And Now a Word from Someone Sitting in the Nosebleed Section...

No one ever asked me to give my thoughts upon completing college or high school, but given that I've been to three already, and have seventeen more (at least) to go,  I'm taking the opportunity here to give my wisdom on the giving of such speeches so as to help everyone enjoy the day.


I know you think you have brilliant slice of life stories to tell and wisdom to impart.

You think you are this:

But most graduates sitting in the pews are thinking this:

Just a reminder.  Brevity.   Soul of Wit and all that.  

Having offered my advice to future speakers, CONGRATULATIONS WILL!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tips for a Happy Marriage

My brother is getting married this summer. So I've spent some time musing over the nature of marriage and drawing upon 22 years of growing ever deeper in love with my husband being perpetually moved that it can always be deeper. I thought I'd try to craft some tips for my brother and his beloved based on my experience. Then we went to see "The Taming of a Shrew."

I had to wrestle with the reality that what Kate says at the end is true, it is how a wife can best love her husband. It is a gorgeous outpouring of love to her husband, an exposition of what it means to love.  And what does it mean to love one's spouse?  It means to obey, to wash the feet, to say yes even when it is hard, to let go of one's self, one's own ego and one's own desire to always have the last word, to always win.

I had to fight with the play and its closing message despite the fact that I'm not exactly what one would call a hard feminist.  Why? Because I like to win. I like to have the last word.  I like to hold on to something that is only mine. Who wants to submit?  And then I realized, those words, that want sounded like Gollum. Ugh.  That's even worse than being submissive, that's being dominated by self.

Here's Kate's last word on the subject.

Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign, one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance commits his body
To painful labour both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe,
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks, and true obedience,
Too little payment for so great a debt.
. . .
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reason haply more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
But now I see our lances are but straws,
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
And place your hands below your husband’s foot,
In token of which duty, if he please,
My hand is ready, may it do him ease.

I'm not going to touch the weaker sex stuff if only because it does not hold my interest.  I had to wrestle because the story itself is problematic at best.  I struggled because the story undermined the soliloquy at the end, because we didn't get the story arc of the man becoming less absorbed in being loved, and more so in loving Kate.  I've seen other interpretations where this last long (the longest in the play) speech by Katherine is considered ironic, but that interpretation doesn't fit with how she conducts herself or how the rest of the play holds.  She hasn't been unwilling to speak before, ergo, for her to speak kindly about the role of her husband and her role as his wife, it has to come from her heart.  Up to now, Kate would not do other than she wills, for her to suddenly not do as she wills, would be out of character. It is that she now wills to do as her husband wills. 

 Modern sensibilities tried to massage the play into that place, but like a dress size too small, it didn't quite fit as much as we might wish otherwise. The director and the actors worked to trim the words of language that portrayed the man being superior...the play attempted to present that these were equals in marriage, as they were in courtship. To counter them, the courted Bianca with her new husband were only beginning to spar and find their roles with each other, now that the chase element of their relationship had ended, the same with her former suitor and his widow bride.

I was interested in trying to shake out of the poetry, the truths that let this rusty Shakespearean relic live beyond its Elizabethan sensibilities about roles and gender. Absent a deeper meaning, the play would atrophy to join the ranks of Measure for Measure (another problematic play), and sadder fare like Titus Andronicus, a play so bad even my favorite teacher (30 +years of teaching and loving the Bard) advised not to bother reading let alone seeing.

So I sat there thinking about it.  Perfect love, is what saints do.  They love as God loves.  God wills us to love as God loves.  We are shrews to the last.  It is only God's love that brings us closer to God's love. I wondered if this again was Shakespeare playing with the notion of what it means to sublimate one's will to love, for love, by loving.  Given the recent modern speculation about his faith life, one had to wonder whether or not he was exploring this notion using humans to play out the roles?  The taming of a soul requires exactly this, sublimation, total obedience, total willing alignment of one's will with God's. The Bridegroom is Christ and we, the Church the bride and we are to be...obedient. 

And when I got to that point in my thinking, I couldn't help letting out a bit of a sigh.  Boy that's a tough and I don't really want to.  And if we're to do this with God (in Big love), then aren't we do to this in our lives (little love).  Tougher still.  Even though I could understand saying that yes and that I'd chosen and said I did want to, there were certainly times and moments when I didn't want to, didn't think I should, felt I must carve out my own.  (My precious).  Mulling this all over aloud, at this point, my husband grinned and said, "I loved the play." to which I shrewishly replied, "yes and I did too because you did." which made us both laugh, and we walked hand in hand in the rain to our car six blocks away. 

For all of us, we do have to surrender.  And our whole lives are a process of learning to do just that.

So here are my tips to aid you in the taming of each other's souls, blessings to you both.  40 days to go.


9) Laugh.  It solves almost everything imaginable, even things like taxes, like sickness, like facing a child needing surgery or a traffic ticket when you were cautioned, watch for this road; laughter is the instant band-aid to almost all pain, and it does make it more bearable.

8) Pray together and pray for each other.  This is part of your vocation.  It is also a great honor and gift you can give your spouse.  I recommend a daily prayer together either to start the day and/or end it.  It will grow your hearts towards each other better than anything else.  It always works...and sometimes in grander ways than you intended. (I would say always, because you don't know all the ways prayer works, but that presumes I  know how prayer works.  I only know, it works).

7) Play.  This seems obvious, but reality makes grown ups out of all of us at some point, and grown ups can be terribly terribly boring.  We need date nights and games and sports and plays and music and dancing and all of that, even if there are tons of chores that need to be done.  Yeah. You're married. You don't have to go on a date. TIP WITH BIG RED FLAGS: Go.On.a.Date. Call it that. Schedule it. Make it happen.  It's fun. It's important.  It makes a difference. And sometimes, you get to pick the movie.

6) Listen. Everyone talks about listening.  Listening requires more than not moving one's mouth, it requires we hear all that is said and unsaid.  Dates help with this.  Prayer too.  And Playing...and noticing what needs to be done...see, it all works together, like a casserole but better than any one I've ever tasted.   

5) Be open to being pushed out of your comfort zone. Most of us like to pretend that we have achieved an equilibrium in our habits and sensibilities and that everyone else is unreasonable.  Memo: We are all unreasonable.  Because we love, we will have to be willing to be submissive (which means sometimes, you submit when you would rather not).  This is not pick your battles, this is pick to be more generous than you planned. Plan to be more generous.

4) Pay attention and plan.  Birthdays, anniversaries and holidays matter. I hate that my husband has a Christmas memory of getting socks. So does the every day. I love that he has the memory that I get him his socks every morning. So pay attention to those little gifts of every day, and plan for the bigger gifts that are not every day.  Not noticing the little things that can be done with great love is a quick way to make a marriage dull, (or exciting but not in a not good way).

3) Forgive. It's important because I'm not a planner and so those socks could have rightfully earned me a permanent dog house spot for Christmas, but it didn't.  Love isn't never saying I'm sorry, (I always hated that stupid quote). It's being willing to say, "I forgive you."  And then making a conscious effort to make sure that you never give socks for a present again...

2) Treasure your family, old and new. Your husband/wife didn't sprout out of thin air. They are the sum total of their history, their education, their family life experiences.  The people who first loved the person you love, helped create this person you love.  They deserve your love for raising this amazing soul. 

1) Keep your heart close. Don't badmouth your spouse. Don't engage in taking tally of who has done what and who has given more. This isn't about fairness, it's about love.  Don't allow poisonous thoughts to fester, in the form of entertainment or company.  This is your beloved.  He/She should be honored first, and as such, it is your job to both keep their honor and defend it.

Finally, because this is a sacramental life you are choosing, stay close to the sacraments.  The world has a lot against living a sacramental marriage.  There are temptations, there are trials, there are enemies.  God does not send us out into the world to witness unarmed, but we must return for refreshment, for strengthening, for training on how best to reveal God's love to the world within the confines of our relationships.  We need the reminders of others, of our family, of our Church to sustain ourselves throughout this trial of life. 

Oh...and maybe next time...pick a different play to go see on date night.

The Expert is In

I admit, as a child I identified with Lucy Van Pelt far more than one ought.  I understood her need to occasionally just be crabby and bossy to her younger brother.  Those cartoon hits "POW" were emotionally satisfying.  My younger brother can testify to this reality as well.  Lucy was many things, but always passionate about her own opinion, the Cartoon Patroness of bloggers so to speak. Theoretically, I've matured since then but there are moments when I backslide.

My current stash of knowledge and expertise generated from 44 years on this earth, a Master's plus and independent study seems absent some sort of creative campaign with bells and whistles, insufficient to lure my offspring into 1) seeking my counsel 2) sticking around long enough for me to say something and 3) following through.  

For example:

Yesterday, my eight year old came to me and said, "My stomach hurts."  I looked her over, suggested putting on some less restrictive sweatpants and maybe lying down.   Five minutes later, she complained again, but her attire indicated no adjustments had been made.  I gave the same advice.  She then marched over to the TV, sat down and said, "It feels better now" only to then dramatically groan when her sister came to sit down and explain, "My stomach hurts." all over again.   

Two weeks ago when school let out, I asked everyone to clean out their backpacks of all food, paper and stuff on the first day home.  I explained why.   I called everyone to the kitchen with a trash can at the ready.   Yesterday, if penicillin still needed to be discovered, I would have been in business.  

When I spent three weeks organizing people's drawers, I created a system.  I briefed each child on the system to make sorting and putting away clothing a breeze.  Let us just say, a tornado ripped through the system and we are starting over.   

So I have to acknowledge that Mom's counsel however sage --brush your teeth, study in advance, practice practice practice, lay out your clothes the night before, write it down, make a list, set your alarm...gets lost before it ever graces the eardrums and I need a new medium for conveying all that it is my obligation to impart.    I am thinking of hanging up a sign over my door, "The Expert is IN" as a means of gaining street cred with my children. 

Alas, Lucy's approach of saying, "You Blockhead.  Five cents please." won't assist in this matter however cathartic it might seem to feel in the moment anymore than the recriminations, "Did you study? practice? plan? Call? Think? Clean?  Look? Try?  Remember?"    

Somewhere in the morphing from child to adult, from adult to Mom, I became Charlie Brown and now spend my days believing I can kick that football if only I try once more.  Except I'm tired of running and falling on my back and saying, "AUUGHH."

I miss being Lucy.   So I'm hanging up a sign.  "Homework Help  5 Cents."  with an IN and an OUT sign.  Novelty will get me at least a dime's worth of their time, which is more than I can muster now with cookies and milk.   If nothing else, when they don't listen, I can charge more and explain, "You get what you pay for."  

What the Middle Daughter Knows

My middle daughter has a birthday two days from Christmas so she's had to suffer sometimes having her birthday observed, and by that I mean some time in the following calendar year before the next solstice but not by much.   Thankfully, she is a tolerant soul and has learned counter techniques to short circuit her mother's tendency not to plan ahead.  

Like this past weekend when she came to me with the computer, a calendar and a notepad.  "My birthday is coming up." 

"Yes..."

"So I want to have a party on Friday."  She then opened my calendar to reveal that it was in fact, blank on December 17th other than "Last day of school for 2010."  She then explained, "I want to take four friends to see a movie." and googled Fandango to look up the time for "Tangled" at the theatre she thought would be best.  "Then we're going to Lilly McGilly's for cupcakes so you don't have to cook."  It was hard to argue anything with such a well thought out plan so I agreed.  She typed up the invitations instantly and marked it on the dry erase board, on my calendar and showed me the extra invitation she had printed just for me so I'd have all the details.   I couldn't help feeling unnecessary except as the chauffeur and financier, a sugar mommy so to speak for her social life.  

But I appreciated her attention to detail.  I didn't realize how far her lack of faith in my ability to get things done in a timely manner extended until I found her changing the clocks to allow an additional ten minutes in the morning for error.  When I protested, she pointed out, "We're never late anymore are we?"  

Today, she had a free dress day and could bring a treat to share with her class.  Naturally, this had not been done prior to breakfast and so I was preparing to propose my standard go to treat, Krispe Kreme.  I drive through, I order, I drop off.  It is very convenient and nearly every child gets this; but she was once again ready for me, she had promised brownies she explained.  I gave her a "Don't have an expectation...it might not happen." look and set about loading the car with the other kids for the morning commute.   Normally, she helps buckle the littles in place.   Today, I was marshaling the folks and persuading the two boys to bring down the trash for pick up when I realized she still wasn't in the car.  I went back inside to discover her putting dishes in the sink.  On the counter was a 9x11 tray of brownie batter just waiting to be popped in the oven which she was also preheating.    She'd written a note 30 minutes, 1 hour cooling; powdered sugar, no frosting, bring by 12:15.   I'd have no excuse. 

Her older sister watched all of this with an arched eyebrow.  "How is it that you always get what you want?" she asked.   She'd been lobbying for four months to get a Facebook account.  I'd deferred that we would "discuss" it when her father and I had time.  She'd countered that whenever she brought it up, Dad or I would get terribly busy and not have time.   My younger daughter whispered something to her sister.   She texted her father, "Can we talk about me getting a Facebook account when you get home?"   He responded "Yes." and she followed up, "Swear by the River Styx."  as her sister smiled and nodded approvingly.  

We are in such trouble.  They're colluding.

So You Want to Write a Book

This came out of a discussion in my writer's group. 

Step 1. To Outline or Not outline. Some writers go with inspiration, others as the cliche goes, perspiration. Seeing as I have a book which I tried write when the muse inspired without a blueprint, and now have 1/3 good, 1/3 mush and 1/3 not written (the middle) (UGH, sigh): I humbly suggest you must make an outline. It's a scaffolding to guide you on your total vision. It will change but it will give you a structure. Sweat generates more words than the writing fairy even if she does club you over the head at 4 in the morning on more than a few occasions.

Step 2. Set a writing goal per week --like running a marathon, writing a book requires daily word output training and a lot of it will be junk. 500 to 1000 words per day, or 5K a week or 10 if you are ambitious and have more time to devote to this.

Step 3. Read books of the genre you are interested in, but for structure and technique. It's like watching films to see how a director tells a story and the telling techniques used to make the mood.  You will notice Point of View, verbal tics of the writer if they are prolific, and how seamlessly or not, the writer sets the stage.Know your genre --how big first time books are (pages, word count), who the giants are in that field and what your hook that makes your book special and different, is.


Step 4. BIC BIC BIC BIC BIC BIC (For non writers, Bottom in chair) you can't write a book just thinking about it, you have to sit down and write even when it's boring, just like exercising when you are tired, it's hot and you don't feel like it and maybe you'll run two miles tomorrow extra.  No, write the 1000 words today and lo, you'll write more than that and it won't have been so bad.  No roll over word counts though, write new words tomorrow, and keep a notepad with a pen near you at all times because good stuff will tumble in your brain at the oddest moments. Then write down the stuff you wrote in the pad in your book. (I have scraps everywhere I can't throw away because I haven't added them).

Step 5. Write and write and keep going. Join a group of writers for encouragement (like a group of trainees for a marathon) or do the National Novel Writing Month (November and they have a great website) or a writer's forum (like this one) for support. Most books are between 50,000 and 85,000 words.  Most writers start to lose their wind after the first 15,000 or first three chapters.  This is why an outline helps get you through the bumpy parts of the writing marathon.

Step 6.  Find a person you trust both for writing style and advice and have them beta read a bit of what you are writing with three questions in mind: Did you want to keep reading? Did you know or not know what came next? Did you like the character or like not liking them? Be willing to rewrite, rewrite, rewrite and Edit. Edit. Edit. Let a friend, spouse read --allow them to provide commentary and listen. You don't have to revise everything, it's your book but feedback does matter so grow a thick skin.  Editors will tell you later and being used to hearing what you need to improve will allow you a better relationship with said gatekeepers of the publishing world when that magical day arrives.

Step 7. Repeat step 3 and step 4 and step 5 and step 6. Do not give up. Make a poster, backdrop, screen saver of your one day best seller to remind you of your goal.  Decorate it with the things you will be able to manage once Oprah restarts her book club just to plug your work: A beach house, college educations, no more laundry, whatever motivates you. 

Step 8.  You've finished writing the book.  Now what?  Read aloud.  Edit.  Spell Check and reread again. Repeat.  Lather, Rinse, consider going outside for some sun.

Step 9. Start shopping the agents to see who shops your genre --see what they've sold before, double check them with useful sites like Preditors and editors and Writers Beware, you don't want your baby being co-opted by an unscrupulous beast because you got over eager and jumped in after all that work without looking.

Step 10. Thank helpful friends and people generously with your success by sharing your experience and expert (if you get this far, you're an expert) advice and by financing their lifestyles in a way they are not at the moment accustomed to once you hit the big time and make more money than J.K. Rowling.

I am now going to go pound away at my middle of my book. Yes, I've started redoing all the steps I tried to skip.  And crafting that middle without the prior structure?  It's about as hard as pilates after having had a baby, but for the brain. Good luck and I look forward to reading your great American novel one day.

Monkey Bars

It was a beautiful spring like gift of a Sunday in January twelve years ago. Being only four weeks postpartum, I felt flabby and in desperate need to get out there and exercise. My husband agreed that we should go to a park. We packed the three kids, a picnic, a diaper bag, a blanket, a bicycle, a tricycle and the pram in the two cars. Both the Saturn and the Tempo were brimming with stuff. The park was a mile away.

Will got on his bike. Bonnie got on her trike. We put Marta in her stroller and the new “big” family began its journey around the jogging track. Now on this trail, there were fitness stations. At one, you did arm curls, another, pushups. I decided to firm my form; this would be part of the work out. Things were going splendidly. Even Will and Bonnie decided to do the sit ups with me, or at least hold my feet and count. I felt like such an inclusive all together happening Mom. My kids were counting. I was exercising. We were all out in the fresh air. Raising three kids would be a piece of cake. This felt wonderful, glorious.


Then, I came to the monkey bars. “Sher, I don’t think you should do those.” My husband counseled. I married this man for his prudence, but lacking that quality, I said something like, “Oh stop worrying! I can do it.” and swung into action. I got through four. Then I fell hard on my knee. I couldn’t stand. I started to black out. My husband had to leave me crumpled in a heap with a concerned onlooker and her very big sniffy dog while he ferried the three children back to one of the cars, flagged down a soccer coach to watch them and then return. He then carried back the bike and the trike. We were parked at the very other end of the jogging trail from the monkey bars. I had attempted to stand twice more and failed.


Lifting me up in his arms, my husband carried me across the entire soccer field saying, “Please don’t be really hurt. Please don’t be really hurt. And if you’re really hurt, I’m really mad at you.” and loaded me in the car with the kids. He drove the one car with all of us home, put the baby and toddler in their cribs for naps and turned on the TV for our oldest. He gave me two Advil and a diet coke and walked back to the park for the other car. He’s a very patient man.


The next day, the doctors drained my knee and gave me a brace for my leg so the ligaments that were torn could heal. I had to crawl down the stairs of our town home for the next two weeks with my infant in a pouch on my chest. We didn’t go back to that park again ever.


So when we went to the park for softball practice yesterday, there was an old fashioned non regulatory playground. They dove right into it but I said even as my children coveted those compelling metal ladders that go nowhere; “Don’t go on the monkey bars, they’re too high.” And naturally, one of my children did not listen. She did have the wits not to state, “I can do it.” to my face.


She’s fine, a bit of a sprain in her right hand but I’ll say it now;


“Do not go on the monkey bars.”

How to Stay Unpublished for Life

10) Avoid reading submission guidelines whenever possible, they take away valuable time from writing, which as we all know, is a craft worthy of pure devotion. Submit using the spaghetti approach. Your stuff is so gold, only idiots would not recognize the opportunity being presented.

9) Publically deride any newspaper or magazine that has rejected your latest offering. Send out a spam explaining your personal vitriol in this circumstance; be sure to link the publication to your blog and sig line in the email to guarantee they get the message.

8) Use clichés and metaphors like salt on popcorn. Write peevish emails to any editor that would dare alter or adjust your deathless prose. Reject their acceptance if they refuse to acquiesce.

7) Submit the same article to at least sixteen publications at once, cc the others in a group email to save time.

6) Resend the same articles to the same magazines using the theory of publication via erosion of editorial will.

5) Write a screed damning everything including young puppies. Make sure it is at least 5000 words long and hand written. Send with insufficient postage but with a personal post-it to the editor using his or her real name and possibly a term of affection.

4) Phone the editors on the hour to ask, “Have you read my piece yet?”

3) Phone them at home.

2) Repeat the process with potential agents. Consider moving into a tent at the park near his or her home. If anyone asks, explain you are doing “research” for a character or engaged in a civil protest. For added mystery, never give the same cause twice.

1) When receiving a rejection via email or letter, throw your computer or notepad or both into the trash, dump motor oil over the entire mess and set it aflame. Repeat as often as necessary while screaming and pulling out all hair, including one’s eyebrows, “I’m never writing again!” Continue until broke, the EPA arrests you, or becoming hirsute free.

For Experienced Non Published Writing Professional Hacks Only...
**Write a journal detailing how the world never understood your secret genius. Leave obvious clues in your will to allow relatives to eventually find this hidden opus. Be sure and tuck a few George Washingtons in the pages to reward them for their trouble.