Category Archives: Seasonal

Are We Having Fun Yet??

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I’m stripped naked and lying face up on a steel table while a group of stone-faced people — all with clipboards and calculators — surround me.

“How much money did you make last year?” one demands. “What’s your Adjusted Gross Income, line x of the IRS tax form?”

“Your cash on hand — and your child’s — how much do you have?” another chimes in.

“Drivers license number? Social security number? Investments, if any?”

“Oh, we see you have a business. What’s its net worth?”

“Did you receive any government assistance — food stamps, TANF, WIC, SSI?”

My head spins. Dutifully I scramble through income tax records, checking and savings accounts, frantic to round up the figures I need to meet their March 1 deadline.

Everybody says February is the cruelest month. Probably they’re referring to how miserable its weather typically is — cold, wet, ice, snow, wind.

I contend February is the cruelest month because of Financials.

That’s right — income taxes aren’t bad enough. For parents of college students, there’s the FAFSA to complete.

Those yet to experience the Wonderful World of Student Financial Aid have a treat in store. My best advice? Save everything!

The FAFSA (Free Application for Federal Student Aid) is being linked with your federal income tax returns, but you’ll need plenty of other materials, and it’s never too late to become a pack rat.

Nobody (except a few “experts”) claims completing the FAFSA is a piece of cake. Far from it, if you’re like me and your eyes glaze over when you see numbers! It’s especially daunting when they change your ID numbers from year to year (to protect you, of course) or refuse to let you access the system if you’re not using the Internet browser they prefer.

While students are busily filling out college applications, writing essays, taking virtual (and in-person) tours of campuses and such, parents are jumping through government hoops in hopes of proving their son or daughter is eligible for “free money.”

We bare our souls — and our finances. We answer questions never asked in polite circles. We go online and complete page after miserable page of data, sign it all with a government-issued electronic PIN, and pay for the pleasure with a credit card.

Then we wait to see if our student qualifies for grants or loans or work-study.

Oh, and don’t think the FAFSA is everything — some universities (like Notre Dame) require completion of the IDOC (College Board’s Institutional Documentation Service). This delightful gem really gets into your business and has an über number of steps to follow.

One of my favorites? Providing copies of your income tax records to prove you aren’t cheating or lying.

I’ve endured this assault to my sensibilities for three whole years now, but I see light at the end of the tunnel. Checking the box that indicates my son will be a senior next fall, I realize with a start this will be my LAST FAFSA nightmare.

Halleluiah!

A Status Update on Lent

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We’re less than a week into Lent, and already I’m having trouble keeping my Lenten “resolutions.”

As a kid, I did what most of my friends were doing, give up candy. Or chocolate. Or sweets. One year I gave up potato chips.

It was hard, but knowing I only had to do it for six days eased the pain.

Back then, it was common practice to relax the Lenten “penance” on Sundays. I’d lie in bed on Saturday nights, watching the clock for 11:59, then race downstairs and break into that bag of candy.

It never tasted better!

But as I’ve matured, so has the Church. We’ve come to realize that giving up sweets or alcohol or even Facebook (yeah, some people do that!), then eagerly waiting for Sunday, isn’t exactly what Lent is about.

Lent is that period of 40 days reminiscent of our Lord’s desert fast, when at the end He was tempted by Satan (Matt. 4:1). It also recalls the Israelites’ wanderings in the desert for 40 years (Nm. 14:34). Catholic and some Protestant churches urge members to become more like Jesus, giving up sin and turning our lives over to Him — not just for 40 days but forever. It’s all about conversion.

A tall order, huh?

So imagine my distress when I looked at the calendar and realized how often I’ve “broken” my Lenten intentions!

You see, this year I decided I’d try to root out my growing tendency to be critical and complaining.

When things don’t go my way, I grumble like the Israelites of long ago. When other drivers make “stupid” moves, I criticize. When politicians play “fast cash” with my hard-earned dollars, I complain.

I’m not proud of it. I don’t like it, and I want to root it out. Lent seemed like a good time for that. After all, “experts” generally agree it takes 21 days to break a bad habit, and Lent would give me nearly twice that.

I envisioned myself becoming kind and loving, tolerant and patient. More like Jesus.

So far, I’m failing. Miserably.

A guy in a pickup nearly slammed broadside into me yesterday, and I complained and criticized. Loudly.

Election signs and ads are popping up everywhere, and nobody seems to have a clue how to fix what everybody knows is broken. So I grumble.

Psychologists say the more automatic your bad habit is, the harder it will be to break it.

Small comfort.

But I’ll keep pushing toward Easter. A few misses along the way won’t derail the process.

And even if I can’t totally eradicate this habit during Lent, at least I’m conscious of it. And that’s really the first step.

How are you coming with your Lenten observance?

Blessing of the Throats

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“Through the intercession of St. Blaise, bishop and martyr, may God deliver you from ailments of the throat and from every other evil. In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” (Blessing of St. Blaise).

Many Catholics today will attend Mass and participate in the traditional Blessing of the Throats, in honor of St. Blaise, a third century physician and bishop.

According to legend, Blaise was born in Armenia into a noble family and raised as a Christian. When a new round of persecution began, Blaise fled to the hills to escape. There, he befriended the wild animals — wolves, lions, and bears. One day a group of hunters recognized him and captured him, intending to turn him in to the governor for trial. On the way, a woman brought him her son, who had a fish bone caught in his throat. Blaise prayed over the boy, and the bone dislodged, saving him from certain death.

When the governor attempted to get Blaise to sacrifice to pagan idols, Blaise refused. First he was beaten, then tortured, and finally beheaded.

The Feast of St. Blaise is celebrated around the world. Some Eastern Churches consider his feast a holy day; Germans and Slavs, in particular, hold him in special honor.

The Blessing of the Throats is a sacramental of the Church. Like Rosaries or genuflecting, sacramentals are Church-instituted objects or actions that work through the power and prayers of the Church to drive away the evil spirit.

Traditionally, the Blessing of the Throats will be performed at the conclusion of Mass.

The priest (often with several lay assistants) takes two blessed unlit candles, usually tied in a V-shape with a red ribbon, and lays them at the throat of each congregant, reciting the words of the blessing at the top of this post.

A simple and quick ceremony, but one that’s effective, particularly at this time of year when respiratory illnesses are rampant!

Blaise is the patron saint of wild animals and of those with throat maladies. When we seek his intercession, we should remember to ask for God’s protection not just against physical throat disorders (sore throats and colds, for example), but also for spiritual help (avoiding profanity, gossip, etc.) As St. James told us, “If a man who does not control his tongue imagines that he is devout, he is self-deceived; his worship is pointless.” (1:26)

The Blessing of the Throats is one ritual I try not to miss. How about you?

Back to Campus Again

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Ever since Thanksgiving, I’ve been fighting a cold (upper respiratory something) that’s offered me a range of delights from stuffy nose to runny nose, sore throat, cough, sinus pressure, and pain.

It’s been a nuisance.

But I’ve learned something about myself. Something I guess I’ve known all along but never really admitted.

Especially to myself.

I’m not a spitter.

You remember that scene in “Titanic” when Rose insists that Jack teach her “to spit like a man”?

I never had a Jack Dawson to teach me that.

So I can’t just hock it back and open my mouth to release it.

The mucus, I mean.

It won’t come out.

The nasty stuff drains down the back of my throat in a marble-sized ball, then slithers away like some kind of raw oyster, never to be seen again.

It’s not that I haven’t tried.

Spitting. Expectorating.

But the agony of choking something up and trying to release it is more than my poor body can endure.

My eyes tear up. My nose stops up. And I fear I’m going to throw up.

Something that’s on par with spitting.

Ain’t gonna happen.

Not in my lifetime.

I don’t do vomit.

Period.

I can count on one hand the number of times in my life that I’ve thrown up. Most were after anesthesia. Or the flu.

Imagine my dismay when, the night before Domer and I were to leave to return him to campus after Christmas Break, he came down with a horrid stomach virus.

The poor kid was “blowing and going” from both ends for a solid four hours.

I was ready to haul him to the hospital. He wouldn’t consider it.

“Vomiting is a sensory experience,” he told me. “You see it coming up, you hear it, and you taste it. Again. Then, you smell it and you touch it when you clean it all up.”

Right, I thought, as my own stomach knotted up.

Nothing like too much imagery 😉

Needless to say, we postponed our trip a day.

And, while he wasn’t exactly “well” then, we had to travel if he was going to start the semester on time.

So why, when I was doing the right thing for the right reasons, did I feel like “The meanest mom in the world”?

I mean, look at the likes of Susan Smith, who sent her two young sons to their deaths while strapped in their carseats. Or Andrea Yates, who drowned five of her kids in their Houston bathtub.

Now that’s mean.

Not hauling a kid back to a college he loves!

Happy New Year!

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Sleeping Sheltie

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
Looks like somebody got into the eggnog?? Or was it the Pupperoni snacks?

‘Mom, get that camera out of my face! I’m trying to nap here.’

Mind your manners, Doggin.

‘Okay. Happy New Year 2012 and thank you all for reading Mom’s blog!’

Beating those Holiday Blues

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It’s easy to feel let down after the Christmas presents are opened, the relatives and friends have packed up and moved out, and it’s time to return to work.

After all, some of us have spent more money on gifts and activities than we’d planned. Others built the holidays up to such euphoric heights that day-to-day life can’t possibly compete. And still others might have experienced quarrels with family, bad feelings from over-eating or failure to exercise, and the “sadness” that often arrives during the shortened grey days of winter.

While I don’t profess to be a therapist, I know several tricks for beating the blues that can come after the holidays are over:

  • Eat healthy. Okay, so you slacked off your diet during Christmas. Big deal. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Just start today to eat healthy again. Back to the fruit and veggies; away from the cream pies and liquor.
  • Exercise. Join a gym or the Y. Put on your sneakers and walk at the mall. Start a yoga program. Try some new exercises described in magazines. Just get moving! And you’ll stick with it longer if you have a buddy join you (like maybe your dog or spouse?)
  • Leave your decorations up. Don’t be too quick to haul the tree, garland, and lights back to the attic. Leaving them up until mid-January frees you from the immediate stress of having to take them down, as well as can evoke good feelings of your Christmas get-together.
  • Or not. For some people, getting the house “back to normal” waylays depression. Perhaps you can enlist your family’s help, rather than trying to do it all yourself. Make it fun and reward them afterward.
  • Cut back on unnecessary expenses. Do you really need to eat out that often? Can’t you wait until that movie comes out on DVD? Don’t you have enough clothes and gadgets without shopping for more? Don’t bring yourself down by putting yourself in a financial hole.
  • If you make New Year’s resolutions, be sure they’re realistic. Failing to meet your “goals” can lead to more stress and depression!
  • Find things to look forward to. If you’re creative, you might want to catalog your Christmas memories in a photo album. If the holidays found you smothered by too much family and friends, perhaps you can take 20-30 minutes a day just for yourself — to meditate, to read, to regroup.
  • Give to the less fortunate. Christmas probably brought you some new things. Maybe after-Christmas would be a good time to donate your used things to others.
  • Listen to music. And while you’re at it, dance! And sing! Doesn’t matter if you’re good at it. Nobody needs to know but you.
  • Get professional help. If you find your sadness and lethargy lingering beyond what’s reasonable, you might consider talking to a professional counselor. Depression is treatable, you know!

Here Comes Santa Paws

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Where? Did somebody say Santa Paws? Where is he?

He’s not in the fireplace, Mom!

He’s not outside, either!

I don’t see him here

Wait! I think I heard him!

I’ll just look cute and wait for him! Happy Holidays, Y’all!

The Debate Continues

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A columnist for my newspaper this morning extolled the benefits of having a real — as opposed to artificial — Christmas tree.

As “virtues” he cited the “fresh pine scent,” the joys of buying local from a Christmas tree farm, and the delights of getting your tree home to decorate it.

Obviously, he didn’t grow up in my house.

I recall far too many Christmases trekking through the cold and snow to find a real tree, wrestling the thing into the trunk of the car, driving back home, maneuvering the prize out of the car, and discovering it was too “fat” to fit in the stand.

Then we had to hoist it onto the front porch, dig through the garage to find a saw, shave the sides of the trunk, and place it back in the stand, where it quickly became obvious the tree leaned a bit to one side or the other and had unusual “bare” spots. By the time it was erected and inside, nobody wanted to continue the decorating — needles were strewn all over the floor; angry and hurt feelings thickened the air.

No wonder something like 50 to 75 percent of people now go with an artificial tree! Consider the advantages:

* Cost. Once you’ve made the initial investment in an artificial tree, it’s yours. No more shelling out money every year for gas to search for that perfect specimen. No more annual cash outlay to purchase it.

* Convenience. Store your artificial tree in its box, get it out as early as you’d like (hey, even keep it up all year if you want!), and know just where to find it when next Christmas rolls around. Most are easy to put up, too.

* Upkeep. Artificial trees don’t need to be watered. So you can keep Fido from lapping up the sugar water and forcing someone to constantly refill the stand.

* Fires. Real trees eventually dry out. A dry Christmas tree can go up in a blazing inferno. Who wants to come home to find their home in flames?

* Cleanup. Artificial trees generally hold their needles whereas real ones don’t. If you get a real tree, you’re going to be constantly running a sweeper or something to keep the dried needles picked up so Fido won’t swallow one.

* Allergies. Many people are allergic to Christmas trees (in particular the sap but also the pesticides used to grow it). Don’t force your guests to choose between visiting you in your home and avoiding you like a plague!

* Snakes. I suspect the last thing most folks want in their homes is a snake or other critter. However, there have been occasions when just that has happened (do a Google search and see how often!)

* Practical. Trees belong outside, you know. If you insist on having a real tree, get one that can be re-planted outside rather than using one for a couple of weeks then tossing it out with the trash!

What’s your preference — Real or Artificial Trees?

A Stranger Comes Calling

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A few days ago, I was chugging along on the treadmill, minding my own business, my thoughts a mile away, when I caught a glimpse of something odd.

It was a dark-colored something, and it SWOOPED through the entryway of our house.

My heart racing, I hopped off the treadmill and picked my way — tentatively! — toward the front door.

There, on the blinds covering the skinny floor-to-ceiling window beside the door, hung a BAT!

Big brown bat (image thanks to West Virginia Dept. of Natural Resources)

The thing was clinging for dear life, its head looking around, its wings sort of folded. It wasn’t making any noise.

Stifling a shriek, I called upstairs for my mom, who was peacefully watching TV. She joined me in the hall, and the two of us surveyed the bat and mulled our options.

‘We’ve got to kill it,’ she told me.

With what — a gun?

I can see us missing the bat but inserting bullet holes in the walls, the ceiling, and the floor, not to mention shattering the windowpane.

‘That’s not gonna happen,’ I said.

‘So let’s open the door, and maybe he’ll fly out.’

Right. Maybe.

By then, my Sheltie picked up on the commotion and arose from his nap. He, too, joined the party in the hall, looking around expectantly to see if this was some sort of new game.

Knowing his breed herds things, I led him to his crate — where he’d be safe and out of the way. My nerves were already raw; the last thing I needed was a manic Sheltie barking underfoot!

Meanwhile, Mom went into the garage and returned with a broom and a large Styrofoam box.

‘Here,’ she said, handing me the box. ‘I’ll move him, and you catch him, then we’ll send him back outside.’

Just like that, huh?

Before she could disturb Battie, I clamped the Styrofoam over him and held it there on the blinds.

Was he in the box? Duh, what choice did he have?

‘What do we do now?’ Mom asked.

Feeling a bit like Lucy and Ethel, I asked her to open the front door and flip on the porch light. Then I slid the box (hoping Battie was still inside) toward the door and gave the thing a shove.

The box fell to the floor; Battie wasn’t in it.

Uh-oh, could he have made his way back into the house?

We conducted a frantic search but found no bat.

‘He must’ve gone out,’ Mom decided. ‘Both of us were at the door, and neither of us saw him come back in.’

Let’s hope, I thought.

It’s been a few days now and no more bat, so we must have succeeded. Since then, I’ve done a bit of research and learned we did most of the right things — surprise!

But don’t call us for your exterminating needs!

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving to all my blogging friends! May your tables be laden with food, your homes filled with family and friends, your hearts cheered with laughter, and your spirits overflowing with gratitude. I’m taking a few days off; will return after the turkey-feast.

Christmas comes Earlier and Earlier

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Guess what greeted me earlier this week when I stepped into a Kohl’s department store?

A pair of floor-to-ceiling, red-and-gold, glittery, artificial trees, along with Bing Crosby crooning over the loudspeaker, “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.”

Now don’t get me wrong. I love Christmas as much as the next person, maybe more than many.

But I almost gagged and walked back out of the store.

Why? This was two days after Halloween!

We haven’t celebrated Veterans’ Day yet. Nor have I had my Thanksgiving feast.

I don’t know about you, but I’m so not into celebrating Christmas until I’ve had my Turkey-day turkey, with all the trimmings!

I realize the economy stinks. Stores are hurting.

Many times you could shoot a cannon off inside the mall and not hit a single person!

But there’s no need for this urgency, this pressure to buy NOW.

I haven’t even started making my Christmas list. Or addressing my Christmas cards. Or decorating the house.

I haven’t got the manger out. Or the Advent Wreath. I haven’t done my Christmas Confession.

I haven’t done my end-of-the-year charitable giving. Or taken advantage of any last-minute business deductions.

But these marketing gurus and store owners are already pushing Christmas.

And just you wait — when I finally decide what I need to buy for whom, the shelves and racks will be bare.

Because as soon as Christmas arrives, they bring out the “summer resort” wear — the navy-and-white cardigans, the white capris, the flip-flops.

The nautical look.

Like we’re all going on a cruise or something.

Give me a break!