40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 14

Throwback Thursday! This is a post about our sweet dogs and how the minds of our four-legged family members find joy in every walk, every meal, every hello.

My plan was to walk our dogs this morning…

but Lola, our fluffy, tailless Border Collie, yanked me and Sancha (lab/golden mix) through the neighborhood instead. Her tugging seemed to say, “Come on! We’re missing all the good stuff!” So just like obedient sheep, we followed along as she plowed through the world nose up, eyes straight ahead, one ear forward the other pointing at me like a periscope.

Poor Lola. I feel the life of a suburban Border Collie is mentally more labor-intensive than a farm dog. There are no sheep or livestock to organize, no big fields to hunt and explore, and barely one unamused squirrel in our backyard.

Basically, Lola is left to plan her whole day like the rest of us. Dog breeders will swear you have to exercise them at least 37 times a day or they will get bored and expend their energy otherwise. Oh, it’s true, I feel guilty as heck when I come home to a scene from The Killing Fields with stuffed animals strewn about and plastic noses and eyes carefully dislodged from their stuffed owners.

But Lola, much like our kids, came without assembly and upkeep instructions. She was rescued from inside a screened porch somewhere in North Georgia, surrounded by her own poop and no food or water. In retrospect, we often wonder if Lola was a little bummed when driven away from all that land. For all we know, she could have built the porch herself and was just drawing up the bathroom plans. She’s THAT smart.

Bottom line. I hope our children channel their inner Lola in life.

Lola is a worker and a leader.

Give her a washcloth and she’ll wipe the face of Facebook clean again. Pass her a laptop and she’ll have a business reorganized and gleaming with success. Lola would be a blur on the corporate ladder as she escalated to the top while others envied her drive, agility, and vertical leap. She efficiently pees on all the spots necessary to make her way through life.

Border Collies like Lola, are smart and driven – a good breed. She has just the right amount of affection with a smidge of jealousy woven in her fluffy coat.

If Lola had her own flock, here’s how she would lead.

LOLA’S TOP 8 LEADERSHIP TIPS:

1. Leave your mark:

Pee several times throughout your life and all over the place. Just always remember where you’re food is and eat fast.

2. Take a stand:

Showing you believe in something is like pooping, do it when and where you need to…holding it in will just lead to bad feelings (especially if you ate a sock).

3. Listen and observe:

Always be ready to change directions. Lead your herd wisely.

4. Keep your paws clean:

Be honest and wipe your feet even if you have plans to go out again.

5. Wag your tail:

Exude positivity and wag like mad, even if you only have a stub of a tail.

6. Use your speed and strength:

No matter the setting, be the hardest worker in the room.

7. Beware of shiny objects:

Don’t let your sheep go astray, stay focused and on point.

8. REST on top of tables (or whatever works for you):

Stop and look at life from other perspectives. Truly, things are clearer from above – said, God and Lola.

Lola is a sweet girl. She and Sancha make every day better. But in a pinch, if you need a CEO, look for the Lola’s of the world. If you’re in need of a social worker-type, Sancha is your gal. She’s your lifer, she’ll stay with the company and be faithful for years. On walks, she pees for a long time in one place ONLY…much like the small town plumber in a Hallmark movie that is happy living in the same place for life.

Like people, every dog is different. But unlike some people, dogs love unconditionally, are forgiving, and ever-loyal. Let’s learn from them.

As Anne Lamott said, “Having a good dog is the closest some of us are ever going to come to knowing the direct love of a mother or God.”

Let them lead you home like Lola, comfort you like Sancha andalways “stick” together.

Pray for Ukraine.

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 13

So Jane my daily visitor came by herself this morning to say good morning. I have to admit it brought tears to my eyes when I received her hug. Maybe I’m just old, sensitive, and/or tired, but it was endearing.

“Flying solo today Jane?” I quickly rephrased for someone under ten years old, “By yourself today?”

“Yes I am!” she responded confidently, a smile hanging on her words. Her hug was strong, intentional, and true.

“Bye!”

Off she skipped to the next stop with her bottomless backpack overflowing with love.

99% of the time I dig too deep and overanalyze. Turning moments, events, and even glances inside out, like a cat squirming to find a comfortable spot.

This time it’s warranted. Jane’s spirit is what I pray all young children are able to discover in themselves. Their ability to be confident, caring, warm, and wise.

This is a young girl who was not told to go out and seek tired adults in the mornings and deliver hugs, nor was she taught to wait in the hallway until you arrive to ensure you got a glimpse of her big toothless smile. Jane is innately loving. (But I’m willing to bet her parents are pretty amazing like her).

I read somewhere that the “Duchenne smile” (named for a french physician who pioneered modern neurology) is an expression that signals true enjoyment. Basically, the muscles of the corners of your mouth lift your cheeks and crinkle your eyes at the corners making for a sincere, trustworthy grin. That’s Jane’s smile.

She makes every day better for so many.

Find your Jane smile and share it, maybe throw in a hug. Trust me. It’s worth it.

Pray for Ukraine.

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 12

As our nest empties from five to four, my mind fills 
With worries, wonders, wishes
Success is prevalent around me
20-somethings finding their niche
a start-up here a podcast there
50-somethings searching for new fires to forge
searching and searching
What will happen when the school bus doesn't pass and 
the tennis matches end?
When there is no one to take the forgotten trumpet to 
or pick up after practice?  
When the garage door closes only twice a day?
When five goes to four and then three?
No need for a chair at the end of the booth or the long side of the pew 
When the house falls silent, what then?
New careers? 
Travel? 
Retirement? 
A mother never retires

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 11

There’s something about Mary that brings my life spiritual solace…so every Monday during Lent I will honor the Marys in my life.

In my neighborhood growing up, we had fences. Long chainlink fences. The zigging and zagging of galvanized steel served as windows into our neighbors’ yards. I recall sitting in the dirt driveway playing with a neighborhood cat by the fence, watching my sister reach through the wiry diamond shapes and trade toys with Daniel next door. Whatever toy came through was new to us, and ours to them…turns out bartering was economical and very convenient.

Land was valuable to each family, and our fences were territorial. On the east side, (my parents always use cardinal directions) was “Mary-next-door”. Mary was Mom’s partner in crime. They were two stay-at-home moms raising nine kids combined and always had each other’s backs. They shared recipes, commiserated about crying kids, babysat when doctor’s appointments appeared on the calendar, and prepped our station wagons for weekend trips. One morning, back in the ’60s, Mary called mom crying. Her newborn was unresponsive in the crib. Mom ran outside, the screen slapping hard, soared through the gate and went straight in to help Mary. All she could do was console her. He was gone. SIDS or Sudden Infant Death Syndrome happened instantaneously, inexplicably, and sometimes happened right next door. It is times like these when friends step in and help unveil the doubt and anger enveloping your heart, bring you water, and pray with you.

I think of Mary often. Her big hearty laugh and Herculean voice carried through the church, over the fence, and across our green octagonal poker table every Saturday night. (Mom made the table at an upholstery class)

As the youngest of the nine kids between the two families, I was told Mary was going to babysit me one day. Everyone had something to do, so off I went.

I remember marveling at the fact that Mary’s TV worked DURING THE DAY! Right there on the screen was Bob Barker on “The Price is Right”. I had never seen the show and was fascinated by the guessing and luck involved. Mary laughed when I told her this as she pushed the carpet sweeper across the floor. What a great TV, ours was NOTHING like it.

Thanks to Mary for unforgettable family memories.

Please pray for Ukraine.

A handful of families stayed after mass tonight to say a rosary for Ukraine. Monsignor reminded us that the Rosary has been prayed during wartime for the souls lost, suffering, and barely surviving. Here’s a link to the Rosary. Thank you.

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 10

Our son came back from taking the SAT after four hours of sitting, reading, computing, and bubbling. When asked how it went he said, “I actually had time for the reading section this time, but I don’t know why they can’t just ask the question. I mean, you’d think they’d ask the questions like a kind person – just ask, not throw in a lot of extra words.

When I inquired further (treading lightly as to not poke the bear who didn’t want to take the test in the first place)…I asked what he felt was the hardest part. Surprisingly, he said, “I had to walk across campus in the cold with 25 mph winds whipping, unsure of which building to enter. So I followed the only person in front of me. Turns out she was clueless too, but we found the entrance together. I was told to go to room eight, so I then walked into four different rooms until I found not room “eight” but room “A”. So the trickiest part was finding the testing room…and now my neck hurts from looking down.

I put the kibitz on my questioning and left him alone.

SAT Prep

Our very calculated daughter prepared for the SAT by utilizing the “Khan Academy 20 minutes per day” a few months prior to the SAT. It served her well. Our eldest son’s SAT prep consisted of packing two No.2 pencils, borrowing a fancy calculator from a friend at 11:00 pm the night before, packing a snack, and setting his alarm. Our kids couldn’t be more different, but thank God they are…

I thought about the pressure these tests and parents – myself included – put on our kids. Maybe a high score will lead to a scholarship…or boost his confidence…or God-forbid…crush it. At one point I was close to falling for my son’s constant pleas not to take the SAT because “he had to lay sod for the neighbors” or “change the oil in his truck”, but I thought better of it. After all, don’t we all grow from being challenged?

According to author and psychologist Dr. Lisa Damour, “Stress doesn’t deserve its bad rap. Psychologists agree that while chronic or traumatic stress can be toxic, garden-variety stress — such as the kind that comes with taking a big test — is typically a normal and healthy part of life.”

I then thought, given the rapid-fire inquiries my son can throw at me, I should learn a about “the Why” behind who invented these bubbling sheets and why? If nothing else, I could distract him with fancy words like “optimal mark recognition” and “phototubes”.

So I did some research and here’s what I learned:

Michael Sokolski, an immigrant to the US from Poland was a soldier, engineer, and inventor of the Scantron. The tests were a form of Optical Mark Recognition – OMR system. Basically it’s a scanning machine that beams light through the back of a test paper and notes the areas that are dark with the use of phototubes (light-sensitive devices). Enter: The No. 2 pencil. When pressed down to fill a small circle (no stray marks!), the dark mark it makes blocks the light thus, bouncing off the paper, and the results are compared to the answer sheet.

Turns out I didn’t need the talking point above. However, a few hours after the test my son realized he forgot his jacket at the testing site. Shocking how quickly he dashed home without a jacket after battling the “25 mph winds” on the way in! So after a few phone calls, two amazing counselors who were still working on this cold Saturday tracked down his jacket.

There’s always kindness out there, even after a long day.

So does taking the SAT matter? If nothing else, it gives our kids a destination, an experience they can battle through and file away in their memory, or not.

Please pray for Ukraine.

FUN FACT! Why a No. 2 Pencil?

According to mentalfloss.com, “In the 1820s, Henry David Thoreau’s father started manufacturing black-lead pencils. Between teaching students, surveying land, and working as a handyman, Thoreau made money by working for his family’s pencil business. After researching German techniques for making pencils, he invented a grinding machine that made better quality plumbago (a mixture of the lead, graphite, and clay inside a pencil). After his father died, Thoreau ran the family’s pencil company.”

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 8

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.

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.

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.

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 7

Every day my parents wake up grateful to be here.

Dad finds the silver lining on even the hardest days. Failing eyesight brings sharper hearing. Using Siri to call friends without having to see the phone is a blessing. His mantra is “another good day”.

Mom is the realist. She says her daily prayers, finds joy in feeding and watching the cranes, and laughs at the woodpecker who “looks like he’s wearing striped pajamas”. Everyday she relishes the beauty in the open space around her. When pain is overwhelming and memory fails, she tells dad, “Si vamos a morir, vamos a morir.” (If we’re going to die, we are going to die.) Dad quickly retorts, “Wait a minute, I like it here!”

Over the last several years, my parents have experienced a lot of loss. Poker buddies, cousins, brothers, military friends, children of friends, doctors, and neighbors. They kneel at Rossary’s, pray at funerals, and dance at celebrations of life.

Today my father called his former business partner of 25 years whose prognosis is between one and three weeks to live. My mom usually predicts at least an hour-long conversation when my dad talks to Joe. But today’s chat was under five minutes.

There was no political banter or stock market mentions. In fact, after the conversation ended, dad slowly entered the living room and said Joe didn’t feel like talking. He abruptly said he had to go. My dad told him he was going to go eat a bowl of cereal. Joe paused and said, “Don’t eat Cheerios. If you’re going to eat cereal you’ve got to have oatmeal, something that will stick to you.” Then he said goodbye.

After dad told us this story and the clear fact that Joe still had his back even with oatmeal advice at 86, he wiped his eyes, picked up the binoculars, and peered out at the cranes. I saw him exhale as he watched their gentle landings and slow waltz across the field.

“Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do With your one precious life?

Mary Oliver

Please pray for Ukraine.

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 6

Growing up we spent a lot of time at St. Anne’s Church. Sunday mass, Saturday confessions, “whether we needed it or not”. Thursday Catechism Class with Sister Marcella who answered my 10-year-old burning question:

“Will we know each other in heaven?” FYI: she assured me we would.

Some Saturday mornings mom and I (or one of my three sisters) would head out to church and accompany mom up the long stairway to the choir loft. Mom would lay out her music, folding the top right corners of the pages and warm-up for whatever celebration was occurring. We were the designated page-turners. Standing to her right, we waited for her head to nod, our cue to turn the page. As she pumped the pedals and filled the cavernous church with “How Great Thou Art” or Captain and Tenille’s “The Wedding Song”, we would peer over the loft ledge and witness either the beginning of a loving partnership or the celebration of a life to be missed. On Sunday, we would climb the stairs once again for the 9:00 am mass.

All that being said, mom was basically in charge of the music at church. She knows the practice it takes and appreciates good musicians. So when one of my sisters texted the sister group chat saying,

“OPINION POLL: Mom covers her ears during music at mass. Today Father gave her earplugs, during mass! As a gift.”

My sister thought of it as a gift as much as coal is to a child on Christmas morning.

Clearly upset, she continued, “Yes, I’m texting during mass. So I have a problem.”

Our suggestions:
Roll your eyes
Tell him she’ll bring earmuffs next time
Let her cover
Don’t let her sit at the end of the pew to be less obvious

Finally, my oldest sister asked, “How did mom and dad take it?”
“Mom and dad both took it like he’s being funny, so they’re fine!
Me? I’m going to need to go to mass again!” 🙄

When I talked to mom later that day, she told me of her bright orange earplugs now stowed in her fanny pack for church. “The music is just so loud and they play the keys in between the actual notes that are supposed to be played. So now I’ll have to remember my mask, earplugs, and glasses for mass.”

Being with my parents I notice some moments are happy and calm like watching the hummingbirds on the suet or relaxing by the fire “talking about whoever isn’t there” as my dad says. Other days, every step hurts, memories fail, and they wonder why we live too far away. No matter the day, they’ve walked through the years, good and bad together, so if during Saturday mass mom wants to cover her ears or dance in the aisles at mass, so be it.

After all, you can’t ask Alexa to lower the volume or change the music at mass, although if mom could she’d probably request “How Great though Art” from the 80’s with her playing the piano.