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. 

#FiveFavorites: Yes, More Music

Head on over to Moxie Wife and link up and see other people's five favorites,
or share five of your favorites (ANY favorites) here!

So last week I did a post about all my favorite things to do for Advent. And I shamelessly suggested you read my other blog to learn more Advent and Christmas Carols. (...and you DID! Thank you!)

For the #10Hymns project I've been sifting through hundreds of YouTube Videos, sorting the good and the bad, and ultimately picking out the ones I need. But what I need for teaching other people these pieces of music isn't always what strikes me as beautiful.

So for today's Five Favorites, I'm sharing my five favorite Advent YouTube Videos. Some are professionals, and some are just adorable.

1. Alma Redemptoris Mater - Palestrina

Performed by Quire Cleveland, conducted by Jameson Marvin

Instead of the Salve Regina at the end of Compline, during Advent, we sing this beautiful hymn to the Blessed Mother:

Loving Mother of the Redeemer,
gate of heaven, star of the sea,
assist your people who have fallen
yet strive to rise again.
To the wonderment of nature
 you bore your Creator,
yet remained a virgin after as before.
You who received Gabriel's joyful greeting,
have pity on us poor sinners.

2. The Rose of Sharon - Billings

Performed by Dordt College Choir, conducted by David McWilliams

This lovely little piece is taken right from the Song of Songs and prefigures the coming of the Savior. Billings was a tanner in Boston at around the time of the American Revolution who wrote music as a hobby. His pieces are vibrant and full of moving parts and traded voices. There's not a lot of subtlety to it. It's either loud or soft. But note the vivid tone painting of the music in consort with the words at the "skipping" part. It's a real blast to sing Billings. 

I am the Rose of Sharon
and the lily of the valley.
As the Appletree,
among the trees of the wood,
so is my Beloved among the Sons.
As the Lily among the thorns,
so is my Love among the Daughters.
I sat down under his shadow with great delight,
And his fruit was sweet to my taste, taste.
He brought me to the Banqueting House,
His Banner over me was Love.
Stay me with Flagons,
Comfort me with Apples,
for I am sick, sick of Love.
I charge you, O ye Daughters of Jerusalem,
by the Roes and by the Hinds of the Field,
that you stir not up nor Awake,
Awake my Love till he please.
The voice of my Beloved,
Behold, he cometh,
Leaping upon the mountains,
skipping upon the Hills.
My Beloved spake and said unto me: rise up,
my Love, my fair one, and come away,
for Lo, the Winter is past,
the rain is over and gone.

3. Maria durch ein Dornwald ging
Performed by the Thomanerchor, Leipzig Germany, 1989

I had the pleasure of standing in this very church in 2006. The Thomaskirche is the Lutheran Church in Leipzig that put J.S. Bach on the map. A couple of hundred years later Felix Mendelssohn converted to Christianity while rehearsing Bach's St. Matthew Passion with the Thomanerchor which is the choir in the video.

"Maria durch ein Dornwald ging" is an Advent carol in honor of the sacrifice that Mary made to carry our Savior.  The repeated corruption of the Greek "Kyrie Eleison" (Lord have mercy) is a reminder of our need for mercy and the humility of both Mary and Jesus, in their suffering.
In the end, as Mary and Jesus pass together through the thorns, roses suddenly appear on the branches, signifying the coming of new life. 

Maria walks amid the thorn,
Kyrieleison!
Which for seven years no leaf hath born
She walks amid the wood of thorn
Jesus and Maria.

What ‘neath her heart does Mary bear?
Kyrieleison!
A little child doth Mary bear
Beneath her heart he nestles there.
Jesus and Maria.

And as the two are passing near
Kyrieleison!
Lo! Roses on the thorns appear!
Jesus and Maria.

4. The King Shall Come When Morning Dawns

Performed by The Christ Lutheran Academy Choir, conducted by Kathryn Peperkorn

Sweet kids! And they can sing, folks.

5. Lasst uns Froh und Munter Sein

Performed by the Columbus Kinderchor

Well, this is just a cute little song for Sankt Nikolaus Tag (St. Nicholas Day) which is coming up on Friday, December 6th.

In this song the kids are talking all about how excited they are that it's St. Nicholas Day. 

 The littlest one was three in this video. He was told to hold the note until I cut it off, but I forgot to cut him off with a big enough motion so he just kept singing. At one point you can hear the choir (and the conductor) start to giggle.

I became the Director Emerita this year but I still...nothing says Holiday like cute little kids singing in German. (Or maybe that's just me...) 

(A Literal Translation)
Let us be happy and cheerful
And rejoice in the Lord! (Chorus) 

Chorus:
Jolly, jolly, tralera-lera,
Soon Nicholas Eve is here!
Soon Nicholas Eve is here!

Then I put the plate out
Nick'll surely put somethin' on it. (Chorus)

When I sleep then I dream:
Now Nicholas brings me something. (Chorus)

When I rise (in the morning)
I dash quickly to the plate. (Chorus)

Nicholas is a good man
Whom we can't thank enough. (Chorus)

Creative Writing - Week 1

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: You have 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

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

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

I walk over to the coffee maker to start the coffee.   I don’t usually drink coffee at home so it takes me a while to gather all the stuff together.  The coffee we have is whole bean and has to be ground.  I wonder where that grinder is.

I begin to dig through the cabinets to find the coffee grinder.  These cabinets 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 the cabinet 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 and pie plates back into the cabinet.  Of course, the grinder had gotten pushed to the very back of the cabinet.  Nothing is ever easy.

I plug in the grinder, dump the coffee beans into it and push the button.  The grinder does its job and I pull the lid off to put the grounds into the filter.  The sharp, pungent smell of the fresh ground coffee breaks through the musty smell of the dirty dishes in the sink.  It pierces the fog of my morning thought.  Mmmm…  This is going to be so good.

I draw the water, pour it into the reservoir and hit the "on" button.  The coffee pot begins to make its chugging and popping sound indicating that it’s working, thank God!  I use it so infrequently that it's always a gamble.
I sit down at the computer and bring up my email and read “The Writer’s Almanac” and check to see if any of my friends have written to 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 Book Loft, where he’s signing his new book!” 

The bold letters scream at me from the little box on my iGoogle page.  I delete all of them and hear the coffee pot sputtering and spitting in its efforts to expel the rest of the water I put in, turning those last few drops into 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.

I close my laptop and walk over to the counter to pour my coffee, only to realize that 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 cup of hot coffee, I add a generous helping of fancy coffee creamer and sugar to it.  I take a sip and let it warm my tongue and sting the back of my throat.  Man, that’s good coffee.  I breathe in the smell of the Irish Crème laced perfection in my mug and sigh contentedly.

Turning to the living room, I look for a spot to sit among the piled up laundry and school books.  I have to set my mug down and move some laundry back to a basket so I can sit on the couch.  I get caught up in the task and before I know it, I have cleared the whole couch and separated Michael's laundry from Celia's and ours.  I have to remember to have the kids take this all upstairs 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 back and grab another sip of my coffee, which is now the perfect drinking temperature and relax back into the couch with a smile.  Thank God for this hour long break.

Teenagers

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?

Haiku from Last Night*

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

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:

1. Keep your hands to yourself.
2. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
3. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.
4. Do not whisper in a public setting. Anything you need to say to your neighbor can wait until you are alone.
5. Do not interrupt people when they are speaking. Your turn will be next.
6. Never talk about religion or politics at a dinner party (or in the lunchroom).
7. 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

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...

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.

What time did you say that would be?

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

Open Letter To My Husband on Father's Day

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

Above Average

"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 Unexpected Christmas

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!

The Princess and the Picture

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

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!"

The Birthday Party

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!

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.

The Music of Being

It is no secret that I love the Arts and Literature. I have surrounded myself with it. It permeates my very being. The things that I read and look at and sing comprise a more three dimensional picture of who I am as a person.

If you really want to get to know me, ask me what song is playing in my head at the moment. Usually there is a song in my head. Sometimes it stays there for days. "Besame Mucho" (in Spanish, not English) is the latest victim of my attention. It has been playing in my head all week.

Or, you can ask me to sing something for you. How I approach my music is indicative of what the operations of my soul are. I always sing from the inside out. The communication of the meaning of the song and the feelings that it stirs within me are very important to how I interpret the song. Even if I am singing something that I dislike, I always try to put myself in the shoes of the composer. What was he trying to get across to the listener? And somewhere in the middle, I sometimes feel like I lose myself in the music, itself. It becomes part of me and I, part of it. My music provides an intimate look at who I am.

Many times, you will hear voice teachers say that voice is the instrument most intimately connected to the soul of the person. I think that's true. It is the only completely organic instrument. All other instruments are tools created out of something else. I put my heart and soul into my music and so, if you want to know about me, listen to me sing. If I want you to know me, I will sing for you. Music just wells up in my soul and spills over.

I also find that I identify people with pieces of music. Not so much with the lyrics, but the way they move, the cadence of their voice and how their face looks to me at any given moment. When I was a child, I had a friend whose mother I associated with the old Paul Simon song "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover". She was a happily married woman (and still is, by the way) and there was nothing at all in the lyrics that identified her to me, but she moved and spoke in a way that reminded me of the drum cadence at the beginning of each verse.

My daughter will forever be associated with the beautiful Irish Reel that she does to U2's "Elevation". It makes my heart stand still and my eyes water to see the power and confidence that I always wished I had, shine in the face of my child. Consequently, "Elevation" always reminds me of her. Not the words, necessarily, but the power and freedom of the music.

I know...it's an odd thing. But, as Aldous Huxley said, "That which comes closest to expressing the Inexpressible, is music." And I find that that is true. When there are no words for a feeling or a thought, music fills the space of the words for me.

Music defines me. I would not be the person that I am without it. I am constantly expanding my experiences through it; finding new people, new expressions of life and faith, and ways to give voice to beauty and pain. It enriches my life and deepens my understanding of those around me. Without it, my life would be a very dull, two-dimensional place.