Are We Really That Old?

 I would be lying if I said that my 50th High School Reunion snuck up on me. My husband is a few years older and he used Covid and needing to wear a mask as an excuse to avoid his reunion. I had subconsciously kept the possibility of a long road trip this year in my budget planning. 

When the date was announced I had a mixed bag of emotions. Traveling 1200 miles to spend a few hours with some people I knew when I was a teen might not be the best use of my time or money. But then, I haven't been back to that part of the country for a while and might not have another excuse/opportunity. I have lost touch with the girls I hung out with in high school for the most part, but I have been communicating with some of the people I didn't know as well on social media for a while and it would be good to see them in person. 

After tossing the idea around in my head for a couple of months I decided that we could afford the trip time-wise and money-wise. My husband and I made reservations, requested time off, and started planning our trip. Stopping to see relatives along the way and hitting one or two tourist spots helped justify the trip that I still had not convinced myself would be worthwhile.

Long story short; I went, and I dragged my husband along who ended up being the hit of the party at my all-girls school. We attended a casual party the evening before where we had an opportunity to catch up. The next day we went to mass together with the other honored classes and then we toured the school and had dinner together. Our discussions convinced me that despite fifty years of life, each of us was still the same person who walked across that stage in 1973. The talkative ones are still talkative, the organizers still organize, the worriers still worry, and the elegant dressers still do. One thing I found fascinating was that more than half of the class claimed to be the "shy one".

Walking through the school we noticed how well the building had aged and the updates that we could not have imagined. The Home Ec Room is now used for the band and orchestra, while the library is now a media center with no books. The reverse image Xerox machine is long gone and I am sure that no current student could imagine what a mimeograph machine is for. We talked about what teachers we had in each room and how much we appreciate them.

We finished the evening catching up on each other's lives and trying to learn about those we had not heard from. We chatted about who had passed away, who has kept in contact with whom, and who let us know they couldn't make it, and we wondered about the people no one has heard from.

Fifty years is a long time but these are the women that I spent my formative years with and the women who have lived through much the same reality during our adult life. We lived through NASA, Civil unrest, and Vietnam physically together and we are still emotionally together experiencing five decades of personal, American, and World history from similar lenses.

I took the time to spend a few hours with the girls, now women who I care about because they are part of my history and I am glad I did.

Lori's Tomatoes

 There is an older gentleman who goes to my church and can be seen most weekends in summer handing out homegrown vegetables to whoever is interested. He offers tomatoes, squash, and peppers to anyone he sees, no matter how well he knows them. Inevitably someone makes a comment about how he must be such a dedicated gardener and how much he must enjoy growing and eating from his substantial garden. He answers that he doesn't eat tomatoes or squash or peppers, he just plants them for his wife. This sounds like a sweet thing for him to do and she must be very grateful. What makes it even more sweet and nice is that she passed away more than a dozen years ago. Jake has been planting a garden for his dear deceased Lori for over a decade even though he doesn't eat anything that comes out of it.  This amazes me that he would show his love for so many years with such dedication. 

When she was alive, they were a very typical older couple; they had raised a larger family, and like most families, there had been some rough spots and stresses. They weren't the type to make a big public display of affection. But Jake still goes out every spring and plants a vegetable garden for Lori. One time I told him that I think of Lori whenever I eat one of the tomatoes and he muttered a thank you but I could see the depths of the thanks in his eyes.

I have not had to deal with the loss of a spouse or a child, but I hope if or when I do I can honor that person with the elegance Jake does.

In the Moment

 Not too long ago I had the pleasure of watching my one-year-old grandson at my house. He was fun to watch playing with his toys, checking to see if he could outsmart the baby-proof cabinet, and running down the hall to visit Grandpa. Then, after about forty-five minutes exhaustion hit and he was in tears. The only thing that calmed him down was snuggling up in my lap. Not only did he have to sit there, but he had to have my complete attention. If I picked up my phone or a book he started whining again. I realized that he wasn't going to be happy unless and until I was totally present to him. So we sat together and in a few minutes, his head dropped to his chest. I moved him to my shoulder and went back to my multitasking, but realized how important those moments with him were.

Afterward, I started thinking how that time of being totally present is something I do not strive for nearly enough; on the phone with my kids, listening to my husband talk about his interests that I do not necessarily share, in prayer. If I could focus and concentrate like that during mass, what would that do to my spiritual life? If I spent even a few minutes concentrating on my husband, how much could that improve my marriage?

Multitasking by itself is not a bad thing. If our minds did not drift to what we need to get done, many things would never get done. But maybe trying to be more present with our family and friends and more focused during prayer are good goals. We are not wired to laser focus on each task we do, but how wonderful it is when we have the opportunity to be totally present for a moment or two.

Guest Paper

 When I was born, we lived on the East side of Manhatten in the top-floor apartment of a brownstone. The landlords were Mr. and Mrs. Hyman, an older couple with who my newlywed parents had a good relationship. We eventually moved out and had a house in the suburbs and I had several siblings. I remember one Sunday we packed up the car and went down to Manhatten to visit the Hymens. As a youngster of about five, it was pretty uneventful. I knew the routine for visiting adults: don't touch anything without permission, don't argue with your sister, be polite, and so on. At some point, I had to go to the bathroom and after getting permission, I went in. It was a typical old people's bathroom with a cover on the toilet and just cluttered enough that you knew it was used regularly. I noticed that on top of the toilet there was a roll of toilet paper that was noticeable thin and scratchy. Scratchier than I had ever seen in my short life. On the toilet paper holder was a nice soft roll of two-ply quality paper. For some reason that really set my mind spinning. Why would anyone buy such scratchy paper? why not use the nice stuff all the time? will they use up that roll of good paper after we leave or put it away someplace until the next time they have guests? Do they actually like scratchy paper? I certainly was too shy to ask Mrs. Hymen directly and I never did talk to my Mom and Dad about it.

I started thinking about this incident when I dug out a roll of not-so-nice toilet paper that I bought in the Spring of 2020 when there were not many choices. As I wish that I had not bought such a large package of this thin, not-soft paper I remember the Hymens.  They were definitely of an age to have been affected by World War II, I do not know if they were in the US or Europe at that time and I also do not know if they had friends or relatives who were in battle or in concentration camps. Were they in the habit of being frugal, even with toilet paper, or did they feel bad about small everyday luxuries? Did they switch the rolls to honor their guests, or did they think that these young people could not handle austerity?

At this late date, I cannot ask anyone for more details, but I can ponder. How attached am I to small, and not-so-small creature comforts? Am I grateful for all these first-world comforts? Do I ever think about those who live much simpler lives, either by choice or necessity?  

So I guess I have learned to not put the single-ply toilet paper in the guest bathroom. But also, put out the better, matching dishes, open the new box of crackers, use that better bottle of wine, celebrate that I have friends and family that come over to spend time with me. Also, remember those who don't have the option of better toilet paper.

At Least I Am Not in the Belly of a Whale.

 My very religious, very Evangelistic neighbor has been telling me lately that she is excited about all the mayhem going on in the U.S. because it is making so many people turn towards God and pray. It is an unusual take on how to handle what you do not like about what is going on around you. She is seriously rejoicing in things being bad. This got me thinking about what should I be doing as far as praying and acting to improve things I know are not good and not God's will.

The Old Testament readings at Sunday mass the past couple of weeks mention Samuel and Jonah. Both were called by God, both had some trouble at first, but then eventually did listen and follow God's will. What does that mean to us living in 2021? Are we listening to God? How is he calling us? I don't think many of us are woken up in the middle of the night by the voice of God. Neither are we told specifically where to go and what to do like Jonah was, nor are we likely to be swallowed by a giant whale if we do not act on what God is asking of us, but we need to be alert to listen to what God is calling us to do and be. 

How do we know what God wants of us? Listening at church and following our Church traditions teaches us to pray and ask for what we need. But how do we know if God wants more than prayer? Somebody needs to do the action. How alert are we to the quiet voice in our heart that leads us to a particular action whether it be working at a food pantry, praying in front of an abortion clinic, spending some extra time on the phone with a friend or neighbor who needs your companionship, writing to elected officials, running for office,  peaceful protests, going on a mission, fasting for an intention, or even something more life-changing? Many of us have already set the path for our major vocation, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be constantly listening for God who might show us what he wants by having a job layoff and then a very different opportunity arises, a nagging feeling that you need to be doing something for a particular group or cause, obstacles that get in the way of what you want to do that make you have second thoughts. 

Looking back, I can see some times in my life where God led me to be somewhere or do something. After losing a teaching job due to the school closing, I stumbled into a job working in a shelter for homeless, pregnant women. It was hard but very fulfilling, I grew and I know I helped many people. I was led to work in a Catholic school with some very supportive co-workers the year that we had several family crises. It wasn't exactly being swallowed by a fish and being spat out where you belong but I still ended up going someplace I had no intention of going. If you think about it, I suspect you can find some times when God managed to get you where you belong, even though it was not your first choice. 

So I cannot rejoice as much as my neighbor about bad times bringing people closer to God, but I can and will pray and be alert to where I am being led and to say "Here I am Lord, I come to do your will." 

Socially Distanced Cookies

 This year my daughter-in-law, my daughter, and I decided to try a drop-off cookie and pastry exchange. Normally we would be bringing such treats to multiple gatherings on both sides of the family, but with the Covid restrictions, we had to figure out a way to get our baking fix without eating six dozen of the same cookie ourselves. 

So I got to work and made my personal favorites, chocolate biscotti, and chocolate chip cookies. I decided I had the time and energy to make one more type and asked my husband what he wanted. His reply was he loves iced sugar cutouts, like my sister makes, with lots of details and really pretty. My sister usually bakes about 20 dozen cutouts each year and spends several days painting them and using them as gifts for business associates. and church friends. She is much more artistically talented than I and I usually only bake cutouts when I can't get any of hers.

So I pulled out my favorite recipe and set to work. The dough came together without mishap and I put it in the fridge to firm up. I looked over my collection of cookie cutters and pulled out about eight, reminding myself that I need to not do more than I have the time or talent for. The icing looked and smelled good and I was ready to get to work. Then I realized that if you only decorate cookies every few years, you don't necessarily have all the tools you need. A toothpick and a spoon worked well enough to cover the large areas so I was a little emboldened. That is when things started to unravel. I could not get the colors to blend the way I wanted so each Santa had a dusty rose hat. My hand was not steady enough to get the eyes straight and then I started rushing and realized I was going to have a lot more to clean up because I was rushing. After an hour or so I decided that a single color on each cookie and some sprinkles would do. They taste good and my husband is satisfied, even though they do not look like bakery quality.

I started thinking about how this baking experience relates to Advent and how I should be preparing myself for Jesus coming. It feels like I was fighting most of my bad habits during this project, rushing, trying to do too much, not taking the time to find the right tools, giving up, and taking shortcuts. I will probably get more compliments on the cookies that I bake more often, just like I can do most things better when I practice them. Like the cookies, I am pretty good as is. But this time of year we as Catholics and Christians have the opportunity, even the duty, to try to become more prepared for the coming of our Lord, not only at Christmas but when we meet Him face to face at the end of our life. 

Make sure to find a way to enjoy the Christmas season, even if it means some major changes in tradition. We can all learn to enjoy simple things and appreciate all the wonders of the season.

A Walk or a Hike?

 I just wanted to let you know that my husband and I completed a 3.25-mile hike on the Peewah Trail at Trail of Tears State Park. My husband said that it would be impressive and I could tell everyone about my accomplishment. If you are not duly impressed, I better let you know the rest of the story.

Ron and I enjoy taking walks, usually in the neighborhood, sometimes when we are out of town. We recently took a couple of days off for our anniversary and drove to Cape Girardeau, MO. We knew that there were a couple of state parks with some hiking trails in the area and we thought that walking a mile or so along one of these trails would be a good way to enjoy an hour or two together. We went to the Visitor's Center at the park and got a map of the trails. I should have worried when I asked her how hard the trail was and she replied that we should be able to do it since we were wearing hiking shoes. As she described that there were some hills and tree roots I should have been listening better. She gave us a trail map that Ron stuck in his pocket.

So we drove to the trailhead and grabbed the 1/2 filled water bottle that was in the car. (We had left the cooler at the hotel.) Despite the weather report calling for rain, we started out with the sun shining and the temperatures in the mid-seventies. We went up and down the first couple of hills and they were a little steep. Ron said it was about the same as the hill leading to our house, I reminded him that the road to our house is paved and isn't 3.25 miles. He also on every uphill shouted out that downhill can be harder than uphill. I responded only when you have sore knees, and that is not a problem for either of us. 

The views of the Mississippi River were fantastic and the autumn leaves were stunning as we ambled along. The temperature was creeping up and the hills were starting to feel steeper. Ron pulled out the map and we realized we had not even gotten even halfway along the loop. I finally looked at the map and realized that those topographic lines that show you how steep the hills are were very close together and there was a whole lot of them. I was kind of watching the clock and figured that walking on pavement we should do about three miles an hour, so a casual walk on a path should be maybe twice that? About this point, the walk became a hike and was less enjoyable as I started thinking about how tired and out of breath I was becoming. I was also getting jealous of my husband, who is a good five years older than me, moving at a pretty quick clip and wearing a dress shirt and khakis. Every time I stopped to catch my breath, he would be concerned but confused. I started having "what if" thoughts about possible illness or accident way out in the middle of nowhere and no way to get rescued. It didn't help any when Ron decided it would be a good idea to spread out about ten feet so if one of us falls, we don't knock down the other one. I definitely was not enjoying this chore of finishing the hike at this point.

We kept tramping along, got off the trail by about 100 feet once, and had to stop to figure out where the trail went three or four times. I did trip and fall one time and threatened Ron with his life when he started to pull out his phone to take a picture. Eventually, after almost two hours we figured out where we were on the map and I felt better knowing that we were heading back toward the trailhead. About this time I also noticed that the breeze was getting cold and damp and there was a faint sound of thunder in the distance. Thinking about the impending rainstorm just made us move a little faster.

We got back to our car after two hours and fifty minutes. I looked at the sign and besides listing all the hazards of the trail, it gave a suggested time to plan for the trip. 3.5 hours. I just looked at the sign, then at Ron, and then back at the sign. We had just basically sprinted around that trail! I had not enjoyed the hike because I thought that I was lazy and out of shape when we could have stopped many more times and still been typical hikers. Ron is almost a foot taller than me and his legs are much longer so he was taking fewer steps. Also, my ego wouldn't let me admit that he is just better than me at long walks, probably genetically. 

Yes, we will go hiking again. No, I will not feel guilty about setting a slower pace. I will definitely plan better, bringing enough water and looking at the map more carefully. I will try to be less competitive and just enjoy the moment.