Tag: #writing

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Writing is weighty

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #21

For me, openly sharing my thoughts in a public forum is weighty. Perhaps it is because I hear my mom’s voice telling me and my sisters, “Be careful what you write down…followed by “and always pay your debts.” The former is what I hear when blogging, and the latter rings in my ears the rest of the day. Respecting Mom’s words, I take heed and trudge forward.

When I began sharing my writing with whomever would read it, I was conscious of the vulnerability clinging to every word. I knew it was a powerful way to connect with others, so I kept writing.

Then, while at my son’s baseball game a few years ago, I thought about this vulnerability and how it plays a sneaky James Bond role in all of our lives.

That sunny day, I sat next to a mom whose son was called up to pitch. As he stepped onto the mound, she turned to the parents in the stands and affirmed in her outside voice, “My son has only pitched ONCE IN HIS LIFE, so I don’t know what’s going to happen!”  I assured her we would not judge her or her son. Plus, now we knew he was hers, so we were bound to keep it positive. She continued as most parents would, by hollering, “Just have fun out there, son, and smile!!!” Roughly translated: don’t get hurt, and please, for the love of all that is holy, throw strikes. (Thankfully, there’s an unheralded empathy for parents who watch their child stand in any goal or dig their cleats into the rubber on a pitcher’s mound. Every parent inherently knows to cheer them on (the kids and the parents).

To be honest, when I started blogging, I kind of wanted my mom to also stand up and yell to the world,

“My daughter has only blogged ONCE IN HER LIFE, so I don’t know what is going to happen!”

She didn’t yell it, but she did encourage me to continue writing stories…and to pay off any debts “even if it is only a nickel!”

What I learned:

“Write straight into the emotional center of things. Write toward vulnerability. Risk being unliked.”  – Anne Lamott

Here’s to Another Good Day!

Thanks for joining me,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

The blossom, like life, is fleeting

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #17

While walking in Marshalls Store today, I passed by an elderly woman and saw she had a bright pink cherry blossom wreath in her basket.

“What a beautiful wreath!” I told her.

“It is, isn’t it?” She agreed.

I went on to say the wreath would brighten up any space.

“It’s for my daughter’s grave,” she said, wilting a little. “She died one year ago, and since her tombstone hasn’t been placed yet, I thought I would find a way to use this to dress it up.”

“It’s absolutely perfect,” I said. She went on to tell me her husband also died just three weeks shy of their 75th anniversary, at age 100 and 6 months.

“That’s the way life is,” she continued. I leaned in a little, thinking she was about to give me the secret to what life “is,” but instead, she stared at the flowers on the wreath.

I remembered my years in DC, where the cherry blossom trees define spring and renewal. After a few weeks, the delicate petals on the trees float off, symbolizing the impermanence of our fleeting lives.

As our conversation slowed, she said, ” I’m 95 years old.”

“What a blessing!” I said.

“Sometimes I’m not sure if it is or not.” She said, her voice tired.

“So nice talking to you,” I said…and God bless you…The wreath really is — absolutely perfect.”

She smiled, touched my arm, gave it a mom squeeze, and continued pushing her basket toward the clothing section where her caretaker waited.

What I learned:

My five-minute conversation with one kind, elderly woman was priceless to me, as were the connections we made. I pray she will find peace.

I also pray that maybe someone stop in and chat with my parents when they are out and about. They won’t be at Marshalls, but maybe Goodwill, Trader Joe’s, a yard sale, or the Commissary. Sharing a moment with someone and listening to their stories is lubrication for the soul.

Here’s to Another Good Day!

Thanks for joining me,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Do we get do-overs for our bad reactions?

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #16

CBS News had a story about a girls’ high school basketball coach in Northville, NY this evening. During their last game, the coach who appeared angry at the time, reached out and yanked the ponytail of one of his best players who was visibly sad about their loss. Following this he appeared “to berate her following an emotional loss” at which point another teammate stood up to the coach, in support of the girl.

The school district fired the coach. The regretful coach said he apologized and wished he had those moments to do over again.

I thought about this horrible situation and wondered why we have knee-jerk reactions like the NY coach did, and how we can control our responses. Here are five tips on how to react without a ponytail tug:

  1. Know your triggers – listen to your emotions and know what makes you nuts
  2. Don’t be too judgy – once we make judgments, these become permanent triggers – uh oh
  3. Understand your emotions – know yourself, will you fight, flee, or freeze?
  4. Avoid emotion suppression – this is super unhealthy…embrace your feelings
  5. Make plans NOT TO REACT – be positive and respond with good intentions and respect

What I learned:

As I read further about this NY coach, I discovered his son was also a girls’ basketball coach, the player who defended her teammate was the coach’s great-niece, his wife had died from cancer the previous season, and the reason he started coaching again after his retirement was that his wife thought it would be good to keep him occupied during her illness.

Was he wrong? Yes. Did his emotions dictate his reactions? Yes. Did he regret it? Yes. Have we all been in similar situations? Yes.

Does he get a do-over? Nope.

Did the girl deserve it? ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Emotions are drivers to our reactions. My initial reaction to reading this story was anger which turned to saddness and then compassion. I’ll pray for all of them.

Here’s to Another Good Day, especially since the Pope was released from the hospital.

Thanks for joining me,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

One Mom’s March Madness

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #15 – Motherhood — the moments, the madness, the profound joy, the heart-breaking sorrows

A few years ago, on a Friday night, we went to a local pizza place, sat in our regular booth, chatted, and stared up at the outdated TVs, watching any team play basketball. It was March Madness, and with so many teams playing, the stakes and drama were high—it was truly a basketball binge-watching dream for fans.

That night, I watched the teenage workers pace back and forth delivering pizzas to booths, clearing tables, and refilling their clear cups with colorful flavors at the soda fountain machine. I saw a new employee stop and stare at one of the screens, riveted. I looked up. Wrestling? What? I hadn’t seen wrestling since high school…and on a March Madness night? It turned out it wasn’t just any match, it was the Division 1 Wrestling championships, and Iowa’s three-time national champion, Spencer Lee, was in the depths of competing for a chance at a possible fourth straight title. In the end, however, Lee lost the semi-finals to Matt Ramos from Purdue, cementing one of the most historical upsets in D1 wrestling.

Why did it matter to me? Spencer’s mom…

As notable as the loss, Spencer Lee’s mom was shown reacting to her son’s defeat. As soon as the referee lifted the winner’s arm (which was NOT attached to her son), Lee’s mom tore her glasses off her face and smashed them in her hands, not one, not two, but three times, hurling them to the floor.

Now that’s mad! Mad at the ref? The opponent? Her son?

Or is it passion? Or sadness? Or frustration?

My mind reeled. Sometimes as parents, we are overly invested emotionally and financially in our children’s activities, sports, and school progress. That is to say, we may fail to recall who is swinging the bat, writing the essay, swimming the mile, and solving the equation. Hint: It’s not us…something I forget quite often. Our (sometimes unreasonable) expectations of what our kids can and should do are crystal clear in our minds: run faster, pitch harder, and study smarter. Easy for us to say.

Is it the “happiness” we want for our kids?

The joy of winning the race or getting into their number one college? I suppose the accomplishment is kinda like a Prime package at our doorstep where underneath the bubble wrap sits all the justification you need for your investment of time, money, and heartache. Of course until the next thing and the next.

Perhaps, as parents, we conflate passion and perfectionism.

Let’s face it, seeking perfection is a fool’s errand. We are all messy and cluttered and muddling through the days. Maybe the lesson here is that sometimes other kids are going to do a lot better than our own kids on the field or in the classroom. Sounds like real life doesn’t it?

I recently read about Esther Wojcicki, author of “How to Raise Successful People”. She is best known as the “Silicon Valley’s godmother” and mom to three very successful daughters: Susan, the former CEO of YouTube, Anne, co-founder and CEO of 23andMe, and Janet, a professor at UC San Francisco. By implementing her parenting philosophy, which Esther refers to as TRICK: trust, respect, independence, collaboration, and kindness, she feels she was able to raise capable, successful children. As far as being a parent, Wojcicki suggests focusing on your behavior. She says, “Parenting gives us perhaps the most profound opportunity to grow as human beings.”

What I learned this week:

Real life is all I know. Real joy, real feelings, real pain. Sundays I sit at church and gaze at the Stations of the Cross on the walls, and I see our own journeys to Calvary. Falling some days, getting up the next. Being carried and lifted, scorned and loved. Some days we need to carry each other on the path. Mr. Rogers’ mother used to tell him in times of tragedy, Grace will always show up in the helpers. Be the helper. Be there for the mom who hurls her glasses, the kid who misses the fly ball, and your own child who needs your presence, not your commentary. Not today anyway.

Here’s to Another Good Day!

Thanks for joining me,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Mom’s Dementia

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

40 Reflections – #12:  40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

I’m not sure when we transitioned from the word “forgetting” to Dementia when referring to Mom’s sweet mind. “My memory is not so great anymore,” she’ll say. My three sisters and I learned tips to lessen her pain of not remembering. Things like: Don’t start a sentence with “Remember when…” or ask”What did you eat for breakfast?” or “How many teaspoons of salt in tortillas?” It’s a process. My sisters are pros; I, on the other hand, plop in for intermittent visits and say the wrong things, but in that sense, dementia will work its black magic and present her mind with a clean slate.

I wrote a few quick essays about my most recent trips to see my parents, which I’ll share here. They are simply passing moments in my experience with them. Now 86 and 89 years old, they have been married 65 years next month. I reminded them separately of the milestone date, and they both had the same reaction, “That’s all!!!!?”

Here’s to Another Good Day with Mom and Dad

Wednesday 11:00 pm –

I arrived home late, too late for Mom to understand it was me, so I led with my blanket line, “It’s your daughter Lucretia”. I realized there was a good chance she was too exhausted to get it because sleep is critical for every age and in all functioning. They were clearly exhausted. Dad was trying to run out and give our friends who picked me up from the airport carne seca (jerky), but they had already headed home. Dad just wants to thank and give and be a part of the world. When your mind rarely rests, like his, activity and social stimulation are healing.

It’s sobering helping your mom figure out which end of the toothbrush gets the paste because now toothbrushes are huge or helping her find the back of her PJs. This is the same mom who could solve the puzzle of Simplicity sewing patterns, notches, and all. She could sew anything, measure, adjust, and add zippers, ruffles, and sleeves with ease. She’s my hero. She wanted 10,000 times more of what she had for us. And by God, she made it happen. Looking back, I bet with every application she typed (real-deal typed) for us, whether for a college, scholarship, award, or 4-H whatever, she probably thought, you know what, these girls are going to devour this world and spit it out when they are done. Totally crush it. 

What I learned:

Dementia stinks. But I am so grateful for every visit to see my parents.

Here’s to Another Good Day – even the tough ones.

Thanks for joining me,

Lucretia


Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Angels Among Us

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#9 – Lenten Reflections – 40 Raw reflections during the Lenten Season

A few weeks ago I went to visit my parents. I’m the youngest of four girls and my parents, now 86 and 89 require more caretaking these days. Before I left, I let my students know I was going for a few days to take care of my parents. As always, I tried to weave a life lesson into why I needed to go. I excel in overexplaining.

I began, “You see your parents take care of you now and then someday when they get older, you’ll take care of them. Also, my mom is having cataract surgery.” Suddenly there were a few connections to the word surgery. “Ohhhh…my mom had surgery on her knee!”

“My dog had special surgery too! Wait, what is surgery?”

“Can we play the chair game or do a scavenger hunt?”

The subject change sounded a lot like my own children’s strategy. Abort! Eject! Way too much information. I lost them in the life lesson.

Maybe some of the first graders were listening…either way, they knew where I’d be out for a few days. I’m sure they jotted it on their Google calendars. Ha.

After my return to school, class began like any other Monday. First grade came in bustling, loud, and joyful. As the kids took off their jackets and found their spots on the rug, Reagan, a bright-eyed girl, strode over, looked directly at me, and asked, “How are your parents?”

Tears welled up in my eyes. I was floored by her sincerity. I hugged her, thanked her, and told her they were doing well. They are just older. But I’m so lucky to have them. “Oh good,” she said. I spoke to her like I would an old confidant. One of those gem friends where you can pick up right where you left off. An angel with a high ponytail wearing a plaid skirt and a blue polo shirt.

Reagan skipped off, plopped down on the carpet and immediately reached over to the friend next to her and began tying his shoes for him. Another boy chimed in, “She ties mine too. I mean my dad is trying to teach me at home but Reagan ties mine here.”

I shook my head and thought, wow…this six-year-old has more love in her heart than I’ve witnessed in years. Thank God for the Reagans in the world.

What I learned:

Some people, no matter their age see a great need. They load up bottles of water in their cars and hand them to the thirsty, one soul at a time.

They start small. Maybe check on a friend, listen to someone’s story, tie a shoe.

Simple gifts are empathy. Simple gifts are healing. Simple gifts mean never leaving anyone out. Jesus didn’t. Even Judas got a place at the table.

Here’s to another good day. Please pray for a quick recovery for the Pope.

Thank you for joining me,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

We lost a lizard…

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

40 Reflections – #8: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

THROWBACK THURSDAY!

Today we lost a lizard.

We’re taking care of our neighbor’s pets and somehow, the lid of the terrarium came off, and this morning the gecko was gone. We looked in all the dark places we thought he would hide. Behind the curtains, along the molding, under beds. But the little guy just wouldn’t show his face, plus the cats weren’t talking (suspicious), so we had to stop looking for the moment.

That’s the challenge with anything…the moment you realize you have no control over a situation. If a dog is lost there are signs to post, and numbers to call, but a lizard is a lone warrior. He has to be strong, stealthy, and smart in that little body with no one to hold a leash or place a chip inside. We paused our search and prayed to St. Anthony to help us find the lizard and of course St. Francis. After all, whether someone’s pet is a three-inch gecko or a 150-pound Great Dane, it still brings joy and unconditional love to our lives.

As I pushed aside socks under the bed looking for this little guy, I thought about the days when all we wanted to do was climb into the quietest, sun-filled spot in our world and just sit. Free from the buzz of the phone, the worry in our hearts, and the stress each day potentially brings. Perhaps that’s what our gecko friend is doing now.

Tomorrow we’ll look again. Up on ceilings, under couches, and on window sills. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll be back home – after all, home should always be the safe place we share with those we love. Faith always leads us home.

What I learned – 2025 Update:

Faith almost always leads us home, but not with this lizard.

Please pray for the Pope and pray to St. Francis for all the lost pets and their owners searching for them.

Thanks for joining me,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Sometimes it’s the running partners with four legs that keep your pace steady and your heart strong…

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

40 Lenten Reflections #6 – a daily raw recollection during the Lenten Season

Ever since I was young, I’ve pined for the feeling of safety. The warmth and security a robin feels when it buries its head under its wing to stave off the bitter cold. I crave comfort and abhor fear. I was once told (yes, by a therapist), that my personal tendency is to place myself in situations that are not safe because I yearn to conquer this panic. Moving to DC on my own, running at night, living in India where I traveled alone, and sleeping on the beach in Mexico by myself (with several mosquitos). These were all experiences I chose to help strengthen my being, or so I thought. Then one cold day in January 1994, a jet-black puppy with ears as soft as satin, spirited eyes, and a gentle soul found me and pledged to keep me safe. It was a non-verbal promise, but as soon as we became family, a sense of relief, happiness, and belonging ensued.

Now it was me and Misty living in DC running at night, together. In a sense, she carried me through adulthood and gave me the courage to try things that were new, daring, and at times not too bright. She’d wait for me in the car at night if I had to run to the store, she’d linger for hours while I worked double shifts and was ready to jump in the car at 3:00 am so we could find a parking space across the street at “the far lot” and we’d run back together. She caught my tears, listened when I had to talk, and sat next to me while I went for a drive, ears flapping in the wind.

I’ve been on a lot of walks and runs in my life. Some with friends with whom you share your latest triumphs or queries; others with family where you talk about growing up, religion, or maybe even politics – if you’re careful. Being outside with someone – or alone, whether walking or running is a time when a bond is formed.  After running with Misty, my brain always thought more clearly, and my soul felt more alive.  She ran with me, ahead of me, next to me, jumped in Rock Creek, and powered up the rocks back on the trail to finish our run. I was always leery to let her run off-leash thinking she’d decide to really catch the squirrel this time — once I even thought I’d lost her, but on that snowy day in Maryland, she was out running with deer in a field as happy as could be.  She saw me and came right back.  The elation she showed when flying down a hill, herding another dog during a game of fetch, or jumping in the water, was priceless. Had I restricted her, she would have missed out on all of those moments dogs need to thrive and be alive.

Then, when Misty was 17, I had to let her off her leash, literally and figuratively. My running partner needed to rest. As mournful as it was, it was the right thing to do. Our children were five, seven, and eight years old then and were very attached to her, so we went to the backyard and spent a few minutes with Misty before we took her to the vet. The breeze was strong that Saturday in February as we all prayed, cried, and gazed into her eyes one last time.

What I learned:

“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.” —Anne Lamott, Small Victories

Misty was a good one.

Thank you for joining me,

Lucretia

Please pray for the Pope.

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Words connect and carry us

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #27

As I get older, I’ve heard the line, “I’m becoming my mother” more and more from my friends. “Me too” I concur. The way she rolls her tortillas in just one direction, or nods off in her chair. The way she fights for her family above all and the way she pounds her chest in a mea culpa at mass.

Luckily I was blessed with a mom who nourished us with love and common sense. She measures her words like a baker uses a knife to smooth the flour across a measuring cup, precisely and without an ounce of overflow. If Mom says it, she means it. One of the many traits I’ve picked up from Mom is threading “dichos” or sayings in my conversations.

So on one of my recent visits home with my parents, I made a list of all the Spanish and some “Spanglish” sayings they use. The one new phrase that resonated with me was: “Son los años compadre.” This means: it’s the years, my friend. This is used to assuage their frustration when they can’t remember where they set their glasses or are disappointed because they are tired after doing a fraction of the yard work they used to do. So they sit on the patio exhausted and say “Son los años compadre” like a confession – an exhale – a declaration: we’re getting older, let’s have a seat in the shade, drink some Gatorade and rest.

Aging takes its toll on all of us. First thing in the morning my Dad will say, “Come on body! Join me!” My mom lovingly teases Dad about his arthritis in his hands as the tip of his index finger points south. “Watch Dad point,” she tells me chuckling…it’s always something on the ground he needs.”

Their routine continually changes, zipping around in the truck to run several errands, and detouring to yard sales just doesn’t happen anymore. They still spend much of the day working in the yard which they are so grateful for, yet the amount of work wanes with the years. “We feel like if the sun is out, we should be out,” says Dad. So they plant and prune, check on each other, feed the cranes, rearrange the woodpile, take apart anything that has metal and can be recycled, and breathe in the fresh air.

Once back inside, the aches and pains kick in, and through all the “Ay, yai, yai’s” I can hear Mom say, “Son los años compadre.”

Dad replies, “Yo se, pura ay, yai, yai.” (I know all I say is ay, yai, yai).

They have a good laugh, another glass of water, Pedialyte, or Boost, rest, and watch the hummingbirds buzz around like they used to and drink their fill of sweet water.

Quotes I love:

My father’s wit, and my mother’s tongue, assist me!

Shakespeare – Love’s Labour’s Lost

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Caretaking management – my minutia marches on

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#23 Lenten Reflections

When it comes to taking care of our parents, we have a system. When I say “we” I really mean my sisters. One sister is the manager of us all and does a zillion tasks daily. The other two do a million things and I, call Mom and Dad a lot, yet it feels like not enough.

I am also in charge of…wait for it…calling the exterminator. This is crazy because growing up Mom and Dad would NEVER spend money on someone to kill bugs. In fact, when we were kids my oldest sister was hunting all over the yard for insects so she could pin them in a box for her entomology projects. So essentially, she was our exterminator. Of course we had a few stray mouse traps around. And no home in the 70’s and 80’s was complete without a fly swatter. Dad would walk around the house with that thing, swinging at flies, scooping them up, and saying, “Sorry guy”. Late at night, I remember grabbing that same swatter and hunting the relentless chirping South Valley crickets also.

Growing up I shared a room with my sister and if there was a spider sighting in our room, she was on a mission. The entire room was vacuumed top to bottom, furniture rearranged and the spider and its family was sucked into an Electrolux vacuum bag. I played it cool, and got out of my sister’s way. All I had to remember was which side of the bed to get up on in my nice, clean room.

But as the years passed, the bugs showed up more frequently when we visited and didn’t bother Mom and Dad) so I said, “I’ll take care of the exterminator!”

I took the job seriously and when hunting for the right bug guy or gal. I, of course, tried to find someone who spoke Spanish, mainly so Dad had someone to visit with while spraying poison around the house. I also had to make sure mom’s plants were not harmed in the process. All went well, but unfortunately, after the visit, I got a call from Dad, and nope! Antonio knew only a little Spanglish. “El Antonio no habla español,” Dad told me after his visit…” but a nice guy!

Darn it Antonio, couldn’t you fake it?! ——I had ONE JOB! 🙂

Per routine, Dad quizzed me on the cost. “What does that run?”

Then he usually shoots out a guess – “What? Like $50?”

I respond…”Más or menos…see not bad!”.

So the ants marched on, Dad got to visit with someone, Mom’s tomatoes and jalapeños were safe, and I made a small contribution from a distance. I’ll call them right now too.

I love my parents.

Take time for each other. Life is fleeting.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia