differentpath

Expression Increase

2011-09-24T11:38:00.000-07:00

My extended family is coming up on the 1 year anniversary of a dear one's death...she was a wonderful woman who expressed herself through the published word in a weekly column in her hometown newspaper. Back then she used paper, liquid correction fluid and shoe leather to get her pieces to press on time. One of the reasons I began seriously blogging and writing/publishing songs this year was to take over that role in our family. So please follow my blog from time to time (http://www.differentpath.blogspot.com/) and I will continue to do my part to keep the long history of writing going in our family. If you get a chance, post a comment or maybe an idea? My following is growing which is exciting. In the future I will be posting a new feature: songs. We miss you, Pat. You will live forever in your published pieces.

Crinkly Puppy

2011-08-26T10:32:00.000-07:00

Today on my normal walking route, I passed the yard with the electric fence which normally contains three wrinkly, chubby big SharPei dogs. They usually snort at me as I pass, and I am usually afraid of them despite the fact that there's an electric invisible fence around the yard. But I am afraid of them because there are three of them and only one of me.

The Three were not visible, so I kept walking, relieved, yet thinking "happy thoughts" (as Emily tells me to do) just in case The Three should appear.

As I walked past the property, I heard a distinctively SharPei-snort behind me so I braced for an ankle bite. (I have been bitten by a dog on this street before, a little yappy Shitzu which I could have easily soccer kicked to the sky, but now I'm fearful..."happy thoughts, Mom...") Instead I felt a warm tongue repeatedly licking my legs! I looked down and saw an adorable SharPei puppy, collarless, all crinkly and wrinkly and loving and adoring. She kept jumping up, begging me to pick her up and cuddle her, but I was afraid that a big Mommy dog would appear out of nowhere and accuse me of dognapping--and bite me.

Crinkly kept jumping and licking and snorting; my legs were getting wet and gooey. She kinda smelled poopy, but I didn't care. I yelled, "Is someone missing a dog? Hello, I have your puppy..." The street was quiet, void of anyone in their yards. I walked to a nearby house whose owner I knew and rang the doorbell. Crinkly followed me. (I loved that.) No answer at the door, so I walked back to what I think is Crinkly's house, and whoa, a big brown Momma Crinkly is now staring at me from behind the invisible fence, but I hear the owner calling "Lily, Lily." Thank goodness, Crinkly's owner is looking for her. But gee whiz, I don't get to take her home...

Turns out, the Big Three are down to Big One. The other two died of liver disease in the Spring (must have been drinkers.) So Big One needed a crinkly little sister, her Lily, says the owner.

Now I have a new friend. Hope she watches her alcohol intake. Thank God for wrinkly, pinkly, crinkly, wondrous woozles.

Lighten up

2011-08-26T09:28:00.000-07:00

I have to give a talk to my colleagues in a week, and I have to admit it is a little unnerving to address this particular group because I don't like all of them. I don't work with them on a daily basis, so honestly, I don't really know them. Of course, in Christian love I "love" all of them, but from what I have learned of them over the years, some of these people are not my type. Oh, some are kind and sweet, but some are pretentious and two faced and behave like cliquish high schoolers. So I'm looking at this talk as being similar to attending a family wedding. In my family, some of my relatives are great and we never seem to spend enough time together. When we do see each other, we make promises to finally meet for dinner, have a girls' night out or take a trip together--well meant, sincere goals that never materialize.

Then there are those relatives I dislike, but with whom I try to engage in good conversation. Well, dislike is such a strong word...maybe I should say "with whom I have nothing in common." These people don't have much upstairs, poor things, or they are just downright mean. For example, after Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans, one of my aunts criticized relief aid saying that the people in New Orleans deserved to be drowned because they were sinners who bared their breasts at Mardi Gras. Another cousin of mine has to always pick fights at get-togethers (I believe he has a head injury, so I cut him some slack) usually about how Christians have to carry guns and how poor people just don't work hard enough. So when I try to engage in conversation with these relatives, I do it with a very low level of expectation.

I'm going into this presentation next week with a similarly low level of expectation. I have been a member of this particular group since I was a young girl-- so that's over 30 years. This is the first time I have been asked to do anything of importance in front of the group. I have not always enjoyed my membership, primarily because it is generally male-ruled for reasons I won't get into. (In my field women are important but cannot hold the highest positions.) I'm still in this group for the sake of my daughter, who, unlike her mother, she is generally unruffled by male dominance and pretty much just laughs at their antics. Example: I attended one of the luncheon meetings of this organization six months ago, and was denied a seat at the head end of the table because it was being saved by one male for another male who had not yet arrived. Stunned, I acquiesced and took a seat at the far end. This guy literally put me in my place. My daughter would have perhaps smiled at this gentleman and said "too bad" and sat there anyway.

I am positioned in my current job to teach some of these colleagues some cool stuff, and present a viewpoint which is new, practical and hopefully helpful. I will pray that their hearts will be softened and not be too quick to judge just because I am a woman, and an older one at that. When I look out at them, I will just pretend they are kooky aunts or head injured uncles and not take my presentation -- or any of them-- too seriously. They probably won't take me too seriously anyway. Anyway, it's summertime: time to lighten up.

At the end of the day

2011-08-18T06:27:00.000-07:00

After visiting our good friend Bill (age 105) the other day, my daughter Emily succinctly summarized the visit like this: "At the end of your day, at the end of your life, it's all about love." Bill had such a nice life, albeit difficult in spots, and he even had two women in succession who loved and took care of him, first his wife, then later in life, a good friend. ("They treated me like I was a Prince!")
In the news today: Sadly a 91 year old socialite in D.C. was murdered by her abusive 47 year old husband; an American woman is still missing in Aruba and her male companion is the suspect because he's the beneficiary of her recently issued $1million life insurance policy; 5 people were gunned down in Pittsburgh in the last 2 weeks, with a 14 year old boy on the run for shooting an 18 year old in a drug deal gone bad, over $25 in marijuana. It is astonishing to hear these dramatic tales of evil. Wow. Is it possible that some families first of all are lacking love, i.e., don't know what it is, or are seduced by other things? How does that happen? Second, why is evil so glamorized and drilled into us in the news? It makes it difficult to keep a proper perspective some mornings. I know that not every person has evil designs on their neighbor, but it sure seems that way when you read the paper.

I am praying today that we all start to cultivate the thing that matters most--love-- as much as we tend our lawns and stock portfolios. And that we learn to correctly define it. I don't mean "I love you because you have money and a nice car and social status." I mean I love you, like Christ loves you. That I would walk through fire, literally, for you. In Pittsburgh we saw this last Friday in the flooding on Allegheny River Blvd. My favorite love story was the 20 year old girl who fought the raging, muddy water to save an elderly woman! Fantastic story! I believe God allows bad things to happen "down here" so we are regularly forced to rethink and redefine what should be important to us. Through good times, and bad times, we are given opportunities to say "I love you." (My cynical side, however, says 'Next time you drive through Homewood when gunfire is erupting, you will have an opportunity to yell "I love you" out the window. See where that gets you.' Sigh. Imperfect human world.)

Today I am also praying for some North Carolina retail business owners who are staying with their stores to ride out Hurricane Irene. On the news, they stated basically "I'm not leaving; somebody has to stay and watch my stuff." That just doesn't make sense to me. At the end of the day, their stuff is going to float away.

GSD (Generational Stress Difference)

2011-04-29T12:06:00.000-07:00

I get this a lot from my 20-something daughters: I text my daughter that there are radio reports of congested traffic and full parking garages downtown because of an NRA convention. I text this, not to pass the time of day, but because this particular daughter lives and works downtown. Or I hear on CNN that there are riots throughout Syria and a terrorist bomb went off in a cafe in Morocco, and mention this to my other "study abroad" daughter, in case she plans to travel to Morocco this weekend. So here's their response "Oh Mom, stop stressing." I reply, "I am not stressing, I am informing."They define "information" as "stress," which I find, quite frankly maddening (and stressful.) So I am wondering today, is this difference in definition a generational thing?

Today I woke up at 5:45 a.m. to enjoy watching coverage of the Royal Wedding of Catherine and William. I really enjoyed it, and it was very informative. I learned about social customs, millinery design, and boys' choirs. But now it's afternoon and I'm wondering what a 20-something royal couple stresses about? Today, obviously, it was stressful for Kate to remember the lyrics to "God Save the Queen," or how to get in and out of those cars and carriage without getting the gown dirty. Of course, when the royal couple gets older, William's stresses may include serious topics, like health worries, world problems, or war.

Here's stress for my 20-something daughters: iphone not working properly; mac laptop warranty voided because one too many beverages have spilled on keyboard; no parking place in the South Side; boyfriend didn't text back quickly enough; out of money and there is still a week 'til payday. And thank goodness these are their stresses right now! I want their lives to run smoothly and peacefully, and contrary to their opinion of me, I do not go looking for things to stress about. Moms just juggle so much at any given moment that if we can avoid a problem, we do. Information can sometimes help us avoid problems.

In my wildest imaginings, I never dreamed my children would all have cellphones and I would be paying the majority of their monthly bill. My goal was to stay connected with them. When the kids were little I actually had conversations with them that lasted more than 30 seconds per topic. Now we have cellphones that supposedly keep us connected (and ironically I remember that computerized electronics used to be used for information gathering...) But i have to admit, despite these devices, and mind you, one of the kids has data accessibility so she can actually go on the internet anywhere or anytime, they have scant desire to stay connected with me or the world. So actually, I am at fault here because I know better. I have helped my children buy into the myth that electronic devices connect you, when the reailty is, you will only "connect" with others if that is your desire.

When I was a child, it was actually a privilege to get a phone call from someone. My mother taught me to say "Thanks for calling" and she still does that with me. At 6:30 each evening my Gramma telephoned our house and signalled us with two rings. My mom then called her back (it was a toll call for her to phone us.) Now we get so many calls, it feels intrusive, and since we have caller I.D. we can ignore people. Wow have times changed.

I confess, I am guilty of avoiding dialing the telephone, so I have fallen out of touch with those who are not on facebook or in my email address book. (Connectivity is a two way street, however, and so I am thinking that it is possible that they don't want to stay in touch with me, either!)

No wonder newspapers are failing and so much of what we hear from news sources is unfounded, opinionated drivel. The world currently doesn't always give a snip about real information, especially if it takes too long to explain. Once again, I admit fault in my own realm: too many movies in our household, too much fiction, not enough reality (well of course there is plenty of reality TV, but that is another post.) I have to work harder to teach my children to discern what is important information for their lives, and to separate the meat from the bone. That's quite the charge--now I'm feeling stressed.

Worth My Time

2011-03-07T05:30:00.000-08:00

This morning I am reconsidering what is worth my time. Part of my goal with this blog is to go in a different direction, now that I am growing older. Time is so valuable. Consider Super Bowl spots or legal service hourly rates. Time is saleable, time is precious. Time flies, but while it's flying by, we have to grab it and hold it and nurture it and squeeze everything we can out of it. Marketers know it. I know it and I'm doing something to show it.

For six straight years, my dear husband had three days a week stolen from him while on dialysis treatments.
That's the way I looked at it, anyway. He saw it more positively-- he's such a courageous non-whiner, he was in pain yet felt fortunate that there was a treatment to keep him alive, when others have no hope with their ailments or diseases. (He wanted out of it however.) My feeling was that we were losing time in our marriage, and we did. Now we have a chance to, in a way, "reclaim" some of that time, and we are. I'm thinking those years were like a compost pile, lots of organic matter piling up and essentially cooking for years, being turned and ripened. When it's finally ready for planting, some of the best harvest will surely come. (not exactly a clean analogy, but hey it's Spring and I'm ready to plant.) "The best is yet to come..." as the song goes.

My mind wanders to past boyfriends on whom I spent hours writing journal entries, musing about what my life would be like when I married him, waiting patiently by the telephone (back then the phone was screwed onto the wall with a cord) but those phone calls never came. These boys simply had better things to do and did not think about me as much as I did about them. I regret I wasted a lot of time on these losers, a fact I cringe about now. When my true love did come along, things moved forward, he called me, he wanted to be with me, he cared about me and my happiness more than anything else in the world, and nothing or no one was going to stop him from being with me. He was brave and fearless and did not waste time asking anyone else's opinion or permission. His heart told him what to do, and he did it. I still get chills when I think about those days. My love was returned; he concretely and totally was mine. He was simply The One. That relationship was definitely a good return on my investment of time, if love can be summed up in business terms.

This week I have been pressured into rewriting some songs to help someone with whom I probably will never work again; I know I will never use those songs in those keys again, but I have to do the chore. I am prepared to essentially flush about 4 hours of my time down the camode. My time is not as highly valued by this person as national television commercials or even the billable hours in a dermatologist's day. But to my spouse and my family and friends, to the people with whom I have forged and tended relationships, my time is priceless. There are many people, non-events and gadgets trying to steal your time every day. This week, be choosy. Be selective. Don't give in to wasting a precious minute.

Hard Copy Girl in a Virtual World

2011-02-09T08:52:00.000-08:00

Today it is sunny and (not warm) 5 degrees here. I am not pleased, but I happily have warmth of our little home, plenty of food to eat, good family and friends, some new babies to visit this Friday with my Mother, and hey, I still have my Mother, which is an exceptional blessing at my age--not to mention fun.

Today I'm blogging for the first time in a month and this is a self-imposed work assignment, following a very important meeting I conducted last evening. Throughout January, in between snow storms, I was putting the finishing touches on lyrics to a church song, which is now finished and printed. People seem to be enjoying singing it at church, which makes me happy. Just what I wanted to accomplish. Writing is a good thing. I am uniquely positioned in my job to communicate with thousands of people through my song. Wow.

Today I am considering that communication word. I majored in journalism and public relations in college, and minored in music. I always felt that the combination of those two things were perfect and correct for me, even though through the years I have taken some heat for not doing it the other way around (music primarily, public relations secondarily.) When I am faithful and try to follow the right path, the better path, that lay ahead, I feel calm and sure that God is numbering my footsteps, even if that path is hard. That was how I felt about my college education--it was right. I use everything I learned. I feel I am uniquely positioned in my particular job; God has put me on this path-- albeit different than I envisioned--to use my skills to help the Catholic Church through words and song.

The song part I have down, always have. It's the "word" (and "The Word") part that is challenging to me.

We are about to undergo a huge transition in the Catholic Church in the words used in our Sunday Mass. When I gaze at that sentence, it seems contradictory to read "huge transition" and "in the words." Some of my non-Catholic friends will read this and say, "Big D, a change of words. Who cares?" But we are Catholics and have things memorized; we have learned everything by rote from the time we were tiny. I personally find memorized words, music, etc., very comforting and very freeing.

Maybe you have had the same experience. Ever have to memorize a poem or Shakespeare passage in school and then recite it aloud to the class? It's cool because years later you'll still remember it. Catholics can be spontaneous, but for the most part we find freedom in reciting the same things over and over again. Sometimes it's mumbly, yes, but I like to mumble sometimes and let others carry the ball. It's like a warm blanket of community when this happens; it's low pitched, yet I feel it is fervent. I like it. I don't judge that mumblers aren't properly worshiping because they don't proclaim the Creed loudly. I try not to judge what is in peoples' hearts. Humans don't openly express their feelings 100 percent of the time.

So, changing the words used at Mass will be unsettling to some people, no denying that. And I personally don't want to lose membership over something so basic. That would be a mortal sin. It is going to be more difficult than Vatican II acceptance, in my opinion, because of the timing of these changes on the world stage and given the ongoing scandal. I am accepting, however, that God's timing is perfect, so it is time to get to work. Good P.R. gets out in front of a situation and talks about it openly and freely, not in a reactionary way. So we need good P.R. at this point in the church. We call that "catechesis," which to me means "teachable moment."

However, here's what is unsettling to me: I feel at my age like I am always trying to keep up. It is rumored that soon I will not be able to hold an actual book or newspaper to read it, let alone linger over stacks of clipped grocery coupons and tuck them in my wallet to use later. Everything will be magically stored on a card or chip in my "virtual wallet" or stored on my computer or ipad or mobile device. Perhaps in the future some sort of coupon chip will just be implanted in my brain and I will hold my head against a cash register's scanner and the coupon will be accepted, who knows? Or perhaps I will just look at someone and he/she will automatically KNOW I receive 50 cents off that box of Tide (I kinda like that idea actually.) So how many other Catholics will feel overwhelmed and express: "Hey we have enough to keep up with in this world! Why are you forcing us to think and change what we say at Mass? Isn't it enough that Weight Watchers just changed the way they make me calculate the points in my granola bar, for Pete's sake?!"

(Maybe some of our kids are already looking for an app on their i-phones for the changes in the Roman Missal. Question: when my children pass away, will they only have a mobile device laying there, waiting to be mined by their children to see what Mom or Dad was doing, or reading or talking with toward the end? No books, no get well cards, no antique faded love letters?)

This is a challenging age for me to live in, and I bet many of my age group feel the same way. I am a hard copy girl living in a virtual world and I don't like it at all, and I am always breathless, trying to keep up. Take this blog, for instance. It has the appearance of concreteness, of authenticity, and if I wanted, I could save it to my computer's hard drive or external hard drive, then print off a copy and scotch tape it to my kitchen wall. Then I could be reminded when I get my morning coffee, that I wrote a blog entry about communication and I can proudly look at that hard copy through my blurred, pre-coffee vision. But my blog is a viritual creation, living like a speck of dust in the blogosphere, just waiting to be attracted by someone's internet connection, sort of like those television commercials for Swiffer where Grime and Dirt are women waiting to be picked up (love those!)

Back to the Catholic Church: so we're changing the words not the meaning. How do we communicate that seemingly simple concept to millions of Catholics worldwide. This is not a "read the bulletin" or "announce it from the pulpit" system anymore. We could just use old fashioned ways like billboards, busboards, posters, radio and tv commercials, direct mail, and the all important "word of mouth." That would reach maybe 5 percent of the people we need to reach and teach. Instead we must first pray, then go primarily digital--the medium that gets bigger and bigger every day, with which we all probably find difficult to keep pace. The web connects people, and we have to use it or we will lose them.

Suprisingly, I am buoyed by the Holy See. Have you checked out the Vatican's Web Site? Pope Benedict XVI is onto this topic. I am quite impressed with his website and the fact that the Catholic Church celebrates International Communications Day on June 5, 2011 (evidently it is our 45th annual one.) Here's the link (instruction: highlight, copy and paste then click! http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/benedict_xvi/messages/communications/documents/hf_ben-xvi_mes_20110124_45th-world-communications-day_en.html
I am speechless that our seemingly geriatric Pope is onto this. There is hope yet. He speaks right to the heart of the problem: how to communicate in a genuine, not solely virtual manner with those who need to hear the Gospel and see it proclaimed for real, in action. Asking, in essence, WWJD?

Now we just need to get off our duffs in our home parishes and work on doing what we have been charged to do: communicating the upcoming changes in the Roman Missal in a thoughtful, dynamic, effective way, and tell our congregations that we as Catholics are changing the words, not the meaning. St. Francis De Sales, pray for us. I feel a song coming on...

This time, become a follower instead of a leader!

2011-01-07T13:24:00.000-08:00

Today I'm talking briefly about following blogs. I know most of us are really busy and can't be bothered to "become" a follower of my blog, but it is a nice option if you are willing to do so. I personally easily forget to check on things online. For example, I have a lot of friends on Facebook, but unless they send me a little message once in a while, I forget to look at their pages. Also, my friend Nancy, author of "gimmeshelterdogs" is a wonderful writer and I like that I'm a regular follower of her dog tales. It's fun and informative. You have to admit, reading my blog is fun, right? Hmmmm...maybe not always. I'm working on it.

So if you have a favorite blog or two (hopefully "differentpath" by "pretty550" on blogspot.com,) and you want to keep up with posts, you can do that. Also if you have a favorite blog and want to let the author, (and other readers) know that you're a fan, now you can do that, too! We writers are sensitive artists, so it is nice once in a while to see that we actually have readers. (I currently only have two, one of which is a friend and one is a family member. Get with the program, friends and family!)

You can follow a blog publicly or privately, too. Here's a little how-to explanation (and thanks for your support!)--CP

Select how you'd like to follow the blog, then click the "Follow this blog" button (actually it is a blue word at the top left of the page...). It is that simple, you are now a follower of the blog! If you elected to follow the blog publicly, your profile picture will be displayed on the blog with a link to your Blogger profile (Note: The widget may not show all followers of the blog. If this is the case all followers will be linked from the widget). When you become a follower of a blog, the blog will also be added to your Reading List on your Blogger dashboard and this site will also show on your FriendConnect profile for all the sites you've joined using Friend Connect. Additionally, you can become a follower of any blog or URL (even if the blog doesn't have the Followers widget) by adding the blog to your Reading List on the dashboard.

Lunar Eclipse, Winter Solstice

2010-12-21T06:15:00.000-08:00

Today is the first day of winter, more formally dubbed The Winter Solstice ( in the Northern Hemisphere, anyway.) Winter arrives at 11:38 pm. This year's Winter Solstice is an unusually big day because during the wee hours of the morning there was a lunar eclipse which has not coincided with the coming of the winter solstice since the year 1638. Evidently in this part of the city we actually could see the progression of the eclipse last night, because the clouds broke long enough to view it. I like all these moon happenings, but I could not stay up until 2:30 a.m. However, I am starting this day with a blog post because I respect what a big day it is, and the "number thing" is kind of neat: that we have not had the lunar eclipse/winter solstice coincidence in 372 years. That's a big number. It is a special moment.

And it is a happy day. I am thinking of my friend Bethann who loves this day because now the days are getting longer. It is her favorite day of the year. I remember when Joey was a little boy, he especially liked the gentle Maurice Sendak cartoon called "Little Bear," which was on Nickelodeon. It was Little Bear's family's favorite day, too, when they would feed the wildlife and eat cookies.

In our family on this first day of winter, I will feed my wildlife with crock pot veggie stew and Christmas cookies (I'd better get busy.). Also in our family, ironically we are already thinking about summer vacation, when we enjoy lots of daylight with even more important stuff to accomplish. Winter is a sleepy time (well, at least for adults.) The sun sets so early and it feels like we should go to sleep and rest up, well, for Summer Solstice.

My happiest Summer Solstices occured when we would be at Yerkey’s Cabins on Lake Chautauqua. Our vacation week normally included that June 21 date. We vacationed with our two other families with children of similar ages. During that week, our children would wear themselves out, enjoying running, playing, roasting marshmallows, and casting their fishing lines into the water late into the evening from the end of the dock. There was barely enough light to bait their hooks, but they could still see their bobbers atop the water which was lit pink from the reflected light of the set sun. The Miller Clock Tower would ring the three-quarter hour tones, which meant it was 9:45 pm! When our children were little, this prolonged daylight made it feel very exciting because normally they were not allowed to stay up so late. It was hard to say goodnight to another day; every minute was special. There were only seven vacation nights a year.

I remember waiting for Joe and Jim to come back from an evening fishing trip, watching for their boat to appear as a small silhouette against a dark peach sky. Even today I can hear the children's little excited exclamations: "There's Daddy! Here he comes! I see him and cousin Jim! Did they catch a walleye?"

Once the men tied their boat off and lugged in their equipment, we would all don sweaters and hoodies and sit around the fire a little longer, listening to their fishing tales. Then the littlest child's yawns grew louder, and we knew it was time to find our way back to the cabin in the dark; when we got there we marveled at how much we smelled like smoke from the campfire.

Back then the children in the camp would enact campfire dramas at the end of the week. This was a very important tradition because they would rehearse all week, casting the parts and blocking the movement during the day, then making paper invitations to other members of the camp to "Come to Our Play" on the Friday night of our stay. The story of the wide-mouthed frog was their favorite production. The play's finale was Tommy Avery, a friend from Michigan, jumping into the lake for dramatic effect. There was another poetic play about immigrants and forks and knives that I spottily recall, but the frog presentation was the best. It even won souvenirs and parting gifts from some of the camp's visitors, they enjoyed it so much.

The next similar total eclipses of the moon visible from Pittsburgh will occur April 15 and Oct. 8, 2014. (There is actually one Dec. 10, 2011, but we will not be able to view it because the moon will set just before the first dark portion of Earth's shadow touches the disk.)

But this morning's notable coincidence won't happen again until 2094. Most of us will be gone from the earth by then and we will be watching this from somewhere other than the Northern Hemisphere. Isn't it remarkable and wonderful that we celebrate Christ's coming within a few days of the shortest day of the year? We don't have to wait hundreds of years: Christ comes in the darkness. His light gives us hope every day.

Hankies, Anyone?

2010-12-15T06:31:00.000-08:00

I don't want to become a political blogger, so don't take this post the wrong way. I have always been hypersensitve when it comes to phonies. I don't like phony people, fake smiles, euphemisms (they don't come naturally to me) or glib, fishy handshakes. At Mass at the sign of peace, I am careful to focus on the person to whom I am wishing Christ's peace, and not looking over their shoulder to see who's next. I admit, I can be blunt at times (my family would call it something else...) Unlike Lady Gaga, I don't have a good poker face.

This week in politics, some focus is on the incoming speaker of the house, John Boehner. Whew, is he a crier. Cries about everything from snowflakes to coffee pots. That's got to be fake; not the tears themselves, but the reasons. He's probably just giddy with the thought of all that impending power. Says he can't visit schools anymore, all those kids running around make him think of how he pulled himself up from his bootstraps (?) and attained the American dream--and there he goes again, sniff-sniff.
It's actually pretty neat, in a way, that now men can cry in public, that it is acceptable and in vogue. My man always cries easily anyway, fashionable or not. It's one of the reasons I fell in love with him. The kids just roll their eyes, "There goes Dad again..." Now that it's p.c. for men to cry in public, linen handkerchief sales will skyrocket. I still buy them for my husband every Christmas, anyway. I feel it is genteel for a man to have a clean handkerchef in his suit pocket to offer, should a woman need one. That thought makes me smile (not cry.)

Here's someone who is not a faker, but I almost wish he tried to fake niceness once in a while: that Jones guy, the preacher from Florida who gets a lot of publicity because he says he is a Christian (handgun-toting pastor of a very small congregation of Pentecostals.) He's an extreme anti-Muslim "Christian," and from what I have read about him, he has never actively studied at even a community college or served in the military. He did live in Europe, sold some stuff on Ebay, and was a motel manager before he became a pastor. (Wow the things you can find out about people by googling.) He's not fake, but like Boehner, power has gone to his head.

I am sure of one thing, that if you lived back in Jesus' time, and you met Him, you could immediately tell when you shook His hand, that He was genuinely pro-love. Period. Never phony, in too much of a hurry, or doing things just for show. Jesus cried, we know that, not publicly at a sunset or at a good day's catch, but at the death of his friend Lazarus. Wonder if anyone offered him a hankie?

...Bought Rock Salt.

2010-12-13T09:30:00.000-08:00

We live in Western Pennsylvania. It is widely known that Western Pa. is cold and sometimes snowy at this time of year.

However, for the last few days, there has been what I call "overexposure" of the topics of snow and its associated cold. Just listen to the local television or radio newscasts' lead stories and you'll find out what is really important to us in this city, what really brings in ratings: weather.

If it is possibly to sensationalize weather, we do it well in Pittsburgh, with popping headlines atop blaring music beds. Here's what I've been hearing in the electronic media since 4:45 a.m.: "Don Smith, Bought Rock Salt;" "Couple Anticipating Cold, Locks Their Doors;" or how about "This Snow is Not Good Packing Snow," which was actually the lead story on our noon television news story today, along with a hands-on demonstration by the reporter. (Followed by of course a story about the Steelers' weekend win; we do have one other interest.)

I'm thinking there MAY be other more important news this morning in the 'burgh. For example, locally: gang violence, murders, high unemployment, our free library system in financial peril; internationally: two wars and a third brewing, tax reform.

Instead, like dripping water, these news editors and reporters find the path of least resistance with story assignments. Well, Christmas is less than two weeks away...and this year we actually may have a shot at a white one.

The Pleasure is all Mine

2010-12-07T06:46:00.000-08:00

It occurs to me this week, amid the frenetic pace of this Christmas shopping season, that we have to take pleasure in small things, all year long, but especially during the Christmas Season. I personally don't LOVE Christmas because it is one big to-do list from September to December. And my work responsibilities as a church musician keep me away from my family on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. In our family, we normally "celebrate" Christmas two or three days before, because Mommy will be at work.

However, I do recall an almost-perfect Christmas --which is in my mind not even totally perfect because I was away from my parents and siblings-- in 1983. That year my husband and I were newlyweds and I had a church organist job at a small Michigan church which only required of me to play a 10 pm Christmas Eve service. Afterwards, I trodded back home alone in the snow. It was cold, quiet and dark. I remember wearing a long corduroy patchwork skirt, very cuddly, with snowboots (not very elegant.) It's a dark snowy memory but a nice one for me, void of work stress and minus the 100+ gifts to buy and tag.

My husband and I did not have to go anywhere else that Christmas; we just took care of each other and found the pleasure in the night and day. At least that's how I remember it. Anyway, we are the product of the decisions we make, and I love my music career and would not change it for anything (except, well, better hours.) And now I get to the actual point of this post: The Music.

The music of Christmas is a repetitive shopping soundtrack to me, but it is very meaningful to other people. Certain songs trigger a place, a face, a smell or happy memory. My sister Linda, for example, loves to hear the "Carol of the Bells" and needs to hear that song. I personally "need" to hear "Merry Christmas, Darling" by the Carpenters at least once. For my husband, it wouldn't be Christmas without "The Christmas Song"(Chestnuts Roasting.) At work, it is my job to play important songs like "O Holy Night," "Silent Night" and "Mary Did You Know?" Churchgoers expect these tunes.

However, what goes on with career musicians is once-again that "to-do" list, that list of certain songs or measures that we must rehearse over and over again. That is part of perfecting one's craft. Rehearse til you get it right; rehearse sometimes until you hate the piece. It's exhausting, and that's okay. It's no different for bakers, chefs, florists or UPS drivers. Do it until Christmas is "done," ho ho ho.

What is happening to my daughter right now, who is a music major in her senior year, is a similar story. She holds down a full time church music job and rehearses a lot for her work. She is very good at her job and enjoys it. However, ironically, music school sometimes beats the joy out of music for her.

She is spending a lot of her time this week practicing scales, two weeks before Christmas. She feels kind of beaten down by that technical aspect of her craft. Scales and required pieces are not exactly joyful music at this time of year, but it is my daughter's job to play the stuff that perhaps she hates, but that others "need" to hear, even if her audience is a a crabby old Scrooge of a professor. As I hope to play certain songs well enough to please my audience on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, she hopes to play scales well enough this week just to pass Piano Class.

I read an editorial in the Wall Street Journal the other day about Bob Dylan, folk rock legend, querying the reader about when he should retire, since his voice sounds lately like Cookie Monster (was it ever a good voice? Distinctive, but not pretty.)

My answer to that is, well, musicians never really retire--but we have to constantly call on our creative muses to keep the big picture in sight. You feel like quitting, but then you notice the beauty of the healing you are bringing to your listeners. Or you feel the pleasure that your music creates for others. And sometimes your music actually puts food on the table for your family, which is very pleasurable. I think Bob Dylan may quit singing someday, but he will still continue as a phenomenal musician because he keeps finding joy in its creation. Joy is the gas in his machine. Some aspects of his craft may prove tiresome--perhaps the touring, as he ages-- but he will still forge ahead.

And now to my point: I might not like the pace of this season because it is a lot of work for me, but it is not pleasure-less. Life's a mixed bag. A few years ago I charted my own unique Christmas Course--one on which I would do only certain aspects of the big season. For example, I want the Christmas Tree up uber-early (Thanksgiving) so cutting it down is out of the question. It would dry out. Some families invest entire weekends on this one activity. We go artificial. I like eating the cookies, not making them Martha-Steward perfect, so I limit myself to baking a few tried and true recipes that look decent without too much effort, yet taste super yummy. And I like producing music that people need to hear this time of year, even if it is not perfect. Art is subjective anyway, and in my line of work, the Holy Spirit gives the music its sparkle.

My hope for young people this week, as they face final exams and music playing tests, is that they find pleasure in little things and that those little things keep them sane, and relatively peaceful, amid the clanging pressures of the Christmas season. Christ came into this crazy world for a reason. The pleasure of Christmas music is one of the reasons. I believe our divine Creator knew there would be a bottomless genre of music created around the birth of His Son, beginning with the angels' songs that night. And I thank God that I am able to receive and share that gift.

Tis the Season!

2010-11-17T14:13:00.000-08:00

So I think today the Christmas Rush officially started for me. I'm starting to feel that numb, edgy feeling, foggy at the edges, get-it-done-while-I-can kinda' panic. My job just heated up--just yesterday!--and since so much of what I do is seasonal, I have to deal with not only increased workload for me, but how to manage 100+ volunteers in what is their busy season, too. I am embarrassed to say I have no different plan this year to get through it or reconstruct it--yet.
This blog is called "Different Path" so I need to sift through past Christmases and do something a little different this year. Part of my dilemma is that I secretly don't LOVE Christmas because my career choice makes me work every Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I am stuck between what I wish Christmas could be and what it always ends up becoming. My husband and kids have made their own happy Christmas customs without me, and I guess at my age, well, I would like a piece of the action.
So, look to my next few posts to see how I re-design this season. It's gonna' be good!

Timeline

2010-11-12T13:45:00.000-08:00

     Today I was involved in a very big funeral. I was the choir director and organist. (I directed one of the three choirs. Mine had home field advantage, in case you're wondering.) Lately it seems like one funeral is bigger than the last, through nobody's intentional design, at least I don't think so. Used to be when you walked into a funeral home you said hello, said a prayer, signed the book and left. The funeral home visitations today include flower shows that rival Phipps Conservatory and multi-media presentations that are quite a time commitment. The newspaper obits are quite long, too, sometimes taking two cups of coffee to read.
     Many people have special items in their caskets, which reminds me of ancient Egyptian pharaohs who used to take their live cats, living servants, food and belongings with them into their tombs. Once I saw a woman laid out in a brown monk's robe, complete with hood; I know she was not a monk, just a cloister wannabe. I heard about a local Steeler fan who died in his recliner chair while watching Sunday football, so the family transported him to the funeral home in the same position, no joke--he was laid out in that chair with a television remote in his hand. Recently I visited a funeral home's "showroom" and the first display was an assortment of pet tombstones, which I assume go hand in hand with pet burial plots beside their beloved humans.
      Used to be that we went to Aunt Irma's house after the funeral service for sandwiches and maybe a slice of cake. Today's "wakes" are turning into farewell parties, complete with fine fare (prime rib at the last one I attended,) champagne toasts and what is becoming an obligatory  powerpoint slideshow. I'm embarrassed to say, I snapped a lot of photos at my family's last funeral luncheon. We are so seldom together in one room.
     So what is all this about? Is it folderol? Or families' human attempts to do something nice for the deceased, who, by the way do not care anymore; or something to put off the inevitable emptiness that will follow?
     I'm drawing a correlation here between the wedding day ceremony/reception overkill and the actual marriage. I'm seeing a timeline, like the ones at the museum of natural history, where they show the different periods of evolution and climate change. I am reminded that we are just a blip on that big timeline, and that when it comes to eternity, our time spent on earth (and what we do with that time) is really quite brief in the grand scheme. So it follows that we should be good and follow the rules while we have the chance. In Christianity we are always living for eternal life--but if you're like me, "eternity" is such an abstract concept. It is similar in abstract quality to a wedding vow, i.e., "til death do you part," however long that is. "Forever" defies comprehension. And I must confess, I'm still trying to grasp why eternal life is a good goal. I'm tired already!
     What I'm feeling today, having watched suffering and death a lot in these last few months, is that even though we come together for "weddings and funerals," (and snap photos) maybe it's better to visit the person when they're alive, and spend time with them while they're still here (and get more photos for the powerpoint?)  I think to honor the dead we should love the living when we have the opportunity.
     Well, I gotta go. Time to visit my 104 year old friend Bill.

Do-re-mi

2010-11-11T13:26:00.000-08:00

     You know, the past year was so dramatic for this family (one Kidney Transplant, Two Deaths in the family, Three vacations--whoa!) everything pales by comparison. Kinda like that letdown feeling after you finish a run of a play, or how you feel the day after Christmas. You grab your cup of coffee the next morning and mumble to yourself, "Now what?"
     I think that is why I feel so compelled to start something new. There are not enough fire drills. I am used to fire drills.So I have decided that for the first leg of my journey down the path of difference, I must write music. Just get it down on paper in some form. One song. By next month.
      Maybe you are like this, too: I become inspired to do something, I start it, then the actual "business" is so involved and taking much longer than I anticipated, so I get tired and put it away. Raking leaves, painting the living room, cleaning the attic, making that new juicy recipe from the magazine. Each of these seem so do-able at the onset. I start the project gleefully but get overwhelmed or something else beckons, like a text from my daughter saying "Did you do this or that, Mom?" or "Can you pick me up at school?"
      Well, since I have resolved to start down my different path, and I want to blog daily, my first step is to start and finish a song. I have a dozen sets of lyrics down on paper, but no notes. Gotta get busy. I will surprise myself --and you, too--when I include an audio or video clip next month (?!) Do-re-mi.

So now what? take a different path

2010-11-10T11:11:00.000-08:00

The things that used to thrill me don't anymore, so I'm blogging to get some ideas of what path the rest of my life will take. You know, out with the old, in with the new? Self-indulgent, perhaps. In the past, journaling has helped me focus (visual learner,,,) so maybe now it will help me re-focus. Just bear with me as I get creative and learn to take a different path. And maybe my own exploration might just help someone else find their way, too.