How many times in our lives have we been in a social situation where the person with whom we’re conversing over dinner or lunch has something green stuck in their teeth? There comes a point when you no longer actually hear what they are saying and you become fixated with that hideous thing lodged unceremoniously between their incisor and first molar. In those situations, my brain usually begins to race… how do I let them know? Where do I even look? Do I make a discreet hand gesture, pointing to the afflicted area? Do I just casually say, “Um, there’s something in your teeth?” Or do I just do my non-confrontational best to ignore it, mentally willing the troubling piece of food to make a quick exit without anyone being the wiser? And what about when there is a another person at the table who is also in-the-know? They see the green speck as plain as a spinach salad, and yet they’re not saying anything. They’re going along with it… Continue reading “Do I have something in my teeth?”
I remember my mother’s eyes. They were clear, light blue, deep-set with a faint perimeter of feathery skin that crinkled when she smiled. Those calm, translucent eyes managed to communicate so much. But her childhood snapshots were incongruent somehow. As a child myself, paging through tattered, old-fashioned, black paper photo albums, her youthful eyes seemed slanted and squinty, only faintly reminiscent of the woman I knew. I actually felt a little pity for my homely, little mommy. Her face must have needed to grow in order to accommodate such complex and interesting eyes. As she aged, the skin around the eyes became more delicate, thinner and fainter, giving her penetrating eyes a whitish, oval frame. Now, when I look back at photos of her during her mothering years, I see so much light emanating from her face. I’ve heard it said those who are filled with goodness sometimes seem as if they are shrouded in light. Her goodness radiated from the eyes. Continue reading “My Mother’s Eyes”
I’m still grappling with the heartbreaking news that little Charlie Gard was removed from life support and died while his grieving parents kept vigil. It was a couple weeks ago that I first saw a headline about the gravely ill British baby. My breath caught as I read the caption, “Court rules. No hope for Charlie Gard.” As I read on, the compelling story reached out and grabbed me by the windpipe. My son’s name is Charlie Gerd. Gard-Gerd. Separated by a measly vowel, a mere letter. And yet these Charlie’s are more than worlds apart. Continue reading “The Difference of a Vowel”
How do I know God is a gentleman? He proved it a couple years ago. I am reminded of it every time I’m irked for not getting the proper credit for a selfless act… during my Mother Teresa-like life of service. This is where I would add one of those annoying wink emoji’s. Those of you who know me right now are rolling your eyes and settling in for a good yarn to be spun. I promise I won’t disappoint. Continue reading “God is a Gentleman”
For the last decade or so, as social media has rapidly taken over our entire culture, I have warily ignored it. I am not a Luddite, (a great scrabble word BTW) someone who longs for rotary phones or landlines per say, but the idea of every “sheeple” with a pulse sharing each an every intimate and or mundane excerpt of their life makes me seriously queasy.
I tried Facebook. I don’t like it. In fact, when it first became part of common parlance, I would wince each time someone mentioned it, remembering that actual, paperback facebook from my freshman year in college that displayed everyone’s awkward senior picture. Perms and braces abound. It included a brief, personal description of each student’s background and hobbies. For example, “I grew up in Cleveland and enjoy watching college basketball with my dad.” Unbeknownst to me while I was answering the dizzying array of random questions on the new student forms, this Facebook was published for the whole university to peruse. Some random sophomore stalker at the student union could, at a glance, learn that I was a big Jane Austen fan who had a cat named Scooter. Ick. Not that I had a regular problem with stalkers due to aforementioned perm and braces, but I’m just sayin’. As an upperclassman, I remember hearing the guys looking forward to the new facebook with lustful delight. Double ick.
So I resisted- for a long time. But I like to write. And since my Catholic faith has been reawakened, I’m on fire and I really enjoy describing my newfound zeal, as well as my regular setbacks along the way. For the last couple of years, I’ve emailed a small, select number of my fans- ahem, three people to be exact, one of whom is my own husband. While I have gotten a lot out of my system, I’ve started to wonder if there are a few more out there that might find comfort or even humor in my own personal, “intimate and or mundane” musings. That’s how this blog was born. I’ve decided to dip my foot into the pool along with the rest of the “sheeple” with a pulse. Expect a post on humility in short order.