Everyday Life – Page 12 – The Monica Chronicles

April 22, 2015

Pagan Babies Revisited

Pagan Baby Certificate

When I was a little girl the Sisters at Bishop Conroy Memorial School taught us about Catholic missionaries working in remote places of the world spreading God’s word to the pagans. (To us, a pagan was anyone who wasn’t Christian.) In our classroom we had a competition between the boys and girls to raise money to support the missions. Two jars sat on Sister’s desk, one for the boys and one for the girls. Every time we raised $5.00, we were issued a beautiful certificate of adoption by the Pontifical Association of the Hold Childhood as a “souvenir of the ransom and baptism of an adopted pagan baby” which also included the name we had chosen for our newly adopted child. By the end of the school year, certificates proudly circled the walls of our classroom.

Looking back it seems like a silly thing to do, but in those days we sincerely worried about the fate of the poor pagan babies living in darkness without Jesus in their lives. We were so sheltered in our world we were totally unaware that God was in their lives even if Jesus wasn’t. It never occurred to me that just maybe these “pagans” had their own faith in God and way to worship, or how the peoples in Africa felt when European missionaries arrived and set their worlds upside down….until now.

Last year our parish was assigned a new administrator. Our previous pastor had become ill and could no longer fill the needs of two rural parishes in Central Virginia with a mountain between them. Due to a shortage of priests in our diocese, the bishop looked to other countries where there is an excess of clergy to fill our empty rectories. Our new priest, Fr. Michael, came to us from Uganda.

Since his arrival, I have thought of the pagan babies many times. Not because I think he was a pagan baby, but because in many ways, he appears to be like a missionary to us.

Naturally there are some cultural differences. Fr. Michael is much more conservative/traditional than most American priests I’ve known in my lifetime. He wears a cassock when he is in his official capacity as priest and embraces many of the old “smells and bells” of the pre-Vatican church. Although these things are familiar to me because of my age, I find myself very uncomfortable with the return of the old ways. In some ways I feel like I am the “pagan baby”. Our ways are not his ways and the impression is that our ways are incorrect and must be changed.

He is a good and kind man, but I’m not so sure he has spent much of his clerical life working with the laity. Because our parish has always had a non-resident pastor, the lay folk have pitched in and have done almost everything, with little direction. Leadership in a group like this is not easy.

Somehow we will have to find middle-ground for our parish to thrive. Our congregation is graying and there are fewer young folks joining to take on the added burdens being set aside by those ready for rest. It is a sad thing when the “young folk” are in their fifties and nearing sixties.

I don’t know what the answer is. The good news is that I’ve realized I don’t have to find the solution; which has been a weight lifted from my shoulders. I’m praying that the answer will eventually be revealed.

April 21, 2015

One (wo)Man’s Trash

They say that one man’s trash is another’s treasure. I got a first hand glimpse of that yesterday.

For the past year or so, our parish Hospitality Committee has been planning a kitchen remodel project in our parish hall. A major part of this project is to update the appliances to make our kitchen more energy efficient and user-friendly.

As our first step, we chose to sell the old commercial range, a huge beast of stainless steel that has caused many to lose their eyebrows when attempting to light the pilot. In the past, it was used a great deal for large parish dinners and breakfasts but times have changed and so have the dynamics of our parish. The old range needed to go to make room for smaller ranges with electronic ignitions.

I was surprised how quickly we received responses to our Craig’sList ad. Within twenty-four hours we had three interested buyers. It was then that the fear set in, how were we ever going to get the old range out of the kitchen?

When it first arrived and the parishioners realized the range was too large to fit through the narrow doorway to the kitchen, they gathered a group of strong men and lifted the beast over the kitchen counter. We didn’t have a group of strong men to help us and I wasn’t sure how we would move it out of there.

We considered pulling down the door jam to give us more room through the door seemed to be our only exit strategy. But I didn’t think much about it until I pulled into the parking lot and I saw the truck and trailer. What were we going to do?

Frankly I thought this first couple would take one look at our beast and leave as soon as they learned they’d have to either keep the pilots lit or light them each time they used the stove.

But, the moment my buyers saw the old stove, they fell in lovek with it. After pulling it away from the wall and lighting the burners, the husband went to his truck and returned with a fist full of bills in one hand and his tool bag in the other saying, “I’ll take it.”

He measured the doorway and the range and then spent the next two hours quietly and patiently disassembling and removing parts until the range finally rolled freely though the door. What impressed me the most about him was the way the kept his cool through the entire process, not once uttering a word of frustration or giving his wife a dark look.

Instead, they chatted about how many pancakes they could make for their sons or cookies they could bake in the double ovens. Their eyes were on their prize; our old clunker of a stove.

After removing the stove, he came back, capped off our gas line and shut the gas off to the hall as a safety precaution. It turns out he works for one of our local gas companies.

As they drove away with our old beast securely strapped to their trailer, I felt happy for the old girl. She’d done her job well for us, but never really received the love and care she deserved. Now she has gone to a good home where she will be loved and cherished. For this family, our old stove was a treasure.

April 2, 2015

Boy

Yesterday afternoon, after months of waiting and serious speculation, and a day sitting on the edge of my chair waiting to hear the results of Maggie’s ultra-sound,I received a one word text message from her which read, “Boy.”

I have to admit that for a few moments I was disappointed. It wasn’t that I have anything against little boys. My son Andy and grandsons, Seth and Caleb are a constant source of joy to me. I just really was hoping for the opportunity to knit some frilly things for a change. And it wasn’t just me; Seth and Caleb were hoping for a sister, Andy wanted his own niece to play with, having spent hours playing with his friends’ Justin and Carrie’s twin girls and I’m sure Maggie was hoping for a daughter so she could pass along family tradition as I did with her.

Scan - Version 2

I suppose selfishly I hoped to see a baby girl to recapture those first few moments with my first-born as a young mother. Although you couldn’t have convinced me when I was up to my elbows in dirty diapers and spit-up, those special intimate years with our children are few and fleeting. There are times even now I miss those moments so intensely.

Watching my daughter as she journeys through this pregnancy awakens my desire to create. I thought I’d be working in pink but so it goes. Blue has always been my favorite color anyway.

March 31, 2015

Tooth Truth

Did you ever consider that some of the everyday errands you run could be envied by somebody else?

compromising tooth

Last week I while I sat waiting for my name to be called at the dentist’s office for a routine cleaning and exam, I witnessed a scene that I haven’t been able to shake from my mind.

A woman came in and quietly asked the receptionist if they were accepting new patients. Yes, they were. Her next question concerned the type of dental insurance the office accepted. No, they didn’t accept her insurance.

“How much does it cost to get an exam and cleaning? ” the woman asked. The receptionist answered that the charges for the initial visit were almost $400.

Visibly disappointed, the woman said she would need to check to see who carried her insurance because she really needed to see a dentist, she’d lost a tooth the previous week and others were loose. Although the receptionist was kind and compassionate to the woman, she didn’t have a solution to the woman’s problem. With her head low, she left.

I have been blessed with regular dental care my entire life, even in the years when there was no such thing as dental insurance. It was a sacrifice for my parents to provide me with the care I needed, but it was a priority for them and they found the resources to make it happen. As a result, except for #31, I still have all my own teeth. And, while I realized long ago that others have not been so fortunate, I’ve rarely witnessed the yearning for healthy teeth first hand.

Here in rural Virginia, it is not uncommon to run into folks with teeth missing, not in the back, like my #31, but right up front for all the world to see, or to see middle-aged adults with no teeth at all.

As a child, I lived for more than three years with a gap where my right front incisor should have been. Family photos reflect years of me smiling with my lips tight. Because of this I’m very sensitive to the feelings of people with missing teeth. I felt like the ugly duckling and it affected my self-esteem for a long time.

This is the first image I got when I Googled, "Hillbilly clipart". — This is the first image I got when I Googled, “Hillbilly clipart”.

Let’s face it, our culture takes great liberty at the expense of people with missing and crooked teeth, equating them with ignorance, lack of good hygiene and labeling them as lower class. It’s part of the cultural lexicon, the hillbilly with the random teeth, or the mentally challenged with the crooked or buck teeth. I’m no expert, but I would be willing to bet that most folks, given the financial opportunity, would choose to have a full set of straight pearly whites.

In a perfect world, everyone would have access. But, the world is far from perfect and I’m not advocating that we should institute universal dental coverage. What I am suggesting is that when you see someone with a tooth or two missing, don’t be so quick to judge them and if you are able to pay for regular dental care, don’t take it for granted.

If you have dental insurance or can afford the cost out-of-pocket, you are one of the lucky ones. For what ever reason, God has chosen you to be one of the ones who are gifted with this. The fact that someone else has not, is not a punishment, it simply is.

So that was my epiphany in the waiting room at the dentist’s. I could have spent the time mindlessly playing a word game on my phone, but instead spent some time with Spirit. After she left, I said a prayer for the woman that she gets what she needs because I certainly received a reality check I needed.

March 23, 2015

March Madness? I Think Not!

I wouldn’t want to say it too loudly, but it certainly looks like spring has finally arrived. The snow is gone. The daffodils and croci are blooming and I even saw my first robin today.

After such a long, cold winter, you’d think that we’d have nothing to chat about but how sweet the air is and how good the sun feels on our faces. Nope.In our family, these last few weeks of March are focused on one thing – the NCAA Men’s Basketball play-offs.

Last Tuesday, when I returned from a week’s visit with my parents and a quick peck on Dave’s cheek, I needed to know how the brackets were looking. Dave had his tear-out chart from the newspaper laid out on the coffee table in the family room with his choices neatly printed in pencil on each line. He updates the information as the days progress and every morning as he eats his cereal he checks the latest scores on his iPad and makes corrections where necessary for the games that ended after we went to bed.

Communications with our children are focuses on our teams and how they are doing. Jan and Maggie’s team, the VCU Rams were eliminated in the first round by Ohio State. It was a close game but Shaka Smart and his guys have headed home. Our home team, the UVA Cavaliers or “Wahoos” as they are known, lost yesterday to Michigan State. It was sad to see them lose as well. Tony Bennett is a great coach and his team has done very well this year but the victory went to Tom Izzo and the Trojans will move ahead. I like Tom Izzo, so I wasn’t crushed. So, to date, Andy’s team, the Duke Blue Devils are the only ones left in the dance. I know there are lots of Duke haters out there, but we just “just shake it off”. Considering there are only eleven members on the team this year, eight of them scholarship players, they are amazing.

And so it will go for the next two weeks, unless of course we end up with a final four teams that none of us are remotely interested in. When it ends, we will pack away our swag for the next seven months until it all begins again.

March 4, 2015

Becoming Mothers

My Grandma Gray as a new mother with my mom, Peggy, on her lap.

After months of holding a special secret close to my heart, I am now able to shout to the world the marvelous news that Dave and I will be welcoming a new grandchild into our family later this summer! Maggie gave us her news before Christmas but asked that we keep it on the q.t. until after her first trimester had passed. Keeping such wonderful news under wraps is not an easy thing to do. I’d like to say I was able to honor her request to the letter but found myself letting the news slip from time to time, unable to contain my joy.

Babies change everything. This baby, like all babies before her (wishful thinking on my part) will transform the lives of her mother and father, Maggie and Jan as they enter into a new dimension of their relationship together as parents. She will transform Teresa into a grandmother and Isolde into an aunt. For Dave, Any and me, we will be transformed into the grandparents and uncle of this incredible new little person. For Seth and Caleb, this new child of God will be a sister (or brother) in this amazing, patch-worked, incredibly functional family that is us.

Change is not always easy and neither is pregnancy. While some women seem to skid through the nine months without even a hiccough, Maggie is plagued by nausea and migraines making some days very difficult to bear. Combining this constant feeling of physical un-wellness with a long dreary winter can result in not a fairy tale ending but an overwhelming feeling of being in a long dark tunnel with the heavy burdens of parenthood at the end. And so, as in all things, there are good days and bad.

We had a long phone chat a couple days ago and she shared some of her fears and doubts about parenthood. As I fumbled for words to reassure her that all would be well (because it will be) I remembered my first few hours totally alone with infant Maggie. Dave was deployed and a neighbor had brought us home from the hospital and dropped us off at the house. For that first night, it was just her and me.

I remember looking at her little body, swaddled in a flannel blanket, sleeping in a converted dog bed and thinking, “I am someone’s mother!” I guess it was in that very moment that I took ownership of my new role. That first night alone with her were so intimate. Her body still fed off of mine and there was no one else to hear her squeak in that special way infants do. I slept on the couch with her dog bed on the table beside me, recording in a little notebook each time she ate and pooped, as if a chronicle had to be kept of her every moment of life. Fortunately my mother arrived the next day to spend a few weeks with me and my record keeping on paper was suspended. In its place I have a heart full of memories, each recording our mother/daughter history from those first few moments.

For me, motherhood, although not always easy or even pleasant, has always been such a gift. God gifted me with such an incredible daughter and son who have completed me in ways I could never have imagined. I know it will be same for Maggie and Jan. They too will have their challenges and obstacles, but outmeasuring those will be moments of sublime joy and satisfaction in their children.

February 26, 2015

Still Winter

It snowed again overnight. We were so lucky through the early parts of this winter, that I think we were all expecting a year without snow. Our neighbors even joked that by purchasing a snow blower this year, they had jinxed us, much like washing your car on a sunny day. As luck would have it, over the past few weeks they have more than gotten their money’s worth out of their new machine!

I would be lying if I said I didn’t mind it. First snows are always pretty and an occasional snow day, when my life is put on pause, is fun. But, the day to day drudge of blowing and shoveling the stuff, walking gingerly to avoid slipping on ice and having my routines disrupted by hazardous road conditions has become not so much fun.

I suppose what I really don’t like is the realization this is something I have absolutely no control over. It is what it is and I just have to deal with it. After all, what do I really have to complain about? That I have to reschedule my workout at the gym? That we might have to eat canned green beans because I couldn’t get to the grocery store to buy fresh ones? That I feel cooped up in my house? Wa, wa, wa!

I have no real complaints. Instead, I try to make the best of the time by tending to long put off household chores, writing and reading. Most of all what I find is that I have time to think. With the absence of a need to go, go, go, I am able to sit, sit, sit and think, think ,think.

It really is a gift. And from the looks of the latest weather report, one that I’ll be able to enjoy for at least the next couple of days.

February 23, 2015

For the Birds

Dave and I are avid bird lovers. Every house we’ve lived in has had a feeding station in our back yard within easy few from the kitchen. Through the years we’ve gotten pretty good at identifying the different species of birds on the East Coast by sight and in some cases even by call or song.

Our copy of the Peterson Field Guide for Eastern Birds is well worn with use and is notated with dates some of the more unusual birds have been spotted at our feeders. Properly identification is serious business in our house with the occasional disagreement over which exact species of sparrow or finch has come to visit.

We’ve learned the seasonal routines of our feathered friends; the juncos arrive with the cold weather and leave as spring approaches, the Baltimore Orioles come for a short visit around Mother’s Day and the hummers arrive at the end of May and stay until the end of September. This kind of stuff is important in determining which feeders to put out and who eats what when.

My love for birdwatching is rooted in my childhood, where I would spend time at my Grandma Gray’s kitchen table. The table was pushed up against the wall fronting a large bay window that looked out onto her back yard. Binoculars and bird books sat on the ledge. As a little girl, I liked to play with the binoculars but learned from an early age, they were not toys, they were tools to get a better look at the birds. Even the names of the birds were like music to my ears; chickadee, titmouse, goldfinch and cardinals. Before I knew which birds were which, I knew their names. Knowing their names made them each special and watching the keen interest my grandmother had for these little creatures, instilled in me a desire to learn more about them.

My faith has been passed onto me in much the same way. As a child, I memorized names and stories which were weighted with value because I saw how much they meant to my parents and grandparents. A desire to learn more was planted deep within my soul and nourished throughout my life. Like my Peterson Guide, my bible is also underscored and marked with notes in the margins as “sightings” of God’s kingdom come into view.

I know I have successful in passing down my love of backyard bird watching to my children, my prayer is that I have been as productive in handing down my faith and desire to know God better.

On a lighter note, we had some unusual visitors to our yard last week, in between snow falls. Last Saturday was very windy and the treetops were swaying mightily from side to side apparently making for unsteady perching. So, a large group of vultures descended to our yard and rested in the sun. It was kind of creepy, for sure, but at the same time exciting to see these giant birds (relatively speaking) up close.

February 12, 2015

A Few Measly Thoughts

Can modern parenting get much more complex? It seems every time you turn on the news there is someone offering their two cents about what is and what isn’t good parenting. Lately the debate is centered on inoculating children for measles.

While I can understand a parent’s deep desire to make the best decisions possible to insure their child is healthy and protected from all the dangers of the world, I do wonder if some of the young folks making these decisions have any concept of just what a horrible disease measles is and why it just might be better to take the risk.

I came down with the measles in late April, 1960. My mother first noticed I wasn’t feeling well one Saturday at lunch time when I wouldn’t eat my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. My Aunt Kathy was going to take me to see “101 Dalmatians” and I had to eat my sandwich before she came to pick me up. I couldn’t eat it and began to cry. Since I was such an even tempered child, (I’m taking license here), Mom, checked my forehead, put a nix on the movie and put me in bed.

The next several weeks are a blur. I remember being camped-out on the living room couch with a sheet to cover me and a bucket by my side. My whole body ached and voices sounded hushed and far away. There were glasses of water with paper straws and saltine crackers to nibble on. I had no concept of time, only that my dad would carry me down in the morning and then back up to my bed at night.

Through the course of the disease, I missed almost four weeks of school including the May Day celebration where I had been elected to reign as queen. By my brother’s first birthday celebration on the 11th, I was still too sick to get off the couch. Instead, my parents gave me a couple of balloons to make me feel better.

Fortunately, as soon as I was diagnosed, my siblings received gamma-globulin injections and were spared the full disease and my parents, who were in their mid-twenties, the agony of seeing any more of their children suffer as I did.

Yes, I survived but the weeks of illness dropped my body weight and compromised my immune system leaving me susceptible to almost every other “childhood disease” over the course of the next two years. Consequently, I was very skinny, scrawny little kid.

As I look back at my experience, I can only wonder what those weeks must have been like for my poor mother. Young and with three other little ones to tend to, I can only imagine the anxiety she and my dad both felt and their relief when my fever finally broke and I began to regain my strength.

These days, parents in general are so isolated from seeing their children suffer from these horrible viral infections. When my children were growing, bacterial infections like strep throat and ear infections were the worse thing I had to watch for and even then, antibiotics and twenty-four hours of rest generally took care of the problem. My children had chicken pox and one bout with influenza, but for the most part, were healthy. As a society, we have forgotten how these diseases; measles, mumps, rubella, diphtheria, pertussis and polio once ravaged our communities and indiscriminately took the lives of our little ones.

It is not surprising that measles has shot across the country as fast as it has. Our guard has been down for such a very long time and we have forgotten what it looks like to see our children suffer on an everyday basis. Without experiencing it first-hand or knowing what it feels like to be that sick, how could we know?

In the old days, one thing that kept kids safe was the fact that before they went to school, they stayed at home, where they were generally isolated from the rest of the world. Today, it is the norm that little children spend time together in day care centers while their parents work outside the home. The reality is that you simply cannot take tiny children, whose immune systems are not fully developed and put them together in small spaces and expect they will remain healthy unless some precautions are taken. Immunizations are really the only effective way to manage these viral infections.

Again, I’m not about to tell any parent what to do, but, I do feel that if any parent makes the choice to not have their child vaccinated, they should be fully aware of what they are risking. There has been a bit of chatter correlating the MMR vaccine to autism, none of which has been clinically substantiated. We all know what autism looks like and it is indeed a frightening thought for any parent. But now, maybe after parents re-examine what measles look like, they might reconsider why the vaccine was such an important discovery and not discount it.

The simple fact is that I was very lucky. Given the severity of my case of measles, without proper care or a handful of other variables, I could have died. Now that’s scary!

January 27, 2015

Forever Stamps

Forever Stamp I took advantage of a few quiet moments yesterday morning to write notes to two friends who were suffering the loss of loved ones.

The first note was to my friend Ellie, whose mother passed away on Saturday, just a few weeks after celebrating her 100th birthday. Her life was a long fruitful one. Although her mind was sharp, her body was failing badly and she was very limited in mobility. Her death was not a surprise, she was ready to be with God and her family was as prepared as they could be.

The second note was to my friend Teresa who is approaching the end of the first year since the death of her husband. He was a young man, in excellent physical health and his death was sudden, unexpected and almost surgical in the manner he was so swiftly removed from our lives. There was no time for preparation.

Coming up with the perfect words to use in sympathy notes is nearly impossible. I’m never quite sure what to say and it is my hope that my feeble attempt to provide comfort will come through in my words.

As I sealed the envelopes this feeling inadequacy overwhelmed me. How could my awkward words of consolation really help anyone through the pain of losing a mother or husband? I reached for my stamps and carefully placed them in the right hand corners when the image on the face caught my attention. It was a simple picture of paper-white blossoms with the word, “FOREVER” beneath it.

To me, both were a reminder that death is not the end of life, but the beginning of the next phase. The paper-white, a member of the narcissus family, begins life as a dried, lifeless looking bulb. When potted and watered it sprouts life and eventually produces lovely, fragrant blooms. It is a symbol of everlasting life. The word, FOREVER, underscored that fact.

How silly of me to have forgotten that all I can really offer is support. True comfort comes only from faith in God and the promise of His covenant with His people. In God’s eyes we are all stamped “FOREVER.” We do not have expiration dates; instead we move from one phase to another.

I’m not sure this realization will make my notes anymore eloquent, but I certainly do appreciate the reminder.