Merry! Merry!

I was surprised how many people commented in Christmas cards I received that they wanted to see my blog revived.  I have decided to merge my passion for journal writing with my blog - so you will notice a change.

I have become obsessed with using my old typewriter - and have made the switch to journaling exclusively via typewriter.  I find the use of such a machine to be very relaxing and creative - and just love to sit down and hear the clickity-clack of the typebars hitting the paper.  

I can no longer writer out journals "long hand" - after years of writing essays, I find it difficult to write long entries in a standard journal - so now my typed pages go into a binder for safe keeping.  

Why not just use the computer??  Too many distractions..I can never complete my thought process.  "Ooo.. I have mail! -- Gee.. I wonder if I can find that on Ebay.... What's on Netflix?".  With the typewriter, my thoughts flow freely and uninterrupted.  There is some sort of romantic and magical thought process that occurs when using one of these machines... so basically, it inspires me to write!!

The few stories and entries I would like to share with my cyber audience will be scanned and posted here.  I apologize in advance for several things (hahaha!):

- Poor scan quality.  My printer/scanner needs to be replaced.

- My formatting - I use a 1941 typewriter -- you hit a key, it's on paper -- formatting was always too complicated for me to properly understand and control.

- Type quality.  My typewriter needs to be cleaned -- years of typing have gunked up the typebars (what prints the letters on the paper) and I have been too lazy to properly clean them with denatured alcohol. -- I hope to have a "new" machine in the near future that will have been cleaned, restored and serviced by a qualified typewriter professional -- yes, they do still exist!!  Bear with me as I continue to use the unserviced and uncleaned model in the mean time (doesn't do that badly for not being serviced in over 40 years!)

- Grammar and spelling.  There is no spell check - no delete key on a typewriter...though I do end up using a LOT of correction tape. These entries are raw thoughts -- right from my mind to the paper via my fingers and the machine. I do not go back to proof read for spelling and grammar (I'd have to type the WHOLE thing over again to correct mistakes).  I actually find it liberating to sit down and just get the ideas on paper in tangible form without red lines under my words or going back and deleting entire paragraphs.   -- I do often cringe as I go back and re-read what I typed... my mind works faster than my fingers and it often shows in the final result!

I hope you enjoy these observations and stories - and I hope you can read them clearly enough through the scan and through my typos and errors  :)  Thanks for following my blog!!!

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Below is a short story about what Christmas was like for my Grandmother, Helen Trasciatti-Doxbeck who grew up in Hilldale (Plains) Pennsylvania during the great depression.  

A Tribute to a Friend

My blog is pretty much defunct – keeping it activated more as an archive of my past thoughts rather than use for current blogging, but I wanted to revive it for at least one additional entry.

Today I attended the funeral of my best friend, Anne Reed. She has been my dearest friend, closest confidant and “adopted Grandmother” for the past 15 years.  I am honored that she considered me part of her amazing family.

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We met when we were both Religious Education teachers at the now closed parish of St. Joseph's in North Tonawanda. She taught the 8am classes and I taught the 10am classes, so we only saw each other in passing.

It wasn't until the Religious Ed. Christmas party that I met her formally and got to know her. We sat next to each other at the dinner and clicked instantly – though over the years as we'd reminisce, neither of us could recall many details about the actual event.... we'd joke that we'd both blocked out the details... but it just seemed to take off from there!

Anne passed away at the age of 84 – when I met her I was 15 and she was 69. What on Earth made two people from across the age spectrum become such good friends?? She was perpetually young at heart while I was born with the soul of a 90 year old... so we basically balanced each other out and met in the middle.

Over the years I got to know Anne's husband Vince and her immediate family including her sisters, children and grandchildren very well. Anne always had an open door policy so you never knew who was going to stop by when you went over for a visit. Her home was some times as busy as Grand Central Station with folks going in and out.. stopping by to say hello and to share a laugh. It was one of the things I loved about going there – the door was always open and all were welcomed.

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Anne taught me many things over the years and was the only soul brave enough to be able to teach me how to drive. I had a few brief experiences behind the wheel of a car that never lasted more than a few blocks – and a deep fear of driving – hearing all the stories about teenagers getting into accidents and the high cost of insurance – all the things our parents tell us when they don't want their own insurance costs going through the roof. So, unlike most teenagers.. I dragged my feet getting a license until the summer after I graduated High School.

I'll never forget the day Anne picked me up for a driving lesson. She and Vince had just gotten a brand new Buick Century (part of why I love Buick so much).. came to my house.. tossed me the keys and then got into the passenger seat. I sat behind the wheel of the car when she informed me my first task was to take her up to the Riviera theater here on Webster Street in North Tonawanda.. one of those old town streets that have parking where you have to back in and out of your space into on-coming traffic rather than just pulling up alongside the curb. Anything out of my neighborhood could have been the equivalent of the Lincoln Tunnel to my nerves. I looked over at her asking, “Are you serious?”. She laughed and told me, “You can't drive around the block all your life. A car is just a piece of metal.. if something happens, it happens.” My Grandpa later asked her if she had a death wish.

A few years later I couldn't wait to call her and tell her of my experience driving the actual Lincoln Tunnel and the streets of Manhattan – something I never want to do again mind you – but something I did because I could! Each summer since I have thanked her for giving me the courage to have faith in my own abilities and giving me that one vital key to independence and adulthood... and I'm very glad I never killed her while obtaining that key (there were close calls).

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As I grew older she moved away from being just the Grandmotherly figure and we became closer and closer – staying up into the wee hours of the night sharing our deepest concerns, what weighed on our hearts, and of course laughing – all the while consuming numerous pots of tea while her husband Vince passed out in the chair, comatosed from our endless chatter.

Anne lived for her family and got her wish of having a large one. She raised 6 wonderful children, a whole slew of grandchildren and even great-grandchildren whom she adored. She lived for kids!

Knowing she had the life she always wanted.. filled with family and friends, I had asked her once before what she would have done differently with her life should she do it over again. She told me she had always wanted to be some sort of counselor or social worker – helping people with their problems. When she was growing up, women were regulated to “pink collar jobs” like nurse, teacher or secretary... so the option for something outside the home didn't seem very real in those days - not that the opportunity for such work would have made her pass up the chance for the big family of which she always dreamed of having (It's not a coincidence Donna Reed and Anne shared the same last name).

I always reminded Anne that she really was a counselor to every person who came through her door who needed someone to listen to them or just be there. No, she didn't have a fancy degree or letters after her name – her kitchen was her office and a cup of tea/coffee along with a damn good laugh were her treatments of choice. I am one of the many many people who benefited from this therapy – and now, as I lament her passing – think of how it was she who'd I'd call just in times like these because I knew she'd be there for me.

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Anne was quite the avid collector – not of commemorative spoons of shot glasses, but of people. She collected them everywhere she went and always took them into her heart. She had a way of making everyone feel so welcomed and at home in her house – in fact, she is the reason I am such a stickler for the little formalities when I have company come to call – always do it up nice... the little things mean a lot – always a cup and saucer (“my mother would be so ashamed if she could see me not serving tea using a cup and saucer!” she'd always remind me – it became a running gag if occasionally we'd use the pedestal mug instead of the china). People were worth the extras – they deserved to be treated special in her book.

Her faith in God proved to be a constant inspiration to me – especially as I struggled with my own faith so much over the years. She would often comment that she wished she was more “scholarly” in her faith (though she certainly knew more than the average Catholic) – but she had what really mattered... a genuine and sincere love of Christ and His Church within her heart... and SHARED that love with others. Though I could give you an in-depth history of the different Liturgical acts and share some insights about various Church counsels... I always seemed to be asking more questions when she simply lived by the motto: “Thy will be done”.

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I have been to enough funerals in my life to know when someone dies.. they are automatically proclaimed a saint by those who knew them... even those who weren't well liked. In Anne's case, I think the personal canonization is fitting – for she is one of the rare and genuine examples of Christian “caritas” or love/charity that I have ever encountered. Not just going to Church on Sundays but living the message of the Gospels every day of her life. I know with all of my heart, when she approached the gates of paradise, she was greeted with open arms: “Well done, good and faithful servant”.

People of Anne's generation – and young fogeys like myself - are always lamenting that “they don't make things like they used to”. The quality is gone, the craftsmanship is gone, the pride is gone. The same can be said of people: “they don't make em like they used to”. Anne was a classic for certain and a reminder of the best humanity has to offer – kindness, compassion, empathy, true class and grace.

I will miss her infectious laughter and sense of humor – those long talks and that opened door of hers. I carry her in my heart and have become a better person for having known her these 15 years. I hope that in my own way I can take the lessons I have learned from Anne to be a better person and share the love she so generously shared with me.

Tick.. Tick.. Tick...

It is amazing how quickly time passes us by.  Remember when we were children when the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas vacation seemed to move like a snail?  And the time until the end of the school year always seems light-years away.  Now it seems as if I blink my eyes and days have passed.

I've already been in my new home now for over a month and it certainly does feel like home.  I've had some friends over for visits which has been a wonderful experience... having space to entertain and being able to have them come through my front door rather than through my parent's garage.

There is a peaceful quiet here - no one to start talking to me as soon as I walk through the door.  My thoughts are my own and things are done on my own time.  When I want company the telephone is always close at hand.

I can't help but still feel trapped though.. not in my parent's home (as wonderful and they were and continue to be I yearned for a place to call my own) but in the rut of a job.  While I do enjoy the work I do, there is always so much to be done - so few resources at my disposal - and very little pay.  Never would I have dreamed that at this stage in my life I'd be a low level cog in a retail machine - living pay check to pay check.

Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for being able to have had the means to move out into the world on my own, but there is no such thing as really saving for the future.  There is no room for significant growth.  I lay in bed after the alarm goes off remembering all the many things that await me on the desk when I get to work, and leave knowing how much more will be awaiting my return the next day.  And for what?  To eek out an existence?

There are times it infuriates me to know I worked so hard in school and spent so much money (and more to spend since the loans are not fully paid) to be doing what any person off the street could be trained to do... making far less than I ever imagined I'd be making after all that hard work and effort.

I feel like I threw my time and money away on a teaching degree - all I have left after years of sacrifice is a piece of paper known as a diploma.  Don't even ask me where it currently resides.. I have no idea.  All I know is it is a certificate that yields nothing.

A friend of mine was over for dinner this weekend and she is in the same boat.  She too has her teaching degree and has no leads on any substantial possibility for a job.  She spent this year as a substitute teacher and summarized the experience perfectly: "demeaning".  Here she is, late 30s, a degree.. has raised a child of her own - was a dance teacher for years and the best she can do with her degree is play babysitter in a classroom setting.

She (like myself and so many other substitutes) know how it feels when some of the faculty and staff look down their noses at you or talk down to you as if you were no more knowledgeable than the students you are there to teach.  Not to mention how it feels to be in front of a classroom of strangers each day, many of whom have made it their personal quest to get you to break down into tears by the end of the period.  All for $80 a day.

There seems to be no end to district downsizing in sight and no better options for those of us on the outside dreaming of being on the inside.  And with each passing day that dream fades into a cloud of bitterness and contempt for the whole field itself.

While I am so thankful (Deo Gratias!) for the new home in my life and making that New Year's resolution come true.. the idea of being stuck in this rudimentary position any longer makes me want to cry.  As my 30th birthday approaches in less than a month - I have to wonder what lies ahead for me -- especially since my 20s were not filled with prosperous change, but stagnant repetition.

The new home

People keep asking me if it feels strange to be living in my own home.  I guess I haven't really had time to just sit back and enjoy it -- almost every day for the past two weeks all I have done is move things to the new place, unpack and clean.  I never knew I had so much stuff!!

Today is actually my fist day of not leaving the apartment at all.  I did this on purpose.  I'm so tired of running errands and being in my car, I decided it was time for me just to enjoy being "home". 

It does feel nice to have my own place - though the full impact has still to set in.  My mind is constantly planning and doesn't rest until everything is done.. which has yet to happen with this move.  Every time I turn around I remember needing to bring something else over - or am ordering something and waiting for it to be delivered so I can set it up.  I keep telling myself I am not going to officially invite friends over to see the place until "everything is just how I want it", but that may take a while.  hahaha! They may have to settle for the unfinished product.

I am indeed very happy here.  For some reason I just HAD to be out on my own by the time I was 30.  There was no real reason for this other than I didn't like the idea of still living at home at such an...ahem.. "advanced" age.  There is a strong social stigma for men who still live with their folks.. and I wanted to break that - and be able to say I moved out in my 20s.  And I'm proud to say I made that happen.  :)

It's one thing to be the spinster of the family.. it's another to be the spinster living in his parent's "basement". 

Moving on up!

That's right... I'm moving on up! Literally!  This week I will be signing a lease on a small one bedroom apartment on the third floor of a beautiful Victorian style home here in the area.  It's actually on a street where I have imagined living since I was a kid.  To say I'm excited would be an understatement!!

As I said the apartment is small.. but it's a good size for just me - and the rent is in the ball park I was looking for.  It's also very close to home (my parent's home) so I will have easy and free access to laundry facilities. hahaha!

I have already been busy packing my things and trying to plan this move which I'm anticipating will be happening Friday.  There is so much to consider!  I'm trying to remember the layout of the place so I can try to decide what I am bringing with me and what would go where.  I'm also finding out I will need some new furniture.. but will be "making do" for now.  I shudder to think of the ugly old white (now getting kind of yellow) chest of drawers I will be using until I can find an affordable replacement.  We can't all be Donald Trump,

My sister in law stopped by today and dropped of a basket of supplies as an apartment warming present.. a laundry basket that is.  It has a lot of little things I'll need to get started, some of which I hadn't even thought of!  It really made my day!

There has already been a slight glitch in my moving plan.  I was planning on moving all the boxes (there really aren't THAT many) myself as well as some of the smaller furniture.. then having my two brothers help get the big stuff up to the third floor.  Well.. my older brother who was to be the power house in all this had to have minor surgery on his arm - leaving him unable to lift for a few weeks.  Grrr!  So... that means my younger brother and I will be doing the heavy lifting.  And for those that know me know this may be a comical sight indeed. -- I'm not too worried.. most of the furniture will be manageable.  The only thing I will really need help with is a large television cabinet -- I'm not going to even attempt to move that sucker -- that's what relatives and friends are for.  There must be one I can sucker.. I mean convince... to move it for me.  :)

I have mixed emotions about this move (which came a lot quicker than my original plan).  Naturally I'm super excited and anxious - but there is also a part of me that laments leaving the place I have called home for my whole life (ok.. since I was age 2).  It'll be funny to use another address - see the sunrise and set through different windows.  I'm also worried about finances.. money always being an issue. People keep asking me what I need for the new place.. my answer is cash or gift cards!!! haha!

Last year at this time I never would have thought this move to be possible... and although I am not moving into some huge-fancy apartment, I am very thankful to have found the place I did... and so quickly.  The future, even uncertain.. seems some what brighter than it did before.

Prejudice and Discimination - Have we risen above it?

Ask any high school student what it means to be prejudice.  You may hear about the 20th century conflicts over African American equality.  You may even hear about gays and lesbians, immigrants and even unfair work place practices towards women.

So often discrimination and prejudice are thought of in very clear cut terms.  There is a danger in this.  What happens when the prejudice is not part of the established curriculum examples we studied in school?  How do we as a society react? How do we as individuals react?

These questions have been popping into my mind a lot lately.  This week is Holy Week for Roman Catholics - one of the most sacred times of the year... as well as one of the times we as individual Catholics have to endure all sorts of prejudice from those who dislike our Church as a whole.

I can bet any reader right now can rattle off a litany of examples of how they or someone they know has been mistreated (by any definition of the term) by a member of the Catholic Church.  Such feelings and examples are not to be disputed here in this post.  What I do ponder are OUR responses to what we feel are injustices.

Many of the great civil rights leaders of our History textbooks achieved great change and cultural awareness in their life times.  Did they do this by attacking those who attacked them?  Did they fight hatred with hatred?  Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr advocated non-violence and peaceful dialogue over mud slinging and slander.  How do we react when we are wronged today?

Since the start of Lent, my Facebook wall has been flooded with disturbing pictures and sayings aimed directly at insulting the Catholic faith - the pope - the clergy - fill in the blank.  These examples of Internet graffiti do little to help one's cause but do cause pain to those who might already be suffering because of the struggles they endure WITH their Churches. 

When one feels wronged a response is expected, but the style and integrity of that response is what makes the difference.  Mud slinging and hurtful rhetoric do little good to anyone or any cause. 

On any issue I have seen that all sides are responsible for the same acts of immaturity and all equality capable of sinking to a lower level.  Who will take the high road?  Who will act as an individual instead of hiding behind the "movement".  Who takes ownership of their own actions and attitudes rather than just being one of the many?


In addition to enduring the anti-Catholic slangs and pictures that inevitably come about any time there is a major religious observance or holiday, many of my friends and I have become the object of racial prejudice as well.

"Racist" has become the defense of many co-workers anytime a white manager/co-worker tries to reprimand a black co-worker for any work infraction(s).  I use the primitive terms of "white" and "black" not out of offense but because I never hear myself referred to as European American - and the term Caucasian relates back to the old concepts of racial hierarchy: Caucasoid, Negroid and Mongoloid.  So naturally, I don't like those terms.

In these work related cases I don't think the racist in the work place are the white employees whose jobs it is to make sure EVERYONE is doing their jobs properly.  I think the racism can be placed at the feet of those who use race and color as a shield to hide behind and excuse them from accepting blame for their own actions or lack of actions (relating to their work performance).

There is no such thing as "reverse discrimination" or "reverse prejudice".  Discrimination and prejudice are not just one way streets.  Blacks can be just as guilty as whites.  Sadly, there is a strong cultural taboo from anyone lamenting these instances.... at least not out loud.

This entry was not designed to give a thesis of answers - but to ask a list of questions.  In what way do we as individuals respond to racism, discrimination and prejudice?  What are our individual prejudices that we ALL do have?  And how do we let them affect how we interact with each other?  Where is the difference between pay back, getting even or causing harm?  Is there a difference?

Perhaps our previous examples of prejudice and discrimination stemming from the 1950s/60s Civil Rights movements and Women's Rights movements are no longer adequate to address the models of today.  Perhaps our teaching and examples need to be updated and expanded upon - beginning not in our textbooks, but in our own lives.