My oldest son is a good speller. Many might even say, “a great speller.” As the woman who bore him, I put him squarely in the “great speller” camp. Heck, I’d even classify him as:
Last winter, he took part in the Denver Archdiocesan spelling bee for 4th and 5th graders. He was in the 4th grade and had never been in a contest in his life. (Unless you count the times he and his brother and sister test their skills to see who can make the loudest armpit farts. And these challenges never result in a clear winner—their fit of giggles and my shock and horror put the legitimacy of the judging into serious question.) Continue reading “Bees & Beads”
Are not five sparrows sold for two small coins? Yet not one of them has escaped the notice of God. Even the hairs of your head have all been counted. Do not be afraid. You are worth more than many sparrows. (Luke 12; 6-7)
Recently, my husband and I officially changed parishes. We had been on the books at a very large church, which someone informed me was so large it actually classified as a mega-church. Several years back, we signed our kids up for the school and once we registered as parishioners, I set to the business of trying to make connections and build community.
My faith history as a post-Vatican II baby, growing up in the 70’s and 80’s groomed me to have extremely low expectations from my neighborhood parish. As a kid, it was the place we went to celebrate mass. The word celebrate here is even a stretch as there was never much exuberance at all. But we went to mass. And that was literally it. Not even a donut Sunday in sight. I say this with certainty because I remember there was no actual place to gather- short of a very cold, (this was Cleveland after all) impersonal hallway that led to the sanctuary. There was no narthex. (Even the term narthex is fairly new to me, a cradle catholic of 46 years!) There was a nice school gym on the other side of the parking lot, but it must have been in full bingo swing, and unavailable to parishioners who indulged in fried fats rather than gambling and smoking. I understood that our church was a stop that was necessary. Once the obligation was checked off though, you were expected to bug off, preferably in an orderly, polite fashion, a goal not often achieved. Hello church parking lot road rage! Continue reading “To Be Known”
I bought the very last thing on my three kids’ exhaustive list of school supplies. I feel like it should end in a day of feasting and celebration. This year, it just happened to coincide with the Feast of the Assumption, so our parish ice cream social after mass served a dual purpose. “Yay” for Mary’s triumphant heavenly entrance and “yay” (with a little y) for me finishing this seemingly endless task. Each year, the last months of summer become a crazy odyssey through various office supply and big box stores trying to narrow down just the right plastic-covered, teal, college-ruled stenographer-style notebook, with medium grade weight paper, designed by multi-cultural children of Eastern African countries. Huh? Okay at the end I digressed into a bit of hyperbole. But you get the drift here. It got me to thinking about all this effort we expend on this “necessary” list of school “essentials.” As Catholics what’s the real essential list? What do our kids truly need as we send them out into the world, whether the public-school system or parochial? Have we equipped our kids with the real essentials? Here’s my list for my kids. I hope it will be a help to you. Continue reading “Top 5 Must-Have School Supplies for any Catholic Kid”
Another high-profile Hollywood marriage has ended and I have to admit I am disappointed and even a bit saddened by the news. Anna Faris and Chris Pratt, two seemingly likable, even dare I say, humble celebrity “hotties” have unfortunately called it quits. I say unfortunately because over the last eight years I’ve found myself undeniably enchanted by their goofy, lovey-dovey antics on the red carpets of tinsel town. One might even call their out-in-the-open flirting and chemistry swoon-worthy—as they could probably draw sighs from even the most jaded of souls. I have pored over media accounts of their fairytale-like romance with the same intensity as a zoologist who marvels and delights in the birth of an albino gorilla. (Look it up. They exist and are so dang cute.) For as long as I can remember, I have been hooked by the breathtaking love affairs portrayed in the bright lights of the entertainment industry. As wary as I am of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt’s politics, I was bummed out by the couple’s demise. What went wrong? In fact, I scoured countless “reputable” media outlets trying to extract a hint at what caused their shocking split. It’s embarrassing to admit how much time I pored over articles about Ben Affleck’s affair with the nanny. Why, Ben? Why? And more importantly, why is a celebrity marriage that survives more than 5 years the stuff of unicorns, mermaids, and leprechauns? Continue reading “Of Hollywood Unicorns & the Sanctity of Marriage”
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 … Continue reading “I’m dipping my foot into the pool…”
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.