Hearts and Ashes

This past weekend I was in the greeting card section in Publix looking for a Valentine card. I read card after card, trying to find one that was not goofy, or sappy, or corny, or inappropriate. All these cards expressing love, and I felt they were missing the point.

Now, I realize Valentine’s Day is a commercial extravaganza buoyed by red hearts, balloons, fluffy sentiments, chocolate, and champagne, but on a year in which Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday collide, in which the Hallmark trappings of hearts and balloons are juxtaposed with the introspection and sacrifice of Lent, every card I picked up seemed lacking.

I was flailing about on the surface when I was looking for depth.

Then came the Super Bowl which, according to a Nielson rating, made it the most viewed telecast since the moon landing in 1969. Headlines proclaiming TOUCHDOWN! did not refer to an event on the football field but to you-know-who’s airplane which had landed in time for kickoff. Instagram offered us glimpses of football players, dressed to the nines by their stylists, swaggering into the stadium with their bling, designer clothes, and Hollywood sunglasses. Even our president entered into the hoopla with an official White House announcement that he had joined TikTok.

In the words of a social commentator, we have become a society that likes to be entertained. What does this mean? We are inundated with the glitzy, glamorous, loud and outrageous—all offering a reality that is not real.

As I type this, two days after the Super Bowl and on the eve of both Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday, it is not lost on me that True Love is not found in the greeting card section, nor is it in the post-game kiss between a football player and a pop star. Instead, it is found in the absence of what society offers.

Because what society offers is Valentine’s Day, when what it needs is Ash Wednesday.

My Annual Super Bowl Commentary

In keeping with my yearly tradition of writing something about football for the Super Bowl, I present you with this year's post which will leave you feeling horrified or amused ... 

Once Upon a Time the boys were going through boxes in the attic and came across Joe's childhood sports books. Lots and lots of sports books, including The Encyclopedia of Football which is very helpful. For example, turn to Chapter 8: Football for Females (subtitled: How to Marry or Keep the Male Football Maniac).

Horrified? Amused? 

While you are pondering this, I am doing a Super Sophisticated Football Analysis to help me decide which team to support: 

-I have been to San Francisco, so the 49ers it is.

-But I have also been to Kansas City, so maybe the Chiefs.

-We have also toured Arrowhead Stadium, so Kansas City edges out.

-The Taylor Swift-Travis Kelce thing complicates things. The guys in the family are for the 49ers because they are so over the hoopla; however, I have Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce to thank for the fact that I can actually name some football players: Travis Kelce, his brother, Jason Kelce, Patrick Mahomes, and Brock Purdy. So there is that.

-As for mascots, Sourdough Sam or KC Wolf? According to Sports Illustrated Mascot rankings, they are ranked #22 and #23 respectively. Well. Okay, I say neither. Blue (Indianapolis Colts) is cuter, and I like Poe the Raven (Baltimore Ravens) because it is nice to have a literature component at a sports venue. 

Decisions, decisions.

Birthday Musings

Some might consider February to be one of the dreariest months. It is cold, it is gray, it is damp.

But if you know me, then you know how I like cold, and gray, and damp. I like rainy days. And February also means Valentine’s Day and World Nutella Day. And my birthday.

So, there you have it. February is a GREAT month.

This morning in our family WhatsApp group, in honor of my birthday my aunt posted a photo of me taken many years ago while studying abroad in Spain. We were at the Royal Palace of la Granja in Segovia, and posing with me are Michele (an Italian student from Padova) and David (who was in my study group)—and I only remember their names because my aunt also included the back of the photo where I had written these details.

Now, I do not know what happened to Michele, and the only thing I remember about David was that he was AWFUL in Spanish (like, REALLY REALLY awful),  but I look back at that young college student posing with these two guys and I have several thoughts: it was, for me, a good hair day; I was wearing a pair of navy, linen shorts I had purchased at the mall; OH MY GOSH I spent a summer in Spain; and that I loved that shirt.

What in the heck happened to that shirt?!?

But with old photos comes a little reminiscing and more than a little nostalgia. Memories are a funny thing. There are those you will remember to your dying day, those you want to forget, and those you did not mean to forget but did, and now you are trying to call them forth. Then there are the emotive memories, the ones that have been reduced to a single emotion—the happy, sad, embarrassing, funny, scary.

And this old photo reminded me of a time which held all the above.

The early twenties can be intense, you know?

Memories are also fluid. I can merge the memory of who I was then with who I am now, and despite the years that have passed I can say that today, on my birthday, I am one and the same: just a little older, none the wiser (but still learning), I still have crazy hair, my passport is always ready and waiting for the next great travel adventure …

and I still like that shirt.

Speak to Me Sunday: Ripples in a Pond

It was a blustery morning, dark and cold, when I entered a local grocery store. Working there was a cashier, an Indian woman, who always smiled warmly at me when she rang up my groceries. I always felt as if I knew her, and the way she interacted with me I felt as if she knew me too, but it never went beyond exchanging smiles and pleasantries.

On that morning, however, with the storm raging outside and the store mostly empty, she stopped ringing up my purchases and leaned forward.

“I don’t know if you remember, but in 2015 you gave me a note with a gift card,” she said quietly. “Do you remember?”

I shook my head.

“I have always kept it. It was such a nice thing to do, and I always wanted to speak to you about it. Then this morning I woke up and said a prayer for you. I prayed you would come in today, but with the storm I did not think it was possible. And yet, here you are.”

“And here I am,” I said, smiling.

As we talked, a vague memory surfaced of a handwritten note but not of the circumstances or the reasons behind it. And I recognized this for what it was, a George Bailey moment whereby I was offered a glimpse of a past action—something I could not even remember—and the impact it had on someone, so much so that she brought it up nine years later.

Every action, no matter how tiny, can change the course of someone’s day. We know this. But it was strangely humbling to be reminded it does not stop there for that single, tiny action—a smile, note, gesture, or kindness—can grow, expand, and reach out in ways we cannot even imagine. Or see. Like ripples in a pond that continue expanding beyond our line of vision, beyond that moment, or even that day.

Sometimes life can be overwhelming, making it all too easy to give up, take a step back, and think there is nothing, absolutely nothing that you can do to make a difference. It becomes all too easy to set up an all or nothing scenario, of dismissing the littles things that have become overshadowed by bigger, louder issues. It becomes all too easy to think “What does it matter?”

But as I was reminded on that stormy morning, it does matter.

More than you think.

“I alone cannot change the world,” Mother Teresa said. “But I can cast a pebble across the water to create many ripples.”

Warm Fuzzies in a Needlepoint Shop

Last month, the week after Christmas, I went with Caroline and Lauren to Augusta Needlepoint on Monte Sano Avenue. Caroline was sharing the needlepoint world with us, and walking around the historic home (converted to a needlepoint shop) we were amazed. 

At one point the salesperson came over to speak to us, and after I introduced myself I gestured to Caroline and Lauren and said, "And these are my daughters-in-law."

Just saying "daughters-in-law" gave me the warm fuzzies. At that very moment, the guys were all home watching television (football? basketball? golf?) and there I was ...  standing in a needlepoint shop with my daughters-in-law. 

I love my daughters-in-law!

And today is Caroline's birthday, so I wish her a very happy, needlepointy birthday!

Augusta Needlepoint

Speak to Me Sunday: Listen, Children, to a Story

The Chinese character for the word “listen” is made by combining two main characters: one depicting the ears, and the other depicting the heart. Why? Because listening wholeheartedly with undivided attention requires the use of not only the ears, but also the heart.

Do you hear what I hear?

In today’s world of Facebook, Instagram and Twitter, everyone has a voice. With posts, tweets and blogs, people are vying to be heard. With news broadcasts, radio programs, talk shows and podcasts, the entire country is talking. Everyone wants to offer their opinions, confer their beliefs, and promote their political agenda. And by golly, everyone better listen.  

But what happens when what we are saying is not getting through? When our words scatter in the wind like confetti?

The talking gets louder. And faster. It becomes accusatory (“You’re not listening to me!”) and dismissive (“I am right. You are wrong. End of discussion.”) and very, very judgmental (“Who do you think you are?”). The talking resorts to name-calling and labels people as Democrat or Republican, Christian or non-Christian, mask wearers or non-mask wearers, black or white. We reduce the entire essence of a person or group into one tiny label until that label is all we see anymore.

Then, to make sure we are not alone, we create kingdoms with others who are like-minded; we build our walls, put up our fences, climb our tall towers, draw lines in the sand. We form political parties and special interest groups. We hold town hall meetings and political rallies. And we continue to talk, talk, talk mainly to others who are just. like. us.

All this talk, but is anyone really listening?

Civil discourse is a lost art. Once upon a time people listened with the intent to understand; but today it seems people listen with the intent to reply.

The world, more than ever, is so complicated. So much of what is going on right now is messy and uncertain and scary. But instead of uniting us, we have become divisive; instead of rising to the occasion, we are wallowing in the mud.

One day a student and teacher were talking.

“How can a decent, respectful human being understand the real-world situation?” asked the student.

“Always listen wholeheartedly to both sides and you will be enlightened,” the teacher responded. “Listen to only one side and you will be left in the dark.”

The thing is, you cannot change someone’s mind by yelling at them, pointing a finger, or calling them names; you cannot solidify your position by toppling statues or breaking windows; you cannot show someone the way when you have shoved them to the ground.

You cannot talk of love when you spew hate.

It really does not have to be this way, and the solution is not that complicated. If you build a wall, put in a door; if you isolate yourself in tall tower, lower a ladder; if you a draw a line in the sand, extend a hand over it.

Do not try to change someone else’s mind. Instead listen to their unique story, tell them yours, and discover common ground. 

After all, the most basic of all human needs is to understand and be understood.

And the best way to understand people is to listen to them. 

With both your ears and your heart.

Tea with Jane Austen

This past Tuesday an all-day power outage resulted in the most perfect ambiance to discuss Jane Austen’s books. With candles flickering in every room and tea served in vintage teacups, it was a very Jane Austen-y Book Club gathering. All that was missing was Mr. Darcy.

P. S. Members of our Book Club decided to use the Christmas holidays to read a Jane Austen novel of their choice. This way, we were able to discuss and compare all of Jane Austen's novels during our January Book Club meeting.