Christmas memories

My boys during a Christmas about 5 years ago. They are my little heartbeats and heart attacks. 

Christmas Memories:

As I sit with my children, husband at my in-laws and listen to their family memories, I am drawn back to the memories of my own Christmases on the south side of Chicago. So many of the holidays were spent crammed in tiny kitchens trying to avoid the inevitable pinches, kisses, squeezes and over strong hugs of my Great Aunts, Uncles and Grandmothers and Papa. Ours was a typical family filled with too many people jammed into one room filled with too many cooks and too much caffeine and alcohol. As was typical of the Chicago post WWII houses the kitchen was a bit of an after thought and the “front” room aka parlor was for guests so since this was family all the ladies crammed into the kitchen to put their mark on the jello mold, gravy or roasts all while balancing a wine glasses, cigarettes and shouting at the kids. The men would huddle around the TV in the basement near the bar with their beers and cigarettes talking politics, sports and shooing the children upstairs. I remember feeling a bit like the metal ball in a pinball machine being tossed about and shuttled between games with the younger kids and tasks assigned by the ladies. The cacophonous noises filled the house full of a mixture of English, Polish, Bohemian shouting, laughter, gossip, arguments, screams of injured knees, burnt fingers from ovens and joyful laughter of love and discordant harmony of my family. We were a dysfunctional mixture of Celtic and Slavic cultures that found harmony in the constant noise and over physical nature of affection. A hug was not a hug unless it was filled soon by a wet smooch and a plea for air from a small child. My Great Aunt Albe was the best at this. Her love was over generous like her spirit. Her hugs were long and hard. Her flesh like her heart was warm and soft. She was the quickest cheek pinch on the South Side and her lap was a favored spot for all the new babies. She was constantly taking items from her purse (Mass or Saint cards were a favorite. I still carry one with me to this day) or china cabinets with the line, “ You like it ?!? Well take it! It is just collecting dust.  Here! NO? Take it.” And you had to take it or the incessant urging of her generosity would never cease.

 The food was plentiful since Uncle Johnny was a butcher and brought the ton of flesh and a duck. The air was filled with artery clogging meats, dressings, najifka (Czech) and creamed veggies. Sour creamed cucumbers onions and beets are still a favorite comfort food. A series of 3 tables were set up for the feasts, an adult table, adolescent and child’s table. No buffets for this family you sat down and passed everything after a prayer then the devouring began. After the bellies were filled, presents were opened and dishes were expertly cleaned and stowed away for next year, the games began. Card games were the choice of all the adults. 66 was the favorite for the smokers and after the kids were bathed and collapsed in beds, the party would continue until the wee hours of the morning. It was mayhem and filled with love and chaos.

So as I sit with calm Presbyterian manners where people sit and take turns speaking and visit about their family history which is now part of mine I long for the chaos a bit and miss the excesses of love, liquor and meats.  Those wild wonderful exuberant women and men of my family are long dead and so is a bit of the magic that made me who I am but their fingerprints and voices echo in my soul. 

Period Drama Men: All I Want for Christmas

What is it about those period dramas that draw me into them? I have found that since I was a young girl the lure of country estates, linen, accents, manners and corsets were like salve for all that ails me. The terrible misunderstandings and final reuniting of couples in the films just gave my heart hope. I wonder sometimes if period dramas are my older little girl fairytales. For me the escape of fairytales when I was very little held a claming effect on me every time I was read a story. Maybe so many of the fairytales we are told as little girls seem to out of this world, steeped in magic and mythical creatures for me. I find they have always connected with me on some level but never spoke to my obsessive-compulsive heart. Now Mister Rochester, Mr. Darcy and Captain Wentworth on the other hand spoke directly to me more than once. I guess what has always bothered me about the fairytale of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and even Snow White is that they all needed saving and were hopeless without the male. Part of the period drama that I love is that the ladies are active participants. Sure they needed saving but so did the men in question. The ladies had minds of their own and were not hapless victims but active participants and had free will. Sure their fate was somewhat sealed by their gender and society but they were not helpless slumbering princesses waiting for their true love’s kiss. They save the men a little too. These heroes need the fine heroines to make them feel more alive, be more whole or to soothe a broken heart. I want this; I relate to this; being part of the story not some helpless victim in the fairytale. It is appealing to be part of a simpler time where there are defined roles and you are the center of someone’s universe and an active participant in your happiness. It is a fine escape from the hectic working Mom of 2 struggling in this economy working to be heard, counted and valued. Maybe it is not just the handsome men in fine clothes with impeccable manners but maybe it was a time when our lives were simpler and more defined. Although the handsome men with manners cannot be all that bad and really I would not mind one bit if one of these fellows ended up with a red ribbon under the Christmas tree for me. Although my dear husband may take issue with that present; so I will keep my period drama men for my fine stories and dreams and hope a bit of the manners will rub off on my 2 boys and maybe the husband. Happy Holidays to you all.


A special thanks to tisreina who allowed me to use her video. Please check out her channel. http://www.youtube.com/user/tisreina

Senate Passes 'Don't Ask' Repeal, Heads to Obama for Signature | The Rundown News Blog | PBS NewsHour | PBS

Senate Passes 'Don't Ask' Repeal, Heads to Obama for Signature | The Rundown News Blog | PBS NewsHour | PBS

As a mother, friend, niece and sister-in-law to gay, lesbian and transgendered individuals who have influenced and shaped my life, I say, finally a bit of sanity. So many of our loved ones and friends fear for their self when they profess their true self to their loved ones, what a sad reflection of our species. We should be ashamed that we allowed this for far too long. How could we as loving individuals allow this hatred, fear and loathing to exist? I remember back to the call I got from my beloved friend Todd who had something to tell me. I was filled with fear about the health of his Mom, his Dad and himself he said he wanted me to know he was gay. I was relieved; I thought he was confiding in me about one of his family members having cancer or someone we loved was dying or dead. It should not be a life or death issue. The people that are a part of our loves are who they are and gifts to each of us, unique in all things. We need to cherish this, celebrate this and accept. So finally accept and move on. Love one and other and accept our beauty and our diversity.

03 the frames - Pavement Tune

this indecision killing me, I want my life to make more sense... Sometimes music describes so much of how you feel...

Some days I hit my head against the wall and wish I had that damn do over button. When I was deciding between graduate school and medical school.  Teaching helped shape my decision. I found that I loved teaching more than anything and took the path to graduate school. Most days I am happy with my decisions but some days I think what in god’s name was I thinking?

The past semester has been an extraordinary long one. I am teaching again my chemistry and 2 of the AP Biology upper level class. For the most part teaching has been fine and again I struggle with motivation not just for my students but also for myself. It makes a difference when I get a group of young minds that are excited and I have that in both classes but lately I find many of the minds more difficult to reach. I am not sure if it is the burning of their young minds in technology or if I am too slow to comprehend it or if I am in dire need of a sabbatical and more motivation for myself.

So as I graded my last final and posted my grades and cleaned up the lab for break; I felt a little empty. I looked around my neat and empty room and thought to myself… “Whew another semester done. Thank god. Why do I do this? Am I making any difference? Why did I not go to med school? I just feel like a dirty dish rag.”  I ran my errands, paying bills and stumbling through a fog of thought and discouragement. As I headed to the gas station a bit out of the way I was thinking about revamping my resume and maybe looking for something else outside of teaching. Then it happened, the karmic kick in the head. I pulled into the gas station dizzy in my own thoughts and look over to the car pulled in the other side of the gas pump. Out of the little red car emerged a wonderfully warm familiar face. She was one of my old students from my last position. We worked hard and struggled together to make sure she got all her credits for her BS and worked in a laboratory. She took a little longer to finish but she finished with good grades and research projects. She applied to graduate school but needed a bit of assistance to get in so we found a PREP program for her and got her accepted into it. After 2 years of hard work, we helped her move to a graduate school program. Today I saw a student who blossomed and is now a bright warm sweet woman with a Master’s degree. My heart soared with pride and joy when she told me she was just in town and had got her degree this December. She said she could hardly believe she did it and it took all of her hard work and our support to help her find her path.

SO maybe I did not make a difference with this semester but I have made a difference and at least with one person I made a big life difference. So maybe I will wish for that lotto win instead of that do over button tonight. I am proud of you Becky and you filled this tired woman with a wee bit of hope that she needed. 

The fringer

Well the dust has settled and it has taken most of the weekend and one hell of a shopping trip to Target to move beyond the uber-bitch that inhabited me all weekend.

This long settle in made me ponder why do we always carry the negatives with us longer than the positives? Let me elaborate… Okay so you see someone, they tell you your look nice today or thank you for assisting them with something. You return the smile and within an hour the sweetness that came with that moment is forgotten and daily life continues. Now someone criticizes you, makes you feel small and you incorporate this in your fabric of your being for days weeks even.

What is up with that? What kind of flaw do I have as a person that the negatives so often over power the positives and hearing a bash of myself is so much heavier that it out weighs any and all positives I have for that day? Why cannot I be like that dude with the self-inflated ego and narcissism that allows him to think that anyone who does not get him, as a next to a divine creature is absurd and a moron?

What flaw is in my fabric of this gene code that makes me less? Is there some form a recessive dufus gene I carry? Is a there doormat or low self esteem epistatic control over all brain function?

I have struggled for years to try to care less about what others see me as but in fact it is a total veil of lies. I care! I hate it when others see me as not good enough and not all I should be or should have been. I mean I still really care less about what others think I look like because I am pretty comfortable about my appearance even on my slug days but what people think of me as a person really matters.

Maybe it boils down to acceptance. To be accepted is one of the greatest drives in all of us and I guess this high school outcast and fringer is still in search of her in crowd. Maybe that is why the outsider shows ie Buffy, Angel, Firefly, The Office, Dresden and countless others have appealed to me and stuck with me so much.

I guess I will always be a dork and a fringer. Maybe the line  from Buffy is true… High School is never really over.

I am a stage Mom

Vicarious living is not beneath me. I somehow thought that being educated and watching all those parents hollering at sports and sitting in audiences doing the same dance moves, mouthing the words to songs sung or executing the notes of a song on a band instrument was something I was never ever going to do. I would allow my children to follow their passions without reliving my own glory or lack of said glory days. Since I am a Mom of only boys I thought I was somewhat insulated from this behavior. This was a great theory. My metal has been tested this year and I found I am not titanium but aluminum foil. My wonderful unique child Jack has once again wiped all my self-delusions away with one single swipe of his toe pick.  He first made me full puffed out chest proud by placing 3^rd in his first figure skating competition. This was something I could only dream of when I was a figure skater. Then last night he took the ice with confidence and grace well beyond his 10 years and skated a Christmas program he nailed down in less than a month. He was and is more than I ever could be on the ice and all I wanted to be. I left the figure skating world at 17 after years of efforts and lessons at a level he will soon surpass in less than one year.  Every time he takes the ice my heart soars and my childhood dreams of being Dorothy Hamill or Peggy Fleming are now in the fabric of his dreams of being Johnny Weir or Evan Lysacek. I guess at some level we all have the lives we live, the lives we wish we lived and the live we are grateful we are not living. Jack is giving me a taste of wishful living again.

Struggling faith.

Had an amazing day with my first period ladies of AP Biology. After we had a wrap up for a bacterial transformation from normal E. coli. to an ampicillin resistant strain of E. coli. Some of the ladies sat down with me and we started chatting about life and many things. Somehow the subject turned to how the students had trouble identifying me as a Catholic since I seemed more open minded than they had thought Catholics were. It got me thinking and It took me a moment to digest what they said. I said that I was more the norm of modern day American Catholic than they would really believe. I have told them so many stories they know quite a bit about me and may background and my kids. I figure an open book gets looked at more than a closed one so I tend to be an open person. 

I told them that being Catholic for me at this point is more like being Irish or from Chicago it is part of my personal history and who I am. It has shaped my life and thoughts and for the most part provided a good guide for my life. I just happened to be raised by educated parents who believed in a good education and allowed questioning and debate. Many of my instructors were Jesuits, Franciscan and Benedictine monks and Dominican sisters. They are the thinkers, scientists and teachers of the Catholics. These people helped shaped me more as a person than indoctrinated me into a cult. My teachers always told me to question meant growth in faith and your being. Normal periods of disbelief can lead to deeper understanding and devotion. I was allowed in my 16 years of Catholic education to take classes on Judaism, “The anthropological beginnings of God.”,  the Philosophy of atheism and Historical and cultural implications of Religion.  Maybe I had a unique education but I was taught to value all faiths as a way to being a good person.

 Sure I had my exposure to fire and brimstone and the thought of limbo and purgatory scared the crap out of me but lately that nice old man in Rome in the robes and tall hat decided we did not need limbo anymore and babies who died before they were baptized did go to heaven. That last statement also typifies how I feel about the hierarchy of the Catholic Church. Okay so he is supposed to be the spiritual leader that gets his messages inspired by God blah blah blah… Really? or was that just something Constantine or some other historical figure whose names evades me at the moment, made up so the uneducated would follow and have a leader?

I guess what I am trying to get at for this still sometimes practicing Catholic, is that I am struggling. I have an uncle, brother-in-law, numerous friends and son who is gay, the man I know and studied named Jesus was more about embracing and loving and accepting than condemnation. So I continue to struggle to try to fit the Church into my life and accept the good and not throw the baby out with the bath water. I try to forgive as the stories about that wonderful man told to me about forgiveness and turning the other cheek when I read about the abuse of children under their protection. I try to reconcile my hatred for the priest who told me that losing my babies was the will of God and I should pray to be healed. I find that I always go back to the fact that what bothers me most about the Church is the human nature of it not the deity.  Wasn’t that there whole passage about ... judge not least you be judged thing? Didn’t Jesus have trouble with the hierarchy as well?

I struggle with finding the right balance of love of the ritual and voodoo (rosary beads, saints and candles FYI) for comfort and the sometimes-harsh mixed messages I get from the hierarchy. Sure I wish there was a magic wand of God I could pray for and get my 3 wishes but that kind of child like faith is long gone. So I have gotten lucky, I found a church run by Franciscans who are warm caring devoted men who serve from the heart and soul. They meet the needs of all people with kindness and compassion and open their hearts like that guy Jesus we all seem to come back to and I have found a home. Faith is like a family we have disagreements, arguments, periods where we do not speak but at the base of it there is love. For this cafeteria Catholic I put more love on my tray than the rule book of hate and narrowness. I struggle and question and just like I cannot deny my Irishness I cannot deny my Catholicism and belief .  There is a great quote from most likely a poster I had on my wall in college. “You can turn from me but I will never leave your side.” I sure hope there is some truth in this.