Tempus Fugit - Time Flies

It is said that time flies, and it does. Never has this been more clear to me than right now. Now, at the middle-point of my life, I can see how fast things travel. It seems like only yesterday, I was getting ready to go to Germany and arranging to get my passport. I realized today that my passport expired at the beginning of June. 10 years is a blink of an eye, but it was a productive blink.

In that time, we've had two grand kids, I found my passion (Philosophy). We have moved at least a couple of times. We've been homeless and re-established our home again. My husband and I have both changed careers. There have been ups and downs to our marriage. We have lost beloved members of our family to cancer, some of us have defeated it, and still others are fighting for their lives against it.

What hit me this morning is the lack of time that we spend with one another. In our day-to-day lives, how much time do we really spend with each other? Sure, you're constantly with people, but are you connecting with them? Are your kids watching videos or listening to their personal listening devices, or playing their video games while you drive them to yet another practice? Or are you talking to them? Are you listening to their day? Are you spending the precious time that you have doing something that builds that relationship? I spent all day with my kids yesterday, and I am pretty sure that nothing we talked about had any substance.

And what about your spouse? Do the two of you fall into bed at the end of the week, sleep like the dead, and then make love on Saturday morning (like an appointment) just so that you can say you spent quality time with them? When was the last time you asked them what they thought about the immortality of the soul or what they think it means to be married? When was the last time you made a real connection with your spouse, so much so that you really thought you got to something real? I'm betting that it wasn't recently. For me, it's not as often as I would like.

When was the last time you made real eye contact with someone you were talking to? Not business contact, but the real, personal contact that says, "I care about what you are saying to me and I care about you." It's so rare these days that it's noteworthy when it happens to me. I remember it.

As I am preparing for my father to die (and it's coming soon) and watching my grandson grow from a toddler and into a pre-schooler, I am struck by how little time we have. What do we spend our time on?

I have spent mine on making money, making a name for myself, ferrying my kids and husband all over the city. My 5 year old car has 175,000 miles on it. I put 161,000 of those on it. At a mile a minute, that's over 2,683 hours in the car. Driving. That doesn't include waiting. I have spent even more time than that sitting at a computer keyboard reading about the horrors of the world or reading about who said what to whom --essentially gossip and self-gossip.

I have also spent a good deal of time getting to know my children and my husband. I have helped them navigate the rough waters of being grown-ups. I have spent time sitting in offices listening to people pour their hearts out to me (unbidden) that they wish they'd had more time with the people that mattered to them. Those interactions are the ones that I treasure and these are the things that last.

Money and stuff can be replaced --you can have everything one day and be bankrupt the next, and on top of the world the next week. Honor is fleeting and completely in the hands of others --you can have a good name one day, and be worthless in the eyes of the world the next. Pleasure is fleeting and always leaves you wanting more.

Time, however, is completely limited. Whether we spend it glued to our screens, or glued to our chair at work, or glued to our steering wheel, is completely up to us. I have spent far too much time doing things that do not build relationships with the people who matter most to me. I have spent far too much time doing things that I really hate or that are abhorrent to me. I have not used the time that I had with my friends and family to it's best advantage choosing to be face down in my phone or occupied with what I was going to do next, or what I wished was happening instead of this interaction.

This mid-life seat at the top of the hill that allows me to see what has led to where I am and what comes next. And, like any good scout, I am paying attention to the shadowy spots, the rocks and boulders that could complicate my descent. I can collect wood and berries and hunt for food along the way, but choosing the path and companions carefully can make that job easier or harder.

How will I use my time best? Gather the right team, plan the descent and look forward to the rest at the end.

(c) Katie O'Keefe, 2016. All rights reserved.
Photo credit: "Time Flies" at QuotesGram, Chanda Enos, 2016. 

Looking at the Moon

"Barn burned down. Now I can see the moon." - Mizuta Masahide

Saturday morning ,my husband and I took a "staycation." We wandered down to German Village to go exploring and found Helen Winnemore's. Helen Winnemore's  is a beautiful shop with handcrafted art items, to wear, to use and to just be beautiful, too. As you come through the door, you are offered coffee, tea or water as you browse. It's like coming to your cool artist friend's house and hanging out.

As I sipped on my coffee (handed to me in a handmade pottery mug) I spotted the pendant pictured above from across the room. I was intrigued by the shapes and metals that went into making it. As the crowd looking at the display cleared away a bit, I moved over to get a closer look and was caught off guard by the quote on it.

Tears sprang to my eyes and my throat closed around the cold lump that used to be my voice. "Yes, the barn has certainly burned to the ground," I thought.

Every now and then, I allow myself a moment of grief over my voice. And that's what this was - a moment.

Somehow, this quote, centuries old and composed of nine words, put into perspective three years of upheaval. From the thyroidectomy that stole my voice and career, to my children's marital struggles, to the birth of two new grandchildren, to a new major, a new career, and new home, this past three years has been a lesson in change management to rival all others. We have lost so much, yet we have gained immeasurably.

Most people would see Masahide's quote as somewhat Pollyanna-ish, but I don't. In thinking about the idea of a barn, we must realize that the barn is a link between past, present, and future. It is not just a place of shelter, but a place of storage as well as a place of investment. In losing the barn, Masahide has lost his food, his animals, his shelter, all of his security and possibly his memories, too. In other words, the loss of a barn is no small thing.

But instead of grieving, he focuses in the next sentence on the positive - he can see the moon. The moon, with all her elusive and silvery beauty is a symbol of dreams and inspiration, but in addition, the moon inspires the movement of tides and is feminine, so it's a symbol of new life, as well.

What the 17th century samurai has to say to us is more prescient than we might imagine. It is in chaining ourselves to the things that we have stored up for ourselves, in clinging to the memories of what has come before, in making plans for the future that may never yield a harvest --in short, imagining that we have control over our lives --that we lose our ability to live.

In trying to control what comes next, we lose the opportunity to see things that are unusual and paths that take us to more beautiful places than we had planned for ourselves. In mooring ourselves in the memories of what has come before, we lose the ability to see the places where we might go next, or even worse, fall into the hole we didn't see while looking over our shoulders. In feeling smugly satisfied with our present state, we lock ourselves into a stasis where we refuse to take risks, and therefore, refuse to grow.

In my own life, I can see these opportunities presenting themselves to me again. I miss singing and directing a choir, but I enjoy my new career, too. Renovating people's lives through the provision of education is very rewarding work and I get to participate in that work every day.  But even now the world is shifting under my feet again. Rather than thinking of these tremors as bad things, I can choose to think of them simply as change. Heraclitus tells us, "One cannot step into the same river twice."  I think this is true.

Relationships shift, projects get complex, and change is the only constant in our lives. How we look at that change makes all the difference. So, instead of crying over the smouldering remnants of the barn, I believe I'll look at the moon and see what path she illuminates for me.

Photo Credit: PacificGallery.net, 2015 - Pendant for sale on their site found here. 

A Full Church

Will my church be full or empty?

In my family it's not a matter of if you will get cancer, but where and when. All four of my grandparents and one of my uncles have tangled with (and lost to) cancer. I have already battled thyroid cancer and I am staring down a second biopsy for breast cancer in just a couple of weeks. I don't really want to talk about dying here, though that's an inescapable part of the conversation. I want to talk about the way we live.

I was very young when my grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer. He died when I was 7 so I don't remember many of the details of his illness. What I do remember is being at the funeral home the day of the funeral and all I could see were knees in dark dress pants. I actually got lost in the crowd of business suits thinking I was still standing next to my dad. Later that day, I remember exiting the limousine at St. Patrick Church and walking through a crowd of people standing all the way out to the sidewalk. I didn't realize what that meant as a small child.

It wasn't until my uncle died of cancer about 7 years ago and there was a similar traffic jam at the funeral home and the church that I realized that both of these men had made a tremendous impact on the community around them. The church was absolutely packed for both of their funerals and the crowds spilled out onto the sidewalks with people whose lives were touched in a very real way by these men. At my uncle's funeral, I heard story after story from people who he had cared for and whose lives were better for him being in it -not because it was him, but because God called him to serve the poor and the lonely, and he heeded that call.

When I think of these men, I think of the Just Man as described in  Psalm 112: 9 "Open-handed he gives to the poor; his righteousness endures forever; his horn shall be exalted in honor."

My brother is currently fighting cancer and right now he's fighting off pneumonia and a sinus infection, too. It's hard to watch him go through this. John has always been the one who was more active, more in shape, more driven, more generous, really - kind of more "everything". He is a great friend and a wonderful and supportive brother. To see him scrambled and gasping for breath was disturbing to say the least.

In my grief over my brother's illness, I have realized that John's church will be full. Over the years, he has served the community in many ways - inviting those without family around to share Thanksgiving with us; donating time, money and toys to struggling local families; working as a volunteer firefighter; giving of his substance to people when ever and where ever they needed him. He, like his grandfather and uncle before him, has made an impact on his community, and, God willing, will continue to have an impact for years to come.

I want my church to be full when I die, too -not because I am so awesome (I am not), not because I am ready to die (again, I am not) -but because I am ready to live. I am ready for God to use me to really make a difference in people's lives. I am not so sure that my life right now is one that inspires a full church at my funeral, but I hope that I can live up to that charge. Just like the cancer, it seems to be a family tradition.

Photo Attribution: St. Patrick Church, Columbus, OH by Nheyob (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Success, Marriage and Spiritual Growth

Every achievement I make has a component of cooperation involved in it.
This post is for my husband of 22 and 1/2 years - the hand that I hold and the wind in my sails.

I have had some very nice compliments this week from my professors and from my friends and it's very flattering. But it's also kind of disquieting.

I have been considering applying for a fellowship that would take me overseas for a week to cover international aid efforts in the Middle East. I mentioned the possibility in passing to a colleague and she passed it on to others who have written to encourage me. They really believe I could do this. I have gotten huge support, ideas and backing from my professors, family and friends, too.

Frankly, this terrifies me.

What if they say yes? Yes, it would change my life. It would change the direction of my work and give it some real substance. But, wow! I never thought I'd go this direction. Sometimes, God's ways are kind of, well, off-beat.

There are 3 professors (in 3 different fields) trying to convince me that their Master's program is the best Master's program and I should really continue with my studies after I finish my bachelor's degree. I am game, really. Now, I just have to figure out if I can find the right combination of money and time to make it happen. Oh, and I have to pick a field!

One of my professors was joking with me Friday afternoon and said I was a pretty hot commodity. Everyone wants me and for good reason - I am (and I quote him here) "An excellent student". He opined that it must be nice to know that.

And it is. It is really nice to be recognized for your talents. But, so many people have been heaping compliments on my head that it's actually beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.

The truth is, I am a remarkably shy person and I squirm a little bit at unbridled enthusiasm for my accomplishments. I am also a naturally skeptical person. One might even say I am a "negative" person. I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Sometimes this fear of "doing it wrong" paralyzes me and I freeze. I just stop moving altogether. I think this is in large part because these are not my accomplishments alone.

Everything I have ever accomplished has been due to someone else pushing me, believing in me or inspiring me.

Because of this, the next step that I take will impact more than just me. If I do it right, it could be a very positive change for my entire family. But if I do it wrong, it will hurt more than just me.

When I married Michael I had no plans to be a Church Musician. I had been singing in the choir at church, but I had no plans of making that a career. It was through his encouragement and musical taste that I became fascinated with polyphony and chant. It was on these that I built my professional reputation.

At Michael's urging, I developed a choir. With his encouragement, I maintained it. He worked long hours doing hard labor so that I could continue to work at a job that I loved, but would never pay well. And, through his sacrifices, I became a pretty decent music director.

Going back to school was a real step out of my comfort zone. But Michael encouraged me to move forward. In my darkest moments, I worry that I am causing financial pressure to build on my family, and that 2015 graduation date looks too far away. Michael continually steps into the gap and makes it all happen.

For the past two weeks, he has been working 12 hour days in order to make it possible for me to spend as much time as I can on my studies and not worry about the financial end of things. All of this while listening to me talk about all my classes and sort through the tangle of questions I have about what I am learning or reading or writing about.

He doesn't ask for thanks. For him, it's all part of the job: Love, Honor and Cherish. He never gives up on me, even when I give up on myself.

So, when my professors say things like: "You're an excellent student!" or "We need people like you!" I am pretty proud of myself. But standing right behind me, pushing me kicking and screaming into the spotlight is the person who makes it all possible. And he does so to his own personal detriment.

That is what marriage is all about.

We pour our lives out for each other and deny ourselves to help lead our spouses to holier lives. As we live our vocation as Husband and Wife, we move ever closer to God, not just as a couple, but as individuals. Each of us fosters the gifts of the other to give greater glory to God.

I sometimes wonder what I give back to my marriage. I often feel like all I do is take. I can be a pretty harsh critic. I am tough to please and I demand perfection, not just from myself, but from all others who touch me.

This is an unreasonable expectation. I know that. The truth is, I need to do a better job of lifting Michael up. I have been woefully falling down on the job.

Now, I have to figure out what to do about it. Maybe this post is a start.

Called. Not Comfortable

Being is Christian is not a comfortable calling.
Sometimes you are sent where you do not want to go.
And, yes, you still have to go.

There is a great deal of talk about discernment these days. I suppose there has always been, but maybe I'm noticing it more lately because I've been trying to discern my next steps. The thing that troubles me about it is that when I talk to someone about my discernment process, they always tell me that I'll be "more comfortable" or "happier" when I follow God's will for my life.

That can't possibly be true of all callings.

I think the call to holiness is the most uncomfortable path we could choose. 

Think about it:

• Jesus wept tears of blood during His agony in the garden. Not a comfortable place to be.
• Jonah was not happy to be called to Nineveh. And even after he got them to repent he wasn't happy.
• Noah was an old man. Do you think he wanted to build an ark?
• Moses did not want to go back to Egypt. And he certainly wasn't comfortable with the idea of talking to Pharaoh.
• Paul spoke of working out his salvation in "fear and trembling".
• Peter actually tried to leave Rome before his martyrdom. 
• And speaking of martyrs... 

Well, you get the idea.

The bible is full of stories of people who followed God's will and were very uncomfortable about their mission. But, if we are to be purified and tested like gold in a furnace, you have to believe that it's not going to be an easy process. And it won't be safe either.

That sure doesn't sound very hopeful or joyful, does it?

But, God promises His help.

The way of holiness is narrow and hard. It's easy to fall into the ditches on either side. But that's because we continually try to rely on ourselves. We get into to trouble when we don't trust God. When Moses struck the rock twice to draw water, he was punished for his lack of reliance on the mercy of God.

It's the same with us. Our peace is found in our reliance on the providence of God. When we take our eyes off of Him and look down into the chasm that has opened up at our side, that's when we grow dizzy and fall. If we keep our eyes fixed on God, He will not let us fall.

Psalm 91:11-12

For he commands his angels with regard to you,

to guard you wherever you go.

With their hands they shall support you,

lest you strike your foot against a stone. 

God does not promise temporal comfort.

He promises eternal life and peace. Not peace as in the absence of war or turmoil. Peace in the sense that you belong to Him and He is guarding your path so you come straight to Him.

There is a peace in doing God's will, especially if I don't fight with Him about it (and I am a fighter). There is a sense of resignation about it, but there is joy in that resignation. I haven;t found the words to describe it, only to know that there is a state in my heart of absolute peace - even if what I am about to face is awful.

Sometimes we have to go where we do not want to be. Sometimes we have to say things that are hard to say. Sometimes we have to stay where it is uncomfortable.

Always, we must go where we are sent.

#SmallSuccess: Setbacks and Successes Go Hand in Hand

This week has been a big challenge. I'm not gonna lie.

Monday, I had an allergic reaction to some pan spray I used while baking and spent the morning at the ER and not in class.

I felt really stupid for not thinking to check the label. Seaweed derivatives, it would seem, are everywhere. And they're dangerous to me in a way that is terrifying.

The reaction swelled my throat shut and filled my lungs with fluid within about 20 minutes - as I was driving. Combined with the extreme cold, I have re-injured my voice and damaged the interior surgery site in my throat which meant no school for me yesterday, too.

"Disappointment" does not adequately sum up how I feel about this.

But, setbacks and successes go hand in hand. Because I had to stay indoors to help my throat heal, I have managed to get some significant work done on a couple of big projects.

1. I'm making good progress on my series at The Beautiful Music Challenge on liturgical music for people who aren't liturgical musicians. There's been discussion, which I'm very happy about. And it's been gaining readership, too, which is downright exciting!

2. I updated the website for Fiesta Cinco de Mayo (a fundraiser for the Missionary Servants of the Word Sisters who staff two parishes in our diocese). I am really excited about the updates.

I added a blog to the site so that people could see what the Sisters are doing every couple of weeks throughout the year. These ladies are amazing! Truly! Their work with evangelization is flourishing here, so please keep them in your prayers. And if you've got the inclination, and a few bucks to spare, please consider sponsoring their work.

3. I actually managed to close my computer, turn off my screens and visit with my husband for an hour last night. I tend to get lost in my work and ignore my "real people". This is a small success. Really. An hour out of twenty-four is paltry compared to the gifts that he gives to me. But it is a start.

4. I have five artists cued up for the Catholic Artist Spotlight Feature that begins on February 12th at CatholicMom.com.  I can't wait to share their stories and work with everyone. Now, I just have to make their responses into posts!

The goal for this new feature is to point to the visual and performing artists among us, whether their art is specifically religious or not. Beauty and the power to create are gifts from God and our faith naturally informs how they are expressed in the arts. In exploring the creative process of an artist, we can draw inspiration for our own lives - even if we don't share those particular talents. Plus, we get to meet new artists!


Do you have some small successes?
Maybe you got a little tiny job done that had been put off for larger tasks. Sometimes those are more important than they might seem.  Share them with us! You can share here in the combox or head over to CatholicMom.com to join in the link-up.

#7QT: Miracles of these 7 Days

I think this is my first time joining Quick Takes in more than a year. But this week, it fits. 

You can see why this is so fun if you head over to Conversion Diary and follow some of the links.

It's crazy - There are a hundred bloggers who take part in this!  

Add your voice to the crowd, if you'd like.

1. Surgery Day
I was nervous, but not overly nervous. I'd been through surgery before, but nothing prepared me for how bad I'd feel. My daughter took a picture, just a couple of hours after the surgery (I'm not sharing it because the incision is really gross and I am absolutely gray from tip to toe.)
My pastor came to anoint me and I began to start to feel better shortly afterward. In fact, it was remarkable how much better I felt from hour to hour. The body is an amazing creation and prayer is powerful!

2. Struggling to Pray
Overnight and into the next morning, I still felt pretty miserable. my oxygen level would drop and I would lose track of where I was. I thought that maybe I could pray for everyone who was praying for me, but no dice. I got a few words into the Our Father and started having a dream about being on my way to get ice cream. But I was still wide awake.

When I snapped out of it, I felt bad because I couldn't even use my time to pray. I had to just lay there and dream about ice cream that I couldn't eat. While I was busy feeling sorry for myself (here it comes:) I thought of "Footprints in the Sand" and the fact of the matter was, that God was carrying me. My friends had brought me to him and placed me in His lap. I had to surrender control and I wasn't prepared to do that. That's why MY Footprints dream looks like this:

3. Learning to Suffer
I remember getting my wisdom teeth pulled on Good Friday when I was 18. I was in so much pain by Easter Sunday that I had to leave the church and sit on the porch in the front. That's where Sr. Marie found me sitting. I was crying,and she sat with me for a few minutes. We talked about suffering and she told me that everyone has their Good Friday just not at the same time, but Easter Sunday was coming, even if I didn't feel it today. It wasn't until this past Sunday, that I understood what she meant.

When we suffer, God does not abandon us. He tries to help us. But like a willful toddler, I was wiggling out of His grasp to try to walk for myself - only I was too weak. It was only when I surrendered that God showed me how many people were praying for me and that they could handle the prayer part. All I had to do was give Him the suffering and He'd know what to do with it.

4. Resting in the Lord
By Monday, I had discovered that I was becoming anxious about the second biopsy. I hadn't heard anything, and wouldn't until Thursday. I couldn't do anything useful, really, but rest.

Late Monday night, after everyone else was in bed and I was up for pain meds, again, I realized that God could use my sufferings. I had wondered about this "redemptive suffering" thing for my entire life and in a flash, I felt like I had a better grasp of what it meant to "offer it up". I offered my suffering for someone else who needed a hand with theirs.

Almost instantly, it was like the floodgates opened, and I couldn't shut it off! The ideas just kept coming. And they were good!

5. Searching for God's Fingerprints
As I worked on my new ideas, I began to research the science behind our reactions to liturgical music. What makes music so powerful? I actually came up with answers. I began to write. After about 2,000 words, I realized I had a series.

"What Is It with Music? The Physical Reasons that Music is Good for Your Spiritual Life" was born. The response has been very positive and the next in the series will be about the effect of tempo and mode on our bodies.

I could see God's fingerprints all over our physical responses to music and how they serve us when we attend Mass and sing together. We are so wonderfully made. All the beautiful things that we create are a reflection of His Goodness.

I began to sift through websites of friends who are visual artists and make note of how these individual pieces of art are as unique as the flowers that God creates. We assist Him in manifesting His goodness and beauty when we use our talents to create.

6. Finding God in Creation, Expressing His Beauty through the Arts
I found the blog of a young artist who I had watched grow up in my parish. She had five lovely works of art that I shared as part of Moxie Wife's Five Favorites link party. The reaction was tremendous. People loved it!

I asked the ladies at Catholic Mom if we had anyone who did spotlight interviews of artists (like we do with Techies and Bloggers) and they said no, but we should! So in the space of a few hours we had a plan: The goal is to discuss how our Faith informs our work as artists, even if the artwork is not specifically religious in nature. That lens throws new light and life on an artist's work and I was suddenly excited to share that with people.

I was energized. I hadn't forgotten about my biopsy results, which were still looming, but I decided that whatever God wanted from me was what I would lay before Him.

7. A Miracle
Yesterday morning, I couldn't sleep. I woke up at 3 AM and began to write. I had sent out 11 requests for interviews and some of them were already coming back saying they would love to participate. This new idea was going to become a reality!
There was so much to do! What if I had cancer and would need treatment?

By 10 AM I was sitting in the Doctor's office waiting.

My thyroid had been a huge mess. There had been nodules all over it and it was huge - one side had been 6.5 cm and the other had been 7 cm. The doctor had been very surprised that the first biopsy was negative. The second one was mostly negative, too. There had been cancer, but it had been very small and self contained and they had gotten it all.

No chemo.
No radiation.
My incision looks good and my vocal cords look like they are mending, too.
I'm telling you, folks. It's a miracle.

I came home rejuvenated and refreshed and...

took a nap.

Thank you for your prayers.
I cannot even begin to tell you how grateful Michael and I are to all of you. Please know that you will be in our prayers always. May God bless your kindness to us in this time of uncertainty.

Immortality and Other Second Chances

"Look toward Him and be radiant and your faces may not blush for shame.
This poor one cried out and the LORD heard and from all his distress He saved him."
Psalm 34: 6-7

This past week I received a diagnosis that I was sort of expecting. After extensive testing my doctors have discovered two nodules on my thyroid gland. We already knew it was big, but now there are nodules on it and it has to come out. The further threat is that these nodules might be cancerous. The blood work looks good, but there are other biomarkers that don't look so good.

Usually, people with overactive thyroids are given radioactive iodine to kill the thyroid and then they are monitored for new lumps and bumps over the rest of their lifetime. But not so with me. In the course of my testing, we discovered that I am very allergic to the iodine. So surgery is the only option for me.

So, out it comes!

The thyroid gland sits at the base of the throat and surrounds the windpipe. Just behind the thyroid are the vocal nerves. In order to get at the gland, they will have to cut an incision in my neck and move all the muscles aside so that they can see what they're doing. Everything is so tightly packed in there, that they don't do laparoscopic surgery. This means that for the first several weeks of recovery, my speaking voice will be hoarse. My singing voice will be out of commission for about three to four months. If it is not damaged by the surgery (and there is no cancer - please, Lord, no cancer!) I should be able to sing again by the summer.

I'm worried.
Okay, I'm terrified.

There have been times, in the depths of my depression that I have wished for some deadly disease to take me quietly. Something that I wouldn't have to explain to God. I have hated my life - and that is a very sad thing. There is so much joy in my life, but all I could see was the suffering.

And that's the dark part. But that's not the end of the story.

This is old hat, but here goes: You never appreciate what you have until you might lose it. 

I have always appreciated my voice. Maybe I've appreciated it too much, in fact. While I have been off chasing my muse, everyone else has had to stand by and wait for me. My husband put college aside for me. My children have done without me for large expanses of time. My faith is intimately connected to my voice and my ability to sing for Mass.  It is an exercise in humility for me to NOT sing (and to ignore those who sing poorly) during Mass.

So many, many times I have bristled with the idea that I could do something so much better than someone who already had the job. I have harmed friendships and careers with my ambition. And where has that left me? Busy to the point of a breakdown. Lonely, though I have many friends. And frightened that the thing on which I have built my life, (and in many respects, my faith,) is going to be taken away.

But, there is hope. There is always hope - because we have a Savior. And he is so good to us.

For me, that hope came to me while singing for the funeral of a woman who was just a little bit older than me. As I sang the familiar parts of the Requiem Mass and listened to the readings I had heard a thousand times over I was reminded of God's great generosity.

The first reading was Isaiah 25:6-7, 9:

On this mountain the LORD of hosts will provide for all peoples. On this mountain he will destroy the veil that veils all peoples, the web that is woven over all nations; he will destroy death forever. The Lord GOD will wipe away the tears from all faces; the reproach of his people he will remove from the whole earth; for the LORD has spoken. On that day it will be said: "Behold our God, to whom we looked to save us! This is the LORD for whom we looked; let us rejoice and be glad that he has saved us!"

I know that I need to trust that God has a plan for my life. I have no idea what that plan is. Maybe that's why things have rolled out the way they have over the past several weeks. There have been many new doors opened to me - and some closed, too.

I may have years left or I may die tomorrow. There is no way for me to know when I will be called. The best I can do is to live for God in the time I have - however long that time may be.

So, in the midst of all this Sturm und Drang, I found a prayer today while beta testing an app that I thought fit the bill pretty well:

Prayer Against Depression

by St. Ignatius of Loyola

O Christ Jesus

When all is darkness

And we feel our weakness and helplessness,

Give us the sense of Your Presence,

Your Love and Your Strength.

Help us to have perfect trust

In Your protecting love

And strengthening power,

So that nothing may frighten or worry us,

For, living close to You,

We shall see Your Hand,

Your Purpose, Your Will through all things.

(via Catholic Short Prayers App - http://shortprayers.valent.co/)

Lawn Chair Catechism Session 13: Humility, Trust and Obedience

This is the final post in the Series, Lawn Chair Catechism for CatholicMom.com. Be sure to check in over there to see how this series has worked in other people's journey toward becoming more intentional disciples.

I have been very lucky to have been on a journey with my husband of 22 years (that's right, next weekend is our anniversary) and I have never really felt alone in my quest. In fact, my husband has been the one to set my feet back on the path time and time again. But, even so, the commonality of purpose among other families (you know, the people who don't leave their shoes in the middle of my living room floor) is very important for feeding my faith.

I was very blessed to find such people when I was still a young mother. There was prayer, discussion, advice, hugs, lots of coffee and lots of love. These are the friends who grieved with us and offered pilgrimages and fasting for our family through some of the most devastating trials a person can imagine. These are the friends who rejoiced when my husband and I put our lives back together, even when members of our own family couldn't understand why we would try again. I treasure their friendships and, though I don't attend Mass with them anymore, I still hold them close in my heart and in my prayers. And when I have the chance to see them, it's like we were never apart.

But, sometimes, you get called where you don't want to go. Sometimes, you get called to walk that path alone for a while. Not because God wants you to be lonely, but because he wants you to really rely on him for your sustenance.  And that's where I am now.

It's not that there are no disciples in my current parish. It's that they all have a completely different experience of life than I do. They are either much older than I am or have a completely different social background. And, as often as I reach out to connect, the connection seems somehow false or inauthentic. It shouldn't be, because we all worship together. We pray together. Their faith and their desire for discipleship is real and I even have friends, but there's a distance that I can't traverse.

Until recently, I had a connection with the Pastor, but this summer we got a new pastor. Of course,with the new pastor have come changes. Some of those changes I am very uncomfortable with. So now, the gulf seems even greater than before. I feel pushed out and abandoned. I feel completely isolated.

And it hurts. Actually, it aches.

Is it time to move on? Should I move aside and let someone who has new ideas and a call to share their gifts with the parish take my place? Have I made my music ministry an idol, as Elizabeth Scalia suggests in her book, "Strange Gods". I am back in school studying something completely new: English, not Music. This is a complete departure from the life I've been living for the past 25 years. I am also a newly-minted empty nester with a grandchild. There are so many possibilities. Do I throw myself into something new, or am I supposed to just stay where I am?

As I have been mulling over how to fix the problem, I have spent a great deal of time in front of the Blessed Sacrament thinking about what to do. Sometimes the noise in my head is so loud that I can't even keep the lines of communication with myself open, much less with God.  But yesterday, in a moment of clarity, I realized that I have been much more concerned with what I want, than what God is calling me to do. All the noise in my head is my own making and if I will just be still, if I will just listen, I will hear. It's not my problem to fix. As usual, I have taken everything on myself and said, "That's okay, God. Hang on. I've got this."

No, I have to have help. Because without God's help that path is terrifying.

Jesus promises that his yoke is easy and his burden is light, but first we have to accept that burden. I have been spending so much time creating my own burdens that I have completely cast off his. It's when we try to walk that road alone, without Jesus, that the yoke becomes hard, the way becomes rocky and narrow, and we fall into despair.

Obedience is never easy. It's especially hard for head-strong ladies like me because it requires true humility. But, it's essential to the life of a disciple. You must humble yourself in order to obey. And you must obey because God would never lie to you. He would never lead you astray.

Thankfully, God is patient with me. He just keeps calling and when I finally accept the burden he gives me, things look much better. So, while having companions on the journey is an important part of the path to God, it's not the only way. Sometimes, you just have to learn to rely on God alone.

How will I continue the work I've begun this summer? For right now, I plan to stay put. This is where God put me and this is where I am needed. The Sisters and I plan to begin our English Bible Class in September and we'll see where that takes us next. I am hoping that working with a smaller community within the parish and building our faith and knowledge together will help bridge that chasm I am feeling. For right now, I am just walking the path until God shuts doors and trying to remember to be humble and obedient.

Too many things to do...

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.

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

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

The woman in the mirror

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.

Delegation

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

Old, old friends

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...

On making mistakes

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...

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.

The Backhoe

I saw a backhoe on my way to work today. This is not an unusual thing, mind you. The main street near my house is under construction. But, I was struck by the image of this backhoe, as it pushed a larger, extra bucket (that's the technical term for the shovel) along the ground in front of it with the smaller bucket attached to its arm. It looked almost alien in its form; giant, yellow and dirty. Yet, there was a familiarity of movement to it; like an arm with a hand, shooing a child outside to play.

In struggling to make sense of why the image struck me and stayed with me, I was reminded of the arguments I have been having with my son recently. He's 16 and, boy, he just needs to get on with his life, let me tell you. He knows everything, just ask him. Katie Couric would quail in the presence of such logic and knowledge! (OK...I am being sarcastic.)

But, really, he is a huge young man at 6' 2" and 280 pounds and while he is smart, he is so young and so undermotivated. There is so much he does not know or understand about life, but yet, he plows on, making his choices (good and bad). His father and I are just trying to make it through those last couple of years of raising him. We point him toward the future and he seems ready to go, but he still needs that push in the back, "No, this way, son."

Like that backhoe, a gentle shove is all that is needed to move the object. Any more force and the bucket could be sent careening into traffic and harm someone. There are days when I want to give that boy a good shove out of the nest, but then I remember, that despite the fact that he looks like a full-grown man, he is still just a kid. Too hard a shove might send him into the wide world unprepared and it might hurt him. So, I pull back and push, ever-so-gently, in the proper direction.

Mixed Blessings

We had a terrible wind storm over the weekend that knocked our power out. We are on day 4 with no electricity. Of course, my entire kitchen is electric, but our hot water is gas (Thanks goodness!!), so we can clean things, but we have no food and no way to cook it. Well, not easily. It is at times like these, when I realize that all of the things that we have been through have prepared us for these "mini-disasters".

In the past few years, while we have struggled financially, occasionally we had to pick between having gas and having electric. And though I wouldn't exactly call us "off the power grid", we have gotten very good at fending for ourselves "on the edge of the power grid".

Last night, The Princess and I decided we were hungry. Of course there was no money to just go buy a pizza, so we improvised. We found a can of Sterno in my son's camping gear and set about making a grill. We used a dutch oven to set the Sterno can in and then took an oven rack and put that across the top and proceeded to make refried bean dip. It was delicious. We also discovered that we could make a pretty good lamp out of a flashlight stuck in a vase. I have a friend at work who has been making coffee by candle light. He says it works pretty well. It's been kind of fun coming up with solutions to the problems of living without power. It stretches us and makes us use our heads.

The nice thing about not having power is that there are no distractions from the outside world: No TV, no radio, no telephone, no computer. We sit and visit with each other. We play cards and make our own music (though playing piano by candlelight is not as easy as it looks in the movies...) and, of course, we read. Our internal clocks are getting used to the rhythm of the day; we are tired when the sun sets and awake when the sun rises. And there is a sort of pride that we are getting through it all, none the worse for wear, and maybe even getting by a little better.

When the power comes back on, we will resume our busy lives and hectic pace, but it is nice, for now, to have a little technology vacation.


Photo by justmelissa1977. Found on www.NBC4i.com.

Make new friends...

You know that old Girl Scout song:

"Make new friends, but keep the old.
One is silver and the other's gold."

It is so true. But, sometimes, as I go through life making new friends, I begin to forget about the old friends. Our experiences and circumstances change and make maintaining our friendships more of a commitment of time, rather than a convenience of doing business with or attending school with someone we like. And that is when I think real friendship is tested.

It has been said that one only really has a few really good friends in life. My mother told me once that her definition of a "good friend" is someone that you can call at 3 in the morning, no matter how long it has been since you saw them, and they would still be happy to hear from you. I have many of those people in my life. I am very lucky. But, I do wonder, if that really defines a "true friendship". If you aren't talking to them regularly, why not?

My mother-in-law still has parties with girlfriends she had when she came to Columbus more than 40 years ago. The five ladies who make up her most solid friend base have been her friends since she was 17 or 18 years old. But, her circumstances did not change much. She lives in the house where my father-in-law was raised. The family has owned the house since about 1928, shortly after it was built. The neighborhood is also very stable. Just a few blocks away, there is a family, with 8 kids, 4 of whom have purchased houses on the same street as the "family homestead". Even though many of these ladies have moved away to other parts of the city, their lives all intersect at regular enough intervals and their experiences are similar enough, that they have ground to share.

One of the things that plagues my friendships, however, is that dastardly thief called "Change" and his brother, "Time". Change can be good and is usually necessary, but the fact is, that friendships based on the convenience of seeing each other at regular intervals makes for rocky ground, when change intervenes. Time is short all around. One of my friends calls it "The Time Famine". She's right. I look at my schedule and think, "Now, when would I ever see a friend who I just don't see at one of my practices or events during the week? Friday between 7 pm and 10 pm? Or perhaps Saturday between 6 am and 8 am?" The key, is of course, making time. Making time for my old friends is something that I need to work on.

And change also brings different perspectives into play. As one's interests change and experiences grow, so does their circle of acquaintances, and thereby, their friends. I have become a broader person (and I think a better one) for all of the new friends I have made, while I see some of my older friends slipping away from me, because they refuse to grow or tolerate that which they do not understand. While I do not consider myself to be "open-minded", necessarily, I do consider myself to be "open-hearted". That makes for an interesting collection of friends.

Going back through all the friends that I could call at 3 AM and still have them happy to hear from me, I count among them a couple of very conservative Catholic couples who border on homophobia. But, I also count a couple of gay men who have been a committed couple for more than 40 years. Could the they co-exist in a room together, say, for my daughter's wedding? I'd say that's probably up to them. I love them all. I would never leave any of them out of a life celebration.

Does that make me a "sell-out"? I don't think so. If I can figure out how to balance my new and old friends, I think it makes me a richer person in the Silver and Gold of my many friendships shot through the tapestry of my life.

Photo:

"Fiora" - Decoration from the headgear of Cypriot middle class/bourgeois costume.

(from Athens (Greece) Historical Museum)

The Mother's Curse

You are arguing with your child.

You are exasperated over him/her wasting his/her considerable gifts of talent and intellect on pursuits such as X-Box, Skateboarding, clothes, boys, MySpace...the list could go on.

The child blocks your brilliant arguments with a dazzling display of 12 year old tactic (also known as stubbornness) that so stuns you, that you throw up your hands make an annoyed groan and drop your hands to your side apparently beaten. Of course, because this is your child, you know you could take them in a fair fight, but kids don't fight fair. You only have one thing left to do. You know you must curse your child.

Born of centuries of mothers before you, you raise your right hand and point at them and say:

"Someday, you are going to have a child just like you."

The child looks at you in complete and utter amazement. This is the best you can do, Mom? But, your child is young and has no idea what you have just done to him/her. You, on the other hand, know exactly what you have done. Your mother's curse is standing in front of you looking like at you like you looked at your mother a century ago. And you just think, "Yep. It serves you right, you little brat."

The Mother's Curse is the most powerful curse in the world, I have decided. Of course, there are biological reasons that it works every time with natural children. But what about people who seek to avoid the Mother's Curse by remaining single, or becoming a nun or priest? Oh, believe me, there are employees/parishioners/students/co-workers who will fulfill these requirements, too. You can run from the Mother's Curse, but you cannot hide. Eventually, you will run into someone who fulfills your Mother's Curse.
I didn't even have to be a mother to run into mine the first time. Actually, I think it was really someone else's, but I got to observe. When I was 25, I was on a trip and visiting a family who had 5 kids, like we did. The oldest daughter had been left in charge of the crew while her mother had come to the airport to pick me up. Of course, my flight was delayed (when are they not?) and so we were later than anticipated in getting back to the house. Oh! You should have heard the hue and cry!
"You always do this to me! I am never on time for anything because I always have to watch the kids! You are never ever on time! I am so embarassed because I'm late for my party!" It went on and on.
I realized that I had said exactly, to the letter, those things to my Mom at 16. It was like I was listening to myself. I was horrified.
I happened to be travelling with a friend and I looked at him and said, "Remind me to call my mother tonight and apologize for being 16." He promised he would. And I did call her. She laughed and forgave me. WOW! what an eye-opener! Sometimes, that apology is a long time coming, Mom, but I think that my mom would tell you it was worth the wait.
The interesting thing about the Mother's Curse is that, although at first your Mother gets some smug satisfaction in the fact that your child is proof that you did not know everything at 12, in the end she feels badly for you and wants to help you get through it, too. That's because she loves you. It's really kind of a reflexive curse in that respect.

Remember the pop wisdom, "When you point a finger, there are three pointing back at you."? Well, that's what happens. Your mother has to suffer through the pain you are feeling as you realize that you were a deeply flawed individual at 12, and that you don't know how to fix it in your 12 year old, either. Grandma must watch as you struggle with this creature whom you both love, who is, in fact, not just your curse, but her curse and her mother's before her and so on and so on...

But, don't worry, it tends to build bridges between mothers and children. Who else am I going to ask about why my child is wasting all her time on MySpace when she is so brilliant? And why she speaks to me as if I am learning disabled? I go straight to the source. Mom knows, because she had me, but more importantly, she had herself.
And maybe that's the key to undoing the Mother's Curse: Knowing yourself.