Hurricane Sandy Wake Up Call

Back in 2005 when Hurricane Katrina swept through New Orleans, the day after everyone thought they'd dodged a bullet until the levees broke. 

If you didn't know then, getting to New Orleans is only possible via a few routes, the biggest being I-10 which stretches for hours inbetween exits.   We had friends who had family in the most threatened areas and they drove to my parents home to wait out the storm and its aftermath until Hurricane Rita made everyone evacuate from my home town for the same reasons.  

I remember in the weeks following, there were constant news casts and the 1-800 number for Red Cross flashed across the screen almost continually.  The NFL did a pitch during Sunday games and everyone was invested and involved in trying desperately to show they cared.  

Like past hurricanes, it isn't necessarily the size or the wind that did the most damage, it's the water.  Hurricane Ike eliminated the Bolivar Peninsula as I knew it back in 2008.  It is still recovering. 

Now, Staten Island has been destroyed.  I am looking at the television.  I am listening to the news.  I hear reports of tragedies and anger and frustration and politics and opportunism and blame and the like.  I do not see the united cry for the nation to wake up and be generous. 

So here's my little part.  Here in the year of faith, these are our neighbors. They need clothes, food, heat, light, warmth, shelter, comfort, a hint of normal.  Wake up. 

Here are the numbers:

Red Cross: 1-800-733-2767  or here's their website: Red Cross.  (I know some people are really mad at the Red Cross but they still do good work and it's up to you to decide where you will donate your money). 
Catholic Charities USA: 1-800-919-9338 or Catholic Charities USA.
United Way: United Way  (I couldn't find a phone number on the site).

Want to do more? 

1. Give blood.  (It's always needed).
2. Contact friends in NY/NJ/CT and the like and check in. Ask what is needed.  Even if they're okay, they're close to where the need is, so they might have a better sense of what is needed.
3. Ship it...whatever it is. 
4. Hope for good weather for all involved in rescue and coping and clean up.
5. Pray for all who must live with the aftermath of this storm. 

We're not supposed to only give when we're moved.  We're supposed to give in excess of our depth of feeling, because love isn't a feeling, it's an action which requires more of us than what we would otherwise allot if allowed to simply go on our own impulses.  When we are generous, it is an act of grace, and we are cooperating with the Holy Spirit, being the hands and feet of Christ by clothing, feeding, nurturing the hungry souls around us.  Today being the feast of All Souls day and Friday, offer up the pizza you would have had for dinner to make life easy, to make someone else's life that has just been hit pretty hard, a little easier. 

I'm now going to sign off and go figure out what to defrost for tonight's meal. 

Mary, Mary, Think of Mary

This year for Lent, I’m trying something different. After talking with my husband, I am attempting to ban a flaw that sabotages my capacity to love my family well. It’s my “personal gritch.”

My personal gritch shows up on Saturdays some time after lunch when everyone is settled into a recreational activity. She goes about cleaning the dishes in a huff or sighs audibly in front of the laundry. She claims she wants help but what she really wants is a reversal; everyone else working while she takes it easy and just yells. She is humorless, joyless and ultimately, a very annoyed cleaning martyr that no one much wants to help or hang out with; and she pops up like clockwork on the weekends. I don’t like her anymore than the rest of the family does, but try as I might, I haven’t been able to shake her influence despite trying diversion (Look Sherry, a blog!), inclusion (Do you want to play with us Mom?) and redirection (We’ll get to that later, did you get to look at that article I mentioned?).

Fat Tuesday rolled around and I asked my husband, “How? How do I beat her?”
He smiled, “Well first of all, don’t be too hard on her, because I happen to love that person even when she’s in a bad mood.” It was hard to stay on point after such a sweet comment but I persisted. “I’m serious.”

“Okay.” He thought for a moment and brought me the picture of our Blessed Mother. “Mary. Think of her. She’s the model you want to shoot for. When you’re stressed out, think of Mary. That will help.”
My oldest daughter agreed to help by saying, “Mary” to me if I seemed too overwhelmed or stressed out. She said it yesterday morning when I began to feel the time crunch of getting ready for school. She said it again today when I started ordering people out to the car and ranting about lost shoes.

This evening however, my daughter would not be with me as she and her sister and brother had altar training. I wasn’t happy at my parish for doing this project. Adding a mandatory four training sessions once a week for three of my most capable children at prime dinner/bedtime routine time seemed cruel and almost anti-family to me, but I dropped them off and started the errands I’d saved for the mindless ninety minutes I’d have to kill before pick up.

The remaining five younger children would just have to deal with the boredom. Well. We all know how kids deal with being bored; they fight. I drove to the post office. I got gasoline. I stopped the fights but they kept coming. Finally, I swung into the parking lot of the school and yelled. It wasn’t Marian. It wasn’t pretty and then I looked at their faces and the clock that indicated we still had an hour with each other. I couldn’t expect things to get better without a major attitude adjustment for all concerned. “Mary.” Think of “Mary.” I told myself and apologized to my son and daughter for yelling. They both looked grateful but the faces collectively were still glum. Part of getting rid of the “practical gritch” involves getting rid of the “practical” part that would have me running errands to eat up the waiting period, so I popped in Foreigner’s Greatest Hits and said we were going to do an exercise program in our seats.

I’m sure anyone who cared to watch got a kick out of seeing a 43 year old woman jab, cross and air box a punching bag in the first row of a 12 passenger van with four happy co-boxers following along. The exercise program devolved into a dance party within three songs before I had to reign it in. I didn’t want to surrender the fun but they were getting a bit too wild. “Mary. Think of Mary.” I visualized the picture my husband had referenced. “Let’s sing songs.” And we sang away another 25 minutes before my voice started to give out. “Tell us a story.” It was now effort, and the gritch wanted to quit. “Mary help me.” I thought; and a story about five puppies was created. Feeling triumphant, I buckled everyone back into their seats, put on some classical music and fed the baby. The older kids returned just in time to help keep the gritch at bay.

There were struggles unloading and getting to bed that evening, but overall, the day was saved by thinking of Mary. This one day of the 40 could be considered something of a success. Even so, with 12 more days to go and a crammed weekend schedule that includes two major band performances and a musical that goes on three days plus altar serving, I'm starting early. Mary. Mary. Think of Mary. Mary. Mary....

The Expert

Sometimes I need to stretch other writing skills so I write flash fiction via the Absolutewrite forum --they give topics every Sunday Night at 9:00 pm. You have one hour to create a piece. This was my most successful piece; the topic given, "The Expert." Enjoy.

This is crazy.” Susan said to herself, “But you need help. You’ll never make it through today if you don’t.” she answered herself. Practically, she had examined the schedule and with her husband out of town and her oldest required to play in a high school concert or be docked two grades, there was no avoiding the obligation. She didn’t want to bring a toddler and a newborn plus two older children to a building where every squeal would be super amplified. It was a great opportunity for her son to be sure, to play at the Kennedy Center, and it wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to secure a babysitter, but people looked at the number of children involved and got very busy with their schedules. The woman had stopped her at church to say to call if she ever needed help, and pressed the paper into her hand.

Unfolding the paper, Susan dialed the number. “Hello?” a male voice answered, he sounded annoyed or at the very least, stressed. “Can I speak to Anne?” Susan asked. “One moment.” The male voice had switched to business professional.

“Hello?” a sort of familiar voice came on the phone. “Hello Anne, this is Susan. You gave me your phone number to call if I need help.”
“Yes. Yes. Yes. I’m so glad you called. What can I do for you?”

Susan poured out the whole insane schedule to Anne who was properly sympathetic to the craziness of it all. “What time do you need me?” Grateful for the rescue, Susan promised to order pizza and have the kids ready for bed to make it easier. “It’s a good thing you caught me today, tomorrow my husband and I fly to Chicago.”

“Oh. To see family or see an exhibit?” Susan asked, she loved Chicago and always liked hearing about people going there.

“No. “ Anne’s voice softened. “My oldest daughter is struggling with depression and we’re flying there to help her. She’s seeing things that aren’t there.”

“Oh!” Susan felt a hammer on her heart, just thinking about the amount of pain in that simple statement. “I will pray for you.” Susan said.
“Thank you. I’ll be at your home tonight at six.”

Susan took out her rosary and began the familiar prayers. “Rain on the heavens with the rosary.” She thought. “I need my brother.” She thought of her long deceased brother that had lost his battle with madness on Earth. “You know the pain you caused Mom, see if you can talk some sense into this woman’s daughter.”

And somewhere in Chicago, a hung over woman brushing her teeth in her apartment had a vision of a cigarette smoking skinny black haired boy with an avenging naked red headed arch angel tattoo on his left arm. He took a long drag and then he looked her straight in the face, his blood shot eyes matching hers. “You don’t want to go down this dark road.” He said and flicked some ashes. “Trust me, I’m an expert.” Then he faded from her view and her memory, leaving only the whiff of air where someone had been smoking.

In the interest of serving the general public as cold and flu season kicks into high gear...

The following chart of frequent phrases has been created for your convenience. Should a sore throat render your voice inadequate to the daily demands of parenting, simply print this simple list and post it on the refrigerator. Point to the appropriate number.

AutoMomic Responses

10) Get in the car!

9) Stop Fighting!

8) Pick it up.

7) Go to bed!

6) Just eat it.

5) Because I said so.

4) Get dressed Now!

3) Turn it off!

2) 5…4…3…2…1

1)NO!

ADDITIONAL NOTES FROM THE MANAGEMENT:

This is a benevolent dictatorship, not a democracy.
We serve no whines of minors.
We love you.

POTTY WARS ADDENDUM...

It's not going well.

Indisposed, daughter who is two knocks. "Don't come in!" I urge. She opens the door and very gently puts down a box of baby wipes. "Here you go Mom." She says and walks away.

It's really not going well.

You should use the potty J.

"No Mom."

Why not?

"Then I'll get my beautiful potty all dirty."

It's not going well at all.

At the grocery store, "We need diapers Mom! Don't forget diapers Mom."

Nice lady listening: "Don't you want to be a big boy and use underwear and go to school?" I nod my head eagerly in agreement.

"NO. Then I'd have to leave Mom alone with the baby!"