."

"Huh?" I looked up at him a little startled.

"Yeah, think about it. Most people use the analogy of God drawing a picture with you, but really that means you're still doing something. This is much better. You did nothing. Your father gave you the gift of the money to give back to him in the form of a present. Dinner. Grace."

You know, I have been with Michael as his fiancee and then his wife for more than 20 years and he still amazes me. I did nothing that would ever have merited such a wonderful man as I have, but here he is. God has richly blessed me.

Grace.

"We put organs near things that we find most important."

2009-08-30T23:42:00.003-04:00

My husband and I just returned from a trip to Philadelphia where we saw and heard the magnificent John Wanamaker Organ in the Macy's, Center City, Philadelphia. It is truly a magnificent instrument. It is known as the largest functioning pipe organ in the world with 28,500 pipes. But, I will tell you that it is a beautiful instrument, as well. We heard all kinds of music played on it in the three concerts that we attended and all of it fit the instrument nicely.

Upon returning home, my husband remarked in a conversation that "We put pipe organs near the things that we find most important," and I began to reflect upon how very true that is.

Pipe organs take a very long time to build. Many, many hours of labor and concentration go into making the music come alive from the throats of those pipes. Each pipe has to be voiced so that it sounds like its neighbor to create a fluidity of sound. Each piece of wood has to be placed and glued in exactly the right spot, with the right amount of pressure to make sure that wind does not escape where it is not supposed to. Every piece of leather has to be perfectly cut and placed and glued so that the notes all play correctly. It is the work of artisans. The people that I work with, fill me with awe. They do all these things so easily. Pipe organs are truly monumental instruments, in every sense of the word.

For centuries, we have put pipe organs into churches. Then, into opera houses. It was not much of a stretch, then, to add them to the posh movie theaters of the 1920's, but it is remarkable to me that the Wanamaker Organ exists in a department store. What are we saying here?

The Wanamaker Organ is a jewel in the "City of Brotherly Love". It stands as a monument to the dream of a man who wanted to be all things to everyone (or at least sell anything that you might need in a place where you would feel special). The beautiful vaulted marble halls of the Wanamaker building now house, not only Macy's, but also several offices. But, one can easily see the grandeur of the original plan: A place where you could buy anything from a ball gown to a new horse. But even now, after the dream has faded and the stark, sterile and familiar Macy's-look has been exacted on the store, the organ still exists and is maintained and played daily. Why?

Because it honors the value of hard work and a dream for something better for ourselves; something greater than the work-a-day lives we lead. It is a finding of the beautiful in that everyday life.

Blues Explosion

2009-08-22T10:02:00.002-04:00

One of the greatest joys of my life is listening to live music performances. I particularly love to listen to Jazz. So, when my very good friend Kristen Eubanks told me she was singing with the Columbus Jazz Orchestra and Bobby Floyd for the Season closer, I was ecstatic. Not only is Kristen an outstanding person, she is an amazing musician. I knew I was in for a treat.

Kristen and I have known each other since high school when we met at Fort Hayes School for the Performing Arts. She actually introduced me to my husband. She has amazing range in her performance style and can do anything from opera to blues, but the blues is where she lives. Last January, I heard her with the Columbus Symphony Orchestra and she did a version of "At Last" that brought tears to my eyes and gave me goosebumps.

Sadly, I have no pictures from last night because a certain young lady that I know was taking "artistic" photos with my digital camera and ran the batteries down. All I can tell you is that the weather was perfect, the band was hot and Kristen was mind-blowingly amazing as usual. If you live in Columbus, and you get the chance, go hear this woman.

The review of the concert is here: Review Of Columbus Jazz Orchestra's Blues Explosion

Posted using ShareThis

Just a little late

2009-08-20T17:45:00.000-04:00

There's a song that I have heard a lot lately called, "You Found Me" by The Fray.

The first verse deals with finding God at the a most unlikely place, all alone and smoking His last cigarette. The singer then asks God "Where you been?" and God replies, "Ask anything." The rest of the song is a broken-hearted diatribe about losing a loved one and why God seemingly abandoned the singer. In the refrain, the singer sings,

Lost and insecure
You found me, you found me
Lyin' on the floor
Surrounded, surrounded
Why'd you have to wait?
Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late
You found me, you found me

And actually I think that why I like this song so much and why it stays with me. There are times when I truly feel like God is just gone from my life and I feel "lost and insecure" and I feel as if I will never be happy again. But God always finds me, even if I think it's "just a little late", it really is all in God's good time. So, even though the song communicates that the singer is angry at God, it always reminds me, that no matter how far I have placed myself from His Presence, it may be late in the game, but God always finds me and rescues me.

The woman in the mirror

2009-08-19T15:33:00.005-04:00

Some mornings I wake up, look in the mirror and find a beautiful, self-possessed 40 year old woman looking back at me. Her grey hair is not a distraction from her face, but adds to its mature beauty. Her eyes are bright and open. Her cheeks rosy and her lips full and pink. Her face is gracefully rounded, but pleasant in its aspect.

And then there is most days...

Most days I slump into the bathroom click on the light and squint away the last vestiges of the sleep that wasn't quite enough to start my day. I look in the mirror and I see a haggard middle aged woman, whose grey hair blends in with her grey complexion. Her eyes are ringed with bags under the rings under the circles under her eyes. Jowls hang from the jawline of her puffy face.

What makes the difference? It's the same woman. I used to think it was a lack of sleep, but I have had nights when I have been out late having fun only to get up the next morning to the "beautiful one".

Maybe it is attitude. Maybe it is feeling loved and lovable. Maybe it is feeling comfortable with who I am, where I have been and where I am going that makes me look bright and beautiful. Maybe its the dull day-to-day grind that makes me look like I've been drug through a knothole backwards.

I just think it's interesting. All the same features are there, but somehow, they look different to me.

Photo: Old Woman/Young Woman Optical Illusion.

Complaints? Save it.

2009-08-14T10:10:00.001-04:00

Recently, I have been finding a lot of signs about not complaining. I am actually considering starting a collection of them. This one was taken by my brother, Joseph, as part of a retrospective that he is compiling about bringing an order of habited Mexican nuns to Columbus to serve the parish that I work for. This picture was taken in the house that will be their convent and was taken only 10 days from the date of their arrival! As you can see there's lots of work to be done, yet.

It is interesting to me that I am finding so many of these signs right now. When I saw this picture, for example, it made me realize that I have been complaining a lot: about the pains in my back, how tired I am, how I never have enough money or time...the list goes on and on. So, this simple little sign, scribbled on a paper plate hit me right between the eyes.

I have so much to be thankful for. Both my husband and I have jobs and in this economy that is really something! I have a wonderful, loving husband. I have beautiful, intelligent, independent (if troublesome) children. I have amazing friends. This list could go on and on, too.

So, when I posted this sign on my office door, my boss took a look at it, chuckled and raised an ironic eyebrow at me. (I really have been very whiny lately.) So I shrugged and told him, "It's as much for me as it is for anyone else." And it's true.

God has blessed me abundantly.

No complaining allowed. :)

Photo by Joseph Harris. Part of the Bring the Sisters to Columbus collection.

2009-08-14T10:05:00.001-04:00

This is a gift from one of my crew members from a recent trip. It's a sign that is posted in a deli over the serving counter. She took the picture so that I could post it over the upcoming tuning schedule. I love it so much, I thought I'd share it with you.

Friendship and Love

2009-08-13T12:40:00.000-04:00

Friendship is Love without wings, so say the French.

I had dinner last night with a couple who, for one reason or another, didn't make it. After 3 years of friendship and then 3 years of marriage they divorced. Now, they are friends. Really. Friends.

I was reminded sharply of the time that my husband and I were divorced about 9 years ago. In the months leading up to our court date, we spoke on the phone every day. We talked about the kids, work, our friends, our faith...anything we could find to talk about. I didn't think I loved my husband anymore, but still I could not imagine life without him.

When we went to the Judge to finalize the papers. We were joking and laughing in the courtroom about his complete inability to remember dates, phone numbers and addresses. I had to prompt him for all of his own contact information. Then, he took the Judge to task for requiring Child Support from me in excess of what he figured I could afford.

My husband's attorney couldn't believe that we were going through with it. As he rode down in the elevator with my mother and me, he looked at me and said, "This was the most interesting case I've ever had. The two of you so obviously care for each other. I can't believe you went through with it."

Frankly, neither could I. And less than a week later (on our 9th anniversary) when I got the signed, sealed divorce decree, I had it in my hand for about 5 minutes before I called my husband and said, "I think we've made a terrible mistake." Within 3 months, we were remarried.

Remembering all this has made me stop and think about friendship and love and how the two are intertwined. One cannot be a friend unless there is love. One cannot love a person unless they are a friend. Love and friendship are two sides of a coin. Without one, the other is valueless.

I have had the experience of loving someone who really should have been just a friend and when the situation became untenable we had to say goodbye. And, having given in to the emotional pull of the relationship, the friendship was almost un-salvageable. The pain was incredible. It felt like my heart was being ripped from my chest. What could have been a lovely friendship can never go back to what it should have been. Instead, it became a source of pain and confusion.

My husband of almost 18 years and I started out as friends and it blossomed into something truly beautiful and lasting. Is it completely fireproof? No, but despite the scorch marks and burns, we keep at it. We love and forgive and try to move deeper into understanding each other and being one with each other. Sometimes, it is a decision that we have to make. Yes, sometimes, it is that clinical. And then there are other times, when his kiss still sweeps me off my feet.

So with the longevity of our relationship, the question arises, when the strong emotional pull is gone, is the love really gone? Or is it deeper and so melded with your own being that it doesn't send shock waves through your body anymore? Is it just part of who you are? I think that may be the answer. You're not falling out of love, just entering a new phase of love.

All too often lust is equated with love. The butterflies in the stomach and the pleasant warm sensation you get when you talk with them are nice, but lust turns the person for whom it burns into an object and not a person. Lust asks, "What am I going to get from this relationship." Lust is a "taking" of something from a person. Conversely, Love gives to another person, without necessarily wishing to be recompensed.

We are enriched by every person with whom we converse. Those that we choose to take into our confidence and befriend touch us more deeply. We give a part of ourselves to our friends and they in turn give back to us. And that happens with lovers, too. But, those to whom we give our whole selves mark us even more.

I saw a quote one time that said, "Lovers are not just content to kiss, but they wish to breathe their very souls into one another." This most intimate connection between lovers is what separates the person we love from the other friends in our lives. It is the desire to completely immerse ourselves in the other person and to have immerse themselves in us.

And I think that's the difference between love and friendship: the depth of what we have given and the depth of what we have received.

Cartoon by Sam Brown @ Exploding Dog

A guest contributor

2009-08-09T17:14:00.003-04:00

My husband works in a cafeteria. He is a short order cook and is a wonderful one at that. One of the most popular items of equipment in the kitchen is the ice cream machine. But, alas, the ice cream machine is somewhat fragile and breaks on a fairly regular basis. So, instead of a simple "Out Of Order" sign, my husband penned the following:

An Ode to our Old Friend

Oh, sweet milk maid!
Oh, sweet frozen stream of cream!
How we shall miss thee;
Whose glinting body
And black knobbed rack
Brought delight to men and women alike;
We grieve thee at thy passing.

Gone, but not forgotten,
Thy devoted turn to jello
Whose red body wiggles,
Cool and fruity,
To remind us of the sweetness we found in thee.

The powers that be made him take it down. Some people have no sense of humor.

A Day of Repose

2009-07-28T18:05:00.005-04:00

I wish it was summer for a little longer this year. Only in the last couple of weeks have I actually gotten to do any real resting from my ultra-insane year. But, in just two weeks, Kinderchor begins practice again. I can't believe it's already almost Fall!

Over the summer, we all decided that I needed one full day off of all work per week. This is a good thing. All winter I was working 7 days a week. The decision was made to make Saturday my "day off". I must say that I am quite relieved to have it. I think I was really burning out.

As a result of taking this day off, my youth choir at the parish, who previously practiced on Saturdays, is going to have to have their practice bumped to another night during the week. This is going to make for 3 evening practices with three totally different choirs per week.

The biggest issue facing me with this schedule adjustment is prep time. The choirs are all working on completely different material (one is a German choir, one is an adult church choir and the third is a bi-lingual Spanish/English children's choir). Research and practice time are not easy to come by as it is.

It is truly a matter of good organization and good planning, though. I really need to get my practice space and times organized a little better so that I am not wasting time clearing music off of my piano to practice and searching for all my materials every time I go to practice or prep practice plans for them. Everything is a huge mess. Which means that I need to spend a couple of uninterrupted days cleaning and organizing. And because I am working Monday through Friday, that probably means a Saturday work day.

For right now, though, I am being very jealous about my Saturday day of rest. I am being very particular about how I spend it. I have to fight the urge to work on music or schedule meetings for planning committees. Actually, I am trying not to spend it cleaning either. I don't want to be like the proverbial Grasshopper and say there's plenty of time to do it later, but I just need that break in the action right now.

In music, the rests between notes are as important at the sounds. They create dimension and color for the piece. Rest is just as vital in life as it is in music. So, I am hoping I to keep that day clear for as long as I can.

BTW - the graphic above can be purchased as a button through CafePress, here. I think every choir director in the world should own at least one.

AGO Convention - Detroit, MI

2009-07-03T10:09:00.007-04:00

This past week I went on a trip to Detroit for the Region V Convention of the American Guild of Organists. It was technically a business trip, but I really love business trips, so it was kind of a joy for me. Everyone at the office was too busy with the Skinner restoration that we're working on to go, so they sent me. I traveled with a friend, a real organist, and while I am but a lowly choir director, I still got a lot out of the trip. (And, yes, I still did my job!)

We stayed at the Marriott Renaissance Center right on the Detroit River. We were on the 52nd floor overlooking the city, the river, Lake St. Claire and Windsor, ON. The view was amazing, day or night.

I really enjoyed all the concerts on organ and carillon. I can't even describe the feeling that you get when someone who knows what they're doing plays pieces that you've heard many times before. The energy is amazing! It is electrifying! It left me feeling uplifted and very inferior at the same time. The churches and the organs themselves were breathtaking, too.

It was great to meet new people and enjoy their company. My thanks to Dr. Joseph D. Daniel and his committee for such an amazing week. I think that they were putting in 18-20 hour days to make sure that everything ran smoothly.

In two years it will be in Lexington, KY. I really hope that everyone is too busy to go in 2011, so they have to send me again.

Open Letter To My Husband on Father's Day

2009-06-21T22:57:00.005-04:00

Dear Honey,

Seventeen years ago on this date, I gave birth to our first child, a son, whom we named for your father (and incidentally, you). As I lay in my hospital bed, pretty near dead from exhaustion, you stroked my forehead as I nursed our son and you told me that this was the very best Father's Day present I could ever give you. Terrified to be a mother, I told you, I couldn't do this alone. You promised me you'd always be there. Now, as our son turns 17, a year away from being a man in his own right I have some things I want you to know.

You are an example to our children of a good father in that you lay your life down for us, as would a good shepherd, and that is what God has called you to do. You provide a good example in the temporal world by your work (you almost never miss a day) and in the spiritual world with your prayer life.

I want to thank you for continually setting the limits, setting the bar and policing the action in the house and on the town. I know you get frustrated with our kids when they get lippy or don't seem to get the idea of "social graces", but they are listening and absorbing. If it's any comfort, I always get compliments on how lovely our children are to have around.

Rebelling is all part of being a teenager, I suppose, but never ever doubt that your children love and adore you. Who else would lead sing-alongs to "The Nightmare Before Christmas", I ask you? Certainly not their mother!

You are a credit to your vocation and we all love you! Thank you so much for being the father of our children. I am no longer terrified to be a mother. I know that no matter what happens, you will be there, as you always are. I feel blessed everyday to have a partner in this life like you!

With All My Love,
Katie

Scraps of Paper and Old Pictures

2009-06-21T22:05:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, we worked on organizing my mother and father in their new house. We were having my brother's graduation party and my son's birthday party there today, so, I offered to come up to help get things in order.

In the course of arranging the furniture in the living room, we had to decide what to do with my grandmother's trunk. It's an ugly thing. At some point, some fashion conscious soul painted it hospital green. I never thought much about the trunk when Grandma left it for me 30 years ago. It was just a place to store stuff. I never really went digging through the papers on the bottom, and really, I think Mom asked me not to.

As time passed, I discovered that the trunk no longer fit my room decor (I was now sharing with my baby sister and didn't have room for it), so I gave it to my Mom. Mom stored afghans in it until they moved out to the country and then she stored board games in it. Over time, it became more battered. The hammered tin was peeled away from the top of the lid by bored, busy kid fingers, the paint peeled away in some places revealing some of the bare tin. The wood lid was cracked by someone trying to use it for extra seating. But, Mom never pitched it. I could never figure out why, except that it belonged to her mother. So, when we had to find a spot for it in the new living room, my sister suggested that we use it to store records in. We all agreed that'd be a good use for it and we opened it up to empty it out.

The first thing to come out were the board games. One was a first edition Trivial Pursuit game that I can remember playing with my mom and brother. I can still remember the rule of thumb about Literature questions: If all else fails, guess William Faulkner. It's usually right. I remember Mom nursing the babies while we'd play the game and Dad would play the piano. It was good family time. That brought a smile to my face. Then we started to find the pieces of my grandmother's life.

There was so much there: Pictures, placemats with pictures of the Arizona desert that she loved so well, homework that my brother and I had done well on that she kept, receipts for the house that she and her 4th husband had been in the process of purchasing when she left him. The receipts were titled Mrs. Katherine Garl. My sister said, "Who's that?"

"That's Grandma," I said.
Mom chimed in, "Frank Garl was her fourth husband."
"Wow," said my sister, "I had no idea she'd been married more than once!"
"Yes," said my mother, "she kept looking for the piece that was missing. I don't know if she ever found it."

We continued to dig through the chest. Mom told us that the chest had been a stagecoach chest (not a steamer trunk, as I had always assumed) and that it had been given to Grandma by another ancestor. Mom estimates that it's about 150 years old. We found a lot of pictures of my great-uncle Jim. He had been a bus driver for Continental Bus Lines. We found not only pictures, but his tie bar and name plate from his bus. I think Grandma told me one time that he had always been her favorite brother.

We also found a 10 peso note marked "Japanese Government" signed by several American servicemen. We're still trying to figure out what it is? Is it Occupation Money or perhaps from the Phillipines? With so much of Great Uncle Jim's things in it, I wondered if the chest had not been his gift to Grandma.

As I cleared out the last of the paper, the old bank statements, the greeting cards that were never sent and the Christmas gift tags that littered the very bottom of the chest, I began to think of the sum of these scraps of paper and old pictures. They tell part of the story, but only part. They don't capture the life and spark of my grandmother. They don't tell us about her heart and soul. But they are strong reminders of a person who, for better or worse, I loved very dearly and they brought her presence to the surface of my memory to share with my sister and my daughter, who never knew her.

I am so grateful that she left that piece of herself with us because it brought her close to me again.

Focus

2009-06-19T17:24:00.002-04:00

I am having the worst time focusing on anything at all. Every time I start something, I get distracted by some thought that pops into my head and I go off on another tangent. I am so incredibly distracted!

Today, while I was working, I started entering data into my database and broke to do something else three separate times before I finally got it done. And those were just things for work...that doesn't even take into account what is gnawing away at my sub-conscious from other quadrants of my life.

As usual, I have got myself to a busy place: A place where I can just handle what I've got to do. But I am so disorganized right now that everything is a first priority and nothing can wait.

I guess I'm going to have to sit down with my Palm Pilot and get realistic. Otherwise, I'll get it all done, but none of it well.

Twitter and the Global Village

2009-06-16T15:33:00.004-04:00

Right now, on Twitter, I live in Tehran.

Since I joined Twitter a couple of weeks ago, I have thought of it as a mostly useless tool. But following the tweets on #IranElection and #GR88 has changed my mind. With all of the journalists and photographers banned from Tehran, the only way to get any news out, has been through social networks like Twitter and Facebook. Even the US State Department asked Twitter to delay their planned service outage to preserve the link of communication that we have with people in Iran. Granted there have been many posts made that were not made by "people on the ground", but enough is getting out to make it a viable news source. Viable enough that the Iranian Government is now monitoring and shutting it down. CNN has been asked repeatedly to stop broadcasting the Twitter ID's of their sources because it is so dangerous.

I always think that communication technology is amazing. I am totally blown away by a fax machine. Seriously, it is so cool to me that I can put a piece of paper in on this end and send it to Japan and it comes out as a copy of what I still have in my hand.

Twitter is even more mind-blowing to me. In 140 characters a shot (or less), some brave souls are trying to bring change to their world. And the rest of the Twitter world is not just watching but is able to help, from wherever they are. You would not believe some of the things people are able to do. Hackers have paralyzed all of the state-run news outlets' web sites with the promise that they'll give them back when the cell-phone and internet communications have been restored in Iran. By changing their time zone in their profile, to +3:30 GMT, thousands of Tweeters have complicated the search for information leaks and saved people's lives (or so we are told).

I maybe be sitting in Columbus at this moment, but I am tweeting from Tehran.

Pop Quiz

2009-06-13T21:28:00.004-04:00

If you have a Facebook account, (or even if you don't), you may have noticed that American pop culture seems to have an obsession with quizzes. I have taken quizzes on Facebook for everything from "What Color Is Your Aura?" and "What Kind of Kisser Are You?" to "What State Should You Really Live In?" and "What Kind of Pipe Organ Builder Are You?" (Seriously, I am not making that up.) It kind of got me thinking about what it is about "finding ourselves" that intrigues us so much.

In the 1960's and 1970's, the euphemism, "finding myself" was just a sugar coated way to say that whatever it was that you were doing at the time was not to your satisfaction. And, rather than stay and face the consequences of the choices that you had made, you were going to bail out and try to start over. In some artistic circles, this was seen in a more positive light. Sort of a way to break free of the expectations put on you by others in order to get to your "artistic essence". Thus, creating a freedom from the responsibilities that had been tying you down and holding you back from artistic excellence.

Nowadays, I don't hear that phrase nearly as often, but I do see these quizzes and I think they are connected. There are quizzes on social networking sites, magazines, television shows and even the backs of placemats at restaurants. And we take them. Something inside of us really does want to know what kind of flower we would be (if we were a flower). Why? Does it give us insight that we do not already possess? Probably not. If you get a result that doesn't suit your mental picture of yourself, you probably don't share it with anyone else. And on Facebook, in fact, some people even retake the quiz to get a better result! (Yep. Guilty.)

What are we looking for that drives this obsession to know more about ourselves? Is it a good thing? Is it a misguided search for the image of God in our beings? Or are we just innocently passing time gazing at our navels and wishing the rest of the world would just leave us alone?

It is a dangerous thing to turn in on oneself and try too hard to "find yourself". You become insular and isolated, depriving the rest of the world of the unique gifts that God gave to you to share. Not only that, but you are deprived of the gifts that others have to share with you. I am not saying that knowing your strengths and weaknesses is not a good thing, but there can come a point when the quest for that knowledge becomes obsessive and destructive. I think that Americans (on the whole) have almost reached that point.

Now that I have slammed the "Quiz Culture", these quizzes can be a tool that can be used to spark discussion and self-reflection, and they are fun. While the latest Facebook quiz isn't likely going to change your life, it might just make you stop and think about how you come across to others. But, I have had to stop myself recently and ask, "Why do I want to know this? To confirm my suspicions of who I am? Or just because it'll be fun to see what comes out?" and then, "Why the heck am I on Facebook so much!!?"

Moderation in all things.

2009-06-12T16:42:00.003-04:00

You may, (if you follow this blog at all), be wondering why I have been silent for so long. It isn't that I have nothing to say. (I always have something to say.) I have started three or four blog posts and have found myself unable to finish them. Either I run out of steam, or time, or I can't think of how I want to say things. It has been very frustrating.

So, this weekend, I promise to finish something (anything) and post it. And maybe it will even be worth reading.

I really hope so.

Cleaning Revisited

2009-05-19T14:45:00.000-04:00

Kind of like "Brideshead Revisited"...
(OK, maybe not.)

Once Upon a Time....
I was the cleaning lady for my office. The building I work in is pretty substantial and I was the only one cleaning it. It took me about 6 hours each week to clean it (working really, really fast) and still I was getting home pretty late at night, so I asked them to find someone else for that task. Not only was it getting in the way of family life, I was exhausted! They found a new person, but now, that person has moved on and I, seeing that things were starting to get out of control again, stupidly volunteered for part of the job again.

I hate to clean. It is, in fact, the thing-most-likely-to-stick-my-butt-to-a-chair. If I even think of cleaning, I will become paralyzed, my butt will become fused to whatever chair I am sitting on and I will be unable to clean at all. But today, I discovered the antidote!

I was asked to start cleaning when I got here, instead of waiting until the afternoon. This, in essence, made it impossible for me to think about cleaning, I just had to do it. Now, it is 3:00 in the afternoon and having cleaned the three bathrooms, the kitchen, and having swept and mopped the entire first floor, I am ready to take on everything else in the building.

Of course, I don't HAVE to, since that's not what I was asked to do... More's the pity for me and them. I would have done an excellent job. Instead, right now I am sitting here admiring my shiny, clean marble hallway and thinking, "Darn, I'm awesome..." I'd better look out before someone knocks me off my cloud.

But that's the secret. Start in the morning before I develop an apologia for why I don't have time or energy. Gosh! It almost makes me like cleaning.

Hope

2009-05-14T12:07:00.000-04:00

A Hope-Filled Prayer

O sweetest Lord Jesus Christ, may my soul ever yearn towards Thee:
May my soul seek Thee, find Thee,
tend towards attainment of Thee,
ever meditate on Thee,
and do all things to the praise and glory of Thy Holy Name.

Do Thou alone be my hope,
my whole trust,
my delight,
my joy,
my rest,
my peace and my sweet contentment.

Do Thou alone be my refuge and my help,
my wisdom and my possession,
my treasure in whom my heart and
my soul remain fixed immovably, forever.
Amen.

-St. Bonaventure

My Mom gave me this prayer for the end of our choir practice last night. I thought it was beautiful. I think it's going to be a regular prayer for us.

Delegation

2009-04-28T11:45:00.001-04:00

I am notoriously bad at delegation. Somehow I always end up running everything I touch. I have one friend who teases me, not-so-gently, saying, "Oh yes, as long as I am here everything will go right." And he's right. There is a part of me that thinks that. I fight it, of course, but the control-freak in me wants to have control because then things will go as I have planned them. Which is the "perfect" way, right?

When I took over the Children's choir that I direct, I was put in place as President. The hope of the outgoing President was that I would continue her work as an able administrator and be able to recruit more children. I served as President for half a year. In that time, my director left, because I had new ideas about how to run the chorus. And out numbers were still not growing, though they were steady. I knew that I could not direct and administrate at the same time.

Because I wanted things under my control, I put my husband in place as President. He has done a fantastic job. We have gone from 8 kids to 24 kids in 4 years. Because he is a great delegator he has formed a Parent's Board and all the attendant committees to help run the chorus. I realized today, while answering an e-mail that the chours runs itself, and I have to do nothing but teach music. God has dropped all these wonderful, capable people in the Parent's Board and they run the nuts and bolts. I could not do what I do without them.

All I had to do was let go a little bit to let the chorus grow. It reminds me of the Chinese practice of binding feet: the more tightly you bind them, the smaller they are. The more tightly I hold on to projects, the more they shrivel. They can only grow, when I unclench my fists and my teeth and let go.

Picture by Jaime de la Cruz on flickr

The To-Do List

2009-04-20T11:59:00.002-04:00

Once upon a time, about 20 years ago, I had a friend introduce me to the "to do list". Now, let it be said that to do lists are generally a good thing. When kept in balance with the rest of one's life, they increase productivity and help get your back end moving when you feel like you just can't do anything.

Anyway, I was coming out of a depression and couldn't seem to motivate myself to do anything at all. So my friend said, "This evening, write down 5 things to do tomorrow. They can be as simple as 'get dressed'. Then, as you complete the items, cross them off. It will make you feel better." And she was right. I started small and gradually got to the point where my to-do list was a vital part of my evening ritual.

And then came Franklin-Covey...
Franklin-Covey is the to-do list on steroids. It is a brilliant instrument of time management. It is amazing how many things you can get done in a day by listing and prioritizing things. My to do list grew from 5 items to about 25 items. And some days I add more things to the list than I take off. No one ever warned me about the to do list and how it can take over.

As imaged by Franklin-Covey, the to-do list does not assist your life, it rules it. The list directs how you will live, when you will eat, how long you will sleep. Everything goes on the list. It also demands that you carry a heavy binder everywhere you go. But don't worry, it all changed again...enter the Palm Pilot.

I have one of these now (I know, I am only about 8 years behind the curve). I like it (probably because I am devoted to gadgets). It is more convenient than the big binder, and I can still prioritize my to do list. It beeps at me when something is due. It reminds me to do things like LOOK at my to do list. But, somehow it seems to take so much more time to enter everything into the to do list. I feel like (and maybe this is just because I am still getting used to it) I spend half my time attending to the list, thereby cutting into the time I have to attend to the item I am putting on the list.

This could take some getting used to. I sometimes wonder if I shouldn't go back to paper and pen and 5 important things. But, this will save a lot of trees in the end and the reality is that I have become so dependent on my to do list, that shrinking it, would cause problems. And with all the things I have been forgetting to do recently, writing things down is essential.

So palm pilot it is...that is until I get a snazzier cell phone.

Fire and belief

2009-04-16T11:20:00.003-04:00

Without belief the phoenix
is just a bird on fire.
-Kate Horowitz

I have recently spent a lot of time "on fire". These past few weeks, especially, with Easter tuning, all the liturgies to prepare for Holy Week, family "fun", traveling, sickness. The doldrums hit me like a truck on Monday. The weather wasn't helping any either in going from overcast, to rainy, to continual downpour. I was burned out, wasting away, and sure of nothing except my weaknesses. And just when I was ready to stay in my bed and never get out again...the sun came out. Literally and literarily. (OK...I made that word up.)

When I checked in with all my blogs this morning, the half-haiku above was sitting in my "to read" box. It took me only a second to understand. The reason I was feeling burnt to a crisp was that I had allowed myself to stop believing that I could do it. I was the "bird on fire".

I just have to thank God for all the wonderful people in my life who believe in me enough to make me back into a phoenix again.

Atlantic City: Part 2

2009-04-09T13:27:00.004-04:00

The other thing about this trip to Atlantic City was the fact that this is the first time I have seen the ocean. I think I may have been more excited about the ocean than I was about the pipe organ we went to see.

And it was even better than I had imagined. I could see the ocean from my window and spent 20 solid minutes watching the waves when we got to our room while I waited (patiently) for my roommate to be ready to go to the beach. My roommate thought this was hilarious. Finally, it was time to go and we headed out to the Boardwalk and the beach.

The ocean is an awesome thing. It is more huge than I could have imagined. The sound of the surf blocks or blunts all other sounds. It makes everything sound muted or sotto voce. I stood and watched the waves for about 20 minutes and probably would have stayed longer if the group hadn't wanted to move on.

I swear the ocean called to me. I wanted to get into the path of the waves just once, to jump in and feel it. But, my mother's voice kept shouting from the back of my head, "It's freezing out there! Don't you dare!" and, "While you're at it, button up that coat, young lady." The last instruction I disregarded, but I heeded the first and did not jump into the ocean.

The second day, I woke up at 4:00 in the morning. I lay there for an hour thinking I would go back to sleep for an hour or even two, but I did not. So, relenting, I got up and got ready for the day. I left a note for my roommate to call me when he was up and slipped out to the beach. I stopped along the way for some White Chocolate Mocha to take the chill off (which was a good investment) and headed out to the sand dunes and the rising sun.

As I was standing there listening to the wind blow through the sea grass, and the waves crashing on the shore, watching the sunrise over the ocean and the beach, I realized that I was really here. I felt a sigh well up inside me like I have only felt when I come home and lay down in my bed after a long day. God's creation is so marvelous!

I went hunting for some shells to bring home to the kids, after that. The tide was receding, but you could still find pools of water on the beach where the water had been just a few hours before. They kept refilling when ever a wave would creep up to the edge and spill in. It was in watching this routine that I came into contact with the ocean. I was standing watching and suddenly, I realized that the wave was going to come all the way up to me. I moved, but not fast enough and the wave soaked my right shoe. It was freezing. When the wave began to recede, I reached down and put my hand in the water. It really does feel different to the touch. I wouldn't have believed that, but it's true.

So that was my big date with the ocean. I am so glad I went. The drive was long, but worth every minute and I can't wait to go back with my family.

Atlantic City: Part 1

2009-04-08T11:58:00.003-04:00

It's been a while since I posted anything, but this one had to be posted.

I just returned from Atlantic City where I took a field trip with my company. As pipe organ builders, what could be more intriguing than the World's Largest Pipe Organ? And that's what we went to see. The organ is 7 manuals and 449 ranks. To put this into perspective for you, the largest pipe organ I have ever worked on is 4 manuals and 57 ranks. This thing is enormous.

On the tour we were allowed access to the chambers of the organ (at least on the bottom levels) where we could see the inner-workings for the pipe organ. Being "organ nerds" we all embraced the opportunity.

At one point we went on to the stage to see the console (which is pictured above) and I got to stand right where Miss America was crowned for 85 years. The scope of the building is awe inspiring.

After we had satisfied ourselves with the console, we went on up to the chamber where the 64' Diapason is. That's right, the lowest note is 64' tall. We took pictures of ourselves with the pipes, but unless you know what you're looking at, it makes not sense. So, I will use this historical photograph to show you how big they are. Those are full-grown men, not munchkins!

This was taken before any of the rest of the pipes and chest had been installed. I imagine it's the only way they could get these monsters in!

I have so much more to tell about my trip, but for now it will have to wait. Suffice to say: WOW!

Buckle up!

2009-03-16T08:03:00.000-04:00

In the morning (most mornings), I have the Bus Driver From Hell (hereafter known as the BDFH). This guy is amazing. He'll leave people standing at the stop if they are not right on the bus at Broad and High. You can be running full-tilt right for the bus, waving cash in the air, and he'll go around other buses to leave you standing. And that's nothing, compared to his driving.

Bus drivers usually drive cautiously, as if they had precious cargo aboard. Not the BDFH. The BDFH drives the bus like it's an Indy car. It's amazing to see, I am sure, but really breathtaking from inside the bus. I estimate that he does about 35 in the 25 zones around my office. And if that's not enough, the route twists and turns through the neighborhood, but the BDFH just sees this as a challenge to make those curves without dropping below 30.

I have heard the BDFH even break into road rage tirade from behind the wheel. Some of these were even peppered with profanity.

My favorite BDFH episode came this morning. I got on the bus (I just made it) and before I had taken even two steps toward my seat he was pulling away from the curb. There were two buses ahead of us. Most drivers will honk a little "toot-toot" to make sure that the driver of the other bus knows they're getting passed, but not BDFH. He laid on his horn and if bus tires could squeal, I am sure he would have laid rubber. I was surprised not to hear Cruella de Ville's classic epithet "road hog" come out of his mouth. But, BDFH restrained himself. Evidently, he was trying to make sure he made the light, which he did, only to get stuck at the next one, whereupon we heard his stand-by, "Oh, come ON!" I looked in the rear view mirror of the bus and saw that the bus we passed was right behind us. As we waited for the light to change, I swear that the BDFH actually gunned his engine. As soon as the light changed, we were off. The brakes on our buses don't screech, but if they did, that's how we would have come to a halt in front of my bus friend at the next stop. She got on and he took off almost immediately, careening off down to the next turn.

As my bus friend managed to sit down on something resembling a seat, instead of the floor, we looked at each other and rolled our eyes. We always threaten to call him in, but neither of us ever has. As he pulled away from the next stop, he was stuck in the curb lane by a long line of cars. We could hear BDFH muttering to himself, "Oh, come on! Don't do this to me!" and sounds that my husband and I describe as "ruckin'-skruckin'". Finally, he got a big enough break and he swerved quickly into the lane, speeding off to the next stop.

As we approached my stop, I waited for the precise moment to pull the bell. And it is tricky. The stops are a little too close together so if I pull it too soon, he stops at the wrong stop, too late and he won't stop until the next stop, and there is always an audible sigh. I always wait to stand up to get out because I don't want to be thrown to the floor by the force of the stop.

I always say "Have a nice day!" to the BDFH as I disembark and today was no different. I keep hoping that, eventually, he'll start to become nicer, but I am beginning to think this hope may be a vain one. As I climbed down out of the coach I had to check the impulse to kiss the ground to thank God for allowing me to survive.

Honestly, where do they find these guys?

Photo: still from "Speed" - Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock

Endure and Resist

2009-03-12T12:48:00.004-04:00

Perfer et obdura: multo graviora tulisti. - Ovid

I just posted this quote in my office. The translation that I have says "Endure and resist: in the past you have overcome much more difficult situations." (If you have a better translation, lay it on me.)

Reportedly, Pope Benedict XVI said these words to the assembled crowds at Rome's City Hall. And it is such a good thing for us all to hear right now.

It is so true.

Photo: AP Photo by Lewis Whyld

The Surprise Party

2009-03-08T16:33:00.003-04:00

Well, I turned 40 on Thursday. People keep asking me how it feels and I tell them, "40 feels a lot like 39, only slower".

My husband and mother threw a surprise party for me on Thursday evening and it was lovely, but not a surprise. Mom wanted the whole thing to be a surprise, but my husband decided that they couldn't really surprise me with the party (I always find out), so he would surprise me with the guest list. I wasn't allowed to ask who was invited or who was coming or "Did you invite...?" I just had to take what rolled out. And what rolled out was lovely Old friends, new friends, long-lost friends, friends I see everyday...

As I sat looking at the crowd of assembled people trying to delicately eat some hot wings and barbecue meatballs, I was reminded of some past surprise parties. This was not the first time Mom had tried to surprise me.

When I turned 16, she threw a surprise party for me and only three people came. I wasn't particularly sad, but I knew that Mom was. I had a lot of fun making custom pizzas with my three friends, one of whom had moved to another school earlier in the year. Later, I found out that she had invited a ton of people and that some of them had even said they would come, but didn't show up. Now, of course, I know that life happens and the best-laid plans sometimes go awry. I can remember, though, at 16, feeling a little sorry for myself that more of my friends didn't come.

When I turned 21, my husband helped my mother with the party. This is truly one of my favorite stories. My husband and his sister, Julie, were supposed to keep me out of the house while it was being cleaned up (with 3 little brothers and sisters still at home this was no small task). I guess Mom announced to everyone, after we left, what they would be doing today, whereupon my Dad went to the basement and began to sort old computers. As if anyone was going to be in the basement! Oh well...

Anyway, because Julie and Michael couldn't keep me interested in shopping for long enough, I came home early. Mom was in a state and couldn't figure out how to get me upstairs so that people could arrive. And even if she got me upstairs, she couldn't get people in the house without me knowing. Finally, when the first guest arrived (my mother-in-law-to-be) Mom lost her cool and told me about the surprise. I had had no idea. I was so shocked and thrilled. Michael sent me upstairs to get changed into something a little more party-like and as I was curling my hair, my friends, Missy and Kristen came running up the stairs shouting "Surprise! Surprise! Surprise!" I remember laughing and smiling so much that evening.

But, nothing beats the 40th. They had to get a room at a local parish in order to get all the people in. I don't know how many people came, but it was a lot. And, as my mother-in-law always says, all the right people came. They always do. Everyone had a good time. Everyone had plenty to eat (and it was so good, Mom)! And, I am humbled, truly humbled, by all of these people's good wishes and kindnesses and those of the people who called me to let me know that they could not attend but were thinking of me.

As I was sitting there, surveying all the people in the room through misty eyes, one of my close friends leaned over my shoulder and said to me, "Now, when you feel like no one cares, just look around this room in your memory and remember how many lives you have touched and how many people care."

I can't believe I have so many friends. I wonder, sometimes, what they see. But, I am grateful, all the same.

Photo: St. Pixel's Blog - Sharona

Above Average

2009-02-18T10:07:00.005-05:00

"My kids are not your average kids..."

Doesn't everyone say that? Everyone's kids stretch them to the breaking point, push them to the limit and push every hot button that you own (and some you didn't even know you had)...Yet, you take them somewhere or send them to play at a friend's house and the friend's mom says, "Oh, Susie/Tommy is so polite and nice. He/she can come back anytime." And you stand there, slack-jawed, thinking, "My kid? Are you talking about this rapscallion?" All the while, you are holding your struggling kid by the arm, and gritting your teeth through your benign smile, as they try valiantly to not put their coat on and say, "Oh, thank you so much."

And, still, at the end of the day, you know, you could never deny them. Those are your kids. They have your eyes, your smile, your freckles, your faults and your flashes of genius and you love them. They are wonderful.

What is it about "my kids" that makes them so above average? Garrison Keillor announces at the end of his weekly monologue that Lake Woebegone is a place where "all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking and all the children are above average." Keillor has commented several times that Lake Woebegone is a fictional place that is designed to be somewhat like "Anytown, USA". It's supposed to be anywhere that you are and anyone whom you might know. And his statements and, now famous tag-line, point up the universality of his reflections. All parents think their kids are something special.

When I was a kid, my Mom was not a stage mother. She has totally become a stage grandmother. Seriously. Her grandchildren are the smartest, most beautiful, talented, creative children on the planet. Just ask her. Of course, her sister believes the same thing is true of her grandchildren, but, from a completely unbiased point of view (and I say this with no small amount of irony), MY mom is right.

I asked my mom why she wasn't more like that with us when we were kids. She told me she didn't want us to get big heads. I completely believe that. But actually, she told me, she'd talk about us to anyone who had ears to hear, outside of our earshot, of course. We always felt like we had to work a little harder to be better and I don't think that hurt us. We always strove for excellence and still do in our grown-up lives.

My husband's mother was different. She told her kids every day that they were the most special, talented, precious creatures that God put on the planet. Whether they earned those titles or not. It made them pretty unbreakable when it came to outside criticism. Critiques just fall off of them like water off a duck's back. They know that they are loved and wonderful. No matter what life hands them, they just get up and keep going.

My children have a mix of the two. I adore my children. I tell them often how much I love them and how smart and interesting and talented I think they are, but they have to work for my praise of the things that they do with their talents. My husband just adores them, he will still go into their rooms at night to watch their 13 and 16 year-old, giant bodies sleeping away and marvel at how spectacular they are, just like he did when they were babies.

And they are...spectacular, I mean. And above average, too. But isn't that the whole point of being individually created creatures of God? We are all wonderfully made and every one of us has something unique to offer the world. I guess that would make us all "above average."

Photo by starpuncher, found on Flickr.

The Sign and the Split Second Decision

2009-02-16T12:32:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I had one of my favorite summertime purchases on: a pair of black capri pants. I bought them in Highland, IL (when my mom and daughter and I went to visit my aunt) and I only paid $5 for them. They were a great buy. They looked sharp with a cropped jacket in the summer-time, for a slightly professional look. They looked great with a t-shirt when I was more casual. And yesterday, they were looking mighty fine with my black boots and green ribbed-knit sweater. They did, that is, until I went to get out of the car.

I split the zipper away from the fly in my effort to stand up. I was horrified. With only 30 minutes to go until Mass began, I was extremely glad that my sweater was extra long and covered the whole issue. But I was self-conscious the whole day. Always pulling down the front of my sweater, checking my reflection...I felt like a high school girl in her first strapless gown. Had I really gained that much weight back?

Yep, I think I have. Everything is tight and only my "fat-clothes" (now, that is a relative term) fit me right now. I'd say, if I had to guess, I've gained between 10 and 15 pounds in this past 6 weeks. For the past month or so I have "eating my feelings". Oh yes! With a vengeance! Usually, that doesn't affect me much because I walk everywhere, but it has been SO cold and snowy here, that my travel has been very limited. And, I have done nothing to take up the slack in the movement department. Frankly, I think I have been too busy.

But, now...I am paying for it. I realized yesterday that I was back up to drinking about 8 - 10 cans of Dr. Pepper a day! This morning I realized that I was eating 4 to 8 bite-size chocolates a day. Not to mention the cakes and cookies that I have been salving my aching heart with at home recently. No wonder I am blowing up like a balloon!

But the first sign was when my doctor called to let me know that my sugar was slightly high on a blood test he gave me. Well, after 13 hours of fasting, no one's blood sugar should be 123.

OK. It's time to get serious.

Step one: Move.
Step two: Cut out the pop.
Step three: Develop a love for some green leafies...they aren't just for rabbits anymore, honey.
Step four: Develop a coping tool that does not include food.

So, I am sitting her with my Diet Dr. Pepper and the remains of a salad on my desk and feeling pretty good, 'cause I walked the 10 minutes there and 10 minutes back to get it.

Now, I just have to make the decision stick!

All in God's Plan

2009-02-15T07:51:00.003-05:00

I had a dream just before I awoke that was so vivid that I had to write it down.

I was on some sort of journey with my in-laws. All of my in-laws were there, except for one sister-in-law. There was another family that I did not know that was there, too. This family had a very elderly woman with them.

For one reason or another we had to stop. I am not sure why, but it had to do with cutting down a huge tree (it was a dream, OK?). My brothers-in-law and my mother-in-law were engaged in heated debate about some leaders of very small countries (the names of which never appeared in the dream). It was extremely important to them that my mother-in-law agree with them. Then, they began to appeal to me to convince her. I did not care about their debate and told them that whatever happened, it was "all in God's plan".

I noted that the men who were cutting down the tree were making very good progress and that if we did not move the other people that were in the path of the tree, including this very elderly woman, they would likely be smashed. So, I rallied the troops and made them come to help me move everyone.

The plan was to move everyone where we had been. Unfortunately, the tree guys were still making rapid progress and as we began to move people, they were not pausing to look around themselves to see what was going on. They were working without ceasing on cutting the tree down. I could not move the elderly woman and the rest of our companions and things fast enough. The tree was going to come down, and I thought it would be right on top of us.

And the huge tree did come down, with a mighty crash that shook the ground. But, not where I expected it to. It came down on the rocks where my family had been sitting to debate politics. Had we not moved to help everyone else, we would have been crushed. Had we been successful in moving everyone else, we would all have been crushed.

And then I heard a voice echoing in my head "All in God's Plan". And then I woke up.

Playing for Keeps

2009-02-14T23:16:00.003-05:00

When I was a child I took 4 years of piano lessons. My talent with music was evident at a young age. I could sing almost anything and was already beginning to learn to sing in harmony by the time I was 6. I could match pitches that my dad would sing, finding them first with my voice and then finding them on the piano. My parents decided that they needed to feed this talent. So, Mom and Dad took the initiative to find one of the best teachers in the area, Mrs. Lucy Chu. I sat in the basement studio of her house with about 9 other kids, every Saturday morning, and we were taught, using the Suzuki method, to play our scales and simple little tunes that every parent hoped would turn their child into the next virtuoso.

Mrs. Chu had a strict policy for practice: One hour per day, to be broken up in to three sessions of 20 minutes each, (20 minutes before school, 20 minutes right after school (even before homework!), and 20 minutes after dinner). Parents were to be as engaged in this activity as the child was. They had to sit with us during lessons and then during each of our 20 minute practice sessions. I can only imagine, looking back now, as a parent, that my Mom must've said, "You've got to be kidding me. I have things to do!" In fact, I know she did. I certainly would!

Needless to say, though I excelled in my vocal music progress, there was something about piano that I could never grasp. It never really became part of me. I could never make the keyboard "one" with me. I can still to this day remember my teacher coming around to critique our wrist placement with her thick Chinese accent, it came out something like "rike dead fiss". Really she was trying to tell me not to tighten my wrists, to relax and to hold them "like dead fish". My husband taunts me with this image to this very day. Somehow, my 7-year-old self found nothing musical or exciting about "dead fish". Looking back, I now understand that she wanted me to relax so that the music would flow from my hands effortlessly. I still question whether "dead fish" was the right metaphor for a bunch of 7-year-olds.

I learned a lot about theory from Mrs. Chu. I still remember all of my scales and all of my I, IV and V7 chords for every key. I could even transpose things. But, after about 3 years, Mrs. Chu despaired of me ever amounting to anything. You see, I wouldn't practice for an hour a day. I was very lucky to get in 20 minutes a day. So, Mrs. Chu passed me along to Mrs. Livingston. She was the nicest lady. It was she who introduced me to Bach. I began to learn that there was more to piano than the Bastiens had ever dreamed up.

I began to learn a piece from Anna Magdelena's Notebook. It was a minuet and I loved it, but I couldn't play it. I couldn't make my left hand do what I told it to do. I could play the right hand. I could play the left hand by itself, but I'll be darned if I could ever put the two of them together.
I began to think that perhaps Mrs. Chu was right and I would never be able to play piano, so when my mother threatened me with "practice or quit", I knew I couldn't ever do it perfectly, so I quit.

When I was a Senior in High School, I was at a performing arts school and keyboard was required. I dragged my old piano books out and began to play with them. I started to make some progress. I could play two hands at once, but not two notes in each hand at once. I finally conquered that minuet. I was so proud of myself! It was Progress, but not nearly enough.

By the time I reached college and was required to pass a keyboard proficiency test, which included playing a four-part hymn, all my dreams of ever being proficient evaporated. I had learned, along the way, from my Dad, how to use the chords on a lead sheet to play and that was good enough (or it would have to be). My mind simply couldn't take in four notes and play them all together. It was unthinkable. I froze.

Fast forward 20 years...

About a year ago, I began practicing my piano again. I don't know why, but somehow I thought, maybe this time it will be different. I picked up a book of simplified hymn accompaniments (most of them are in 3 parts) and I can (sort of) play them. I drill them until I get them right. Then I thought, why not something a little more daring?

I work for a pipe organ company and for a church so I thought that maybe I ought to learn how to play a pipe organ. So I picked up a setting of "In Dulci Jubilo" by Bach. It's still mostly one note in each hand, but the parts move independently and it is for organ (so it is actually on two different manuals) so it is a little more of a challenge.

I have a friend who is a brilliant organist (at least I think he is) who caught me practicing at church one day. I froze immediately and couldn't play anymore. I don't know if maybe my inability to play goes back to being afraid to fail or if I simply can't stand the thought of being embarrassed. But I have come to an important determination: I must conquer it.

But this time, it's all on my own time. It doesn't really matter how long it takes me to learn the piece. I can take a whole year to perfect it. I can work on conquering that fear of messing it up and learn how to recover and keep going, just as I have with choral singing. Maybe in a few months (or a couple of years) I will summon the courage to call one of the organ teachers in town to actually take lessons. But, honestly, right now, this is just a battle with myself. How much can I accomplish on my own? Am I really a hopeless case or just a nervous Nellie? I guess we'll find out...

Am I crazy? Picking up a new instrument (organ, no less) at 40! Probably.
What else is new?

The dead face

2009-02-10T13:33:00.002-05:00

Several years ago, there was a priest who used to come from Russia to solicit donations from my parish for the Dominican Mission that he was in charge of. One day he was describing coming back into the country and how one had to hold you face so as not to look "American". Americans, he said, had a lively look to them. There was a smile on their face, even when they weren't smiling. And it was a dead give-away to the border police and you were sure to get your baggage searched. He explained further that Russians had no such life to their faces. He called the look "the dead face" and then he demonstrated it. It is achieved by looking at a person directly, without seeming to see them and keeping your face and eyes absolutely and totally expressionless. And really,(knowing a couple of Russians) he was quite convincing. I could not hold the look for longer than a few minutes. But Father could hold it eternally it seemed.

Yesterday, while I was riding home on the bus, I realized that I was seeing more and more of "the dead face": in the other passengers, in people on the street, in shops and even in the reflection of myself in the window of the bus. I realized this was really the case when I sat right next to a woman with whom I had attended Mass for years and did not even recognize her...and she didn't recognize me either. When we finally did recognize each other, we were both very embarrassed and blamed it on the heavy coats and hats we were wearing. Who could recognize anyone in those heavy things?

But practically speaking, "the dead face" is the face you put on when you don't want people to talk to you or sit next to you. If you smile on the bus, even at people that you know, someone might decide to come sit next to you and talk to you. And some of these people, you really worry about talking to. Really.

But, at what price? At the price of bringing joy to another person? At the price of not recognizing your friends? At the price of not spreading the joy the God gave you? Why infect everyone with a bad mood, when I could infect everyone with a good one?

Yesterday, while I sat waiting at the Doctor's office, I read an article in Time Magazine about the "Happiness Effect". Some researchers are opining that if your friends are happy, you are more likely to be happy. Conversely, if they are sad, you are more likely to be sad. There are other effects that are being studied, too.

The upshot of the article is the viral infectiousness of behaviors, like a smile or a frown. They estimate that a smile can be passed on to a person 3.8 points of contact away! So the next time I catch sight of myself in the bus window reflection giving off my dead look, I think I'm going to remember to smile. Maybe that will make someone else's afternoon, later in the day.

Just something to think about.

Apologies

2009-02-08T18:41:00.000-05:00

I simply have to say it:
I have decided that men NEVER say, "I'm sorry."
(My husband is a very notable exception.)

They say things like, "I'm sorry you feel that way," or "I'm sorry if I upset you," (this one is usually trotted out because there are tears and they want you to stop crying). But, men never just say, "I'm sorry."

Sometimes, if a man is feeling exceptionally bad about something he said, he will compliment you in the presence of others. It's always a heart-felt compliment and it's a dead give-away. That's just how he says, "I'm sorry." But why not just SAY it? I just don't understand it!

Then, there are the men who resort to my personal favorite; they act like nothing happened. This is especially popular with men who want you to accept the blame for the incident, even if it is totally their fault. Once they figure out that they were wrong and you are not going to take the blame, they just want to sweep the whole thing under the rug.

I must confess that I am inclined to allow them to do this, because I know by the time we get to that point, they're sorry. I am not sure why I let them get away with it. Part of it is the act of forgiveness. Part of it is just wishing to get on with my life. I guess I just allow them to save whatever is left of their dignity after they realize that they were in the wrong, and then hope that they give me the same courtesy later.

Of course, they never have to apologize to me, because I am always apologizing to them. In fact, one of my new year's resolutions was to stand up for myself, to stop apologizing for everything under the sun and only apologize when it was really my fault and there was something I could have done (or not done) to have averted the situation.

It's not that I won't accept blame for the things I do wrong. I am not opposed to accepting blame when it is justified. This is simply a matter of meaning what I say. In apologizing for everything, I have, perhaps, become somewhat insincere.

Maybe that's what men fear, being considered insincere. But, it sure would be nice to hear those two little words every now and then...

Bacon and Chocolate

2009-02-01T00:22:00.003-05:00

What is it with men and bacon, and women and chocolate?
I mean, really!

We were in the car the other day with the boys and they had my sister order sandwiches with bacon on them. My husband commented that "Now the kitchen staff knows there are men in the car." And it's true. Men are all about some bacon. When Wendy's was advertising the Baconator, did they have some cute chick selling it? Nope. They had a bunch of big, burly men in the trademarked red, pigtailed wig "rioting" for some meat on their sandwich. But, not just any meat...Bacon.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, my youngest brother popped a link to this fabulous dish called "BBQ Bacon Explosion" up on Facebook. I mean this recipe is not to be believed. Since then, I have had TWO other male Facebook friends (neither of whom know my little brother or each other) reference this same recipe. Unbelievable.

I have also noticed that men eat bacon when they are stressed out. It's like a salve for the soul. I wonder if it is the salt, or the fat that they crave. My husband, a grill cook at a local investment firm, noted that when the stock market started taking a nose-dive in September, bacon consumption and mashed potato consumption went through the roof. Very interesting.

Now, women are all about some chocolate. I can prove this. My sister, the day that the boys were ingesting half-pound servings of bacon and beef, decided that we, the girls, would have to go get Chocolate Nachos. Yes, Chocolate Nachos. My sister introduced these items of delight to me the last time I was so stressed that you could literally see the grey hair growing in as I stood there. This dessert is a creation of the Jimmy Buffett restaurant chain, Cheeseburger in Paradise. (Nope, it's no longer just a song, Parrotheads.)

When my sister told me about them, I didn't believe her. But, she told me they were so good that she actually had dreams about them. One night she was talking in her sleep and when her husband rolled over and touched her arm, she growled at him "Get away from my Chocolate Nachos!"

Chocolate Nachos are dangerous. First, they make chocolate tortillas and vanilla tortillas, then they cut them up and deep fry them. Then, they drizzle them with hot fudge and put sprinkles and diced strawberries on them. This is all served on a platter with vanilla and strawberry ice cream (for dipping?).

So this, and no other, is the ultimate stress food for women. Chocolate covered, deep fried bits of carbohydrates, served with sprinkles and strawberries and ice cream...

(What diet?)

A Smile and a Kind Word

2009-01-29T15:53:00.000-05:00

Have you ever had a day where you just felt out of sorts?

Sometimes that first funny comment and a smile are all that's needed to make that day a day worth getting out of bed for.

Music is the food of life

2009-01-27T06:40:00.001-05:00

I went to a very special concert this weekend. I recently re-connected with a very dear friend of mine from high school (in fact, the very friend that introduced me to my husband). In the process of re-kindling our friendship, I found out that she was singing for the Columbus Symphony Orchestra's Pops concert this weekend. When she asked if we wanted to come, the answer was a resounding "Are you kidding?!?"

Kristen Eubanks has a big, rich jazz/blues/gospel voice. She has one of the most consistent voices I have ever heard. Of course, when we were kids, I thought she was wonderful. But now, I know that this is true.

Kristen sings from inside the song. She makes it her own and communicates the lyrics effectively, making it into everyone's song. Her rendition of the Etta James classic, "At Last" brought tears to my eyes.

The concert, under the direction of Matt Catingub (Honolulu Symphony Pops Conductor a.k.a. The Big Kahuna), was "An Evening of Big Band". Catingub was the conductor and arranger for the final concert that Rosemary Clooney gave. His arrangement of "You Go To My Head" is still stuck solidly in my head. It is breathtaking. You can find it on "Rosemary Clooney: The Last Concert" (2002).

As I was sitting in the theater, listening to the music that was the soundtrack of my childhood and teenage years, I was struck by the fact that I missed going to concerts very, very much. There is nothing like live music. Music performed by real musicians, face-to-face, is a communion of sorts. Even though (due to the acoustics in the room where we were) everything had to amplified, there is a feel that I get when I am sitting listening to a group of live musicians. I can feel their presence. I can feel the music in the core of my being. I don't get that feeling from any other music source.

When I experience live music, it is like being fed. I am inspired by other people's performances, by other people's experiences of music and lyrics and by the reactions of the people around me. There were moments when the orchestra was playing, or Matt or Kristen sang when it felt like no one was breathing, or maybe we were all breathing as one person. Certainly, you could have heard the proverbial "pin drop". It was beautiful. That would not have happened if we had been sitting in a room with a recording playing.

In the past year, we almost lost our Symphony Orchestra to financial concerns. Losing one of our Orchestras (we have a Jazz Orchestra and a Symphony Orchestra) would be a tragedy. I have heard more than one person say, "Well, if I want to listen to (fill-in-the-blank-with-a-composer-or-musician) then I'll just put on my CD. It's cheaper and sounds better." But, I think that they miss the point of music, specifically LIVE music. Music is not just about the sound and silence or about the money you make doing it (though musicians need to make a living, too, folks!). It is about the personal connection. Not hearing music live, and in person, has degraded it as a form of communication.

I have said before that music is an expression of body, mind and soul in a way that no other form of communication can be. But as much as we hear recorded music, can it really be classified as communication, or has it just become so much background noise?

If you haven't been to a live musical performance recently, I encourage you to go and experience one. Place yourself in the moment and let the music speak to you.

Light

2009-01-23T12:21:00.001-05:00

It is amazing to me how much a little change in light can affect my whole day.

I first noticed the change in light this morning while waiting for my bus downtown. It was the first time since December that it was light enough to see without the street lights at 7:30 am. As the sky continued to lighten, I realized that it really was not as coldas it has been. I was very grateful. I got to leave my long underwear and boots at home for the first time in two weeks (we've had single digit and sub-zero temps for about a week now) knowing that the temperatures would be in the 40's today.

As the morning progressed, I noticed that my office window was streaming in light over my shoulder and it was a warm, pervasive light. Simply put, it gave joy to my heart.

When I was a young girl, my grandmother came from Arizona to live with us a couple of times. She never made it much past the dreary days of February. She missed the turquoise skies and the bright sunshine of the desert that she called home. She called it "her desert". But, one has to wonder if she would have appreciated it as much if she had not had to come live in gray, dreary Central Ohio in the wintertime. Nothing makes you appreciate something like losing it.

All of the psalms that I read this morning for Morning Prayer were about repentance and the return of Christ's light to our hearts. As I sat in the chapel, admiring the Hibiscus in the warm morning sunlight, I thought about how the soul is affected by light, not just Christ's, but also the sunlight. With the sunlight and the Light of Christ, we flourish and blossom. Lacking either, we wither away.

I am (of course) reminded of a song:

Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee,
God of Glory, Lord of Love.
Hearts unfold like flowers before thee,
Opening to the sun above.
Melt the clouds of sin and sadness.
Drive the dark of doubt away.
Giver of Immortal Gladness,
Fill us with the light of day.

(Henry Van Dyke, 1907)

Photo by Ann-Kathrin Koch from 10Things

Hope is a blossom

2009-01-19T11:45:00.003-05:00

At my office, we have a chapel where I say morning prayers almost every morning. I get a little crazy around the time of tuning seasons and my vigilance fails me, and this Christmas season was no exception. I don't think I darkened the door of the chapel more than once or twice this past December. But with the new year, I rededicated myself to the practice of doing morning prayer for all the people I work with and all my friends and relatives.

When I started in this job, the Chapel was sometimes used as "overflow storage", but I went in and prayed anyway. It's a little room, out of the way, and decorated kind of nicely. It has one of the coolest chandeliers I have ever seen. It has a south facing window that collects all the sun of the day and it's really, a very pleasant, quiet place to be.

One morning, while I was praying, my manager came through to check on the progress of an organizational project he had people working on and I surprised him.

"Oh! " he said, startled to see me. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know anyone ever used this place."
"Almost every morning, "I replied.
He made a quick apology for disturbing me and then went on his way.

After that, all of the the stuff that used to get put in the chapel, stopped being piled there and one day, some plants appeared by the window: A hibiscus and a bamboo plant.

I thanked my manager for putting them there, it made the chapel seem more welcoming. He told me that actually he had forgotten about them, (they'd been moved for floor waxing) but they could stay there if I liked them. I told him that I did like them and I asked if I should water them. He said that he'd just tell the guy who waters all the plants that they were in there and he take care of them.

Over the next several months, the hibiscus plant tried to die on me several times. You see, I have a black thumb and I never remember to water the plants. Since the plants were off the beaten path, the plant-watering-guy kept forgetting about it and it began to dry out and almost died completely. But, somehow, it never quite lost all its leaves, just most of them. And while there was still green on the plant, I felt like there was still hope for its survival.

About a month ago, the hibiscus started looking a bit better (I assumed that the plant-watering-guy got it into routine) and I felt a little more hopeful for its survival. But, after two years of watching this plant, I had never, ever seen it in bloom. The chapel is in a part of the building that is not heated to the balmy sub-tropical temperature of the rest of the building (72 degrees), and frequently, I find myself shivering while I say my prayers. I was beginning to think that maybe the hibiscus never bloomed because it was too cold.

But this morning, I went in to say prayers and I found this:

One bright red bloom!

After the last couple of weeks of waiting and hoping and trying to hold on to the edge of the pit, this flower just seemed like an answer to my prayers.

Even in the midst of strife and struggle of just trying to stay alive, the cold and the loneliness of not being visited, this determined plant has re-adorned itself with joyful red blooms. It just gave me some hope.

I thought I'd share.

Photo by: Nicholas L. Fink

2009-01-16T08:01:00.000-05:00

As I was explaining my frustration about the lack of progress on some issue to our Business Administrator and saying, "Well, whatever.."

He said, "I understand. The universe is unfolding perfectly."

It made me smile. Oh! Ain't it the truth, honey?

An Interesting Test

2009-01-15T08:04:00.002-05:00

Thanks to Sarah, at Just Another Day of Catholic Pondering, for this one! This is a test of logic. I scored 13 out of 15. Not too bad for only being awake for about 10 minutes...
See how you do.

How long to sing this song?

2009-01-14T12:14:00.004-05:00

One of my favorite bands in the world is U2. Way back in the day (before they were really, really cool to listen to) I had a tape of them in concert called "Live at Red Rocks" (circa 1984).

The final song on the album is a song called "40". The lyrics for "40" are taken from Psalm 40, "I waited patiently for the Lord. He inclined and heard my cry..." The refrain is "How long to sing this song?" Which appears no where in the Psalm, but Bono just added it in. For some reason, this song has always been a comfort to me in times of trial.

But really, Bono doesn't seem to mean it as a comfort, but more as a kvetch. As if to say, "OK God, I am waiting patiently, but how long to I have to sing this song?" It's really quite a funny paradox of theme. A reminder of the patience that is rewarded with good things from God, and then the impatience that the singer feels when asked to wait longer and be more patient. It's such a human thing. It's one of the things I like about Bono's lyrics. They are so very human and show his search for God's presence in the world.

Right now, I am trying to wait patiently for God to straighten some things out.

But, I am not being very patient today. I keep asking, "How long, O Lord? How much more are you going to ask of me?" And "40" keeps playing in my head, reminding me to be patient, but also nagging that it seems to be taking an awfully long time to straighten things out.

But, if all of time is as one moment for God, the delay probably doesn't seem so long to Him. Our "eternities" are just a blink for Him, after all. And the really cool thing about that concept is that it's all already finished, too. There is no waiting. It's all done and this is the answer. (Religion is so weird and so cool like that.)

So, I keep asking, "How long?"
And God answers, "Until it's time."
And the really impatient me says, "So, um...when will that be?"
But the older, wiser me knows it's already done. It will all be OK.

Patience

2009-01-12T06:30:00.000-05:00

My mother always told me never to pray for patience, because God would test it. She was SO right. Every time I have ever prayed for patience, God comes along with the most patience testing thing He can come up with seeming to say "You want patience? You'll have to work for it, baby." As they say in body-building: No Pain, No Gain. Right? But, I am a wimp. I don't like pain. So I stopped praying for patience, preferring instead to let the world just hit me in the face and do what I could to stay upright.

As a younger woman, I never put much thought into what patience actually is. I could define it, like a vocabulary word, but defining it and understanding the concept are two different things. I was too busy being impatient to want to understand the concept. It took too long to think about. My nickname as a child was "Impatiens". Not because I was a pretty as a flower, but because it was a play on words on my most strong personality trait.

As an adult and a mother, I knew I had to develop some patience and have struggled with it ever since. Recently, from the vantage point of almost 40 years of life on earth, I have been considering where my life needs to change direction and what I need to do to become a better person. Patience has become the focus of those considerations, more than once.

The dictionary defines "patience" as: 1) the quality of being patient, as the bearing of provocation, annoyance, misfortune, or pain, without complaint, loss of temper, irritation, or the like. 2.) an ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay: to have patience with a slow learner. 3.) quiet, steady perseverance; even-tempered care; diligence: to work with patience. (from dictionary.com)

If I had to define the word "patience" myself, it would be the ability to have grace under pressure; to be the harbor of peace and calm in a stormy world. I am not a patient person, by nature. The storms of life rock me too hard to be a "harbor of peace". And as far as waiting for anything without restlessness or annoyance: Hah! forget it. Bus drivers incur my wrath quite frequently.

In my long years of working for the church, I have heard many homilies on peace and patience. The best one I ever heard was from a priest who was, himself, impatient. He said that rather than praying for God to give you patience, you should ask God to give you some of His patience. God, being eternal and the source of all peace, has plenty to go around. And Father was right. It does help to pray for God's patience. Our own patience is finite, by our very nature. God, being infinite, has all the patience in the world.

Believe it or not, I am much better at being patient than I used to be. Those who have known me for a long time will attest to that. Those who have known me only a short time will wipe their brows and say, "Really?! I sure am glad I didn't know you way back in the day."

I am still not the most patient woman in the world. My children and husband will attest to that. But, I am working on it. Building patience, is a lot like body-building. It must be tested in order to grow. If all you did was lift weights with 5 pound weights for the rest of your life, you would never get to that 300 pound bench press.

Having situations arise in my life that require more patience than I have is a test of my strength. Sometimes I surprise myself and handle things well, and sometimes I fail miserably. But, with God as my spotter, I know that I will never be completely crushed. I just have to let Him know when I need help.

Image: Atlas holding up the heavens - from a vase in the Vatican Museum.

Delicious

2009-01-09T04:39:00.004-05:00

We kiss
and the passion rises in my heart
like the sap of a sugar maple,
welling up,
overflowing,
and filling the world with sweetness.

Photo from Southernmost Maple

Say it with me, everyone...

2009-01-08T13:35:00.002-05:00

Breathe in.
Breathe out.

It's all going to be OK.

God is Bigger

2009-01-03T22:31:00.003-05:00

Sometimes I have a day that is really overwhelming to me. I could just sit and cry for hours on end. I sometimes think, "I can't do this. Really, God, I can't."

I had a day like that yesterday.

It doesn't happen often, but some days, problems overwhelm the hope that I should have in my heart and I feel abandoned and very inadequate as a Mom, (or spouse, or employee, or musician, or whatever role is plaguing me at the time).

So, I went to Mass today and Father talked about the Kings who appear in the Gospel today: The Magi and King Herod. The Magi were seeking to honor the new "King of the Jews". In fact, when they did finally enter into the presence of Jesus, Father pointed out, "they prostrated themselves. Which means they put their faces in the dirt, as if to say, we are nothing and You are Everything."

King Herod on the other hand, had become so turned in on himself that he could not truly say to Jesus, "You are Everything", for Herod believed, (and in order to keep his position, he HAD to) that Herod was everything.

This hit me squarely between the eyes. (I find that happening a lot, recently, actually...) I have become very attuned to what I need and how I feel. It's partially out of feeding my artistic endeavors. One has to be attuned to the inner workings of one's heart to bring them out to share. But, I had lost sight of everyone around me. And most importantly, I had lost sight of God's presence in my life.

I realized for the first time in a long time that God really is bigger than anything I have facing me. Nothing I could possibly face is impossible for God to handle. No situation I can paint myself into is bigger than God's mercy. No stumbling block is too big to overcome with His help. I just have to recognize that God is Everything and I am nothing without Him. I had another pastor, years ago, who explained (after years of me not understanding the concept) that this is what is meant by being "poor in spirit".

If Jesus can come to earth as a child and grow to adulthood, allow himself to be crucified and then rise from the dead, I think he can handle the little bumps in the road of my little life. And, sometimes, those bumps are there for a reason, like speed bumps, to slow us down a little bit and make us think about what we are doing. There are no accidents in God's plan. Everything happens for a reason.

There is a wonderful series of children's videos that we used to watch when the kids were little called VeggieTales. One of them was called "Where's God When I'm Scared". In the story, the characters sing a song called "God is Bigger than the Bogeyman".

Know what? Junior Asparagus was right.

What are you doing New Year's?

2008-12-31T10:08:00.003-05:00

For the past 20 years there has only been on New Year's Eve party I have ever attended. If your last name is O'Keefe and part of your family tree includes Gini (my mother-in-law) there is only one party: her party. It isn't that she's selfish and doesn't want us to have fun that she's not included in, but more to the point, she wants to know that we are all safe. And, besides, why would you want to go anywhere else? Read on, and you'll see what I mean.

When Gini was young, her father was in the diplomatic corps in Occupied Japan. I believe they lived there for about 5 years before returning to the U.S. It became a tradition in their family to eat Chinese food on New Year's Eve. After all, it has all the elements of a good "lucky" New Year's feast: you know, pork and cabbage. So, these days, Gini puts on the Chinese Buffet to end all others every New Year's Eve.

The family begins to gather at about 5 or 6 in the evening and we all help to assemble the Egg Roll filling. Then we roll them. Throughout the night, Mike will fry up several at a time so they are always fresh and hot. Gini makes her absolutely-not-to-be-believed Sweet and Sour Pork and Fried Rice. And, of course, there are the usual drinks, served from the Art Deco bar that she and I found at an Antique Shop 5 years ago.

The nice thing about having Chinese Food on New Year's is that you can eat a lot of it. Every 20 minutes or so, you're hungry again, so the joy lasts all night.

My other favorite tradition of New Year's Eve at the O'Keefe's: Peanut Brittle. My father-in-law's family used to run a confectionery in town back in the 30's, 40's and 50's, and into the 60's. Mike still makes the BEST peanut brittle ever. The peanuts are always delicious and the brittle part (that sugary stuff that sticks it all together) is so clear that you can see light through it. It absolutely melts in your mouth. Then, there is the fudge and all the cookies and dips and cheese balls. Yes...it IS all about the food.

People that we see once or twice a year as well as family and friends of all the siblings (there are 6 kids in my husband's family) circulate through the kitchen (where all good parties happen). They have a bite to eat and talk about their families and what they are up to. We all talk and laugh about the passing year, hitting all the taboo subjects like politics and religion. We express our hopes for the coming year and talk a good game about our newest resolutions. We marinate in the cigarette smoke (Gini and her friends are big smokers , as are most of Michael's siblings) and pray that we don't have sinus infections in the morning. But, we wouldn't want to miss out on the conversation by going to the not-smoke-filled room... And we would never just not show up: The rule is "If you don't show up, you get talked about."

At about 11:59, we turn on the Times Square celebration and watch the ball drop, giving each other kisses and hugs to ring in the New Year and drinking toasts with Champagne, or Gran Spumante, or sparkling grape juice, or 7up - if you had too much Chinese Food.

By about 12:30, it's all over and we head for home to sleep off that 15th Egg Roll we had at 12:10 and remember why we make that New Year's Resolution to lose weight each year.

Happy New Year!!!

Catholic Carnival #205

2008-12-31T10:04:00.002-05:00

I'd like to invite you to head on over to "Just Another Day of Catholic Pondering" for the 205th Catholic Carnival: The Christmas Rosary. I am one of the contributors for this edition.

Thanks for hosting, Sarah!

The formula

2008-12-26T09:46:00.002-05:00

There is an art to getting a huge family around one dinner table for Christmas dinner. And part of that art is knowing how many people are there. My family has 20 people when everyone is there. But not everyone comes to everything. So, on Christmas Day, Mom asked the assembled throng in the kitchen, "How many people are here?" and I discovered that there are as many formulas for counting noses as there are people.

Edward started: "Well, there's Mom and Dad..."
I interrupted, "No wait, it's easier if you do it this way: There are 7 in the Harrises, minus one because John isn't here, he's in Florida..." Edward looked amused and I realized that this was not easier.

"I'm making this far too complicated, aren't I?" I said. "I'd better let you do it, Math Whiz."

Edward grimaced and laughed, "No, you have to say the names or you'll forget someone." He then recited all our names and came up with 15.

While he was doing that, Mom was counting up family units, "There's us, (two fingers up), Katie and Michael are 4, (six fingers up), Sarah and Jon are 4, (10 fingers up) and Joe and Kristy (two more fingers up) , and you (looking up at Ed). Thirteen."

"Wait!" someone said, "You forgot Baby Joe and Maria. Fifteen."

"See, " said Edward, "You have to say the names or you'll forget someone." He looked smug.

While we were doing this in the kitchen, my son was walking around counting actual noses. "One, two, three..."

Kristy and Sarah asked him, "What do you do if people move?" Michael shrugged, "I say their names as I count, so I don't repeat them."

So, the consensus of opinion on the "correct" formula for counting noses is: Same the name and count them on your fingers.

(I'm just sharing this because I thought it was amusing. Maybe you had to be there.)

The Unexpected Christmas

2008-12-26T08:49:00.003-05:00

I hope that my pastor will forgive me for talking very specifically about his Christmas Homily. It was the only thing that kept me sane yesterday.

Father's homily was a study in the unexpected gift of the Christ Child. He first spoke about the experience of wanting something specific at Christmas only to discover that you got another set of pajamas from your Aunt Ruth, instead of the BB gun that you wanted. Then, he likened it to the shepherds, who were expecting a King and who instead got a little baby lying in a manger. But, instead of pouting about the change in plans, they were joyful (this is highly condensed and was SO much better at Mass). Father went on to say that when God takes our plans and turns them upside down, that's the time to be most thankful, because it is a gift from God.

Yesterday was an exercise in putting those thoughts into practice.

Christmas is not my favorite day. Christmas is a day full of unspoken and spoken expectations that sometimes are not met.

OK...almost never met.

It isn't so much the present that you didn't get, but the reactions of people to the presents that you risked life and limb to get, or the discord within the tired adult siblings in your life, or illness, or the fight that your parents had on Christmas Morning, or a that flat tire you had on the way to church, or the fight that you had with the older relative, or the battle of wits that your smart relative decided to have with an un-armed person...I could go on and on.

At Christmas, more so than at any other time of year, I am stretched to the breaking point. Work is busy, home is busy, church is busy and all of these projects depend on other people doing what you expect them to do; what you HOPE they will do. Human beings make mistakes. They are imperfect and sometimes, they let you down. It's a sad fact of humanity that we don't always get everything done exactly perfectly. It has plagued me for many, many Christmases. No matter how hard I try for "the perfect Christmas", something always gets in my way and makes it fall short.

The real challenge of Christmas is to recognize the gifts that God gives you and to receive them joyfully. I didn't do such a good job yesterday morning, but I got better as the day progressed and I began to see that all of these things were plans turned inside out and upside down. I realized with a shock at about 5 pm (for too late in the day), that God had been showering us with gifts all day long.

In all the things that happened yesterday to me and to my family, I could see the hand of God shaping and offering His gifts to me and my family:

To the flat tire: an opportunity to take stock of the friends God put in our lives and the knowledge that they want to get to church more often because they are really hungry for God.
To the fighting couple: an opportunity to clear the air and realize that neither one of them was selfish or lazy, just sad for the lost time in raising their kids and the imperfections that marred their day. Oh yes, and the knowledge that they love one another in spite of the imperfections and they would be lost without one another.
To the discordant siblings: an opportunity to offer up the sharp criticisms and realize that you need to mindful of other's struggles in life.
To the one who was ill: a chance to slow down, for once, put your feet up and rest.
To the one didn't get the reaction they were hoping for from the present they worked so hard to get: a realization the Christmas is not about the things you get, but the love that is given to us from God (in sending His Son to us), and from your heart to that of the recipient. It truly IS the thought that counts.
To the one who was disappointed in the gift they got: A realization that someone cared enough to try to please them.
To the one who got in a fight with an older relative (and the older relative, too): an opportunity to take stock of your life and where it's headed. And the chance to change the course before it ends badly.
To the one who got mad about the philosophical discussion: The gift of patience and an appreciation of the gift God gave you of intelligence and a good education (and a really smart Dad).

It was a hectic day, filled with trials and troubles and wonderfully blessed by God. You just have to look for the blessings.

I am reminded of a story about Mother Teresa. Mother Teresa took all inconveniences as blessings. Once, she was stranded in an airport due to inclement weather and was going to miss her speaking engagement. But, instead of trying to move heaven and earth to get there anyway, she simply said, "What a blessing! God has given us time to pray!"

Even the most imperfect Christmas is full of blessings. You just have to see them as blessings.

Merry Christmas! God bless us, every one!

You are here.

2008-12-24T06:39:00.004-05:00

I have a tendency to live outside the moment when I am stressed out. I "borrow trouble" and play the "what if" game, or, even better, the "shoulda, coulda, woulda" game.

Recently, when I was getting carried away by stress and over-activity, my husband shared the following thought with me:

"Every now and then, I bend down and touch the ground and say, 'I am right here, right now.' "

I looked at him like he was crazy. But you know what? It helps to remember that there is nothing your can do to change the past. It has passed. There is no point in worrying about the future. It is not always in our control. All we can do is live in the present and make the best decisions we can make.

So, today, with only one or two of my (giant) list of Christmas presents bought (and none wrapped), a to-do list as long as your arm at work, rain pouring from the sky just in time for the morning commute, and 9 masses in the next 5 days, I am touching the ground and saying, "I am right here, right now." And somehow, I'll get through it all.

Our Lady of Guadalupe

2008-12-12T16:21:00.009-05:00

Today is the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Working in a parish where the preponderance of the people are Latino, we have a huge celebration for Our Lady of Guadalupe on the Sunday closest to her feast. I decided to share some pictures that my brother took of Our Lady's procession from last year. Though it was drizzly and nasty outside, there was still quite a crowd for the procession.

Along the route of the procession last year, the group stopped to pay their respects a at makeshift monument to 10 people who died in a fire: all parishioners. Sadly, we are faced with a similar tragedy this year, having lost 5 people in a fire last weekend.

Upon reaching the church the crowd was overflowing into the staircases and hallways. Though this crowd is a little larger than the usual Sunday crowd, it is not that much bigger and we have standing room only crowds even at regular Sunday Masses. We are currently trying to raise the money to improve our church space and give people more room to sit. But, I suspect that the room will fill to capacity very soon, anyway.

I have to say that I have tremendous respect for the Latinos in our parish. They work hard, pray hard, and play hard. The colorful culture and music is so refreshing, vibrant and lovely, and their expression of faith is so genuine and unforced. Their devotion to Our Lady is so strong. It makes me question whether the "good Catholic Education" I received really did me all that much good. I wish I had the relationship with Mary that these folks do. They inspire me with their faith. It must be very hard to leave everything that you know and can count on to come to a new place. I can only imagine.

Still, they bring their wonderful cultural thumbprints to our American Melting Pot, and their families, like the rest of us former immigrant families, learn to be "American". And, in the process share some of their culture with us, to enrich us.

After the Mass we all enjoyed some delicious fresh food (TAMALES!!! YUM!!!), and great Mariachi music and folk dancing. Needless to say, I am really looking forward to this year's celebration on Sunday!

Pictures by Joseph Harris (December 2007)

Waiting for Christmas

2008-12-07T22:42:00.003-05:00

I spend a lot of time in churches during the month of December. In fact, the only time I spend more time in churches is during Holy Week (right before Easter).

Working for an organ company makes things interesting during the holidays. Not only do I have my own crazy schedule to juggle, but I have the crazy schedules of a whole pack of churches, all of whom want to be tuned before their big cantata or concert. Many people in my business begin to dread Christmas. There's a lot of good-natured teasing about how much we "hate Christmas". But, every now and then, that teasing gets an edge to it, and we begin to think that maybe we DO hate Christmas. A couple of weeks ago, after a particularly stressful week, I decided that Jacob Marley and Ebeneezer Scrooge must have been Organ Builders. That would certainly explain why they hated Christmas so much!

But, all kidding aside, working as an organ builder also affords me a unique look into all kinds of churches throughout the tuning season. In the month before Christmas, we tune every organ that we service (except for one, because it's in a synagogue), and frequently I am called upon to go out and hold keys for the tuners. Holding keys is a really dead-dog, boring job unless you are actively doing something. As a key holder, your job is to hold a key on the keyboard until the tuner signals to you that the note is in tune so you can move to the next note. For every rank in the organ you have to do this 61-83 times. So, consequently, if I am not listening to hear for myself if the note is in tune, I find myself looking around the churches and seeing what they are doing. I observe the windows, the banners, the hymnals, and, especially at this time of year, the decorations.

Catholics are in the season of Advent. This season is a penitential time that prepares us for the coming celebration of Christmas. In most Catholic churches, all of the extraneous decor and flowers are stripped away, except for an Advent Wreath, leaving the church looking kind of bare. I never noticed how bare Catholic churches looked until this year, while sitting in a series of Lutheran and Methodist and United Church of Christ Churches, all decked out for the holidays.

On Friday, as I sat looking at the beautiful church where I was holding keys, I noted that their Christmas decorations were lovely (and very cleverly made, too). I noted that this would be a beautiful sight come Christmas Eve. I could almost hear them singing "Silent Night".

Yesterday, as I sat in my own parish church, I noted how barren and desolate it looked. Yet, I didn't wish for my church to be all dressed up for Christmas, so early. It reminded me the interior of my soul when I am not in close communication with God: ready to be rented, but not yet inhabited. Not because God doesn't want to be there, but because I haven't given him the keys, yet.

And that's rather the point of Advent: To remind us of what life is like without Christ in our lives, so that we miss him and remember how wonderful and lively and colorful our lives are with Him. To teach us patience and perseverance in times of trial. To remind us that all things happen in God's good time, not on our own break-neck schedule of humanity. And, to remind us to let Christ into our hearts when he comes to us.

So while I am busily preparing my home and choirs and all my customers for the Christmas Season, I am pausing to give thanks for this little wake-up call from God. Because Christmas isn't about the running around, or the "big cantata", or the Christmas trees or the presents that you just have to get.

No. It's about Jesus coming to us as a man, humbling himself to sleep in what was basically a trough for animals to eat in. It's about what he did for us and how it has changed our lives forever: making them no longer bare and lifeless, but decked in ribbons, bows, holly, evergreens and lit with radiant light.

Thank you, Lord, for letting me see how bare my soul is without you: as bare as a Catholic Church in Advent. Help me to make my heart open to your love and peace in the coming Christmas season.

Picture: The Church of Sainte-Geneviève, in Sainte-Genevieve, Missouri, during the season of Advent.

Another Meme

2008-12-04T17:09:00.003-05:00

Bold all the things you have done.

1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland (DisneyWorld)
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run (does it count if it was an electronic game?)
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language (Well, I'm working on it anyway.)
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied (in general)
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelos David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible (over the course of years, not all at once)
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee
100. Read an entire book in one day

Whew! No wonder I'm so tired! :)

Tag! You're it!

2008-12-03T14:00:00.003-05:00

I got tagged for a "meme", by Sarah R. over at "Just Another Day of Catholic Pondering". So here's the game: It's called the "Random Page Book Meme".

"Open the closest book to you, not your favorite or most intellectual book, but the book closest to you at the moment, to page 56. Write the 5th sentence, as well as two to five sentences following that. "

When I got this on Facebook from an old High School friend, I had to put the sentence as my status. The book I had closest to me was a History of the Diocese of Columbus. (I was researching for my novel, ok?) I had to put a sentence about Bishop Moeller paying off the debt for the construction of the Cathedral here in Columbus.

Today isn't much more interesting. I have been working on Liturgy Plans. I am home today with a tummy bug and once I could stand/sit up again, I got right to work. So, the closest book is, that's right: "The St. Michael Hymnal". I wondered if counted, but decided to forge ahead anyway. I figured I'd find a line of a hymn or some such thing and be done with it and have a good laugh about how boring I am.

I went to page 56 and what do you suppose I found? I was in the Order of Mass section of the Hymnal and, though it is hard to define what the 5th sentence on the page is between the rubrics and the actual words of the rite, I settled up on the actual words of Jesus from the consecration (in Latin):

"ACCIPITE ET MANDUCATE EX HOC OMNES HOC EST ENIM CORPUS MEUM, QUOD PRO VOBIS TRADETUR."

Which means (roughly, anyway):
"TAKE THIS ALL OF YOU, AND EAT IT
THIS IS MY BODY
WHICH WILL BE GIVEN UP FOR YOU."

I decided that I probably didn't need to follow that up with any further sentences from the hymnal. That basically told me all I need to know about myself today. It's funny how God consistently points me in the proper direction whenever I think of myself first. He reminds me that it's all about Him.

I am tagging all my readers. See what you find, and leave the results in the comment box or post it to your blog if you have one.

Winner! - 50,520 Words

2008-11-30T21:45:00.006-05:00

Through weekends clogged with activities (weddings, birthdays, concerts, banquets, funerals and name days), a busy beginning to a tuning season, and the noisiest family in the world, I finally managed to finish my novel.

Well, OK not "finish", but I now have a really good rough draft. This next month, I'll edit everything, add details and check all my facts to verify that I guessed at some of these things correctly.

Thank you to everyone who cheered me on, left me alone, helped me with ideas for breaking through my writer's block (Thank you, Dear Husband!), and went to get lunch for me so I could write during my lunch break (Thanks, Nicholas!)!

This was something that a month ago, I would never have thought I could do.

I am far too proud of myself, I am sure, but gosh this feels good!

Thankful

2008-11-27T22:57:00.003-05:00

As I sat during our prayers for Thanksgiving today, I was struck by the fact that I should be very thankful, indeed. Both my Mother and my father-in-law put in some prayers for the state of the country and the people that are suffering this holiday season. It occurred to me as I stood looking at the people surrounding me and the piles and piles of food on the table in front of us, I have been very ungrateful about a lot of things in recent weeks. But I hope to correct that, right now.

Things I am thankful for:

1. My husband and children - they are not perfect, but I love them and they love me. Warts and all.

2. Our jobs - In a world where many of our contemporaries are worrying about whether they'll survive the next layoff, we both have jobs. And we like them, to boot. How spoiled am I?

3. The gifts I have been given by God - I can write (at least reasonably well), I can sing (Pretty darned well), and I can direct music (I don't know how well or not well I do this).

4. My friends - I have so many that I cannot even list them. I was told once or twice that one only has one or two good friends in one's whole lifetime. I feel pretty blessed to say that I have many more than one or two.

5. My family - Hugging or Fighting, they are the most interesting bunch of people I know. The challenge me to think, fascinate me with their stories and insight, and I am lucky enough to have all but one of my siblings living in the same city as I do. This extends to my in-laws as well as my family of origin.

6. My Landlord - who is the most patient man in the universe. Really.

7. My current parish and my former parish - So many people. So much love. So much joy.

Yeah...I know this isn't any different than anyone else's list, probably, but I had to say it.

Will it "change the world"?
Nah, probably not.

Will it change me?
Maybe I'll be a little more grateful for the blessings that I do have, rather than complaining about the things I lack.

Thank you, Lord, for all your blessings, great and small.

40,328 Words

2008-11-26T21:36:00.002-05:00

I am writing a novel,(as I announced back in October).
The goal is to write a 50,000 word novel from November 1st to November 30th.
One month+50,000 words= total insanity

I had an idea for a novel a couple of years ago and decided that this was the time to write it. The story revolves around a girl who gets a quilt that belonged to her great-great aunt and she begins to have dreams that show her that the kinds of trials she has in growing up, aren't so very different from the things her aunt endured in the early 20th Century.

I am getting close to my goal of 50,000 words, but really, it's a much longer story than 50,000 words could ever encompass. I will be filling in back story and refining details until January or February on this thing.

I don't know what possessed me to try to write on a scale as big as this. I, who have never written anything longer than a blog entry, trying to write a novel...in one month. The idea was (and is!) completely ludicrous.

But, here I am, 4 days away from the finish line and within 10,000 words of being a "winner" and I can't believe I've gotten this far. The story has flowed out of me. I can't believe how easy it was to get lost in the story and the characters. If this was all I did all day, I would have been done weeks ago. But, alas, life intervenes.

Believe me, the draft that I finish on November 30th will never, ever, see the light of day. But someday, I will get it straightened out, shaped up, and edited and maybe, by the 4th or 5th re-write, someone will publish it.

Wouldn't that be a kick in the head?
Wish me luck!!

Music in a Quiet World

2008-11-19T15:10:00.002-05:00

Every now and then I ponder the quiet.

I was out on an organ tuning job today in a little museum about an hour and 20 minutes south of Columbus, in a little town called Waverly.

Waverly had it's "boom" from about 1820 to about 1917. It was one of the lock locations along the Erie canal which connected Lake Erie to the Ohio River. There are hundreds of these little boomtowns all along the abandoned canals that spiderweb their way across Ohio and most of them are pretty cool. Downtown Waverly is pretty much the same as it was in the early 20th century, though there are a few new buildings around. The dominant building at the main intersection is an old Hotel called Emmitt House.

Looking into the windows of Emmitt House, which was built in 1861, one is reminded of a saloon from the set of a Western. It must look very much the same as it did in the 1800's. The Pike Heritage Museum (where I was headed) is housed in an old church just up the street.

The museum houses several rooms of artifacts from the surrounding area, pictures, books, a collection of ladies' hats, military and band uniforms, musical instruments (including the organ I was tuning), and the like. What was striking to me was the number of musical instruments and the number of pictures of places where music was played in the town. It occurred to me that it must have been remarkably quiet for people in that time period, long before the advent of radio and television. Any music that was heard was actually being made by someone.

Today, we use music as "background noise". Everywhere we turn there is music or some other kind of noise to distract us. And, as if the constant blare of amplified, canned music from the store speakers and restaurant televisions isn't enough, we have devised new and ever smaller, more compact ways to carry our noise with us. It's like an addiction.

In the days before radio, all of the music was created by live musicians, which meant that it was something special, something that was worked at, something that was practiced and polished, and then performed to bring joy to the musicians and the audience. Music must have been an important thing in the lives of the people of Waverly to be so overwhelmingly displayed at their heritage museum.

Today, in this noisy world, I think we have lost the humanity of our music. In fact, I wonder if, in all the clamor for our attention, we have not lost a little bit of the humanity of ourselves.

It made me think about quiet...
And how much we need it.

Old, old friends

2008-11-18T06:42:00.001-05:00

After High School I lost track of absolutely everyone who was important to me as a teenager. Fortunately, there's Facebook.

I just linked up with some of my favorite people from High School on Facebook. It's so nice to see their smiling faces and hear their ordinary lives are a lot like mine: ordinary, but kind of cool. It's amazing to see how many places they've landed, too. One of them is in New York, one is in Germany and others are scattered throughout the Midwest. There's a runner, a holistic medicine practitioner and a choreographer among them. The whole lot of them are incredibly talented lovely people. People worth knowing, that I took for granted.

These are the Band Geeks and Choir Nerds and Drama Fanatics that I spent my days and evenings with when I was growing into the person I have become. I didn't realize how much I missed them. I wonder if they missed me...

The Princess and the Picture

2008-11-17T08:54:00.003-05:00

Originally uploaded by Joseph L. Harris (www.jlh-photo.com)

The Princess is not photogenic either, heaven bless her.

Her school picture is awful! I mean really awful. It literally looks like a mug shot. The best part of that picture is that she can have it put on a mug (which I plan to do at some point), then it can be my mug shot mug.

Anyway, this is not the school picture. I asked my brother to take a picture of her. His wife and I held the scrim while he shot this. I think when this shot was taken, we had told her to bring her chin toward Joseph, which she did, by shifting her jaw to the side, and not turning her head. It made us all laugh and this is a picture of her trying hard not to laugh out loud. I kind of wish he had gotten her laughing out loud, because I think she's beautiful when she laughs, but Joseph tells me her eyes disappear when she laughs, and that's no good for a picture.

This is taken along the western wall of my parents' house which faces a plain. I am amazed that she doesn't have ice crystals on her face the wind was so cold. I have to say that I love how the color of the painted stone goes with her hoodie and her hair.

Ist sie nicht schoen? Ja, sie ist sehr schoene!

Light and Hope

2008-11-14T12:10:00.000-05:00

It's sunny today. It was supposed to rain, but as I walked to the bus stop this morning, I realized that it was going to be a gorgeous day. By mid-morning, all the haze of the chilly morning was gone and beautiful bright autumn sunlight had taken its place.

This is the first day this week that I have felt real hope in my heart.

It's been a tough week around here. All kinds of things are happening, work is crazy, my kids are crazy and one is pretty sick, my choirs are getting ready for the onslaught of Christmas joy...
I actually told my boss yesterday that I hated Christmas. On SO many levels...

It's a frantic season, with regard to church, performances and shopping. There are so many expectations of greatness and tradition, you can't ever hope to live up to it all. Everyone is so busy that no one really appreciates the reason for the season: Jesus coming to Earth as a child to save us from our sins. And, really, it's November 14th...do we HAVE to play Christmas Carols on the radio ALREADY???

My kids belong to a youth group that is going to go to Appalachia for the weekend before Christmas. They are going to go and build wheelchair ramps and help to do house repairs, deliver toys and clothes to the needy, and have a prayer revival (or whatever you might call it when you're Catholic...).

I was reading the letter that their Youth Group minister enclosed with the registration forms and I was very surprised at how much he assumed. At one point he stated that "We have been abundantly blessed by God. We have never had to go through a winter without heat or water. We never have to worry about whether or not there will be food on the table for dinner." That's not true of MY kids. I am sorry to say that we HAVE lived through a winter with no heat. We do have times when we actively worry about whether or not we are going to have food on the table for dinner. But, we HAVE been abundantly blessed by God. We have jobs, a roof over our heads and family and friends that love us and care about us.

My little missionaries are going to take this trip. They have to raise $150 each for the trip. They have been asked to ask parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles to donate to the trip, in lieu of presents for them. All the money goes to buying presents and food for the people they are going to minister to in Harlan County, KY. My son took this trip last year and he said it was one of the most wonderful experiences of his life. He told me he didn't miss his Christmas presents at all. Unlike their cranky old Mom, the kids are full of hope and light, and they can't wait to take it to the world.

So today, as I sit in my office with sunlight streaming in the window, I am reminded that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. It's been a tough week, but I am making it through. Even though I feel like a failure as a parent sometimes, I see my kids becoming people that are worth knowing. That was my goal as a parent: to raise people worth knowing. They don't see all of the hard knocks that life has handed them, they just see life. And they see people out there suffering that they feel called to help.

I am SO proud of my kids and their strength and character.

"Praise God, from whom all blessings flow!"

Doing something dumb

2008-11-12T08:10:00.000-05:00

Have you ever done something that you knew was stupid when you thought about doing it, you knew it was stupid when you did it and you did it anyway?

Been there. Done that. Bought the T-shirt.
(Mind you, I will never wear the T-shirt because it is tacky and doesn't fit.)

It is a very good thing that I believe in redemption and reconciliation. Forgiveness is a wonderful thing. Living outside the "state of grace" is the most sickening place I have ever been. Especially, if I have dragged someone else with me. Really, it makes me physically ill.

My brother, John, always says that stupid should hurt and then we wouldn't do stupid things so much. I wish that were true. But stupid does hurt and, yet, we are stupid all the time.

The Birthday Party

2008-11-07T23:56:00.000-05:00

The Princess turned 13 today.

I am getting old and she is getting big. I cannot believe it has only been 13 years since I held her in my arms and nursed her right after she was born. I can still remember her sweet little cry when she couldn't her her father and I talking. She would hush to hear us every time we'd talk and fuss when we were quiet. I still remember how well she fit into the crook of my arm, unlike her ginormous brother who I had to use both arms to hold! She was petite and beautiful and a miracle!

And she is still a miracle... I am always amazed at her strength and poise. When she is tormented at school, she almost always has a way to turn the situation around on her tormentors. When she sees injustice being done to her friends, she stands up for them. When a friend comes to her with a problem she is always ready to help, but never compromises her principles. This is not your average 13 year old.

The Princess had a party to which she invited all of her friends. We had a blast. It was chaotic and noisy and a lot of fun. We ate pizza and subs and made the messiest cake ever.

I wish I had a camera because I TOTALLY would have won the messiest, ugliest cake of the year award. The store was out of frosting for cakes, so my husband bought marshmallow cream instead. We baked a devil's food layer cake and put the marshmallow cream between the layers, unfortunately, as the marshmallow settled, the cake began to slide. I stuck it together with bamboo skewers and put more marshmallow cream on the top and then topped it with rainbow sprinkles. It looked kind of like a sundae cake.

When it came time to light the candles on the cake, we realized that we had forgotten to get candles, so I lit the skewers and had her blow them out. Then, as my husband cut the cake, it literally started disintegrating right there on the platter. By the time we had enough pieces to go around, it was mostly chunks of chocolate cake covered in marshmallow cream goop. It was delicious and messy and sticky and it got everywhere.

Really, it was hilarious.

Maybe you had to be there...

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl!!! We love you!

Voting

2008-11-04T15:10:00.003-05:00

I arrived at the polls at about 6 am this morning. I was second in line (or so I thought). The guy ahead of me was my next-door neighbor and shortly after I arrived, the rest of my neighbors arrived. It was like a big party in front of the school. At about 6:32 we decided that we'd check to see if the door was open so we could go in to vote. It was at that point that we discovered that we had all been waiting at the wrong entrance! There were a couple of hundred people already in line. I listened to people talking amongst themselves. Some of the people had never voted in an election before!

I was amazed. I cannot remember a time when I didn't have some sense of the political process. As a child, I can remember forming political opinions (childish though they were). I can remember deciding that I liked Jimmy Carter because he promised never to have a Press Conference during "Little House on the Prairie" on Mondays at 8 pm. OK...I was six. It sounded like a good political promise at the time.

This year, the debates and the topics are more grown-up and more important than ever before. It only took me about 45 minutes to get through the line at my poll this morning and was well worth the time. I urge you, if you haven't done so already, to go vote. Vote your conscience. Everyone has a voice and everyone's voice should be heard.

"Kill them with kindness"

2008-10-31T12:30:00.000-04:00

You know how sometimes you can run across a person that gives you such a hard time that you just want to slap them? Yep. I have one of those in my life right now.

When I was a teenager, my Maternal Grandmother lived with us for a few months. Grandma Kate (for whom I was named) had been a barmaid for about a century and knew a thing or two about dealing with folks. I am not sure what precipitated the conversation, whether it was trouble at school with some people who didn't like me, or what, but somehow the conversation got swung around to waiting on difficult tables.

She told me two things will ensure that you always get a good tip, "First, smile. Even if you don't smile with your whole face. Smile from the nose down and most people will never know the difference.

"Second, kill them with kindness. Some Bozo with a snoot-full, who's intent on giving you a hard time will have a harder time, giving you a hard time if you are above reproach. So, the next time you think, "That jerk!" Just smile instead and say in your sweetest voice, "How can I help you?" Be overly attentive. They will eventually give up if they don't get a rise out of you."

You've no doubt heard the adage "You catch more flies with honey, than vinegar."? Words to live by, folks. This really does work. Sometimes, you even find that the person you kill with kindness isn't such a bad person after all. They may just have their defenses up. This has happened to me before. I found a person I couldn't stand, decided to be nice anyway and then found out they were a pretty nice friend to have.

You may not like playing social games. You may think that you have to stand up for yourself at some point, but really...being Passive Aggressive is a pretty effective way to stand up for yourself without sustaining the collateral damage of starting a fight.

I could have saved myself a lot of grief by putting this into action this week, but instead I decided to use the Julia Sugarbaker (Designing Women, anyone?) "Terminator" method. Let's just say that putting people in their place is not the best way to preserve peace in the workplace.

Someday, I'll be a grown-up. But, right now, I have to go kill someone with kindness. I have a fence to mend.

The Time Famine

2008-10-28T11:33:00.003-04:00

While I was on my way to work this morning I started thinking about all the things I have to do this week and I realized that there was not enough time to do them all. I have a friend (whom I do not see often) who titled this crisis "The Time Famine".

I am not sure when it became a crisis for everyone else, but sometime in the mid-1980's I realized that I didn't have enough time to do everything that there was to do. But, everyone seems to be suffering with it now. So as I was thinking about not having enough time, I spent some of that non-existent time thinking about why we are having a time famine.

Is it the advent of computers that has done it to us? Maybe it is because we expect things to be done so quickly and efficiently that we try to cram even more things into our schedules. I thought that computers were supposed to save time, (and typically they do from my experience) but all too often these days, I find that time runs out even faster than it did the year before. And, I find that more often than not, I am glued to a computer keyboard (as I sit here writing, yet again...) trying to beat deadlines and trying to cram more into the precious time that I have.

Is it because we rely on our private cars to get us from here to there in the fastest way possible? Maybe if we had to take more time to do things, we wouldn't try to schedule so much in one day. In taking the bus, I know exactly how long it is going to take to get from point A to point B, so I am better able to get a handle on my schedule. I don't try to do more than I can possibly fit into the day, because it would be silly (and slightly frowned upon by the bus company) to stand up next to the driver and say, "Couldn't you, like...speed...maybe just a little bit? I have so much to do and if you go just 2 miles per hour faster, I might get it all done."

For example, yesterday I went to the doctor. It takes one hour on the bus to get there, half an hour at the doctor's office and one hour to get home, for a grand total of two and a half hours. This same trip would have taken about one hour, total, if I had driven a car. But...I would have had to go to Wal-Mart, or the grocery store, and then run to the church to handle some paperwork, or run to pick up my daughter to take her to practice, or an appointment, or something. I would have been totally overscheduled and I would have been frantically trying to get it all done until 10 o'clock at night.

Is it because we just have too much to do? I have only two children. They are both teenagers, but what they do in a week staggers me. Currently, we have three dance practices, doctor's appointments, two choir practices, two youth groups, and various social activities, too. And that doesn't even count the things that my husband and I are involved in. If I had a car, it would be even busier. I can only imagine what it must be like for my friends that have 4 or 6 or even 10 kids! (Seriously, how do you do it??)

The fact is that we are all suffering from this time famine and at some point it will bite us, if it hasn't already. Maybe the trick is to know when to turn it off. There will always be demands for our time...we just have to figure out when to say "Enough!"

I think I may be about there.

Dali Melting Time Clock by Perpetual Kid - Yes, you can really buy it.

An amusing family story

2008-10-26T22:15:00.004-04:00

My sister, Sarah, moved into her very first house a couple of weeks ago. She has been living in apartments and townhouses, but this is the first stand-alone, single-family house she has lived in since she moved out of my parents house several years ago.

Of course, there were all the usual headaches associated with the move: getting the utilities turned on, finding people to help you move your stuff, figuring out where to put all your stuff in the house you thought was just perfect, but is actually just a smidge small...

So, Sarah called the Gas company to get them to turn on the heat, but, because life is never easy, they couldn't come until three days after the big move. So, Sarah gutted out the shower-less days, waiting for the gas guy to come turn on her gas.

Finally, Tuesday arrived and so did the Gas Man. She waited patiently while he completed all his tests for gas leaks, anticipating a nice warm shower. But when the Gas Man emerged from the basement he had some bad news.

"I'm sorry ma'am. I can't turn your gas on today because you have a leak."

Dismay on her face, she gasped, "Do you want to smell me? I haven't showered in, like, three days!"

"Ma'am? Your hot water heater is electric."

"Um...I was just kidding about that three days without a shower...Do you think you could tell me how to start it?"

Yes, she is a blonde.

(Love you, sis!)

Solder and Coffee

2008-10-26T14:30:00.005-04:00

I have been working in our Solid State lab at work, on and off for the last month or so, doing wire and solder work. Solder is pronounced saw-der. Soldering is the process by which electronic components are attached to a printed circuit board (the "guts" of anything that is electronic), by melting a composite metal until it makes a complete unbreakable contact between the metal on the printed circuit board and the metal contact of the component. (It is also used in making stained glass and jewelry, though I have never tried my hand at either of those.)

When I started soldering at work, it had been a very long time since I had worked with a soldering iron. I learned to work one when I was a teenager. My father, an electronics design engineer, decided that if I was going to earn some money by working a job as a teenager, I ought to learn to do something useful, other than flipping hamburgers and asking people if they want fries with that, I guess. So, he began to teach me his trade.

I learned to solder and how to make printed circuit boards (like, the actual boards that the components go into). By the time I was 18, I had helped to pay for part of my Catholic School education, had purchased my own car and insurance, had mastered a useful skill or two and learned the value of hard work, done well.

Fast forward 25 years.

I am now working for an organ company. In addition to my music background, and my computer and customer service background, I have found a spot where my highly specialized skill of printed circuit work comes in handy. It's kind of relaxing for me, since it is one of the earliest job skills I acquired. One of the first things that I noticed was the smell. Solder has a distinctive smell from the composite of metals and flux. It is a smell that I associate with home since my father ran his company from our basement until I was in High School. But something was missing: coffee.

I am not a huge coffee drinker. Sometimes I will have a cup in the morning to get my eyes open, but usually that's it. But, when I solder, I have to have a cup of hot coffee sitting right next to me, where I can smell it. My Dad was an inveterate coffee drinker and the combination of smells reminds me of home. Solder goes with coffee, and coffee goes with "home". Somehow, the coffee and solder smells, together, make it all "right".

So every time I come in to work, if I have to solder, I go up to the kitchen, pour myself a cup of coffee and then go turn on my soldering iron. While I drink my coffee and the iron heats up I think about how grateful I am that my dad cared enough and trusted me enough to teach me about his work.

Then I smile, think of home and get to work.

NaNoWriMo

2008-10-24T14:38:00.005-04:00

NaNoWriMo - Short for National Novel Writing Month - is a challenge to writers to write a novel during the month of November. I am thinking of trying to do this. I have been toying with a plot for about a year now and haven't really sat down to hammer anything out, yet, but I think it might be a cool novel.

But I don't know... I am such a chicken. If you follow the link above, you can find out more about the program and maybe even sign up for it.

Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? What do you think?

On making mistakes

2008-10-23T10:10:00.000-04:00

Mistakes happen. It is a fact of life. And when I make them, I own them. I try to make amends and ask for forgiveness. Recently, I have found myself asking for a lot of forgiveness.

I seem to be making a lot of mistakes recently (dropping the ball on things, mis-communicating with people, etc...) and I wonder if it is because I am not being focused or if I am just too busy.

As I said in a previous post, my job has recently "diversified". That's just a euphemism for "I have more things to do". I love learning new things. But, in the process, some things get lost or dropped or forgotten. Usually, that means that I am over-committed.

It is disturbing to me that someone, somewhere will be disappointed in me. I can't stand for people to be disappointed in me. It isn't that I always want to please everyone: I am certainly not a people-pleaser. I am far too opinionated for that. Maybe it's more that I want to impress everyone. I want to be the best at everything that I do. And, of course, I can't be perfect so the idea of being the best at whatever I do is a ridiculous one, to say the least.

I used to dance and take gymnastics as a child and one of my teachers told me that if I didn't make mistakes, I wasn't trying hard enough. I wasn't pushing myself enough to get better. I wonder if that's so of everything, not just physical disciplines.

Maybe my mistakes are just a part of growing and becoming better and stronger. I hope so.

On being a mom...

2008-10-16T12:00:00.000-04:00

Today, I am missing my kids. I miss homeschooling them. I miss cooking and creating with them. I miss their humor and wit. I just miss them.

Don't get me wrong. I like my job. Actually, I love it. I love the people I work with. I love the field of organ building. It is fascinating! It's one of the most interesting and rewarding things I have ever done, next to raising my kids, of course. But that's just it...next to raising my kids.

It would be different if my kids had always gone to school and been gone all day while I stayed home and read or cleaned or did some other essential of housekeeping. By now, I would be a bored housewife, looking for something to do between 9 and 3 everyday. But, that's not how it happened.

When I was pregnant, I told my husband that I didn't want a "skirt-clinger" (you know, the kid that hides behind their mother when you say "hi" to them, no matter how long you have known them). I wanted independent, confident kids who would think for themselves. I got them. And most of the time, I like them. They are smart, funny and talented.

When I was homeschooling, I got to know them very well. My kids were excelling. They learned not only about the things that you get from books, but also about the world around them. I took them with me everywhere. I took them to concerts, to museums, to church...I even took them to work with me. When the ground water in my mother's community was tapped out by the HUGE golf course wells across the road, the kids and I studied ground water. We even built a model to show what had happened to Pinka's water. In short, everything was a learning experience.

I miss those days. Now, I have to fight with them to get them to stay in school. I am told that the teachers spend most of their class time telling the kids to quiet down and not enough time teaching. I am told that the other kids play "political head games" over friendships and seating arrangements (granted: this is a normal thing in middle school and high school). I am told that they learned so much more with me, "can't you please come home?"

But, I can't. I have to work. And most days, I want to.

I am not sure why today is different, but it is.

Nada de Turbe (Let nothing disturb you)

2008-10-15T18:08:00.000-04:00

A re-post (with a little bit extra) in Honor of the Feast of St. Teresa of Avila.

The Ecstasy of St. Teresa - Bernini

I have been looking for something. A piece that is missing from my life. I cannot tell you what it is or where I might find it. I suspect, though, that many people feel the same way that I do. They fill their days and nights with pursuits of things that will make them feel better or feel less pain or more pleasure and just to feel whole, But no matter how many drinks or pills, things bought on shopping trips or fancy cars, Mocha Mint Frappucinos or strawberry cheesecakes, pleasures of the flesh or lost pounds in hopes of regaining some semblance of one's youth...there will always be a missing piece.

The truth is inescapable. We are not whole without God. All the missing pieces are to be found within him...and we will never find them anywhere else.

I am reminded sharply of St. Teresa's Bookmark. St. Teresa was a Spanish Carmelite nun from the city of Avila. For those of you who know Renaissance music, her time in Avila coincides with the time that Tomas Luis de Victoria was composing in the Avila Cathedral. It is suspected that she suffered from migraine headaches and also from some sort of mental illness (probably bi-polar disorder). St. Teresa's Bookmark was found scribbled on a margin in a book that she kept.

Nada te turbe;
Let nothing disturb you.
Nada te espante;
Nothing frighten you.
Todo se pasa;
All things are passing.
Dios no se muda,
God never changes.
La pacïencia todo lo alcanza.
Patience obtains all things.
Quien a Dios tiene, nada le falta.
Nothing is wanting to him who possesses God.
Solo Dios basta.
God alone suffices.

Yes...I think that says it best. I could write for hours and never say it so well.

What Kind of Condiment are you?

2008-10-15T08:40:00.002-04:00

I totally stole this. I was on the Ironic Catholic's blog and she is Barbecue Sauce.

Me? Well, my husband insists that I eat this stuff on everything (which is NOT true...), but I do put it on my Bratwurst. (All right, all you Germans...quit flinching.)

I really wanted to be Barbecue Sauce. It just sounds more exciting. But, alas...

You Are Ketchup

You are easy going and very measured in your approach to life.

Popular and well liked, you get along with everyone.

Seriously, everyone loves you!

Your taste tends to be pretty mainstream American.

You go for the classic favorites: burgers, fries, and apple pie.

You get along best with mustard and mayonnaise personalities.

What Condiment Are You?

Well...at least I know I am loved! :) Your turn!