Accidental Self-Knowledge

 

Eventually, I will leave.  I will pack up, make a new start, and move somewhere in the pursuit of that ever-elusive happiness: a sunshine-laden beach, and the success I dream of.  But for now, I am employed (gratefully), working mostly remotely (mega-gratefully), and enjoying the company of the dogs, birds and cat (on most days).  As I said a year ago, this has been the longest LENT in the history of Catholicism.  Don’t ask me what I am “giving up” – I think “SANITY” was an optional sacrifice at one or two junctures of the pandemic. 

There is one thing I noticed, though:  I collect things.  When my two favorite magazines that come in the mail have the word “Collection” right in their title, you understand my bent.  I actually read these magazines as I have dinner.  Mostly I have dinner with Marie once a week, because she is such a good cook, but she tends to go too generous on the salt so we can’t do it every night (Marie Callendar).  Too much salt, and lax patterns of activity and hydration create rotund secretaries.  But back to the Collections topic ….  Because I am home, almost incessantly, I started to notice the environment that I have built up around me.

My college friend Margaret said to me once when we were talking about decorating that she finds small groupings of things visually pleasing.  Here we are over 30 years later, and I realize that I somehow find Large Groupings of things visually pleasing …. Until they are NOT – and then they are overwhelming.  It never bothers people when they see a home that has a few groupings of house plants.  But, we are not talking about house plants here.  Yes, I have those, but oh so much more!

It was the bird houses at first.  Little colorful bird houses I had painted, a nightlight shaped like a bird house I bought in Lancaster a few years ago, a plant holder shaped like a bird house, a cookie jar shaped like a …. You guessed it:  bird house. 

Then you will notice the candles.  Yankee candles.  Walmart candles.  Little candles.  Big candles.  Soy candles that burn nicely; regular candles that burn dirty (is there such a thing really as a “clean burn”?).  Tall, unscented, Catholic candles with the Lord’s picture on them; Short, little candles with a decorative label on them telling me what scent I should anticipate.  In a certain sense, you could probably write a Dr. Seuss rhyme about all my candles:  You can find them on a shelf; you can find them by an elf.  You will see one in the hall; and there is one on the wall.  They come in white or blue; and we have red and pink ones too…. You get the idea.

My VHS tape bins are labeled, and now no one uses VHS tapes anymore.  So all my organization is good for … what?  I have quite the collection of DVD’s because as we all know, there is only really “trash” on television … until you have ROKU and can get pretty much anything for free or at a minimal price.  It’s crazy.  One could actually stop living their actual real life and just get soaked up in the re-runs of Commish (whom I love, having just discovered him last year) and armywives (my new friends) and McLeod’s daughters (who knew series could run for so long?  God bless those Australians!).

And then there are The Angels.  Years ago I attended a wedding in San Antonio.  My college friends and I were received very graciously there by a young woman who literally gave us her house for the weekend.  We noticed that she collected Angels.  Just angels.  Not plants, books, bird houses, candles, etc., like some people you know & love.  We walked from room to room counting angels.  There were like 80 of them.  But see that’s the thing:  because she collected just ONE thing, it wasn’t overwhelming.  And when she goes to pack up that house to move somewhere else, she won’t be tearing her hair out trying to pack a million boxes.  She won’t be making multiple yard sales or trips to the Rescue Mission or Salvation Army drop-off points.  She will simply pack, and move.  Unlike me.

One hundred years from now, when They come to find out why the mailbox filled up and spilled over (more than it does now, thanks to 101 charities I don’t support) They will find my house all boxed up and a skeleton of, well, ME with bubble wrap in my hand still packing bird houses, candles, dvd’s, video tapes, and all the plastic knives I kept from when I buy my weekly bagel and Dunkin’.  That’s what They will find.

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Sleeping Beauty .... or Not

 

1:17, 4:44, 5:38 and then 06:45.  You would think they were a tip on lottery numbers.  Actually, they are the times I woke up last night after trying 2 nights prior of Melatonin.  You know, the Melatonin that’s supposed to make you sleep better.  I have an ongoing daytime health complaint that the doctor thought might be sleep-related.  I told her, “Nope.  I sleep fine.  I drop like a rock and sleep until the first time a dog needs to go out, and then fall asleep immediately thereafter until the alarm goes off or a dog steps on my collarbone.”  (Does that SOUND like I have trouble sleeping?)  She smiled, and told me to take Melatonin that it might help with sleeping.  No.  That’s not a cut & paste sentence error.  She heard exactly what I quoted to you that I said to her.  And, she reiterated a conclusion that was incorrect.  But in the spirit of good patient etiquette, I decided to give Melatonin a try, you know, to help with the problem I wasn’t having.

I took one Melatonin on Sunday night an hour before bed.  I woke up Monday and I felt like I was in Gloucester, the sea port:  Just feeling foggy and a bit disoriented.  Like a compliant (albeit foolish) patient, I took one again on Monday night.  Tuesday, same thing.  And very weird dreams.  Tons of dreaming.  You could wake up very tired from all the running around super-heroing I was doing in my dreams.  And I did.  So last night I said to myself, in so many words, “Melatonin?  Not doing it.” 

I woke up at 1:17 am.  Man, was I hot.  Well, the house was cranking 71 degrees inside, I had two dogs on either side of me and fleece sheets.  At least the electric blanket was OFF.  I think.  That’s not really “trouble sleeping” – that’s an environmental problem.

I woke up at 4:44 am.  That was a potty run for the dogs at a regularly scheduled time (T-1) minus one hour since I had been up at 1:17 am and didn’t waste the opportunity as far as they were concerned.  Do you know what it’s like to live with an intact male dog?  When they whine like they need to go outside, you take them outside …. Or, they go to the side of your couch …. Um, yeah.  Insert Remix of an old song here:  “It’s his potty and I’ll cry if I want to.”  I have tried so many different cleaning products on that side of the couch that I’ve created an environmentally hazardous smell.  It least it doesn’t smell like …

At 5:38 am I woke up because my stupid cell phone carrier decided it was an ideal time to “update” my phone and they (wrongly) thought that I needed a “doink” noise to let me know they were On The Job.  When my cell phone “doinks” at night, I do, in fact, get up and check it to make sure that all is well with my friends and relatives.  But if you send me a FB update after 11 pm, note to yourself:  I will be cranky with you next day. 

Yesterday I looked at the potential side effects of Melatonin on webmd. ARE YA KIDDING ME???!!!

“However, it can cause some side effects including headache, short-term feelings of depression, daytime sleepiness, dizziness, stomach cramps, and irritability. Do not drive or use machinery for four to five hours after taking melatonin.”

And

“Seizure disorders: Using melatonin might increase the risk of having a seizure.”

So what is my point?  To the younger generation that feels free to argue anywhere, anytime, with anybody, I guess I have no point.  To the older generation that listens to everything their doctor says or interprets as if it was Moses coming down from Mount Sinai (“take 2 tablets and call me in the morning.”), be your OWN best advocate.  Be honest with your physician.  Communicate – obviously politely – tell them what you think.  Yes, LISTEN.  And Listen Carefully.  But also know what is right for you.  I think a wine and a nap might be right for me. 

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Surviving Married Life - post Valentine's Day advice

 

Roll your eyes, if you must.  Just don’t get caught.  That’s one thing I learned from teenagers.  There is something therapeutic about being able to dissent from ridiculousness without your own mouth getting you in trouble.  I’ve watched a lot of marriages from my safe distance.  I have learned a lot and in the spirit of Valentine’s Day I would like to share my thoughts. 

Last year, my brother said to me: “Don’t cry to me that you aren’t married:  you’ve had your chances.”  This put me in the somewhat awkward or humorous position of having to explain to him that while, as one friend put it “Chris, you’ve dated more than all of us combined,” I still escaped the snare on purpose.  I’ve always wanted to be happily married.  The reason I am not is that I KNEW I could not be happily married to any of the people I dated.  I have guy friends that I wondered, “How come this never became romantic?” and then years down the road I watched how they managed the relationships they were in, and I was thankful it wasn’t me.  There were one or two who “got away” but that is because I didn’t feel any sort of motivation in their direction.  Maybe I will catch them on the next round when they are widowers?  But my answer to my brother that day was: “Those weren’t chances with good odds.  When you have only been dating three months and you are BORED, then something is wrong.  You certainly don’t sign up for the 60-year-plan when you feel that way at 3 months.”  And, for me, it is really as simple as that.

So now that we have established why I am not married … I want to talk about situations where people didn’t STAY married.  Oh, the relational car crashes I have watched.  In one case, two friends of mine married after less than a year of long-distance dating.  They had completely different personalities.  Well, actually he didn’t have a personality…. And she had a lot of emotion.  It was a match that was crazy.  When they got married, I said to him, “And you’re moving to WHERE?  A state where you have:  no friends, no relatives, no support for this brand-new marriage?”  He said he was getting a job there.  So what?  There aren’t places to work in the three or four other states where you actually KNOW people?  My fear came true.  They didn’t have solid resources when they hit the rocks.  He asked me to share testimony towards getting an annulment.  Frankly, I did it more for her to have the “get-out-of-jail-free card,” than I did for him.  It was sad to be a part of the people who could stand up and say:  “This shouldn’t have happened.”  Our Catholic thought that annulment says, “This marriage was not a sacrament, was not a sign of Christ’s presence,” is missing something.  That marriage was a sign of Christ’s presence, namely:  Him (Jesus) hanging on the cross suffering from misunderstanding and being the target of the vitriol of broken humanity.  It was also a sign that the marriage-prep process is mostly broken, or a bad or delusional joke.

I have said to the young people in my family:  If you are going to prepare for marriage and the priest offers you a short-cut for marriage prep, go somewhere else.  The only short-cut in marriage itself is divorce.  If you are doing something THIS important, do the preparation well and with sobriety.  One priest once said to me:  “I know MORE about marriage than most married people do!”  If it wasn’t for the arrogant, offensive, and bitter tone in his voice, I may have believed him a little more quickly.  The fact is, all of us have seen the “for better and for worse” of other people’s choices.  A Christian speaker once said:  “Marriage is like flies on both sides of a screen door.  Some of them can’t wait to get in; others can’t wait to get out.”  I will say that not only is the preparation important, but the ongoing work is important as well.  Even after you are married, if you have a chance to take a class or retreat together, do it.  The success of one marriage has a tremendous ripple effect on all the lives around them …. As does the failure of just one marriage.

“I’d go for counseling, but (s)he won’t go.”  Then go for yourself.  You’re not perfect and you’re not whole.  Fix you up better.  Go for your kids.  They deserve to not live in a war zone.  They deserve to see people who love and respect each other.  How dare you criticize the government, the church, the school systems around you that are broken when you don’t try to fix your own self?  As the song “Let there be peace on Earth” says:  “and let it begin …. with me!”  You don’t have to get a medal for doing the right thing.  Making a better you, becoming a more insightful and compassionate being is a gift you give …. To yourself.  If another person shares the joy of that healing and growth, then so much the better.  If they do not, then you are just helping yourself and preparing for a more wholesome future.  Be humble, begin in your own heart.

And so here I give you Bik’s Basic tips (from the sidelines) for Relationships:

Ø  R*E*S*P*E*C*T.  Everyone wants it.  You cannot/should not STOP giving it just because you don’t feel you get it. Be the Bigger Person.  I remember a sweet old man who sat at the bed of his feeble and disabled wife saying to me, “Oh, what a beautiful life we had together!” and he went on to itemize their service to the community as circus clowns (yes, really) for a major children’s charity.  Every time he said the word “She” there was so much love and gentleness in his voice I get tears in my eyes thinking of it.  At the point where I met them, she was completely incapable of giving him anything back – words, touch, feedback.  He was just loving her into Infinity.  When I find a man like that, I won’t sit on the sidelines anymore.

Ø  Courtesy.  If you consider the other person’s needs first, you are following a Biblical injunction for how to interface successfully in all relationships.  St. Paul talks about the “pouring out of Christ” – think of that – how Christ died for the godless, while they were still full of hate and sin – He had no guarantee who would receive Him, and who would not.  He just poured it out.  (Philippians 2).  If it doesn’t hurt a little to pour yourself out, you’re not doing it right.  The Ego dies hard. 

Ø  Reverence.  Think of your spouse at his/her most vulnerable moment.  Would you reach into the sink strainer and pull out that yuck and fling it at him/her?  (say: “No, of course not. How horrible.”)  And yet what language do we throw at that person in our anger? YES we get frustrated.  YES we don’t think we can take two more minutes of the pointless arguing.  THEN we need other tools.  Cussing someone out blows off steam in the moment but does not heal the root cause of poor communication.  In fact, the more you assault another person’s self-esteem, the more you chip away at the foundation of any remaining relationship.  If the person has no proverbial emotional leg to stand on, how can you move forward?  Do not destroy anyone’s sense of self for any reason. 

Ø  You know all that “active listening” training we all go through for work?  Use it.  Let the person really know that you “hear” their heart.  Pick a day to try it out where you really just put all your own concerns back-burner and ask, “so how are you doing, really?”  If your child falls off his/her bike, you get down to their level and say, “how can I make it better?”  Why not do this for your spouse?  And you know how it seems when you talk to men they think you want them to “fix it”?  When you need to just be heard, say that in plain English.  Ie) “I’ve got something that is bugging me, and I need to talk it through.  Can you just listen to eight minutes of me saying it – don’t try to fix it -don’t try to give advice – just let me say it out loud and I might feel better.”  He is going to feel helpless, so just kiss him on the cheek and move on.  I am not sure that most men perceive that “listening” actually IS doing something in a woman’s perspective.  Perhaps they can be taught, though.  Sometimes.  In some cases. 

Ø  Put as much work into your marriage relative to the level of greatness that you want out of it.  There is a law of sowing & reaping that says, “what you put into something is what you will get out of it.”  My Uncle John used to grow incredible tomato plants.  He could take them from a seed, to toothpick skinny, and make them grow to produce tomatoes the size of a professional boxer’s fist.  It took time, patience, attention, practice and strong will.  Some years may have been better than others.  But overall, he was a giant when it came to raising tomatoes.  In relationships, on days when you want to just forget it and skip the weeding or watering process, you do it anyways.  When the fruit comes it will be amazing.  People will marvel and no one needs to know what went on in the background to get you to greatness.  Pay the price.  It’s worth it.

Ø  Remember the early days when love was blind.  Now realize that taking that approach may help you now.  When your partner makes a screwed-up choice, don’t rub their face in it.  We all make the wrong decisions, sometimes even with the best intentions or reasons.  Forgive as you would have forgiveness come back to you.  My head still swims with remorse for things I did ten, fifteen and twenty years ago.  I feel the humiliation as if the people who were there originally were still responding to my idiocy.  And yet, they have most assuredly moved on with their lives.  It is me that keeps returning to the garbage pile and picking through it.  If I had one person to put my face in my past mistakes, there are days I feel like it would crack me.  BUT … if I had one person to be my cheerleader to tell me I can be better and I can do better, I would be so empowered! 

I watched the movie “Fireproof” years ago and was struck by the beauty and power and rawness of it.  It shows how when a relationship has a breakage in communication, other forces can come in and try to pull the parties apart.  (And, somehow, we think the next situation will be better than what we are leaving?)  Shortly after the movie came out, yet another one of my friends was watching his marriage erode.  He kept saying that there were no grounds for annulment.  I kept telling him that THAT was not the issue at hand.  While she lived under his roof he had “home court advantage,” and needed to re-court his wife… “woo-her,” if you will.  And my gosh he fought that notion in its utter simplicity six ways to Sunday.  I wanted to drive out there and crack him on the head myself.  (but I don’t want to be impeached for saying that.) 

I gave him a first step from the Fireproof movie:  buy her one single rose.  He actually FOUGHT ME on the idea – that he didn’t have enough spare change to be buying roses, etc.  I told him in my endearingly heartless tough-love way:  “Skip a cheeseburger, you jerk.  One single rose is a lot cheaper than alimony.”  Just put it in her room, and when she stares at you and says, “What’s this for?”  Just say, “Because you’re my wife.”  Then:  put your hand over your mouth and leave the room.  Do not say one more word or you will screw it up.  What you are trying to accomplish is to put some initiative back into the process.  He called me a week later.  He tried it.  She did snarl at him and he followed my directions - or so he said – to a tee.  And she looked at him and said: “Don’t think you’re getting lucky.”  So right there he gets the barometer on how much wooing he’d actually have to do to get her to not be so angry.  And what did he then do?  From everything he led me to know, nothing.  He let the process die there and so did his marriage.  Secret:  women want to be re-courted periodically.  We just need to know that we still got it… Other secret:  I think men need to know they still got it too … so a little flirtation never hurt anyone.  That’s all I want to say about that.  Well, other than if you are not willing to re-court your partner, don’t be surprised if they are accidentally ensnared by someone who does want to court.  Look at courtship as a fence you build around valuable property.  It provides the protection and care to keep what belongs inside, happily inside, and what belongs outside, outside.

What are the most important words in Relationship-land?  I am not going to say that it is, “I love you.”  If you want that, watch the Hallmark channel.  I suspect that it is actually, “I am sorry, please forgive me.”  The church down the road has a sign that says: “Forgiveness is a new beginning.”  I like that.  It doesn’t make forgiveness easy to do.  In fact, I believe it is the hardest thing to do.  But the alternative is ongoing bitterness – and keeping that bubbling inside you is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to get sick:  You’re the one it hurts.  If you want to tell me how the other person did you wrong – in quantity and quality – I don’t want to hear it.  I KNOW.  I am aware that there are wounds that really feel quite unforgivable. But it is important to say that while we must forgive, that does not mean we are to EXCUSE bad behavior.  Nope.  I have always been a fan of calling things as they are and holding people accountable.  One of my dearest friends, on the other hand, was so lenient that if he had a horse thief in his family, he’d say this: “Well, he’s basically a great guy.  He just has a little problem when he gets around horses.”  I have no room for that kind of excusing in my brain.  I know Forgiveness does not mean that.  Forgiveness must then be something else, perhaps like:  “every time I see that guy I am going to try to not remember that he stole a horse.  And yet, I will not let him take my horse and say it’s not a problem.”  It’s a fine line to walk and I am sure I don’t have it figured out yet.  It is truly a decision, an act of the will, to move your brain into forgiveness mode. I just know this, when a person humbles themselves and says, “I am sorry, I truly am.  Please forgive me,” well, that does a lot to begin the healing.

So, if you are reading this blog and you think I wrote it for you, I didn’t.  I wrote it for the Lord.  If He wanted you to read it, He has His own reasons.  Maybe I said something that will save you heartache.  Maybe I said something that will save me heartache.  I think over the years I have seen enough and figured a few things out.  And Mr. Right, if you are out there, practice saying “I’m sorry, please forgive me.”  You’re a man, and you’re going to need it.  XO XO XO ….

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 p.s. I forgot to add HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOR AND LEVITY to the list.  Maybe next time. 

 

 

My Masked-Saturday Activities

 

My Masked-Saturday Activities

Perhaps I looked like a flamingo in a black snow jacket as I stood in line at Ollie’s.  I had my left leg bent up behind me to ease that twinge of sciatica pain that was working its magic on my lower back at that moment.  I felt my face making a twist with each passing second that I waited, and my back tweaked. 

  The woman in line behind me dropped something flat and paper-ish for the second time.  She was elderly and I couldn’t even bend down to pick it up for her because I was cart-less and my arms were full:  a package of puppy pads, a new journal with a beach scene on the front, a dual-sided dog dish, and a dog treat launcher (just wait until Valor gets a go-at this activity!).  My nerves were frazzling as each line was loaded with people, only three clerks were working, and the guy in the next aisle literally DROPPED a rolled-up rug that went BAM! and all of us jumped.  His cashier just laughed.  The woman in front of me was leaning on her cart with one foot on the rung.  She turned to me and rolled her eyes.  The general patience of all the people around us was fraying at the edges.  The woman at the cashier’s station was having some sort of a payment problem that wasn’t resolving.  I tried to think of how embarrassing it must have been for her, then my low back twinged again and the woman in front of me exhaled in frustration and said, as if we were talking already, “and I just had chemo last week.”

 Now I ask you, what the hell do you say to that piece of news from a stranger?  I said:  “I’m sorry.  But I guess it is better to be on this side of the counter than that side,” as I nodded towards the cashier.  Inept.  Some days it’s what I do best.  I think that’s why I used to prefer to be the pitcher when I played softball:  I’d rather deliver the news than have to respond to it like the batter does.

 I had just come from PetCo where I got some supplies in anticipation of little Sophia Hope’s arrival in March.  I get tears in my eyes just thinking about it.  Apparently, puppies coming-and-going both make me cry.  I always thought it was just when I sold one, I cried.  Now I am crying four weeks in advance of having her in my arms, tucking her little face under my neck for the very first time.  Which reminds me, I’ve got to clean ears of the spaniels I’ve already got.  At PetCo I had an adorable little turquoise gem-studded tag engraved with her name, my cell phone # and last name.  It was so cool when it was engraving, then it popped out of the machine and I marveled at how tiny the inscription was.  Maybe it’s just my eyes are aging, but I have trouble with small print now.  So aggravating.  But she will be microchipped just in case….

 I was driving home thinking about my morning.  Saturday COVID routine is only a little different than normal times were:  I wear a mask.  The responsibilities are the same.  For some reason, I feel a need to purge this house of extraneous things (is that nesting before Sophia comes home?)  Today I tackled the Chris Arabik Memorial Sock Collection.  I’ve got one of those plastic 3-drawer towers and have them labeled:  white/light socks, Dark socks, Athletic socks.  Then I have a pink fabric bin with decorative fringe where I keep heavy winter socks.  I went through each container and matched socks and inspected for holes.  Ask a Type-A person if they can throw away a good sock AND a bad sock with a hole in it.  No we cannot.  I have now a plastic lego back with a sticker on it that says:  “Socks without mates.”  In case I buy the exact same design of a particular pair of socks, I have a back up when one of THOSE gets a hole in it.  Then I have a box in the bathroom closet for the holey-socks so they can be used as dusting rags.  Not that I dust.  It’d just be wasteful to throw the socks out.  One pair went into the trash.  It was stressful.  It’s too bad I was born in the 60’s, I would have done so well if I had lived during the Great Depression.

I headed out the door after the Sock Detail to take the trash to the landfill and flirt with “Dynasty.”  Last week he tried out, “Hey, Babe.”  I don’t like it as much as “Hey, Beautiful!”  Actually, I don’t like Babe at all.  The 30% of me that is fire-breathing feminist finds that functionally demeaning.  Don’t ask me to explain that in any more detail.  Today he tried out, “Hiya, Sweet Pea.”  I guess that makes my mother Olive Oyle and my father Pop-Eye?  They will be thrilled…. Not.

 I went to the Methodists with two bags of bottle returns for them.  I went to the Wesleyans with one bag of clothing for the bin.  And then I went to the Boulevard to the other two stores as previously mentioned.

 On the way home, the radio was playing, “The God of Angel Armies is Always By My Side.”  I always think of an event I was at a few years ago in a Protestant church when I hear that song.  I happened to be standing near a Protestant pastor and his wife.  They were singing so loud, in his case it seemed like he was trying to impress someone with his zeal.  I was singing along, holding my own but still felt at the end that it was more like dueling vocal-banjo’s than it was worship.  That’s what I get for going to a church not my own.  Speaking of which….

 More recently, a doctor at work barked at me for going to Church during COVID.  I said to him, “Look, here’s what you don’t ‘get.’” – we have that kind of relationship after a decade of working together.

“In my church, every other row is taped off.  I’ve been single for my whole life and the last 30 years I’ve been sitting socially-distanced by at least ten feet before it was in vogue.  Everyone is facing the same direction with masks on.  Either the masks work, or they don’t – and I believe they do.  PLUS, I’m Catholic and we PAY someone to stand up front and sing FOR us: the cantor.  It’s not really a germ event.”  He laughed out loud.  I was only kind of kidding.

 I came home after my journeys today and cleaned the Bird Room with the spaniels at my heels.  Wait until Sophia Hope sees that she has birds IN the house here!  And when we have fed and watered the four birds (Spice Finch, Fischer lovebird, Cockatiel, Sun Conure) in each of their cages, the dogs sit nicely waiting for a Pepperidge Farm goldfish cracker.  It’s a big hit.  They won’t leave the room without one.  The conure, “Sunny D,” moves close to the bars of the cage and extends his wings out behind him and bobs his head low until he gets one too.  Then we move onward to more relentless house-cleaning.  I should “nest” like this more often.  I am getting a lot done today.  😊

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Whose Fart is it? AKA: Chain of Fools

 

Who’s Fart Is it?  AKA:  Chain of Fools

A popular comedian once told a story of a young boy’s baseball team. It seems one of the boys was no longer permitted to play on the team since his parents moved the family into a different school district.  His comrades were upset to lose him since he was such a good player.  The coach tried to explain to them about how districts “work,” and attempted to reassure them that it was not the boy’s fault; however, the coach spoke with an impediment so it came out, “It just wasn’t his fart.  It wasn’t anybody’s fart.  Sometimes things happen.  It wasn’t anybody’s fart.”  And you can only imagine the howling and caterwauling the boys did at this unfortunate pronunciation.  They laid down on the ground, rolling and crying, and the coach misinterpreted this to be grief.  He kept reassuring, “It wasn’t anybody’s fart.”

It seems no matter what age we are, we are always asking the question:  “Who’s FAULT was it?” 

A couple get’s divorced – it was his fault.  It was her fault.  It was the in-law’s fault. 

A kid didn’t make the team.  If it was his grades, was it his teacher’s fault?  Was it his parents’ fault?  Was it HIS fault?

A worker does not get a promotion or a raise.  Was it her fault?  Was it her supervisor’s fault?  Was it the System’s fault?

A lamp gets broken.  Was it the baby’s fault?  Was it the husband’s fault?  Was it the dog’s fault?

So here we are, all sitting around our stupid televisions and ipads and laptops and desktops and smart watches.  We have 24/7 access to the media.  We have 24/7 access to the News – “all news, all the time.”  And yet the wise king Solomon said in the Old Testament (4,000 years ago) there is NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN.  And he was right.  News is just the same broken story told over and over again in different forms.  One team against another.  A glimmer of hope in the form of a personal interest story where one human acts selflessly.  Then we are back to the teams again.  Sports teams.  Cultural teams.  Gender teams.  Political teams.  Religious teams.  If there was no conflict, we would have no reason to watch news. 

And then we, as individuals in a modern society, are told the same thing Eve and Adam were told by the serpent:  “You shall be like gods, knowing good and knowing evil.”  He doesn’t mean “figuring it out,” knowing.  He means “experiencing it” knowing.  Why they thought that was the deal of a lifetime, I cannot fathom.  So here we sit 6000 years later in front of our electronics thinking we can understand the evil of conflict.  We cannot see through it to the core, but we don’t realize it.  We think we are brilliant when we declare whose “Fault” it was.  We just blame the other guy.  We think we understand, but all we are really doing is “knowing/experiencing” it.  And that is hellacious.

Ben Shapiro came close yesterday to identifying it.  He said he uses the SAME criteria no matter who the players are:  (that’s called equitable judging) if the person said something incendiary, but did not directly call for violence, then he is guilty of turning the fire up or as I call it “stirring the pot.”  (Let’s be honest, isn’t that what rallies are all about?!  Turning the heat up, garnering support as a team?)  The next step is action.  But each individual person has to take responsibility for his/her action.  He further states that if it is violence, if they have broken the law (arson, destruction of property, breaking & entering, etc.) then they should GO TO JAIL. I would add: Do not pass “Go,” Do not collect 2000 dollars.  (extra zero with intent).  We cannot place the blame for rioting on a person who never said, point-blank: “go assault the capitol police and break the door down.” 

And a word about rallies…. In case you have never been to one.  I used to participate in an annual rally at the capitol.  But the name was changed to “pilgrimage,” to more accurately reflect what happened there.  It was NOT a demonstration because no violence was committed.  It was a peaceful prayer march attended mostly by, oh, thousands of parents, children, nuns, priests and youth groups.  It was amazing. Praying.  Singing.  A lot of joy.  It was an awesome thing to be a part of.  The year I stopped going was when Barak Obama was president and he sent, instead of capitol police, security in riot gear with semi-automatic weapons and mean faces.  That set a tone that was menacing and never a part of that kind of experience before.  Once an event ramps-up to that level of tension, it no longer is “safe” in my book.

I will tell you the only time there was conflict that I experienced at that event:  I was with my group of students and we were walking and talking as we made our way to capitol hill.  From the sidelines there was a small group of two or three harassers that appeared out of nowhere.  They began yelling AT the kids who were with me.  One of my boys shouted something back – and I stopped him immediately.  I said, “That’s not what we are here for.  We are here to pray, not to engage hecklers.”  We continued on and the situation deflated like a tired balloon.  Later when a newspaper interviewed my kids, that young man said what a good experience it was, and how he learned from that momentary interchange that you don’t “have to” engage someone like that. 

There are other types of groups that have rallied at the capitol over the years.  They scream.  They shout.  They wave insulting or harassing signage.  Expressing approval and dissent is not just an American privilege – it is integral to the dignity of being a human being with thoughts, feelings, opinions.  However, in other countries with less freedom, the people learn to shut up and put up or be snuffed-out by their dictatorial regimes.  And, at rallies or demonstrations, when the atmosphere ramps-up, there is always the possibility of wingnuts flying off and creating an untoward event.  That is evil.  And it is what broken or frustrated people do. 

We are all – the red and the blue – asking the question, “Where the hell were the capitol police and security duty?”  We are all wishing we could just blame one person and be done with it.  And the two men that either parties blame in alternating fashion are cut from completely different cloth so it is more complicated assessing the situation: which, if either, is altruistic and wants the best for our country?  I wonder if being on all the restrictions from the international health crisis has contributed to the social unrest?  There are questions we may never know the answer to.  But we have ALL been horrified.  It is increasingly more difficult to keep national peace when there is One Force that continues to INCITE social unrest.

If you do not know how you feel, look again, and they will TELL you how to feel.  If you do not know who to blame, listen and they will TELL you who to blame.  If you have doubts we can find the path back to national peace and security, ask the question and then flip on the screen in front of you.  They have been here all along:  showing us what THEY want us to see, telling us what they want us to THINK, directing us forward to anarchy and chaos.  And then, when we are sitting in the rubble, they will raise up a Darling, like a phoenix from the ashes, to propose as The Solution to the problems.  History has had many names for him because he is an archetype of what is behind it all.  But I will let you ponder that.  For now, do not be part of their chain-chain-chain …. Chain-of-fools.

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Christmas Chronicles 2020 - A Wistful Day Dream, An Insightful Rant

 

I am leaving the Atlantic City Expressway and driving on the marsh road that will drop me right onto the Jersey shore.  In this daydream, I am not far from Rio Grande Boulevard, Avalon, Stone Harbor, or my other favorite haunts, but I am not there yet. 

 It is night and I can see the Ferris wheel, high and mighty in the distance.  The dark sky is lit by its circular rotation of colored lights, as if a Christmas tree was flung up in the air spinning.  It always seemed too big to me, so daunting, I was afraid to go on it.  Standing at its base on the ancient boardwalk, heralded by more than a few doo-wop singers, I stare up at it in wonder.  Can something so great be trusted to take my fragile humanity off the earth so high into the heavens? 

Now all I can think is that I want to be on that road, driving purposefully towards that skyline.  I forgive Hurricane Sandy for sending us away a few years ago before our vacation had officially ended.  For some on that trip, it would be their last time at the Jersey Shore before they crossed Jordan for the Other Shore.  I forgive the black flies for biting us on the beach in 2019, the year they were disturbed by the giant rake machine that tidied the beach in preparation for the upcoming annual Firemen’s Weekend.  I forgive the landlord who was not forthcoming about their lack of internet.  (NO internet connection for more than 3 minutes, ever, is not the same thing as “spotty internet connection.”)  I forgive my friends for the times I may have gotten on their nerves, and vice versa, I hope they extend me the same courtesy.  I forgive the Firemen partiers in the boy-toy pickup truck for passing me on a solid line and almost killing three people in the crosswalk in front of us with me almost having a heart attack by watching it – I know you had too much beer already before nightfall.  I forgive the tires of my bicycle for not being more sporting of my intent to ride long and hard…. I ask a lot of you.  I forgive everybody, everything, ever …. Just give me my Jersey Shore back!

I do not forgive COVID for pulling the brakes on life as I knew it.  I would give you 8 months out of the year – the working months with crappy weather – if you’d just give me back July, August, and September.  I want to be on the beach at the nearby lake without feeling people are too close to me when I go in the water.  I want to not wonder if the surface of the water was loaded with germs, more than the algae beneath its surface.  I want to take my blue mask off for 2 seconds when it fogs my glasses so I can see where I am walking without getting dirty looks by people.  I want to look at people without mistrust:  “are YOU going to make me sick?!”  I want to not feel aggressive about the people who have the devil-may-care attitude and think it’s all a hoax.  But I also want to not feel depressed about the people who think that wearing a mask is any bigger of a deal than it is.  Sure we ran low on toilet paper, but we did not run low on FOOD nor did we have to stand in lines like our ancestors did during the Great Depression …. Which, I imagine was not so “great” at all.

In actual fact, Mr. COVID, I am sick and tired of you entirely.  You make some people nervous and scared.  You make others aggressive, reckless and short-tempered.  You have killed a few people; and you have made others varying degrees of sick.  But as for me, I will emphasize again:  I am sick of you entirely.  The fact that people even mention you or make references to you in their Christmas cards is sad.  You have dominated our horizon and rained on our parade.  I hope you go back from whence you came …. And you know how far south that is!  (think:  heat, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, very much farther South.)

But in your terrible wake, you have left a gift that some have not noticed.  You gave us a re-set.  It may not exactly be a silvered lining of the blackest of clouds, yet it is a gift.  You see, some people want to go back “to Normal,” as if there ever was one.  But I remember, because I am old enough to stir it up, how it was the last time we came back collectively to Normal…. It was worse.

In the 1950’s television was developed (but invented in late 1920’s).  By the 1960’s every house had at least two, and in the 1970’s people had color television.  It was the beginning of a technological maelstrom.  Radio, Television, Movies, Internet, Cyberspace, Gaming, etc.  It spun and spun like a dervish.  And as it spun, our morals too were up-ended as a culture.  We began by portraying happy stories.  Coming out of the Great Depression, that is what people wanted to see:   “happy stories.  Every princess finds a prince; every Ozzie has a Harriet; a goose in every pot.”  Then people complained and said, “not all is happy – show us how it really is” – and Media took over and gave us a look at crime, violence, the seven deadly sins and every vice conceivable.  Our viewers’ perception of how the world was changed.  And they treated it as such.  So, the world changed.  Now we have the world that Media created with vice, mixed virtue, and a reality tv that does not in any way resemble my humble reality (thank Heavens).

While Marshall McLuhan asked in the 1980’s, “Does Reality create the Media, or does Media create Reality?”  we debated it in college classes.  Now, no debate is necessary.  We are 70 years down the road and it is, frankly, getting old.  The sin.  The sick minds.  The violence.  The dissolution of the moral fiber which was truly holding us all together.  Ten Commandments, out!  God, out!  (unless using the Name to curse). Healthy Family Life, out!  Sanity, out!  So maybe it’s time to say, “Trash Media, out!”

On September 11, 2001 the North American world was rocked by terrorist attacks.  Shortly thereafter, there was a hiatus on intense violence in the media.  It was as if Hollywood was giving us a break of some sort.  It was almost relieving to watch tv that was a bit lighter.  Our nerves had been collectively assaulted when our national security was shaken.  We needed a break.  And then people on the streets of New York began to talk to each other, to have caring in their voice.  To greet people with genuine concern.  We sang, “I’m Proud to Be an American” and “God Bless America” in our streets.  A culture had shifted.  And then the media, over time, ramped-up again to poisoning us with more intensity.  Now, in the city where I work, there is at least a WEEKLY shooting or stabbing.  I avoid the colossus that is our mall not because I don’t enjoy shopping, but because I am afraid of seeing a violent episode (as I did the time I was there two years ago).

The generation that followed that time kept their kids increasingly more busy.  Their business lives were frenetic as well.  Their home lives were fraying more than just “at the edges,” and divorces went up to 50%  As a society we were running on high-speed.  It was the new “normal” that had been created after a national crisis. And it was fast and furious leaving a lot of spiritual deficit in its wake.  And then from across the sea, allegedly from an open-air market and an order of  take-out “bat-to-go,” (on rice?) the whole known world was brought to its knees. 

Wake up:  There is no Normal to go back to.  From this point, we must push forward to create the world of good health, yes, and peace and spiritual balance.  It is the season for a reign of peace.  It is the season for hopes and dreams.  It is the season for an end to violence in our streets.  It is less about who sits in the White House, and should be more about who we are forming and shaping in our homes.  For the section of culture that was satisfied to have the government form its children’s moral values, “welcome to Home Schooling.”  You see how you have a unique opportunity to give something truly meaningful to your kids right now.  Do it.  Do not let this chance pass you by, or we will talk about these days when we are sitting in the nursing homes in 30 more years. 

Mr. Covid, you make me look into the mirror again.  I see a new me.  I am stronger, I am wiser.  I will walk in Faith more than ever before.  I will live decidedly for the goal of making the world a better, more virtuous place.  You may have tried to use leaders to take our places of worship away, but my God says that MY BODY IS A TEMPLE.  So now, as I walk with my God, I will be what He wanted the world to see all along:  kind, caring, virtuous …. If I can do it, it will be by His grace alone. 

I still long for the ocean.  But now that I have been made brave by the pressure of adversity, I will stand at the foot of that Ferris wheel, turn to the woman in the booth and say:  “One, please.”  On that day, I will see the world with joy.

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Exercises in Sanity

 

Although by and large I am "against" exercising, I find myself a proponent for the things we do to stay sane when in times of distress.

Here below I offer you a beloved list with a bit of humor from you're old friend Bik:

*Begin by counting dust bunnies on the floor.  Then turn your whole vacuum cleaner around backwards and see if you can chase them across the floor with the exhaust-end.  Do they blow apart and make more bunnies?  Set a timer and see how many you can vacuum up in 60 seconds.

*Go online to a paint company and continually swap out bathroom wall visualizations.  You must find a color that is not yellow, is not white, has no hint of lavender in it, and is not brown.  It must also look like sand on your favorite beach so that it matches the mini mermaids hanging on the wall.

*Read through the 1001 Muffins book and pick what you are going to make in two weeks when your current supply of breads and treats is down some.  Hey, carbs are our friends because they make glucose, and glucose is keeping you going right now.  

*Try on every pair of pants or jeans you have in your closet and decide which ones you can hold until you drop a size and can zip them, and which ones you should donate.  For every donation, set five dollars of your own money aside in the special account you have for your vacation fund to Hawaii.  Call your travel agent and book the flight.

*Re-organize your pantry so that you can see and remember what is actually available for a quick meal.  Take a sharpie and write the month and year on the top of the lid of the 5 unexpired canned goods that remain.  Open the can of apricots from 1999 to see what they look like...

*Change and launder the curtains in your rooms.  Wash the dog saliva off the living room window because your "boy" stands on the back of the loveseat to bark at the squirrels in the back yard.

*Take a break with the dog.  Scratch him under the chin until you can get him to say "arooo."  Follow this with the verbal command, "Oh, So Scary!"  until you can get him to do the ghost-noise on verbal command without the chin-scratching.  (may take a few sessions.) 

*Get on your hands and knees and wash the baseboards around each room of the house.  Quietly pray the rosary to keep yourself from killing the cat who has put claw puncture-marks in one particular spot.

*Clean out all the cards that the missionaries from every country have ever sent you.  You would not be able to use all these mass cards unless every person you have ever known in your entire life time x2 were to drop dead on the spot.  Have a plan for all of the white envelopes left over.  Trash the yellowed-ones or the ones with silhouettes of poinsettias.

*Revisit some of your favorite scrapbooks.  Then when you find the three you haven't finished, spend an hour looking for pictures from the third litter of puppies that are most likely sitting on the dead cell phone in your kitchen drawer.  (good luck with that).  Give up and make yourself a bowl of cereal for supper.

*Look for a new dog online that costs under $1500.  That will chew up about an hour of your time for the next six months.

*Stand in the middle of one room.  Visualize which piece of furniture you want to move to another room in the house.  Then, look at the clock.  See how long it takes you to relocate that one piece.  Caveat:  you must displace an already existing piece of furniture in the next room to a third room.  Keep going until every room has moved at least one piece of furniture.  You are not done until you have changed the couch cover, and cleaned any floor or flat surface.  If you time this exercise correctly, you will miss Wheel of Fortune or Jeopardy and be moving furniture long into the night.  You will collapse onto your bed with a sigh of relief when you are completely done.

It is my hope that you have had a media/news-free day to clear your head of the fear and jargon.  After you have done all of these activities above, you will be ready for another week of working at home.  And hopefully your house will be more organized .... that elusive wish you used to say when you walked into your friend's place that was always immaculate.  Now you know there are only three ways people can have spotless houses:  they pay someone to clean FOR them; they don't live there long enough to make it dirty; or ... they have no life and all they do is clean!