I turned 10 the year my sister gave me a five-year diary for Christmas.
I used it to record my hopes: January 1, 1971: “I resolve I will try to exercise every day!” That lasted three days because, as i wrote on January 3: “exercise makes me tired”.
My achievements: March 5, 1975: “I MADE IT” – in all caps – after the phone call from our high school cheerleading coach telling me, and my two sisters, we all made the cheer squad.
And thoughts about boys: April 5, 1972: “I am a failure at everything. I can’t even write good notes to keep a boy interested. He’s slowly beginning to hate me. I am always doing stupid things. No wonder no boys like me. Today was mom’s birthday. She is 50”. Hopefully my mood didn’t put a damper on my mother’s birthday!
Much more than just my boy crazed entries, my diary documents school days, birthdays, family trips, and days spent doing nothing with friends. I wrote annually about our Fourth of July family reunions at the lake house of relatives, and remember so clearly the foods, swimming, and cousins I would see once a year.
Haircuts, clothes shopping, McDonalds, Friendly’s and pizza. Page after page, a catalog of ordinary days.
As I read it now, I’m reminded of the carefree times of my childhood and the freedom my sisters and I were given to roam as long as we were home by 5 pm.
My five-year diary is a time capsule I didn’t know I was building.
**This was the story I wrote for my last Writers Guild class at my public library. We’re done for now and will reconvene at the end of September.
Is it a new craze among women? I know it’s been around forever but I’ve suddenly been seeing mahjong parties for beginners and hearing of women playing every week.
I saw an event posted on Facebook for a beginner’s lesson at a local winery and clicked the “interested” button. That always gets me in trouble because immediately your “friends” see it before I remember to change it to only me. Well, someone saw it and wanted to go with me, so me being me, I said Okay.
It was last night from 5:30 until 8pm which I thought was a long time but there was a lot of instruction going on. The person who came with me, had played weekly for 12 years but had not played for 2 so she was rusty. Of course she won at our table against three newbies!
In case you’ve never played, four people play, each person has a rack with a “sweeper” to move your double stacked 19 tiles into the center when it’s your turn. My recollection is fuzzy, somehow you get 13 tiles on your rack but before you begin play, you have to give 3 up and get three from the other plays in a right, over (across), left, left, over, right pattern. Then there is a card – it’s a yearly card put out by mahjong international or something for $15! – and you use the card to select a “game” that YOU are playing to put the groupings together and when you have all the groupings, you say “mahjong!”. So you’re playing with four yet, you are all playing your own game. Eventually, everyone’s double 19 tiles are swept into the center and those are used to pick up and discard. If someone discards, the other three can try for it, but after that, it’s dead. And you can only pick up the discard if it’s going to complete a part of your game!
There were seven tables and three people helping which really wasn’t enough because one person had to play at one of the tables that had only 2 people. One table was not paying attention at all which was really annoying because they were right next to us and talking as the instructions were being given.
I enjoyed it, but when the woman I attended with talked about getting together to play weekly!, or every other week!, I froze because I didn’t like it that much! It reminded me of what I’ve vaguely heard about playing Bunco, or Left-Right-Center, women getting together at someone’s house eating and drinking and playing and honestly, that is just not me. And I’m not terribly competitive when it comes to this stuff, so I don’t feel the need to play every week to get better. It was just fun. I picture it more as “card parties” put on by organizations and you put together your group and go and play. Occasionally, not on a regular basis.
Have you ever played Mahjong? What did you think about it?
Today I had an impromptu therapy session in my hair stylist’s chair.
Only one in the salon first thing this morning, and we just started talking and one story leads to another story leads to another! I didn’t realize I felt such a need to unburden myself but I know she is a great listener. We live in the same town, and know some of the same players and so share our opinions or fill in the gaps of knowledge.
If there had been another stylist and customer in the next chair, we would have all been chatting superficially, but because we were alone, we could talk as much and as loud (over the hair dryer) as we needed to.
I can be a clam, never wanting to reveal too much, or any, of my emotions because I’ll obsess about whether I “said too much”. Always measuring my words. It felt good to just talk.
My birthday was yesterday and with that always comes my thoughts for my “new year”. It’s a nice little reset four months into the actual new year.
A couple of things I’ve noticed. I spend too much time reading other people’s blogs instead of writing on my own TWO blogs. This one and my family one.
I spend too much time, again reading, trying to “figure myself out” through astrology. It has given me an understanding of myself but I want to make sure I don’t lean too hard into it. What happens when I finally figure it out? Like the dog who catches the car. Will I be any happier? Not likely, so maybe I’ll try to keep some of that mystery alive.
I continue to work out every day but it’s only been since last week that I am coming to grips with my diet. What’s the old saying? It’s 10% exercise, 90% diet. I reinstalled the My Fitness Pal app and have been tracking my food. Keeping it realistic to lose a 1/2 pound a week and that appears to put me at the healthy part of my diet overall. Of course, with my first weekly weigh in, I gained 2/10th of a pound but I’m blaming it on the soy sauce with the sushi for my birthday dinner. I just have to stay realistic. Overall though, I feel great!
We haven’t started any biking yet this year and I’m looking forward to riding on my Specialized that I bought last September. I managed to sell my first bike, the Salsa, last week and I’m glad that someone starting out will get to enjoy it. With that said, I’m going to take each opportunity that comes up to ride without thinking about what’s on my desk or that “I need to be there”, when it’s likely I don’t really need to be there.
Overall, I’m pretty pleased with the first four months but I always appreciate that birthday reset!
I have written twice about my inability to “do math”. Here and more recently, here. It all started, I thought, in third grade with long division. But I learned something today that might have derailed me earlier than that.
During his sermon, the deacon at church used his 1960s self getting a correct answer to a math problem and his teacher saying, “You got it! You Understand!”, as an example of disciples and townspeople believing Jesus’ resurrection. He appears before two followers on their way to Emmaus. They notify the eleven apostles, who tell the two men that Jesus appeared to Peter. While this is happening, Jesus appears again. The two men got it, they understood now what was happening. Not unlike Deacon Etzerheld’s new found understanding of “New Math”.
What was New Math and did everyone have trouble? New Math is described as “a dramatic but temporary change in the way mathematics was taught in grade schools which started in France and stress to many other countries between 1950s and 1970s. What happened to if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it?
I was probably too young to have experienced the effects of new math, but what about my teacher? Or was third grade math still simple enough to teach, and for most of her students, easy enough to learn that it didn’t create issues.
I thought I was on to something until I realized New Math was likely on its way out the door by the time I arrived for the hard stuff. Long Division.
Me on the left, my twin on the right. About the age I started suffering with math.
This brown scapular was part of my parents’ belongings. I knew what it was but never looked into its origins until recently. Now that I’m settled back into my catholic religion, I found it interesting.
Brown ScapularOur Lady of Mount CarmelSt. Simon Stock
When I googled “Scapular”, this brown scapular came up immediately, as it is the most common form and is called the Scapular of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. One patch shows Our Lady of Mount Carmel, and the other shows St. Simon Stock. It’s also most likely the oldest.
I found this information from a website called Catholic Company:
Simon Stock was part of the Carmelite order and in 1251, on July 15th, Mary the Virgin Mother appeared to him with a scapular in hand and told him, among other things, that “whoever dies in this garment, will not suffer everlasting fire.” This Carmelite Order originated in the late 12th or early 13th century on Mount Carmel, Palestine where European hermits gathered near the “spring of Elijah” to live a contemplative life. They fled Europe in 1238 because of Saracen invasions but then in the mid 1400s they moved back shifting from hermits to friars. They became known as the Brothers of Our Lady of Mount Carmel.
Originally, a scapular was, and still is, a piece of clothing that someone in a religious order puts over their habit. That’s called a Monastic Scapular. These smaller scapulars are called Devotional but the principle is still the same, it’s worn over the shoulders. That is where “scapular” comes from – scapula.
Another part of the brown scapular is something called the “Sabbatine privilege” which states that Mary will intercede and pray for those in Purgatory who in early life wear the brown scapular in good faith. If you wear one, it should be blessed by a priest. I don’t intend to wear this, but will know what it is, and its significance now.
Brown is not the only color, but the only one I’ve every seen. A green scapular is the Scapular of Conversion and was created in 1840. It carries promises of strengthening faith, protection against Satan, a happy death for Catholics and especially for the conversion of those outside the church.
A red scapular is the Scapular of the Passion and it originated from an apparition in 1846 to a Sister of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul. Jesus revealed to her a scapular and promised to all who wear it that on every Friday he would grant an increase of faith, hope and charity. Interesting!
A blue scapular is the Scapular of the Immaculate Conception. The Venerable Ursula Benicasa, founders of the Order of Theatine Nuns (born around 1550 and died in 1618), had the blue scapular revealed to her by Jesus in a vision as a means to honor the Immaculate Conception.
There are others – Scapular of the Most Sacred Heat of Jesus, Scapular of Our Lady of Ransom, Scapular of St. Michael the Archangel, Scapular of St. Joseph, and Five-Fold Scapular.
There is even a scapular medal that a person invested in the brown scapular can wear instead. It can replace multiple scapulars but it has to be blessed with each individual blessing of the various scapulars. Whew. Have you ever heard the word “scapular” so many times in your life? The medal must consist of the image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus on one side and a presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, usually Our Lady of Mt. Carmel on the other side.
Fun geographical fact – there is a neighborhood, or village, in a nearby town called Mount Carmel and it is the site of the first meeting house for the town of Hamden. It was named due to the resemblance of a range of hills nearby to the Mount Carmel mentioned in the bible.
Those hills go by another more familiar name for us locals, Sleeping Giant. It’s a state park here in Connecticut that looks like a giant laying down.
The Sleeping Giant aka Mount Carmel
It’s like I was meant to learn about this brown scapular.
Have you ever seen one or had one? Let me know in the comments.
Today I met a friend for our monthly brunch at a small, but wonderful, bakery cafe called Flour Girl Cafe in Hebron, the middle of the state and halfway from both of our homes. Forty-one miles from home with about half and half highway to back roads.
We manage to talk non-stop for two hours when we meet each month, it’s amazing how the time flies.
Next up was a ride south to trade some skirts I had bought online in early December from my favorite store, Haystacks in Essex. Twenty-eight miles between destinations. Winding back roads most of the way, including a nice ride on the metal bridge over the Connecticut River.
The skirts and dresses at this store are stretchy and are reversible! I love them for summer. I ordered these two skirts online in December but just tried them on last week. I had bought a larger size and realized, they were too big! Even though they had a 30 day return policy, I explained the tags were still on, I loved their clothes, so they allowed for a swap. In gratitude, I bought a new dress!
Heading home was another thirty-six miles along the back roads on a gorgeous spring day.
I love driving by myself. I mean, I enjoy company in the car or being driven around, but there’s something so freeing about driving around back roads by myself. Music on (Mumford and Sons!), windows partially open, and just feeling so free and in control.
I am short. I hit my full 4’11” in sixth grade after a 4” growth spurt and it was all down hill from there. I blame my twin. If there weren’t two of us, I might have been taller. She disagrees with me.
Inside my body I don’t feel short and when I see pictures I don’t always feel short. But when I see short people next to average sized people in real life, I think, “holy crap! Is that what I look like?” Like do people think to themselves, “that is one short person!”
A plus to it is, I think anyway, that people think I’m younger than I actually am. People usually subtract 10 years when they say, “I thought you were _____”. The minus, I usually act younger than I actually am. And emotionally? Well, I think it’s around 12 or 13! But that’s a story for another day.
The worst part, the worst!, of being short is that pants are always too long. And I can’t buy them in stores because if they make petite or short, they are online.
Petite. Ha! Petite for 5’2” and under. Yet online they will say “the model wearing these is 5’10” and wearing a size 4 petite. Huh??
It’s not all doom and gloom though. There are some good brands that make “petite short” and “regular short” for those not-quite-petite short people. I’ll put myself in that category depending on the brand. I have managed to find them over the years and hang onto every pair for dear life!
But there’s the thing. After spending almost a lifetime wearing pants that are just “thismuch” too long, when I wear a pair that is the proper recommended length, I feel like my pants are too short because I’m overweight.
If you’re a shorty, you know what I mean. Or maybe I’m just crazy.
Me and my twin maybe 7 or 8 at Mystic Seaport. I’m on the right
It was a wonderful day that started off with 7:30 am mass. It was packed! The altar was beautiful with forsythia surrounded by hydrangeas of blue and pink. Two of my favorites.
Father Lane served mass, and he’s a favorite of mine. We were sprinkled with holy water and surrounded by incense during the service. Yes, it’s been a long time since I experienced an Easter morning at church and I’m grateful to be back.
After I got home, I had breakfast and a second cup of coffee both tiding me over until the Easter feast at my sister’s house. Small crowd – 17 people – with enough food for 30.
We stick with the Polish traditions of kielbasa, ham, pierogis, hard rolls, rye bread, and babka, and there is something for everyone! There are plenty of desserts like Hungarian cookies and little cherry cheesecakes. Everyone goes home with leftovers!
It’s a mix of parents and children and one grandchild and as various types of in-laws we’ve known each other for over 40 years and have become good friends as well as family.
We left for home with our care package of food. The women’s basketball final between South Carolina and UCLA was on so we changed into our comfy clothes, and settled in with some leftovers. We were happy with the outcome of the game.
It is Holy Saturday morning, and I am standing in line at my church waiting to confess my sins.
This is only my second time doing this, and I have never been here during a holiday before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. It’s busy! Two confessionals at either end and another one up front of the altar, face to face (or side to side).
I remember when growing up, the confessionals were in the back of the church (like here), and we were terrified of which priest we would get! We’d get in the booth and wait because there was another confessional on the other side, and the priest would be talking to the sinner on the other side. We’d wait and get more and more nervous, kind of like today! Soon, the little covering over the window would slide over, and we’d hear the priest asking us to confess our sins.
This time was a little different than the first at this church. I picked the right-hand side and should have picked the left side because I walked over to the room, the door was wide open, and Father Devine was sitting in a chair waiting for me! I’m sure the shock was on my face! Ugh, Face to Face!?! With the door wide open?!? I didn’t even get to say how long it’s been or give the Act of Contrition. We just launched right into my sins.
I’m sorry – is this ALL supposed to be private? I won’t share the details. Let’s just say, it didn’t take long because what I was hoping was going to be a mini therapy session turned into a “yikes, here’s my sins, now get me out of here” moment.
I do feel better for going. I may have been happier if I had gone to the front for the side-by-side, and I know, without a doubt, given the option, I will be turning to the left confessional from now on!
Thoughts From The Passenger Seat 