The Monica Chronicles

Like weather forecasters tracking a storm, the news media make attempts to keep us informed on where the virus is popping up from day to day. But instead of a clearly defined path, plotting this pandemic is much more like chaos theory. Cases of CV-19 seem to pop up randomly among us and then spread out. Our best defense is to avoid other people and wash our hands throughly and frequently.

The CV-19 virus is probably the greatest health challenge my generation has faced and for that, we’re pretty lucky. My parents told us stories about the polio scare in the 1950’s when public gatherings were limited, swimming pools were closed and some of their friends passed. Fortunately when I was born, polio was on the way out and a vaccine was available by the time I hit grade school. And during my lifetime, vaccines for the measles, chicken pox, shingles, pneumonia and even the season flu have been developed. Before I was born, horrible diseases like whooping cough, diphtheria, tetanus and small pox were already well under control. Because of this, I think we’ve forgotten just how susceptible humans are to the spread of viruses and just how devastating they can be.

During the later part of the last century, when AIDS was discovered, many people thought that the disease was a punishment for risky or immoral behavior. It could be easily avoided by specific precautions that for most of us didn’t really impact our lives. The same held true for ebola – just don’t go to Africa. But CV19 is a totally different animal and can be contracted by seemingly the most minimal of human interaction. It’s scary stuff for sure.

I’ve seen a variety of reactions to the virus in my sphere of human contact ranging from indifference to denial to extreme anxiety. Many people feel like they have to do something. I guess that’s why they are buying so much toilet paper and searching for recipes for homemade hand sanitizer online. Personally, I put in a store of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup, because that’s what I want to eat when I don’t feel good.

At this point, just how long this virus will affect us and the way we live our lives is uncertain. As for me, I will continue to wash my hands after coming into contact with public items, try my best to stop touching my face – that is my biggest challenge, pray and hope for the best. Like everybody else, I am waiting for it to come, do what it’s going to do and be over. It’s not easy and it’s for the foreseeable future, will remain a challenge.

History shows that the human race always rises above these challenges. It’s just a matter of time and a time for faith. My mother always used to say, “Let go and let God.” And, let’s face it, faith is a much better source of strength and comfort than a pile of Charmin.

Last week the Prayer Shawl Group I knit with surprised one of our members with a celebration of her 90th birthday.  The theme was an afternoon tea, complete with fine china and finger sandwiches.  My contribution was a plate of chicken salad sandwiches carefully placed on my Grandma Farner’s crystal cake plate.

It’s a pretty plate of molded glass.  I have no idea how old it is but I do know that usually, when there was a cake at Grandma’s house, it sat on that plate.  That is where its value lies for me.

Since I chose the plate from among Grandma’s kitchen stuff following her death, it has become my “go to” plate for cakes, cookies and any number of things I take to pot lucks, funerals, anniversaries and meetings.  Each time I take it out of the cupboard, I wonder just how many birthday cakes has it held? How many times has it made public appearances? How many different church halls has it seen?  It has been an ecumenical plate, that’s for certain!

I guess by keeping my grandma’s plate in active service, I keep a part of her alive in me.  And I hope that at some point, after I’ve passed on, that someone else, in my family or not, will continue to employ this pretty cake plate.

 

 

This morning as I lay awake in the dark sometime around 6:00 am, wondering why I wasn’t still asleep, I began to think about how many times in my life I’ve been able to just go to bed when I was tired and get up when I wanted to.  With the exception of vacations and the occasional free Saturday, there haven’t been too many times in my adult life where that has been the case.

Looking back, I’ve often thought that the most natural sleep – wake cycle of my life was when my children were little babies.  No, there weren’t always long periods of sleep; sometimes only a few hours at a time.  But those days did have a rhythm that was dictated by genuine human needs; for food, comfort, or a clean diaper.

I wasn’t working then, so it really didn’t matter when I slept or showered or any of the things most adults find as requirements of daily life.  With Dave at sea so much of the time, there were no alarm clocks clanging and I was often solely responsible for tending to my little ones. Yet, we found our routine, generally rising, having meals and going to bed at the same general time every day.

Years later, when I led Baptism prep classes for parents in our parish, I showed them a video by Kathleen Chesto.  I can’t recall the name of the video but it was a great resource for teaching the history, tradition and theology of Baptism.  One of the points Ms. Chesto made in her presentation  was how the hours of the day when babies generally want to eat; 10, 2 and 6, corresponded to the Liturgy of the Hours; the times of the day when Catholic religious folk stop to pray.

Looking at my own early days of motherhood with this in mind helped me see that that those days were not merely special, they were sacred.  If you’d asked me at the time if I was praying as I fed my infant at 2:00 am, I’d say that I wasn’t.  But, if sacrificing your own comfort for the needs of someone else isn’t prayer, I don’t know what is.

Now that Dave’s not working, we don’t have to get up so early but something in my internal clock hasn’t reset yet and I still find myself awake somewhere around 6:00 am, trying to decide if I should get up or roll over.  I don’t really mind.  I’ve always enjoyed having a slow, quiet start to my day and I do like having the time to ponder and unpack the times in my life that seem to have sped by too quickly, to remember and savor them.  Sometimes I wish I could do my pondering after the sun comes up!

 

 

 

For the past couple of months Dave and I have been looking forward to his retirement this coming Friday – in two days!  After years of careful planning and the blessing of our financial planner, Russell, we were ready to toss the alarm clock and begin a new life as retirees.  In fact, I was going to rededicate my blog to our new life and had every intention of beginning on the first of the year.  But, life doesn’t always follow the course we think it will, does it?

Don’t panic, nothing really bad has happened to us – it’s all good.  I was delayed in getting back to pounding the keys due to a really nasty cold bug I came down with between Christmas and New Years.  Between the sneezing, coughing and nose blowing, I didn’t really have much to say and my head was too clogged to contemplate any pithy thoughts so the blog got pushed to the side until now.

Somewhere in the middle of my cold, about two weeks ago, Dave received an email from a former work acquaintance letting him know about a position opening up in another company he might be interested in.  Short story version, he checked into it, met with them and just yesterday signed the offer to begin a part time position on a business development team for another Beltway Bandit in a couple of weeks.  So, instead of fully retiring, he’s just dipping one toe into it.  It could be just for a couple of months or years; time will tell.

I know some people spend years dreaming of retirement; the trips they’ll take, new places they’ll live and in essence, totally reinvent themselves.  We’ve never really done any of that stuff.

Oh sure, we’ve thought about not working.  I highly recommend that unless you’re doing something you really love.  If you’re not, it’s a good time for a change.  But, throughout Dave’s Naval career, and even with our last move, we’ve had to reinvent ourselves so many times, we’d like to just stay put and see what where we are has to offer.  So moving is not a thing for us right now.

We definitely want to travel.  I’ve been diligently studying German on my Duolingo App for almost five years now and would like to put it to use along with the French I studied in school.  I wouldn’t say I’m fluent in either language but I think I can read enough to get around and could probably understand someone if they spoke very slowly.  Most of my “people” are from Germany and I’d really like to go to see the place for myself.

Our next big trip will be to Lakeside Chatauqua in Ohio for our son Andy’s wedding this coming June.  I just made the reservations for the rehearsal dinner yesterday so the excitement is beginning to build. I will try to cling to that excitement as I begin the task of finding the perfect “mother of the groom” dress.

So 2020 has started off a little differently than we’d expected, but has offered us opportunities we hadn’t even considered.  I hope our life stays like this.  Good surprises will always be welcomed and embraced and will always provide me with something to write about.

A little more than two years ago, I wrote about a trip Dave and I took to our old parish in Virginia Beach to attend the funeral of our dear friend John Skiptunas. (Song of Farewell – April 22, 2017).  Just a few days ago I received an email letting me know that his wife and my dearest friend, Marlene passed away quietly with her children by her side.

I wasn’t surprised.  I knew it wouldn’t be long before Marlene joined John; she was so frail the last time I saw her.  My first reaction was to shed a few tears. Marlene has held a very special place in my heart for more than thirty years.  Her spunk, humor and intense devotion to God’s people will echo in my memories for the rest of my life.

Marlene and I became close in the early 90’s.  I was invited to join the newly formed RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) Team at St. Marks.  Prior to this team’s formation, adults seeking entry into the Church attended classes led by our pastor.  We’d had a pastoral leadership change and our new pastor felt a lay-led ministry was better and so the team was formed.

At our initial meeting, I was assigned with heading the Hospitality Committee and tasked with responsibility of finding someone to help me with the job.  Hospitality is something I take very seriously, especially at church.  With all of its rules and rituals, the Catholic Church can be a formidable institution to approach.  Friendly faces and personal warmth go a long way to put folks at ease.  So, when I thought about who I could ask to join me, I immediately thought about Marlene, who had made me feel welcome many years earlier when I was new to the parish.  Her warmth and friendliness had made me feel welcome enough to keep coming back; she was the perfect choice.  The only problem was, I didn’t really know her.

I remember looking her number up in the phone book (it was a long time ago) and nervously dialing her number.  She answered in her deep, sultry voice and I blurted out my invitation.  Marlene was friendly as always but hesitant about making the commitment but she agreed to attend the next team meeting with me.

In those early days, none of us really knew just how much of an impact that RCIA team would have on our lives.  We truly felt chosen, not just by the Team leader, but by God to do this work. We were as the song goes “…disciples, united in one Spirit, ignited by the fire…”

Marlene’s fuse was lit at her first meeting.  On our ride home, before I dropped her off she thanked me for inviting her to join the team.  “I think this is just what I need.” She said.  Then she told me that John had just lost his job and she was feeling very much at loose ends.  She thought our team would help ground her in prayer.

Being a part of the RCIA Team must have been what she needed because Marlene not only helped me that first year, but remained a part of the ministry for more than twenty-five years moving from hospitality to a catechist role.  All the while she put skin and bones on God’s word as she welcomed folks into the church in her warm and loving way.

I can’t say I will miss Marlene because she is so much a part of my own faith story.  She was hands down the best lector I’ve ever known.  In my own ministry role as lector, when I proclaim God’s word, I use her voice and cadence as a template, not that my higher voice can come close, but I do try to bring it down a notch.  Most of all I try to bring the word to life as Marlene did for me.

The past few days my eyes have occasionally filled with tears as memories of Marlene sweep  through and I know she will understand a few tears being shed since she was know for her free flow earning her nickname “Marlene the Cryer”.  Her tears where rarely for herself but in response to someone else’s suffering.

It’s hard to feel real sorrow for her loss.  Marlene led a good life.  It wasn’t always easy or pretty or ideal but it was authentic and real and her devotion to her family and her faith never wavered.  Knowing that she has been reunited with the love of her life, John, and that they’ll never have to say goodbye again gives me great joy.  Anyway I know she would want our tears to be turned into dancing.  She did like to boogie!

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I was a kid the word adoption almost seemed like a dirty word, uttered in hushed tones as to not be overheard. Friends of mine who knew they were adopted seemed mysterious, with unknown origins; their stories whispered among family members.  There were also the ghost children; babies whose existence was erased from family tree when offered for adoption.  The miracle of their births and the sacrifices their mothers made in the hopes for better lives for their children were filed away and stamped “top-secret”.  I guess there was fear that adopted children would confuse these acts of selflessness as rejection and even shame.  And frankly, with no other source of information but their own imaginations, it’s not surprising.  Thankfully, adoption doesn’t have to be that way.

Our family is blessed to have embraced adoption in a much different way.  Eighteen years ago, when our daughter, Maggie offered her newborn son up for adoption, we were given the opportunity to not only know who his new parents would be but also to take an active role in his life.  Dave and I became Nana and Papa to little Seth and when his parents adopted a second child, Caleb, we embraced him as our own as well.

This past weekend we all came together to celebrate Seth’s graduation for high school.  When the boys were younger, the extended clan gathered often for birthdays and holidays but since our move out of the area and the kids growing into their teen years, the big gatherings have become more of an annual event, and limited in attendance.  On Saturday, we were all there; grandparents, aunts, uncles, close friends, neighbors and best of all – birth mothers.

Over the course of the day, I had several people who I didn’t know that well tell me how impressed they were by the way our family had come together through adoption.  As we began to share our story, we found ourselves filling in pieces of each other’s stories that we hadn’t known.  It was a time of tears, laughs and tremendous love and a gift to be able to recall those events and be reminded of how much we have grown to love each other.

Inside the card I gave Seth for his graduation, I wrote not only how proud we were of him and how much we loved him but also that for me, he is a living symbol of God’s promise that if we just trust in Him, all will be well.   And it has been.

 

 

Saturday morning all the moving parts in the universe converged to provide an opportunity to do the first real spring cleaning of our outdoor space. It wasn’t the warmest day we’ve had recently, but it was clear and sunny and the ground was dry enough to get down on my hands and knees to pull last year’s die back and the early weeds from the front garden beds.

I’m not sure why it is, but whenever I find myself working in the garden, I find my thoughts taking flight. Maybe it’s the sound the wind blowing through the trees or the songs of the birds or just the fresh smell of the earth, I don’t know for sure. But, like a dandelion seed in the wind, I’m never certain where they will take me. Saturday morning, as I pulled the unwanted greenery from my mulch and walkway took me to thinking about pulling other unwanted “weeds” from my life.

Since my temporary job at UVA ended on the first of the month, I have spent a good deal of time cleaning out closets, drawers, cabinets and everywhere else stuff collects. I tend to be a hoarder; not liking to part with anything that may be useful a some point in the future. I’ve finally come to the realization that although these things may be indeed useful, if I haven’t found a use for them in a year or two, someone else should be at least given the opportunity to use them. And, as my Woman’s Club will be holding its annual yard sale next month, it is the perfect time to share my treasures.

Along with unwanted stuff and greenery, I’ve also begun to evaluated how I spend my time. Working full-time helped remind me just how precious a commodity it is. Over the course of the years I haven’t been working, I’ve added many, “Sure, I can do that” things to my life. And, just like the things I have tucked away in drawers and closets, they can be just as difficult to part with. So, along with clearing away tangible things cluttering my life, I am on a campaign to rid myself of activities that either no longer give me joy or where I find myself ineffective. Probably both of those things are contingent upon each other. In any case, I learned a long time ago that sometimes it is necessary to step away from something to allow someone else to step up.

Weeding in all forms is time consuming but does have its rewards. In the garden, the rewards are fleeting because in just a matter of days or sometimes even hours, new weeks seem to pop up. I have a little more control over my drawers and closets but with my time, I need to be the most careful; to balance the openness to new sprouts taking root and insuring that my garden remains free of weeds.

Over the course of my working life, I have spent most of my time in workplaces where the population has been dominated by women.  While this has provided a wonderful opportunity to build strong, supportive lifelong relationships with ladies I am blessed to call my friends, it has also revealed a power struggle that has repeated itself from office to office. It is a deeply rooted conflict that results in alignments and divisions among and between the unlikeliest of individuals.  It isn’t based on education, race, religion, or compensation.  The most prevalent point of contention in every place I’ve worked has been a battle for control of the thermostat.

It is an unfortunate fact that industrial HVAC units are simply unable to provide uniform comfort throughout a workplace.  This is probably due to the fact that these buildings are constructed as large open caverns and the heating and air conditioning systems are designed for the space with no regard for any subsequent interior build-outs and remodels.  Once walls go up and spaces are defined, there is really no way to insure uniformity of temperature from one side of the area to another.

Because temperatures can vary greatly from one side of the room to another; and the person closest to the thermostat has the power choose the settings based on their own personal comfort.  Depending on where you sit and how comfortable you are, you may perceive the person in control as benevolent or autocratic.  Those left in the cold or in the heat are left to either pile on sweaters or peal off as much clothing as decency dictates.  Uncomfortable women are unhappy women and unhappy women do not always work in harmony with each other.  Sometimes tempers flare as faces flush or feet freeze.

From what I can tell, men don’t seem to be as affected by temperature variances.  And, if they are, as a rule, they don’t seem to be as vocal about it.  I can’t remember ever seeing a man throw his sports coat to the floor and announce, “Oh my God, it’s hot in here!”  On the other hand…. I have seen and sadly have to confess that I have been one of those women who have made that kind of declaration, particularly when I was in the throes of midlife hormone fluctuations.  

There are many tried and true tactics employed in the battle for the heat.  One is stealth attack, where someone feeling the heat (or cold) slips in while the “controller” is away from their desk and adjusts the thermostat.  Relief in this case tends to be short-lived  because eventually the controller notices the change of temperature and acts accordingly.  Another approach is to complain to management.  Success with this tactic is varied because if you have the kind of manager who will act on your request, you could be perceived as a whiner.  Nobody wants to be known as a whiner.

Ideally, problems in the workplace like this are best handled by the whole group.  The challenge is finding the right person who possesses not only the backbone to initiate the conversation, but the skill and finesse to allow all sides to be heard and their feelings sincerely respected.  Folks like this are hard to find.

Take a giant step to the standoff between the Executive and Legislative branches of our government over the wall.  So far, it seems that several individuals have stepped up in an attempt to bring all parties together for the respectful conversation.  Sadly, neither side seems to be interested in being open to not only listening, but to the possibility that they might be wrong.  As a result, thousands of people found themselves without paychecks.

Maybe minor skirmishes over the control of the office thermostat seem silly, but I think the more we are able to take care of the little things, we will be better practiced and able to handle to larger challenges in life.  It’s just a thought anyway.

 

 

When I starting working full time last month, I knew there would be an impact on my life.  I knew that I’d be getting up and out the door way earlier than I was accustomed to and that most of my waking moments would be dedicated to tasks that were not directly related to moving my own life forward. But these are the trade offs you make to earn an income.

What I did’t realize was how this new experience, moving outside the little world I’ve created for myself over the past several years would improve my awareness and broaden my perspective.  I guess I didn’t realize how insulated I had become.  I’ve been active in my community, but what I’m learning is that my ‘community’ is largely composed of people like myself, mature, retired or nearing retirement.

These days I find myself working alongside much younger people; most young enough to be my children, some of them could even be my grandchildren (if I’d started a bit earlier) and I am becoming keenly aware that many of the assumptions I’ve had about these subsequent generations have been off kilter.

In the past, when I used to look around at the membership in the volunteer and community groups I’m involved in and couldn’t help but notice that the average age of the folks around me was more or less my age and older, I made the assumption that the reason that younger people were not becoming involved was because they don’t care.  Since returning to the full time work force, I am getting a much different picture.

I got a glimpse of what it’s like to be a younger working woman last fall when I spent a couple of days helping my daughter Maggie while her husband was out of town.  Driving down I fantasized about how nice it would be to spend some time alone with her.  In reality, I hardly saw her at all. Even with my help with childcare and household stuff, the demands of a three year old once she got home from work and the graduate level courses she’s taking left her with barely enough time to catch her breath.

Working full time is hard.  It is draining.  No matter how energizing the job, how friendly the work environment, the fact is that the vast majority of my day is spent on preparing for work, commuting to and from work and working.  The remaining two or three hours of my wake time are spent trying to catch up on all the stuff I used to do, cleaning up after dinner.  I’m lucky, my husband has taken over most of the cooking! My last few waking hours are spent sharing some quality time with my spouse.    I am also finding that keeping up with all the volunteer duties I’ve laden myself with are harder and harder to keep up with.

I guess the bottom line is that like many things in life, there are trade-offs involved in doing what you what you want or would like to do and what is necessary to be done.  And, it doesn’t matter where you are in life, choices have to be made and priorities set.  Right now, for me, working full time seems like something I need to do.  And, if I continue working after my contracted end date of March 1st passes, I will have to make some hard choices and reevaluate my priorities.

 

 

 

When I applied to renew my passport early this summer I had visions of hiking the mountains of Germany, sipping on strong coffee in a cafe in Paris or taking in the green vista of the Irish seacoast.  Instead, as it turns out, I have most recently presented my passport as proof of citizenship and eligibility to work here in the US.   This coming Monday morning, after a hiatus of more than seven years, I will be reentering the workforce, as a temporary employee of the University of Virginia.  Who’d have thunk it?

This past Thursday I spent most of the morning on grounds, obtaining my official ID badge and parking permit and then spent a couple of hours at home on my laptop, reviewing a slew of University policies and procedures, all in preparation of my  first day on the job. 

Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever imagined I’d be taking this journey at this point in my life.  For the past several years I’ve been a dedicated volunteer keeping myself overly busy and stressed out by the needs of the various projects I’ve been involved in.  I know I can handle the work.  The biggest differences will come in the forms of time, place and dress.  To get up at the crack of dawn, put get dressed and drive to Charlottesville will be my biggest challenge.  If I could only work at home in my pajamas, but I suppose we all share that wish!

So, early Monday morning, I will rise before the sun, put on my big girl panties and head out on my new adventure.  As in all things, I know God has a plan for me.  So, on this day, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, I will try to remember that young girl who said, “Let it be done to me.” and trust that only good things are in store for me.