About two weeks before Christmas, one of my mom’s sisters suddenly collapsed on her kitchen floor after suffering a massive stroke.
She was dead less than 36 hours later.
Once again, my family is experiencing grief and coping with the loss of a loved one during the holidays (my dad passed away on New Year’s Eve, 2008).
Once again, our focus shifts from happiness and gift-giving and tinsel on Christmas trees to sorrow and funeral arrangements and tears.
The child in me screams, “Enough already! Turn Death off! He’s too cruel at this time of year.”
But nobody asked for my opinion.
Auntie M. was one-of-a-kind. Clean as a pin, she always had a dishrag in her hands, mopping up someone’s messes, toweling off her already-spotless counters.
Her kitchen was one of my favorite places. The smells wafting around there were enough to melt the cockles of the meanest heart — warm butter (a stick at a time), chocolate chip cookies (mine, without nuts), snow-white divinity, rich and creamy fudge, fig cake cookies (made from an old family recipe).
And you couldn’t get out of her house without at least one colorful round tin filled to the brim with some of those treats!
As if anybody would turn down goodies, fattening or not!
In her younger days, Auntie M. was quite a hoot. We kids would listen enthralled as she and her husband, my parents, and the other siblings and their spouses would gather with their mother (my grandma) around the kitchen table for a rousing game of penny poker.
Oh, the laughter! Oh, the chiding! Oh, sound of coins and cards hitting the table and ice cubes clinking in glasses!
Auntie M. also was quite the fisherwoman. She and her husband had a cabin of sorts along a lake (in addition to their family home), and they loved spending time reeling in fish, which she promptly battered and fried (more yummy smells!)
One of Auntie M.’s favorite expressions was “cotton pickin’.” Only years later did I realize it was her way of protecting us kids from some of the not-so-nice words flying from the mouths of my other relatives!
My mom talked to Auntie M. the evening before her collapse. She said she’d had a wonderful day visiting with her kids and their kids, and she was looking forward to getting together wih my mom over Christmas, to share a few laughs, catch up on old times, and do sisterly things.
It wasn’t to be.
While we mourn for the woman who left us, we rejoice that she’s no longer in pain, that she’s reunited with her beloved husband and parents, and that one day, we’ll see her again.
This is the hope of Christmas, that the Baby lying in the manger came to free us from death and draw us to Himself forever.
Merry Christmas 2010 to all my family and friends!
R.I.P., Lizzy
My sister sent me a link via e-mail this morning asking, What’s up with this story?
After reading through the story and talking to My Favorite Domer, I feel compelled to respond.
The gist is this: a 19-year-old St. Mary’s College freshman named Lizzy Seeberg and her girlfriend went with two Notre Dame men to the men’s dorm on Aug. 31. The fellow Lizzy was with was an ND football player. After a couple of beers, the foursome went to the football player’s room for a “dance party.” The other couple left, then something happened. Lizzy reportedly was fondled and bullied against her will until the football player’s cell phone interrupted and he “threw her off.” Afterward, Lizzy reported the incident to police. The football player’s story was similar, except he said what happened was consensual. Ten days later, Lizzy was dead after allegedly ingesting an overdose of the anti-depressant Effexor.
This week, the University announced there would be no prosecution, effectively putting the case to an end. Attorneys said the only person who could give Lizzy’s side of the story was Lizzy, yet she’s dead and cannot testify.
So an ugly incident is resolved to nobody’s satisfaction.
In a perfect world, parents wouldn’t have to bury their children. Young women wouldn’t feel so enamored of athletes that they put themselves in compromising situations. Young men wouldn’t take advantage of vulnerable women. Young people wouldn’t resort to suicide to solve temporary problems. And they wouldn’t engage in underage drinking — ever.
Yet we don’t live in a perfect world. Lizzy Seeberg, by her parents’ admission, was “naive” and loved to party. She also battled an anxiety disorder, depression, and panic attacks for years. And the football player reportedly had demons of his own, dealing with issues of aggression and bullying since middle school.
Some have complained that he faced no disciplinary action in the wake of this incident, that he continued playing football for the University even. But if no crime was committed, why punish him? And if a crime was committed and covered up, everybody involved shares in the blame.
While gossiping and finger-pointing might make us feel better, only Lizzy and the unnamed football player really know what happened that night, and they’re not talking.
One no longer can. And that’s sad, very sad.
And so I Write
Ever since I can remember, it’s been one of my most persistent dreams to write a novel.
As a kid, I started a book (in pencil, by hand!) every summer. Mostly, it was a loose collection of semi-autobiographical tales that happened to a make-believe person.
When summer ended, so did the book. It wasn’t finished, but I put it on a shelf in my closet and started a new one the following summer.
And so it went — for years.
My first career was as a newspaper journalist.
I wrote every day — nonfiction. Real things that happened to real people in real time.
My colleagues and I often talked about writing “the Great American Novel.” Most of them weren’t serious; I was, but dared not admit it for fear of being ridiculed and discouraged.
One day, the “itch” became so insistent that I had to scratch it. I started a novel.
Not on company time, mind you. By then, I was on a new career in Web Design. Running my own business meant I could write around projects.
I wrote while watching my son’s soccer games, or waiting for him to get out of school, or during one of his many lessons.
And I actually finished this novel. Keyed in (on computer) “The End.” Finally, I was a writer!
The book was awful, unless you count spelling, grammar, and sentence structure (thank you, grade school nuns!). If you like tension, conflict, characterization, and such, forget it.
So it joined the unfinished others on the shelf, while I devoured Writer’s Digest magazines, poured money into writing how-to books, attended workshops and tried to learn what I didn’t even know I didn’t know.
Several years ago I faced another dreaded lull in my business.
Time on my hands. Fear of going to the poorhouse.
I started a second novel and finished it, too.
This one was better. With age comes courage (if we’re lucky), and I sent out query letters, hoping to snag a literary agent.
No takers.
I studied some more. Did more reading. Attended a conference or two.
And started my third novel.
I typed “The End” several months ago and have since polished and revised and polished some more. Once again, I’m shopping for an agent. Once again, I’m looking for publication.
Because everybody knows being a writer is different from being an author — right?
Well, sort of.
I’d like to think I don’t need publication to validate what I’m doing. That, even if I can’t go into a bookstore and pick up a book with my name on the cover and my words inside, I’m still a writer.
But why write if you can’t share your words with the world??
So I’ll continue chasing my dream. And I’ll continue to write because that’s what writers do.
As Admiral Farragut once said, “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!”
Here, Kitty!
My Favorite Domer says I must be part cat. He even calls me “Kitty” on occasion.
I think he’s onto something.
You see, I’ve never been very fond of being wet, be it rain-soaked or swimming-pool immersed.
My dad always used to welcome a good rain, especially if it came with a lightning show and lots of thunder. It cleans the earth, he’d point out.
I agree, but washing is supposed to be done at night, not during the day. And that’s when rains should fall, too.
If they did, there’d be no need for rain jackets and hats and boots and umbrellas — shoot, entire industries would dry up.
So to speak.
But rainy days are depressing. They’re gray and drab — and wet.
It’s that part-cat thing, remember.
Long ago, I was coerced into taking swimming lessons.
“You never know,” my parents said. “Being able to swim might save your life some day.”
Shudder.
So I dutifully went to the pool and suffered.
It wasn’t bad enough that I had to wrap my then-skinny body in a swimsuit. Invariably, the temperature here in June hovers somewhere around the 60-degree mark, give or take. Not near warm enough to heat a huge outdoor pool to where it’s comfortable.
Bath water comfortable, I’m talking about.
Combine the embarrassment of appearing (milky-white body, of course) in a swimsuit with the pain of dropping into near-freezing water and you can imagine how I dreaded the ordeal.
To this day, I shun water sports. I don’t water ski. I don’t swim laps for exercise. I don’t do water aerobics. I don’t dive or snorkel.
And I hate driving on bridges and flying over big bodies of water.
Terra firma, that’s where I’m meant to be.
If the Good Lord had wanted me to swim, He’d have given me fins and flippers instead of arms and legs, right?
Notre Dame this ‘n that
Earlier this week, the Fightin’ Irish lady’s soccer team captured the NCAA championship title, beating previously undefeated Stanford 1-0.
You probably didn’t hear much hoopla about it, though, unless you lived in the South Bend area or were actively following the sport.
Why?
Well, I think a lot has to do with the fact that sportscasters tend to focus on more “popular” games like football, basketball, or baseball. In addition, I think there’s still a bit of the “old boy’s network” in the sports field, leading announcers to pay more attention to men’s sports then women’s.
A third reason, I suspect, has a hint of the “green-eyed monster” in it — the mentality that anything having to do with something positive coming out of Notre Dame just isn’t news.
It’s aggravating as a Domer Mom to realize everybody isn’t for your kid’s school; in fact, many hate Notre Dame. Their reasons, I imagine, are many and varied, but it’s hard for me to come up with even one!
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This year’s Fightin’ Irish football team will play Miami in the Sun Bowl on New Year’s Eve in El Paso, Texas.
Along with the Sugar and the Orange bowls, the Sun Bowl is the second-oldest college bowl game in the country, following the Rose Bowl. Game time is noon MST.
By the way, if you’d hoped to score tickets, you might be able to find some, but I’m told the good seats were snatched up like TV sets at a Black Friday sale.
It’ll probably be easier to watch in the comfort of your own home from one of those TV sets, anyway.
You did manage to grab one on sale, didn’t you?
It’s Snowing!
As I type this, it’s snowing outside.
Now, for some people, that would be a nuisance and an inconvenience. They’re the ones who bask in warm temps year-round, who never have to worry about snow-covered sidewalks and icy roadways. They don’t own winter coats or mittens, and boots are purely a fashion statement.
Part of me envies them their sunshine. I, too, used to live in the south where it’s easy to put up outside decorations at this time of year. But the bigger part of me welcomes winter.
C’mon, how many Christmas cards depict palm trees and beach scenes?? How many carols sing of balmy weather and golf courses? And you can’t roast chestnuts over an open fire when it’s blazing hot outside!
Nope, this is the time of year when it’s supposed to be cold. Trees, grass, and plants are supposed to grow dormant. Squirrels and birds are supposed to become scarce. Daylight is supposed to become shorter.
People, too, are supposed to “hibernate.”
I can remember many winters as a child when we used this time of year to learn new things — how to play chess, for example. Or pinochle or hearts, monopoly or backgammon. Sometimes, entire days would go by when we couldn’t leave the house for the weather.
Talk about cabin fever!
True, shoveling mounds of heavy snow isn’t on top of my Fun-Things-To-Do list. Nor is driving on icy streets, having to wear a heavy coat and boots everywhere, and looking outside on yet another bleak, gray day.
But there’s something to be said for curling up with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate while the wind howls outside!
And, while winter itself sometimes seems to drag forever, it won’t be long before the days lengthen, the warmth returns, and the earth comes alive again.
That’s why I like having four distinct seasons!
Deal…or No Deal?
My Favorite Domer, home for the Thanksgiving holidays, somehow managed to find time to read a book.
Now this wasn’t just any book. It was a challenge, more or less, a carrot-on-a-string, and you’d have to know that MFD really doesn’t like reading to understand what a huge deal it was.
A few days before the holidays, a BIP (Big Important Person) came to one of MFD’s classes, bringing with him a stack of books. BIP spoke to the group and announced that he was giving away said books to all students wanting to read them. BIP even promised his company would donate mucho-dinero to the college, matched by his own contribution to the university itself, if every student taking a book would read it and e-mail him by a certain date, speaking about what he/she had gleaned from its pages.
Sounds simple enough, right?
Ah, but we’re dealing with human beings here, young adult human beings, for whom nothing is simple.
So MFD took one of the BIP’s books, hauled it home, and read. Pretty interesting stuff, he told me.
Returning to campus, MFD e-mailed the BIP and received a very nice response. However, of the 200 or so students participating in the class, only about half actually agreed to take a book and read it; of that number, just half actually read the book and e-mailed the BIP.
Thus, no monetary donation.
MFD was bummed when he told me this. Bummed he’d spent all that time reading when he could have been working on the multitude of other projects on his plate. Bummed his fellow students would take BIP’s book and not live up to their end of the deal. Bummed the college and the university lost out on all that free cash.
I don’t see this as catastrophic as MFD does. First, no time spent reading a good book is wasted. Second, MFD proved to himself and to BIP that he, at least, is honorable, a man of his word. And third, he doesn’t have to live with the stigma of being one of the students who caused the college and university to lose out on a potential donation.
It’s a good lesson in human nature, too. Too often, we take the easy way out, maybe having good intentions but letting other things get in the way. Then we convince ourselves that somebody else can pull the load (or in this case, nobody else would rise to the challenge anyway).
As Vince Lombardi once said, “The difference between a successful person and others is not a lack of strength, not a lack of knowledge, but rather in a lack of will.”
Don’t be Pigs, People!
I don’t know if it’s the season or my small town or what, but there’s just something wrong with people these days!
Take yesterday, for example. My Favorite Domer agreed to accompany me to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1, at the movie theater here.
Don’t laugh. We’ve read ALL the Potter books and watched ALL the movies to date, so we weren’t about to miss the final installment!
Now he’d seen it just a few days previously and pronounced it a good show, but that was all I got (other than a warning there was more “death” in this one). He knows better than to ruin my experience.
Unfortunately, the guy sitting catty-corner behind us with his date (wife?) didn’t. All through the movie, Mr. Big-shot is carrying on a running conversation, explaining what just happened, revealing what’s about to happen, pointing out ways the film differs from the book, repeating portions of the characters’ conversations, etc.
I was half tempted to whirl around and demand he shut up! Okay, I did whirl around a few times and give him the “mean-ole-mommy” glare, but it went for naught. He must’ve been a kid who’s mom didn’t glare (if there is such a creature!).
And another thing. What possesses strangers to belly right up to others in a movie theater? I mean, this show had been out a whole week already, and most people had seen it who wanted to see it, so it wasn’t exactly crowded. We got there early, chose seats away from those already sitting, and thought we were doing fine. But as new people came in, they did their best to box us in, leaving whole rows empty in favor of sitting close to us. Go figure.
And what’s with the people who ignore the movie ratings? Somebody came in with about a dozen small children (hey, I have nothing against kids — I have one of my own — but this movie was rated PG-13, and these kids were clearly under the age of 10). They led the kids right to our area, and we were “treated” to rattling sacks of candy, crunching sounds from popcorn, sucking noises from sodas, and inappropriate nervous giggles for the rest of the show. These must be parents who like to traumatize their kids with dark horror; otherwise, they’d have stayed home, saved the admission cost, and rented it when it came out on DVD (where they could fast-forward through the dicey spots).
As the credits finally started to roll and people began leaving, MFD and I looked around and couldn’t believe the mess. People are pigs, he commented. Many of them didn’t bother carrying their trash out (despite having a waste receptacle right beside the door); they left sodas in cup holders, squashed popcorn on the floor,and unused napkins strewn about. Didn’t they realize they weren’t in their own living rooms?
Who’s teaching basic niceties like consideration of others these days???
A Rose by any other name…
This past Fall Break, I was puttering around the kitchen while My Favorite Domer was watching one of the sports channels on TV.
All of a sudden, I heard the announcer speak a familiar name. Whirling around, I declared, “Hey, that guy’s my hero!”
MFD turned a puzzled face toward me and asked, “Who? That guy?”
“Yes!” I screamed, repeating the man’s name.
“You’re kidding,” MFD said. “How do you know him?”
“I don’t know him,” I said. “I know his name. It’s the same as the name of my hero, the one in my book.”
For those who don’t know, I’ve been working on a novel for the past few years. I’ve basically finished the writing portion; now I’m in the editing/polishing stage and soon will be ready to pitch it to prospective agents (say a prayer, okay?)
“You used the name of a real guy for your book?” MFD asked in a rather horrified tone. “That was dumb, Mom. You should’ve Googled him first.”
Duh! I guess I should have.
But who would have thought the name I’ve been “living with” for this long would turn up on a real person?
In all fairness, my hero isn’t an athlete (an athlete who’s managed to get himself in a bit of trouble with the law, to boot), but he hails from the same U.S. state, and that’s just too much of a coincidence for my comfort.
So I decided to re-name my hero. It’s easier to find another acceptable name than to face possible legal consequences.
But doggone it, those few seconds put me in a tailspin. With as many people as there are on the planet today, it’s not easy finding a good name that hasn’t already been taken, and I was rather fond of the one I’d chosen!
So I did a bit of research into what other writers do when naming their characters. They:
- Browse telephone directories
- Buy character naming books
- Use online random name generators
- Thumb through baby naming books
- “Steal” names from spam e-mail
- Traipse through cemeteries
- and even “borrow” names from their friends and families
Interesting, huh?
Naming characters isn’t easy. You’ve got to find a name that fits the type of fiction you’re writing as well as the period and place it’s set in; you’ve also got to “live” with the name for a while and see if the character accepts it.
Does anybody else have other “foolproof” naming resources? I’d sure welcome them!
Slow Down for Turkey-Day!
Does anybody else think we’re rushing Christmas a bit more than usual?
The day after Halloween, I noticed one of my neighbors had already hung his outside Christmas lights. Not only that, but our city has erected Christmas decorations, the shopping mall has its holiday trimmings up, “Jingle Bells” and such are playing on the radio stations, and some people even have their Christmas trees glowing from inside their windows.
Excuse me, but don’t we have another holiday to fall between Halloween and Christmas? Thanksgiving, remember?
Sure you remember. That’s the “feast” day — bring on the turkey, the trimmings, and the pumpkin pie! Loosen the belt buckles, watch football until your eyes grow weary, allow yourself the luxury of a nap.
It seems like The Food Channel is the only one talking about Thanksgiving these days!
With the nation’s economy in the pits, it’s no wonder merchants are pushing HARD for business, but some were even advertising Black Friday sales at the beginning of November.
That makes me kind of sad. I look forward to the urgency of those day-after-Thanksgiving sales, when throngs of people line up outside stores in the wee hours of the morning (stars still out and everything!) to await the opening of the doors, the mad rush inside, and the frantic grabbing of sale items!
Every year seems to have its hard-to-find, must-have item. Remember Cabbage Patch dolls? How about the Nintendo GameBoy, Razor Scooters, or Tickle Me Elmo? They practically guaranteed pandemonium when reports announced such items were in short supply.
I recall racing through a store one Black Friday to get a DVD player My Favorite Domer had to have! Funny how the “getting” of such items far surpasses the actual pleasure of “having” them.
But life’s like that, isn’t it? Too often, we relish the chase more than the prize itself.
Which brings me back to Thanksgiving.
Rather than trying to skip over this holiday in a mad rush to get the Christmas preparations underway, shouldn’t we simply enjoy this special time for what it means — faith, family, feast, and much thanks?
Musings by an ND Domer's Mom 