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.

It Shows

 I had the opportunity to spend two weeks in a kindergarten classroom recently and was reminded of how honest they are about what goes on in their life.  I also was reminded that they usually do not have the communication skills to express their feelings well, nor the ability to make many changes in their lives. 

When they get tired, they either fall asleep in their chair or do whatever it takes to stay awake and alert; often this involves making noise or moving in ways that the teacher does not condone. When they are scared or worried, you might see tears, but you are just as likely to see anger or silliness.

I think as parents or other involved adults, we often are so wrapped up in our own problems that we forget that our children have feelings about what they see and perceive. Most teachers can tell when a child is exposed to some kind of change at home. It might be a sick relative, a missing pet, a change in the family routine, or something else that they have no control over. Often the adults have little or no control either. But some things the adults do have control over. No child should have to listen to the adults around him/her argue or fight. They should not have to listen to one adult put down another adult.  They definitely should not have to be exposed to immoral behavior whether it is drug use or theft, or violence towards a person or place. 

Yes, your child's teacher knows when there is something that your child is struggling with, whether it is a change in your work hours, a fight with an ex-spouse, or any of a myriad of other things. But you, as a parent, can do much more to help your child verbalize and deal with his/her emotions. Sometimes you can fix the problem, sometimes, not, but you are the one most likely to be able to pinpoint what it is that is hurting your child's heart.

So, when you are at your wit's end, even if it is not intuitive, give your child an extra hug, spend a couple of minutes talking to him/her, remember that they are feeling most of the same stresses you are and they cannot control anything about it.

Phone Conversations With Dad

My Mom has been struggling with Alzheimer's. It is a horrible disease that slowly robs the victim. But I want to talk about my Dad who has been having to deal with his wife of over 60 years slowly disappear and his world turn upside down.

My Dad has always been kind of quiet, especially at home. He seldom told you what he was thinking and would never disagree with Mom in front of us. Most of our conversations were about sports or about family members or maybe his giving us some advice. He was strict, but seldom emotional.

When we grew up and moved out of the house we were all expected to call once a week and talk to Mom. Dad would get on the other line and listen in, but he seldom said anything. Mom would pick up the phone, she would call Dad, then she would check to make sure he picked up and then we would talk. Often Dad would not say a word until it was time to say goodbye. I guess I presumed he was listening, never really thought about it, but he always knew what was going on with me.

When Mom was diagnosed several years ago, it was hard for both of them. Dad had been taking care or the financial needs and Mom would take care of the physical needs but that was going to change. Dad cut back on his work schedule and his social life and also allowed us kids to help him for the first time. He gradually stepped in and took some of Mom's load and paid for help in the areas he couldn't handle. About a year ago Mom got to the point that she could not live in the house and moved to the skilled care center. That is the point that I was not calling home to talk to Mom, but to Dad.

In the past year I have gotten to know my Dad in a different way. He couldn't just sit and listen on the phone. At first the conversation was mostly about Mom, but gradually we have learned. He tells me more about how he is doing and what he is doing. He is gradually learning to ask the questions Mom used to and I am learning that he really was interested in what I was saying all along. We talk about the weather, and the family and about sports, but sometimes we start to get on a more intimate level. He will talk about his reminisces and his memories; that conversation was always be filtered through Mom in the past.

Last week he told me about reading through the letters he and Mom wrote back and forth while he was in the service. She told him about her new niece, my cousin. Dad reflected how much has changed. That baby is now a grandmother and the young lovers who were fascinated by that baby were married, raised six children of their own and have been blessed by 20 grandchildren and two great grandchildren. This is a part of my Dad I had never met before.

It is hard to watch my Mom deteriorate and my Dad suffer through it with her. But I am very blessed that I am getting to know a part of my Dad that he used to only share with Mom. I know that as both of them age, our relationships will evolve and there will be some sad times; but I am learning to embrace the positive pieces, the intimate times.  

Catholic Food for Thought

Originally Published on Catholic365.com

A while back I was talking to someone at work and she told me that she knew I could cook because I was from a good Catholic family. It confused me because even though I do cook and I am from a Catholic family; I really couldn't see a relationship. I mean, I do know some very good Catholics that are mediocre cooks, and I know cooks who are not Catholic, even some who are not even religious. So what is the relationship, if there is one? I don't think that years of bringing food to pot lucks and helping at church dinners is what she was talking about.

There is one meal everyone in our “good Catholic” family attend at least weekly whether we are together or apart and that is the Eucharistic Celebration. Part of being Catholic is eating the body and blood of Jesus at Mass. As Catholics, food and meals are woven into our worship. Not only with the Last Supper but throughout the Old and New Testament breaking bread together is filled with meaning. Abraham eating with angel messengers, Joseph inviting his brothers to the banquet table, the miracle of the loaves and fishes; all these events revolve around food and hospitality. Doesn't it just make sense that food and eating together is a major part of our Catholic culture.

Our religion along with our ethnic cultures intertwine with lots of food symbolism; fish and fasts during Lent, special food on the table for Easter, Christmas and many saint days and other holy days. Most of these times include dining with family and friends.

Knowing that our meals reflect so much of our faith does seem to affect our attitude towards food. We make it a priority to eat together. We start our meal with grace. We often invite others to join us in our meal. When we place so much emphasis on meals it is only natural that we put a goodly effort into the quality of the food.

So it does fall together: As Catholics we worship and celebrate using food. As a family we use food to celebrate and to worship. As Catholic families, is it not normal and good to socialize, to grow to celebrate around a good meal? 

When Your Son is "Father"

This was originally published on Catholic365.com
on March 15, 2015

"Oh, Fr. X is your son, you must be so proud" I have heard that quite often in the five years since my son was ordained. I usually smile and say thank you but I am usually thinking that what I am proud of is different than what that speaker is thinking. I am proud of my son for listening to God and doing his will and persevering through two masters degree programs in half a decade of seminary. I am proud of him for giving up a lucrative career in the secular world and giving up the physical intimacy and joy of being in a family because God called him to be his servant.

What is it like to have a son who is a priest? When people ask me that question, many things come to mind. I worried about him being happy while he was in the seminary; that he would not be discouraged by the long, hard process with years of classes and formation. I pray that he does not feel isolated or overwhelmed with his many duties, most of which he does alone. I am grateful that he and his brother priests have a strong bond and that with modern technology he can text or call one of his former classmates for support. I am concerned when I hear about discrimination and hatred towards Christians anywhere in the world because men like him are the brunt of that hatred and are in danger. And yes, I am proud when I go to Sunday Mass where he is presiding, and I see attentive faces and smiles of understanding around me during the homily. I am also proud when I see his look of total concentration during Mass.

There are also some interesting perks related to being part of the sisterhood of mothers of priests. Someone pointed out to me that I am guaranteed not to have an empty church at my funeral because most of my son's friends and acquaintances at church goers who will be supportive of him. At his ordination, he gave me a box with the cloth he wiped his hands with after the bishop anointed him. He claims I am supposed to show it to St. Peter when I die and it should be a passport to heaven. (I sometimes worry that my family won't find that box when the time comes; it is in my bottom dresser drawer, guys.) Sometimes we get to benefit from some of the generosity of his parishioners. He has bought an occasional dinner from the stack of gift cards he received at Christmas or sometimes shows up at the house with a dessert that someone gave him. Then is the down side of not knowing what to get him for Christmas; we can't shop for shirts or ties for him at the local department store.

Being a parent is an amazing experience. The parent of a man who is doing what God has called him to do is even more so. I know I cannot take any credit for his vocation except for trying to help him know God and not discouraging him. Yes, I am proud of my son in many ways and I am grateful to God that he is fulfilling his calling as a priest.

Why a Pickle Jar?

I am starting this blog with the intention of writing about being Catholic and being part of a family.

So what's with the pickle jar?

Since I am a newbie as far as blogging,I found out that picking a name for a blog is a little tricky. Since there are many, many other sites on the Internet, I needed to come up with a name that is unique and creative. So the first twenty or so ideas I had were not going to work. The story about my sister and the pickle jar is one of my favorites and shows some of the quirkiness of my family.

Back when my sister was pregnant and the mother or two preschoolers, we were talking at a family gathering about getting basic things like shopping done when you are very pregnant and also have kids in tow. She said that someone told her to put a jar of pickles in your grocery cart and if your water breaks to drop the jar on the floor. That comment perplexed my brother who, at the time, had not experienced being a parent. He had all kinds of questions like do you actually buy the pickles or keep returning them at the last minute, what if you are at a store that doesn't sell pickles, and what are you going to do with three or four jars of pickles? Even now I can visualize my sister's kitchen with a whole shelf of pickles.

So how does this tie in with my theme?

Making a mess to cover up a mess is wrong but very human. We lie to cover up a lie, we hurt others when we feel hurt by them, even abortion is done to cover up a messy situation. We find it very hard to let go of our misguided plans and put that jar back on the shelf and find ourselves stocking up on negative solutions to problems.

God will give us a better solution to our problems if we just ask; just as the store manager doesn't want to keep returning jars to the store shelves or clean up broken glass.

I want to share with you some of my experiences with my faith and my family. Some are silly, some serious and some that remind me of my humanity. 

So keep checking in and I will tell you some of my thoughts on being a Catholic parent and family member. (and about my quirky family.)