Mourning Catholic

cross-whitebackgroundFirst, let me make one thing clear. I am not religious. I never have been religious. I would, however, call myself somewhat seriously spiritual. With that said, when I was a child, I went to Catholic schools – grammar school, as we called it then, and high school – all girls, no less. In grammar school, we quivered under the rule of the nuns who were allowed to swat our knuckles with a ruler or make us stand in a corner of the classroom if we were “bad.” Today, a teacher would be sent to prison for rapping a child’s knuckles, we don’t “punish,” we offer “choices,” and we never use the word “bad.” To me these were not negative things. They were “cultural.” They were intrinsic to what it meant to be Catholic, part of a parish, part of a village.

I LOVED my Catholic education. I loved the honesty, integrity and grittiness of it. I loved the rituals, the Christmas pageants and the one year where I actually got to be the Virgin Mary. (Other years I was an angel, and one year even a lamb – that was in first grade.) I loved how we all prepared together for first confession, first Holy Communion, and Confirmation. I loved learning catechism, I loved singing in the church choir. I have one memory of practicing for the Christmas Mass. It was as snowy day and I had walked to the practice by myself. We were all up in the choir balcony, and as we sang the carols, I looked out at the softly falling snow and had one of those rare moments of pure peace and contentment.

That’s what my Catholic years were – they were full of peace and contentment. They were a wonderful antidote to the “stuff” in my family, ugly stuff, but at school, there was good stuff.  It was home. Indeed, it takes a village – that’s what my parish school and church experience was like.

Truthfully, I never believed any of what we were taught as truth. Nice stories, and symbolism, to be sure. A good spiritual base that carried me into adulthood. I got away from it all when I went to college and right on up until I had my own kids. I wanted them to have the same experiences, sans the schooling because by the time they were school age, the parish school was a thing of the past.  But still, once again, we had that family, that village that surrounded us no matter what. And always there was the warmth and comfort of the rituals.

My kids grew older and so did I.I quit going to church, I quit being part of a parish village. I want it back.I want that feeling of family and home. I want the village, only it’s not there. I am in mourning.

Oh, there are Catholic churches around, and there’s even one two blocks away. But it’s not a simple neighborhood church anymore. It’s now part of a “conglomerate” of four other parishes, all tethered together now because of the falling numbers of priests. Every Saturday afternoon I think of going, but I shake my head in near despair as I ponder a shifting sand of people attending any one Mass at any one time.

This is not what I want. This is not what I need.

It takes a village. Who burned mine down?

Pajama Game

FlannelThat’s right – I’m back in the game, of pajamas that is. For the last 10 years, I have yearned to wrap myself in the soft, comfort of flannel pajamas: lovely, long nightgowns, but even better – cozy “jammies”: with tops and bottoms that shield me not only from cold winter nights but also from wiles and worries of the world.

Here’s the deal – MENOPAUSE. During this peri and actual menopause of mine, flannel, and actually PJs of any material were out of the question. If they went on, they came off – almost instantaneously. With them I suffered the fevers of dissipating hormones, without them I had the cooling breeze of a fan blowing directly on my skin, even in the middle of winter. Without won, for obvious reasons.

Sound familiar?

I decided to give it a try this winter, and I CAN WEAR MY COZY, COMFY FLANNELS ONCE AGAIN!! I can pull the covers up to my chin, quilt and all, and not a drop of sweat to be found anywhere.

This is what it means to be a woman who ROARS!  (about her flannel pajamas and other assorted post-menopausal discoveries!)

Amazing Grace

I was having one of those crappy, miserable, hate the cable company days when I sat down at my computer to catch my breath . I was stuck in the hustle, bustle, and not-very-merry stuff of the Christmas season. I was scattered, stressed, and frantic – going too fast, sweating too much, and doing what I can’t do well – multitask! (Curse that word).

I sat down at the computer to do whatever I was going to do – I’ve forgotten, because I soon discovered, whatever it was wasn’t at all important, and something stopped me in my tracks.. The CNN homepage was open, and there, staring at me, was a photograph of the face of a true and perfect angel—a little girl named Grace. I clicked the link to a story I’ll never forget. The video began and Grace’s mother Lynn spoke and I was struck silent and still. Out of the ravages of the massacre at Sandy Hook came the voice of serenity, goodness, and hope as Lynn spoke and described her perfectly perfect little girl, her “amazing” little girl, a little girl with a great spirit. She spoke about a little girl who loved art, a little girl who was all about peace and gentleness. She spoke about the first time they were able to be “with” Grace, and they walked into a room with a little white casket and felt their breath taken away. But the little casket didn’t stay white for long, as in keeping with Grace’s spirit, everyone there inked up every corner of white with just what Grace would want.

Lynn spoke with a smile that never wavered or dissolved into tears. She spoke with strength and soothing. She spoke with gratitude and love and as she spoke, everything melted away and the only thing left was the miracle of this woman who had lost her baby, yet ended up soothing a network full sorry, frantic, complaining fools.

I will try to write Grace’s mother and tell her that in one small corner, she made a huge difference – she and Grace made a huge difference.

Savagery at Sandy Hook

I’m reading my email now, and looking at some recent blog posts, all written before 10 a.m. on Friday, December 14th, and I want to shake these people, scream at them, tell them that there’s no meaning in makeup or last minute Christmas shopping or signing up for a seminar on Pinterest. I want to relive this day and turn back to the relatively innocent headlines in my morning newspaper. I want to turn off the television to which I am unhealthily glued, and I can’t. I want to shake everyone who is against gun control. I want to go and hug those parents, I want to tell them it was all a nasty nightmare. Only it wasn’t. It was real. And tonight their babies will not come home. Nothing will be the same for them. Nothing will be the same for anyone, anywhere. It won’t be the same because we are too busy writing about stupid things, doing stupider things, and building a world that is not safe for our babies, or anyone else, for that matter.

Grocery Cart Physical Therapy

I’m on a role again, and I don’t mean with my grocery cart.

grocery cart

However, I’ve noticed a new trend in the sport of shopping-cart-pushing and actually, instead of pushing, the new sport requires players to lean on the cart in such a manner that it holds them up. The aisles of my local market now look like a sort of physical therapy facility where “patients” use grocery carts instead of crutches or braces to aid their mobility. And, we’re not talking seniors; this trend has coaxed all ages and all sexes to join in.

Have you seen the movie “Wall-E?” This grocery cart trend reminds me of the humans in that movie who were sent to a space station to be saved after global devastation. There they became so fat and immobile, they required the use of high-tech, air-born sleds to move around. But …WALL_E_fat_chair

…the outcome for the Wall-E humans was positive, and very sweet. Will the outcome for the grocery-cart players be thusly so?

Texting, Driving, And Honking Horns

TextI often wonder about technology and society. I wonder what effects social networking, gaming, texting, and so on, will have on us culturally and biologically. Already it’s known that our brains are developing new pathways to accommodate these activities. In particular, lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the bourgeoning world of cell phones, and even more specifically, texting..

First, I teach at a college, and you’d think that when teaching I’d be in constant competition with the click-click of fingers texting their way to at best – infuriating their teacher, or at worst – flunking. I generally experience neither because I have respectful, professional students who take me seriously when I set some conditions the first day of class. I also have older students who are more mature.

However, what I do notice on campus are the hefty numbers of students texting away while walking between classes. I often wonder why there aren’t more concussions, scraped knees, and bruised egos from trips, falls, and cell phones soaring through the air mid-text!

One recent day while on my way home I was stopped at the main campus entrance, waiting for the light to turn. . In front of me was a another car, and when the light changed, we didn’t – as in move. I honked and looked closer. It was abundantly clear that this particular car housed a young woman who was much more interested in her lap then she was anything around her, including her car. (Wonder what she was doing…) I honked, cars moved, and everything was hunky-dorey. Wrong. Off she went in front of me (was hoping she’d turn the other way) and her car weaved all over the road as her head remained mostly bowed. I am quite sure not in prayer. Another stop light. Red turned to green. Once again, car in front did not move. Head remained bowed. HOOOOOOOONNNNNNNKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!

(People don’t honk so much anymore, have you noticed? – Could it be they are too busy texting??)

Requiem For Larry Hagman

The television show Dallas was on in the hospital room while I was laboring with my second child, and my husband and the doc were engrossed in it while I pushed, shoved, and said lots of bad things.

My daughter was born on a  Friday night, and, except for this night when I was a little distracted,  Dallas was my Friday night ritual for the astonishing 13 years  (1978-1991) it was on TV.

And who was the pivotal character in this soap of soaps, and the first on prime time? J.R. Ewing, aka Larry Hagman.

Dallas was a Baby Boomer creation, and for those fabulous 13 years, Larry was an iconic symbol of Baby Boomer life, good and bad.

Now Larry is gone, and for some reason, his passing has struck me intensely. It is the end of an era – the end of a hard-drinking, chain-smoking, wild partying time where we did all bad things to our bodies but had a hell of a time in the process.

The healthy ways came too late for you, Larry. Now it’s done. Rest in peace. You will be missed…

A Robin in the Road on Thanksgiving Day!

I am thankful.

I am thankful for this spectacularly warm and sunny day!

I am thankful that my daughter has healed.

I am thankful that my son perseveres despite a challenging business environment – J. D. – you will overcome!

I am thankful for my partner, who through his deafness has taught me to communicate in ways I never thought possible. I am thankful to have him next to me each night. I am not thankful for his snoring!

I am thankful that my “sort-of-stepson” is now finding his way.

I am thankful for friends – new and old.

I am thankful that as I sit here typing away, my cockatiels happily flap their wings and sing “Yankee Doodle” in rhythm to the clicking keys.

I am thankful for the rambunctious, never-ending joy brought to me by my three Boston Terriers who are actually asleep at my feet as I write.

I am thankful for my dear old, reliable steed, Buzzy who takes good care of me as we amble about through country fields and woods, just the two of us.

I am thankful!

Bell Phones, Cell Phones, Lock Me Up In Jail Phones

I have this “thing” about cell phones and when I came upon this article where the author discusses her “love-hate” relationship with cell phones and her disdain for the 24/7 connection thing, I had to share it.

Unless I am going out at night, or driving in winter or other bad conditions, I often “forget” or leave my cell phone at home. I am not a “texter,” and I just don’t like talking on the phone – be it land, cell, or otherwise.  My kids can’t imagine how anyone could be without their cell phone, and even my 88 year old father gets snarky when he can’t reach me – but this is a broader tale for another day.

Anyway, I go back to the times when the phone was this black thing sans dial that you picked up, pressed down on the cradle a few times until an operator came on and asked for the number you were trying to call. If you didn’t know it, no problem, who were you trying to reach? This was all a bit intimating for a 5-year-old, and soon after, the technology evolved to the rotary dials, and then you know the rest of it.

This is how I feel about it: my life belongs to me, not to a serenading, tweeting, whistling device that is with me 24/7. (Yes, my daughter even takes hers to bed with her).  When I want to speak with someone (text them – not), I will. Otherwise, I won’t.

I guess I wonder how this permanent tethering will affect us all. I think of the movie “Wall-E” where the humans talk 24/7 on video-phones with bodies that have become so atrophied they can’t even walk, all the while missing everything and anything around them.

5 Ways to Get Control Of The Information Deluge!

Way back in 1971 a very wise man wrote:  “In an information-rich world, the wealth of information means a dearth of something else, … What information consumes is rather obvious: it consumes the attention of its recipients. Hence, a wealth of information creates a poverty of attention and a need to allocate that attention efficiently among the overabundance of information sources that might consume it.”

The man who wrote this is Herbert Simon, in his article “ Designing Organizations for an Information-Rich World.” An accomplished gent, he was known as one of the founding fathers of artificial intelligence, information processing, decision-making, attention economics, and quite a few other business and information concepts that have come to change and define the world. In fact, he was awarded the Nobel Prize for economics in 1978.

He is indeed a fascinating man, but my point here is not to discuss his life. Rather, his comment above REALLY resonates with me as I wrestle with making profound and purposeful use of this information aggregate in front of me right now – the Internet.

Yes, I was be-bopping back in those classic 60s and 70s when Simon wrote, which now makes me a Prime-Time Boomer!

I purport that people of all ages and ilk face a challenge in effectively managing the myriad information we face each day.  But might those of us who lay claim to Boom-hood  and have one foot in the world of Flower Power and the other in the Garden of Digital Overload struggle even more?  Do you sometimes feel sucked dry? Or spun into a frenzy? Or completely out of control?

Here are 5 things you can do to get a handle on information, to be in control of it, not it be in control of you!

  1. Keep the focus on yourself:  A wise phrase borrowed from self-help groups, and instrumental in keeping your priorities on what matters to you, not someone else!
  2. Reflect and ponder: Forget technology. Forget social networking. Forget email. Think about the things in life that matter to you, that interest you. Get a handle on your interests, your hobbies, your LIFE!
  3. What do you want from your interests? Simply put – what is your purpose: to research? To learn how to do something? To write? To communicate with like-minded souls?
  4. “Google-it”: Of course there are other search engines, but this is the standard term used for Internet searching. Example: You are interested in learning how to make potato pancakes. Try googling “Video potato pancakes,” to see how to make them, or “Forum potato recipes” to talk with other people who want to make them, or just plain “potato pancake recipes.” Now you’ll have exactly the type of information you want about your subject.
  5. Experiment: The important thing is you’ve identified your passions and you’re beginning to make the Internet work for you instead of against you. Try some different search terms  to see what comes up in one that may not come up in another. Set up some bookmarks for sites that you really like. Subscribe to sites to get automatic updates.

At this point you have a focus on those things that interest you! You have ammunition to get the pounding information elephant off your back and into your viewfinder. Now, you have the secret to controlling information instead of having it control you.