Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Mom and Sancha (my dog) have Dementia

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #39

I love nothing more than family and my sweet dogs.

So when I see them suffering, I hate it.

Most nights sometime between 11:00 pm and 4:00 am…

in New Mexico, my Mom wakes up wondering where she is

in Georgia, our dog Sancha wanders around, barks and barks, veterinarians call it the midnight stroll

in NM, Mom awakens, ready for pancakes.

in GA, Sancha wakes up hungry for canned food

in NM, exhausted from trying to make sense of the world, Mom takes naps during the day

in GA, exhausted from trying to make four legs work as a team, Sancha sleeps most of the day

in NM, Mom wants to go “home,” remembering so much of the past and none of today

in GA, Sancha wanders from room to room looking for a place to rest

Then the day comes, and the New Mexico sun rises over the mountains…

This is when Mom walks around the yard checking the plants and trees, always stopping to smell the roses (She’ll make sure you smell them too).

she remembers where the tomatoes are planted and drenches them in water like a baptism

she remembers that the newspaper lies somewhere between the sidewalk and the lavender plant

and where to find the Cheerios. Honey Nut. Not Plain.

she is not sure if she already ate, but knows when she’s hungry.

In Georgia, the warm day begins and…

Sancha sniffs and lingers by her favorite bushes on walks

and still rolls in the grass when her face itches.

she remembers to step a little higher when there is a curb

and rests her head on anyone’s lap next to her

All of this made me think about a recent book I read..

In A Man Called Ove, author Fredrik Backman writes,

“And time is a curious thing. Most of us only live for the time that lies right ahead of us. A few days, weeks, years. One of the most painful moments in a person’s life probably comes with the insight that an age has been reached when there is more to look back on than ahead. And when time no longer lies ahead of one, other things have to be lived for. Memories, perhaps.”

This is what I learned:

Dementia is an agonizing thing. Memories are pieced together like a crazy quilt. Each one irregular in shape and size, stitched together with needle and thread. Each scrap of material a memory of childhood or maybe yesterday. Raveling begins a little each day as stories are stolen. On the periphery of their minds, we care for them and gather the fallen pieces with fury, hoping maybe tomorrow will be better, yet it’s not. It never is. And so it goes. This life, robbed of its past and one moment to the next.

We know the time is coming for Sancha. We are there.

Thank you for joining me.

I’m so glad you’re here,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Scoot over, Judas! The Last Supper, personal space, hubris, and humility

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Throwback (HOLY) Thursday updated

Lenten Reflections #38

I often find myself rattling off the same rule reminders to my students. Some are basic “say please and thank you,” while others are more distinctive: “Shirt on please, your arms need to be inside your sleeves… no spinning on the floor…stop sucking on your shirt…walk in the hallway…” Today, I even had a kindergarten girl come into class and ask if I would please remind Michael not to use bathroom words because “earlier he kept saying P-O-O”, she spelled it out.

Other than the potty talk, most of the kid offenses were about personal space, which, when you are under eight years old, the truth is, whoever is next to you, really wants you to sit super close to them…they just don’t know it.

So tonight, I focused on the famous “Last Supper” painting I acquired from my grandmother’s home after she passed. I remember walking through her double-wide trailer, seeing those apostles all lined up and thinking, if this meant something to her, it means the world to me. I grabbed the apostle crew and a small hand mirror that flipped back and forth, revealing facial blemishes and all your pluckable eyebrow hair.

In Leonardo’s Last Supper, the first thing I noticed was the lack of personal space between the apostles. I wondered why, out of the twelve guys having dinner, none of them considered sitting on the other side of the table to get a better view of the whole water-and-wine miracle.

Of course, we know this masterpiece depicts the moments after Christ let his chummy crew KNOW-HE-KNEW that one of his disciples would betray him before sunrise. When you look closely, that darn Judas looked nervous, yet not an ounce of humility lingered in his soul.

I thought…maybe Judas was weak…or felt he didn’t belong…or didn’t have a space.

Do you ever question your space in the world?

I do. In fact, sometimes Judas and that nasty Satan sneak into my brain, and I focus way too much on my jiggly inner thighs and not enough on the homeless. Or care too much about my future and not enough about a refugee’s tomorrow.

What I learned (2026):

Be humble.

“Wash the feet” of others – bring them water, listen to their needs, and bolster them up in their despair.

Shush hubris.

Stop it in its tracks. Shakespeare’s Macbeth was based on hubris, the complete collapse of a prideful man from a position of supremacy to humility. Pride is a fatal flaw.

It’s not about us.

Why is it so hard to ignore the mirror in front of you and look into the eyes of those around you?

“The greatest among you must be your servant. Whoever exalts himself will be humbled; but whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”

Matthew 23:11–12

Thanks for joining me.

I’m so glad you’re here,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Passover, Seder, and Frogs?

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #37

“I am FULL Jewish,” said Josie, a bright, six-year-old who is more faith-driven than most grown adults.

She asked if she could share a little about Passover with the class.

She sat straight up and began, “Today is the first day of Passover. It represents God leading his people out of Egypt. It’s called Passover because the angel of death passed over. Back then, they used to have a lamb leg; it was a lamb that you had to love for a lot of days, but then you had to kill it, eat it, and then put its blood on your doorpost, or else the firstborn would die. And um…this person, I forgot his name, but this person who used to live in Egypt, killed someone, then he ran away. God came through a burning bush, and the bush was all fine. He told Joseph to lead his people there.”

Josie continued, “We’re also going to do something really fun with frogs!”

Class was ending, so we missed the story of the frogs, but intrigued, I did a little research on the amphibian and how it fit into Josie’s Passover explanation.

Biblically speaking, frogs were the second of 10 divine plagues unleashed upon Egypt when the Pharaoh refused to free the Hebrews from slavery. Throughout history, the frog symbolizes the liberation struggle—the very liberation Jews celebrate on Passover.

God told Moses, “Behold, I hear the cry of the children of Israel. I have surely remembered you and seen what is done to you. And now I will put forth my hand and smite Egypt with signs and with wonders. Go tell Pharaoh, Let My people go!”Moses told Pharaoh, “Let My people go!” But Pharaoh said no. So God sent ten awful plagues to punish the Egyptians and to teach Pharaoh that only God is God.

After turning the water in all of Egypt’s rivers, streams, and ponds into blood, God said, “Let My people go!” That’s when the frogs hopped into the kitchen ovens where bread is baked. Then God sends gnats, flies, locusts, darkness, and finally the killing of the firstborn, as young Josie mentioned. Finally, Pharaoh freed them from slavery. (Our Beautiful Passover Seder Table and Frogs)

Josie went on to say she’s super lucky because she will be the child to ask the four questions at the Passover Seder meal. A true honor.

Here they are:

How is this night different from all other nights?

On all other nights, we eat chametz (leavened foods) and matzah. Why on this night, only matzah?

On all other nights, we eat all vegetables. Why, on this night, maror (bitter herbs)?

On all other nights, we don’t dip even once. Why on this night do we dip twice?

She told us the story beautifully, now she just has to memorize the questions in Hebrew! If any six-year-old can do it, it’s Josie.

What I learned:

Jewish children are immersed in their religion, culture, and education. The Seder is a prime example of a time when they are encouraged to ask questions, think critically, and explore their beliefs. The pride Josie has for who she is and where she came from is remarkable. What a gift.

Thanks for joining me.

I’m so glad you’re here,

🙂 Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Listen to their stories: Dad’s Shoe Shine Business 15¢

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #36

“What color is this?” my 90-year-old Dad asked, sitting on the edge of a plastic chair, pulling out a round, black tin with the words “KIWI” written across the top.

“Black,” I said. He placed it carefully in the box and pulled out another

“This one?”

“Black.”

“This one?”

“Black.”

“Dad gummit! I need brown. I can’t see these.” Dad’s macular degeneration is causing a slow decline of his vision. “The doctor said I’d lose 75% of my vision. But that’s okay. We can do this.” He said it like we were all looking through his eyes, only seeing the small disk of polish with blurry words on top.

I reached into the old shoe-shine kit, outfitted with a horsehair brush, several circular tins of polish, and a neatly folded rag.

“Here, Dad. I know this is brown. I remember getting it at a yard sale for you.”

He chuckled and smiled. “A yard sale.” He echoed my words and sounded like he was remembering an old friend.

Dad loves yard sales, going to them, holding them, talking about them. When Mom and Dad were younger, they would hit up the “Free piles” at sales. Broken chairs, old trunks, tables, and unfinished quilts were saved and given new lives. Together, they would repair, upholster, stain, paint, stitch, and clean each item, readying them for their new owners. Then every summer we would have a family yard sale. He loved visiting and bargaining with people, sometimes being jokey and saying things like, “$4.00? That’s way to much to pay us, how about $2?”

Dad reached in the dark, stained wooden shoe shine box, and pulled out a small bottle of liquid shoe shine.

“What color?” He asked.

“Black. Would you like me to do the soles?”

“Sure.” He said. He sighed, rubbing the polish on the brown leather shoes. “When I shined shoes in Barrelas (his childhood neighborhood), I charged 15¢. Yup, 15¢ and a few times customers gave me a quarter, and for change, I didn’t have change!”

“Well, what did you do?” I asked.

“I ran!!” Then I’d hear, “I’m going to tell your dad!” The words trailing off in the distance.

Dad squeezed and globbed the brown liquid on the shoes and it dripped on the patio floor. “How does it look?”

“Like new!” I said. pulling the red, vintage brush from the box and buffing one shoe at a time.

“I used to love polishing my shoes. Still do actually.”

What I Learned:

Listen to their stories. Objects jog our memories, and stories hold us all together. Remember to take pride in your shoes and keep them shiny.

Thanks for joining me.

I’m so glad you’re here,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

“He does not listen to the prayers of those who wage war…” – Pope Leo

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #35 – Holy Week

Let’s start this Holy Week with the words of our dear Pope Leo:

“This is our God: Jesus, King of Peace, who rejects war, whom no one can use to justify war. He does not listen to the prayers of those who wage war, but rejects them, saying: “Even though you make many prayers, I will not listen: your hands are full of blood” (Is 1:15).

In his homily on Sunday, Pope Leo referenced a Bible passage in which Jesus, about to be arrested ahead of his crucifixion, rebuked one of his followers for striking the ⁠person arresting ​him with a sword.

“(Jesus) did not arm himself, or ​defend himself, or fight any war,” Leo said. “He revealed the gentle face of God, who always rejects violence. Rather than saving ​himself, he allowed himself to be nailed to the cross.”

What I learned:

These are the words of our Pope. He’s got connections. He’s smart. Listen to him. Steer towards peace. Keep hope and joy alive through prayer for all of those boots that should not be on the ground.

Here is a Prayer for Peace by Pope Francis:

Lord God of peace, hear our prayer!

We have tried so many times and over so many years to resolve our conflicts by our own powers and by the force of our arms. How many moments of hostility and darkness have we experienced; how much blood has been shed; how many lives have been shattered; how many hopes have been buried… But our efforts have been in vain.

Now, Lord, come to our aid! Grant us peace, teach us peace; guide our steps in the way of peace. Open our eyes and our hearts, and give us the courage to say: “Never again war!”; “With war everything is lost”. Instill in our hearts the courage to take concrete steps to achieve peace.

Lord, God of Abraham, God of the Prophets, God of Love, you created us and you call us to live as brothers and sisters. Give us the strength daily to be instruments of peace; enable us to see everyone who crosses our path as our brother or sister. Make us sensitive to the plea of our citizens who entreat us to turn our weapons of war into implements of peace, our trepidation into confident trust, and our quarreling into forgiveness.

Keep alive within us the flame of hope, so that with patience and perseverance we may opt for dialogue and reconciliation. In this way may peace triumph at last, and may the words “division”, “hatred” and “war” be banished from the heart of every man and woman. Lord, defuse the violence of our tongues and our hands. Renew our hearts and minds, so that the word which always brings us together will be “brother”, and our way of life will always be that of: Shalom, Peace, Salaam!

Amen.

Thanks for joining me.

I’m so glad you’re here,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Lessons from Mom and Dad

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #34

As I spend time with my parents, I have tried to focus on what they can do, can remember, and can impart.

So, I’ve jotted a few simple, timeless lessons:

Mom: Feed the birds.

Dad: After everyone puts their dishes in the dishwasher, rearrange them because they did it wrong.

Mom: Always wear an apron when cooking.

Dad: Keep moving, there is always something to do.

Mom: No laundry on Sunday.

Dad: Make sure you have enough wood for the winter.

Mom: Make photo albums.

Dad: Call friends to check on them, before they are in the obit section of the paper.

Mom: Fold sheets as you take them off the clothesline.

Dad: Clean and put your tools away after every use.

Mom: Get an education…no one can take it away from you.

Dad: Fix things yourself, at least try.

Mom: Arrive early to church.

Dad: Start shaving when it’s time to leave for church.

Mom: Talk to your plants, they’ll listen.

Dad: Throw seeds anywhere; if they want to grow, they will.

What I learned:

Change is inevitable.

Each time I come to see Mom and Dad, they wake up a little later, move a little slower, and forget a little more. But there are those moments when I feel like Mom knows I’m her youngest daughter and just maybe remembers all of the piano lessons she drove me to, the tortillas we made together, or the nights she stayed up helping me type school papers.

Then there were the yards of fabric we cut to make dresses with ruffles, duffle bags with multiple zippers, terry cloth shorts with edging, and blouses with horrifying button holes.

Maybe they both remember galavanting around Mexico City, or visiting me in DC when I thought I was cool and business-like, or walking me down the aisle and helping me figure out how to be a mom. “Babies need a schedule,” Mom said. So I wrote it all down, timed naps and meals, and couldn’t imagine not having a system.

As always, I’ll hold on to the lessons and the moments with them forever.

Thanks for joining me.

I’m so glad you’re here,

🙂 Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Security Lines

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #33

Yesterday morning, I arrived at Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson Airport at 3:15. The security lines were already hundreds deep. People were tired. Airport employees were tired.

A small man with a walkie-talkie and a smile was in charge of my section of the line. He shuffled us through. “Ten people can go to the next section.” He said. We walked forward and waited. Given the four to six-hour wait times people experienced over the last week, the kind woman behind me and I immediately made a pact that if either of us needed the bathroom, we would hold each other’s place.

The airport employees were calm, patient, and unwavered by the complaints of the angry passengers trying to scoot to the front of a line, “I’m sorry, the end of the line is this way, sir. Not here.” And they were honest with the panicking passengers. “I’m sorry, I can’t help with changing your flight.”

Like a grocery line in Kroger, my bathroom buddy and I repeatedly noticed how we chose the wrong line as we watched the people who arrived with us move forward quickly, and we split off again.

Here’s what I noticed during my three-hour wait:

Stories were shared: Conversationally, I start on second base with most people anyway, so finding connections with the people around me was quick.

People commiserated: the shared experience of being in one place with little control over their situation was humbling.

Kids stayed home: parents were smart.

Books were read: When will we ever get three hours to just read?

Empathy for the TSA agents not getting paid was present: I heard several people say things like: “I couldn’t imagine coming to work and not getting paid.” Or, “How frustrating to stand by a person (ICE agent) who IS getting paid and they are not.”

Stress and overheating: Two people passed out – they were okay.

There was self-medicating:

Dogs make everything better: I sat on the plane with a veteran with a service dog. The sweet eyes and soft ears made my day 100% better.

What I learned:

One man should not control people’s lives.

I’ve heard “This too will pass.” But when? How many wars? How many lost jobs? And lives?

So, I pray. And pray and then say one more prayer. Then I thank God for dogs. They are the only logical ones left.

Thanks for joining me,

I’m so glad you’re here.

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Why you should choose the middle seat on the plane…

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Throwback Thursday: Originally posted March 11, 2022

Lenten Reflections #32

16E – I recently bought a plane ticket, and when choosing my seat I was reminded the aisle and window seats cost more. Coming from a long line of thriftiness, I chose the middle seat. No extra fee. 

I slipped into my spot on the Delta flight and began observing the characters of the day. The gentleman in the aisle seat next to me (16D) who had quick access to the lavatory was dressed in denim and had a novel stuffed in the seat pocket in front of him. If our intellectual abilities were judged by the girth of the books we read, this guy would be in the genius realm. Personally, I’m still working on finishing this month’s 1/8 inch thick Reader’s Digest.

To the right was my window neighbor (16F) who noticed my inability to juggle coffee, a bag of tortillas, and a backpack, and asked if I would like to use his tray table to place my coffee. Kindness in action. I thanked him. Turns out he is one of the marvels in the world that can fall asleep as soon as the plane engines roar. His head flopped down then shot up several times the way it does when we ask our bodies to sleep vertically. In a matter of minutes, he settled into a deep slumber.

Once we bounced through the mountains and up to cruising altitude, I began writing. I noticed the aisle guy had a nasty cut on his hand, so I rifled through my wallet for a Bandaid (dad said always carry one in your wallet) and offered it to him. He thanked me and as he peeled the plastic pieces off each side of the adhesive, he told me he works with stone which causes a lot of small lesions. I closed my computer and seized the opportunity to tap into his story.

The Sculptor

En route from Santa Fe to Atlanta, New York, and finally Italy, he told me of his life as a sculptor. After high school, he spent time in Ohio, Berkely, then lived in Carrara, Italy where he learned to speak Italian.

He told me he carves mellifluous (smooth and soothing – I had to look it up) musical compositions into hard stone finding the balance and tensions of negative and positive space as he chisels away. He recently finished a piece that started out as 5,000 pounds of stone and after carving and creating ended in 1,500 pounds of beauty. It took him three months, 5-6 hours per day. He then chooses one of his galleries to place it in to sell and hopes someone who understands and appreciates his work will purchase it.

He has his art in studios from San Francisco to Aspen and quarries most of his stone in Italy. He then ships thousands of pounds of stone to his studio in Santa Fe and completes the work at his studio.

Tell me more

We talked about unnecessary stress when working as an artist and parent, current events in Ukraine, happy childhood moments with siblings, and difficult times we’d rather forget.

I told him about my kids and each of their talents. I mentioned my son with the 3-D mind as noted by an engineering professor. “You either have it or you don’t. Your son does.” I asked how he knew he wanted to sculpt. He said he was like my son. One day his dad pulled him aside when he was young and said, “You have a 3-D mind and you will not be happy if you don’t do something with your hands when you grow up. Don’t tell your mother I told you.”

It was a pleasure sitting with my new friend, hands covered in sculpting scars and the soft, gruff voice of a well-read artist. As we parted ways under the bright lights of gate B27 inside the terminal, I wished him a nice journey in Spanish and he responded with the same in Italian.

I teetered off toward baggage claim balancing a duffle bag, backpack, and the same bag of tortillas. I then heard my kind window neighbor (16F) ask if he could help me carry my things to baggage claim. I declined, thanking him again for his compassion, and headed straight to the restroom. I love the middle seat, I do, but it is way too far from the bathroom.

Why choose the middle seat? Save money, gain two new friends.

Please pray for Ukraine.

Thank you for joining me.

I’m so glad you’re here,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Santa and God go fishing

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #31

I was walking with bright eyed, Claire today, golden curls falling in her face, cheeks flush from playing outside. We passed by the garden and she picked anything green and gave it a trial taste. “Mmm, mint!” She shrieked. We then both tried a very bitter lettuce and and immediately spit it out, moving on. She ripped a few of the chicory-type lettuce into small pieces and carefully placed them inside the “bowl” of a bright red tulip. It looked like a pricey salad at a steakhouse served inside the delicate petals.

Looking very satisfied with her garden art, she exhaled and said, “Pretty”.

As we walked back to the playground, she passed a small white painted rock with pink swirls on top amid the tulips. “I really like this rock.” She said cradling it like a small kitten. “It’s so pretty”.

“It sure is.” I said hastily trying to keep her moving to our destination.

“Time to go” I said.

“One sec.” she said. I really want this rock.”

“Well…” I told her someone placed it in that special spot and would be back looking for it. “And just in case, we should leave it right where it was.”

With a lot of hesitation, she tiptoed back and she set it in the soil.

Not even five steps away from that small stone and she stopped abruptly.

“Wait!” She looked at me and then up at the sky.

“Señora Lucretia! It was God!”

She quickly walked back to the rock like a long-time friend, picked it up and said,

“God sent this rock down for me and my sister to share! I HAVE to take this rock! It’s the sister rock!!!!”

“God?” I questioned.

“Oh ya, it was God. He wants us to have it. The Claire sisters.”

I jumped in…

“Well, it was probably God, that sent it, but maybe we should leave it here and check on it tomorrow.”

She turned around, rock in hand, and gave it a toss back into the tulip patch.

She walked a little further, running her hand over a patch of reeds.

“Señora, it wasn’t God.” She confessed.

I nodded. “Not God?”

“It was Santa. He left the rock.”

“Santa?”

Riveted, I asked if they knew each other, these two rock delivery guys…God and Santa.

“Yes! God and Santa DO know each other!” She was out of breath from the utter excitement of talking about God and Santa at the same time…something reserved exclusively for December.

“They like to pick leaves together.” She said.

She went on, “But they really like to go fishing together.”

“That sounds nice.” I said.

Our walk continued and we eventually made it to the playground, which to imaginative, joyful and creative minds like Claires, isn’t just a playground, it is a palette for pure magic.

What I learned:

Walk with anyone under five. At their pace. Look high, look low, look outside and most importantly, look inside your heart and listen to their magical words.

Thanks for joining me.

I’m so glad you’re here,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Like Thomas, I doubt

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

There’s a moment every week at church when I doubt the whole thing. I mean all of it. I’m right there in front of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, thinking my doubty thoughts and trying to make sense of it. Eve eating that darn apple, the massive fish swallowing Jonah, seas parting, and the all-you-can-eat buffet of loaves and fishes. I look up at Mary, kneel, and pray for my life here that I know, this is real. On the long escalators moving slowly toward Heaven and Hell, I see myself terrified, and unsure, like when I get on I-75…the unknowing wonder of traffic or delays or rerouting.

I say all of this a little worried God is taking notes, writing my name on a chart under the heading DOUBTERS: my name sitting under Thomas’.

Then I hope and see things like dandelions peeking through sidewalk cracks, cranes landing on their little skinny legs, or hundreds of bees pollinating an apricot tree. Or I hear Vivaldi’s Four Seasons playing and the hysterical laughter of kids after one of them says, “Orange you glad I didn’t say banana”?

This is me “Seeking the Lord”. This is my evidence that God IS everywhere, in goodness, and service, and in beauty, laughter, and love. Maybe God is like butterflies in springtime, flitting gently by…grateful for flowers and generous with joy.

This past week at church…

I stared at the altar, questioning again, but perhaps worried and scared of dying someday more than anything else. As I looked at the cloth draped over that altar, I pictured an elderly mom like mine ironing it, her own service to God.

The Chalice shone as Father Paul lifted it way above his head like he was stretching his arms before a swim. He held his gaze as if waiting for God to blink. Then I saw it. The joy in his face. It was as if he were the luckiest guy to be able to pray and preach and perform this merciful mystery every day with us.

I know he truly believes it because one day, when talking about the Sacraments at Mass, he said, “See, I can’t get married and have kids, but you guys can’t become priests.” The congregation let out an audible chuckle, and he said it again, “No, I’m serious”. Silence fell. I stood in awe and thought, yup, this guy is right where he needs to be, my doubts declined.

What I learned

I think we all doubt. Maybe only on our worst days, when we’ve told our Mom with Dementia “Today is Saturday” 389 times, or feel like a terrible mom because you said too much, or didn’t stop scrolling to listen. Or you wonder if you should call the vet because she’s old, and even though she wags, barks, and eats, life is dwindling inside her.

Then I hope. I hope it’s all there. Heaven. I hope there are great trails to run on and warm brownies at the finish line. I hope we all know each other and make time for coffee. I hope, I hope, I hope.

Thanks for joining me.

I’m so glad you’re here,

Lucretia