SAINTS AND "MAD MEN"

Whether you are Catholic or not, you probably heard about the canonization of Pope John XXIII, and Pope John Paul II…or you may have seen the full spectacle, officiated by Pope Francis…500,000 present in the square, 300,000 more watching televisions set up by the Vatican…not to mention all those who tuned in around the world, as I did.

When this early morning event was over, a rerun of “Mad Men” was about to begin. I had not seen this episode “The Fog”, so decided to tune in.

A particular scene drew my attention.

The sixties distanced men from their wives during childbirth sending them to a waiting room, unable to witness the birth of the life they had helped to create.  In this episode Don Draper, a 3^rd time father to be, meets Dennis, a 1^st time father to be. The newbie opened up conversation about his nervousness at being a father. He learns that his baby is breach, and worries about his wife, and whether he could love this baby if his wife died during childbirth. As a prison guard at “Sing Sing” prison, Dennis recounts that everyone was a baby once, and all prisoners blame their mom and dad for their problems. They both agree that is an excuse.

As Dennis learns that his wife and son are doing fine, he points above, tells Don that he doesn't know what’s up there, but that his son will make him a better man. Don, illicits no response. Dennis continues,“Tell me you heard me”. Don replies “I heard you”.

Pope Francis has received a lot of criticism for placing these two popes on a fast track to sainthood. Well deserved, or not, I believe he wants the world to see that saints are not buried so far in the past that the ordinary man cannot identify. His upcoming “Synod on the Family”, may be a call to discover the saint within.

 English dictionaries describe “mad” as “being carried away by enthusiasm or desire”. Hmm…saints and mad men walking along the same path.

Tell me you heard me.

"IF" HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION

                                                

The story was about a mongoose named Ricki-Ticki-Tavi and his adventures in the garden he inhabited as the select pet of a wealthy family. As a 7^th grader in English class, I read the story over and over again. I loved how the words traversed in such a flowing picturesque way. The drawing…and the author’s name…still present in my memory after all these years.

My interest in this author reawakened when a poem he wrote came to my attention. My granddaughter, introduced to it in 6^th grade Advisory class, was given the task of memorizing and presenting it to her peers.

A portion of the poem is inscribed above the entrance to Centre Court at Wimbledon where so many Worldwide Tennis Championships have taken place. I thought it was written especially for this venue…never thinking it was a small portion of this author’s work.

                                            “If you can meet with triumph and disaster

                                            And treat those two imposters just the same”

The author, as you have probably guessed is Rudyard Kipling. In his autobiography, “Something of Myself”, he stated that he wrote the poem in 1895 as a tribute to his friend, Leander Starr Jameson, someone whom he admired for his courage. After reading Kipling’s life story, I suspect that over the years he, himself had developed the courage he speaks about.

Which brings me to the point that all great people aspire to…Yourself included…Transformation by Detachment, Surrender, Contentment, Discipline…and…

Now allow me to make “IF” available to you. I hope you will continue to be inspired as well.

IF by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you 

   Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, 

   But make allowance for their doubting too;  

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, 

   Or, by being lied about, don't deal in lies, 

Or, being hated, don't give way to hating, 

   And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;  

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master;

   If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with triumph and disaster

   And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken;

   Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,

   And stoop and build 'em up with worn out tools;     

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

   And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings 

   And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

   To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on"; 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

   Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;  

   If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run--

   Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it'

And--which is more-- you'll be a Man my son!                               

TOP DOWN

The blackboard was full of algebraic equations….a nightmare for many, but not for our class. I sat in the front row in 12^th grade math class and loved delving into the problems we were presented to solve. Time has made me realize what a fantastic teacher she had been. Giving us free rein to uncover the possibilities that lie within our thought processes, she corralled us into believing that math could be explorative, challenging and enlightening.

It wasn't always that way. As a 7^th, 8th and 9^th grade student I hated math and brought this hate home with me to wreak havoc on anyone who would listen. Fortunately my father would not listen, and insisted I sit down and methodically work out the problems. “I hate this”, and “I can’t do this” became my mantra. His stubbornness being stronger than mine opened a pathway to passing grades…but I still hated math class!

The first component of a great teacher should be love…in love with your students… and in love with your subject matter. When I entered 10^th grade, there she was… a loving knowledgeable teacher expecting perfection, but not demanding it…helping to see possibilities you hadn't seen before.

I thought about math on the 50^th anniversary of President John Kennedy’s assassination, because that’s where I was…in the front row in 12^th grade math class…when I heard the news over the PA system.

I don’t recall what happened after that shocking news on Nov. 22^nd 1963. Words that the President had been assassinated in Dallas, shouldn't have affected me so… since I was a Canadian girl in a Canadian school, and had never been to Dallas.

He rarely ever traveled, but he was in Dallas in 1959 on a week long certification class for heavy duty mechanics when his 7^th child was born… a son… and after 5 girls in a row, I would imagine a welcome respite from all that femininity. His joy was short lived as this new little one died of a heart abnormality just 3 days later. I wondered what thoughts came to mind when my dad heard about the death of President Kennedy in Dallas. Did he relive his own shocking news and sadness when he was in Dallas just 4 years earlier?

Both John’s are deceased now, but their legacy remains…one on the worldwide stage…and one within the family.

The tentacles of death travel in many directions... leaving many legacies behind. The gravedigger, Clifton Pollard interviewed by a young reporter named Jimmy Breslin, said it was his honor to dig JFK grave. The article is posted on the http://www.arlingtoncemetery.net/digging-grave-an-honor.htm .

I wondered about the gravediggers for the other two deaths. Did they work with perfection and love? Did they honor those they served? ... Do I?

RENAISSANCE

This page is actually a renaissance, as I have no idea where my original writing disappeared on my computer. I had to start all over again and try to pick up the pieces…I guess it’s rather funny, when you look at the meaning of the word “Renaissance.”

My granddaughter in 6^th grade is studying Latin, and loves to test me on phrases she has learned, so I decided to text her to see if she knew what Latin word was the root of the English word “Renaissance”. Being the literal girl that she is, her answer came back “no”… another reason for laughter.

From my French lessons in High School I recalled the word “Renaitre”…to be born again. The Latin origin of the word, “Renasci”… “Re” meaning back again, and “Nasci” to be born.

The word played on my mind as I passed by the Renaissance Mall…which is fairly new.  I thought about Leonardo Da Vinci and Michelangelo and remembered they were born in the mid 1400’s. The English word Renaissance came into being, after the fact, describing the period from the 14^th to 17^th centuries. I wondered when the printing press was invented… (Yes all this during the drive past the Renaissance Mall). I knew the inventor was Johannes Gutenberg, and in researching it found he invented it just before Da Vinci and Michelangelo were born. Wheels in motion… now the common man had access to treasures of information he had not dreamt about in the Dark Ages…the period just before the Renaissance.

 Past eras are defined by Historians who determine what happened long after ages have passed. It is a reflective procedure, and one I tend to think about today. I see bolder, more involved, interested, excited and energetic people of all ages making things happen… enlightenment in action. Is the internet the new printing press? Is Latin making an early comeback? Are we defining a new renaissance, or are we still ignorant of our own capabilities?

I've heard the Dark Ages described as the root of a plant, thriving in the dark until the flower presents itself to the light of day…the Renaissance. Can we have one without the other?

Relationships have to be born over and over again if they are to thrive…sometimes they are part of the “dark ages” and other times part of the “renaissance”. My extra large family makes it difficult to keep pace with all the adventures and misadventures of everyone since most live so far away. I value all the treasures that were invented to stay connected…the airplanes that brought my family up close and personal this year… the technology that gives an instant picture of those who choose to share. 

The text came in “Pregnancy redefined…Aka little miracles”, along with a photo of the newborn son of my niece and her husband. What kind of renaissance will this little one bring out in those he encounters? Will he know that he represents the beauty of the world, and all of its blessings? As I studied his face and hands…the only parts visible in a sea of white blanket he captured my heart. Will he know his Great Aunt thought he was special?

I guess he might read this one day…in time.

"TOO UGLY TO KISS GOODBYE"

When Bum Phillips, was asked by Bob Costas why he always took his wife on the road with him, he replied… “Because she’s too ugly to kiss goodbye”. Laughter ensues, as the colorful nature of “Bum”…a laugh in itself…shines through.

Life might be too serious if you couldn't find a reason to chuckle about that comment.

He died this past week at age 90, a lifetime of laughter, truisms, friendships, family, faith and charitable works behind him. I had watched him in action over the years with his characteristic 10 gallon hat and passionate stance as coach of the Houston Oilers and New Orleans Football teams. Passion, intensity and love of life, hurled at the viewer, as his movements cascaded on the sidelines.

It is not surprising that someone would want to capture the vividness of his life in a movie. It is more surprising that it would be offered as an Opera. “Bum’s” blessing for it was given in 2012 when he met with the artistic director Luke Leonard, and the composer Peter Stopschinski.

I had heard about this opera a few days before his death when my daughter informed us that she had been cast as Bum’s sister in this newly written opera.

The company’s name “Monk Parrots” is producing it in March 2014. “The company derives its name from Monk Parakeets … Unlike most exotic birds they can survive basically anywhere by working together and adjusting to unusual climates. They symbolize intelligence, endurance, adaptation, and collaboration.” This noted on Monk Parrot’s website.

Have you ever noticed words that pop up in your life and you reflect upon them? Well the word “Monk” popped up 2 more times this week, which is why I am writing about it today.

Monks…“They can survive basically anywhere by working together and adjusting to unusual climates. They symbolize intelligence, endurance, adaptation, and collaboration.” Hmm…parroting…

Catholic Monks set up a casket making operation in New Orleans after the Katrina Hurricane of 2005. The State, being pressured by lobbyists, attempted to shut them down because caskets were being sold at lower prices than funeral homes. The battle ensued for 5 years, with the Supreme Court finally siding with the free market system, and allowing the Monks to continue their work of making caskets. This story was being reported by Clark Howard, a money guru, enthused by this entrepreneurial win.

Legend has it that Buddhist Monks cultivated monk fruit some 800 years ago. It grows naturally on steep heavily forested mountains…and yet they found a way.

Can we?

If a situation seems too ugly to kiss it goodbye, it can lead to perseverating, depression, not living in the moment and giving up.

BUT…If there’s something ugly in your life, don’t kiss it goodbye too quickly…Face it… Own it…Then kiss it goodbye.

And don’t forget to laugh about it…as you start all over again.

UP...SHUT..DOWN

                                                                      

 “There was a duke of York…He had ten thousand men…he marched them up the hill…And he marched them down again…And when they’re up, they’re up…And when they’re down, they’re down…And when they’re only half way up they’re neither up nor down.”

A warm-up exercise to quell nervousness, that was part of a program I had been chosen as a participant my freshman year at the University of Alberta. Taught by the Christopher’s who were graduates of the Dale Carnegie Course, it was a leadership course on campus  to build confidence and speaking abilities by using your  God-given talents to make a positive difference in the world.

The class began with about 20 colleagues and 3 instructors…instructors who had an accepting aura that enveloped the room. Being introduced meant coming to the front of the room and speaking in the allotted time. I recall some participants not being able to speak a word…frozen, with what appeared to be a complete mental shutdown…stuck in the middle …not going anywhere on the march. We had to clap anyway for the fact that they got up and stood in front of the class…that was considered trying…positive reinforcement. I was not frozen in the middle, but felt as if I had babbled enough to look stupid. Relieved that my turn was over, I sat down, happy to cheer for the next candidate. Sometimes this new confident candidate did not want to shut up when the time had elapsed. Clapping had a wonderful way of signaling the end.  Growth and achievement were evident in all from week to week, no matter where you were on the march.

It is now 15 days into a government shutdown and life for the majority continues with little impact on their daily lives. There are still jobs, football games, and operas, swimming lessons, running competitions, shopping and even the Oct. 15 tax deadline. This is not to lessen the seriousness of the consequences of what is happening, it is only to point out that this could not happen in many countries where rule is imposed. Each day the debt ceiling looms closer, the voices from the citizens of the United States become more intense. They will not be shut up or shut down…all have a say and that is what a representative government is all about. However, it seems that for years we have been marching up the hill and down again where more of the hill is being eroded. If the hill becomes flat lined citizens will have no further active involvement in their government…they will only be recipients.

Is the bigger question…Does government reflect what is going on in family life? Are we content to be more involved with ourselves than we are as a family? If we shut down our technology, would that cause us to shut up? Would conversation take the place of posting? Would we still need filibusters?

  

HIGH HEELS AND SNOW

This bestselling author has sold over 80 million books and just signed a 3 year contract with Simon and Shuster…She will be 88 years old when that contract ends…but if past history is any indication, she will probably still be on an upward spiral. She received a college degree at age 50, wrote numerous short stories, 30 best sellers, a historical book as well as a memoir… all after she was widowed at 36 raising 5 children.

When does an inspiration begin?  When do you cultivate it?  When do you stop working on new ideas?

I have never read a book by her, but the latest book cover by Mary Higgins Clark captured my eye as it showcased a red high heel in the snow. Those of you who know me know that I love high heels, but hate snow…loving the high heels as an excuse to feel tall, elegant and capable…hating the snow for the cold, bundling up and treachery of maneuvering.

Two opposing forces…Opposites I had learned about as “Yin” and “Yang” in junior high school…taught in a narrow version as feminine and masculine, light and dark…Opposites!

My fascination with the words Yin and Yang caused me to delve more into this 5000 year old Chinese philosophy. The Yin Yang structure is far more defining than opposite forces. Although opposing, it is more complementary… two different energies coexisting, yet tied together. The outer circle representing everything in life…the black and white shapes representing the interaction of these two energies…a flow and balance…not one without the other.

The reporter asked, “Who is Jorge Mario Bergoglio?” to the man seated on the simple wooden chair. There was silence before he answered… “I am a sinner.”  More silence… “I am a bit astute, that I can adapt to circumstances, but it is also true that I am a bit naive.” Pope Francis… Humble… yet the Leader of the Catholic Church. Complementary forces surrounded by God’s embrace. Saint Ignatius called this discernment as he struggled to reach a higher calling. His vision, and that of Pope Francis, “Not to be limited by the greatest and yet contained in the tiniest-this is the Divine.”

Ancient Buddhist Tradition describes this balance as “The Wheel of Life;” North American Indians as a “Medicine Wheel.” Other cultures also depict life in circular motion as well…all encompassing, no beginning or end! Balance only being achieved through struggle and discernment.

When opposing forces threaten to derail my life, can I see it as a call to discernment and either repair or discard the wheel that has become damaged to once again achieve harmony and growth towards a higher calling? How and when do I use discernment?

High heels and snow could be my beginning!