Pre-Lenten Season

As a Catholic, I have always found Lent to be an extraordinary time of the year for me spiritually.  It is a time of self reflection, prayer and sacrifice in preparation for the time when we remember the ultimate sacrifice Christ made of himself on the cross as well as his Resurrection - which is the highest feast day on our calendar.  Even the seasons in which Lent and Easter occur seem to echo the meaning of these observances -- going through the final days of the  darkness and death of winter (Lent) while looking forward to the light and new birth of spring (Easter).

For "Traditional" Catholics like me (those of us who observe the customs and forms of worship prior to the changes made in the 1960s following Vatican II), Lent begins a bit more gradually than it does in the current Liturgical books -- still beginning officially on Ash Wednesday, but with a time of introduction known as the Sundays of Septuagesima, Sexagesima and Quinquagesima.

These Sundays loosely translated refer to 70, 60 and 50 days before Easter -- Lent being the 40 days of official penance and fasting in preparation for Easter.  Obviously they are not exact number of days, but the idea is that this season is so important that we enter into it gradually to prepare ourselves for the journey ahead which officially commences on Ash Wednesday.

 I always found the names of these Sundays to be just plain cool -- terminology in the older Rite always sounds so much more profound. I do admit however, that my immature American mentality does at times giggle at hearing the term Sexagesima -- and don't pretend you didn't too upon reading it.  It's ok -- as staunchly traditional as I am when it comes to the Liturgy, I think God has a sense of humor too and giggles occasionally Himself.

In the 1970s when a small group of Church officials decided to "modernize" things (that usually never ends up being a really good thing...) they wanted to stream line everything -- make it "simpler" and easier to understand.  This approach in and of itself confuses me -- we live in an age of smart phones and Google where any question can be answered by simply typing it into your phone.  This would be THE TIME then to dig deeper into such subjects, not keep them at a bare-minimum level of presentation or understanding.

This "simplification" also applied to other major feasts where the preparation and conclusion of these feasts were either scaled back or eliminated. -- Octaves after holidays are hardly heard of anyway -- meaning celebrating the feast for 8 days after the actual day -- giving people a time to reflect and enjoy the feast day.  Americans are awesome at practicing "simplifications" like this --- as noted by Christmas tress out to the curb on December 26th.

It saddens me that there is still a movement in the Church to simplify, simplify, simplify in an effort to make the faith more comprehensible to people.  I believe it has had the opposite effect -- we've watered things down so much that they no longer seem important at all.   Lent for example seems to mean little more to main stream Catholics than wearing ashes on your forehead to work/school on Ash Wednesday, enjoying fish fries on Fridays and maybe giving up something during Lent that you really didn't like anyway - and not understanding why you're giving up anything to begin with.

Personally, I think the Church would be far more effective if it simplified it's social teachings and went back more to the fullness of its spirituality.  Welcoming more diversity of peoples and better understanding their circumstances while worshiping in the amazing and inspiring living traditions of our ancestors passed down through the ages --- rather than white washing everything yet sticking to hard line social teachings that never seem to get updated or simplified.

*gets off soapbox*

By the way -- this Sunday is Sexagesima Sunday.  *giggles*

Lack of communication....

     Not having cable in a few years, I watch a lot of shows online.  I love it - with the right programs like Netflix, you can watch what you want when you want.  Recently I set up an HBOgo account and have been re-watching the series, Sex in the City.

     I wasn't a fan of the show when it started but the first guy I dated really got me hooked on it.  One of the few good things to come from that relationship.  Curling up on the sofa with Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha has been like getting in touch with some old friends.

     Actually, it's the friendship between these women that I find fascinating.  They live their own lives yet are so interconnected with one another.  As many friends as we can say we have on Facebook, how many of us actually have friendships like these women?

     Each television series is a glimpse into the time period in which they were created.  Sex in the City isn't really that old of a show, yet so much has changed.  The most striking thing I notice when I watch this show is how much the girls talk to each other on the phone.  Think about it... how often do you really have a long conversation on the phone anymore?  Probably not often... or at least not as often as you did a decade ago.

     My friend Katie and I were just discussing this in the break room the other day.  We all know someone who is the exception -- that person who is ALWAYS talking on their cell, usually in public where we don't want to hear their conversation. For most of us though, we don't gab on the phone anymore -- it's all texting.   I find it much easier to send a simple text message and get a reply than picking up the phone and engaging someone in conversation.  Though I admit this about myself, I must also admit that it is... well... wrong.

     Texting certainly has its advantages but it has also weakened our own communication skills (not to mention devolving our spelling and use of the English language).  People don't know how to TALK to one another or even hold a conversation.  People are so used to texting back and forth ALL DAY with what might amount to a few paragraphs of text - but put them on the phone and the conversation comes to a screeching halt within two minutes.  What intimidates us about a telephone call?

     Despite my love of classic rotary phones (which I am proud to boast that despite being technology impaired, I can use land-line free on a daily basis via my cell phone - thanks to a miraculous bluetooth router), I rarely actually use the phones.  I think I dust them more than I actually talk with them.  Except for calls to and from my Mom, my phone rarely rings.  To be honest, I'd love to have friends who aren't just close like Carrie and the girls when hanging out at a restaurant or enjoying drinks, but who gab on the phone from time to time... just to check in... sharing the laughs and the warmth of a human voice across the miles.  

     Don't you miss that too?  

     Still, as much as I lament chatting on the phone... if it were to ring right now, the first thing that would pop into my head would be - "why the hell are they calling me?".   -- I'll have to work on that and maybe "reach out and touch someone" more often.  

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.

---

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.

---

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".