i have not always been religious and so i understand people who aren't.
like the two employees who will be my new co-workers starting officially on monday. a couple of days ago, as i was moving stuff into what will be my new office, these two young women fell into a discussion about catholicism. neither one was aware that i am catholic. (so, give 'em some slack for that. i guess.)
i am sure that it never even dawned on these two that they might possibly be offending me. or even that i might just plain disagree with their put-downs. they chatted off-handedly about catholicism as if everyone (with half a brain, at least) would, of course, agree with their perspectives. frankly, i don't think they even thought of them as perspectives - they thought of them as truth. as no-doubt-about-it truth. as i said, it never even dawned on them that i - or anyone - might see things differently.
i think part of the reason that they just assumed that i would agree with them and that there was no way in hell i could actually be one of those despised catholics that they were talking about is because that's how far we've fallen. back in the day, we assumed that people were religious, that they did value church attendance/involvement, and that they did believe that something - some One - other than whatever you feel about life is more important than, well, whatever you feel about life.
but not anymore. nowadays, people assume the opposite. they assume you are secular, liberal, and open to anything anybody wants to do (as long as it's not religious. if it's religious.....well, then.....you've got a screw loose. or worse, you're a bigot).
i used to think like that.
(but for the grace of God.....)
the other thing is, if you spike your hair up, nobody thinks you're religious. or if you wear fashion-forward clothes. or if you're funny and loud and the life of the party. or if you write poetry.( nobody who writes poetry - especially that free verse stuff - is religious.)
people who meet abby and eli for the first time are often surprised that they wear "normal" clothes and they use hip, up-to-the-minute slang. they figure mormons are too busy having other wives to do anything hip like listen to jason mraz.
so, we make these generalizations all the time about people. we used to generalize and assume that people cared about God and now we generalize and assume they don't.
and, sadly,
now...... we're usually right.
(but happily, now......
not always.)
:)
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
memories day
i have hit that point in life where memories are as much a focal point as plans.
i spend a lot of time thinking about how it used to be.
i suppose my memory does to me what everybody's memories do to them - wash them into the blur we want them to be.
this time of year, i remember the pool. i almost remember the snack bar more than the pool. no pool would be a good pool without a good snack bar.
i remember bermuda shorts. i never looked good in bermuda shorts but i always liked them. my legs weren't long enough. they're still not long enough.
i remember the smell of "sea and ski" suntan lotion. back then, we tried to get tan. nowadays, we try to block the tan. what a crazy world this is.
i remember what a big deal it was to go to the dairy queen. we'd be in the car, driving home from having been somewhere, and i'd pray to myself silently, "please, dad, stop at the dairy queen. please, dad...." and nine out of ten times, he would. you might think that the best thing at the dairy queen is their ice cream but you'd be wrong. the best thing at the dairy queen is my dad pulling into it.
i remember getting my driver's license. i think everybody remembers getting their driver's license.
i remember thinking how it would be when i finally grew up. how i'd go to the dairy queen ten times outa ten. how i'd never buy a sensible car that gets good gas mileage.
how i'd call in sick to work just because i felt like it.
how, when the sun starts to set,
i'd be
happy.
i spend a lot of time thinking about how it used to be.
i suppose my memory does to me what everybody's memories do to them - wash them into the blur we want them to be.
this time of year, i remember the pool. i almost remember the snack bar more than the pool. no pool would be a good pool without a good snack bar.
i remember bermuda shorts. i never looked good in bermuda shorts but i always liked them. my legs weren't long enough. they're still not long enough.
i remember the smell of "sea and ski" suntan lotion. back then, we tried to get tan. nowadays, we try to block the tan. what a crazy world this is.
i remember what a big deal it was to go to the dairy queen. we'd be in the car, driving home from having been somewhere, and i'd pray to myself silently, "please, dad, stop at the dairy queen. please, dad...." and nine out of ten times, he would. you might think that the best thing at the dairy queen is their ice cream but you'd be wrong. the best thing at the dairy queen is my dad pulling into it.
i remember getting my driver's license. i think everybody remembers getting their driver's license.
i remember thinking how it would be when i finally grew up. how i'd go to the dairy queen ten times outa ten. how i'd never buy a sensible car that gets good gas mileage.
how i'd call in sick to work just because i felt like it.
how, when the sun starts to set,
i'd be
happy.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
in search of pie. (don't look in the sky.)
there's a book called american pie: slices of life (and pie) from america's back roads and it's written by a woman named something i forget and you. should. read. it.
what this woman did was, she traveled all over america in her car named "betty," in search of pie. good pie. she took nothing but back roads and stopped in teensy tiny towns where, if they don't know how to make pie here, faggedaboudit.
it's a charming story, chock-full of tidbits about the local folk, their habits, their lifestyle. their love of pie. and when i say "pie," i mean "life."
these people - and the author of the book who met them (often in very unusual ways) - knew a thing or two about "pie."
they knew that to eat it right out of the oven was a mistake. you gotta wait.
they knew that to make it with not fully ripened fruit was a mistake. wait.
they knew that no matter how good it is, it's better with a friend.
they knew that eating it out on the front porch stoop just about the time the lightning bugs started to dance was way better than eating it in, say,
the sky.
what this woman did was, she traveled all over america in her car named "betty," in search of pie. good pie. she took nothing but back roads and stopped in teensy tiny towns where, if they don't know how to make pie here, faggedaboudit.
it's a charming story, chock-full of tidbits about the local folk, their habits, their lifestyle. their love of pie. and when i say "pie," i mean "life."
these people - and the author of the book who met them (often in very unusual ways) - knew a thing or two about "pie."
they knew that to eat it right out of the oven was a mistake. you gotta wait.
they knew that to make it with not fully ripened fruit was a mistake. wait.
they knew that no matter how good it is, it's better with a friend.
they knew that eating it out on the front porch stoop just about the time the lightning bugs started to dance was way better than eating it in, say,
the sky.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
how they just do it
everyone, including me, wants to know how abby and eli manage 2 sets of multiples aged 3 and under.
beats me.
i watch them do it and i still don't know the answer to the question how.
they make it sound like it's no big deal. if you ask them how they do it, they'll shrug and vaguely toss around words like "organization." usually what they say is, "we just do."
but the thing about "we just do" is that they say it like they don't have any other choice when, in reality, they do. they could neglect these kids. or at least some of them. they could. but they choose not to. they choose to "just do it" as opposed to "just don't do it."
"just do it" is basically what Christ was trying to say. just do the other-centered thing, not the me-centered thing.
(when nike says it, they don't mean it quite the same way.)
beats me.
i watch them do it and i still don't know the answer to the question how.
they make it sound like it's no big deal. if you ask them how they do it, they'll shrug and vaguely toss around words like "organization." usually what they say is, "we just do."
but the thing about "we just do" is that they say it like they don't have any other choice when, in reality, they do. they could neglect these kids. or at least some of them. they could. but they choose not to. they choose to "just do it" as opposed to "just don't do it."
"just do it" is basically what Christ was trying to say. just do the other-centered thing, not the me-centered thing.
(when nike says it, they don't mean it quite the same way.)
Sunday, May 13, 2012
mass mess
i usually attend latin mass at my church and latin mass at my church is a throw back. women wear veils, men wear suits, and each family has 9 children.
it is easy to get lulled into thinking that the catholic church is still pre-vatican II.
yesterday, i attended 4 o'clock mass at my friend's church. believe me......the catholic church is not still pre-vatican II.
the man in front of me was wearing his "i got drunk at al's" t-shirt. his wife (partner?) had a halter top on.
top shelf kinda stuff.
the priest sat down. not just during the sit down parts - during the whole thing. couldn't be bothered, i guess.
the altar boys were, well, girls, and when you received communion, you could receive it however and wherever you wanted. totally up to you. wouldn't wanna be insensitive.
if you have ever listened to the broadcast of a catholic mass on radio, you know how lame the congregation sounds when it's their turn to speak. they sound like they have mush in their mouths - and probably not much more in their brains. contrast that to the sounds of a baptist congregation.
that said, the sounds from yesterday's congregation made the typical catholic mass on radio sound like a springsteen concert.
by the time i walked out of church yesterday, i felt like i hadn't been there at all. most of that is probably my fault......i ought to be able to summons up a good spiritual connection to the Lord regardless of what those around me are doing.
no wonder that guy got drunk at al's. probably just came from mass.
it is easy to get lulled into thinking that the catholic church is still pre-vatican II.
yesterday, i attended 4 o'clock mass at my friend's church. believe me......the catholic church is not still pre-vatican II.
the man in front of me was wearing his "i got drunk at al's" t-shirt. his wife (partner?) had a halter top on.
top shelf kinda stuff.
the priest sat down. not just during the sit down parts - during the whole thing. couldn't be bothered, i guess.
the altar boys were, well, girls, and when you received communion, you could receive it however and wherever you wanted. totally up to you. wouldn't wanna be insensitive.
if you have ever listened to the broadcast of a catholic mass on radio, you know how lame the congregation sounds when it's their turn to speak. they sound like they have mush in their mouths - and probably not much more in their brains. contrast that to the sounds of a baptist congregation.
that said, the sounds from yesterday's congregation made the typical catholic mass on radio sound like a springsteen concert.
by the time i walked out of church yesterday, i felt like i hadn't been there at all. most of that is probably my fault......i ought to be able to summons up a good spiritual connection to the Lord regardless of what those around me are doing.
no wonder that guy got drunk at al's. probably just came from mass.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
the intensity of pain
pain is a number
from 0
to 10.
the american
medical
association
says so.
pain is not
how somebody done you wrong,
it is
the number 7, for
example.
or it might be the number
8 if it's really
bad. or 9
if your tears slide down
like wine against
the
glass.
one thing's for sure -
as long as you can still type,
it's
not
a
10
from 0
to 10.
the american
medical
association
says so.
pain is not
how somebody done you wrong,
it is
the number 7, for
example.
or it might be the number
8 if it's really
bad. or 9
if your tears slide down
like wine against
the
glass.
one thing's for sure -
as long as you can still type,
it's
not
a
10
work......it's what's for dinner.
i accompanied a classroom of emotionally- and behaviorally-disturbed 5th grade boys and their teachers to a community garden yesterday and watched the miracle of what happens to your emotions and your behaviors when you work.
voila.
on monday, in this same classroom, i was cussed at, laughed at, ignored, and pushed. i had the pleasure of being flicked in the eye with broken-off pieces of pencil and i was told to "get the f outa my face." and that was within the first 5 minutes. i had been treated very similarly in my many previous visits to this class.
in the garden, i felt like royalty. (not that my goal is to feel like royalty, but when it happens, you don't argue.) :)
i was there for 2 hours and during that time, there were zero instances of "meltdowns." nobody pushed anybody. not one single kid griped or complained about a single damned thing. not one.
nobody hit. nobody cussed. they referred to me as "ms. nancy." instead of %$#^*@. which is what they usually call me.
they didn't argue. i have never once not seen these kids argue.
they didn't tease, they didn't bully.
they didn't tell their teachers to go to hell.
what they did was, they hauled bag after bag after bag of topsoil and mulch from the truck to the field. trip after trip after trip. one little guy was having trouble at first, trying to figure out how to carry the heavy bags successfully. one of the "worst kids in the class" showed him how.
for 2 hours, in the hot sun, they did this. about half-way through, somebody started to whistle. whistle! i didn't know they even made whistling anymore!
a neighbor who lives next door to the garden had been observing the boys' hard work and stopped by with a tub of cold, bottled waters. without prompting, all of the boys said, "thank you." all of them. (that's HUGE, folks.)
and so, as i stood there and observed all of this, i thought several things. one, every school in the whole wide world ought to be outside.
two, yes. the basics of life do. matter. take all the high-tech, sophisticated, worldly stuff you want, but in the end, pitching in and helping your neighbor, through good old toil and sweat, is what makes this world turn. or should.
i think they used to call it "all for one and one for all."
Lord........i couldn't really be a liberal, could i??
voila.
on monday, in this same classroom, i was cussed at, laughed at, ignored, and pushed. i had the pleasure of being flicked in the eye with broken-off pieces of pencil and i was told to "get the f outa my face." and that was within the first 5 minutes. i had been treated very similarly in my many previous visits to this class.
in the garden, i felt like royalty. (not that my goal is to feel like royalty, but when it happens, you don't argue.) :)
i was there for 2 hours and during that time, there were zero instances of "meltdowns." nobody pushed anybody. not one single kid griped or complained about a single damned thing. not one.
nobody hit. nobody cussed. they referred to me as "ms. nancy." instead of %$#^*@. which is what they usually call me.
they didn't argue. i have never once not seen these kids argue.
they didn't tease, they didn't bully.
they didn't tell their teachers to go to hell.
what they did was, they hauled bag after bag after bag of topsoil and mulch from the truck to the field. trip after trip after trip. one little guy was having trouble at first, trying to figure out how to carry the heavy bags successfully. one of the "worst kids in the class" showed him how.
for 2 hours, in the hot sun, they did this. about half-way through, somebody started to whistle. whistle! i didn't know they even made whistling anymore!
a neighbor who lives next door to the garden had been observing the boys' hard work and stopped by with a tub of cold, bottled waters. without prompting, all of the boys said, "thank you." all of them. (that's HUGE, folks.)
and so, as i stood there and observed all of this, i thought several things. one, every school in the whole wide world ought to be outside.
two, yes. the basics of life do. matter. take all the high-tech, sophisticated, worldly stuff you want, but in the end, pitching in and helping your neighbor, through good old toil and sweat, is what makes this world turn. or should.
i think they used to call it "all for one and one for all."
Lord........i couldn't really be a liberal, could i??
Thursday, May 10, 2012
the problem is........nobody says no at the right time.
the right time to say no is when, if you're the principal - or even the substitute principal - and you walk into the room and the students are calling the teacher an f-ing b and they're throwing textbooks across the room. what you say is, "NO! AB.SO.FRICK.IN.LUTE.LY. NO! AND YOU ARE IN AN UNFATHOMABLE AMOUNT OF TROUBLE FOR THE REST. OF. YOUR. GOD.-GIVEN. LIVES."
what you don't say is, "now, friends, what seems to be the problem in here? i know it's hot. i'm hot, too. this is an old building and we don't have air conditioning. i know that's hard. i'm sorry, but that's the way it is."
the wrong time to say no is when someone asks you for help and you really don't have to and you really don't want to. as in, excuse me, ohio department of taxation, could you please help me by picking up the phone and explaining to the 3 major credit bureaus that i did not owe you 17 thousand dollars for non-payment of income taxes and that you, in fact, committed a gigantic major screw-up when you said that i did and an even gianter major screw-up when you assigned a lien to my property? and that they need to adjust their credit rating on me to reflect that?
that is not the right time to say no.
you f-ing b.
the right time to say no is when, if you're the principal - or even the substitute principal - and you walk into the room and the students are calling the teacher an f-ing b and they're throwing textbooks across the room. what you say is, "NO! AB.SO.FRICK.IN.LUTE.LY. NO! AND YOU ARE IN AN UNFATHOMABLE AMOUNT OF TROUBLE FOR THE REST. OF. YOUR. GOD.-GIVEN. LIVES."
what you don't say is, "now, friends, what seems to be the problem in here? i know it's hot. i'm hot, too. this is an old building and we don't have air conditioning. i know that's hard. i'm sorry, but that's the way it is."
the wrong time to say no is when someone asks you for help and you really don't have to and you really don't want to. as in, excuse me, ohio department of taxation, could you please help me by picking up the phone and explaining to the 3 major credit bureaus that i did not owe you 17 thousand dollars for non-payment of income taxes and that you, in fact, committed a gigantic major screw-up when you said that i did and an even gianter major screw-up when you assigned a lien to my property? and that they need to adjust their credit rating on me to reflect that?
that is not the right time to say no.
you f-ing b.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
olivia's not catholic
the chain - which, by the way, is a perfectly beautiful and unique one - that i wear around my neck with a crucifix on it has broken. and olivia has noticed.
she asked me last night where my cross is. i told her it broke. she made a face with an over-achieving frown and said, "oh, gam......that's so sad," and i said, "yes, livvy, it's very sad."
and then she brightened up considerably and said, "well......just go get a new one! go to the store tomorrow and get a new one! make sure it's pink!"
and then a light bulb went off in my head......my rosary beads have pink swarovski crystals on them!
so, i got up off the couch and i went to my purse and i pulled out the tiny white leather pouch that holds my rosary beads. i handed the pouch to olivia and told her it was a big surprise. go ahead, livvy, open it.
as she pulled the long chain of beads out of the pouch, her eyes grew bigger and bigger......."gammy! you have a pink necklace!"
well, i said, it's not exactly a necklace, liv. they're called rosary beads. and i pray with them.
"huh?"
i know. it's complicated. but it's not a necklace. we can't wear it like a necklace.
"then, why does it look like a necklace?"
well.........
"i wanna put it on, gam. it's pink!"
i know it's pink, liv, but it's a very special kind of "necklace." it's the kind of necklace you don't wear. they're my rosary beads.
so, as we sat there on the couch and as olivia ran the beads through her fingers, i gave her a short lesson in catholicism.
"see this right here, liv? that's Jesus, on the cross."
"Jesus loves you, gam."
"yes, He does, liv. and He loves you, too."
big smile.
"and, see this right here? that's the Virgin Mary. she's Jesus's mommy."
"she's pink!"
"yes, liv, she's pink. and these are my rosary beads."
long, deep look into my eyes.....
"gam?"
"yes, olivia?"
"i love your rosy beans."
she asked me last night where my cross is. i told her it broke. she made a face with an over-achieving frown and said, "oh, gam......that's so sad," and i said, "yes, livvy, it's very sad."
and then she brightened up considerably and said, "well......just go get a new one! go to the store tomorrow and get a new one! make sure it's pink!"
and then a light bulb went off in my head......my rosary beads have pink swarovski crystals on them!
so, i got up off the couch and i went to my purse and i pulled out the tiny white leather pouch that holds my rosary beads. i handed the pouch to olivia and told her it was a big surprise. go ahead, livvy, open it.
as she pulled the long chain of beads out of the pouch, her eyes grew bigger and bigger......."gammy! you have a pink necklace!"
well, i said, it's not exactly a necklace, liv. they're called rosary beads. and i pray with them.
"huh?"
i know. it's complicated. but it's not a necklace. we can't wear it like a necklace.
"then, why does it look like a necklace?"
well.........
"i wanna put it on, gam. it's pink!"
i know it's pink, liv, but it's a very special kind of "necklace." it's the kind of necklace you don't wear. they're my rosary beads.
so, as we sat there on the couch and as olivia ran the beads through her fingers, i gave her a short lesson in catholicism.
"see this right here, liv? that's Jesus, on the cross."
"Jesus loves you, gam."
"yes, He does, liv. and He loves you, too."
big smile.
"and, see this right here? that's the Virgin Mary. she's Jesus's mommy."
"she's pink!"
"yes, liv, she's pink. and these are my rosary beads."
long, deep look into my eyes.....
"gam?"
"yes, olivia?"
"i love your rosy beans."
Thursday, May 3, 2012
a kitchen window sill
everyone should have a kitchen window sill over the sink. and everyone should have a pie cooling on it.
many homes don't have kitchen window sills over the sink because.....well, i don't know because why. it makes no sense to build a house without a kitchen window over the sink, but they do it all the time.
kitchen window sills or, more correctly, the absence of them, is why the world is in such a mess. if you think i'm being simplistic, just ask yourself this......have you ever entered a kitchen with a pie cooling in the window sill and everything wasn't o.k.?
of course you haven't. pshaw!
wars absolutely can.not be waged if an apple pie is sitting in the window. neither can kids playing outside fuss and fight very long once they catch a whiff of that heavenly aroma.
oh.........that's right. kids don't play outside.
another reason why the world's such a mess.
many homes don't have kitchen window sills over the sink because.....well, i don't know because why. it makes no sense to build a house without a kitchen window over the sink, but they do it all the time.
kitchen window sills or, more correctly, the absence of them, is why the world is in such a mess. if you think i'm being simplistic, just ask yourself this......have you ever entered a kitchen with a pie cooling in the window sill and everything wasn't o.k.?
of course you haven't. pshaw!
wars absolutely can.not be waged if an apple pie is sitting in the window. neither can kids playing outside fuss and fight very long once they catch a whiff of that heavenly aroma.
oh.........that's right. kids don't play outside.
another reason why the world's such a mess.
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