reflection

50-1 – Turning Fifty

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This is the second week of the second month, and I had anticipated being so much far along in my reflections. I’m still not sure how I want these to flow; I just feel that my fiftieth year deserves something a little special; a little different; a little more.

My age has always been one of those oddities for me. Between not caring at all and caring too much, I can never remember how old I am without doing the math. Being born in December, I was always the youngest in high school and college, having just made the cut off to attend school in my year. My middle son is usually the youngest (October birthday) in his class and my daughter is usually the oldest (January).  One of my closest college friends was born in January, so he and I were quite literally one year apart. At my first job in the early childhood field, I remained the youngest or at least close to the youngest for most of my tenure there.  Things evened out a little bit after my first son was born with colleagues and other parents in school, but I still tended to be one of the oldest in any give group. Even now I am either the youngest (at church or the Red Hats) or the oldest (at any other school or friend function.) My closest friends are in their mid-twenties/thirties.

I don’t know how I feel about the whole age thing.

I already feel adrift, falling somewhere between baby boomers and gen Xers, a forgotten generation of sorts. Too old and practical for my twenty-something friends, and too flighty and culture savvy for my aged peers.

People laugh and think it’s vanity that I can never remember my age. It’s not intentional; it’s just never been important enough to stay on my mind. Oh, I knew 18 and 21, 25 and 30. Forty didn’t bother me like I was told it would, but 41 made me cry, pretty much all year. Forty-one was tragic. I looked forward to 42 – my Douglas Adams birthday as I called it, and I expressed my age that year every chance I could. But after that….it feels like a countdown, and I don’t like to dwell on it or that I’m not quite where I wanted to be at 49. It didn’t help that 45 came with the baggage of a heaping pile  of a previously unknown and undiagnosed severe  case of depression and anxiety that is finally beginning to stay on the track it’s supposed to be on.

One thing that I do enjoy lately is that we’ve have hit the moment pop culturally where most of my favorite television shows have actors around my age: Misha Collins-ish,Jensen Ackles (at least they’re not twenty), Norman Reedus, Alan Cumming, Robert Downey, Jr, John Barrowman. (Notice the obvious lack of women/actresses in my age group to look up to, though.)

At the end of the year, I will be 50, and I wonder what that means. I’m beginning this series of reflections. My aim is to do about fifty of these, originally planned for one a week, and I’m not going to worry about it being the second week of the second month. I’m going to go with the flow. Some of the time. This is the year of positive thinking. I’m just going to trudge on, and make my way through this year, paying attention, noticing, writing, and moving forward.

Always moving forward.

I am in good company, however:

This past weekend, the Super Bowl turned 50.

In September, Star Trek, one of my most formative childhood and adolescent guides to my world will also be 50. Star Trek formed and inspired my creativity, my writing, my thoughts about the future and space travel (I was born during the Apollo age), and my never-ending love of science fiction, which begat fantasy. Star Trek was very important in my life.

NOW (National Organization for Women) was founded.

Batman: The Movie was released and was soon followed by the television show.

UFWOC (United Farm Workers Organizing Committee) founded.

How the Grinch Stole Christmas aired for the first time.

The first Kwanzaa was celebrated.

Nolan Ryan made his debut in the big leagues with the NY Mets (my favorite team. I grew up near Shea Stadium.)

The SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) was formed at author Diana Paxson’s graduation party at UC-Berkeley. The name was created by author Marion Zimmer Bradley. Like Star Trek, the SCA was a tremendous influence and inspiration in showing me new worlds, new people, and new skills like costuming and jewelry making. (It’s kind of amazing how many of my life’s influences were born the same year as I was.)

Days of Our Lives premiered.

The Supreme Court case that brought us the Miranda warning to our collective vocabulary and basic civil rights was decided.

The start of Medicare.

The Department of Transportation was created.

The Black Panthers formed.

Pampers creates the first disposable diaper, and I for one, can’t thank them enough.

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.

RCIA – First Day

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This morning was my first day as an RCIA teacher. It took me until last night to finally sit down with the readings and the notes from the Breaking Open the Word book that I’ve had sitting in my Adobe file for the better part of a month.

It’s not that I’m lazy – not when it comes to reading anyway, but in my subconscious I thought that if I prepared and read the readings and the papers, then I would have to go through with the class. Now, keep in mind that I was a teacher for over ten years, but those were kids, and in the end, it wasn’t for me. By last night I realized that whether or not I did the homework, the assignment wasn’t going away. I call it an assignment, but I did volunteer for it. To be honest, I want to do it. It wasn’t that long ago that I was on that side of the table in the RCIA program. Just like I brought something from my background as a catechumen, I think that I can offer something in return. I have a unique perspective, and I think everyone on the team has something special to bring to the new people.
They’ve been doing this since the fall. I was the new one again.

The catechumens are dismissed by the presider right after the Gospel is read and with me we go across the parking lot to the parish center. I glanced at my watch as Father C began his homily and tried to determine how much time I would have with them before they went on to part two of their weekly learning. Forty-five minutes. What would I say for forty-five minutes? I should have guessed that I overestimated my time when Father C said he doesn’t get to do this that often and he was going to use his time to talk about Mary.

I must admit that when he got to his fourth or fifth point about the Mother of G-d, I was almost gleeful at how much of my time had whittled away. Here I was worried that I’d run out of things to say before I ran out of time.

When we finally arrived at the parish center, the other team members were wondering what had happened to us. Father J was also there, asking if he could sit in.

Um, sure.

As it turned out, while it seemed as though he did a lot of the talking, it really was an even split between the four of us. And in retrospect, the point of breaking open the Word is to get the catechumens to think and to talk about their interpretations of the Scriptures and the Readings and to ask the questions that most concern them.

We talked about the prophet, Micah, and wondered why he wasn’t given more playing time so to speak. He’s the one who prophesies that the Messiah will come from Bethlehem. That’s a pretty important piece of information. We talked about the liturgical year and the three cycles, A, B, and C that the church follows. I didn’t get to add that this is my first C cycle. I started in A with Matthew.

We talked about Mary and Elizabeth. I added my own two cents about how through Advent, we’re waiting in our modern lives, and we know what we’re waiting for, but right there in the moment, Elizabeth also knew that she was waiting for her Lord and Savior, and was astonished that His Mother came to visit her. It’s kind of amazing to realize how they watched the prophesies come to fruition.

The one thing I didn’t get to say was about how the Incarnation is in tandem with the Death and Resurrection of Lent and Easter time. Jesus is born so that he may die and be reborn. Sometimes, it’s a lot to understand. That’s one of the reasons that I enjoy going over this with the catechumens and each year as we get another Gospel writer’s point of view.

I think having Father J at this, my first class and having Father C take up so much time before dismissing us was just the icebreaker that I needed to begin my role in this ministry. I will be better prepared, although I was ready today, but next time I won’t be as full of anxiety. I’ve already met the two women, and as I walk with them on this path, I am still learning and growing in my faith.

We also talked about the interconnectedness of everything that we do and see and how it all relates around us. Father J mentioned the Star Wars connection this week in his homily, and I’ve seen things on my journey that relate back across my entire life. I’ve been wondering what I was looking for with this year of mercy, and our parish’s holy doors. I still don’t know what I want for this year, not entirely, but tomorrow is when I’ll walk through the doors. I’ll have more about that tomorrow.

From Death into Life

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There is a line in a hymn, I think it’s sung at funerals or as they’re called in the Catholic church, Mass of Christian Burial. It goes, “from death into life.”

I began attending this celebration of life by accident in one of my early days of attending Mass. I was there, and I couldn’t leave without drawing unnecessary attention to myself, so I remained, hidden in plain sight, in one of the back pews, wishing I was invisible, feeling as though I didn’t belong in such an intimate family gathering. I was, however, wrong – this mass invites the community members, the congregation; to be in communion with the family, to send their loved one on their next journey. I followed the program, I sang along, I prayed, and I found something in that service. I think my first funeral service was for a woman named Dottie. I still have her program in my church papers that I’ve collected and saved.

After that first time, I continued to go to the Rite of Christian Burial when it occurred during the daily mass time. I almost never knew until I arrived at church, and after one or two more, I found great comfort in this Mass.

But I still didn’t get it – that death into life bit.

I could never understand that phrase. How can you go from death into life?

It wasn’t until after my spiritual conversion, and after passing this tree, always on my way to my writing workshop.

On the way to the library, I passed the church adjacent to this tree, and the cemetery that surrounds this tree, and one spring day it was gloriously sunny and bright, and the green leaves had sprouted and grown.

I could see them bright against the white of the siding on the church building; this delicate new growth rising from the fallen tree, its life long thought buried and gone.

This was when I could grasp death into life, life from death, the infinite from finite, everlasting life from our journey on earth.

Now, when I sing the hymn, I picture this tree when I sing death into life.

Vocations and Saints and Good Days, Oh My

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I’ve spent today with so many thoughts running through my head. I started today in a weird place. I showered yesterday so I was able to sleep in a little, but I had forgotten to change the clocks back, so when I awoke this morning, they were all wrong except for my cell phone and my kindle. I hate waking up to wrong clocks on the time change Sunday. I find it so confusing. If I don’t realize the change I’m fine, but throwing it in my face just irritates my senses. That’s why I try to change them all before I go to bed, and avoid them all night.

Today was one of those days that was good in retrospect. It’s hard to pay attention to life as it is happening, but it is in looking back that we see what was there. This was something John Boehner said this week after he left Congress. He was asked if the Holy Spirit played a part in his decision to leave, and he relayed that he was told that we only see the Holy Spirit in retrospect.

It should say something that I’m paraphrasing John Boehner!

But it’s the same with good days. They are simply not bad days until you look back and breathe that sigh of relief and announce to yourselves, hey, that was a good day.


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The Day After the Day After

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[Author’s Note: This isn’t meta per se, but it does contain spoilers, however vague for The Walking Dead and Harry Potter. If you have not seen TWD 6:3 or read Harry Potter: The Deathly Hallows, you might want to skip this.]

For those of you who are fans of an ongoing series, whether it be movies, books or a television series will understand the emotional upheaval that comes with the loss of a character so integral to the story; at least in your mind’s view of the characters and the story. Now, I’m almost positive (about 98% sure) that this character is coming back in two weeks, but that doesn’t change the initial feeling of seeing someone you have come to love over the past five years suddenly, and unexpectedly die. Horribly.

The initial ‘oh crap, he’s in a real pickle’ to ‘wait, why isn’t he getting out of said pickle’ to ‘OMGWTFISHAPPENING?! NOOOOOO! NOT HIM!!!!!!’ can suddenly propel you into a deep sadness and sense of denial; deep denial.

I’ve been there, in denial, since the episode aired, and I’m going to stay there for a bit longer. It was one of the reasons I didn’t post yesterday; I just didn’t feel it. I’m only know coming back.

That is the only way I can explain what happened to me between approximately 9:45pm on Sunday night and pretty much right now.

The last time I had this happen so intensely was in the summer of 2007 when JK Rowling killed Fred Weasley. I don’t care who actually said the spell, the Killing Curse, JK’s responsible and she knows it. And no, JK, if you’re reading this, I still have not forgiven you. That emotional upheaval sent me to Live Journal and down the rabbit hole of a world of fan fiction and meta and other passionate fans of all stripes, and it’s safe to say my life will never be the same.

I wouldn’t call what I’m feeling depression. Despite the lethargy, the not wanting to get out of bed, loss of appetite except for the cheese doodle craving, the rewatching of the offending episode, the constant thought processes figuring out his last minute escape, I know that this isn’t a clinical depression or even a situational one. However, that doesn’t mean that these feelings are not real.

It’s very real.

Especially for those who have little by the way of in person family and friends, who find comfort in the escape of a television series that they love, who find a strong support network in fandom.

For some of us, it’s just plain fun. For others, it’s escape; it’s coping; it’s so many things that unless you experience it, you can’t begin to name them all, and they come in multiples as well: fun and escape. Fun and coping. Coping and inspiration.
For me, it’s many of those things.

For those, even those in my own household, who say it’s only a TV show, yes, it is, but it is also more, even to them. Why else would they block out at least an hour each week to watch it? I’ve mentioned that in our family, this is the biggest fall season I can ever remember. My oldest son does a lot of his watching on the internet, but for the rest of us, we have our shows and we love them and we get together practically every day to share in the experience of a new episode.

We watch; we predict; we laugh; we cry. Sometimes we live vicariously through them. I wouldn’t want to experience a zombie apocalypse but I’d like to think that I have the will and the ability to survive it; to continue to live my life; to not lose myself in this new chaotic world.

That is one of the things this character in particular embodied. While other characters changed for the worse, and others have changed for the better, and we learn something from all of them, this character has an inherent goodness that is needed in this seemingly no good future world. He is good, and he’s kind. He’s compassionate and he shows mercy; sometimes when maybe he shouldn’t. But he’s kept his moral compass focused, and to lose that is to lose something special and significant.

I know he’s coming back.

But he might not. Or escaping this, he might die later on in the series.

That’s what I’m mourning these last two days. We’re going to lose him, and we’re going to need to cope with that loss. This was a test of some sort, but all it showed us is how ill-prepared we are and we will be when this character and others like him don’t make it.

What happens when he’s really dead?

The other characters will move on. They’ll mourn, and they’ll cry. They’ll be angry and take their frustrations out maybe where they shouldn’t, but they, along with us will get through it somehow.

We’ll always get through it somehow.

Life isn’t a dress rehearsal, but in recreating lives on television or in books, we get a little bit of a dress rehearsal where we can see our reactions to losing someone we love, to seeing the good in people, and in being able to change our own selves for the better while we still have the chance.

It’s one of the reasons we gravitate towards characters that are both so alike and so different from ourselves. Just in the episode, we saw a character change for the better even if he couldn’t handle the realities of this world.

But that doesn’t mean we give up on the rest of those characters who need to change; who want to change and are changing right before our eyes.

He’s is the only one with enough heart to take them under his wings and teach them to fly; teach us to fly. There is still much to learn and much to do. We need him to guide us there.

While I know he’ll be back, I’m still also mourning. We still lost something. Only time will tell what that is.

Retreat, Day 2: Anointing Mass

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My church has a twice yearly Anointing Mass for anointing the sick. It is also called a Healing Mass. Everyone is welcome whether for a physical or a mental ailment. Many of the neighboring nursing homes and assisted living centers bring in their residents for this special mass. This was my third one. I go for both my depression and my knee pain.

Obviously this is for people of the Catholic faith, but belief or not I still think it is a wonderful experience of community and sharing our joy which halves our pain*. Seating is every other pew so the priests can move through to anoint and offer the Eucharist.

There is music and singing; there are prayers and scripture reading. It’s a Mass so it includes the Liturgy of the Word and the Liturgy of the Eucharist.

The Mass is followed by lunch. I usually attend alone, so it’s always a surprise who I will be sitting with. So many people go to so much trouble, cooking, setting everything up, decorating. There are prayer cards and a favor to take home. One of the volunteers makes them. They are so thoughtful and creative; it makes me want to go home and create something.

In yesterday’s writing, I mentioned having an object to help with meditation and contemplation. Today we were given a small medal with a cutout of a cross. I have been given this week’s object, I see.

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I encourage you to look up today’s readings. They are always a link from the past history to our daily lives. One of the things I enjoy about going to Mass so often (usually four times a week) is that despite the words being thousands of years old, they still speak to me. I relate to them on a regular, almost daily, basis.

First Reading: Lamentations 3:17-23

Second Reading: James 5:13-16

Gospel: Mark 7:31-37

My prayer

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Julian of Norwich is one of my favorite mystics. Her work is said to be the first one written in English by a woman (1395).

One of my favorite of her quotations struck me when I first heard it. Ironically, when I am in a pessimistic mood, I will still often say that everything will work out; it will be okay.
Her words:

“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well”

is so close to my own sentiment that I did a double take the first time I heard it, which was appropriately at my first healing mass.

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[Borrowed and paraphrased with permission from Dumbledore’s Army and the Year of Darkness.]

Retreat Week, Day 1

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My family went away this morning and have promised to return before The Walking Dead’s second episode of the season. This is probably the first fall television season that we’re watching so many shows as a family. Our oldest son usually skips out, but he did spend six weeks with us watching the premiere season of Fear the Walking Dead. Considering that he doesn’t watch the main show anymore,  this was quite an achievement.

Well, it’s retreat week again. It’s funny how it always seems to fall during this week in October. I really don’t plan it that way. I make some kind of a preliminary plan of activities, and when I look at the calendar, it’s this week again. It seems to have moved from psychologically necessary for my mental health to traditional week that is necessary for my mental health. Regardless of the changes in my reasoning behind the retreat, it is still important to me, and a necessity to keep me going until the next retreat.

My retreats vary from writing to spiritual to creative to a combination of all of those things.

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My Fandom History, Abridged Version

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In high school I wrote fan fiction (although we didn’t call it that then) for The White Shadow.; Mary Sue self-insert. I wrote RPG spy fiction. Again Mary Sue self-insert, but with a little more character development. I wrote band fic; less Mary Sue, more career exploration. I was a photojournalist for the opening act, and I guess except for the band, I kind of try to do that now with my blog. It reminds me of the inspiration and the you can do anything feeling that I forgot about in my thirties.

I like to think I’ve gotten better, both as a writer and a creator of original content. Those three examples are not something I usually share. It’s in the embarrassing box of teen angst, and hiding my fan side in the closet. It’s okay with certain people, but not others, and that’s how we give off the aloof, quiet, introvert vibe. Some of us are those things, but as a whole, fans are exuberant and fun and loud; very loud.

My first fandom was Star Trek. I was in every aspect of fandom. I watched every episode multiple times, I knew every episode by heart, I learned Klingon, I went to conventions. I bought the books and set my clock by Starlog’s publication date. Star Trek led me into every other science-fiction/fantasy from space to dragons to magic to time travel. There were watching parties, and special menus for mystery dinner nights. I could recognize later generation actors out of their makeup by their voices or body language. I’ve stood hours in line for autographs, but in those early days, we didn’t pay for them.

As a TV junkie, I’ve followed many actors on their careers. Shaun Cassidy for one; William Shatner and George Takei for others. I’ve gone in and out of fandoms, although most of them continue to have a place in my heart. I was recently reminded of H.R. Pufnstuf, one of my favorite shows and Land of the Lost by the same team of Sid & Marty Kroft.

I belonged to the SCA, which in and of itself is its own fandom; the fandom of medieval history. I’d claim to be a history buff and a political junkie, but those are just different words for fan and for the fandoms.

Fandom now is far more extensive and out in the open than I ever imagined it would be. There are mainstream stores in the malls dedicated to them: Hot Topic, and you can find licensed merchandise from Minecraft to Lego to DC and Marvel Comics franchises in Wal-Mart and Target. You can’t get more mainstream than that.

When my daughter was three, I found a beautiful, mostly historic rendition of a velvet scarlet Spanish Renaissance gown with a matching velvet tiara for Halloween. That was in Target, and it was less than $20. It would have cost three times that or more for me to make it for her. The only princess costume I could ever wear as a child growing up were those plastic ones of Sleeping Beauty. My face still gets hot when I even think about it.

We’re not embarrassed to say our pop culture loves, and there is no wrong way to be in fandom. Many of us wax and wane on our involvement, and which fandom gets the most attention at one time.

Harry Potter was the book series that brought me into today’s fandom. It was loaned from a friend who thought I might like it. I did. With Harry Potter came movies – in fact, Prisoner of Azkaban was the first movie I ever attended alone. In addition to the movies, I discovered a whole new world on Live Journal of fan fiction, and from there found other fans, and groups, and sub-fandoms, and meta – the analysis of the details. No longer would the minutia of details be relegated to small groups meeting in basements and youth centers once a week or month. Now, the minutia is everywhere. There are headcanons and alternate universes (AUs). There are wikis for individual television shows, movies, and comic book characters. There are kinks and squicks, which aren’t always sexual in nature, but preferential, and their are triggers and spoiler etiquette.

I hear my non-fandom friends expressing fandom sentiments like canon and ships. Many of my closest friends are originally from fandom. What we’ve discovered in fandom is that in addition to our mutual love of fandom, we also have families and jobs and our mundane life doesn’t need to be so mundane as our friendships broaden and include people from across the country and around the world who we never would have met if not for our intersecting fandoms. In turn, we share our views and our values, we accept and learn.

I would say that the fandom I am most involved in is Supernatural. I’m sure most people would have guessed The Walking Dead, and while I do consider myself in that fandom, I don’t get to meet and know the people who are also in it except for Norman Reedus‘ Facebook and Instagram.
With Supernatural, there is tumblr, conventions (even though I don’t attend), watching parties, meta, fan fiction, discussions, speculation, compassion and kindness. Every day I witness those last two in the fandom. It was there already, but is even more pronounced with Misha Collins’ charity, Random Acts and gishwhes, his annual scavenger hunt.

Supernatural showed me a literal whole new world, and was instrumental in my recovery from depression. I love the shows, I love the plots and the characters and the fan family, but I also keep Supernatural on as my background noise. I know many of the episodes so it doesn’t interfere with my writing or my living for the most part, but the voices give me the soft comfort, the hand on my shoulder, the short, quick hug when I need it. We all must have something like that in our lives, and for me, Supernatural is it.

Fandom is here to stay, and I for one, am glad of it. It is so much of my life that I forget when I’m talking to a non-fandom person that they don’t know the details; that the casual viewer doesn’t recognize the reference back three seasons, or the foreshadowing.

Fandom is a life unto itself, and a life unto others. It is supportive and comfort in a loud, sometimes angry world. It can be hope and faith, some of the things that most of my fandoms ascribe to be; a better world in the future, a future of exploration and creating; of ideals and compassion, and so many of the things we embrace and try to emulate in our own lives.

My Shrine Visit

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I’m still not sure what to call my Shrine visit. Since I live so close, about an hour, it feels odd to call it a pilgrimage, but really what else was it? Retreats have leaders and in my mind, they last more than one day or part of one day. It was a few weeks ago that I went on a day pilgrimage to the Shrine of North American Martyrs in Auriesville, NY [Technically, it’s the Shrine of Our Lady of Martyrs]. I couldn’t believe how close it was, practically in my backyard. It is so much of what I run away from home looking for and all the things I picture a shrine should be: pastoral, bucolic, natural, historic. Should I use serene? That seems cliche but it does fit. Strolling the grounds costs nothing but time, and it’s beautiful and quiet, and yes, serene, thoughtful, and thought-provoking. It is the perfect place to think and to pray and to reflect and contemplate on anything; everything.

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