Toothpaste

He said to me, so you are like, one of those people that loves routines then?

No, no! I silently scream, I despise routine, routines are for the elderly and their labeled pill boxes so they remember that Monday is Lipitor and Tuesday is Prilosec. I am young! I am carefree! I wake up in the morning to eat leftovers, and then make pancakes for dinner!

Instead I smile and nod, seemingly agreeing what what my conversational counterpart has just inquired, but actually acknowledging the reality of my day.

It begins by hitting the snooze button three times too many. When my guilt acts as the final alarm clock, I glance up at the crucifix hanging right above my bed. Jesus' tender gaze, even in excruciating pain, is glancing down at my sleepy head. There really isn't a more poetic way to wake up.

After smiling at God, I roll out of bed, feel my way blindly along the wall to the bathroom, opening my eyes only after I have turned on the light and given my closed lids ample time to muster up courage to open themselves. I brush my teeth. I wash my face with cold water, because it feels wonderful, and I heard it prevents wrinkles.

I shuffle back to my room, stare at my closet and mentally match all outfit possibilities for the day. I think about putting on make up, think about curling my hair, look at the clock, decide I have no time to look pretty, and I begin the long journey to work, involving multiple forms of transit, free newspapers to keep from people-watching, and daring the crosswalks to let me go.

Then I sit on my rear for about ten hours doing many important grown-up, real-world activities that people care enough about to give me a paycheck. I start my evening wind-down. It's the same, only backwards and without a snooze button.

Could it be? Do I have a routine? Have I, in a mere ten months succumbed to the all-too-widely-accepted definition of a grown up? My ten-month old grown up self wants to say,

No sir, not today, not ever. You see, when you asked about my day-to-day, I made the mistake of answering your all-too-common question with an all-too common answer. Do not ask me about my day-to-day, rather, ask me what inspired me today. Ask me how my day was anything but ordinary, because if God has made this day, then by golly it is extraordinary. Ask me what my favorite flavor of pancake is, because I need to start thinking about dinner anyway. 

But the truth is, I have a routine. I rely, perhaps too much, on my Google calendar. It is a color coded, accurate-to-the-minute diary of my past, present and future. And it's really not that terrible and boring.

I have a day-to-day schedule that can be summed up succinctly, but there is joy in the routine. If we are made in His image and likeness, then we too can take pleasure in the sunrises and sunsets, and other beautiful things that follow a precise schedule. In routine, your eyes are opened to the smaller nuances of your day because they stand out a little more. I fondly remember the abundance of spontaneity in my life, but it dulled my keener senses to so many little things. Now I can fully appreciate a new tube of toothpaste. And let's get real, a new tube of toothpaste is just too great not to brighten your whole day.

Namesake

My mother found this in my grandmother's old box of pictures and things she had saved over the years. It is an article written by Cammy Sessa, who I believe wrote for the Virginian Pilot about 20 years ago. I have read it again and again. I hope you enjoy it too.

Out the front door in a rush to get to work, I hardly notice the daffodils until I get in the car and look back at the house.

They stand in rapt attention on the edge of the brown unseeded lawn. Almost overnight, their bright yellow noses poled from staunch green stems that had stood firm against the ravages of a cold and windy March.

The key is in the ignition but I don't turn it. The flowers jolt my memory, taking me back in time. The car's interior becomes a cocoon of silence that's broken when I try to sing a child's quaint song:

"Daffodils standing so straight in a row

Bright yellow bonnets just see how they glow.

Beautiful dresses they're wearing but oh . . .

When the wind blows

Each green petticoat shows."

She was in the first grade. I remember the day she came home from school, her dancing eyes and knowing smile telling me she had something special to share.

I can almost hear her sweet voice singing the daffodil song. When she came to the last line, she picked her dress up to show her own petticoat.

I loved it.

Loved her.

Daughters are such a part of a mother's ego. I recall nudging her to sing about the daffodils for my friends and co-workers. I didn't know then that such moments are rare and meant for only one person to savor. Those times are lasting, pure and the only absolute beauty we mortals can experience.

The daffodils are a reminder of a little girl and a time in my life that was over all too soon.

"They grow up before you know it," is a cliche said so often that perhaps young mothers don't pay attention to it.

I didn't. Her growing years sped by like a home movie shown at top speed, not even slowing down for the big events that were supposed to be milestones: high school prom, college graduation, marriage, a job, a house . . . .

As it turned out, the really big events were the ones never taped or photographed. They are subtle moments in a mother's life that can only be recaptured when the daffodils bloom.

Cheers to you in heaven Nanny. 

Life Advice

How to have a better day

1. wake up
2. thank God for the fact that its summer
3. go to the beach
4. drink beer
5. own a puppy
6. make a more realistic list

1. wake up
2. thank God for waking up
3. drink tea
4. brainstorm ways to move to the beach and own a puppy
5. drink wine
6. write a blog post about it

Regali

I received an early birthday present in the mail last week. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have waited patiently, savoring the sweetness of wonder. But the circumstances surrounding this particular package were not ordinary in the least. This particular package had made it's way all the way from southern Italy, and patience was a virtue that I simply could not afford.

I tore into the package. It didn't budge. I grabbed a knife. That seemed drastic, so I put it back and picked up scissors instead. Furious slicing and cutting and perspiring ensued. I didn't save any of the bubble wrap or wrapping paper by cutting neatly and carefully, sorry mom, but there really is no better way to behold a new present than to be surrounded by mountains of shredded colorful paper, popped bubble wrap, and packing peanuts.

I did my best to maintain a shred of decency by reading the card before I unveiled my birthday surprise,

Dear Ruthie,

Auguri for your birthday!

Open your present and then continue to read...

Some people just get me.

And this is where words fail. I opened my present and began to cry very happy tears.

...Do you remember this portrait? You saw it in my grandma's home in Sorrento, I remember you really liked it, so I was so glad to find an identical one (just smaller) for you.

Oh yes, I remember quite well. I just admired it for a while. I was simply taken by the beauty of the artist's rendering of a face. A face enamored, a soul at peace.

It is an image of the Blessed Virgin Mary, gazing downward. You can't see, but just below the edge of the frame, I know she is looking upon her sweet infant. I don't know what she is thinking, but it's easy enough to imagine. Nine months of waiting to nibble the sweet toes on the little feet kicking inside of her. Nine months of waiting to put her ear to his warm chest and hear his heart beat with her ears, instead of feeling it through her hands laid over her belly. Nine months of waiting to see his eyes, smell his skin and kiss his nose.

Jesus' birth was, and is, the most anticipated birth the world has had the honor of being patient for. Soon we will celebrate his birth again, but for now, we wait. We wait patiently and happily, all while preparing our souls for that very moment they felt their worth.

Happy Advent and Merry Christmas. Enjoy the wait.

Living for the Weekend

Exactly ninety-nine days ago, I joined the working world as a full-time member. Ninety-nine days ago I began the life that I had spent my entire life preparing for.

In kindergarten I prepared for elementary school. Despite the time I decided Play-Doh looked tempting enough to taste, they let me move forward. In elementary school, I prepared for middle school. In middle school, I lost my mind. At least, that's the only reasonable explanation for my heinous fashion choices. And somehow, even with braces, glasses and scrunchies, I made it to high school, where they tell you that your performance here sets the tone for how you will do in college, and college sets the tone for the rest of your life in the real world.

So I'm here, in the real world. And now that I've arrived, I find myself living for the weekends, living for that precise time when I am not working, when I am not doing what my life has been preparing me for.

It strikes me as very odd, that the real world, that big, momentous thing we strive and prepare for is the one thing so many people seem to do their best to avoid once they've gotten there.

And then, you have that lucky bunch that simply loves what they do. They have found that beautiful equilibrium where the heart's desire meets another's need.

And that is what I, in my infinite ninety-nine days of working world wisdom have come to know more and more, that this is what we were all created for: to live out the truest desires of our hearts because in some mystical and miraculous way, it will work out for us.

I don't have much proof for this bold statement, just faith and a few promises from people older and wiser than I.

Living for the weekend is no way to live. I want to live for each and every moment. I want to see the miracle of time in every second, and the miracle of the human person in every interaction. I want to live a life that is worthy of the attention that God pays it.

And I want to live up to the dramatic way I write things, but life is not a blog. Sometimes life is awkward. Sometimes life is sad. Sometimes you want to eat your words, or bury your head in the sand because you very accidentally insulted your boss. Sometimes you burn your toast. Sometimes you want to cry for no obvious reason. Sometimes your heart is broken.

But thank God for broken hearts. A hardened heart is in prime shape for being shattered into zillions of tiny indistinguishable jigsaw-like pieces. And Jesus is so good at puzzles. Let me tell you. When you are trying to find your vocation, and you completely and miserably fail at loving someone, and your heart gets broken on Valentine's Day through modern technology, Jesus can put that heart back together.

When you move to a big city, away from the salty-aired breezy lifestyle you were accustomed to, so that you can work 13 hours a day and sleep on a futon until you find furniture, Jesus gives you the strength to get up in the mornings, crack your futon-stiffened back, and go to work smiling.

The real world is not the end result. We prepared for it, certainly, but life is a continual preparation process for something much greater. We shouldn't live for the weekends, we should live for eternity. While we live presently, that is, for eternity, God is preparing for us. He is setting aside places in heaven for all of his most darling loves. He works fervently to mend our broken hearts. I am not wise and rich in the experiences that come with old age, but I can count at least ninety-nine ways Jesus has used a broken heart to bring peace and joy.

Fetching Finds on Friday

Do you love alliteration? I do.

Because all of my original thoughts are stuck in "draft" mode, and I can't seem to have enough time to figure out exactly what I am trying to say, here are some fun things to occupy your time instead of my ramblings.

-A great post by Fr. Dwight Longnecker on holiness

-The fabulous and fashionable older generation

-I love G.K. Chesterton, and I love love-stories, so it is only natural that I love reading about G.K. Chesterton's love story

-Amazing photographs of one of my favorite musical artists

-I have lots and lots of these

-I am friends with ridiculously cool and talented people, and I love to let people know that I am friends with ridiculously cool and talented people through my blog

-Watch out Daisy, this might happen to you

-One of my photos of my sweet little brother made it onto The Pioneer Woman's website! Can you tell which one is little brother?

-Awesome C.S. Lewis quote that panders to my love for Lewis and my econ-geek views of politics


I have lots of grand schemes and ideas sitting in my blog drafts folder, so hopefully I can find some time for a real post soon! In the meantime, say a little prayer of thanksgiving. If you can say it alliteratively, I think God will be infinitely pleased.

Father, thank you for flowers, Fridays, family, friends, fireworks on the fourth, farmer's markets, forgiveness and feast days. And my bed. It's so much better than the floor. Even though the floor begins with 'f'.
Amen

Daddy

My mother always told me never to compare myself to others. This usually happened when I tried to use the old "everyone did poorly on this test, so if you think about it, I did pretty well" trick. I don't think I ever heard my dad say that though. So here is a list of reasons why my dad is cooler than your dad. Happy Father's Day, daddy.

daughter and daddy atop Grandfather Mountain in N.C.

-He collects Victrolas. He also has a walk in closet full of vinyls to play in his room full of Victrolas.
-He is always the first one to pull out the rosary on family road trips.
-He beat up a guy who tried to rob him at gun point. I think he might be batman. If you want to see the news story, I'll send you the video.
-He loves our mailbox. He built our mailbox. My grandmother ran into the mailbox in her Buick, and the car was dented, the mailbox was fine. He really loves that mailbox. It's a healthy pride.
-He laughed so hard once, he passed out. I can only aspire to laugh so hard.
-He bought a 1967 VW Bug, sight unseen, flew from Virginia to California to pick it up, and drove it back from California to Virginia. I wouldn't be surprised if he picked up a hitch hiker or two along the way.
-He has run a couple marathons.
-He got his first job at Burger King.
-He got a job that required our family to be near the ocean at all times.
-He was in the seminary. I'm glad that didn't work out.
-He shakes when he laughs.
-He is passionate about life. Living it, defending it, and enjoying it.
-He can fix anything.
-He always brings back presents for us kiddos when he travels.
-He uses the word whatchamacallit more than 'the' or 'and'.
-He reads more books than anyone I know.
-He loves inviting those Jehova's witness types into our house when they knock on our door, and tries to evangelize them for the Catholic Church. Rock on, daddio.
-He is always warm, wonderful for snuggling. We call him the human heater.
-He always answers my big life questions with, "whatever God's will is".
-He always answers my little life questions with, "whatever God's will is."
-He joins us kiddos in making our family's traditional farting noises every time we cross a state line.
-He says the reason he had children was so he could make them bring him his beer. I'm not sure if it's a joke, but if it is, gosh he's funny.
-He gets all emotional-in-a-macho-way when a large group of people sings a classic hymn or the national anthem.
-He stuffed a kid in a trashcan once, but he swears it was his friend, and his friend asked him to do it because he thought it would be funny. I want to hang out with people like that too. (The principal didn't believe them)

dad giving big brother "the death grip", not to be confused with "the alien face grip"

I could go on and on with more awesome things, like the time he got all of my friends out of trouble for being at a party in high school, because he just laughed it up to all the other parents, reminding them that it's really just a funny story when you think about it.

But in all seriousness, my dad is more than just a great guy. He is a good man. He loves God above all things, and that love for Christ and His Church spills over into his family. My brothers and I can sincerely say we had a childhood full of love. The family unit is so vitally important to an individual's well being, and I am blessed enough to have a strong and loving father leading his family. I love you daddy. Thanks for being weirdly cool.

toastmaster

True friendship

I read this in Italy, in my Magnificat. It was like a little piece of home, because I could agree with the words based on my own experiences, particularly in college. And because it was in English. I hope these words resonate with you as strongly as they did with me.

"Real friendship is very rare, extremely rare in history, for it calls for natures that are already very lofty, and it elevates them still more.
Friendship with Jesus, however, is of a far more exquisite quality, and it brings to souls blessings that are infinitely superior. It consecrates friendships that are purely natural, and raises them up and endows them with a supernatural quality. That is why we should cultivate both at the same time..
Unfortunately, this second friendship is difficult, because the object of our love is not such as comes within the scope of our senses, and our relations with Jesus are bound to follow the way of spiritual things. These make little impression upon us, just because they do not appeal to our senses. One needs time to understand the things of the soul, and to experience the relations that souls can have with one another. How often do we say, “I do not forget you; you are always in my thoughts.” But do we reflect on the deep reality that lies beneath our words?
We do not understand, or rather we do not realize, that when two souls are united, they do no lie side by side like two bodies; they are really each in the other. And this is the principle of the love union, and in particular of that friendship which is the highest form of that union. Two friends become one, because their minds and their hearts are in perfect harmony, in the worship of the same truth and in the love of the same good. That community of love – note the word “community” which means “common-unity” and is very significant – increases our life two-fold, and makes our being greater with all the greatness of the life of the one we love. That is how, when we love God and when we enter into these relations of friendship with him, our life takes on a wideness that is measureless, and becomes eternal life."
Dom Augustine Guillerand, O.Cart. (+1945)

the seniors on GMU's Catholic Campus Ministry Student Ministry Team, and my true friends for life