My mother and father were not snobs

My mother and father were not snobs.
Mom did not graduate from eighth grade. She began working as soon as she could to help support her family, attended part-time school, became the first woman merchandiser at Monkey Wards in the area, raised five kids, and aspired that all of them should enter college, and maybe achieve a degree. She was proud of all that we did, whether we were carpenters, teachers, nurses or college professors. I think she was happy to tell people about all of it though. But snobbery was not my mother. Proud, yes; snob, no.

And Dad, he graduated from high school, often joked that he had taken four years of Latin (Latin 1 for two years, and Latin 2 for two years…highly irregular!). He was determined that all of us should go on to some education beyond high school, and also aspired to have  all of us graduate from college. He was pleased when some of us did it in the short time of 4 years after high school.  He was far from snobbery.

Mom and dad were excited when one of us completed a one or two year certificate program. And they were so proud when some of us completed degrees later in life. Completion of college was welcomed and celebrated at any time.
Education was extremely important to my parents. They were a son and daughter of immigrant stock. Higher education was elusive to most of their generation. Secondary education was difficult enough, even elementary school.

They managed to assure that the proper home environment was available so that we could study. They engaged themselves in the process of schooling by sitting with us while we did homework. They made sure that we had library cards so we could continue reading  throughout the year. And they were present at school meetings and teacher conferences when they were held.

I was fortunate to have benefited from their aspirations. As a guidance counselor for over 25 years, I talked of college education to thousands of students, hoping to engage them in similar goals. The district where I worked had a mix of students ranging from those who wanted college to a group who never dreamed of darkening the doors of a college campus. As the years went on, the college going rate at the school rose from about 50% to over 80%. This was partially caused by the rise of community colleges, federal and state incentives (Pell grant, TAP, GSL, etc.), and a real change in the attitudes of the parents and students themselves. Some parents even entered community college the same year as their son or daughter. Aspirations became realities. And these hard working people were not snobs.

And now comes that sorry man, that candidate for the presidency, who calls our current president a snob because he wants people to go to college. He assails the aspiring parents of  college bound young people as being snobs. I wonder if his parents would be considered snobs because he was encouraged to pursue college. Give us all a break.

Encourage us to better ourselves instead of deprecating the ideals and efforts that have made this country great and have improved the lot of so many Americans.  Encourage us to embrace steps that will increase our earning power and make the significant contributions to our society we so desperately need.

I actually know an Oscar nominee!!

As the red carpet filled with motion picture personalities dressed so awesomely beautiful revealing shapely bodies and gleaming teeth, one stood out dressed in penguiny black and white (gleaming teeth, yes), and that was Mother Dolores Hart from the Benedictine monastery in Bethlehem, CT. She left a promising career in Hollywood to join the monastery.

That’s not very far from here, and I had the good fortune of meeting Mother Dolores in the late 1960s at the monastery. A friend and I would make an annual retreat to the abbey, participate in the Latin office, have simple meals in the guest house, and have a spiritual conference with Sister Dolores Hart. She was on one side of the grille, and we were on the other. I think we were allowed to shake hands. I can’t remember what our conversations were about. One may have touched on marriage. I ignored that tidbit and got married within a year or two after that encounter.

Mother Dolores had a singleness of purpose, with her vision solely on her Maker. Nothing was to deter her from that, not even her former fiance who remained her friend and visited her often at the monastery. (That had to be awkward.) The short documentary, “God is Greater than Elvis”, about daily life in the monastery was nominated for an Oscar.

I am glad I met her, happy that she has emerged on the red carpet (she is the only person whom I can say I know who did that) and happy that she is happy doing what she does. In the end, that’s what life is about. And most of  all, I am happy because at the time I met her, I was a man of singleness of purpose, deeply in love with the woman I was soon to marry, heedless of advice, and spend forty, still counting, or so blissful years.

Someday, I will return to Bethlehem, pray in Latin, shake hands, and be thankful for the red carpet of  life, that allows us all to stand tall and smile every day.

Reflection on WH

Nobody said “ Satan did it!” and the general understanding of all who were present or who witnessed the “going home”  of Whitney Houston on Saturday seemed to be that she was continuing her wonderful concerts before the Lord Almighty forever. I believe that Whitney went home, and not to a bad place. I don’t know what goes on there, and nobody does. Home could be rejoicing, or silence; it could mean hanging out with all your friends and relatives in some joyous medium, or the reverential silence of heads bowed in perpetual prayer, or just a cozy box where you become part of the universe along with all those you love who have gone before you and are yet to come.
The important thing is that WH was going home. No judgment, except that she had a great ride here while she lived, and the ride was too short, and stopped too suddenly. She was home.
The emphasis on the good part of her life from childhood to stardom, and influence and no memorable mention of how she transitioned to home shows a tremendous change in the theology of life and death. Probably, a change for the better. There is no fire and brimstone, no fiery pit or everlasting torment for those who escape this world with a sorry death. Rather, a warm welcome by the Father in the home because WH was so good for most of her life.
I hope that applies to all people. I hope we can realize that the Father is more merciful and understanding than any human could ever imagine. I hope we can understand that sin does not make us bad (I know this is a little fuzzy here), although there are things that would not be classified as sin that do. We can recover if people let us and lead us to recovery, and if we don’t, in the end we would probably have done what we could with the opportunities that have been presented to us, and we go home.

Changelessness

Since it was a warm but blustery day, I shortened my walk and dropped in on my neighbor and friend Bob to chat, talk about old things and of course people. He had lunch at Stewart’s today and ran into someone who recognized him, but whom Bob did not recognize until after the initial acknowledgement. About 30 years separate the two men in age.

I commented to Bob that I have the same difficulty recognizing people who were students of mine over the years. They have changed more than I have with beards, weight, and so on. All have matured, some more beautiful than others.

I realized in the course of conversation with Bob that one trite turn of phrase that we often use is “You haven’t changed a bit since ….”  I sometimes think that that is an exaggeration or a lie whenever it is spoken, and I must admit that I have used it in the past.

I remember visiting my aunt Fran several or more years ago and I said that to her. She called me on it: “What are you, blind?” She knew that she was different, had put on some weight, and had a difficult life including health issues.I think I was referring more to her movement which appeared as I remembered it, her joie de vivre, her casual, concerned, and light-hearted manner, despite all that she had endured in life. After a bout with cancer, suffering pain that could only be controlled with large doses of Advil, she continued to work in a classy department store, had a great outlook on life, ironed the t-shirts and shorts for her son in law, had a different wardrobe for summer, winter, spring or fall, despite the unending summer of southern California.

So there were a lot of reasons for me to say, “You haven’t changed.”

And then I said to Bob whom I have known for almost 40 years “If I say to you you haven’t changed, you would probably look at me and knowing what you looked like then, retort, “you mean I looked this bad 40 years ago? I’ve been like this for that long! Shoot me!’ “ We had a good laugh about that.

The qualities that are changeless in an individual are difficult to describe. I have noticed that beauty is more than appearances. To know and appreciate a person requires that you go deep to find the true changelessness.

My Picture

That's me with the pirate uniform on, at age two in the backyard of our house in Troy. Really cute. Some aspects of personality never change. My older brother is in the background. My younger sister is probably in the house, or nearby, because my mother is wielding the camera. The picture was taken with a fold out camera from the 1930s that accompanied my mother wherever she and we went in our early years together. It used 620 film, 8 photos to a rolls. It was dropped off at a local drug store and returned a week or so later, developed with negatives impossible to decipher.

The brick facade of our house was always in need of repair. Dad often pointed it up using his limited masonry skills, but I realize this wasn't his work. We still lived on the first floor, and rented from someone who probably did the patch job.

A Real Valentine or the Grinch who stole Valentines Day

A real valentine brings people together, especially lovers, on a level, honest playing field.

That being said, there has been a  bombardment of ads and features on TV, stores, newspapers, and the www, all purporting to know the perfect gift for your loved one, and they just happen to have it available. One perfect gift featured on a local program was a diamond studded bracelet for only $1000.  If you don’t give this to your loved one (usually a woman- wife, fiancee, girlfriend or lover), poof! goes the love. If she isn’t worth that much, then there is this beautiful watch with interchangeable bands for only $500; and if that is still to pricey for the one you love, get a Pandora bracelet for about $30, and the charms begin at $25 each. Of course if you do this, then you have an inexpensive gift available for next year provided you have the same lover next year. Of course the jewelry people tell you that nobody likes flowers anymore, and the florists have the perfect bouquet for about fifty bucks (forty if you go to the firehouse in Guilderland.)

At any rate, it appears to me that most of the ads pitch things that the man gives his woman so she will continue to love him, as if love can be bought. If it is so, and all this buying is necessary to maintain love, then Valentines day is not for lovers, but an opportunity to buy superficial affection, as if any woman would be fooled by such nonsense. Valentines day could be very, very divisive if the right gift is not given at the right price. Did I just hear the flapping of the cupid’s wings go out the door? That darn Grinch.

Personally, I am a firm believer in courtly love which has high expectations of lovers, especially in the areas of fidelity, longevity, for better or worse, etc. For me and my love, every day of our married life is Valentines day. Fortunately, we agreed on that early in our marriage. So where is the romance? Where is the love? If the world is really celebrating love on Valentines day, we will celebrate, and we do. We do not have outlandish expectations like we may have at Christmas. Rather, we have dinner together, something special in house, light some candles, music and enjoy the love we have. Some times, we will go out to dinner. We have a drink to our love, have a nice entrée, and a decadent dessert.  We are both happy, satisfied and have been deeply in love for over 40years. No avarice, no guessing, no stress. Viva l’amore.

CNN, You Tube and Crazy People

Saturday morning CNN seems like an effort on that network’s part to fill time with stories that are slightly above, no, similar to cartoons… except the cartoons were usually funny. Today we were treated to a sight downloaded from You Tube, ( a really reliable source for everything nutty going on in the lives of people who are trying to create a life for themselves), the sight of a young man firing a revolver at a laptop, not once but seven or so times. He did this despicable deed to teach his daughter a lesson, “She should not disrespect her mother on Facebook.” It shows the man sitting cooly in a chair, then the laptop on the ground, and then the steel revolver. He fires once, into the heart of the laptop, and another, and another, then one for the mother who was disrespected, and then a few more just to show that he emptied his clip on that worthless, evil, disrespectful machine. And the daughter was to pay for a new laptop, and the bullets. All this to teach her a lesson about respect.

I think one lesson she learned was that her father was crazy, and in so far as the mother thought what the father was doing was okay, probably the mother was crazy too. I think the world who saw this spectacle thought the same. And I wonder about CNN (and they are not alone) who brings this stuff to the foreground, and they say it went viral. Does it go viral before CNN and the other cable news stations put it out, or after it has been played dozens of times on the networks? They do this with political stories: Romney not caring about the poor, the $10,000 bet. There was a hate crime attack on the young man in Atlanta, and there is concern that such crime may be emulated by a series of one-up-manship type episodes from gangs around the country (world) all for You Tube and the cable news.

The commentary on this type of video is always done with a wink, like this is strange, but so what. It takes all types. If they are determined to bring these “cartoons” to the screen, into living rooms and breakfast nooks across the world, why not make a legitimate point about the idiot who is firing the gun -like- “Whatever happened to reasonable conversation among family members?” or “Talk to your kids.”  or even “Seek counseling before you go off the deep end.”

Most of all, don’t put a link to it on your website. People do not need that kind of encouragement.

Unknown- St. Blaise, who?

3 February

In the middle of all the hubbub of the holidays, Christmas, New Years, MLK, Groundhog Day, we have forgotten to pause for one of the great saints, a bishop who is venerated as St. Blaise. Perhaps that should be spelled Blaze, because the practice of throat blessings with crossed candles originated with him, sort of. Supposedly, he saved a boy, who was choking on a fishbone, probably with an old fashioned Heimlich maneuver. I don’t think crossed candles would have been effective. At any rate, this cave dwelling bishop from Armenia had been arrested for being a Christian, would not recant, and embarked on a career of healing and praying in prison. The persecutors tried to drown him, but they drowned instead, and finally he was done in by being beaten and torn with wool combs. I am not making this up… someone else did a long time ago. He has a long list of patronages: against coughs, goiter, whooping cough, and any other diseases of the throat. He also is the patron saint of wool combers and weavers… go figure. Just for perspective, he died about the same time as St. Patrick was born in the early 300s.

So the celebration of the feast of St. Blaise (or Blaze as I would imagine it spelled correctly) was important in our upbringing. On February 3rd, we paraded to church ready for a miracle or protection. Our sore throat was about to be cured, or we had health care from sore throats for another year. The priest came by each person who was kneeling at the altar rail, and said something in the universal tongue of Latin as he held the crossed candles at our throats. There was immediate relief, sort of like a tickle, and we would actually feel better after the ceremony.(If that didn’t work, we would be able to have a do over with a glass of Easter water in the spring.) With all that we swallowed, I guess we were pretty well protected.  Thank Blaise for that!

I wonder how come there are no hymns to Blaise like there are to Patrick. His throat idea seems far more reasonable than the lucky shamrock of Patrick. Probably because he lived, thrived and died in Armenia instead of Ireland, and despite his great work, dedication to prayer and steadfastness of faith, he remains virtually unknown. So let’s give a shout out to St. Blaise, and all the other unknowns who today live quiet, dedicated, and thoughtful lives. Some of them are true miracle workers.

Ordinary man- Joe Estabrook, Bishop

Joe Estabrook and I had worked together at St. Vincent's in Albany for a few years. On rare occasions, our vacation times overlapped in the summer. One year, we decided a camping trip to Canada would be good, so with borrowed tents and sleeping bags, we set out for the North. We arrived somewhere north of Montreal, near nowhere in particular. Joe thought a good way to see the country was to go horseback riding, Until then, my experience with horses was on TV and merry-go-rounds, but Joe insisted...give it a try.  The horse managers assured me that my horse was not too spirited, and it was safe, and the horse was not spirited at all. The horse brought up the rear of the party of four and had to be coaxed and kicked the whole way. He was actually more reluctant on the journey than I was. Joe got a spirited horse, and he handled the beast well, until something stung the horse in the back area. The horse laid down in the middle of the trail to scratch its back, send Joe scurrying off, nimbly to safety. After the horse was becalmed, Joe mounted his steed and the journey continued. The horseman showed us a good place to camp in the back country. After the ride, we returned there, set up camp and decided to have a party with the horseman. We bought steaks, potatoes, corn, dessert, and beer. It went well, lots of stories, well into the night. The next morning we broke camp, but had  a bag full of garbage to dispose of. Amazingly, we drove about 20 miles, and could not find a refuse container anywhere, not even at a gas station. we picked up some kids who were hitchhiking, and who spoke only French. Where can we put the garbage I asked. They looked at us, dumb. I used all my French ability. I shouted "Gar-bage'!" and Joe was laughing, barely able to keep the car on the road. I then used the word "refuse" and Joe reached back and opened the bag to show them the trash. The boys had us drive a little further, drop them off, and pointed to a place down the road where we could dispose of our precious cargo. It worked. All in all, it was a good vacation. Adventurous, and fun, thanks to Joe's common man attitude and sense of adventure.
I have known a number of bishops in my life, each of whom had his own particular style. Probably all of them came into their bishopric because they were in the right place at the right time, having played some kind of game to get where they got. It was for the most part an old boys' network, extending as far as the Vatican, and with reaches into the various seminaries the future bishops attended. Special attention was paid to those men ordained from North American College in Rome or Catholic University of America. There were exceptional men who had attended Mt. St. Mary’s in Emmitsburg, Md. or St. Bonaventure's in Olean, NY. 
Bishop Joseph Estabrook was one person who became a bishop who  was a good friend of mine. He was a little younger, and died a few days ago after a bout with pancreatic cancer. He was a bishop in the US Navy, having served as a chaplain in that branch for almost 40 years, and as a bishop for maybe the last 6 or 7 years of that service.
I never met anyone whom he ministered to, nor have I met any of the chaplains who have served under him while he was bishop. Actually, I only spoke with him a few times during the past year, all since he was afflicted with cancer. He was very optimistic about his chance of surviving for a long while. He said he had the rare form of pancreatic cancer that plagued Steve Jobs, and the chances of living longer were better with that. He went through some rounds of chemo, always with hope, to live another day in service to God and country. He was stunned by the cost of chemotherapy. “How can anybody afford it?” He  did okay under the circumstances, but succumbed to the cancer, probably as he would say, according to God’s plan.
The great thing about Joe: he was ordinary. He went to St. Bonaventure’s in the seminary. He worked with me at St. Vincent’s in Albany where he loved the people, and made an impression on the young people there. He also did pre-Cana work, and fostered the program in the Albany area so that married couples, not just celibate priests, actually assisted in the preparation of young couples for the married life. And many of the couples who participated in the program became his friends. I have heard that he used this same effective humble style as he supported the spiritual needs of military men, women and families in his service. For this work, he was made a Bishop, probably breaking the circle of the old boys' network.
I know he enjoyed smoking a pipe, driving a camaro, and nice clothes. He enjoyed talking with people, and always looked for a different angle in situations. “I wonder!” “What if…”
An ordinary man, exceptional in his ordinariness, and he didn’t need a title, but he became a Bishop. Wow!

Winter wonder… I Wonder!

In October of 2011, AccuWeather predicted a snowy period here in the Northeast beginning in December and lasting through January. Say what! Probably that is the prediction every year, and we get what we get. AccuWeather was probably correct for the winter of 2010-11. I wonder how they can go so wrong as it seems to be this year. Nevertheless, I will forgive AccuWeather. There are so many time that they have been right on, especially in the short term forecast.
There have been other mild winters that stick in my memory. 1979-80 was mild, I think. I remember it because I had back surgery in December of ‘79. There was a little snow before Christmas. Phyllis, Dan and Meg went out to cut the Christmas tree while I lay on my back recuperating. It was a great tree, and Dan showed his stuff at age 6 as he severed the tree just above the ground with a little pruning saw. And after Christmas, winter seemed to stop. My therapy for the back surgery began with walks along the roads. The first walk was about a half mile, which exhausted me. I collapsed on a neighbors sofa, and summoned Phyllis to drive me back. Eventually, I worked my way up to 3 miles a day- the therapeutic target, and kept that up until April. No snow. Great walking. Lost 20 pounds. Recovered.
Another mild winter, or possibly just snow free was the winter of 1987-88. We had 22 inches of snow on October4. School was closed for a week because of downed power lines in many areas of the district. Dan had a beat up snowmobile then. He took a lot of pride in it, but it needed lots of work. He tinkered with it the first day off, got it running. It was fun as he raced south through the fields and trees, and past the school house and church, and somewhere down there, it coughed, sputtered and died. We brought it home in our station wagon. Dan enjoyed fixing that the rest of the week; took it for a few spins around. And that was it for meaningful, measurable snow that winter.

There were several more winters without the snow, and when I questioned the value of snowmobiles before a dealer one day, he said “You have to go to Old Forge; there’s plenty of snow there, and trails.” We didn’t go to Old Forge. Dan waited, and tinkered with that snowmobile almost forever. He also invented an ice-cycle during those years with ice skates instead of a front wheel and a studded tire on the rear. Talk about winter wonder! He continues to spark wonder in me as he appeared last winter with his snow varmint, a power driven machine with a chain driven studded drum in the rear. He likes doing things like that.

The sophisticated Snow Varmint

I also remember a relatively snow free, mild winter in 2001-02. There was about 2 feet of snow on Christmas day, and maybe another storm in January, but it was relatively mild. That year Phyllis and I made many trips to Albany to deal with health issues. I parked the car in the driveway and rarely had to clean it off. I wore a light Old Navy jacket most of the time, rarely resorting to my standard winter coat. It was a good winter, and we resolved  a lot of the health issues for several years without the stress of dangerous winter driving.
I love winter. It is a wonderland here with or without snow. And it helps my spirit when it is not too cold.