Diana

Jim and I were in Las Vegas. This was long before the kids were in the picture. Just escaping from work and enjoying some time with Jim's family. I found out from Paul Eckroth that Princess Diana had been seriously injured in a car accident. By the time we got back to the hotel, the TV anchorman said that she had died.

Died? I was stunned. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I no longer cared about the trip or Las Vegas. I just wanted to sit in front of the TV and hear that the whole thing was a mistake and that she had been revived. Admittedly, I was somewhat surprised and even a little embarrassed that I was this devastated over a public figure, a celebrity. Someone whom I clearly never hoped to meet or know. And yet, in this age of multi-media, countless tell-alls, and hyper publicity, I grew up with her.

When I was fifteen, I stayed up all night with my mother and watched her marry the Prince. It's just one of those memories that will stay with me always. Everything about the wedding was magical. The dress, the pageantry, and all the rest of it. Of course none of us had any idea that the marriage itself was miserable for both of them, almost from the very start. No. At fifteen, I, like the rest of the world, caught the Diana bug. I was strangely proud of the fact that we shared the same birthday. On the day she married the Prince of Wales, in front of literally the world, she was a mere five years older than I. Astounding really.

Diana was beautiful in that full featured, English kind of way. She was everything I thought a woman should be. Tasteful, elegant, stylish, modest, self-effacing, vulnerable, and kind. Who couldn't smile when she flubbed up her own husband's name during the ceremony? In those days, no one could fault her. Her innocent missteps just added to the charm.




Over the years, we found out more than we wanted to know about Diana's faults and weaknesses. There has been so much written about her that it's really hard to know what is true and what isn't. But one thing seems very clear from her own words and actions. She married someone who did not love her, she was lonely in a way that is almost impossible for any of us to understand, and that she tried to cope in ways that I don't admire but I with which I sympathize. And she was a great mother. She loved her children. My goodness did that show. We saw her joyously bear hugging the boys after a lengthy separation. Laughing hysterically with them while getting soaked on a theme park water ride. Imploring the press to give her and the boys a break so that they could ski in peace and enjoy a family holiday. As a mother, I understand wanting the best for your kids and just doing everything you can for them--in good times and in bad.




It's been ten years since she died and she still fascinates me. I'm particular about what I read where she's concerned. I like my untainted Diana memories thank-you-very-much. If I hear a criticism, I just turn a deaf ear. And just when I thought I knew every arcane piece of of Diana trivia known to man, I heard a new one just the other day. Her favorite movie was The English Patient.

Could her legacy be any more secure?



Due in part to her inspiration, a fifteen year old girl, awkward and insecure, began to realize that beauty includes all kinds of internal and external qualities. And while at 41, the confidence meter isn't always as high as it should be, I think back to "shy Di" who blossomed into a maverick, an icon beloved not only for her beauty but also for her kind, generous spirit. And that gentle, loving nature inspires me still.

God bless and keep her this day and always.

August Wrath

I told you so. The month of August in the Chicago area is just the worst. And this one is wrapping up to be no exception. After three and a half days with no power, we've finally got the AC cranked and the lights are on. Never mind that our neighborhood looks like a war zone. Forget that the mosquitoes are fat and happy. No one is injured, no one's home is irreparably damaged. We're safe.

On Thursday at about 3 in the afternoon, Ethan and I were playing a Webkinz game on the computer. McKenna was napping in her room upstairs. Jim was in New York working. He wasn't expected back until Friday night. It was a typical summer day--muggy, slightly overcast, about 90 degrees. The usual. So, I was amazed when we looked out the patio french doors and saw a scene straight from The Wizard of Oz. The sky was black and trees were literally sideways. It looked like a monsoon descended upon us in the span of one minute. The wind was howling as loud as I have ever heard it. I firmly told Ethan to back away from the windows.

Thankfully, Ethan had the presence of mind to say that we better go get McKenna. (What a little trooper.) We ran up the stairs, plucked her out of bed and ran back down the stairs to the basement. The three of us snuggled up on the couch and listened as the house shook, trees crashed, and thunder boomed. McKenna just kept her face buried in my chest. Ethan was being super brave. He didn't cry but his eyes were as big as saucers. We talked about SpongeBob and Patrick and how they would handle the situation.

As soon as it came it was gone. A tendril of light emerged in the window well. Time to go upstairs and see what was what. Truly, I thought it was just a freak thunder storm. Pretty typical stuff in these parts for this time of year. But when we stepped out of the mud room door into the side yard, all three of just said, "Whoa".

Trees and power lines were down everywhere. A huge chunk of an Oak tree outside McKenna's room broke off and missed her sleeping area by about three feet. Fire and police sirens sounded everywhere. Neighbors came out of their houses and we all just sort of stared at the mess and then at each other. What happened?

Catherine and her father Bob and brother (Eric) drove up and asked if they could park one of their cars in our driveway since theirs was completely buried under debris. Bob told us that he had been outside when "the thing" hit. A wall of water just came barreling down the street. He said he had never seen anything like it and that it has the scariest thing her had ever seen in his life. I'm told that we may have gotten as much as eight inches of rain from this storm alone. WILD!

Many of our neighbors' basements flooded. Cars stalled in three feet of water just down the street. One of our neighbors lost a trampoline.
It ended up in another yard two houses down.
We got off relatively scott free. Amen.

OK enough details. Some say it was a microburst. Others said it was a class one tornado. I called it a gustnado even though I'm told that it doesn't meet the technical specs for that particular act-of-God (I just like the word gustnado.) Who knows what it was? Scary, loud, menacing, and sudden. There you have it.

I'm officially done with August even though there are a few days left in this wretched month. Fall never looked so good.

Sexualization of Our Children

Have you been shopping for your little girl lately?

It is scary. Even for toddlers, much of the clothing is tight, short, glittery and cropped. Suggestive graphics are everywhere. I'm appalled that any mom would knowingly let her child wear anything with the word "juicy" on it. Apparently, there must be quite a few moms who do because the manufacturer seems to be thriving. And how about the rest of it? Make-up, nail polish, heeled sandals, temporary tattoos, "ghetto gold" jewelry. It goes on and on. Think back for a moment to little Jon Benet Ramsey. Even her father admitted that her mother liked to dress the little girl up like a "little woman".

Laura Ingraham calls it the pornification of our culture. Did we all fall asleep over the last thirty years and allow the fringe to become mainstream? Porn stars and porn peddlers, once relegated to the shadows, are now full blown celebrities. Hugh Hefner has a popular reality series. Cosmopolitan magazine was once considered racy. Now, it has a spin-off entitled "Cosmo Girl" with piece (no pun intended) titles such as "How to Get That Guy" and "Are You Sexy Enough?". It never ends.

The hardcore left, the if-it-feels-good-do-it- generation, the so-called women's movement--they have all had a hand in this porn culture. Somewhere along the line women were told that true liberation is synonymous with unfettered, sexual freedom. As such, have sex whenever, however, and as much as you like. Just protect yourself against pregnancy and STDs. Otherwise, darling, the world is your sexual oyster. Have at it. At least that's what Helen Gurley Brown would have you believe.

Do boundaries even exist any more? Unmarried, sexual encounters are now casually referred to as "hook-ups". We've been told since the Clinton era that oral sex isn't really sex. And yet we wring our hands with angst when we hear of thirteen year old girls performing "non-sex sex acts" on boys in bathrooms. As a culture we seem shocked and dumbfounded by the fix that we're in with our over-sexed children. And yet when you really think about it, how we landed here should not be such a mystery.

The last scene in Little Miss Sunshine really hits home. Shy, 8-year old Olive sexes up her pageant routine to the point of absurdity. We're initially offended by her awkward gyrations to Rick James' "Super Freak"...until one realizes, of course, that the outlandish immorality of it all really is the point. And from Grandpa's point-of-view, if you're gonna go out there and do it, then do it! Why hide behind the sham of pageant charm and talent? Go out there and sell yourself like the rest of kiddie meat on display. But at least be honest about what you're doing. It's an uncomfortable thing to watch. But I got the point.

In the public schools, students and teachers are forbidden to talk about God. Yet, when I see what some children (and I mean young children) wear to school each day, I'm aghast. We send our girls to learn, to build their minds, to teach them that they are worthy and deserving of an education. Meanwhile, that message is seriously eroded by the provocative and demeaning way our girls are allowed to present themselves. Even at Mass, pre-adolescent girls teeter on high heels while exposing every available piece of skin that they can possibly get away with. Shame on MTV, shame on Paris Hilton, and shame on any and all of us who allow our kids to have access to any of this stuff. In the end, first and foremost, we parents own it. Period.

And it's not easy. Trying to shield Ethan from the lure of Zach and Cody is a daily challenge. I would have never allowed him to watch that show but it started last year when he was in the hospital. There was a limited TV repertoire and the kid was going bonkers. So, I caved and gave him the OK to watch The Suite Life of Zach and Cody. It was on the Disney Chanel. How bad could it be? The fact is that it's tame compared to a lot of other stuff on cable and network TV. But it is still not appropriate. The amount of thinly veiled sexual references is really rather surprising. And these boys just are not the role models Ethan should be aspiring to. Remember, this programming is on the Disney Channel.

Some might tell me that I need to relax. Maybe I do need a few deep breathing exercises now and again but that doesn't mean I'm off base on this one. The problem is so many of us have lost perspective on what is truly profane. I was beyond shocked a few years ago while watching the sitcom Scrubs. After a vigorous sexual encounter, one of the female doctors dramatically and breathlessly declared that she needed a vagina transplant. This was on prime-time, network TV! Last time I checked, that was dialog for a rated-R movie. Shrek 2, ostensibly for kids, made reference to Pinnochio in a thong. Walt Disney is rolling in his grave.

Suffice it to say, we parents are challenged. We simply cannot defer to the culture's definition of what is acceptable, what is decent. More importantly, if we want our daughters to grow up with true self esteem and with clear regard for their gifts as people, not as objects, then we have to say enough is enough. Sure, I want my daughter to enjoy her femininity. But that can be done in so many graceful, elegant ways that have nothing to do with vulgar clothing or actions. In the meantime, my little girl will dress like a little girl. I think that's a good place to start.

Ethan Loves to Sing

...the only problem is...I'm the only one who knows it. When he thinks he is not being watched, he just loves to belt 'em out. I can't tell you if he's in tune or not. All I know is that it's the cutest thing ever. I've heard a lot of Harry Belafonte's "Day-O" over the last couple of weeks. He's even got McKenna doing that one.

Today I heard him singing a refrain I couldn't quite name although I recognized the melody. And then I realized he was singing a few lines from the Plain White Ts' Hey There Delilah. What a beautiful, lovely song. So refreshing and so unlike all of the misogynistic hate mongering out there. The guy who wrote this song clearly likes women. I mean really appreciates them. So, it warmed my heart to hear Ethan's cute, little-boy rendition of this endearing song.

"Hey There Delilah"

Hey there Delilah
What's it like in New York City?
I'm a thousand miles away
But girl tonight you look so pretty
Yes you do
Times Square can't shine as bright as you
I swear it's true

Hey there Delilah
Don't you worry about the distance
I'm right there if you get lonely
Give this song another listen
Close your eyes
Listen to my voice it's my disguise
I'm by your side

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
What you do to me

Hey there Delilah
I know times are getting hard
But just believe me girl
Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar
We'll have it good
We'll have the life we knew we would
My word is good

Hey there Delilah
I've got so much left to say
If every simple song I wrote to you
Would take your breath away
I'd write it all
Even more in love with me you'd fall
We'd have it all

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me

A thousand miles seems pretty far
But they've got planes and trains and cars
I'd walk to you if I had no other way
Our friends would all make fun of us
and we'll just laugh along because we know
That none of them have felt this way
Delilah I can promise you
That by the time we get through
The world will never ever be the same
And you're to blame

Hey there Delilah
You be good and don't you miss me
Two more years and you'll be done with school
And I'll be making history like I do
You'll know it's all because of you
We can do whatever we want to
Hey there Delilah here's to you
This ones for you

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
What you do to me.

Also a Land of Beauty, Honor, and Pride

Ethiopia often conjures images of poverty, hunger, and desperation in the extreme. Such conditions surely exist. But I am learning that it is also an intensely beautiful country, rich in history, culture, and pride. When I visit Derebe, I want to go with an open mind and have some basic knowledge of not only the country's struggles but also of it's achievements. I pray for humility and the ability to appreciate a way of life that will certainly be nothing like my own. I also pray that I can provide comfort and support while avoiding condescension or presumption.

The River Nile



Nekemte, Ethiopia - Derebe's Home


Precious

Their God, Our God

Cassandra Floyd...Post Script

In a previous entry, I wrote of my lingering sadness about the murder of a high school and college classmate, Cassandra Floyd, M.D. As mentioned, we were not close but our social circles crossed paths numerous times. Let's just say when we saw each other we were friendly. Still, I always envied Cassandra's confidence and her laid back approach to success. She just did it. No freak outs, no drama.

It's ironic the way we conjure up images and fantasies about people we admire. The reality is that she had her share of struggles and turmoil just like everyone else. It's safe to say that at the end of her life, Cassandra had more than her fair share of heartache. How she coped with that and still managed to care for a daughter and treat patients is mind boggling.

Her death is a tragedy that still deeply touches people. Recently, this article was posted in a Kaiser Permanente press release:

Kaiser Permanente Santa Clara
Memorial Rose Garden Ceremony and Reception
Tuesday, May 8 2007 at 6 pm

The Cassandra Floyd, MD Memorial Rose Garden has been successfully transplanted from the KP Kiely campus (which is scheduled to close soon) to its permanent home at the new Homestead campus in Santa Clara. The garden was replanted at what will be the main entrance to the new hospital. The roses for the garden, called "Mother's Rose ", were picked by Maureen Leach, a now-retired nurse manager of KP Santa Clara's Obstetrics and Gynecology Department. Maureen was instrumental in the developing the health care response for KP members at KP Santa Clara who experience domestic violence.

The rose garden honors the life of Dr. Floyd, who was a graduate of the KP Santa Clara residency program. Dr. Floyd was the killed by her former husband in 2001. Her family continues to raise awareness about domestic violence in hope that others will seek help before it is too late.

The Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology and the Floyd family will hold a rededication ceremony and reception on Tues May 8 at 6 PM - just in time for the first bloom. On exhibit will be the silentWitness display, a large multi-panel display of stories of courage, hope and survival of KP employees and clinicians who dealt with domestic violence. The display is dedicated to Dr. Floyd and two other KP employees who were killed by their intimate partners.

A fitting tribute indeed.

Ethiopia...I'm Going....

Just got my confirmation from Compassion that I am traveling to Ethiopia next March for twelve days. I'll get to meet and spend time with Derebe! She lives in the hillside community of Nekemte, about 150 miles West of Addis Ababa.



I'm excited and a little scared. I have been all over the U.S. and to many countries around the world (mostly Europe) but this will be my first trip to Africa. The only part of the trip that makes me truly nervous is making a connecting flight in Darfur, Sudan. One of the most volatile, desperate places in the world. But I'm assured that we will be completely safe. So I'll just tuck that worry away for now. Jim is very supportive and wants me to make this journey. He knows it's important to me and he knows that I would never go if I thought for a moment I was putting myself in harm's way. My children need me too much for that!

I'll be praying that I am worthy of this opportunity.

Blessings truly abound.

Beauty Disaster

Whatever you do....do not ever, EVER use Olay Definity eye gel pods. I'm not a big grocery-store-beauty-product woman. I'm a little snobby in that regard. The only "low-end" item I use is Nivea. And that's because Nivea works and it's fragrance reminds me of Katy and dear Jutta. Other than that it's high-end cleaning and moisturizing products. My skin is just soooo sensitive and the cheap stuff usually gives me a reaction. In this regard, you definitely get what you pay for.

I digress. The morning after I applied this stuff on my immediate eye area--I woke up with my eyes so swollen I could barely see out of them. My eyes were red and dripping with ooze. This was certainly not the look I was going for. I wore sun glasses the whole day yesterday.

My Aunt said her dermatologist neighbor recommended Vitamin C serum--which you can buy at Whole Foods. I'll give that a try. After the puffiness goes down, it's back to good stuff.

41 is just a swell age. Taken directly from Fried Green Tomatoes: Too young to be old and too old to be young.

Kid Conversation

Mommy: Ethan, the cleaning lady is coming tomorrow and this room is a bomb. Please pick the stuff off of the floor so that she can get in here and clean.

Ethan: (whine) WHY DO I HAVE TO? I DON'T WANT TO!!!!! I'LL DO IT LATER!!!

Mommy: Ethan James, it won't kill you to pick up this stuff so that this room can be properly cleaned. Picking up all these toys is the least you could do.

Ethan: (A few moments pass) Actually Mom, just leaving everything on the floor and letting the cleaning lady pick it all up would be the least I could do.

Oy!

Oracle Speaks: Presidential Elections

Hillary and a moderate Democrat. Not Obama. She doesn't want anyone to steal her thunder and Obama won't bring her anything in the general election. The liberal Democrats will be pissed but will vote for her anyway because they have no where else to go. There won't be a Nader to jump ship to, I don't think. Plus, they think she will win so they want to back a winner.

Rudy and Romney. Rudy will win the primaries because Republicans will get over his personal life and left-leaning domestic ideas because they want someone who will beat Hillary and they will rightly conclude that only he can do it. Rudy will pick someone to shore up his conservative voters and Romney will do this. Fred Thompson is a possibility also, but I put him behind Romney because Mitt has boo-koo money in the kitty. Mitt will take the job because it will be a stepping stone to a potentially successful White House run in 8 years.

In the general election, Rudy will win. If California switches their electoral vote process (now winner takes all, proposed is winner gets a bonus 2 and the rest are divided based on the popular vote in the state), Rudy will win handily. In the end, security will be the issue.

That is my prediction. Let's see if I crash and burn. Ha ha.

Weather Blues

Here I go again. I love living in the Midwest but I have a major beef with the weather. Californians are horrified at some of the low temps we see during the winter. But that's not what I'm ranting about at the moment. I'm no fan of 15 below--that's for sure. Still, I'll take it over a sweaty Chicago August anytime. Everyone and everything are literally doused in humidity. When we run the AC in the house, the windows drip with condensation. And of course there are the bugs. I'm stealing Woody Allen's line here: The bugs are as big as Buicks. The other day I watched in horror as a flying insect the size of a hummingbird landed on McKenna's back. Thankfully she didn't notice.

Every year, Oracle hears my broken-record spiel about this hot, wretched month. For some reason, as soon as the month is over, I put it out of my head completely, perhaps as a way to avoid my version of weather related PTSD. The following year, along comes August and I'm taken by surprise that it managed to rear it's ugly mug once again. Call it my coping mechanism. Go figure.

Frizzy hair, red face, sweaty skin, heat related break-outs. A vision to behold.

The light at the end of the tunnel is Fall, glorious and colorful in all it's grandeur. For folks who don't live in climates where there are true seasons, it's hard to fully appreciate a Midwestern Autumn. Maybe if August were not so miserable, I would not be enamored with the Fall. Who knows? But I'm looking forward to cooling down and jumping in the leaves with my shrimpers. And tucking crazy August away in the cob webbed recesses yet again.

Hairspray - Loved It!

Ethan has been asking about this movie for the past month or so. We all went today and it was sooo good. Jim is not a big fan of musicals and even he loved it. The kids were singing and bouncing along with the WONDERFUL soundtrack. John Travolta is amazing and every bit the Edna Turnblad that Divine was in the John Waters' original. In fact, I actually like the new Hairspray better . The Ricki Lake version was good mind you. But it was campy and had an underground, tongue-in-cheek vibe. And I found it just a little bit dark for some reason. The new Hairspray is a stage production made for the screen. I had that same wanna-get-up-and-dance-feeling like I had with Mama Mia. It's positive, it's fun. And that's just fine by me.


There were a couple of mild, suggestive gestures that the kids could have done without but oh well. And a wee bit of crude humor but nothing too over-the-top. The PG rating was fitting. Still, the tone of the film is so optimistic and upbeat that the few, fleeting detractors I mentioned are well worth enduring. I can't forget to mention that the new Tracy Turnblad, Nikki Blonsky--she's perfect for the role. Great voice, great dancer. I'm glad they took a chance on an unknown instead of picking a skinny starlet and trying to doctor her up with extra weight. Tracy had to be the real deal and is she ever.

We all left the theater with smiles and the kids were dancing their way back to the car. We bought the soundtrack on itunes as soon as we got home!

I totally recommend. Four stars from this Wheaton mommy.

Webkinz Intervention??

Ok, I'll admit it. I'm a closet Webkinz junkee. Turns out that lots of other moms are too. How sad is that? Ethan always has tons on Kidzcash because I make it for him the night before. Cash Cow 2 is my game.

Ethan has Jumpy and Spottie. McKenna has Cutie and Hoppy. And yes--Mommy has Mommykinz--the Pink Poodle. I have to watch out for the kidkinz, even in Webkinz world.

I have seriously gone off the deep edge. I often debate Ethan on Star Wars "issues".

The crazy, goofy life of a SAHM. :-)

Diplomacy For Dummies

Kickin' it with Hugo Chavez?

I'm not a huge fan of Perez Hilton. I find his humor offensive and and mean spirited. But I'll freely admit I'm with him on this one.


At best, Sean Penn is brain dead. At worst, he's a traitor. I can't decide which. Maybe he is both.

If he's such a proponent of redistributing wealth, why doesn't he just redistribute all of his money? I would like to see just how far he could propel his career in Venezuela? He would last about a week and a half and then he would be asking for his people to get him outta there.

This is the worst and most disheartening use of fame that I have seen in a long time. Not as blatant as Jane Fonda's Viet Kong hi-jinx--but equally ill advised.

Unbelievable.

Happy 60th Birthday Mom

July 30, 2007

So far away
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore
It would be so fine to see your face at my door
Doesn't help to know you're just time away

Long ago I reached for you and there you stood
Holding you again could only do me good
Oh, how I wish I could
But you're so far away

One more song about moving along the highway
Can't say much of anything that's new
If I could only work this life out my way
I'd rather spend it being close to you

But you're so far away
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore
It would be so fine to see your face at my door
Doesn't help to know you're so far away

Traveling around sure gets me down and lonely
Nothing else to do but close my mind
I sure hope the road don't come to own me
There's so many dreams I've yet to find

But you're so far away
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore
It would be so fine to see your face at my door
Doesn't help to know you're so far away
(So Far Away - Carole King)

Sad News

Greg as I remember him

Just heard today that Greg High died in his sleep very recently. I knew him from grade school at Queen of Apostles in San Jose. He was a sweet, kind, harmless boy who had a certain goofy charm. Greg was the first boy I ever danced with. He called me "sproing"because of my curly hair. In seventh grade, he asked me if I wanted to "go around". I may have said yes and then I think I changed my mind because I was embarrassed by the silliness of an 8th grade dating arrangement. I hope I didn't hurt his feelings.

Greg in recent times

May Greg find great love as he is reunited with our Father in Heaven.

Can't Wait Until This Week Ends!

OK...this week has officially been the absolute worst in years. My biggest Ethan challenge to date. Nothing insurmountable...just very humbling for this Mom who prides herself on being kinda decent at this raising-children-thing. Just when you think you have it all figured out, your child will throw you a major curve ball. Like Mommy, Ethan is intense, anxious and I dare say more than a little complicated. He often asks me about death. He worries about becoming poor. (?) He cries over the mildest of sentimentality in movies, TV, and in books. So, it's fair to say that I'm accustomed to Ethan's cloudy side. I just wasn't prepared for this week's challenge. I'll leave it at that. Nothing abnormal or earth shattering. Just a real test of my parenting skills and my ability to turn a challenge into an opportunity. Sometimes, this is a really, really hard job. And I had to handle it on my own as Jim was in NY this week.

My Dad had some tough medical news today. The issue is treatable and in many cases curable. Still, it may involve surgery and further treatment. My thoughts and prayers are with him tonight.

Behind, behind, behind on everything related to the house. And I mean everything.

Tapped on words at the moment. Goodnight.

41...Came and Went

The day that marked my 41st year was just OK. Jim and the kids remembered and I heard from my loyal contingent of birthday die hards. God bless them.

I just don't feel like blogging much lately. I just have to get the spirit again.

You just have to get up the next day and deal. Even if the inspiration eludes you. Your kids don't care that you're not feelin' it. So, you go through the motions and hope something sticks along the way.

This will pass. It always does.

Ethan loved Avalance Ranch Bible camp. McKenna wished that she could go. Karate resumes next week. Then swim lessons. Then Safety City safety camp. McKenna is at Creme de la Creme and has started to accept her fate as a pre-schooler. My sweet baby girl.

Lots of social commitments over the next month and then we're in full swing for back-to-school. Ethan starts Kindergarten. My precious baby boy.

That's all I can muster tonight.

A Prayer For Life

You Can Take The Girl Out of the 80s...

Yes, The Police will be at Wrigley Field shortly after Independence Day. Don't think I will be there though. A travesty, I know. The reality is that I missed out on getting tickets when they went on sale (sold out in an hour). They are on ebay now for vast sums. Just not sure if I want to shell out what some may spend on say, a used automobile. The only person who seems vaguely interested in going is my husband and I think the interest is drummed up just to please me. So, I'll let this one simmer.



But there is another lovely English band coming to Chicago...The English Beat. Oh the memories....The poofy hair, floral pants, big sweaters, driving my scooter here, there, and everywhere. Soulful lyrics, jazzy horns, with just a hint of proper, British sensibility. I Confess is definitely on the ipod:

Just out of spite,
I confess I've ruined three lives
Now don't sleep so tight
Because I didn't care till I found out that one of them was mine.

Night after night time time after time.
Done too much of both types of w(h)ining.
Still wasn't right fight after fight
Till "Get out of my life get away from me get away from that gun"

"No it's not a joke it's cards on the table time
Yes I could have phoned
I could have spoke
But how to break the news without beaking your heart
Being dead don't hurt,
No only dieing
Cards on the table time,
Sometimes it's right to say goodnight."

Always searching for paradise,
I'll admit that I'm good as blind
Darling I confess yes I've ruined three lives
And didn't care till I found out that one of them was mine.

I confess
Our love seems like a punishment
And I confess,
If it's all the same to you I'll stay indifferent

I confess I confess I confess
I confess I confess I confess.

No-one wins and there's no denying,
Don't pretend like you don't know why,
Just a little word here a little push there Darling
I confess look I confess that I don't really care

I confess I confess I confess.

Out like a light,
Another boy who's given up trying,
Blinded by fright,
He scream my life's not open,
Please get out,
I know I'm shouting,
I like to shout.

It's not a joke it's cards on the table time
It's not a joke it's cards on the table time
I could have phoned
I could have spoke
But how to break the news without beaking your heart
Being dead don't hurt,
No only dieing
Cards on the table time,
Sometimes it's right to say goodnight."

Always searching for paradise,
I'll admit that I'm good as blind
Darling I confess yes I've ruined three lives
And didn't care till I found out that one of them was mine.

I confess
I deserve some type of punishment
I confess
If it's all the same to you I'll stay indifferent
I confess I confess I confess
I confess I confess I confess
I confess I confess I confess
I confess I confess I confess
I confess I confess I confess

In my mind, The English Beat is ska. I'm no music critic or expert. Just a huge fan. Everytime I hear the sad saxaphone rifts in Can't Get Used to Losing You, I'm right back in 1987:

Guess there's no use in hangin' 'round
Guess I'll get dressed and do the town
I'll find a crowded avenue
Though it will be empty without you

I can't get used to losing you
No matter what I try to do
Gonna spend my whole life through
Loving you

Called up some girl I used to know
After I heard her say, "Hello."
Couldn't think of anything to say
Since you're gone it happens every day

I can't get used to losing you
No matter what I try to do
Gonna spend my whole life through
Loving you

(Saxaphone solo)

Can't get used to losing you
No matter what I try to do
Gonna spend my whole life through
Loving you

I'll find some party wait and see
Who am I kidding, only me
Cuz no one else could take your place
Guess that I am just a hopeless case

I can't get used to losing you
No matter what I try to do
Gonna spend my whole life through
Loving you

Can't get used to losing you
No matter what I try to do
Gonna spend my whole life through
Loving you

Will I actually make it to the show? It's 50/50. But it's so much fun and a little sad to remember all the craziness. And the music just brings it all back.

Church Sign Wisdom 3

Saw this today and it made me go...hmmm. My Aunt Melody G. seems to have always known this without being told or reminded of it. My neighbor Lauri C. also comes to mind. And my RCIA sponsor, Jim B. My late grandfather Elmer certainly lived it. Eddy J. has permanent status on this short list. There's even an endearing lady who works in the McDonald's drive-thru in Downers Grove who makes every customer smile...every single time.

I really admire this quality. It's an organic goodness unrelated to mood or circumstance. That's not to say that these folks don't ever have to make an effort to be kind. It's just that their "kindness set point" seems to be more elevated than that of your standard crab apple (i.e., me).

So, like anything else, you work with what you have and try to do better. And I'll keep trying. In the meantime, it's nice to have inspiration by way of role models and oddly enough, street signs.

Hair Happiness

After 30+ years of battling my curls, I've decided they have won. No more straightening, brushing, fussing, or fighting. The good news is that I have finally found hair products that are completely made for curly hair. No, really. So many hair products SAY they are for curly hair but when I use them I end up with undefined, stringy, partially frizzy, mall-girl hair. Or defined but wet-looking and crunchy. Yuck.

Oh yeah...the hair product. It's called Ouidad. The namesake is a woman who owns a salon in NYC and caters only to curly hair. You can order her stuff online and it's worth every penny. She understands that not all curly hair is thick and heavy. Many curls are fine like mine and can get weighed down by all of the oil and goop that you tend to find in curly hair products.

I just may spend the $175 and have her cut my hair. She has done Sarah Jessica Parker. Gotta love that.

So, I'm happy for this. Small but important favors.

Pop culture drive-by: Rosie O'Donnell quits The View and doesn't complete her contract. She mentions on her blog that when the painting is done, it is time to walk away from the canvas. Rosie, darling, the painting has been done for quite some time now. Not only is it time to walk away from the canvas, it's time to put down the brushes and find something else to do. Something a little more suitable to your talents and your way-left-of-center politics.

I have a semi-soft spot for her because I know what it's like to get fired up and not always have a razor sharp retort. I know what it is like to feel passionately about an issue. And I know a thing or two about never feeling like "you're one of them". But she loses me when she spews hyperbole and bullies people. When did she get so shrill and mean?

Church Sign Wisdom 2

Madame President?

OK...I'm the first to admit that we women are way too hard on one another but......c'mon. While you don't have to be a beauty queen to hold public office, you can't look like you rolled out of bed after a bender. Oh Hil...I had such hope for you back when I thought all things liberal were sound and enlightened. Oh well.

Get some sleep darlin'. And get thee to a day spa. As far as your politics...well...I don't think a make-over will help you much there.

A woman in the White House would be a momentous achievement. Too bad she's the wrong woman.

Elizabeth Dole anyone?

The Politics of Life

A few months ago, I had dinner with two, dear nephews. It was a lovely evening. They were most interested in why I have become so conservative over the years. I explained that it had mostly to do with gradual epiphanies about the realities of personal responsibility, the shedding of naive perceptions about what are individual rights versus privileges, and a deeper, more reverent devotion to this gift we call life.

As recently as ten years ago, the term pro-life conjured an immediate picture for me. Anti-woman, anti-choice, right wing, extreme. You could not convince me otherwise. This is a woman's right, it is her choice, no one, especially the government, has any business interfering in what is a women's health issue. I said all of this and I was passionate in my conviction. I played the part anyway.

Yet, there was a lingering inner voice, urging me to question the Ms. Magazine talking points. How can we know for sure when life begins? Does a fetus feel pain? Can a woman truly feel sustainable relief after an abortion? Or does that fade and eventually turn into an immense sense of regret? Maybe even shame? Why are pro-choice advocates so zealous in their position that they fight any and all restrictions on a "procedure" that has such a chilling impact on our entire society? Regardless of however marginal or infrequently practiced, why do they resist ending barbaric practices such as partial birth abortion? How can they advocate abortion-at-will for underage girls, insisting that it be available without parental consent?

These and other questions sat in the back of my mind. Regardless, I maintained my pro-choice stance. And then everything changed for me the day I gave birth to my first child. Simple as that.

Until you hold your first newborn child you just cannot understand the enormity of the love that you will feel. It was so overwhelming to me that I felt stunned, almost paralyzed. The new sense of responsibility is beyond describable. The child trusts you for every single one of his needs. And you, his parent, are obligated to care for him in every way. How is it that we understand this for a born child but we do not afford the same basic standard of care for the unborn? Suddenly, I realized how arbitrary and ridiculous the born/unborn cutoff really is.

I also came to realize that this gift to create and bear life is not the bondage described in Women's Studies 101. It's an incredible power bestowed upon us and it is not to be taken lightly. I realize that unwanted pregnancy happens and that not all parents are equipped to meet the many demands of a child. Thankfully, adoption is a loving and responsible alternative when this situation occurs. There are so many resources available to women who find themselves in a crisis pregnancy. The Church certainly walks the walk where this is concerned. A good example: Gabriel Project.

I pray that I can live up to the responsibility that I have been given with my own children and that someday soon, the killing of untold numbers of children will someday end. I also pray that we elect officials who have the fortitude and determination to protect the weakest, most vulnerable among us.

The issue of life is pivotal and yet I have heard liberal pundits ask why are you people so focused on abortion? Are there not other, critical problems to solve? My answer is simple. Right now, we live in the midst of a holocaust. Thousands, if not millions of unwanted children are killed each year. It is state sanctioned child abuse. With this definition in mind, I cannot think of an issue that surpasses abortion, both in terms of scope and consequence.

Kid Quote

Mom: Ethan, with Daddy traveling so much, I'm really counting on you to be the man of the house.

Ethan: OK, but does that mean I have to be the guy who does everything around here?

Why I Am Catholic

Living in Wheaton, we Catholics are just a wee bit on the defensive. Unlike Chicago proper, we are the minority here. Certainly, there is no persecution or anything malevolent occurring. Actually, it's quite the opposite. I have wonderful neighbors whom I respect and admire. I've said it before: I'm really happy here. The reality, however, is that Wheaton, Illinois is largely comprised of evangelical Christians. And sometimes you just want to be around more people who believe and worship like you do.

Maybe that is why I'm really pleased about our newly elected leader in our little town. He is Wheaton's first Catholic mayor. How silly is it that I feel like we scored one for the team? Joking aside, I am told that this is big for these parts, the so called "golden buckle of the bible belt". As recently as 30-40 years ago, some Catholics had a hard time in this once "dry" town. Some felt ridiculed and mistreated by their fellow Christians. That's hard to imagine now but I don't doubt it is true. The Catholic Church has always had detractors.

The slights that you occasionally witness now are mild but noticeable. Sometimes even kind of funny. When we considered buying another house in the neighborhood, the builder proudly noted that one of the art nooks could proudly house "one of our Catholic statues". I just started laughing and he turned three shades of crimson. I asked him if he also had any ideas about where in the home we could dedicate our shrine to the Blessed Mother.

When I started parochial school in 1975, my grandmother was fearful that her mother-in-law, my great-grandmother Whistance, would find out and be upset. Lord only knows what those nuns were bound to do. They worship idols and saints! Great grandma was a certifiable holy roller. A card carrying member of the Assembly of God. Her great-granddaughter at a Catholic school? Let's just say the subject was avoided.

The fact is that I have loved my Church from the first day I entered Queen of Apostles (San Jose, California) in Fall, 1975. As a child, I felt great warmth, guidance, and love there. It was literally a salvation, a sanctuary from my chaotic, sometimes scary home life. I never felt limited or stifled by the routines and structure. If anything, I found solace. I knew that in this loving, nurturing environment, I was safe and protected. Far more than I was at home. Through their teaching, I knew that life as I then knew it was not a road map for the future. I could do anything and be anything because God had a plan. It was up to me to simply listen and follow through.

As a young adult, I lost my way as many do. Like a wayward child, armed with youthful arrogance, I wanted to go it on my own. I wanted to do it may way. So, I eschewed what I then perceived as rules intended to subjugate. It took me many years to fully realize that God doesn't impose rules to spoil our fun or to arbitrarily impose control. Rather, like the best parent, He knows what is best for us. And He gives us the free will to do it our way, even if such choices are destructive and empty. But there is always redemption once you've found your way. And love. More than we can possibly imagine or understand.

I truly appreciate the pageantry and ritual of the Church. It serves to remind all of us that the worship that we engage in is far larger than the life we know; it is truly elevated. And our ultimate salvation is not of this world. Signs and symbols all around to remind us that God's love is both ethereal and immense.

The Catholic Church has gravitas. It's not a start-up with a questionable future. Blue chip all the way. I can remember visiting a Pentecostal church as a child and witnessing their form of communion. Saltine crackers on a plate. Even as symbolism, I thought they missed the point. I remember thinking that they forgot the ham and cheese.

We recognize Communion as a gift from God, his actual body and and his blood. Receiving Communion is an intimate and reverent act. Children are taught for lengthy periods of time in order to participate in the Sacrament. We remind ourselves during the Mass, "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you but only say the word and I shall be healed".

Yes, there have been many problems in the Church, especially over the last several years. I'll address that in another post. Suffice it to say, all families have problems but you just don't up and leave your family. You work it out and you keep trying, the best way you can.

We're a Catholic family and happy to be so. I hope to be worthy of all the blessings that we receive on a daily basis. And I hope to see more of us in Wheaton in the years to come.

Church Sign Wisdom

There is a church here in Wheaton (one of dozens) that posts a pearl of wisdom on their lawn marquis. I don't know the denomination. In fact, I don't even know the name of the church. But I just love their drive-by messages. So, I'll try to share when I can. Here is this week's:

Autograph your work with excellence.

Another one from quite awhile ago comes to mind:

Don't confuse busyness with fulfillment.

More to come.

Wedding Season is Here!

--photograph by Shana Waarich

Off to California for my sister Becky's wedding. I'll have lots more to report on that front when I return. In the meantime, I was thinking about my own wedding--some twelve years ago. If I had it to do all over again, I would do it in a heart beat. I think Jim would say the same thing.

I'm glad that Ethan and McKenna will know that their parents really loved each other. Surely that is one of the greatest gifts parents can give their children.

I fear I'm sounding a little smug but I don't mean to. There is no fairy godmother working overtime here. We fight. We make-up. Nothing unusual or transcendent to report. It's just that we really work at it. A LOT. ALL OF THE TIME.

I'm just grateful for the here and now. For once.

We Called Her Nana

She was something. Nana had presence. If she was in the room, it was impossible to miss her. A big lady with charisma to spare. I don't think I realized until my adulthood just how pretty she was. At my wedding in 1995, a friend commented that my grandmother must have been a stunner in her day. Even with the extra weight and age, she radiated confidence. A huge smile, cafe' au lait skin, dark hair, sparkling eyes. Wore pastels better than anyone that comes to mind.




And that laugh. Just a hair shy of raucous, sometimes a little forced, but never grating. You heard it when she was at her most mischievous, telling you a tall tale from her past that may or may not have had any resemblance to actual events. In a spirit of affection, my mother recently remarked that Nana rarely let the truth get in the way of a good story.




Much of her life is cloaked in mystery. I think Nana liked it that way. She thrived on drama. Some of her choices were questionable. Not everyone has a warm fuzzy where Nana is concerned. She did the best she could, I think. How Nana raised seven children (one died as a toddler), largely without the help of her first two husbands, is hard to fathom. I'm not giving her a pass. I'm just allowing the passage of time to sort of soften the edges of her mistakes. History in soft focus.

It seems to me that Nana was a better grandparent than parent. I guess that's the case with a lot of people. As a child, I was always very excited to visit her. There was always a whirlwind of kids and fun at her house. And she showered me with affection.

My Uncle Bobby Rabie, Nana, and me circa 1968

I was not close to Nana in the later years of her life. I regret that now. If I had it to do over again, I would. So, I will pay my overdue respect to her in the best and most meaningful way I can. My hope is to document at least one version of her story in the most loving way possible. There has always been lots of talk over the years about her faults. Still, no one could say that she did not love her family. Maybe not the way they needed it. But maybe the only way she knew how.

Nana and the new Mrs. Eckroth (me) September 3, 1995

In the end, there was absolutely no one like her. And as my sister's wedding approaches, I find myself thinking that she will surely be missed. She was not one to skip a party.

Nana, dear Grandmother... May God keep you safe and loved. You are in my heart, mind, and prayers tonight.

Jazzy's Home!!!

There is a long and amazing story that must be told and I will tell it...just not tonight. Bottom line, after 8 days on the lamb, Jazzy is home where he surely belongs. We just love this crazy critter.

Pretends to be bored and above-it-all.



Crabby, aloof, and finicky. Perfect.


Requirements: High quality food and water available at all times, cat box cleaned and in immaculate condition, petting/cuddling only when he wants it--otherwise don't bug him. Brush frequently. Play with him until he tires of the game and walks away. Then leave him alone or you will get smacked. Be prepared to get swatted for any reason because he feels like it. Allow him to climb in bed with you and walk over any part of your body until he finds a suitable place to nap. Clean crud out of his eyes and his nose because he has a flat face and it accumulates frequently. Provide a cat-nip filled sock for him at all times. Acknowledge him when you enter a room but do not expect the return favor. Expect that he will climb into any open closet, cabinet or other suitable orifice and disappear for long periods of time. Assume that he will plop on any clean, folded laundry. More requirements are forthcoming.

Works for us.

Welcome home Jazzy!

By the way, today is Easter and Christ is risen. Amen.

Miraculous Kindness

Today I thought about an incident that still baffles me. Three years ago, when my Grandfather was in the last stages of a terminal illness, I had a brief but unnerving phone conversation with a family member in California. Up to that point, everyone was somewhat optimistic about the illness being "kept at bay". We could not expect a cure but perhaps it could be treated and maintained in remission. I was informed that that hope was overly optimistic and that Grandpa was not doing well at all. Seeking confirmation, I called the doctor at V.A. who advised me in a less-than-delicate tone that if I wanted to see Grandpa while he was still living, I should get on a plane. Now.

I was not hysterical but I was really, really sad. Ethan must have been napping; Jim was at work. It was the middle of the day and I was alone with my thoughts (This was before McKenna was born). And then I heard knocking on our mud room door. Generally, neighbors and family use that entrance. Solicitors, charity fund raisers, and missionaries are the only folks who use the front door or the "main entrance". So, thinking it was a neighbor, I went to the mud room and, to my mild surprise, greeted a stranger.

He was a genial young man in his early twenties, clean cut with brown hair. Honestly, at that point, I thought I was in for a heaping helping of Mormon or Jehovah Witness hokum. What I got, however, was something very different. He simply said that he was passing our house, felt a sadness or that we were somehow experiencing a hard time. He looked at me directly and told me that everything was going to be alright. And then he walked away. That was it. No Bible thumping, no caricature filled handouts foretelling the end of time.

This was three years ago and I still don't know how to process the encounter. None of my neighbors knew about the information that I literally just received moments before this man knocked on my door. So, it's not like a well intentioned neighbor informed him that I might need some counsel. There is nothing about our home that screams "troubled occupants". In fact, quite the opposite is true. How could this complete stranger know to stop? What compelled him to do it?

This much I do know...A gentle, kind man sought me out to provide a smile and some comfort, however small. How he knew to stop, knock on my door and provide solace to me, an unknown woman, is a mystery. It doesn't haunt me but I think about it from time to time. I have tried to rationalize the whole thing by surmising that he saw me through my kitchen window, speaking on the phone and appearing distraught. Perhaps he intended to give me a spiel but then recognized my demeanor and decided to back off and simply render some badly needed cheer.

Any way you cut it, it was a lovely, unexpected gift. How very blessed I am to live in a town where people genuinely still care about one another. Because of this, I'm learning to part with untold layers of California cynicism. In the middle of my life, I am seeing miracles that I never took the time to notice before. Goodness can just sneak up on you and sometimes even scare you when it is unexpected or when you are not accustomed to it. You wonder what the angle is. Out of sheer habit you almost find ways to dismiss or minimize it. On a really dark day, I might even ridicule it. I'm learning though.

I now think angels appear in all kinds of subtle, vicarious ways, working through people's routine thoughts and actions. And then again, maybe an angel can just skip all of that and simply knock on your door.

Either way, kindness in all forms is truly divine.

Flower Girl Preview

McKenna's big debut...As to whether she actually walks down the aisle at Aunt Becky's wedding in a couple of weeks...the odds are 50/50. With bribes of chocolate, I actually got her in the dress!



Love you sweet girl. I just love these times with you!