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: From the Deep Freeze

It's really cold here. First we were snowed in. Then we were frozen in sub-zero temps. 

So, there's not much to do but be domesticated. I've been baking, writing and reading. 

And now you get to see my Five Faves for this week:

This is how mine turned out. Beautiful, no?

1. Personal-Sized, Individually-Topped Baked Oatmeal

This stuff is the bomb. It is best with chocolate chips and craisins. 

Or chocolate chips and walnuts. 

Or chocolate chips and pecans. 

Okay...It's best with chocolate chips.

When I made them, I used honey instead of stevia 

and I used 2T Flaxseed meal + 2T Water - mixed up as a paste - to replace the eggs.

Find the details here at SugarFreeMom.com.

 2. S'mores Dip

More Chocolate. Are you sensing a pattern?

This stuff is actually really, really rich. 

Don't double the recipe unless you have a horde of hungry creatures to feed.

Get the recipe here at Pinterest.

Or here at the image page.

3. 22 things I learned in my first 10 years of Parenthood

Jennifer Fulwiler is pretty slick to have only taken 10 years to figure this all out. Heck, mine are all grown up and I just figured this all out. If you're a mom, this one will make you laugh.

4. Bloom Where You're Planted

Sarah Reinhard, my friend in real life, has been working on a series on St. Francis de Sales' spiritual classic "Introduction to the Devout Life". As usual, Sarah has managed to take reading that made me go "Huh?" and distill it down into something that I could really sink my teeth into. 

That's a real gift she's got. She's on Week 11 of 14 (leave it to me to be a late-comer) so I'm going to have to go back and read the rest.

Anyway, I love this whole blog. If you subscribe they send you an email every morning, so you can start your day with some spiritual food. It's worth the 10 minutes you will spend reading. 

Promise.

5. Honor Your Inner Monk

I wrote about this yesterday, but it bears repeating: This is a great little app and is really helping me get back on track with my prayer life. It's short, sweet and gives you real ways to improve your spiritual life. You can read my mini-review here.

Bonus - Hallie Lord's "Love in the Time of Scarlet Fever"

Truly, this is a beautiful post on the sacrifices of the love of spouses. It kind of moved me to tears. I don't appreciate the gift that I have in my husband nearly enough.

Got Five Favorites of your own? Head over to Hallie Lord's blog at Moxie Wife and see what everyone else is nuts about this week + share your own five faves!

Epiphany and epiphanies

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friendship and Love

In the absence of any original thoughts I might ever have (I am suffering from mondo writer's block) , I am re-posting stuff from my earlier blogging days. It's kind of a cool thing when you read something you wrote 3 years ago and think, "Wow! Did I write that? That was pretty good."

Friendship is Love without wings, so say the French.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cartoon by Sam Brown @ Exploding Dog

The dead face

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just something to think about.

Apologies

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Music is the food of life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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 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.

Generosity and Selfishness

Over the past week I have heard and read many stories of events during the big power outage after Hurricane Ike unexpectedly blew through Ohio. It is unusual, to say the least, to have 75 mile an hour winds in this neck of the woods and we were completely unprepared for the onslaught. Unlike the flexible palm trees of the coastlands, our deciduous trees snapped like twigs and our power lines were helpless against the falling boughs.

For a while, most of us thought that the power would come right back on. After all, it was just some wind. But over the next few hours, we all began to realize that this was a disaster and, having sent all of our electric crews to Texas to help with the much worse damage there, we were completely unprepared. It was going to be days, not hours, before the power would come on again. People started to hunker down to make the best of a bad situation. Ice was bought. Coolers were packed with all the perishables and then covered in ice to make them last as long as they would. And people began to come up with alternatives to cooking on their electric stoves and in their microwaves.

I heard of blocks where people's freezers were full of food and they just opened it all up and cooked it on the grill and had a Block Party. One person brought the meat and another the veggies. Really...it happened in many neighborhoods. You could smell barbecues all over the city in the evening.

There was a man who visits our office frequently who brought in the contents of his freezer to the office (we have a big freezer and still had power). Upon leaving his groceries, he encouraged a couple of us who had been without power for a couple of days, to "help ourselves". People ran extension cords from one house to the next as power began to come on in spots around the city. Others opened their kitchens, bathrooms and refrigerators to their neighbors, friends and families without power.

But, by contrast, I heard a story from a co-worker of a neighbor who refused to allow them to charge their cell phones from an extension cord because "We don't know you very well." I also saw people lose pounds and pounds of food, rather than sharing with their neighbors, hoping against hope that their power would come on and they would have that food over the winter. But would it not have been better to share and to have someone get good from it, rather than letting it all spoil?

Hearing stories like this reminds me of the parable of the talents from the Bible. Of course, if you have studied scripture, you know that a talent is a unit of monetary measure within the context of the story. But, the message applies to our spiritual gifts as well as our material gifts. The servants who invested and gave of the talents increased the talents and were rewarded in return, while the one who buried his gained nothing and indeed ended up losing everything.

The gifts that we are given by God are manifold. They are material. They are spiritual. They are different from person to person. Those people who shared their food with their neighborhood probably share generously of their other gifts, too. They have generous hearts. Those who did not share, and instead horded up all their possessions and let them spoil, probably waste their other gifts, too. And that is something to think about. I had nothing to spoil (I hadn't been to the store), but would I have shared my food? I think that at one time I would have, but now that I am older, I am finding that I am not as generous as I once was. And that is sad.

It is in these crisis situations that you get a real look at your heart and soul. The generous know that God provided them with what they have and are willing to share it, knowing that God will provide for them again. The selfish are so worried about themselves, that instead of being blessed richly by God, they lose everything they had and get no more in the bargain.

These stories are a reminder to me to be more generous. To give of my time and talent, as well as the material possessions that I have been given.

I need not worry that I will lose myself. By losing myself, I gain heaven.

Getting caught up

I had a friend ask me yesterday, what I was working on and what I was reading. I had to stop and think. I haven't been reading anything and I couldn't even tell him what I have been working on. I am that far behind myself. Does that happen to you?

I have a long-term project that I have been working on for a few weeks. It is a poetry project that covers the neighborhoods of the city of Columbus. But I have been really concerned because ever since I defined it as "a Project", it has become stagnant and I have not been able to find inspiration for it. Before I defined it, it was easy.

Last night, however, I went to dinner with my husband. He is such a clear thinker when it comes to Literature. I was describing my trouble with trying to decide what to write about in the next neighborhood I had to tackle. It is a beautiful neighborhood, but "pretty" didn;t go deep enough. I found myself looking for the reason it was beautiful. Just a few short decades ago it was one of the roughest neighborhoods in town. If you lived in the Short North, you didn't sit on the porch. What had changed? How had the change been wroght?

Michael (who is immensely practical) said, "So, write about that." And suddenly, it was like a dam broke.

I just hope it's good. I am reprinting it here, though that means I can't submit it anywhere else. Please let me know what you think. I need some feedback.

Urban Homesteading
Here come the Urban Homesteaders!
Reclaiming the Urban Wilderness to make a life for themselves;
Battling the Urban Plagues of Decay, Drugs and Destruction;
Displacing the Urban Natives who struggle in the squalor,
They plant their crops of Order and Beauty.
Artists and Musicians color the Urban Landscape,
Filling it with light and sound,
Creating a place where the arts will thrive
In the heart of a part of town that had died.
“A ‘Resurrection Spectacular’!
That’s what we’ll have!
And when we’ve fulfilled this Urban Manifest Destiny,
We move to the next neighborhood and do it again!”

Submissions

I submitted one of my poems to Poetry Magazine. I am so nervous! I have never submitted any of my writing EVER before. Writing poetry is such a personal thing. It kind of lays your soul out there to be examined carefully by anyone who cares to read it. And, even more frightening, it leaves you open to be ignored completely. No one likes to be alone or to think that they are uninteresting.

I had a friend who majored in Theory and Composition (music) who once told me not to ever give anything I cared about to my professor to analyze. He was right, of course, because the professor will rip it to shreds in the process of grading it. You feel as if your have had your heart ripped out and stomped on. Unfortunately for artists, that is exactly what you must do, over and over. And not just for your professor, but everyone who hears your work. One has to develop a thicker skin when one is an artist. Not everyone has the same taste.

So, here I am, waiting to see what they have to say. Will they like it and just think that some of the grammar needs to be straightened out? Will they like the concept, but say that it's all been done before by better poets than me? Will they love it and ask me to write more?

I am reminded of being in high school and waiting for the play callbacks and then the final cast listings to be posted. I could never stand the pressure of waiting, so I would always choose the last audition spot I could possibly take. It served me pretty well, I guess. I made every play. I even had pretty good parts in them. When I auditioned for college music programs, I always took the last audition date because they told me that they would tell me immediately whether or not I made the cut.

I hate to wait for answers. I'm very impatient. That's probably why I write a blog, too. I wouldn't want to wait to see if I was acceptable to be published or write anything that was actually long enough for a book...no, no, I am a short story-poetry-essay kinda girl.

I never thought that I would ever write poetry. I was not very accomplished at it in school. I still can't write a decent song lyric to save my soul, but somewhere in the far-reaches of my soul, there is poetry. It peeks out every now and then to surprise me. I will be looking at something and suddenly a torrent of words will attack me to describe the scene or the feeling I am having. It is really quite surreal. I have taken to carrying a notebook with me everywhere so I have something to write with.

Well, I guess I'll see if any of this stuff is good enough to be printed. Then, I guess I'll write some more. I can't stop. It's like an addiction. Strange how all the arts are like that.

Mind, Body, Spirit

We are all created in the image and likeness of God. That is a basic tenet of my faith as a Catholic. God, I would imagine is a very beautiful being. So beautiful that we cannot even begin to imagine him or to bear to look him in the eye as a mortal. We have to wait to achieve the beatific vision when we die. Yet, paradoxically, God gives us a glimpse of his own beauty in all the people around us.

I see people who are beautiful and they take my breath away. Man or woman; it does not matter. I look at them and think, "Do you know how beautiful you are? Do you ever consider who gave you all of that beauty and who it represents?" Then I look at myself and think, "What does that say about me?"

Don't get me wrong, I do not consider myself an ugly person. No, I am attractive enough. I have just let myself go. I have gained weight (to really unhealthy proportions!) and have not cared for the body that God gave me with the attention that I might well give a fitting temple of the Holy Spirit. And I believe this lack of care affects me spiritually as well as physically.

St. Ignatius Loyola taught in his spiritual exercises that, being created in God's image, the human being is Trinitarian in nature: Mind, Body and Spirit. The Mind of the Father, the Body of the Son and the Spirit, well, of the Spirit. He taught that all three had to stay healthy in order for each of us to live our full potential in God's plan. I am beginning to believe that this is true.

A few years ago, I could not even kneel at the consecration. I was so overweight that I did not fit between the pew behind me and the pew in front of me while kneeling on the kneeler. Because I could not kneel, my daughter picked up the habit of resting her back end on the pew behind her, like I did, even though she is quite able-bodied. I was very angry at first and then realized that it was my fault and no one else's. My example had given rise to a lack of appreciation for the Eucharist on the part of my daughter! I decided, after observing what my fine example had done, to start to lose weight, which I have done. I am not as far along as I would like to be, but it is coming off slowly. And I DO feel better. I am able, now, to kneel properly. But more importantly, the three parts of what makes me a human being are beginning once again, to come into balance.

I have seen my mother struggle with her weight all her life. Recently, she has been working hard to lose it, but more than that, she is beginning to take special care with her appearance. Before she began to lose weight, she would just put on whatever came to hand to wear and just be done. Now, she takes time to pick out coordinated clothes and to put on some jewelry and to fix her hair (not much, but that's just Mom). She looks radiant. The joy that she has in her newly found energy and in having less pain, combined with her hours of prayer before the Blessed Sacrament have really transformed her.

I was visiting with a friend the other night, who had seen my mom at a function just this past weekend. She commented on how wonderful Mom looked. She said that is was such a joy to see my Mom come out of her shell and be the gorgeous woman that she is! And she is right. Mom has become one of the "beautiful people". But not Paris Hilton beautiful. She has become a glimpse of God's glory. That real beauty that takes your breath away.

At least, I think so...but I could be biased.

Heartache

I think that heartaches can exist for a variety of reasons, but all of them boil down to love. Not in terms of sexuality, necessarily, but love for a person that you care about, like a child or a friend.


There are so many ways that one can love another person. The Greeks had something like 7 or 8 words for love. In struggling to express the inexpressible, we fall painfully short as human beings. It is love that is the defining characteristic of our being created in the Image and Likeness of God. That unselfish and unrequited love that God IS is reflected in our love for others. The love I feel in my heart is often times not able to be adequately expressed (or accurately, either) and so I feel the pain of a heartache.

My heartaches are not always caused by being hurt by the ones I love, but by being hurt on behalf of the ones I love. Sometimes, it's simply that there is so much love that my heart cannot hold it and it aches with the weight.

My heart is aching today for so many of my loved ones. There are so many people in my life who are suffering. Whether it be a bad day at school or work, or more serious challenges, like illness, there are so many suffering. The mother in me wishes I could take every one of them to my heart and hug away the pain, but my arms are not long enough and my heart is not big enough.

So today, it aches.