Friday

Today it is "Pass It On" Day at Lauren's School.  It's the end-of-the-year event that wraps up an entire annum for teachers, students, parents and grandparents.

Mass is at 9:00 a.m., followed by the awards ceremony.  Every type of award is given out, from attendance, to the more spiritual sort. 

At the end of the awards ceremony, the students "pass it on," meaning that they symbolically move to their new grade, new classroom, and new teacher.  Each successive class is called up front and then sent to their new teacher and their new classroom.  Finally, they get to the eighth graders who are matriculating to something entirely new and apart from SS Philip & James School.  Some will attend Northwest Schools and some will head off to Central Catholic High School.  So there is some sadness since these students have been together in most cases since kindergarten.

And so -- where do they go during "pass it on"?  They join together and go back to kindergarten, where it all began.

One of the neat things they do at the school is pair up older students with younger ones.  Kindergarteners are paired with seventh graders, so this partnership goes on for two years.  My granddaughter's buddy made her a book with pictures and a fairy tale story line throughout.  It took time, energy, and love to make this book.  For her part, Lauren got into her mother's scrapbooking supplies, including stamps of all types, and made her buddy a handmade card.  Both of the Laurens got along really well, and the older Lauren was an excellent mentor for the younger Lauren.

Thursday was the day when the partners spent some time together one last time.  My granddaughter is understanding that things come to an end, even when we don't want them to.  She felt the sadness of the eighth graders who are separating and moving to high school.  They enjoyed a video of clips that were taken during the school year, and there were tears.

At this school, there are many traditions that work toward a goal -- of unifying the students towards the purpose of learning and growing, not only about the subject matter but also about God.  The end of the year is an emotional one even for teachers who have been known to shed tears at the "pass it on" morning.

After going to the new classroom, the students and their parents take it all in and then it's time to leave SPJ for the summer. 

We are all familiar with meetings, knowings, and endings.  It is the cyclical hallmark of our lives on earth.  Having feelings, caring, growing, learning, and loving are wonderful experiences and ones that deserve recognition.

Next year the school will have a new name -- Holy Cross Academy at SS Philip & James Church.  But for the students who have trod its halls and will return, it remains the same.  It's a home away from home, a place of comfort, discovery, and love. 

May God bless all of the children who are finishing school this week and give them a summer filled with wonder and grace.

Short Edition

Hello everyone out there in the Blogosphere!  Today is Strawberry Day at our house.

Last year because of the unseasonably warm temperatures in early spring, the strawberries ripened and forgot to let us know, so we missed out on our yearly trip to Wooster.  But more than that, we missed out on having our wonderful strawberry jam, not only for ourselves but also to give to family members.  We somewhat made up for it by getting peaches and making peach jam instead but the longer the time went by, the more I missed our strawberry jam.

So today we venture off to Wooster on a windy, twisty, confusing trip that takes us right into a short allotment street.  The first time we went there, I thought for sure we were completely lost.  How could there be an orchard in an allotment?  Turns out, the orchard IS the allotment.  All of the houses on one side of the road have back yards that go right up to the edges of the orchard.  What a great place to live!!

They grow specific things there -- strawberries, red raspberries, black raspberries, and peaches that we know of.  And melons and vegetables too, but it's the fruit that draws us there.

We were looking for an orchard about five years ago or maybe it's even been longer, and I found Mauer's by looking on-line.  They are well known in the Wooster area for their berries.  The first day they were open for business this year was Tuesday, since before that they had a contract with Buehler's for their berries. 

All winter long there is something soothing and inviting about homemade jam on toast, on pancakes, and on regular waffles and Belgium waffles.  It tells me in so many ways that winter will pass, because of the wonders of the spring and summer that are right in front of me on my plate.  Winter is easier to bear with that little special morning treat.

On a slightly different note, don't you notice how certain news stories resonate more than others, and that you find yourself trying to find out what is happening long beyond the hype that started things off?  I do that.  The lady who went to remember a long lost Marine who died at the hands of a sniper in 1944 on Peleliu in the Gilbert Islands looked into a display case and saw her former sweetheart's words to her.  She is 90 years old, and the diary he wrote was supposed to be returned to her in the event of his death but somehow the simple request he had made was never honored.  She found it herself with some guiding hands.  The curators made a photocopy of it so she could read it at her leisure at home.  For her part as the display was being readied, she had donated his class ring she had kept for about 70 years and the letters he had sent her from his fairly short time in the Marines.  She didn't have to say the words, that she still loved him. 

Why do some stories touch us so much?  My thinking is that it hits a nerve, touches our heart in some specific way because it echoes our own feelings in some sense of it. 

Making memories -- that's the theme of this day's posting I guess.  For life has a lot of ordinary days, days that save for a little sparkle here or there would not be particularly special.  For me, strawberry day is making some of those memories.  For the lady who found the diary, she went to sleep one night as a 90-year-old and went to bed the next night as a 20-year-old because of memories.

Her sweetheart had won a little money at cards during training and in the diary he said he knew just what he would do with it.  He would take his sweetheart out for a wonderful date.  He would spend it on her, all of it, making memories.

Let not today or tomorrow be ordinary.  For in God's eyes, there are no ordinary days.

Flashlights

It's been years ago, but one night while I rested in the family room of the house after a busy day, the lights suddenly went out.  It was pitch black, because our "street lights" were actually just electric yard lights in each family's yard and they went out too. 

Since there was no storm, no lightning, no thunder and no warning whatsoever, it was hard not to panic in the dark.  Slowly, my eyes started to allow me to see shadows and I made my way up to the kitchen where the flashlight was.  What a relief to find it, and then to find candles and matches and begin to place them here and there in the house.

Lots of cats have been part of our lives.  Only about three of them were "flashlight" cats, the kind that chase the flashlight beam all over the place.  I didn't even know the one cat was a flashlight cat until one night I was looking for Puddin'Head and trained the flashlight along the ground towards the woods.  A streak flew by me and startled me.  It was "Ugly" who chased the beam into the woods without any fear whatsoever.  After that night, I'd bring out the flashlight for him once in a while and let him blow off some steam.  Almost all cats, though, will go after a laser pointer.

Imagine how wonderful a flashlight was for people when it was first manufactured.  It changed things dramatically for miners and campers.  It was 1899 when the patent was registered, and of course, the flashlight's technology has changed from that earliest design to something more durable and reliable.  Soon, the old hurricane lanterns were even designed with batteries so there were less accidents when carrying lanterns about and having the fuel spill and catch fire.  Although it has been debunked as the cause of the Chicago fire since Mrs. O'Leary's cow did not kick over the lantern in the shed, those kinds of things must have happened.

A flashlight casts out the darkness and gives us the security of light.  A flashlight allows us to venture farther away from home and take on a challenge.  A flashlight takes away the fear of the unknown. 

One of the first words you'd hear if the lights went off just about anywhere is, "Does anyone have a flashlight?"

For us who believe in God, He is like that flashlight, casting out darkness and giving us the security of his everlasting love.  He takes away our fears and gives us the light of wisdom.  His strength becomes our strength when we call upon Him. 

Most importantly, we should not store His light in a drawer in the kitchen, only to be brought out in emergencies.  Someone once told me, "There is no crash course in spirituality."  In other words, when the chips are down, it is best that we are prepared by being in good stead with our Creator.  And each day our job is to know, love, and serve God.

Strawberries are ready for picking!!  If you get a chance, head to an orchard and get some.

Blissful Summer

I was born just after WW II and brought home to our family's first house.  Located on busy Wooster Road in Fairview Park, Ohio, it was a white colonial with center staircase and dark green shutters.  In the front yard were three huge poplar trees that grew together and towered over everything.  My older siblings, 17, 15, and 14, were well immersed into high school life, my mother stayed at home, and my father was an electrician.

Next door on the corner was a lovely brick home owned by a construction company owner, and then just across Henry Road was a brick three-story where my friend, Debbie, lived with her mother, father, sister and grandmother.  Just down Henry was a two-story home where my friend, Dolly, lived with her mother, father and brother.  Dolly's father was a surgeon.

Debbie and Dolly were the same age and I was one year older, but we were fast friends.  Now, you know the old saying, "Two's company; three's a crowd."  There is some truth to that, because from time to time, one of us would be on the outs with the other two.  It more or less rotated but it wasn't much fun being the one shunned. 

One of the corniest things we did, and I have no idea how it got started or if anyone else in the entire world did it, was go to each other's houses and call at the door, "Oh, Doll-ly (substitute Debbie or Karen), come and play with me."  Doorbells just weren't necessary.  And then the glorious pretending would begin.

Debbie's father was a corporate vice president for Corby's, a liquor company.  They liked to golf and socialize with friends, and they belonged to Elyria Country Club.  Elyria Country Club had a playground and a pool for the kids, and Debbie's older sister was a bit too old to keep company with her, so either Dolly or I were invited to come along for the entire day.  They took turns.

We would arrive right around the time that the pool opened for the day, or maybe just a little earlier.  One of the guards would check us in, and away we went to get on our suits.  We had a charge at the snack bar and could get candy or a drink whenever we needed something.  That tided us over until dinner time when we'd change into our dresses (yes, we wore dresses to the club), and headed over to the clubhouse.  The hostess would seat us and the waiter would come over and take our orders.  It was all very proper and mannerly.  Everything was pristine, clean and lovely.  It was like an old mansion.  Almost all of the help were black, and they were so kind to us.

After dinner, we had a quandary.  Did we want to put on wet suits (you know how hard that is) or just play outside until it was time to go home.  When we did decide to put on our suits, the pool water felt all the warmer with just that little bit of night air.  Right around dark, Debbie's parents would drive over to the pool and we'd clamor into their car, a Cadillac with leather seats and a pull down arm rest in the back seat, and head home.  There were no highways back then; it was back roads all the way and it wasn't hard to start getting sleepy.

Once safely in their driveway, I'd say thank you and head across the street for home, where the front door was always open. 

As summer begins, I usually remember the country club and how it felt to be free to just have fun.  No worries, no concerns.  For that day, worries about my mother's health and the darkness of my father's drinking could be forgotten.  It was an escape for me, and sometimes I felt a little guilty for having it.

When I hear the Bible words, "Come unto me, all you who are burdened and heavily laden and I will give you rest," it has such meaning.  These very words were on a plaque above the check-in counter at the pediatrician's office when my sons were little. 

And the rest mentioned in this verse is the rest that we will have in heaven, but the lesson for us to learn is also this:  when we come to the Lord and lay out all of our troubles, we will find rest HERE.  When I do that, turn over all my concerns, the feeling is very similar to how I felt at the country club.  A weight is lifted and I remember that I am not in charge. Worry gets us nowhere.  Worry paralyzes us from getting God's help because we aren't listening.  Worry pulls us towards doubt.

If you have one of those blissful summer days when all of the worries are put aside, you will know just what I am talking about.

Breast Cancer

My gynecologist told me when I saw her some months ago that breast cancer is SO common now.  She thinks it is a combination of a lot of different factors, and she discounts the old buffer of not having any breast cancer in the family.  "It doesn't matter," she said.

Yesterday I went in for a mammogram and met some nice women in the process.  It was at Akron General's main hospital, and they have a kind of assembly line there.  A row of chairs, doors leading to machines, and a changing area with lockers.  Somewhere right in the middle of the breast center is a fireplace that yesterday looked very, very appealing.

One woman I met makes cone cakes at home and was preparing them for a wedding today.  She has a three-year-old boy and a two-month-old girl.  Everything should be really good for her right now, but she is worried and you can see it on her face.  She said she hadn't slept for three weeks waiting for her appointment yesterday, that on top of having a tiny baby in the house.  We didn't go into particulars, but it's obvious that there is concern.

When I finished and was walking down the hall to change, I saw her again and asked her if everything was okay.  She said they were "sending her to someone else."  That "someone else" may have been a cancer surgeon, but I'm not sure.  And again, she looked worried.  I told her I would pray for her, and she thanked me for that.

So, my friends, please join with me in praying for this woman.  God knows who she is and your prayers will reach the ears of an all-knowing, all-seeing God who has numbered the hairs on our heads.  Our prayers together might help give this woman some peace -- so that at this beautiful time in her life with little ones, a husband, and a career (she's on maternity leave), she can fully appreciate it.  We all know how that is -- when something scary comes along, we develop tunnel vision and that's all we can think about, while all sorts of life events are passing us right by.

You are going to think I'm absolutely crazy, but I just know in my heart that being at Akron General, at that moment, at that very time was the reason for my visit and not the mammogram I thought I was there for.  It was such a strong feeling that it lasted all the way home in the car, all evening long while I crocheted a baby blanket for Akron Pregnancy Center, and this morning again as the day is just beginning.  It felt like a mission, not like a heavy yoke around my neck, but more like a strong desire to help.  And something more -- that God would listen for my prayers and would help this young lady.

May God shine his mercy and healing on this woman, give her peace, and allow her to care for her family for many, many years to come.  May any trace of cancer in her body go away.  And since she was open to my praying for her, let her find her way to the Lord of all.

Oh, Lord, we need you so much!

Memorial Day

As we prepare for the weekend and the celebration of Memorial Day, it's interesting to look back at just how this holiday came about.

Decoration Day, as it was known going way back, started when people wanted to put flags and flowers on the graves of those who died in the bloody Civil War.  It began sporadically, in both the north and south, and began to catch on by 1868, three years after the war's end.

In the south, some family members traveled for hundreds of miles to decorate the graves of their loved ones, and it became like a family reunion of sorts including a "dinner on the ground," or a picnic for the living while remembering the dead. 

As time went by the custom grew, and in July 1913 there was a 100th anniversary observance in Gettysburg of the beginning of the Civil War.  This year we prepare to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War and Gettysburg is preparing for this special year in a variety of ways.  It would be a good year to visit Gettysburg and see the place where so many of our young men died.

When I was little, we called it Decoration Day.  I had no idea what that meant really, but one thing for sure -- we put crepe paper streamers on our bike handles and wove crepe paper in and out of the spokes.  Then sometimes we were part of the parade, usually the final grouping of people in the parade.  But I was shy so I probably didn't do it very often, if ever.  I do remember one year marching with the Girl Scouts in the Decoration Day Parade.  During the whole parade route, I kept remembering something that I'd messed up.  I still was wearing my shorty pajama bottoms under my uniform instead of regular underwear, and it was driving me crazy!  The final destination for the parade was an old cemetery where the final observances were always held.

Decoration Day evolved into Memorial Day, and started to include men and women who gave their lives for their country in any field of battle, in any year.  It is certainly much more important than the thousands of sales at the stores or even car sales which have materialized the date.  Even if you don't attend any of the various events in your area, it is good to take a little time and remember those who have made it possible for us to have freedom. 

In Marblehead, Ohio, there is a federal cemetery that few seem to know exist.  It's on 300-acre Johnson's Island, reachable by a thin land bridge where a toll booth at the end takes $1 for its use.  Johnson's Island has become a trendy place for the wealthy to build vacation homes, and you aren't supposed to drive about the island, but once you pay the $1, there is really nothing that makes that impossible.  The homes are really amazing and incongruous with the meager remnants of the prison. 

At one corner of the island is the Civil War Cemetery, a very appropriate place to visit on Memorial Day.  At this place during the war, captured Confederate troops were brought there to wait out the war.  They were ill prepared for the harsh winters and winter winds that buffeted the island.  The chink used in the log houses that made up their prison barracks shrunk too much and the cold penetrated the walls.  Many of the prisoners got pneumonia or other illnesses and died on Johnson's Island.  So far from home, they were buried on the site.  A number of years ago, a concerned group used ground penetrating radar and mapped out the graves.  Some were found outside the perimeter as they had known it.  All of the graves were then marked with permanent stone markers, using old records as a guide.  A number of them are marked as unknown.  The dead came from all over the south and held every rank in the southern army.  The group also had a statue placed on the lake side of the cemetery.

While the winters were horror for the men, summers were something else.  They had plays at the prison and even had flyers printed up for the occasion.  There were other forms of entertainment too, and apparently those incarcerated there made the best of it.  Using an island which at the time was only accessible by boat prevented escapes.  The men were brought there after the train ride to Sandusky.

My nephew has a water ski boat and several years ago he took us to Johnson's Island.  We accessed the coves that wind and twist around the island, and from that vantage point could really see the beautiful houses.  From the water, one can also see the wrought iron archway that marks Johnson's Island where as many as 10,000 men were processed during the war.

If you are interested in knowing more about Johnson's Island, check out www.johnsonsisland.org. 

This weekend, let us remember those who served their country and in so doing, gave their lives.

Deer Friends

There are some deer around our house and they are stealthy and quiet.  They go about their important eating business at night and hiding during the day and for big animals, they are fairly graceful.

We have English Ivy growing up some of the trees near the house and apparently it tastes pretty good, since there isn't one leaf growing up the trees to a certain height and then the leaves continue on up.  I don't want the ivy on the trees anyhow, so the deer just make it easier for me to find the stems and cut them near the base.  So in this instance certainly, the deer are my deer friends.

We had a cat named Ugly.  I know; it wasn't a very nice name.  My husband named him on a whim and he wasn't truly ugly, but he wasn't the most beautiful cat either.  Ugly was fearless and we found him or he found us as a grown cat.  He wasn't house material, since he had this need to mark his territory, so he had a garage house and seemed content there.  When I was outside, Ugly was usually in my lap, even if it was 90 degrees. 

One day as I looked out a bedroom window, an encounter played out before my eyes.  A deer, a good-sized one, had come right up to the basement patio and there was Ugly laying down some yards away closer to the house.  I suppose he was protecting our territory.  At any rate, the deer was trying in every way to let Ugly know that he wasn't happy.  First, he snorted mightily.  You could see his nostrils open wide and being as it was cooler the frosty air coming out.  He did this a number of times.  Then he took a front hoof and picked it up, then banged it down on the ground hard.  And he did this a number of times, plus some pawing of the ground too.  This looked ominous to me and I waited for Ugly to make some kind of evasive movement, but he just continued to lie on the ground.  After about five minutes of this, the deer seemed to spook and ran off into the woods.  Ugly won the stand-down!

My sister loves to plant her pots in Westlake, Ohio where she lives.  She loves picking out the most gorgeous combinations of plants for her pots and then watching them bush out over the summer.  However, she also has deer and it just seems a little crazy to see deer crossing Westwood Road where all you see are houses.  At least in my yard the deer look like they belong.  Well, on Tuesday night a deer came and ate the plants in one of her pots so she spent part of yesterday trying to fix it up.  Then she sprayed the anti-deer spray so it won't bother it again, and she was a little annoyed at herself for forgetting to spray in the first place.  For the deer, it must be like someone putting out a nice bowl of treats.  For me, like a big bowl of M & Ms. 

One evening when we were in the basement during a few winters ago, it just felt like we weren't alone.  And sure enough, a deer was staring right in the French door windows at us!!  We must kind of be like Ugly because it only happened that one time and never again. 

As long as we've lived here I've never seen a deer young enough to still have its spots.  If we could get into the thicker areas of the woods by our house, I'm sure we would encounter one at some point, but they don't move at all and they blend in perfectly with a sun-dappled wooded floor.  They also don't have any scent at all, and this is their protection against the predators that would claim them, like coyotes.  I've also never seen a coyote here, but they must be about.  Some of the neighbors have seen them.

So, my dear friends, it's time for me to sign off for today.  Hope you liked the posting about my deer friends.  We dodged the weather yesterday, amoeba-like shapes of green traveling across the radar screen, and we also dodged the hail and winds.  Thank you, Lord.

Sense of Direction

I'm not sure there are many people who can understand my complete lack of a sense of direction.  It's been a lifelong thing so you would think I'd get used to it. 

Let me tell you  about some of my more memorable experiences with this deficit. 

1.  Once someone at work gave me directions for how to shave off 10 minutes of driving time to UA.  Sounded really good to me, so I gave it a try the next morning.  It was winter.  A sideways snow came the night before and strategically covered all of the road signs going north on Main Street (Broadway).  So I got to the road where I needed to turn right, but then missed the next turn because the street sign was not visible.  I drove and drove and drove and finally arrived on Arlington Street -- way out of my way.  After I finally got to work and was about 15 minutes late, the first person I encountered was my boss.  I was very apologetic, "Barb, I'm so sorry to be late.  I got lost."  Her response -- "Well, that is the first time I've heard that excuse."

2.  Leaving home from our house on Riverview Street years ago, I routinely turned the wrong way.  There are only the two choices, right or left.  The kids caught on after a while and they would notice the mistake right away.  "Mom, you went the wrong way again," one of them would pipe up.  And then my youngest said, "I'm so tired of pulling into strange people's driveways!"

3.  Went to see my sister in Westlake and I decided to try a slightly different route that would again save me time.  However, I went the wrong way and nearly made it all the way to the Cleveland Zoo before I realized my error.  Fortunately, finding 480 West wasn't too hard and I finally did get there, a little late, but safe.  This was less than a year ago.

4.  I went to Toys R Us one day on my way to my son's house for babysitting.  Everything went great until I accidentally turned right onto the highway that goes towards Alliance instead of turning right on Everhart.  I got off the highway right away and then had to figure out how to find my way back.  It took a while.  When I got there, I admitted to him that I had been lost.  He just laughed the way that men laugh at their mothers, like he just couldn't believe it, and didn't ask for details.  I'd already told him he wouldn't be getting any.  A person has to have their pride!

5.  I went to see an ailing professor I'd worked with at UA for years and he lives just off Sand Run Parkway in Akron.  I used the GPS to head home, and before long I was on Market Street, but something was wrong.  I was going further away from home!!  I had to call my husband on my cell phone and have him help me find the way to State Route 21.  He's used to it.  He doesn't understand it either, but he puts up with my troubles.

Going to a doctor's office for the first time is always a little iffy, because unless someone shows me the way to the checkout area, I'll get lost.  So that causes stress.  Going to someone's house, if I've never been there before, causes stress.  Finding a new doctor's office is stressful too.  My mammogram place has changed locations recently and so did my GYN.  Wow.  Here we go again.

When there are detours, I've resorted following the car in front of me on occasion.  Once, the driver pulled into his own driveway and there I was -- lost again.

Our former priest, Father Warner, was attempting to visit Cincinnati with a priest friend of his.  They used the priest's GPS system, which Father Warner called "Gladys."  Well, Gladys took them to a dead end street out in the middle of nowhere and not a bit close to Cincinnati.  And they didn't have a backup map either.  It was a great story.  They ended up having lunch at a Burger King.

If you can find your way around without much trouble, count yourself lucky. 

One trick I've figured out is using Google Earth.  For my last class reunion, Google Earth showed me what the road looked like that I was to take to the reunion because it had the street view.  On the night I had to go there, it was just a piece of cake.  I'd seen it before as though we'd taken a dry run.  Which we do sometimes as well.

Call it a disability.  Good thing I don't drive a school bus.

One thing I will say -- having this problem forces me to trust God when I get lost.  And He hasn't let me down yet.  Somehow I find my way back. 

And here's another kicker.  Why when we all went to a Cleveland Indians game some years ago and my husband got us lost did I know to tell him where to turn and in what direction?  I haven't worked in downtown Cleveland since 1968!!  Go figure.

The Little Ones

From the Connecticut elementary school children who suffered through the trauma of having a shooter enter their school, to the tragedy of yesterday's tornado in Moore, OK that hit squarely on one of the elementary schools, so many kids have been forced to deal with awful things.

The aftermath of the Boston Marathon bombings also includes what a lot of kids went through.  And add to that the children who come from homes that are full of violent talk and maybe actions.

The last thing any of us would want is for children to become jaded about life -- always believing the worst as they move forward.  But that is what can happen, that and other things like deep-seated fears that govern their daily decisions. 

Each time children at a school experience some sort of tragedy, they always say that counselors will be available.  Of course, the sooner that a child gets help after something traumatic, the better they will do, but down the road maybe we need to come up with different ways of handling these things.   For one thing, we are allowing the children to decide who needs to see a counselor in a lot of instances, and maybe some of the children who need a counselor most don't even go.  Take a group of 40 children who are exposed to something horrific.  The range in effect might be very, very different in this group -- from some of the children who seem to deal with it very well to others who suffer for a long time afterwards and maybe never recover fully.

It all goes back to the human brain again.  What do we really know about how the brain processes tragedy?  Do children who have a faith base do better in dealing with events like yesterday's tornado?  Do they have a better sense of security than other children without a faith base?  I don't know.  But they are certainly interesting questions, aren't they? 

What we give our children by bringing them up in a faith-based home is not measurable, but it is the one special gift that costs nothing and gives everything.  By bringing Jesus into our homes, we open our children to the unconditional love and care that only our God can give, not lessened in any way by human failure or nature's fury.

The Governor of Oklahoma asked for prayers, and I think we should honor her request.  Pray for the people of Moore who are dealing with all kinds of loss.  Pray for the rescuers who are going forward looking for survivors and the dead.  Pray for the emergency service workers who probably haven't had any sleep.  Pray that this community can heal, and that the little ones can still sleep at night unencumbered by their fears.

Today in Texas and parts east, conditions are ripe again for tornadoes.  Let us also pray that these people are ready to face what comes, and that they remain strong.

More on Quiet

At my granddaughter's school, Warstler, in Plain Township they tried something a couple of years ago.  It's called mindfulness.

Each morning the children would gather and spend about 10 to 15 minutes in silence.  They could pray, meditate, take a quick nap, or whatever they wanted to do as long as they were quiet.  The principal who is a very upbeat and funny kind of person saw that it was helping the children a lot.  That quiet start to the day got things off right.

However, because they used a gong to signal the start of the quiet and because it reminded some people of Buddhism or other religions not commonly practiced here in the U.S., Mrs. Ditchler canceled mindfulness.

One of our state reps actually wrote the book about mindfulness that got all of this started.  He was doing it himself before the start of each busy day and claimed that it did wonders for him.  There were health benefits too.  And none of this should really be too surprising, because our faith should give us moments of pause, moments to contemplate the absolute wonder of our world.

About eight years ago, there was a brouhaha about fitting creationism into the science curriculum.  There were strong proponents on both sides and passionate ones at that.  It was one of those huge divides in thinking that doesn't come along often when one thinks about the Ohio State Board of Education, a normally very "under the radar" group. 

Those opposed said that there is no scientific basis for creation, but that isn't actually true.  In fact, some scientists studying life have gone from being unbelievers to believers because of what they found.  The more one delves into what makes us tick, the more miraculous it becomes.  We are absolute marvels.  And the last frontier, the one that we are still struggling to understand, is the human brain.

Frankly, I would have liked to see mindfulness continued at Warstler and at all the schools.  Children are exposed to so much noise in their lives that a quiet start to the day is just what they need.  They may find that it makes them feel so much better that they find quiet times on their own. 

Maybe you've seen the ads on TV for a brain exerciser app.  It's some kind of program that helps the brain work better.  And there are books of exercises that promise the same kind of result.  It's another "stage" that we are going through, I imagine.  Another "one thing fixes all" gimmick in a sense.  But it's never just one thing, is it?

Life is a balancing act, I've always thought.  We have to learn to balance our faith life, work life, and play life.  And it's a constant battle.  There isn't stasis in this; we are always growing, changing, and adapting.  So one day maybe we worked too hard, and now we feel lousy and have sore muscles to boot.  The next day we take off and do something else.  But when we consistently go through life out of sync in the balance of faith, work, and play, there is a price to pay for that.

So on these lovely spring days, find a quiet time and practice a little mindfulness of your own.  

Diggin' in the Dirt

"Diggin' in the dirt; it's a wonderful thing," is a song I made up for my grandson.  At the time I was thinking more of him than of me.

But over the last so many years, digging in the dirt has become one of my wonderful things too.  A nice, big bag of potting soil is a great purchase for me and I love to use an extra plastic plant pot to scoop it out in big shovels full. 

We went to the doctor's office yesterday and they had a sound system going continuously.  The music choice was fairly modern, although almost every one of the patients was a senior citizen.  Oh, how I wished I was home with a bag of potting soil and peace and quiet in the yard. 

Our neighbors (we can't see the house from ours) have a son who is into rock music.  And starting last summer, he started some sort of garage band.  Sound carries in the woods more than most would realize.  We can hear even faint conversations if someone is walking in them.  So the band's sound carries all too well, and I find myself annoyed at times.  If I'm in this room where I write the blog, the sound penetrates the walls and windows and I can still here it, particularly the bass and the drums.

Fortunately, it isn't all day, every day or we'd probably have to ask to have him turn down the amps. 

We can also hear Sluggers and Putters sometimes, usually their public address system announcements.  But honestly, it's been much quieter from them than the garage band.

There is such value in quiet, in silence.  How are we to hear God if we don't give Him a chance to have our ear?  The silence that has been practiced for centuries in monasteries is balm for the cloistered monks or nuns living there. 

For those of us who live more ordinary lives, silence still has an important place in our mental and physical well being.  By giving ourselves the gift of quiet without something sticking in our ears as we walk or garden, we let the sounds of nature in to sooth us and heal our disquieted minds.  Maybe that's what draws people to gardening in the first place; the chance to dig in the dirt hearing the sounds of a trowel or shovel, birds singing nearby, and our own breathing.

Progress shouldn't be measured by all of the do-dads and gadgets we can own that noise up our world.  Progress might just as easily be measured by the moments of quiet and peace we can tolerate before we need to "hear" something.  That kind of progress in our daily walk in life yields dividends when we couple it with an openness to God. 

Our poor young people haven't learned that lesson, so if you have access to a young person, make sure to plead your case for times of quiet and silence.  Tell them to just try it for say ten minutes at a time and see if it helps them feel better in almost every way. 

Find a quiet time for yourself today, if you can, and breathe in the peace. 

Not so great fortunes

I don't really like fortune cookies to eat, but I just have to look at the fortunes and taste just a bit of the cookie too. 

A few weeks ago we were hungry for something but the usuals just didn't sound good -- so we went off to our local Chinese restaurant and got some dinners, fried rice, and egg rolls. 

So this is the first fortune I opened:  "Show your true face to the people who really matter."
Well, I can't agree with this.  You should show your true face to everyone.  Anything short of that is being two-faced and duplicitous.  Too many politicians have mastered the art of showing their true face to almost no one.  Their families would be lucky to see the real father or mother, sister or brother.  So this fortune cookie gets a few Pinocchios today.  (A Pinocchio, I'm sure you already know is an indication of something not truthful -- and thus the nose grows as the puppet's did when he lied.)  We were created by God to be a specific person, not something manufactured in a slightly different way for every circumstance in life.  Like being one way with people at work and being another way with your family at home.  Not cool.

But don't despair.  There's another one.  They always give us two, one for each dinner.  Maybe we'll find some wisdom here.

The second fortune cookie says:  "When you do make a mistake, do not treat yourself as though you were the mistake."  Hmmm.  Is this just another way of saying, "God doesn't make junk."  If so, sure, I can go along with that.  However, if this is some way of trying to distance yourself from your mistakes/sins, then I can't agree.  When we try to run away from our sins, they always have a way of finding us.  When we face our sins, that's when we can find the peace we seek.  When we ourselves absolve ourselves from our sins, it is worthless.  Only God can forgive us. 

So the fortune cookies didn't carry the usual punch that they do this time.  I'll try again one of these weeks, if Swenson's, Subway, Wendy's, or Guiseppe's doesn't win out. 

By the way, if you are looking for something good (not low calorie and not as cheap as Subway), try Philly Connection up on Portage near BJs in a little plaza; it's good.  A woman who teaches at UA owns it.  I always get the chipped steak sandwich with cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, salsa, and banana peppers.  There's something else, but I can't think of it.  And their onion rings are great.  THAT's what I'm hungry for today, but we're having something else.  Oh, well.

Anyone out there have a good fortune cookie message to share?

Have a little fun with paper

If you've been to the craft stores in the past couple of years, the aisles that seem to have increased the most relate to paper crafts -- like stamping, scrapbooking, and the like.  There's a reason for that.  It's fun and it's not hard to be successful.

The picture today is my Mother's Day card from my daughter-in-law, Joanne.  She has been doing scrapbooking and paper crafting for many years now, and she has a lot of the tricks and tools of the trade.  She is also a Stampin' Up representative, a company that is celebrating 25 years in business. 

When I was a little kid, if I would have had access to the punches, papers, do-dads, and inks, I would have gone crazy.  A good day for me and my friends was some canning wax and the Sunday funnies in color.  We would coat a piece of paper with the canning wax and then lay one of the comics on top, then use the edge of a glass to rub over the top until the color seeped into the wax.  Ouila!  A perfect reverse impression of the Sunday funnies. 

Cards are quite expensive these days -- even a simple one -- and what I've noticed is that they just don't often convey the sentiment that I am looking for.  So I end up with something but it's something that doesn't really do the trick.  Making a card does not take that long and it is fun.  You can personalize the card in many ways, with stamps, add-ons, dimensionals, pearls, and with your own words inside. 

Really getting into the craft, you can buy a non-electric machine that die cuts paper and also does embossing.  It is remarkable.  Crafters share their die cuts to avoid having to buy all of them, since they are fairly expensive.  And there's another good side of that.  Crafters get to know other crafters, and friendships form. 

If you like the card I got on Mother's Day and would like to find out more about Stampin' Up products, feel free to email me at knelsen@uakron.edu and I'll put you in touch with Joanne.  She can do a party for you where you and your guests make several lovely cards during the two-hour time frame.  And if you have children or grandchildren, nothing would occupy their time like some stamps, ink, paper, and the like so you can stock up on that kind of thing.  The Christmas ideas are really enjoyable too.

Some are even using paper crafting to create their own wedding, anniversary, milestone birthday, or graduation invitations.  Getting a group of people together to make the invitations is just part of the joy of such an event, and in itself is a memory maker.

Receiving a handmade card is really something special, because you know that the person who gave it to you spent time thinking of how to best capture the occasion.  It's personal and meaningful. 

Among the charisms that we might possibly have is craftiness.  It's a gift from God for us to explore and develop over our lifetimes. 

Have a wonderful day!!  Should be pretty hot.

A dear friend

As I was driving somewhere yesterday, it occurred to me that perhaps years ago I reached out to others a little more.  I don't know if that is true, but if it is, then I need to start heading back in that direction.

As a newbie to Canal Fulton, I just couldn't get enough of its history.  My son, Greg, was just a baby and I had started writing a column for The Signal as a community service (no pay).  There were old books at the library to read, vestiges of the old town all over, and there were kind old folks to meet too.

While I was researching the old hotel in town, the foundations of which can still be seen across the street from the canoe livery, I found out that two brothers had owned it at the end.  Apparently, they were planning some renovations but the place burned.  It was called the Easley Hotel and famous people like presidents stayed there back in the canal era.  The hotel was large enough that it stretched from Rt. 93 to Market Street where the front doors were.  There are a few old pictures of the place.

The brothers were Ed and Al Nichter.  So way back thenI looked in our Massillon phone book and checked to see if maybe there was someone named Nichter still living in Canal Fulton --- there was -- Howard Nichter.  This was in around 1978 and I was just nosy enough to call him and find out some more about him and maybe his family.  Well, he was related to the brothers who owned the hotel and he told me what he could about that.  To be sure, he was a little guarded at first while we spoke on the phone, but after a while he started getting a little more comfortable.  I could tell because he told me I could call him back anytime.  From his voice I knew he was elderly and he was also endearing and lonely.  I did call him back many times.

It was Howard whose father owned the livery in town, and it was Howard who was called upon to drive the famous Doc Dissinger here and there in a hired buggy when his own horse was tired and worn out.  It was Howard who had the knack of telling a story, including the little known fact of Doc Dissinger's whiny voice.  He made history real for me.  I could visualize a livery, the doctor's office, and a little boy who was getting an adventure.  I could picture Howard in a canoe taking supplies to the folks on the other side of the canal/river after the 1913 flood.

One day Howard finally came to my house to meet me in person.  He brought along some pictures of his deceased wife whom he must have loved very much.  He told me the story of how she wasn't permitted to be buried in the cemetery behind SS Philip & James.  It must have broken his heart because after that he quit going to church.

The librarian I wrote about on Saturday, Miss Elizabeth Bliler, who lived in what is now the bread and breakfast on Rt. 93, was a kind lady.  I went to her house one day to get something, and she mentioned something that rang familiar.  I said innocently enough, "My friend, Howard Nichter, told me about that."

Elizabeth looked incredulous.  "Howard Nichter is your friend?" she asked.

"Well, yes, he is.  We talk on the phone," I explained.

"Well, my dear, you are probably the only person in this town he has ever spoken to in years," she said.  She explained that something had happened years ago that had caused Howard to pull away from the townsfolk.

I was stunned.  He came to my house and sat at my kitchen table, and he was so winded when he made it up a couple of concrete steps that he could hardly breathe.  He was kind and sweet and he stayed just long enough, and then I could tell he needed to go.  But that was fine; I'd just call him on the phone and we'd stay in touch.

One Canal Days weekend in around 1980, I'm not sure, I tried to call Howard and there was no answer.  That wasn't like Howard at all to be out in the evening.  I called again a couple of days later and still no answer.  I was getting quite concerned.

Somehow I found out that Howard had died, and I was very sad about it.  I never got to say goodbye.

Someone told me that a lady who lived on Rt. 93 at that blinker light at the top of the hill had been a friend of Howard's, so I took a chance and called her.  She was actually very nice and happy to hear from me.  She was able to fill in the details of the end of Howard's life.  She told me that she and Howard had become friends and that she had convinced Howard to go to church with her at the Lutheran Church.  She told me that he had called her to say he was being released from the hospital and she was just leaving the house to pick him up at the hospital in Massillon when he collapsed and died in the hallway.  His lungs or his heart must have finally given out.  When she got there, he was already gone.

She said the police had found him during Canal Days weekend at the church cemetery wandering around.  The road was probably closed going into town and it might have confused him.  They took him to the hospital and the staff were treating him for a number of health problems.

But my joy was that Howard had gotten right with God; he had let his bitterness go.  Picking up the phone and calling a complete stranger must not have bothered me too much back then.  My curiosity pushed me and I punched back any fears.  Maybe that call started a flicker of something in Howard that allowed him to reach out to his new friend.

Is it just youth or something else that accounts for such behavior?

Howard, his brother Raymond who died of a ruptured appendix at 12, and his parents are all buried behind SS Philip & James Cemetery.  He once asked me if I knew the name of some flowers that grew by the side of the road that he had seen.  They were purple he said.  I never could figure it out.

The Library

When I moved to Canal Fulton in 1973, it didn't take too long to discover the Canal Fulton Public Library.  It is an imposing building, a former house, that occupies a prominent corner on Market Street, intersecting with High. 

The Daily family occupied the home and were the ones who had it built for their family.  They were in the funeral business, although the home was never used for that purpose.  The Daily family moved to Canton becoming Daily Monument and a local couple purchased the home for the purpose of a library.

It has undergone numerous renovations, with the addition of a children's room, and more recently with the complete renovation of the main floor of the house including a big change -- the all-white library was painted yellow.

Some of my earliest memories of going there included seeing the mural painted on one wall that must have been the dining room.  The stacks of books hid most of it, but you could see the mural anywhere there was an empty spot.  It made the library feel like a home.

There was a shelf-like area near the ceiling of the charge-out area of the library back in the 1970s.  On it were all sorts of things that beckoned a patron to look.  I spotted a guitar, but there was also a tracing machine, a sewing machine, and countless other familiar objects, and some not so familiar.  What were they doing there?  Tom Brownfield, the librarian, believed in having the library be a beehive of activity.  He wanted the library to be useful beyond books, so the objects on the shelf could be borrowed.  In later years, you could even borrow a have-a-heart animal trap, as I recall.  The concept of "borrowing" in this library has always been unique.

The children's librarian, Miss Filicky, continued the warm welcome with her tall stacks of comic books.  I was surprised that the library had comic books, since many libraries would consider them a poor choice.  Her response was that she would rather see children reading something than nothing.  The comic books were often the bait to get a disinterested child interested. 

The library has jigsaw puzzles on a shelf near the front desk.  Just bring one and take one.  Don't have one to give?  Bring it another time and take one anyhow.

Entering into the tech world, the library increased the number of computers for adults in the last redo.  And you can also get "books" and other media on your Kindle or other electronic reader.  They have a large section of DVDs too, as well as books on CD. 

For a time I worked at the library checking out books.  It was during the time when my sons had gone off into the world and it was quiet at the house.  I'd get there at just about 5:00 and work until 9:00 maybe two nights a week.  That was when I got to see the second floor for the first time, because that's where the employee lunch/break area is.  It was really neat to be able to look out a second floor window and imagine what it must have been like when the house was built in the 1800s.

You can google the Canal Fulton Public Library to see what it looks like.  They have a neat graphic at the top of the webpage that shows part of the library as it is today, joined with a black and white photo of what it looked like years ago. 

One of the first librarians was Miss Fletcher, and another one was Miss Bliler.  In a small town, the greatest thing is you get to know more people especially when you are nosy and curious.  I got the distinct pleasure of having tea in Miss Fletcher's kitchen while her many cats climbed here and there, and she told  me about her lambs and chickens and how one of the lambs had died the week before because it bled out when its tail was bobbed.  I got the distinct pleasure of getting to know Miss Bliler when she was retired, because she cared about the town and its history, and so did I.  She and her neighbor across the street, Catherine Hammer, were members of the Canal Fulton Heritage Society.

Character is what some people say a small town has.  And a small town also has characters -- people who are special and unique and interesting.  Canal Fulton has always had those kind of folks in spades. 

Sometimes love is fostered in a place as much as by people.  Canal Fulton is a place for me that fosters love.  And love, as the one priest said, leads us to God.

Have a beautiful Mothers' Day.  No mind about the weather -- enjoy.

The Game

Yesterday afternoon, the house was a mall and the porch was a boutique.  My granddaughter was over and wanted to pretend.

The boutique sold all kinds of things:  trays, furniture, earrings, bracelets, art work and cats.  Gracie was purchased by a buyer (me) and I was given the how-to of caring for this small cat who occupies the "mall".  Gracie doesn't like it when the door to the boutique is closed so she has learned to nudge it open and then push it with her paws.  And she doesn't like it part-way open; she likes it all the way open.

Gracie escaped into the "mall" area several times and the first couple of times Lauren dutifully went and brought her back.  Finally, at about the third escape she said, "Oh, well.  She'll find her way back."  Gracie had become a distraction to the real workings of the boutique which was interacting with the customer (me).  Several times she told me, "Well, now we have to get back to the game."

Lauren is seven; how does she know what a boutique is?  But she does and she is a really good salesperson!!

Yesterday Lauren brought home an art project.  It was a cut-out of a paper Jesus suspended on some string from a cup crayoned blue.  On the way home from school, she was trying to remember what the project signified and then she thought of it.  It was to represent Jesus going to heaven -- his ascension to go the Father.  So she pulled on the string and the cut-out of Jesus went skyward into heaven where you could not see him anymore.

After we arrived home, I tried it out too, and then I made Jesus come back down on the kitchen counter.  "Jesus thought of something else he wanted to say," I told her.  And I would quote something from the Bible, "Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers, that you do unto me."  Or, "Love others as I have loved you."  Or "the kingdom of God is like a mustard seed."  Well, that was a big hit. 

"Make Jesus say something else," she asked.  So I did, but explained that Jesus really would not come back until the end of the world when there will be a new earth.  Lauren really loved the idea that all sorts of flowers and plants would grow and there would be no killing frosts or plant diseases.  Already she shows a great interest in plants and flowers.  And a great and abiding interest in Jesus.  She recounted a couple of His miracles, like curing the man who could not walk.

Going back to Lauren's housed, we counted flowering trees and flowers that are out right now like mounded phlox.  It was a really good day.

Oh, and we watered the new drift roses that I planted and gave some boxwoods a good drink.  They looked a little wilted.

The more time you spend with a grandchild, the more comfortable the relationship becomes.  The grandchild gets to know the real you, and you get to know the real grandchild.  The more time we spend with Jesus, the more we get to know the real Jesus.  Simple, but profound.  The amazing, mystical gift of our faith.

Funny Stories

The Akron Beacon Journal published a collection of stories from teachers based on actual classroom experiences.  They were really pretty good.

One teacher's story was that the class said the Pledge of Allegiance every morning before the day started.  Her students were in the 7th grade.  One boy wasn't doing that.  He was talking to his neighbor.  He was warned and did it again, so he had to write the Pledge of Allegiance.

He wrote it very well until he got to the part, "One nation, under God."  His version was, "One Asian, under God."

The teacher was incredulous.  "You mean," she said, "that you have been saying the Pledge of Allegiance like this for seven years!"  The boy replied, "Well, yeah, and I did think it was a little bit odd."

My niece was one of those kids who slaughtered lyrics.  She could come up with the funniest darn things.  Her version of the Brady Bunch song was always good for a round of laughter (albeit you had to keep a straight face until she left the room). 

Of course, I shouldn't talk.  There's a little bit of my niece in me too.  ONLY a couple of years ago, it occurred to me that I had been saying the name of a very common sandwich wrong.  Really?  I mean, what on earth was I thinking?  The sandwich:  toasted cheese.  My pronunciation:  toast of cheese.

My sister and I really laughed about it.  Why did I finally figure it out?  I saw it printed in a restaurant menu somewhere.  But you try saying "toast of cheese" fairly fast and see if it doesn't sound almost right.  I got by.

We won't get into the adults who say "Valentime's Day," "pitcher (picture)," "liberry," or one of my favorites, "Swedish Day."  Maybe they'll figure it out one of these days.

We as God's creation and people surely aren't perfect, are we?  But one of the best gifts is our sense of humor so at least we can laugh at ourselves when we get it wrong.  And I'm not talking about sin here; that's not so funny.

Today should be another lovely day -- 73 and partly cloudy.  By the weekend, though, we will be back in the 50s.  So the dress for Mothers' Day is going to be much less summery, at least for me it will be.

Have a wonderful Thursday.  I pray that the three girls from Cleveland heal in body, mind, and spirit.  I pray that the monster that took them can't have the satisfaction of knowing that he left his mark on them.  And I pray that they will find their true purpose in this life.

Now Cleveland

Wow.  It has certainly been a spring of horrors -- one right after the other.  The Goznell trial, the Arias trial, the Boston Marathon bombings and now the Cleveland revelations.

And they all have one major thing in common -- a total disregard for human life. 

I bet you remember when Amanda Berry went missing.  They looked everywhere for her, especially since she was a responsible girl who was simply heading home from her job at Burger King.  Burger King gave it that, "It could happen anywhere," feeling.  When Gina Dejesus went missing, it certainly seemed suspicious, and apparently Cleveland detectives thought so too.  But where were the girls?  Were they in the same house the whole time?  Over the next weeks and months we'll learn a great deal more about their ordeal, their humiliations, and their treatment.

We still don't know all of the details of their nightmare, but the school bus driver who took Amanda Berry and probably fathered her six-year-old daughter didn't spend all of his time at home.  He went out to karaoke bars for goodness sake.  And during that whole time even when he called police about a street fight in front of the home, he apparently didn't talk about anything that led others to question his involvement in anything so sinister.  And that is fairly remarkable because it is usually loose lips that lead police to people like this guy.

The neighbors who helped Amanda Berry get out of the house are the kind of neighbors folks ought to have.  And she was absolutely frantic to get out before he got home.  If I think about it, I can feel a taste of panic she must have felt.  It's a little like what I used to feel when my brother chased me up the steps.  I just couldn't get my legs to go fast enough because adrenalin was flooding my nerve pathways.

The three brothers used the girls for a bit more than 10 years!  Jodi Arias apparently saw her boyfriend as a possession and when he showed interest in someone else, she took care of it, and so it certainly wasn't love.  Goznell would argue that he "helped" the poor women who found their way to his clinic, but the one he helped most to the tune of more than $1 a year was himself.  So he used the women and their situations to pad his own pocket.  The Boston Marathon bombers used the spectators and bystanders to make a political statement; they were expendable for the cause. 

I have to admit that I watch Criminal Minds.  Not for the gore or anything like that, but more because of the analysis of criminals which I find fascinating.  What motivates killers to do what they do?  And sometimes I've thought that Criminals Minds went a little too far in the show in terms of believability, but now that they've found Amanda Berry after 10 years, I'm not sure any plot they come up with is over the top.

A referee is hit by a soccer player in Utah and dies of the trauma.  Another complete lack of regard for another person.  Another demonstration of lack of impulse control.

Where is our society going?  The Beatles song, "I wanna hold your hand," seems so nice, so innocent, doesn't it?  Don't you ever think to yourself -- I'm worried about all of this -- but then in the next instant you admit that you don't have a clue as to what to do about it?  Mother Teresa answered a questioner once who asked her, "Mother Teresa, how do you know who to help first?"  And she replied, "Help who is in front of you."  We can all do a little bit of that, can't we? 

The old song, "They'll know we are Christians," tells us that we should stand out because of our love for others.  That's what is in front of us each and every day.  Love others and love will lead us down the right path, the one that leads us straight to God.  Fight the good fight; run the race.

What's in a Name?

Check out the picture!!  This is Drew, my five-year-old grandson wearing his brand new uniform for T-ball.  He has a little room to grow into it which is not a bad thing.  He is probably the youngest member of his team and as a newbie to baseball, he has to find out about grounders, fly balls, bunts, singles, doubles, triples, and home runs.  He has a pitch back device at home, and soon that should help him hone his throwing and catching skills.  And of course, there’s daddy.

When I saw the uniform on Saturday before he had donned it for the game, I remarked, “Drew, you’re a Giant.  And he looked at me with questioning eyes and said, “No, I not.”  In stature, he is most definitely NOT a Giant.

Drew was correct.  Where on earth do we get some of the sports names that have become fixtures in our society?  In the case of the Giants, owner Tim Mara who purchased the team in 1925 for a whopping $500, selected the name Giants because of the giant buildings in New York.  Kind of makes sense.

But then there are the Reds and the White Sox.  No, I’m not going to google them right now, but one of these days I will.

We love to name things, don’t we?  The University of Akron took the name Zips, unique in the country and probably in the world.  Named for a rubber shoe (the zipper) developed by Goodyear, it seemed like a good idea at the time, but Zip also means “nada, nothing, zero.”  So it doesn’t always help the image of teams trying to win.  Hence, the NCAA-winning soccer team a couple of years ago gave the Zips a new lease on life in a sense.  Zippy, the Kangaroo, is a great mascot and also rather unique in a land that has never seen a native species like the kangaroo.  But who doesn’t like Zippy?

In our faith we also have names.  One of my favorites is for Mary – the Morning Star.  The morning star does not shine on its own but is a reflection of the sun’s glory.  Say that again – the morning star (Mary) does not shine on her own but is a reflection of the SON’s glory.  A church in Florida is called Our Lady Star of the Sea because another one of Mary’s names is Stella Mara, Star of the Sea, named as such by sailors.  Our Lady of Perpetual Help is another name for Mary.  Catholics revere Mary to a degree that is uncomfortable sometimes for those of other Christian denominations.  There is one really good reason for that – No Mary, No Jesus.  Her willingness (completely of her own free will) to say YES allowed Jesus to come to this earth to save us.  We all have a teenager to thank for this wonderful gift beyond all telling.

So what’s in a name?  It seems like in certain instances there is plenty.

 

 

Goznell

I hope you watched the Fox News special last night about Dr. Goznell and his clinic of horrors.  It was difficult to view at times, but this is reality. 

One of the most shocking parts of the one-hour special is when we learned that the rows of seats reserved for media were empty, except for the date when the defense attorney for Dr. Goznell gave his closing arguments.  Of course, it also has to be mentioned that his attorney called no witnesses whatsoever, no character witnesses, no expert witnesses, and not Dr. Goznell either.  Still, the media as a whole seemed much more interested in defending Dr. Goznell than in reporting the charges against him.

In case you did miss it, it will be on again on Sunday night at 9:00 p.m.  We are going to DVR it so I can see it again.  Last night I was so tired that without willing it to happen in any way, I fell asleep during part of it.  That happens sometimes, particularly when I stop crocheting and the clock reads somewhere between 9-10.  I should have continued crocheting!!!

The Goznell trial and ensuing discussion has opened the floodgates on the issue of abortion.  The trial has even converted pro-choice advocates to decidedly pro-life advocates.  The gravity of what happened in the clinic is something that one would hope is the exception, but sadly enough, it probably isn't.  Even during testimony to Congress, it became obvious that a pro-choice lobbyist could not grasp the moral issue of a baby born alive during a botched abortion.

In a sense, aren't all abortions botched?  Something is done to interrupt a natural occurrence in life.  The pregnant woman's body is flooded with hormones that guide the process of the baby's growth.  Changes occur so fast after conception that pregnancy tests today are reliable very, very early.  And then it's like the body is slammed against a brick wall.

When I worked at Akron City Hospital (now Summa) many years ago, a co-worker (let's call her Sue) had a younger sister whom she was raising.  My co-worker's father had died of cancer at a young age, but then her mother was killed in a horrific car accident.  Sue went to the hospital and saw a sheet covering the body, and her mother's beautiful red hair spilling out beyond the gurney.  She knew at that moment that their lives were changed forever.

Sue's sister was a bit of a wild child, and she rebelled against Sue's attempts at raising her.  The final straw was when she ran away from their apartment.  Sue was beside herself.  Then her sister finally came home, but something wasn't right.  Her sister was really ill and running a high fever; she was in terrible pain.  Sue took her to the hospital and they began to treat her for massive infection.  Her botched abortion gave them little choice but to perform a complete hysterectomy.  She was maybe 18; I can't remember for sure.  In fact, I had forgotten all about this until I sat down to write this posting.  I've completely lost track of Sue but we were close during the time we worked together.  I can only hope that by being able to talk to someone, it helped Sue with her many burdens.  And I pray that Sue found peace in her life.

My final thought for today is that my heart breaks for all of the victims of abortion, and that includes the women too.  The Rachel Project (hopeafterabortion.com) is one program that recognizes that the end of the pregnancy does not mean an end to the problems for the woman.  Sometimes it is just the beginning of them, and often the longer that it is has been since the abortion, the more that the damage is psychologically layered, making it hard to penetrate.  Forgiveness is there for a woman who chose this route, and how can we not offer that?  God can forgive any sin, no matter how terrible, and make it so that our sins are as far from us as the east is from the west.

And that is peace, the kind that I wish for Sue and her sister.

Journalism

There was a little article I spotted the other day in the newspaper about journalism.  Apparently, the job of being a journalist is now the lowest of the low as far as the public is concerned.

Being a reporter has never been a high paid job for the majority of journalists, and that's a fact.  But, where could you find a position where your best friend is your curiosity?  I'm speaking here of working for the smaller newspapers that give their reporters a little more freedom in developing stories. 

On a much more intensive level, reporters who give their readers the nuts and bolts of local and national happenings, like what Congress is doing or what the Supreme Court is doing, are part of our forefathers' plans for the United States.  The Freedom of the Press stands as one of the most important freedoms because the press is the link between the branches of government and the people.  The press members are supposed to be unbiased, and without an agenda of their own tell the facts so that the people can decide for themselves about what is going on.  Competition between newspapers pushed reporters to get the story first, since selling papers was the objective for the newspaper.

If you decide to go to a local government meeting anywhere around here, you might be surprised to find that there are no press representatives there.  Back in the day when I covered local meetings, there were always three or four representatives, hence there was a press table set up for this purpose because we all sat together.  Tom Ryan would come from the Beacon Journal if he had heard of some possible goings-on.  Then there were reps from the Repository, the Independent, and The Signal (our local paper).  So what happened to the press?  Economics is probably the biggest reason.  Newspapers have had to shrink their pool of reporters in order to turn a profit.  Look at the Plain Dealer in Cleveland that is struggling right now to put out a paper every day.

If a regular reporter (not a stringer) comes to the meetings now, they have a laptop or an iPad or something.  They literally write the story on the fly and send it in.  So you would think that technology would improve the presence of the press, wouldn't you?  But it hasn't. 

So what's a stringer, you ask?  A stringer is a reporter for the newspaper who attends meetings and only gets paid if the story is published.  They get paid by the inch of copy in the paper.  It used to be a decent part-time job for a homemaker, working a couple of evenings a week, and earning a little bit of extra cash.  The cost of gas, the smaller paper, and less advertising that determines the size of the paper have just about put stringers out of work.  There are not that many left.  But on the local level,  stringers helped the public find out what their local government was doing or maybe not doing.

Probably one of the reasons why Americans didn't really understand the affordable health care act is because mainstream media didn't do a very good job of reporting about it.  There were red flags all over the place and people who understand such things were trying to wave them.  However, the true cost of the plan and its one-size-fits-all provisions were never published like they should have been.  So now here we are with a much bigger problem than we had before.  And it isn't like there aren't going to be big losers in all of this because there will be. 

The word that comes to mind about journalism is responsibility.  I can't think of another job where with a bachelor's degree a person can have as much of an impact on society.  But something has happened so that too many journalists today don't embrace the responsibility part of the job.  There have been some who have outright fudged their reporting so as to win a prize or get a promotion or make heads turn.  There are those who report verbatim on whatever a talking head says with no attempt to do a little background work.  There are those who have their own agenda and do very little to rein in their own thoughts, rather than tell both sides of a story.  In short, some of the moral decay that we see in society today is reflected in journalism.  How low do we have to go before we hit bottom and then can start afresh?

There are some rules in journalism that should remain hard and true, because the country needs that person who can observe, assess, research, delve, and write.  And add to that a healthy dose of common sense.

Father Norm Douglas and an attorney in Akron founded Heart to Heart many years ago.  Their goal is to help businesses bring faith into the workplace.  Journalists definitely need God to do their job.  Someone once said that you should work as though your boss is God.  Then it doesn't really matter what your job is because by working for God, your work is upheld.

Well, that's it for today.  Pray for Luke who is very ill in the hospital.  He is only three and has cancer and has how developed pneumonia. 

Undercover Boss

We've watched about six episodes of "Undercover Boss" over the last couple of years.  The last boss was the COO of the MGM Grand Hotel in Las Vegas.  He'd only been on the job for about six months when he went undercover.

He dealt cards, worked the front desk, and worked the floor selling reward cards.  The three people he was assigned to thought he was vying for a job on a reality show .  The card dealer was an older fellow who served in Vietnam  and still had probably what we now call PTSD.  The front desk woman was a married lady who worked around their new but slower check-in program as best she could.  The woman who worked the floor, cleaned ashtrays and sold reward cards visited folks at a nearby rest home and she took them flowers via a deal she had with Sam's Club.

I found myself touched by each of the three employees who obviously had character and compassion. 

Per the usual pattern of the show, the three employees were asked to visit the corporate offices and then they learned who they were actually working with.  Of course, they were floored.  Especially the woman who worked the floor because she had driven the COO to the rest home in her own car to deliver flowers when he showed such an interest.

Each of the employees were rewarded in a special way.  The lady who worked the front desk was given a vacation for her and her husband.  The gentleman who dealt cards was given a trip to a major league ballgame for he and his brothers to sit in the owner's box, as well as $5,000 donated in his name for Vietnam vets.  And the lady who took the flowers was rewarded when the owner made arrangements for her to get flowers through the hotel's many resources and also a cash gift.

While the COO was staying in a nearby motel for his role, his family came to visit him.  They seemed like a genuinely happy group who likes spending time with each other.  He worries that his kids will be spoiled by everything that he can provide for them, and he doesn't want them to forget to be thankful for everything.  He wants them to start volunteering somewhere, and I hope that he follows through on that. 

The antidote to selfish kids who don't know what to do with all of their time is guiding kids toward some volunteering, and for the benefit of that we will revisit a recent post about Father's sermon.  We find God through loving.  If today's young people struggle with the world that we inhabit and struggle with their purpose in life, then they need to glimpse what such a purpose might be.  Volunteering does that. 

The lady who took flowers to the nursing home started doing so after her own mother was in a nursing home and then passed away.  She wanted to treat the people in the home the way that she would have wanted her mother to be treated.  I was most impressed with her because she really cared and she really went that extra step to serve others. 

Sometimes you watch TV and you come away inspired.  Not all "Undercover Boss" episodes are quite as good as this one was, but for me this one was special. 

When the COO drew all of the employees together for a meeting, his humility and concern for them was obvious.  If he continues along this pathway, he should meet with much success.  But far more than that, he should be able to steer his children down the right pathway too.

Another lovely day is in store for us -- many blessings on you, friends.

The Mud Fight

When I went to Kent State from 1964-68, one of the roughest patches was the big mud fight.  It was spring and a couple of kids must have thought it would be great fun to turn on the spigots behind several dorms in the central part of campus.

They turned it on all right.  That day the grassy area was turned into an enormous mud pit, and pity the unwary student who happened by that day, because the mud fighters would drag them in to join the party.  I walked by there on my way to classes that day, but the main drag was out of sight of the revelers and believe me, I was no mud fighter.

Later that evening was when the reality of the repercussions were felt.  The kids had nearly DRAINED the huge water tower.  Most people, and at that time me included, had no idea what the water tower did.  It wasn't just a storage facility for water; it created water pressure for the whole system.  Since the campus was expanded down the hill to my dorm and others beyond, water pressure was how the faucets worked and the toilets flushed.  So that afternoon, it didn't take long to realize that we didn't have running water in Beall Hall.

The cafeteria people did a great job of warming up dinner and serving it on disposable plates.  We didn't know what they were going to use for cleaning up pots and pans.  There were going to be no showers that night, but the worst of course, was not having a flushing toilet. 

Years later when Katrina hit and the evacuees made their way to the New Orleans Super Dome, my thoughts immediately returned to KSU and the evening of the mud fight.  I won't go into graphic detail, but people became sort of like animals in our part of campus.  My roommate's parents came with water in plastic jugs.  And all night long while we slept, the water tower was being refilled.  By morning, thankfully, the crisis had passed and the water pressure was restored. 

And the cleanup began, especially with the ground floor bathroom normally used by visitors.  Within a couple of days, the mud fight was a distant memory, save for some spectacular pictures that the yearbook staff captured for posterity. 

The capricious stunt had really backfired though, since those of us with the longer walk to class and the farthest from the tower were pretty peeved.  It wasn't all that funny for us.

And so it was another lesson learned for me at a fairly young age of how behavior changes so radically with just the simplest thing, and how quickly it goes downhill.  Recently, the ordeal of the passengers on the Carnival Cruise Lines "Triumph," brought the memory of KSU back to me again and I knew what would happen. 

We are so blessed to have running water.  It might be something that we hardly ever consider, but it is a gift.  And there are SO MANY of them in our lives that we could not possibly list or count them.
So when we turn on the tap today to wash a few dishes or brush our teeth, let's take a few moments to thank God.

Enjoying the spring so far?  I hope so.  It has been beautiful.

Correction -- Father's story from yesterday was NOT about him, as I had thought, but about a priest friend of his.  So I apologize for that error.  But the rest of the story stands true.