I love ...

 I love wreaths on front doors

and soups in crockpots 

and tabletop trees

and Santas on break.

Speak to Me Sunday: Where is Baby Jesus?

“People, look east. The time is near

Of the crowning of the year.

Make your house fair as you are able,

Trim the hearth and set the table

People, look east and sing today:

Love, the guest, is on the way.”

One of my favorite Christmas carols is People Look East because it calls forth images of hearth and home and Christmas anticipation. The repeated theme of looking ahead, of seeking and preparing, is an integral part of an Italian presepio, or nativity scene, and having just returned from a trip to Italy the song immediately transports me back to Naples when we explored Via San Gregorio Armeno, known as the Christmas Alley. 

This pedestrian street in Naples' historic center is filled with artisan workshops and hundreds of nativity scenes, each one more elaborate than the next. The nativities are busy, meant to reflect everyday life, and as your eyes wander over the scenes the question arises: Where is baby Jesus? 

A traditional presepio in Italy includes so much more than the figures of Joseph, Mary, and the infant Jesus. There is often a water feature, and dramatic lighting mimics the transition from day to night and back again. There are mountains, valleys, caves. Entire villages are constructed, as are farm fields and barns. There are shepherds and villagers and children. It is a busy scene, incredibly elaborate and detailed, so much so that it takes a few minutes to even find the infant Jesus. He is not front and center, as one would expect, but hidden. 

The fact he is not immediately spotted is precisely the point.

In the nativity story everyone is looking: the Wise Men studied the star to guide them, the shepherds looked for the babe in a manger, and even Joseph searched for shelter as one Inn after another closed its doors. And in a presepio, the viewer is invited into the tableau and, like the shepherds and villagers and children, is meant to look for Jesus, to seek him out, to look up and down and around the villages and fields and barns until he is found.

As we head into the final week of Advent, that is the theme that keeps emerging: one of seeking, for a presepio does not depict a legendary event from ancient Palestine, but is instead a mirror of the known world today. 

Reminding us to look for Christ in our every day life. In our homes. At church. Among crowds and the homeless. Even amidst our busyness. 

He is hidden in plain sight, waiting. You just need to look. 

night thoughts

last night I had a dream

but ... 

night thoughts

ephemeral

cannot be something one has

Or had

 

so I lived a dream

a brief moment

as an artist

swirling colors on canvas

with bold strokes

and feathery ones

 

in my dream

with paint on my hands

I saw what I created

and could touch, smell, believe

the night thoughts

until …

 

where did what I had, go?

 

the swirling colors

bold strokes

and feathery ones

in the morning light

stick figures

on college rule

The Birthday Presents from Christmas Past

Sometimes you do something dumb because you are having a dumb moment, and sometimes you do something dumb because you don't know any better.

And sometimes … yeah.

So, in early October Jonathan sent me a small wish list for his birthday and Organized Me got right on it. I went online, placed an order, and when the items arrived, I wrapped them. I gave myself a high five because I was two weeks ahead of schedule. Go me!

When Jonathan came home, I placed the wrapped gifts in front of him. He opened gift #1.

“Thank you. I can always use another game controller,” he said.

But he had a funny look on his face. He opened gift #2, a book. Again the funny look.

“Um, I got this last Christmas,” he said.

When he reached for the third present, I had a bad feeling. Sure enough, he had already received present #3 last Christmas.

“MOM!” everyone protested.

“But YOU sent the list!” I protested.

It took some investigating.  Jonathan did send a list, and I saved it a file. However, when it came time to order the gifts I had opened an old file. One from LAST CHRISTMAS.

The result? Jonathan’s birthday gifts were repeats.

Now, I am sure you are wondering why I didn’t realize this. In my defense, I did think it through. For example, I knew Jonathan received a controller before, but I thought he needed another one; I did recognize the book, but I thought it was Part II. Or something.

Sigh.

Sometimes you do something dumb because you are an idiot.

Anyway, I leave you with this photo only because Jonathan's expression then was Jonathan's expression the other night while opening his birthday presents (which were really his Christmas presents, on repeat). 

Speak to Me Sunday:

A few weeks ago, I came across the photos from Simon Roberts’ exhibition, Beneath the Pilgrim Moon (2021), featuring sculptures that were wrapped in plastic during the refurbishment of London’s Victoria and Albert Museum. The fact that the photographs were taken during the second Covid-19 lockdown (while the museum was closed to the public) makes the images reflective of a world that stood still during a pandemic.

A world trapped by fear and ignorance, hemmed in by borders, trapped by the unknown.

The images are haunting, beautiful, sad.

Life as we know it can change in an instant, casting us onto unchartered waters in a rowboat that heaves to and fro with the current. There is so much that can bring us to our knees — grief, addiction, unemployment, death, self-doubt, illness, divorce, disability—all of which, like the plastic covering those statues, can leave us feeling trapped.

And yet … the images are also hopeful.

I look at those trapped images encased in transparent plastic and realize all those things that can paralyze us do NOT prevent God’s light and grace from shining through to us. And when we dig deep to our faith, we can see through the circumstance, whatever it may be, to see beyond to that light and grace. To receive it.

And to find the hope.

in the morning i faced the day

in the morning i faced the day

buoyed with a quest

to find poetry

in the ordinary

and extraordinary

to embrace wonderment

face-to-face

mesmerized in the now

chocolate swirls in a puddle

and rain plip-plopping on a roof

rainbow wings on a fly

caterpillar eyebrows

graffiti street art

and plants in terracotta pots

the cuddle of a crying baby

or the cry of rusty door hinges

slides that go down, down, down

and balloons that float away

a snoring dog and a purring kitten

croissant flakes and coffee dregs

wordless poetry

highlighting and celebrating

observing and shadowing

thought seeds planted

for later reflection

life poetry, lived

savored

at night i fell asleep

on pillow clouds of

poetry swirling in my dreams

and in the morning …

a poem in my notebook

-from the files of very bad poetry by bia

I love ...

 I love Swiss uniforms 

and sweet signs 

and striped pots 

and words on stairs.

Left Foot, Right Foot

Last Thursday I drove to Athens to pick up Timothy (and his friend, Nathan) to bring them home for Fall Break. It was late afternoon when I arrived, and before hitting the road we decided to have dinner at O House. So there I was, clearly NOT a student, sitting in a college dining hall surrounded by Timothy’s friends who went out of their way to keep me entertained. The stories, the joking, the teasing … I laughed so much and was, quite honestly, flattered by their attention. Mrs. Novajosky listen to this, Mrs. Novajosky did Timothy tell you about what happened, Mrs. Novajosky tell me about your trip to Italy. At the end, I got hugs from EVERYONE. What a great group!

With Jonathan and his fiancée, Caroline, also in town, we had a full house (minus Nicholas and Lauren). And just like that, I was in my happy place. Golfing for Jonathan and Joe, hanging out with Augusta friends for the college guys, lunch at Manuel’s Café for Caroline and me. Then, of course, there was football. Timothy and Nathan watched the Penn State game from the kitchen table as they did their homework (physics and calculus, BLECK) and for Saturday night Mass they both wore Georgia red and black. When we got home, the two of them made a beeline for the television to catch the last quarter of the game.

(Let me pause to acknowledge this Saturday’s game between #1 ranked Georgia and #2 ranked Tennessee. Timothy said the campus is in a frenzy. He and his buddies will be up at the crack of dawn to catch all the festivities leading up to the game, and during the game their goal is to be featured on the jumbotron. Yeah, so there’s that.)  

Saturday evening, as Timothy and Nathan were packing (Jonathan and Caroline graciously agreed to drive them back to campus), they came into our room and showed us Nathan’s purchase from earlier that day: a pair of shoes, BOTH for the right foot. After the laughter, I promised Nathan that I would go to the store this week, get a LEFT shoe, and mail everything to him.

And that’s what I did today: mailed a care package with cookies, Kinder treats, football silly putty, a baby sloth (Timothy’s sloth, Marvin, has a following at UGA, so this is the baby?), AND a pair of shoes.

I also included Dr. Seuss’ book, The Foot Book, because for all their physics, calculus, and engineering classes, I think they are forgetting basic life skills such as knowing the RIGHT foot from the LEFT.

Left foot, Right foot.

Feet, Feet, Feet.

How many, many

feet you meet.

A Sense of Wonder

It’s been a week since I returned from Italy and I am still not fully unpacked, something I tend to do after any big trip, mainly because I am still reliving the experience and my bags, bundles, and souvenirs keep it all tangible.

Currently our dining table looks like an Italian mercato due to all the wrapped packages and souvenirs. Last night I was looking over everything when I came across a stack of receipts in my travel wallet. There were receipts for food (gelato, espresso), souvenirs (jewelry, linens, art), and entrance fees (the Abbey of Monreale, the Royal Palace in Caserta).

Those receipts filled me with wonder: Last week I ate a margherita pizza outside the Galleria in Naples! Purchased a painting from a street vendor in Taormina! Ate an arancina with seppia (cuttlefish)! Drank an Aperol Sprtiz on the rooftop of our hotel in Rome!

This sense of wonderment is something I experienced often during our time in Italy. When I was walking among the Greek ruins in Agrigento, meandering through the small streets and alleys in Ragusa, throwing a coin in the Trevi Fountain or gazing at a Caravaggio, I wasn’t so much struck by the beauty of everything as I was by the fact that I was there . . . physically there. Pinch me, I am dreaming! Then, every night when I summarized our adventures in my journal, when I read through everything we had done, I again felt that wonder as I asked myself: Did we really do that?

Traveling in a foreign country is an adventure, and every day we headed into the unknown armed only with a map, some guidebooks, and a spirit of adventure … all enveloped in an abiding sense of wonder.

And it is an overwhelming sense of wonder—both during and after our trip—that is the reason I still haven’t fully unpacked.

Pasta & Gelato & Pizza ... Mamma Mia! (or, How Not to Gain Weight while Vacationing in Italy)

Before our trip to Italy, I lost 12 pounds. 

It feels good when the numbers on the scale go down, and I worked hard to get to that point, but there was no way I was going to maintain my regimen while vacationing in Italy. Nor did I want to.

For almost two weeks in Italy, I ate and drank without worrying about the scale. I lived in the moment. For breakfast I usually reached for the homemade sweets, specifically apricot crostata, or a brioche the size of Mt. Vesuvius. Sometimes I would have both. With a cappuccino. For lunch I had pizza or a panino, and dinners were 2-hour affairs that included appetizers, pasta, main course, dessert, coffee, and limoncello. We had wine with every meal, and there were a couple of times when my sister-in-law and I shared a bottle of red just between the two of us.

When we were exploring Syracuse, my sister and I decided to try a coppo—a paper cone filled with fried seafood or vegetables. It is the ultimate street food. I ordered the coppo verdura, and when they delivered it, I thought: “There is no way I can eat all this.” Fifteen minutes later, I was upending the paper cone to get to every last crumb of deliciousness. (By the way, I also had a Sicilian aranciata with the coppo, and I NEVER drink soda in the States.)

For almost two weeks I ate proteins, fruits, and vegetables, but I also ate carbs, sweets, and dairy. I drank Fanta (Italian Fanta is NOT American Fanta—if you know, you know). I enjoyed an Aperol Spritz before dinner, wine with dinner, and a limoncello after dinner.

But then … the reckoning. When I stepped on the scale the morning after we returned from Italy, do you know how much weight I had gained?

One pound.

And in the grand scale of things (see what I did there?) one pound is neither here nor there. That was basically water retention after traveling all day.

How to account for this? Well, there are several reasons:

1-     In Italy, we ate locally grown foods with the freshest ingredients. Everything from my breakfast crostata to the delicious appetizers to the gnocchi at dinner were made that day. Most foods are preservative-free, which is why bread, for example, is only good that day and eggs do not need refrigeration.

2-     While the U.S. focuses on eating fewer calories (a typical “diet” strategy) or restricting certain types of foods (fats and carbs), Europeans focus more on the QUALITY of the food.

3-     Italian pasta is made from non-GMO wheat. In the United States, genetically modified wheat is the norm, which increases its gluten content. It is also interesting to note that 90% of corn, sugar, and soy grown in North America is genetically engineered.

4-     Europe does not allow the use of suspected carcinogens. For example, Potassium Bromate (added to flour to make dough rise higher) and Azodicarbonamide (or ADA, a whitening agent for flour) are common here, but not allowed for human consumption in Europe or Canada. (Incidentally, ADA is also used to make bread stay soft and spongy longer and is used to inject bubbles into certain plastics such as yoga mats and flip flops).

5-     Pasta cooked al dente has a lower glycemic index.

6-     Portion size. Restaurant serving sizes are 1/3 to 1/2 of what is served in the United States. Sure, when you order pizza in Italy you get one all to yourself, but that’s ALL you eat (no breadsticks) and the dough is paper thin and non-greasy.

7-     Snacking between meals is not the norm, and meals are spaced far apart. After breakfast we would not have lunch until 1 or 2 pm, then nothing again until dinnertime (usually around 8 pm). Of course, when in Italy we had to indulge in some gelato at some point, but the scoops are TINY.

8-     Meals are eaten leisurely. I was not exaggerating when I mentioned that sit-down dinners were 2-hour affairs. Food is eaten slowly, with ample time between courses. And don’t underestimate the power of a digestivo. Limoncello anyone?

9-     Finally, one of the main things that kept us in shape was walking. We walked and walked and walked, easily averaging 15,000 to 20,000 steps daily. And it wasn’t Level Walking … it was Hill Walking and Stairs Walking. (There was also Getting Lost Walking, which makes for some great stories AND tired feet.)

My one-pound weight gain was NOT an anomaly. The same thing happened with my sister. I also spoke with a fellow traveler who had her yearly physical two days after returning home and she experienced the same … hardly any weight gain while eating our way through Naples and Sicily.

So, what does this all mean? It’s a lesson I learn every time I travel to Italy, and it all boils down to simplicity: focus on foods that are local, fresh, and in season; eat a variety of foods; space meals with no snacking between; take the time to enjoy a meal; choose quality over quantity; avoid processed foods; and unless you have a severe allergy, do not eliminate an entire food group.

Finally, walk (a lot!) as part of your normal daily routine (gym workouts are a bonus).  

The First Step

The suitcases are packed, and I am at that in-between place of being ready, but not yet going.

In the months leading up to this moment, I did everything I could to prepare for the unknown, and it was terribly exciting (and a little scary) to imagine the possibilities and anticipate the adventure.

Tomorrow morning, I will pick up my suitcase and for a brief moment I will stand between the two worlds—the one I am leaving (familiar and safe) and the one I am headed toward (full of the unknown)—and I will remember this Dutch proverb: He is who outside his door, already has the hard part of his journey behind him.

And I will take that first step, which marks the start of every journey.  

Speak to Me Sunday: Caravaggio's Seven Acts of Mercy

Many of you know of my love for Caravaggio. During a free afternoon in Naples next week, I plan to visit one of Caravaggio’s most famous works, Le sette opere di Misericordia (The Seven Acts of Mercy).

Now, I am going to apologize in advance for my nerdiness. When preparing to visit a famous work of art (such as Michelangelo’s Pietà or Caravaggio’s The Conversion of St. Paul, ) I like to do extensive research so that when I stand in front of the artwork, I will appreciate it all the more. I truly believe that people find art and art museums boring because they do not understand what they see. 

And to understand a masterpiece is to be drawn in until you are flooded with emotions.

Of course, my extensive research also means that I have to share what I’ve learned. So again, my apologies …

The Seven Acts of Mercy (refer to the image below)

1.      Bury the Dead

In the center background, two men carry a dead man (only his feet are visible). A man is holding a candle (the only light source) and based on his garments he is a priest. The man in the dark colored shirt is believed to be the grave digger.

2.      Shelter the Homeless

Third from left, a bearded man with a scallop shell on his hat is asking for shelter. He is a pilgrim. The man directly in front of him is the innkeeper who indicates with his finger (pointing out of the canvas) that he has room and will offer shelter.

The scallop shell is the mark of a pilgrim and is connected to the story of St. James the Great (a disciple of Christ). Today the Camino de Santiago (Way of St. James) uses the scallop shell as mile markers on the pilgrim’s path to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. Additionally, scallop shells are often found on baptismal fonts and often used to scoop the water over the head of those being baptized. 

3.      Clothe the Naked

The fourth figure from the left is St. Martin of Tours who is tearing his robe in half to give it to the naked beggar in the foreground. Above the beggar’s shoulder, St. Martin’s sword appears as a slash of white as he has just used it to slice the fabric.

The legend of St. Martin, a Roman soldier stationed in Gaul, was that he saw a beggar as he approached the city gates. Determined to help, he removed his military cloak and cut it in two and wrapped the beggar with one half. That night, St. Martin had a dream in which he saw Jesus wearing the cloak and telling the angels of the man who had shared it with him. St. Martin believed the dream offered the message that caring for the poor is like caring for Christ. Eventually, the cloak of St. Martin became a relic.

4.      Visit the Sick

The next portion of Caravaggio’s Seven Works of Mercy is the hardest to see, probably due to the darkening of the canvas over time. In the front of the painting and next to the beggar’s left arm, you will notice a foot, indicating there is another man in this section (his face is just below St. Martin’s sword). This is the sick man, perhaps crippled given the angle of his foot.

Standing over the sick man is the pilgrim in a dual role since he is painted as Christ healing the crippled man.

5.      Refresh the Thirsty

Standing between the pilgrim and the innkeeper is a wild, bearded man drinking from a bone, the water splashing onto his face. This man is Samson (yes, from Samson and Delilah). But this image references a different story from Judges 15 when Samson was fighting the Philistines and used the jawbone of a donkey to kill a thousand men. After the battle, Samson was thirsty so God opened up the jawbone and water came out of it to revive Samson.

Admittedly, Caravaggio’s inclusion of this story was confusing. He was meant to portray the seven mercies, or kindnesses, performed by humans for each other, but in Samson’s case God is the one performing the kindness.

6-7    Visit the Imprisoned, Feed the Hungry

These next two Acts of Mercy are combined into one image of the woman breastfeeding a man in prison. While unusual in modern contexts, the story was a familiar one of the time (Roman in origin) and occasionally appeared in other works of art.

Details to Note:

1-     Always in trouble with the law, Caravaggio took refuge in Naples after he committed a murder in Rome during a violent argument. It was during this exile that he painted this masterpiece.

2-     Caravaggio is known for his chiaroscuro painting technique which uses the contrast of light and dark for dramatic effect. His dark paintings usually contain a light source to draw the eye to important details. In this painting, the man carrying the candle provides the only light source, perhaps a metaphor for mercy as the acts themselves illuminate darkness.

3-     He received the commission to depict the Seven Works of Mercy for Pio Monte della Misericordia (a charitable organization) founded by seven noblemen of Naples in order to care for the poor. It is still in operation today.  

4-     One of the most important documents in the church’s archives is an invoice, dated 14 October 1607, for 400 ducats in payment to Caravaggio for the painting.

5-     The Works of Mercy are based on verses from the Gospel of Matthew; the only one not mentioned in Matthew is Bury the Dead (it is referenced in the Book of Tobit where burying the dead is mentioned as an important work of charity).

6-     While the Seven Works of Mercy are usually depicted in seven separate scenes, Caravaggio chose to combine all seven works of mercy into one composition, which became the church’s altarpiece.

7-     The work is divided into two parts: the top half is celestial (with angels and Mary with the Christ child observing the action below); the bottom half is terrestrial, or the earthly realm.

8-     The angel’s hand, reaching toward the lower figures, is a slash of light through darkness serving to connect the two halves of the painting. The open pose of his hand is associated with giving a blessing.

9-     Visible on the top left is the white lining of Mary’s cloak, which many believe represents the Holy Spirit who inspires the acts of mercy.

10   In short, the top half of the painting is the source for the acts of human kindness depicted below.

Speak to Me Sunday: Standing Tall

(A little insomnia, a Broadway quote, and I was down the rabbit hole. Too much deep thinking with too little sleep. Coffee please...)

There is a line from the hit musical, Hamilton, in which the opinionated Alexander Hamilton says to the obfuscating Aaron Burr: “If you stand for nothing, Burr, what will you fall for?”

It is a profound question, one which compels one to explore our beliefs, morals, convictions, and affiliations. It probes our intentions and incites us into action. Most importantly, it inspires one to stand strong in a tide as opposed to being swept up in one.

It is a thinking question, and it cannot be answered quickly. Or lightly. What do you stand for?

The question leaves no room for obfuscating. To answer honestly and with conviction, one must have a voice that is not simply an echo of what is being said by others; furthermore, the weight of it pins one down, and to squirm, dodge, or even deflect the question is very revealing.

Conversely, one can broaden the question’s scope to ask this: If you stand for EVERYTHING, then what will you fight for? This, too, is telling. If one believes all things, panders to all people, and tries to be something for everyone … then what does that person ACTUALLY believe?

A person who is vague about what he believes is equally as dangerous as someone who believes in everything. Both go wherever the wind takes them. It is only when you have both ends of the equation—knowing where a person stands and knowing where you stand—that one can choose courage to take a step forward, or honesty to step back and reevaluate.

Society today may not be any better than it was in Hamilton’s time, but we can glean some lessons. In the election of 1800 Hamilton had to decide whether to endorse Thomas Jefferson (a person he never once agreed with) or Aaron Burr (his political adversary). In the end, Hamilton chose Jefferson, simply because Jefferson had beliefs whereas Burr had none.

What do you stand for?

Delve deep for an answer. And then proceed with strength, conviction and, most of all, understanding of others who are grappling with this very same question.

I love ...

 I love seafaring tiles 

and green garden doors 

and peekaboo views 

and houses on trees.

The Twice-Paid Compliment

It is a fundamental truth that we are not kind to ourselves. We are self critics by nature. We perceive ourselves much, much differently than other people perceive us, and when they try to be complimentary we do not listen.

I once attended a retreat that demonstrated this very point.

Scattered around the room were chairs arranged into groups of three. We were told to find a seat but that you could not sit next to anyone you knew. As it turned out, I ended up in a group with two men. We were then given instructions to jot down complimentary things you notice about the two people in your group, after which we were to share the compliments with each other.

This was so out of my comfort zone and I was beyond embarrassed before the exercise even started. But the purpose of the assignment was to teach us to not only hear compliments, but to listen. And to believe.

After the allotted time the two gentlemen paid me their compliments, and while they were so kind and genuine about it, I still felt out of my comfort zone and I was still beyond embarrassed. BUT, if I am being honest, they also made me feel good.

Several years later, I was going through some old papers and found these hand-written compliments from those two men. Reading them made me smile, and maybe because the words were written instead of spoken, they were much easier to accept.

Which made me realize this: if most people tend to dismiss a compliment, then maybe a compliment should be given twice. A double compliment, if you will. One that is half-heard, and one that hits the bullseye.

Mark Twain once said that he could live two months on a single compliment and, truthfully, there have been times when a single compliment changed the entire course of my day. It’s an easy enough thing to do, and when a compliment comes from a place of genuine good will it can do wonders.

Especially if you make it a double.

Ode to the Storytellers

once upon a time

long, long ago

holding court around a fire

a story was told

what is this? they asked

what does it mean? they cried

but they listened

to the fantastical and improbable

ridiculous and laughable

and found magic in ordinary days

 

once upon a time

long, long ago

a told story traveled

to faraway lands

what is this? they asked

how wonderful! they cried

so they took the story

cupped it in their hands

planted it in their hearts

and made it their own

 

with music and dance

poetry and prose

the story became more

thank you! they said

for legends, poems

tall tales and fairy tales

for once upon a time

and long, long ago.

*from the files of very bad poetry by bia

Reinvention

So many kind people have reached out to me lately wanting to know how I am doing now that Timothy is away at college. The truth is, I don’t know.

Everything happened so quickly. You live with someone for 18 years and then one day you drive them somewhere, and leave them there, and your husband then spends the entire drive home patting you on the shoulder because you cannot stop crying.

So yes, I had my ugly cry, but I’m fine. Really. It’s just been strange sorting through the emotions of not having a child in the house anymore. Yes, there are empty hangers in the closet, the grocery bill has plummeted, and it is quiet when Joe has to go out of town, but mostly I feel the need to reinvent myself because there is no denying that life now is different.

The last time I reinvented myself was in 2007 when I decided to start writing about family life and all the funny, crazy, aggravating, loving, inexplicable things boys do. Set within the framework of faith and my Italian heritage, I started my blog, La Dolce Vita, the Sweet Life with Three Sons. The blog opened doorways I never imagined: Steve Crawford published several of my articles in the Columbia Country News Times, I had an op-ed published in The Augusta Chronicle, I was invited to speak at The Sacred Heart Garden Festival, and I began working as a contract writer for Catholic Stewardship Consultants. When I published my book and gave book talks, the blog was the source of material for both. Even the idea of sponsoring the Girls’ Trips to Italy was born of the blog.

But if everything I write is grounded in my little blog and my sweet life with three sons, and if now my muses—Nicholas, Jonathan, Timothy—aren’t here anymore, what then? Who will I write about now? Will my life still be sweet? Will my days be as interesting or funny? Will I be as interesting and funny? These questions sent me into a little panic the other day. I mean, I already like to wear black and now I’m going to be uninteresting and boring?

Deep down I know this is a transition period and it is okay to feel different, to change, to shift a little.  Acceptance will come, along with the peace that this is as it should be, and it is going to be okay.

And it will be okay. Even if I have to reinvent myself.

An Ocean, an Airplane, and Two Countries Full of Kisses 

(sketch, Chapter 2)

I love ...

I love silhouetted pine cones 

and tiny green seedlings 

and cows by the fairway 

and easy-to-find golf balls.

Watching the Wayward

Sometimes, children stray. The reasons may vary—it could be due to drugs, or rebelliousness, or self-destructive behavior—but to the parents longing for their child to come home again, the feelings of helplessness and despair can be consuming.

In her book, Watching the Wayward, Wendy Gorton Hill shares her journey on what it is like to be the parent of a prodigal. It is honest and raw. Beautiful and uplifting. And her heartfelt, beautifully written psalms reflect a journey which is often painful, sometimes despairing, but always steeped in faith.

Much like the Psalms in the bible, Wendy uses her poems to lament, praise, despair, and celebrate. They teach, but also serve to remind us that all things are possible with God.

In her psalm, Frequent Flyer on If Only Airlines, Wendy explores the “if only” scenarios concerning her son. If only this had happened instead of that, if only we had done this, if only we had known. Those two words—if only—bring such pain when contemplating a past that cannot be changed, but by the end of the psalm Wendy replaces her if only statements to only if, thereby putting everything in God’s hands. Only if we turn to God will we cease to stray, only if we are emptied can we be filled, only if we acknowledge our need will we seek Him as a source.

In Dancing With the Worst-case Scenario, Wendy explores how imagining the worst, or making assumptions, is like being pulled into a two-step dance, whirling and twirling to the music of fear and dread. She begs the Lord to break in on the dance, to lead her in a new kind of dance. One of safety and peace.

By the end of the book, Wendy has come full circle as a parent of a prodigal. Her psalm entitled Surrendered gives everything back to God, which segues perfectly into The Gift of Prodigal Parenting in which she expresses gratitude for the lessons this journey has taught her. But it is the last psalm, Conveying Comfort, which reminds us of the true Christian spirit of turning one’s pain into comfort and hope for others.

Along with the psalms, Wendy includes supplemental scripture and journaling questions, all of which encourage introspection. Watching the Wayward is not only a book for parents of prodigals, but for all parents as we watch our children make their way in this world.

Wendy Gorton Hill website

Watching the Wayward on Amazon

1,449

Today was Timothy’s LAST day of work at Publix!

He started work April 2020, worked through a pandemic lockdown, over three summers, during two soccer seasons, and on countless weekends and holidays.

He bagged groceries and carried out groceries. He worked as a cashier, monitored the self-checkout lane, and cleaned bathrooms.

He logged 1,449 work hours.

And today was his last day. Thanks to those who marked the occasion—the Casellas with a generous tip, Liz Klebba with a jar of Nutella—and to all those who stopped to chat with him these past two years and who took photos of him at work and sent them to me.

He’s not totally hanging up his apron. Publix will welcome him back next summer.

In the meantime, aside from sleeping in every morning, he’s looking forward to a beach trip with friends and spending a day at the track with Xtreme Xperience where he will drive an Audi R8 supercar.

And in three weeks . . . VROOOOM! Off he goes to college.

I love ...

I love red

and white

and blue

and barbecue.

Hanging up the Robes

This past Saturday was Timothy’s last time serving at Mass. When Fr. Ross asked Timothy to stand and be recognized for his eight years of service, I was emotional.

Altar serving was always something our sons did. Nicholas was first, followed closely by Jonathan. For several years the two brothers served together on the altar until Nicholas left for college. Jonathan served alone until he left for college.

And then it was Timothy’s turn, and a photo taken before serving at his very first Mass shows a little boy, wearing a robe with sleeves down to his knuckles, looking slightly terrified.  

When each of our boys started high school and thought about quitting, Joe and I talked them out of it. After all, we told them, we are at Mass anyway so why not use altar serving as an opportunity for stewardship? And so, they continued serving at church, at a few weddings, and at several funerals.

Last Saturday, when Timothy served for the very LAST time, there was a young boy who was serving for his very FIRST time. And I took a photo—the young server, smiling and drowning in his robes, and Timothy, over six feet tall, ready to hang up his robes.

As a family, we are at a strange juncture of looking to the future while reminiscing about the past, of saying goodbye to traditions and routines, and hello to changes and new beginnings. High school graduation is behind us, college begins this August, and in less than two months our “baby” will be gone and Joe and I will be sitting alone at Mass.

I suppose that is why I was emotional.

As much as change can be exciting, it is different, you know?

And it takes some getting used to.