Category Archives: Seasonal

Commencement Wrapup

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Commencement Weekend at the University of Notre Dame has come and gone, and I’m left with the following observations:

1) Nobody does Mass better than ND. This weekend was Pentecost Sunday, the birthday of the Church, and we had no less than 40 red-robed priests (plus two bishops) on the altar for the celebration!

2) Nobody does food better than the ND Food Services staff. Our Friday feast featured chef-carved beef, chicken, tilapia, and a dessert bar topped with a “2013” ice sculpture. On Saturday, they fed us grilled steak, chicken, shrimp, and made an elaborate display of round, two-layered white cakes with frosting — one for each family to enjoy!

3) Nobody offers better music than ND. Volunteers from the ND Band (minus the seniors) played at most events. And no, I didn’t do much more than tear up at “Pomp and Circumstance,” the Alma Mater, and the ND Victory March, so my desensitization helped!

4) Nobody offers more guidelines (that people don’t pay attention to) than ND. I was told no umbrellas or wide-brimmed hats that might interfere with people’s vision. I obeyed, but others did not. I was told to respect others’ views of the proceedings. I obeyed, but one woman stood right in front of me minutes before my son was to cross the stage to accept his diploma. When I politely reminded her, “I can’t see,” she jumped all over me, arguing that somebody was taking a photo with a camera phone and she didn’t want to block that. Obviously, it never crossed her mind to go behind the photographer, rather than block my view!

5) Nobody does unpredictable weather better than South Bend. Here I was, worried over cold and rain, when Sunday dawned brilliantly sunny and temps climbed to almost 90 degrees by afternoon. Good thing I remembered sunscreen!

I know some of you are also interested in what people were wearing. Comfort, indeed, was the better part of wisdom. And there were so many people milling around that I probably could’ve worn a grocery sack and not stood out!

In fact, I saw all manner of dress:

  • Men in khaki shorts
  • Men in flip flops and deck shoes
  • Men wearing suits and ties
  • Men wearing blue jeans
  • Men wearing Polo shirts
  • Women teetering on sky-high spike heels
  • Women in cowboy boots
  • Women wearing dressy sandals or flip flops
  • Nobody wearing pantyhose
  • Women wearing lace
  • Women wearing sundresses, long and short
  • Women wearing slacks and jackets
  • Infants in carriers
  • People in wheelchairs or on canes
  • People speaking English or their native tongue
  • People wearing sunglasses and ND ball caps

Me? For Saturday’s Mass, I wore a knee-length black pencil skirt with a black and white polka-dotted peplum jacket. On Sunday, I chose a pair of dress black slacks, a black and white jacket with blue-green flowers, and a matching blue-green knit shell.

It was a great celebration, but I’m glad the hoopla is over.

(I’m “going dark” for a week or so while I do some celebratory stuff with my son. Intrigued? Good, I love a mystery! I’ll post more when I get back. Love to ALL!)

“Commencement” really is a Beginning

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Playing right now: “Pomp and Circumstance” by Sir Edward Elgar

When I was in high school, our band played “Pomp and Circumstance” while the seniors were marching into and out of the gym for graduation.

It was a tradition, one we eagerly embraced. As we embraced our new (higher!) chair positions without our “leaders.”

A week was set aside to practice. The seniors would walk in as we played; they’d listen as their names were read aloud, then they’d walk back out as we played again.

Over and over until it was right.

So by graduation evening, it was old hat. It never crossed my mind to cry.

Nor did I cry when I was the graduating senior (eager, I recall, to get out of Dodge!)

By the time my son (AKA My Favorite Domer) graduated from high school — Class of 2009 — they’d chosen a prerecorded version of “Pomp and Circumstance” to accompany the seniors’ processional.

Call me old-fashioned, but I liked it better when the band played. Squeaks and wrong notes and all.

So I didn’t cry at Domer’s high school graduation.

But now, he’s completed his final, final exam, marking the end of his four-year stint at Notre Dame, and Commencement is right around the corner.

And I feel weepy.

I’m going to miss ND more than Domer will because, after all, it’s “home” to him. He’ll be back for football games, reunions, and such.

I, on the other hand, won’t have a reason to go back without him there.

The other day I was in the car when “Pomp and Circumstance” — the long version — played on Sirius radio, and I couldn’t help myself.

The tears just started flowing.

I’m pretty sure I’ll be emotional when Domer walks across that stage to accept his diploma. So I’ve decided to desensitize by listening to “Pomp” every chance I get.

And it’s helping.

When I left for college, my late dad termed it a “four-year paid vacation.”

Not so. I worked too hard.

Stayed up late too often studying. Involved myself in a gazillion activities. Reported for the campus newspaper. Had a scholarship to the Band.

Yes, I had fun. But not “vacation” fun.

Domer wouldn’t call his four years a “vacation,” either.

For the first time in his life, he’s been surrounded with young people just like him.

Bright. Talented. Big-hearted. Idealistic.

Kids who are athletic. Musical. Scholars. Volunteers.

Kids who recognize that they’ve been given many advantages and “To whom much is given, much is expected in return.” (Luke 12:48)

I predict good things for the Class of 2013.

Now, if I can just get past the Alma Mater. . . .!

My Camera Loves Spring

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“The day the Lord created hope was probably the same day he created Spring.”
― Bern Williams

Is anybody tired of Spring photos? Can we ever get enough of the beauty of this season, with its new beginnings, its promises, color and warmth?

Today is gray and gloomy. Rain showers and possible thunderstorms are rolling around, and I for one need a reminder of prettier days past. Join me, won’t you?

Looks like some sort of crocus

Looks like some sort of crocus

Solitary pink tulip

Solitary pink tulip

White dogwood against a blue sky

White dogwood against a blue sky

Fence row of colorful tulips

Fence row of colorful tulips

Pink flowering tree

Pink flowering tree

Purple and yellow tulips tower over white flox

Purple and yellow tulips tower over white flox

Pink dogwood

Pink dogwood

Azalea in bloom

Azalea in bloom

There, now, don’t you feel better? I know I do!

Spring means time for Prom

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Recently, I sat behind a group of six young people (four guys, two girls) in Church.

They obviously were heading to Prom after Mass, and they looked superb.

The girls’ complexions were clear, their makeup and manicures were flawless. Their thin young bodies had been spray-tanned, their hair was swept up with dangling ringlets.

Their earrings sparkled. Their floor-length gowns were stunning, and they were modest enough to cover up their bare shoulders with light jackets.

The young men wore tuxes and boutonnieres, fancy shoes and ties. Their hair was combed, their faces freshly shaven.

They whispered quietly to one another and nodded at their friends seated in other pews.

The nervous anticipation practically crackled from them.

Prom is an exciting rite of passage for a young person.

And I never went.

Back in the day, if you didn’t have a date, you didn’t go to Prom.

Period.

That meant lots of us stayed home when we should have been with our classmates. Dancing. Snacking. Having fun.

How refreshing it is today that young people ALL go to Prom.

Date or no date.

Some pair off with a special someone; others go in groups.

No one has to feel left out, unless they choose not to be there.

And it’s wonderful to see so many of the teens from our Church making time to attend Mass before the festivities.

Our priest never fails to acknowledge their presence, either.

He always tells them how splendid they look, cautions them to be watchful and prudent while having fun, and reminds them that their parents — and the entire community — love them.

A few of the kids snicker. They’ve heard this message before.

The older adults nod their heads and smile. They have, too.

But it’s a message that never grows old, no matter how often it’s spoken.

These kids are our future.

Nearly Wordless Wednesday

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For those unlucky enough to experience the beauty of April’s final full moon, I present the following:

Full moon shortly after it climbed high enough to view.

Full moon shortly after it climbed high enough to view.

I’m pretty sure there’s a trick to capturing shots like this, so if anyone wants to let me in on it, I’d be grateful!

It’s an Irish Thing!

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Dallas here.

Mama’s up to her ears working on a short story this afternoon, so I’m commandeering her blog again. You other doggins out there should give it a try! Why should our moms have all the fun??

Anyway, I think mama told you we had a LOT of rain here. More than six inches this month already!

Needless to say, with all that water — and the resulting flooding — the lawn guy hasn’t been able to get here to mow my back yard.

Mama says I’m knee-deep in grass when I go out to investigate and do my “business.”

This morning, I noticed my grass was shorter. That yard man came on Saturday, and nobody bothered to tell me.

How do they expect me to be a watch-dog if they don’t let me know when strangers are coming to prowl around my house?!?

So Mama turned me out, I checked things over for her, saw it was all good, and came right back in for my cookie.

When she started laughing and pointed her camera in my direction, I gave her this look:

What's so funny, Mama??

What’s so funny, Mama??

Guess you don’t see it either. How ’bout a closeup?

I've got green feeties!!

I’ve got green feeties!!

I can assure you, Mama was NOT trying to dye me like her friend Katybeth dyes Rascal! Though Rascal seems to enjoy it (probably a girl-thing, huh?!)

Now me, Mama, and the Domer all have green “shoes.” Just one big happy Irish family.

Too bad St. Paddy’s Day has already passed!

Spring in Central Illinois

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It’s been raining off and on for much of the week. Wicked lightning and frightening claps of thunder split the early morning hours; standing rain is a common sight. We hope this means no drought this year, but who knows?

Nevertheless, I managed to step outside between showers and capture a few signs of Spring. Please enjoy!

Trees are beginning to leaf out.

Trees are beginning to leaf out.

Yellow daffodils are in bloom.

Yellow daffodils are in bloom.

This weeping cherry is a replacement for the blue spruce we lost last year.

This weeping cherry is a replacement for the blue spruce we lost last year.

This is a closeup of the weeping cherry blossoms. I understand that when they die off, they're replaced by leaves.

This is a closeup of the weeping cherry blossoms. I understand that when they die off, they’re replaced by leaves.

Blue hyacinths dot a neighbor's yard, wafting their perfume everywhere.

Blue hyacinths dot a neighbor’s yard, wafting their perfume everywhere.

Hyacinths come in pink, too!

Hyacinths come in pink, too!

No roses yet, but this show rose is full of leaves.

No roses yet, but this show rose is full of leaves.

A yellow forsythia hedge.

A yellow forsythia hedge.

This magnolia tree is going to be splendid!

This magnolia tree is going to be splendid!

Do you call this a jonquil or a daffodil? Whatever, isn't it beautiful?

Do you call this a jonquil or a daffodil? Whatever, isn’t it beautiful?

Sheltie Fun in the Snow

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Dallas here.

Mama’s been shoveling ALL day, so I’m taking her blog hostage and posting my pretty pictures.

HeeHee, won’t she be mad when she sees what I’ve done?!

Yesterday we got this really big snow — somewhere in the neighborhood of a full foot of it, Mama said. Here’s what the trees in my backyard looked like:

Aren't they pretty?

Aren’t they pretty?

So Mama spent all this time shoveling and when she was ready to take a little break, she let ME come outside to survey her work. The first thing I had to check out was her tools, Mr. Shovel and Mr. Broom:

Interesting smells on this shovel, Mama!

Interesting smells on this shovel, Mama!

After I satisfied myself that she hadn’t been “cheating” with another dog, I decided to enter the tunnel. Wasn’t it sweet of her to build me a pathway? Probably had something to do with earlier in the day, when I got ALL snow-covered and she had to pick me up, carry me to the bathtub, wash me down, and dry me with the blow dryer, haha!

Does this tunnel make my butt look big??

Does this tunnel make my butt look big??

Being an adventurous sort, I decided to abandon the tunnel and strike out on my own. Mama wasn’t too happy to do all that work and have me venture into the snowy depths, to be sure. Mamas shouldn’t stifle their fur-kids’ bravery, don’t you agree?

Catching scents from far away!

Catching scents from far away!

Well, I turned again and again and this time, Mama caught me up close as I was watching for squirrels. Not too many stirring in the snow though:

This cold snow feels so good on my belly-fur!

This cold snow feels so good on my belly-fur!

Meandering past the frozen bird bath (and off the tunnel Mama made), I got a chance to play King of the Mountain. Watch me explore:

Marco. . . Polo -- got nothin' on me!

Marco. . . Polo — got nothin’ on me!

When Mama got tired of snapping pictures — and saw all the quarter-sized snowballs clinging to my underbelly — she called me back in. And here I was having so much fun. This is the look I gave her (think she got the message?!):

Mama, don't be a spoil-sport!

Mama, don’t be a spoil-sport!

 

Creature from Outer Space Lands Next Door

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Those who know me know I’m not an art critic like my friend Oma.

I can’t draw a straight line even with a ruler. (Why do rulers have those little bumps and notches, anyway?)

My sister, who always seemed to have a crayon or colored pencil in hand, was the artist in our family. On summer days, she’d insist we draw pictures, then critique each other.

I always won the coveted “Loser” title.

But even someone who can’t draw a straight line knows what she likes, or doesn’t like.

Take this outlandish “artwork” that recently appeared on my neighbor’s backyard deck:

What is this thing?

What is this thing?

At first, I thought I wasn’t close enough to capture it in all its glory without being seen myself. But once inside, I cropped the picture to eliminate the background and there it was.

Something.

I found myself at a loss to call it by name.

Now maybe I’m not cultured enough. Or I’m not seeing its rustic charm. Or utility.

Maybe it’s not supposed to be pretty.

But shouldn’t we know what it is?

I mean, somebody went to some trouble assembling it (unless it arrived like that from Mars). And somebody paid good money for it.

What is it?

I’ve compiled a list of possibilities. See if you agree:

  1. It’s a dog. See the metal link “collar” around its neck? And the springy tail? Probably canine. At least it doesn’t require feeding, brushing, or picking up its waste.
  2. It’s a horse. Look at those clunky hooves and the way they’re solidly on terra firma. Why, it even sports horseshoes!
  3. It’s a slinky toy. That disjointed body can only be compared to Slinky Dog from Toy Story.
  4. It’s an abstract railroad. Witness the “wheeled” head. The way it stares off into the distance, raring to travel to far-off lands.
  5. It’s an alien. No one I know has ever seen an alien, so this creature could very well be from a foreign planet. The blessing, I guess, is that there’s only one, so we probably don’t have to fear a takeover.
  6. It’s an old computer. My neighbor is a tinkerer. Perhaps this is what he does on weekends — takes apart old computers (or washing machines) and uses the scraps to create “art” as a side venture. Some people will buy anything if you give it the right moniker.
  7. It’s a flowerpot. That empty “bowl” might be designed to hold pansies or herbs. Something to brighten the deck.

As I said, I don’t really know art, but this doesn’t look very “art-y” to me. I’d go so far as to call it ugly.

But I could be wrong. What say you?

P.S. My money’s on No. 5, the alien. After all, check out that horn-like thing extending from the top of its head!

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

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An Old Irish Blessing:

     May love and laughter light your days,

     and warm your heart and home.

     May good and faithful friends be yours,

     wherever you may roam.

     May peace and plenty bless your world

     with joy that long endures.

     May all life’s passing seasons

     bring the best to you and yours!

We Irish claim St. Patrick as our own, but did you know he really wasn’t Irish?

Patrick was actually born Maewyn Succat in Roman Britain (and he wasn’t particularly religious). As a teenager, he was kidnapped and forced into slavery, tending sheep in Ireland for six years. After his escape, he returned to his family and was ordained a priest, taking the name Patrick; however, a voice told him to go back to Ireland, where he worked hard to serve those who were already Christians and convert those who weren’t.

And what about the legends that sprang up around him? A lot of blarney, to be sure.

  1. St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland. Sorry, but Ireland is pretty much surrounded by COLD water, which would prevent even the most determined snake from getting in.
  2. Wearing of the green. Actually, blue is the color associated with St. Patrick. The green idea probably relates to Ireland’s “Emerald Isle” nickname.
  3. St. Patrick used a shamrock to illustrate the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit (the Holy Trinity). Maybe, but nothing in his writings suggest this. Probably the “magic three” is indicative of the Irish rhythm in storytelling. Or has something to do with Past, Present, Future; Love, Valor, Wit; Faith, Hope, Charity; you get the idea.

Although March 17, the date Patrick died, has been celebrated for centuries, credit Irish-Americans with making the holiday what it is today.

Boston has the honor of the first recorded St. Paddy’s Day celebration in 1737. New York held the first St. Patrick’s Day parade in 1762. Not to be outdone, Chicago began dyeing its river green in 1962 (something I’ve never seen, but really want to — I understand the dye actually is orange, but a leprechaun turns it emerald via magic!).

As a side note, last year’s Chicago parade found temperatures in the 80s. This year, we’re looking at the 30s. Go figure!

U.S. Census data indicates there are more than 34.7 million Americans with Irish ancestry — more than seven times the population of Ireland itself!

Sláinte!!