Day Twenty of Lent-And the Green Grass Grows all Around and Around

When is the last time you saw someone standing outside with garden hose in hand watering their lawn? Has hand watering become a lost art with the advent of sprinklers, bubbler's, and other gizmos that can be set to water at the precise time that is best for the lawn and don't revolve around your schedule? In Arizona, having a lawn is considered evil by those going green because of water usage issues. Xeriscape is the new green. Xeriscape is an incredibly beautiful way to landscape when done properly-and I'm not talking about the granite rocks that are spray painted green to mimic the illusion of green grass being planted in the yard.

My father was one of those people who never veered from tradition. He loved the consistency of routine and our lives revolved around patterns; whether it was attending his AA meetings on Thursday evenings, going out to dinner on Friday, or cleaning house on Saturday mornings. When life got out of sync, all was not right with his world. Watering the lawn was one of the many routines in his life that was a constant. Our lawn was always beautiful and would have won awards for its color, clarity and cut-oh wait, those describe diamonds. But, if there were such an award he would have taken home first prize.

Each evening if we couldn't find Pop in the house watching the news, cleaning up the dinner dishes, or polishing his shoes he was outside watering the lawn. It seemed he spent hours outside in his little sanctuary away from the hurry and scurry of life. He was a bill collector and quite intimidating to meet. Once you got to know him though he was like a burnt marshmallow: hard and crunchy on the outside but soft and gooey on the inside. Many nights he would not only be watering the lawn but chatting with neighbors who would wander over to bend his ear about one topic or another. They had gotten a glimpse of his gooey side and wanted to hear what he had to say.

As I stood outside watering my own 'rocks' that have earth friendly low water use vines growing in them, I pondered what drew my father to water? What drew him outside for hours on end to mindlessly spray water onto yard after yard of blades of grass? Certainly there were things to be done around the house and sprinkler would be a far better use of time. I began to think about Pop chatting with the neighbors, encouraging them, or giving them advice. Then, the epiphany washed over me like my dad's well watered lawn. It gave my dad mindless down time from his day. Talking to neighbors about what was going on in their lives gave him the opportunity to set aside the problems in his own life; not forever, but just long enough to gain enough momentum to get through another day. Much like the motto of AA, one day at a time, my dad used watering as a tool to take life in stride- one day at a time.

Day Nineteen of Lent-Joy Rides

If you thought the tree fort story proved what hellions my brother and I were, today's blog may surprise you.

During my freshman year at Arcadia high school I met one of my best friends, Suzanne. I can't tell you the amount of time we spent eating Cookies & Cream ice cream (because her dad worked for Shamrock) and jumping on her trampoline (I only threw up once after eating the fore mentioned food).

Suzanne and I both had a great need for adventure and so we made a great duo. My family was one of tradition and predictability. Every Friday night my parents went out to dinner. One such Friday Suzanne and I were going to hang out together, but both of our parents were out to dinner. Well, my mom's car was in the driveway, the keys were hanging on the hook in their typical fashion, and viola, problem solved. I buzzed right over to Suzanne's (about 3 miles away) picked her up and brought her back to my house. We had barely gotten into the house when my parents returned home from dinner. I wondered if my parents would notice the car was still emitting heat from my race to Suzanne's house . . . it had been a race against time. Time until my parents returned home. Maybe I'm really an adrenaline junkie and need to get some intervention for that?

You may wonder how I ever learned to drive well enough to not crash my mom's car on my little outings?? That, my friend, was thanks to my buddy Paul who taught me how to drive his VW bus, a 5 speed, on Camelback Mountain. The mountain was a great place to learn to drive a stick because of the hills. How I never burned out his clutch remains a mystery. Paul was one of the most patient people I've ever met in my life.

As I got to thinking about how 'strong willed' I was as a child, and quite frankly still am today~I wondered if there are any studies that has been done on children who were little stinkers for their parents. Do they grow up being more successful or do they just have a higher incarceration rate? Anyone else out there wonder?? Or have you read such statistics? I'd love to hear from you.

PS – With all of the Federal money that is spend on very “important” studies, the study has to be out there.

Day Eighteen of Lent-The Tree Fort

Have you ever had a special place to hang out with friends? The park? The alley behind your house? Your friend's house? How about a tree fort? When I was in grade school my dad and older brother, Matthew, built us a tree fort. Except it wasn't really in a tree; it was on stilts.

As far as I can remember the whole fort was about 5 feet by 10 feet. It contained a ladder leading up to a trap door in the corner of the fort. Two of the side windows were permanently open because of the slant of the roof. The other two windows were hinged and could be held open by a board pried into place. There was indoor outdoor carpeting that completed the homey feel. I remember chasing Nathan and his friends out of the place with a broom and threatening to lock them out if they didn't clean up after themselves. I now find irony in this statement coming from the child whose parents nicknamed her 'Pigpen.' Remember I was a challenge growing up.

I can remember hanging out in the fort and having sleepovers in there with Julie McComber and Nita Norton. On more than one occasion we would sneak out and meet up with other friends from school, who along with us, weren't opposed to breaking their parents rules. One night we got caught on St. Theresa's property by a police officer. I talked the cop into speaking with my older brother who was 18 and a legal adult rather than talking to my parents about the whole ordeal (in the middle of the night). I'm not sure which was worse...having to wake Matthew up and allow him to hold this over my head for the next 4 years or listen to him complain as he drove everybody to their respective homes at 3:00 A.M. Remember, I was a challenge growing up.

The party life in the tree fort came to an abrupt halt one summer afternoon. Nathan and his friend, Kevin Watson, were playing up in the fort...with fireworks. Well, I suppose you can just about guess the rest of the story. The fire truck came and doused the tree fort as well as the side wall of our house that luckily did not get hot enough to catch fire. Apparently, my little brother was a challenge growing up, too!

It seems about the same time the tree fort burnt down, my relationships with those friends cooled until the embers were finally extinguished. I've always wondered if it was because they attended Gerard High School and I went on to Arcadia High School? Or if their parents wised up and told the girls they weren't allowed to hang out with me anymore..remember, I was a challenge growing up.

Day Seventeen of Lent-The Good, Bad and the Ugly of Jobs

Polyester uniforms, funky brown visors. No, it wasn't the wardrobe at St. Theresa~those plaid skirts were at least a cotton blend~No, the polyester pants and shirt were the garb required at my very first job: Burger King-whose slogan remains to this day, “Have it Your Way.”

Certainly the designer of those fabulous threads realized they were far from flattering. Far worse was the fact they were dark brown and absorbed the smell from the fryer like a thirsty sponge. I can't remember what my wage was, but I am certain is was not more than minimum wage. But don’t forget the added advantage of one meal a shift at half price. My usual meal was the chicken sandwich, breaded and deep fried, of course with bacon and cheese added-for a little extra protein. Add on an order of onion rings (must stay away from those unhealthy dreaded french fries) and a diet coke (wouldn't want to overdue it in the calorie category) to fill out the meal.

My how things have changed from my first job~27 years later I am once again preparing to enter the workforce. The fast food arena is a little too fast paced for me at my age so I've chosen a job where I still deal with people. And thankfully when it comes to my wardrobe, though mandated as business casual, I get to choose the fabric blends and styles. No chance of a hearse coming through the drive thru now, but most definitely a possibility each of my clients will one day find themselves getting a ride in one.

I will still be dealing with people, but hopefully I will have more maturity and wisdom when dealing with cranky people 27 years ago. But when I think about it, most of us, no matter where we are still just want to "have it our way."

Day Sixteen of Lent-Dill Pickles and Ruben Sandwiches

What do dill pickle juice and Ruben sandwiches have in common? They were the staple of Beth McWeeney and I every Saturday of our 7^th grade year. I'm still not a big fan of Ruben's but I definitely still love dill pickles (not so much just drinking the juice~insert shutter here). And when pomegranates were in season we would add them into the mix and make a mess in the backyard. Looking back, now that I am a mother, I'm pretty sure Beth's mom was pleased that the mess was kept outside.

When we weren't eating Beth's parents out of house and home we were using our imaginations to the hilt. Whether Barbies or baby dolls our days were filled with adventures in imaginary worlds. There weren't any other girls our age who were really into playing with dolls or barbies so we kept to ourselves when it came to our weekend play dates. Were we stranger than the other girls, or some might say simply late bloomers? When I was eleven I'm not sure I even contemplated what a late bloomer was let alone ruminated on whether or not I fit the category.

Do we allow children to be themselves? Or do we put them into categories and treat them accordingly? The jocks play together. The mods dress together. The drama geeks act together. The video gamers XBox together. But, are we all really that different? Certainly we all have at least one common interest we can banter back and forth about. As adults, does a conversation about the weather indicate we don't think we have anything in common with the person we are interacting with at the moment? How do we break the ice, come out of our shells, and reach out to those who we are most unlikely to ever spend time with? You never know~you just might meet an amazing person you eventually wonder how you ever lived without them.

Day Fifteen of Lent-Father George

May 19, 1983 was a historical day that will forever impact my life. What? You don't recognize it? It's not a day that rings a bell? Not like April 10, 1912? Or December 7, 1941? Or September 11, 2001? Although at the time, May 19^th was like any other day and I had absolutely idea how the events would affect my life. As I look back it, the events of that day and night are seared in my mind.

May 19, 1983 was the Diaconate Ordination of Mr. George Bredemann who would, from the ceremony forward, be addressed as Fr. George. I was at the ordination because my best friends and myself, Beth McWeeney and Michelle Whisler, helped Fr. George with the handicapped ministries that was sponsored by St. Theresa School. Every week we gathered at Feeney Hall and did activities, hung out, and basically befriended mentally handicapped students. A few times we went to where they lived. That was always an interesting experience. Once, we even went on a camp out together. I still remember thinking something was not right...but, I was only twelve at the time. And, what does a twelve year old know? Right?

Fast forward to 1988. News broke in Phoenix that Fr. George Bredemann had been arrested on charges of sexual molestation. WOW. I was in college at the time and was certainly perplexed. I remember talking to my husband about it. When I called my mom and asked her what she thought, I remember her telling me that my brother, Nathan, had come home from school one time and said Fr. George had changed in front of him and it made Nathan very uncomfortable. This interaction with my mom brought up memories from the camping trip with the handicapped kids. But, still-I had only been twelve, right? Would I have remembered correctly?

Fast forward to 2001. I was talking to someone who stated, “I see your faith is very important to you. How do you feel about men being priests?” My instant response was, “man wasn't designed to be alone. Very few have the actual gift of celibacy.”

Once again the wretched night on the camping trip came back to the forefront of my memory. Looking back now—and because of the fact George Bredemann was found guilty-- I'm pretty sure I know what happened to that boy in his tent that night. If I saw a picture of the young man, I'd know him in an instant—the event left THAT much of an impression on me. A kind of an impression that the sinking of the Titanic, Pearl Harbor, or the attack on the Twin Towers can evoke. I was only twelve, but that day is locked in my memory. It shook me to the core as I thought of how I believed in Fr. George and trusted him. It made me reconsider who my role models are in life. Do my role models deserve the pedestal I put them on? Am I a role model to anyone and do the little things in my life really affect others.

Day Fourteen of Lent-School Talent Shows

Schools have this tradition of having Talent Shows to showcase their talented students and unfortunately, their not so talented students.

One year that St. Theresa had one such showcase of talent my friends and I had decided to write a play. Well, let me rephrase...my friends and I did a short play for the talent show and I was the one that wrote the play. Having been a sickly child from many bouts of tonsillitis I was home many a day watching TV. Gilligan's Island was one of my favorite shows so I wrote a little vignette based on Gilligan's Island. I remember Alan Bray played Gilligan. I can't remember who else joined our motley crew but I know I still have the program up in the attic. I have this terrible obsession with keeping things. Not ALL things just things that have special significance to me. Birthday cards from my childhood, for as long as I can remember, up until my last birthday. Not just any card...just the ones people took the time to actually write something other than their name inside.

A year or so ago I found the program. Being a sucker for taking a walk down memory lane, I opened it up and read through the skit. My lands! How anyone sat through our performance without laughing hysterically at our pathetic attempt I'll never know. I bet you can guess the ending of the performance, though? Yes, Gilligan messes up their rescue attempt once again.

I suppose writing a play that bombed might be better than the dance performance I tried my hand at the year before. I remember Eric Rouna encouraging me when I was so wrought with stage fright~just imagine the audience is in their underwear. I didn't know if that was allowed going to a Catholic school and all!

One must not forget the time we were all in the play Wizard of Oz. I was one of the munchkins. I really wanted to be Dorothy...even back then I had high expectations for myself and was shattered when things didn't go my way. I have that program, too. Perhaps to remind myself that life doesn't always happen the way you desire it to happen. But, that's okay. I wouldn't be the person I am today but for the things that make up the history of my life. So today, be thankful for even the painful things in your life knowing without them, you wouldn't be who you are today.

Day Thirteen of Lent-Nature Vs. Nurture

Do you ever wonder why you are the way you are? Your personality~is it a combination of both of your parents or part of your genetic DNA? For me, I know I have my mother's eyes, and am built like my dad's mother. But personality wise? I think I am more like my dad than my mom.

Why am I more like my dad and his mom? The summer we moved from Illinois to Arizona my dad, my little brother, and I lived with my grandparent's, while my mom and older brother, sold the house in Illinois. I learned an amazing amount of things that summer as a 9 year old. My grandma taught me to do laundry, iron, how to properly set the table, and how Polish Perogi is made from scratch (she'd have none of that purchased in the freezer section where an assembly line has haphazardly thrown together!)

While my grandmother and I spent time together I learned many things about her family, herself, and my father. What did I learned? Red carnations were her favorite flowers. She had a green thumb and easily grew roses and taught me that in Arizona, the first week of February is when you prune them. When she spoke of rough patches in her marriage I asked why she stayed married all these years. Her reply? “When you made your bed you had to lie in it. Divorce is not an option.”

Grandma told me funny stories about my dad and uncles. When the boys were little they wanted to wear knickers because all the other boys were wearing them. Apparently my grandfather, did not have the same affection for knickers and thought they were for sissy's. Grandma said my dad asked if he and his brothers could wear the knickers; grandma reminded little Brian how Papa felt about the fashion faux pas. My grandfather owned several drug stores and worked a hideous amount of hours. I guess my dad was well aware of that fact because he explained to his mom that it would be okay because pop is never home and “he will never know.”

One day my grandmother told my dad that he needed to get down in the basement and get all of the toys cleaned up before his father got home from work. My dad replied, “What? Do you think that I am an octopus?” She thought it was adorable years later, but I'm not sure how she felt about it or responded when he said it as a little 4 year old that afternoon. She told story after story of my dad's Boxer, Binx. If I remember correctly, my dad said they got rid of her as a punishment. Looking back, that might explain why my dad thought it perfectly appropriate to get rid of my dog, Heidi, or why it was okay for a parent to do such a thing to a teenager.

It sounds like my dad was creative in his thinking, adventurous in spirit, and not afraid to say what he thought. Yep~I think I'm going to have to admit that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree and I am more like my dad in many ways. But, that is okay with me.

Day Twelve of Lent-Is Saturday Cleaning Day at Your House, too?

Our family was pretty predictable growing up; we ate out on Friday nights, cleaned house on Saturday and had roast on Sunday. Friday night dinners out usually consisted of eating at Red Devil, That's Italian, or Pancho's. Saturday we all were required to help dust, vacuum, mop, laundry and do yard work until it was done. A couple times a year my mom would have me vacuuming the furniture and anything else she could finagle me into cleaning. Dusting included dusting the legs of the dining room table, the chandelier and the rows and rows of books and nick knacks on our book shelf that spanned the entire wall of the family room-floor to ceiling!

The good thing about cleaning on Saturdays in the summer was that we knew once we were done, the afternoon would be filled with swimming at my grandparents house. They lived in an adult only neighborhood with a community pool. The only down side to the pool was that most of the elderly women who came in the afternoon while we were there had just had their hair done for the week. Considering they wanted their hair to look it's best for Sunday church they always complained about us kids splashing. My thought as a kid was, “why on earth would you go to the pool if you didn't want to get your hair wet?” Nevertheless, my brother and I made sure to keep our distance from the hair-do ladies and all was well in our universe.

Does it seem ironic to you that I craved the structure in my life of cleaning house on Saturday's because it provided stability for me yet I loathed the structure of the hair-do ladies' lives and considered them party pooper's at the pool? I get so frustrated with myself when I discover that I am not being fair to people in life by having expectations that I don't live by myself. I'd love for someone to point these areas out to me when I do them but I get so mad that they're pointing them out~it's a vicious circle in life. Can anyone else relate??

Day Eleven of Lent-Rainy Days

Today is a rainy day. I love rainy days, when it's warm. But, it's not warm today. It's very cold and on the verge of snowing. Occasionally the sky spits a few snow flakes momentarily and then goes back to the freezing sleet.

When I was younger I loved rainy days, as well. One summer day when the monsoons were diligently watering the miles and miles of grass in Phoenix, Nathan and I decided to use our imaginations and be a bit adventurous. We made these funny little boats and attempted to float them in the gutters in the street. After awhile we were bored so we headed to a preschool located down the street that had a fabulous playground. There was a wooden deck that resembled something like an aircraft carrier that could be our boat. There were swings and also amazing rubber tires that you could play leap frog jumping from one to the other. We spent hours there that day that summer. I can't remember exactly what we 'played' but I find it interesting I remember that particular day more than the others. What about our memory allows us to remember a day playing in the rain on Wednesday but not remember the other 6 days that week? Certainly is wasn't playing with my brother because I did that most every other day of the week. I can say with confidence it wasn't because we got in trouble because it was one of the days we didn't get in trouble! Was it the mere fact we created something together—working on a common goal together that cemented the memory?

I don't have the answer to the question. I wish I did. For if I did, I would do whatever it took each day to cement each and every memory into this brain of mine. Because, truly, when we die we take nothing with us and only leave behind the memories we've made with the loved ones we have around us. What will your friends and family remember about you? What will they remember about me? Are we doing things each day that are significant enough to engrave a memory in their lives they will remember in years to come?

Day Ten of Lent-The Bunny

My girls and I were painting the other day. Not the walls with rollers kind of painting but the small brushes and canvas kind. Given my love for animals I decided to paint one of our former pets who is now buried in our back yard. Horatio 'Spafford' Wright~ aka, Hairy. He was a satin angora bunny with a ton of spunk and attitude. He lived 2 years longer than his breeds average and got along smashingly with our 90lb chocolate lab and our chocolate point Siamese.

After our painting day was over I posted pictures on FaceBook of our finished products. My mom happened to comment that the painting looked like the bunny she made me get rid of when I was younger. Wait a minute?? I don't remember ever having a bunny that my mom made me get rid of. Instantly I picked up the phone and called her requesting she fill me in on this rabbit mystery. As she relayed the information to me all the memories came flooding back. Ohhh, that rabbit!

What I had told my parents is that my boyfriend had given me the french lop eared rabbit as a gift. It came with everything it needed including a cage, food and a book about rabbits. I even had a box that precious thing had come in that looked like someone had gone to great lengths to wrap with great love. My parents weren't buying the story and promptly made me return the rabbit to whomever supposedly gave it to me.

The real story? My friend Lisa and I were at Thomas Mall~oh that dreaded Mall again. The Pet Pad had just gotten in the most adorable little French lop eared rabbits. You guessed it...I took my hard earned babysitting money and plunked down enough of it for the rabbit, cage, food and book. I can't remember how much it set me back but I'm sure anything purchased from the Pet Pad was an exorbitant amount compared to buying one from a breeder. Once again, I found a cardboard box big enough to put my purchases within and attempted to make it look like UPS had delivered it. I'm pretty sure my artistic skills were lacking in that day and age, so my art work probably looked mighty pathetic.

I don't remember what I did with the rabbit to this day. Perhaps I tried to return it to the Pet Pad with a sob story about how my parents wouldn't let me keep it. I may not have had my artistic skills mastered but drama, now that is a whole other story...for another day.

Day Nine of Lent-Video Games

The girls went out tonight...Zoe: babysitting and Shoshanah: girls night out with our adopted daughter, Hannah. So, Tim and I fired up the Wii and were playing Mario Kart. Video games have changed by leaps and bounds from the 80's. It got me thinking about all the times we played video games when we were younger.

Early on our family didn't have an Atari but I can remember playing at friends' homes that did. One such example was a night at Kadi Valva's house. We played Space Invaders until we thought our thumbs were going to fall off. At 3:00 a.m we took a nap, but were back up by 7:00 am. We set out hunting down a tube of BENGAY in order to even be able to carry on with our obsession. Honestly, as a mother there is no way I'm going to let my girls play video games into the wee hours of the night. Certainly her mother was unaware—I'm sure she would have vetoed such an activity.

In seventh grade I would go to the Montgomery's house to babysit. Once Victor and I were able to get Vanessa to bed we would fire up their game station. I think my favorite game was one called Jailbreak. There was this little dude dressed in his prison garb that had to catch bombs being dropped along the top of the screen before they hit the bottom. Why the game fascinated me I have no clue. Victor was so good at the game, however, that I hardly ever got a turn as the second player. When it was my turn I was so inept I usually missed one of the bombs within a few minutes and then handed the controller over to Victor. During the time he played I was able to wash dishes, vacuum the house, fold laundry (just kidding but seriously, the kid wouldn't lose).

When we were in high school my great uncle Arnold gave us a full size arcade game for our game room. It was a driving game. If my parents would have ever seen how badly I drove on the racetrack they undoubtedly would have never let me get my drivers license. I probably would have taken the car out anyway...perhaps I actually did take the car out without my license, but, that is a story for another day.

Day Eight of Lent-getting my parents a puppy

For those of you who know me well you know that I love animals. When we lived in Illinois my dad brought home a turtle that he'd found crossing the road on the highway. My mom made me take it to the park and let it go. Truly this was a better place for the turtle but as a youngster I was only disheartened by the fact Yertle was no longer going to be living with me. No amount of convincing led me to believe I'd actually be able to find him again at a later date at the park where his new abode would now be located.

I also had a mouse named Marshmallow. A Siamese cat we named Cleo (after Cleopatra). A dog named Brutus-until his untimely death attempting to cross McArthur Blvd. About the time I became a freshman in high school I decided I'd like to have a dog. So, I checked myself out of class, went home, perused the newspaper, located a woman giving away puppies for free and set about to task figuring out how I was going to get this dog home. Not wanting to forge ahead with this task alone I went over to the school my little brother, Nathan, was attending and checked him out for the day, as well. He was elated and rather giddy I'd enlisted him to help me with my endeavor. We grabbed a backpack, some change for bus fare and got on the express bus headed for the 'west' side of town...a mere 100 blocks from where we lived.

When we arrived at the ladies house she seemed a bit perplexed why one of my parents hadn't brought us but I gave a convincing performance of how it was completely okay with my parents that we get the dog and off we were to catch the bus back home in order to arrive before my mother got home from work.

First problem we had to overcome~no dogs allowed on the bus. I had thought through that issue and had brought along the backpack to remedy the problem. We slipped the dog we were now calling Heidi into the bag and boarded the bus. Heidi did amazingly well and we got home with time to spare.

Second problem we had to overcome~we didn't exactly have my parents permission to get the dog. Well, I had thought through that issue as well and found an old cardboard box for my next project. It just happens that is was February...a few days before Valentine's Day...so Nathan and I painted the box a pretty red with white hearts and placed the dog inside just as my parents were arriving home from work. Viola. We had the perfect gift for my parents for Valentine's Day!

They weren't convinced but like so many things in life growing up what Samantha wanted Samantha usually got so Heidi was allowed to stay. The down side of the story is that Heidi was also the dog from Hell. I couldn't even begin to count the amount of times she ripped out the screens from the Arcadia doors on our back patio. Eventually, my dad had had enough and Heidi got to go on a long ride 'to camp.' I guess considering I surprised my parents bringing her home my dad figured it was okay to surprise me by letting her go to 'camp', indefinitely.

I never did find out what exactly happened to Heidi. My dad said he gave her to a nice family. I'm not so sure that is exactly what happened but in all honesty, I'm not sure I really want to know. Heidi came with Nathan and I on plenty of our hikes on Camelback Mountain. I have some great memories of us washing my car together (yes, she actually made it long enough at our house for me to eventually get my drivers license.)

I still love animals—but I don't just spring them on my hubby or even give them as gifts. I often wonder what I would do if my kids ever brought home such a gift for me. I hope I get to keep wonder ing for the next 5 years until my youngest leaves for college.

P.S. I am taking proactive steps – our family (by mutual consent) is getting a dog next month.

Day Seven of Lent-the broken nose

I told Tim I didn't know what to write about today. He said I should write about a time I have gotten hurt. Broken an arm or something. I told him I've never broken my arm or leg. But, my mom did break my nose. Tim chimed in, “well, then you should write about what your mom and I have in common.” I'd forgotten Tim had also broken my nose....

In high school I had come home late from somewhere and missed dinner. My mom was pretty torqued with me for being late as well as not calling to let her know I'd be late. Remember, this is long before cell phones. I would have actually had to take time to not only find a pay phone but to find a quarter to call her. It was simply easier to be late. I was sitting on a chair. She was yelling. I was being flippant in my response. One thing led to another and as I bent over to pick my keys up off the floor she decided it she'd had enough of my back talking and smacked me across the face...except my face was in the process of moving so she managed to whack my nose rather than my cheek.

When Tim and I started dating we would do activities to keep ourselves out of 'trouble'. Scrabble. Hiking. Racquetball. We played racquetball at the local high school. I didn't realize how competitive Tim is until we got the rackets out and started banging the ball back and forth. Apparently, since it was Tim's turn to hit and ball he was going to hit it whether I was in the way or not. Before I knew it I was watching stars turn about above my head like in the cartoons. He'd clocked me a good one right across the bridge of my nose with his racket. I had NO idea I was supposed to move out of the way so he could get the ball. I thought it was good strategy on my part to stay in the way so he couldn't get the ball so I would get the point. I was wrong. Amazingly, I still married the man. Probably because he was so remorseful and took such good care of me while my nose gushed blood everywhere.

I guess the moral of the story is...just because someone breaks your nose doesn't mean they don't love you. It just means they're are passionate people.

Day Six of Lent-A trip down memory lane--literally

Shoshanah and I were in our old neighborhood today. The changes are astonishing. I commented to my daughter that the neighborhood I was currently driving through was not the neighborhood I grew up in. For one, the canal on 48^th street is now completely covered over with a greenbelt and sidewalk. What we kids wouldn't have given to be able to have that shortcut and not have had to walk all the way down to Thomas in order to get to the mall entrance and library that were closer to Cambridge. Many of the stores are no longer there but one of the biggest differences is the absence of Thomas Mall. How many weekends did we spend as kids roaming that pathetic mall just wishing our parents would agree to hop in the car and drive us all the way out to the brand new Paradise Valley Mall. Now that would have been an awesome mall outing. But, no, we were stuck with Thomas Mall. The big department store that was there to draw the crowds? Montgomery Wards. Can we all say yay together?

The library was one of the places I spent more time at than any normal child would. Lisa Ebert and I would go each Saturday and get a stack of books we could hardly carry. We would celebrate the successful hunt at the library by moseying across the street to Bob's Big Boy. We would order a large plate of fries to share and we'd each get our own milkshake. Lisa~ vanilla. Me~ chocolate. The most fascinating part I remember is that Lisa liked to put her salt directly in the ketchup rather than sprinkling it on the fries. To this day I have never met anyone who had the same habit.

The library didn't have a policy of making sure the books we were checking out were appropriate for our age. Surely as an eight grader I shouldn't have been allowed to check out Judy Blume's Forever. For goodness sake, she used the F-bomb in the book. But, alas, I had absolutely no problem using my library card to borrow the book. About this time I also started wondering about the 3 letter word...you know, S.E.X. So, not wanting to be embarrassed checking out a book that taught about such things I simply stole the book-- well, truthfully, I returned it to the library when I was done looking through it. The Joy of Sex was far too complicated for my 8^th grade mind. Why would anyone use their big toe for....well, never mind. Your local library may have a copy and you can just go read it for yourself.

It was fun to take a trip down memory lane with my 2 weeks away from 17 year old daughter. To show her where I spent my days when I was her age. Mostly, I avoided stories about going with boys to the Cemetery on weekends...because, those are really for, well, another life.

Day Five of Lent-The Tree

I was sitting with the window open today as a slight breeze ventured inside and brought the sweet smell of spring as well as a memory back to me.

We lived 2 blocks from St. Theresa school and therefore many a day I found myself over playing on the playground by myself. There was this giant tree in the back corner where the kindergartners would play. Somehow I figured out to climb ¾ of the way to the top. Back then, it seemed the tree was 20 stories high... I'm sure it was probably closer to 20 feet. I loved when kids saw me up in the tree and wondered how on earth I'd gotten up there. It was a place for me to go that no one else could. A place to go where I could forget about the worries in my life and just daydream. It was a place I could be myself and no one would judge me.

There were two people in life I showed how to maneuver climbing the tree so they could join me in my private paradise. My brother, Nathan, was one of the people. He's been gone for 12 years this June. I wonder if he ever thought how we would talk for hours sandwiched in between forked branches so that we wouldn't fall. I don't remember what we talked about but looking back I find it ironic that the one place I felt safe in life was a place that could have been so dangerous. They say if a person falls twice their height there will likely be broken bones. I was definitely over the limit.

As an adult I am trying to figure out where I go for my safe and happy place. I know I must have a place because I still get hurt feelings when people misjudge me. I still need time to think about life~what I want to do with the time I have left and how I desire to make an impact on those around me—I know today one of the happy places I found today was having our 2 week old puppy fall asleep on my chest while rubbing the ears of her momma while she nursed the rest of the gang. Tomorrow will be welcoming and holding my baby girl when she comes home after being in DC for a week. Perhaps each day holds it's own safe moments confirming the statement that home is where the heart is.

Day Four of Lent-Ms. Biros

This morning as we were leaving the restaurant, I grabbed a few packets of raw sugar off our table. Then I grabbed a few off the table next to us. Then, as I started to grab a few off the third table Tim grabbed my arm and suggested maybe I do have a problem with kleptomania and asked if stealing sugar packets would be my story for today.

I decided to refrain from sharing another story of my failures and instead turn a corner in my road of reminiscing to sharing about one of my favorite teachers at St. Theresa school: Ms. Rosalee Biros. Ms. Biros was an amazing woman who played the ukulele in class while singing such songs as Tiny Bubbles or Lord of the Dance. As we all insisted she couldn't possibly have gray hair she admitted to us she used Lady Clairol to help her stay younger looking!

Ms. Biros always had an encouraging word for anyone she met. I never once heard her raise her voice and believe you me, she had ample opportunity with us 6^th graders. When she enveloped you in a hug you got lost in her embrace. Not just because she was a rather large woman but mainly because she was larger than life in personality.

Several years ago I stumbled upon her obituary. Call it fate or call it God sending me a message I was just so grateful I was able to see the announcement and able to attend her memorial service. I wasn't the only student of hers that loved her dearly. May we all live in a way this next week that would emulate the life of Ms. Biros~bringing joy and encouragement to those around us in life we come into contact with.

Day Three of Lent

Is there any better place for a 10 year old than a convenience store full of sweet treats - Fun Dip, Sweet Tarts, Bubbalicious, candy cigarettes, Jolly Rancher sticks and the list goes on and on. But what if that 10 year old has no money? Zilch, none, nada. Does that place become a hell on earth?

I can't answer that question with absolute certainty, but I can answer based on anecdotal evidence. I know for this ten year old, convenience stores and their out of reach treasures were terrible places. That was, until one day when my best friend and I ventured into our neighborhood 7-11. We decided to fill up our baby doll diaper bags with whatever we could nonchalantly slip into them unnoticed and remedy the no money problem. The clerk wasn't looking. We were sure of it. One of us stood watching while the other filled her bag. Then, being friends, we reversed roles, sharing responsibilities.

The thought of a second employee never crossed our minds. Who would have thought he would be hiding in the cooler restocking beverages? We sure didn't. But his position gave him a perfect view of what we thought was a perfect plan. I guess big brother was watching even before surveillance cameras were common. A huge tragedy in two small lives. We were busted.

I can't remember whose mom was called first, but they both were notified. I do however remember the discipline tool of choice my mother used to punish me - my fathers wooden handle BBQ brush. It stung like mad and left a welt on my butt. I was a skinny little thing, so there wasn't much meat on my flanks to absorb the swats - pun intended, have to live with it when using a BBQ brushes for discipline.

You must be wondering by now when I would get a clue about life. Stealing is wrong. Stealing equals bad consequences. Shouting at me as you read this excerpt, stealing is, if nothing else, something you personally are not very good at.

It wasn't that I wasn't a bright child. It was more that my desire to have what was not mine was stronger than my ability to think through the consequences. I wish I could say that today I don't struggle with wanting what is not mine, but I still do. Once my spending money is gone for the month I know I need to avoid certain stores. They cause me to stumble every time. Well, I don't steal things anymore but I tend to buy them even when I have exhausted my spending funds, and even though I know I shouldn't. Even though I know it will perturb my husband. Even though I know that eventually the stuff will sit in my closet collecting dust until I ultimately send it off to the thrift store with the other items I've grown tired of because something new and exciting....for now...has replaced it.

So, how do I remedy this problem? I need to remember that ultimately, the only thing that will fill that hole in my life is God. Not the good gifts He gives us...which can bring us pleasure, but only He himself can fill the void. Now, to remember that the next time I'm at REI would really make my life easier.

Day Two of Lent

For those of you who wonder...my mom does not remember what caused her to discover the books. We are brutally honest with each other these days so it would be okay for her to admit if she had been snooping through my room, but alas, that was not it. She promised she would try and jog her memory. For now, that is all I could ask of her.

Less you prejudge me and think I was an obstinate child let me assure you I was not only obstinate (and still am today), but I was a kleptomaniac also. Yes, I must admit it. Even now if you invite me to your home be careful lest I steal something right out from under your nose. *wink

The first time I remember stealing something I must have been about 5 years old. I was in tow with my mom at the local Goldblatt's store. They were a local chain of discount stores started in 1914 in the mid-west. I found a little purse I could just not stand to live without and lo and behold I swiped it. I took it home with me. My little party was over when my mother discovered I had stolen it, marched me back to talk to the store manager, and confessed my sin to him. Not only THAT, they made me give the purse back! I thought if my mother truly loved me she would have at least bought that purse for me. At least let me keep it but never, never, never make me apologize for stealing it and give it back, too.

That was the last thing I stole for quite awhile...well, at least until I was in kindergarten and there was that big fat pencil at the bookstore at Blessed Sacrament school I had my eye on....but that is a story for another day.

Day One of Lent-

Lent is typically about giving something up...but for me, it's more about the aspect of discipline. Writing has been a discipline I've needed to gain but fight tooth and nail...grrr. So, for the next 40 days I'm going to write a little blurb about life going to Parochial school. I hope they make you laugh, cry, and bring precious memories back from YOUR childhood.

I'm not sure if the day began like any other day. What possessed me to meander over to the school and see what was going on. I'm not sure I even had a plan I just found myself drawn to pathway that led me there. Where was there? St. Theresa Catholic school. The place where I spent 5 years of my life, more or less. The school had an accordion like gate that closed off the entrance's, but I was skinnier than a praying mantis at nine years old and so I slid between the metal bars with ease. No one was around as I walked the hollowed outdoor walkways. Just for fun I decided to see if any of the doors of the teachers classrooms were unlocked. Bingo, Mrs. Dimas had forgotten to lock her door. Whether it was because she was pregnant and entered that phase of hormonal forgetfulness or simply didn't think it was necessary either way I'll never know. I let myself in feeling like a kid in a candy store with no limits. I was so proud of myself. Look—rows of textbooks and right next to them were the TEACHERS copies with all the answers! I would never had to think about doing my homework again!

How I lugged those massive texts home I have no idea but I placed them in between both of my mattress' of my bed. The following day I saw my teacher talking with some of the other staff. I didn't need to hear what she was telling them as I watched her hands motioning I could guess she was explaining that at least 3 feet of her textbooks had suddenly developed feet and wandered off. The most fascinating part of the equation is ultimately how my mother found out. I still to this day have no idea. I wonder if I jog her memory she'll confess to what ratted me out. Did the janitor see me? Was the lump between my mattress what gave it away when my mom went to change my sheets? Or was she snooping in my room and discovered the books all on her own? I guess that's a story for another day.