We Can Be Heroes

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David Bowie (8 Jan 1947 – 10 Jan 2016)

My first David Bowie song is probably still my favorite, Space Oddity, which I still call Major Tom. I think it attracted me in my adolescent wonder of space and Kennedy Space Center and moon landings and Tom Seaver and Star Trek. It calls to me with its haunting melody and the loss of home but also the ‘there’s more out there to see’ calling as well.

I sit on my bed listening to Blackstar, David Bowie’s newest and sadly last new music, and I try to remember a time in my life without David Bowie from his silver suit and glam hair to his platform shoes. Every time you think you’ve outgrown him, he brings a new generation into the fold.

Ziggy Stardust
Thin White Duke
Glam
Little Drummer Boy
Iman
His collaborations
His adaptions
And adaptations
His innovation
His creativity
His genius

And his inspiration to stand out, to be yourself, to try new things; songs for every mood – ashes to ashes, under pressure, changes, 1984 (the year Igraduated high school), let’s dance, dancing in the street, supermen, rebel rebel, we can be heroes.

A virtual road map for us all to follow on our own paths to dreams blazing our way.

First Look

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First Look is a new page that I’m introducing for the New Year. I have tried in the last year to maintain a weekly theme that I write on or gather information about.

Every Sunday night or Monday morning, First Look will premiere as a page with the theme’s name, a writing prompt, question or suggestion, a photograph, and a quotation relating to the theme.

My first First Look is Get Organized. Click the link to visit the page. I will set up a way for feedback or you may use the email address in my FAQ (which will be completed next week).

Thank you everyone for your support as I grow as a writer.

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Choices

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I’m beginning my year by finishing some of my projects from the end of the last one. Right before Thanksgiving, I made my final list for the things that needed to get done  for the next three holidays and the end of the year: Gifts to buy, gifts to wrap, teachers’ gifts, mail carrier, hairdresser, my priest, baking, Thanksgiving dinner, Chanukah, latkes, Christmas dinner, Christmas Masses, school responsibilities, holiday cards, clean the house, grocery shopping, and oh yeah, I’ve got that retreat at the Dominican Center exactly between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Too many things to do. Something had to give. I needed this retreat. It was not only spiritual, it was a writing retreat. It was the very things I needed at this time of year, my everything, but did I really have the time for it?

Baking. I decided quite dramatically to skip baking this year. How would the holiday season go on without home baked goods for the teachers and Fr. J and F and the kids?

And then something happened.

It wasn’t that I didn’t care anymore, but…

I. Didn’t. Care. Anymore.

In a good way.

I tried it on for size a couple of times, and made sure that my family knew my intentions. I would not be baking. Except…except for Santa; no cookies, no breads, no nuts, and no caramel. And believe it or not, I was okay with it. I really was.

Not only was this writing retreat exactly what I needed and wanted and longed for, I got more out of it than I expected or could have hoped for.

The quiet inspiration of the poem that prompted us. The prayers. The new friend(s). The peace. There was not a moment all weekend that did not speak to me and reward me for making this choice.

Over the weekend, I was introduced to an inspirational speaker, Rob Bell. His videos are very inspirational and thought-provoking and thoughtful. So much to think about and meditate on. One of those videos was Shells. Please follow the link – it is well worth your ten minutes.

Spoilers to follow: Listening to him talk about the shells and his son’s frustration at not being able to grasp the starfish because his hands were full of shells – well, that moment was like a hammer to my head. My eyes welled up with tears with the pronouncement, no the admission to myself that you can’t do everything. Even if you want to do it or it’s the good thing that you’ve been waiting to do, you can’t do it all.

Choices must be made, and the realization that my no baking mantra of the previous two weeks was more than selfish, it was more than for me, it was important. The revelation that I had made the right choice, and that I could do it again was overwhelming and freeing.

Double Digit Birthday

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Sleeping Selfie

My baby hit double digits today.

Parents look at their kids and see themselves; or at least parts of themselves. They have Grandma’s eyes and Papa’s name and the quirks and the mannerisms. My boys have these things – little things that used to belong to me, but now belong to them. Like my oldest son’s finger tapping when he’s losing his patience and trying not to get angry. Or my middle son’s stomach knots when he’s excited or worried, even when he knows the outcome already. His love of good food and his hysterical laugh.

But my daughter….she’s all her own. She’s got the DNA; she looks just like me and could be her cousin’s twin. Her personality, though is all her own. Her love of fashion and clothes, her wild nail polish and her amazing hair styles. I don’t know where she gets that from. I can’t do my own hair let alone hers.

She loves herself. She has the confidence of ten people. She’s in chorus and she sings and does the hand gestures and she loves it.

She picked out her birthday outfit. (Not surprising since she’s been choosing her clothes and dressing herself since before she was two.) The funny thing this morning, however is that my Kindle does this thing where it shows and highlights the pictures from one year ago today. It turned out that she picked the exact same dress. She’s taller and her hair is longer, and it all works perfectly.

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My baby at ten

She also picked out her birthday cake last night and watched as the bakery clerk wrote her name in pink frosting across the whipped white base. She knows what she wants for dinner, and she’s going to absolutely love her two presents. I can hear her squeal of delight in my head right now, and she’s not even here.

It’s not that she’s the best of me, she’s the best of her and she makes me want to be the best of me too.

New Year, Not So New Me

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Plans, resolutions, goals, intentions, lists, stuff, things. They all need to be made and to be got done. Today is the first day of the first full week of 2016, and lucky for me I didn’t make any tangible resolutions other than to be more thoughtful and meditate on what I want this year to be and to bring and what I want to bring to it. I’ll set the tangibles a few more weeks into the calendar.

Christmas was quite lovely in that dull normalcy that we both crave and wish would be more exciting. I loved it. The kids were home, enjoying home and hearth and gifts by the tree. One son working, one son building Lego, my daughter rearranging her room and making her bed. Everyone in their own little worlds, but joining in the bigger world of our family for movies and food.

I was up early today, but then a second wind of tired blew in, and I laid down for just a minute. An hour later and it was snowing and my whole day melted away. I stayed in bed.

I can feel the sun trying to peek out, but the roads are still snow covered. I need a birthday snack for my daughter’s classroom for tomorrow plus a birthday cake for home. Plus tonight’s dinner. There goes the snowplow. That means more snow than it looks from my snow speckled, cozy window. I don’t want to go out in the snow!

My new me of getting up early, planning my writing calendar, and setting up my new blog format will come. After all, this first full week has just begun, and I have plenty of time to catch up.

Let the lists begin and the dressing commence.

My baby hits double digits tomorrow. Maybe that’s what I’m really avoiding. No, no; the library book is calling me. I’m sure that’s it.

Happy New Year to all whatever it may bring; or what we may bring to it.

Wayne Rogers, Trapper John on ‘MASH,’ dies at 82 – LA Times

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http://www.latimes.com/local/obituaries/la-me-wayne-rogers-20151231-story.html

Maybe my childhood will get a respite in 2016. Wayne Rogers was a big part of my growing up. Earlier in the year, we watched the entirety of the MASH series with the kids. They really enjoyed it. Trapper was a part of their childhood too. Rest in peace, Trap. Say hi to Henry.

An Advent Message

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“Those who err in spirit shall acquire understanding, and those who find fault shall receive instruction.”
-Isaiah 29:23-24

From the beginning of my journey with the church I have often said that on the days that I went to sit in the church pews, the Scriptures spoke to me. Whether a random page read or a specific Mass reading or Scripture, and of course the homilies; they had, and continue to have a prescient quality, speaking of things that should only be known in my own mind. They often mirror what I’m thinking and unexpectedly offer insight and clarity into whatever is troubling me or weighing on my mind. This holds true for even the most seemingly innocuous things.

On a Monday morning at the start of Advent, I was getting ready to leave for Mass. I was running late, but I still had to get through my morning rituals. I was dressed, but I needed my jewelry. I don’t wear much, but I wear pretty much the same things daily. In addition to my mother’s ring and my earrings and triquetra necklace, I have two bracelets that I often wear – a corded bracelet with a stone that says Balance, and a metal one with crosses on it that caught my eye when it was on clearance at Cracker Barrel. I don’t wear a lot of religious things, but I liked it. For some reason I made the decision to leave both bracelets at home; if I wanted them later, I could get them after mass.

There was the opening hymn, the reading, the responsorial and the Gospel. My priest began his homily with the following words:

“Our faith is not a piece of jewelry to adorn…”

Pretty sure, my mouth dropped open.

He continued and I listened intently.

He talked about resisting change and embracing change.

He reminded the congregation that we are all called to be missionaries.

I just read that! I’ve been reading Pope Francis’ The Joy of the Gospel. I’m really just trying to absorb as much as I can from sources I respect. I want to learn more. I need to. I had just gotten to the part about pastors and how best to write their homilies using the joy of the gospel. The entire book was a reminder of what we’re all looking for in the words and thoughts of the Gospel. I’ve found acuity there that I hadn’t been looking for. This section really spoke to me in regards to my upcoming session with the RCIA candidates. I’ve been wondering how to approach my day with the catechumens, and it’s been very frustrating. I’m not a public speaker, and this is a small group, but it’s still not easy to anticipate how to do it. It is very much anxiety filled.

In this section, and other spaces in his book, Pope Francis gave me some perspectives on the catechetical program that I’ve just become a part of. I hadn’t thought about those perspectives before. It’s been very helpful for that, and it’s been very rewarding spiritually to hear the Pope’s words in relation to the Word.

The biggest thing that I’ve encountered is my relationship with Jesus and how the Holy Spirit works to guide us in the right direction. Of course, not literally how the Spirit works – it’s all a mystery, but when it happens, it is unmistakable that it is indeed working.

And then on that morning at the beginning of Advent, I hear the very same thing from my priest.
We are all missionaries. Preaching isn’t dictating morality; it isn’t dictating rules to live by – we all know the rules that we should be living by; preaching is sharing our relationships with Jesus.

Evangelizing isn’t about changing minds, but broadening them. It should always be a positive, and that is the one thing that I’ve found at my parish; every encounter to bring me closer to G-d, and welcome me in is a positive, never a negative.

That doesn’t mean that we’re all on the same page all of the time, but we are respectful and we truly, truly care about each other. I love my priest. I adore him. He is the epitome of a pastoral and spiritual guide. After hearing his homilies and Masses or after speaking with him in any capacity, I always feel content and uplifted as well as able to take on whatever task I’ve been pondering.

I leave with clarity. Perhaps, not every answer answered, but the questions are productive, the path is clear; for a little while anyway.

This year, in fact I have three more RCIA sessions, I have a yearlong writing assignment that I will talk about next week, and I have my pilgrimage for the Year of Mercy. I’m still exploring exactly what that means.

But what I was really reminded of on that day in early December wasn’t that I’m a missionary or an evangelist, but faith isn’t a piece of jewelry that we put on and take off at whim, or to match our clothes for that day; it is with us always and like other things, we have the ability to share it, even if we’re trying to share it with ourselves.

I was reminded of a meditation from The Word Among Us, on December 4th :

‘You are a “work in progress,” and that’s perfectly fine with God… Now, ask yourself again, “What do I have faith for?”’

Fandom is a Funny Thing

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I started watching Supernatural in the middle of the seventh season. My first episode was The French Mistake. I knew the actors better than the characters. I eventually started marathoning on Netflix. Since The French Mistake was an episode that broke the fourth wall it was easy to relegate it to the recesses of my mind and have it not interfere with the storyline.

Along the way I got to know the characters. The first actress to play the demon Ruby was Katie Cassidy. I really liked her take on the character. No offense against one of my favorite Padaleckis, but I preferred her Ruby to Gen. I mean, I had warm and fuzzies for Jared’s wife, but I really liked Ruby 1.0. I liked her sass and her practicality.

I didn’t realize she was the actress playing Laurel Lance on The CW’s Arrow for longer than I would like to admit. It took me a long time to figure it out. I only watched it haphazardly, if it happened to be on, a few episodes at the end waiting for Supernatural to start. And then Laurel began to be Black Canary. Seriously, one of my very favorite female superheroes. Black Canary and Batgirl. One in the comics, one on the television. And now, Black Canary was going to be on television. I was excited to see her take on this character.

About two months ago (or more), Marty Ingalls died. I looked up his wife, Shirley Jones. I had been a big fan of The Partridge Family in my childhood. I grew up singing their songs. Every time a school bus would pass by it would remind me of that show. Just like everyone else in the mid-70s, I had a crush on David Cassidy and Danny Bonaduce. In high school, I was a huge fan of Shaun Cassidy, David’s younger half-brother. I used to sing along to both Cassidys’ albums in my basement, sitting by the record player, wearing this giant pair of headphones as if I were in a recording studio with him.

Along this Google/Wikipedia trip down memory lane, I read that Shaun Cassidy was the uncle of the actress, Katie Cassidy. I know all of you see where this is going, but at this point, I still didn’t get it; not until I clicked on her link and saw her photo. And then, finally, I recognized her.

Katie Cassidy?!

Ruby? Laurel? Katie Cassidy?!

My mind was sputtering.

How did I not know that Katie Cassidy, one of my favorite actors on two of my current shows was David Cassidy’s daughter?

How did I not know this?

Second generation fan. Or is it the same fan but with a second generation actor? Or is it fan, once removed.

I don’t know which, but I think I like it.