Crazy Cat Lady Mews

The particular manifestation of the Spirit
granted to each one is to be used for the general good.
To one is given from the Spirit
the gift of utterance expressing wisdom;
to another the gift of utterance expressing knowledge,
in accordance with the same Spirit;
to another, faith, from the same Spirit; and to another,
the gifts of healing, through this one Spirit;
to another, the working of miracles; to another, prophecy;
to another, the power of distinguishing spirits;
to one, the gift of different tongues and to another,
the interpretation of tongues.
 But at work in all these is one and the same Spirit,
distributing them at will to each individual.
~1Corinthians 12:7-11 –

Today, our church observed Pentecost Sunday. This is the time when Jesus sent his Advocate, the Holy Spirit, to the disciples.

It brought back memories of when I was confirmed. As a young girl, I can recall Sister Agnes telling me that we are all blessed with gifts from God and guided by the Holy Spirit in our use of those gifts. She asked, “What are your gifts and how are you using them to make the world a better place.”

Sister’s question is still valid today. Everyone has his or her own special gifts or talents. Some spin these into a hobby while others make them a foundation for a career.

Today, I had the privilege of reading these verses to our congregation. As I always do, I reviewed today’s readings last night. These are some of my favorite verses because they remind me to keep using my gifts from the Holy Spirit to make my corner of the world, along with those lives that I happen to touch, a bit of a better place. They remind me that one person can make a difference in the life of someone else.

How are you using your gifts?

~Karen

Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.
~Lord Byron

Yet another thing Obamacare did NOT fix:

I went to pick up meds today and was told my order was “conveniently converted” to a generic format. When I asked where it was made, I was told “it’s made by Teva USA so it must be made in the USA.”

I guess I must have really rolled my eyes, rather than thinking about it, because the girl at the desk gave me a “huh?” kind of face. I told her that just because a company has the letters U S A in their name does not mean it is actually made in the United States of America. I asked her what the differences were in the ingredients; she told me the active ingredients are the same. I told her I want to know what is in each, both the brand name and the generic. And I want to know where each is made.

Said girl enlisted the aid of another pharmacy worker who pulled out the information from both drug companies.

Turns out the generic is made in India. Yup, India. And, of course, even though the “pills look the same” – and yes, the girl actually said that! – they do not have the same inactive ingredients.

My choice is to take the 3-month supply of generics for $14.00 or buy the American made brand name for $325.00 (total cost is $459.00 – insurance will cover only $134.00).

Of course, I did  what any angry customer would do, I told them to keep the generics and I will get back to them. Now, I will contact our insurance company to find out what my options really are in this situation. As a patient, I should have the right to choose to stay on a medication that I know works, without worrying over possible allergies to inactive ingredients.

Of course, perhaps if Obamacare had actually addressed this kind of situation, then maybe I, along with millions of other Americans, would not have to deal with the issue of overpriced medications.

Obviously, the only winners here are the pharmaceutical companies. Oh, and the politicians. I fear the only laughter here is coming from both the pharmaceutical folks and the politicians – laughing their way to the bank on the backs of folks like me.

Love is like an earthquake: unpredictable, a little scary, but when the hard part is over you realize how lucky your are.
~Anonymous

Today marks what would have been my parents 54th Wedding Anniversary. Four years ago, my folks renewed their vows at the 4:00pm Saturday  Mass on their actual anniversary, May 10, 2008. For years, my parents were regulars at the 4:00pm Mass; it was wonderful to share their special renewal with the church community of Sacred Heart Church. What my dad did not know was that we arranged to have family and friends meet us at the church.

The officiating priest had asked me to write up something about the history of their lives together; in the end, he made me read it during the Mass. This was so very difficult for me because at the time my dad was terminally ill. As I read my piece, I could see the emotion and love on the faces of my dad and mom. I ended up editing out many of the things I had written because it was just too emotional. In honor of my folks, I am sharing the full text of that essay.

For Patricia and Gene, laughter, love and patience are the glue to a successful marriage.

Throughout the past 50 years, many things have changed. The bar where they met back in April of 1956 went out of business. St. Pancratius, where the couple was married on May, 10, 1958, was torn down and later rebuilt. The Old Prague, where their wedding reception was held, was destroyed in a fire. The Wagon Wheel Resort, where they honeymooned, was closed down years ago. Even though all of these places are no longer around, Patricia and Gene have continued to celebrate good times and bad times, together building a beautiful marriage and family.

It all started with a dance…

In our family, it is well known that Patricia and Gene have a life filled with music and dancing. Whether it is dancing at a formal event or teaching their children how to do the Jitterbug and Waltz in the living room, the couple has been long admired for the way they move together across the dance floor. Records have often been piled on the old record player – Elvis Presley, Bill Haley, Johnny Mathis, Dean Martin and so many others. Gene would grab Patricia and off they would be dancing across the rug. Their dancing is a good metaphor for their marriage – it does take “two to Tango.” Even though all of their steps may not be perfectly executed, where one may falter, the other picks up the misstep, moving them forward in unison.

And along come the children…

Patricia and Gene have been blessed with six children and twelve grandchildren. Thankfully, they were also blessed with a good deal of patience and lots of humor! Through the years, the couple was actively involved in scouting and with Sacred Heart church.

Favorite memories in our family include the many family vacations, weekly Sunday breakfasts or dinners and hosting big family Christmas parties.

Many vacations were spent traveling the country, camping and sightseeing. Gene would get the old Volkswagen Van ready for the trip – adding in that left-foot gas peddle (so he could drive longer amounts of time) and turning that middle two-person seat sideways before loading the camping gear, luggage, six kids, Grandma and the dog into the vehicle. Patricia would make sure all of the food was stashed, along with all of the kid’s clothes. Up on top of the VW went the old blue canoe and off the family would go to so many places – New Mexico, Nebraska, Wisconsin, Canada, Washington D.C., the Virginia’s, Missouri and so many other places.

Every weekend, the family would attend Mass. The big treat was always going out to breakfast together. Patricia and Gene were good sports taking the six kids out to eat! Sunday dinners were eaten at the dining room table, using the china and fine glassware. On certain holidays, like Mother’s Day, Gene would take everyone to the Millionaires Club, near Ford City. The kids loved going there and Patricia would get a break from making Sunday dinner! 

Every year, Patricia and Gene would host a Christmas Day party. The grandparents and many extended family and friends were always invited. Weeks before, Patricia would enlist the aid of the kids to get the house ready. When the house decorations went up, Gene was the one untangling the Italian lights. On Christmas Day, family and friends would arrive with food to share, gifts to exchange and hugs all around. 

The children marry and along come the grandkids…

As their children married and began their own families, Patricia and Gene moved smoothly into the role of grandparents. They are known by the grandkids as “the fun grandparents.” Their home is always open for grandkids who decide to stop by and mooch a grilled cheese sandwich and a hug. Some of the grandkids compare going to their house as “Christmas everyday” because the welcome is always sincere. 

A marriage so blessed…

In a time when divorce is so common, it is encouraging to see a couple like Patricia and Gene celebrating their 50^th wedding anniversary. Certainly the years have not all been easy, but throughout them, the couple has chosen to continue their “dance,” to pick up where the other falters and keep on going. Congratulations and may God continue to bless them. 

Sadly, my father passed away on September 3, 2008. While he is not of this earth any longer, we all feel his presence through the laughter of one another and our children.

A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden, fall upon us;
when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine desert us;
when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels
to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.
~Washington Irving

Snug and cozy in my mother’s arm, adorned in my Baptismal gown, here I am in one of  my first family photos. As I look at this photo, I not only think back about growing up in my family, I also try to imagine how it must have been for my mom to have four kids within 4 1/2 years. My folks went on to have two more children after me, bringing the grand total to six – three boys and three girls.

As a parent of three now-grown sons, I have gained a certain appreciation for my parents, and especially for my mother. Juggling the schedules, the sibling rivalry, the good times, the bad times…my mom made it all look pretty easy. Sure, there were times when she would get a bit frazzled, but she always got through those times quickly. From my own maternal perspective, I can see that the old phrase “When Momma’s Happy, Everyone is Happy” seems especially true. And as this Mother’s Day approaches, I thought I would share a short list of things to do to keep your own mother (or other woman in your life) happy. Here goes:

1. Listen. Don’t just pretend to listen. Listen and really hear what your mom is telling you. Give some verbal feedback. Something resembling a real word, rather than a grunt or shoulder shrug, is appreciated.
2. And then do it! You know that stuff you just listened to? Make sure you actually follow through if she asked you for some help!
3. Help. Do your share of household chores. Mom’s are busy. Dad’s a busy. Kid’s are busy, too. However, no one person should be stuck doing all of the household chores.
4. Clean up after yourself. This is different from doing your chores. Everyone makes messes. If you cook some food for yourself, clean up all of your dishes. Don’t forget the sink, too! When you do your laundry, be sure to take it out of the washer AND the dryer. Put your shoes away. Put your backpack away.
5. Be nice. Attitudes are catching. Ever notice how someone being crabby makes you crabby? Being nice works the same way. Bring your good attitude home and show it off often.
6. Do it without asking. Do we really need to point out the full garbage or litter box? Does someone need to tell you to feed the barking dog? Why wait to be told? Just do it! Mom’s notice when things get done!
7. Share a meal. There is nothing I like better than sharing a meal with my family and their friends. Take time for those family dinners. As kids get older, it’s harder to do and takes a bit more planning, but it’s worth it. If your mom wants to have a meal with you, it’s her way of saying, “Hey, I love ya and want to spend a bit of time with you.”
8. Gifts? For me, gifts do not make me happy. I will admit to liking a card from my loved ones. The best “gift” is the one where you give of yourself, your time. You can’t go wrong there!

Will all of the above make for a perfect family? Will all of it make your mom happy all of the time? Of course, not, but they certainly can’t hurt!

This was written for a poetry class I took about 10 years ago. We had to write a “found poem.” This meant we had to find a block of text, then edit out half the words and add back in no more than 5 words. I took verses from the Song of Solomon, from the Old Testament. My mother had recalled that when she was a girl in Catholic school, they were not allowed to read this book in the Bible because it was deemed “naughty.”

Bliss

Lying with him,
my perfume fills the air.
My lover lies with me,
his head upon my breasts.
His eyes shine,
filled with love.
He is handsome,
his touch delights me.
My lover is wild,
his passion is beautiful.
The green grass becomes our bed;
The tall cedars, our house.
We are wild outdoors.
I am wild in love.
For him.

For a project in my writing class, I had to go through my wallet, purse or junk drawer and find something to write about. I pulled out an old prayer card with St. Elizabeth Seton on it. She has always been someone I have admired.

Like my siblings, my given name is short. Five letters. Simple. Karen. The last name? Not so simple and prone to many mispronunciations. Zappavigna. Try spelling that in kindergarten! Dad was all Italian. His parents gifted him with the names Remo Eugene Anthony Zappavigna. Quite a mouthful. To make our lives easier, my parents decided that middle names were not necessary. He once told me that it was hard enough to have that last name without the extra burden of middle names. Mom agreed. I grew up realizing that I was the only one of my friends who had to answer these questions over and over again: What is your middle name? Followed by You don’t have a middle name?

How I longed for a middle name! Something elegant like Elizabeth. Karen Elizabeth sounded so much nicer than just plain old Karen. I named dolls Elizabeth. When I played pretend with my gal pals, I was the one named Elizabeth. I envied my friends whose parents named them Elizabeth.

I so wished I could change my name to Elizabeth because even the meaning of Elizabeth, which is “consecrated to God”, seemed so much nicer than the one word meaning of Karen, which is “pure”. Why, even the meaning of Karen seemed too simple, too short.

Along came time for me to receive the sacrament of Confirmation and I finally got my wish. I got to pick my Confirmation name. It was entirely up to me. In the Catholic tradition, the Confirmation name had to be that of a saint, one that I admired. Part of the responsibility of choosing a Confirmation name also meant that I had to give good reason why I wanted this name.

Off I went to look up St. Elizabeth. Who knew there was more than one? I decided on Elizabeth Ann Seton because she was the first American born woman canonized by the Roman Catholic Church. I also remembered when she was canonized because it was about 2 ½ years before I was confirmed.

I would be Karen Elizabeth for real. Finally, that long desired name was mine.

I had forgotten some of the details of St. Elizabeth’s life, along with my longing for a middle name, until I cleaned out my wallet the other day and came across a prayer card with her likeness on one side and a prayer on the reverse. That card has lived in my wallet for years, since my grandmother gave it to me. The card refers to Elizabeth being blessed with the “gifts of grace as a wife and mother, educator and foundress.” As I read the prayer card today, I realized that I share these roles. Who knew that in my quest to be named Elizabeth I would choose a life similar to the very Elizabeth I so admired.

Sidenote: Over the years, I have come to like my given name of Karen. However, when I married, I did keep my maiden name of Zappavigna as my middle name. It does amuse me when people ponder over what the middle initial “Z” stands for in my name.

For a recent writing project, I had to find a newspaper article and then use it as inspiration to create a fictional story. We had to write about 500 or so words, and then share just the first 300 with the rest of the class. Below is my first 300 or so words. I may just continue this story. 

She looked in the mirror and found the face of a 92-year-old woman peering back. “Who is that?” Elaine asked herself. “I am not an old woman.”

Elaine scanned the room until her eyes locked with his. John. Her love. Her life. Her husband these last seven decades. It seemed like yesterday…

John caught the first glimpse of Elaine when she came into the dry cleaners his father owned. There was a certain gentleness about her that he had not ever felt from another person. Soft auburn curls framed her face; intelligent brown eyes peer at him, one eyebrow slightly raised, head tilted to the left, waiting.

“When will these be ready,” she asked.

Flustered, he responded, “Day after tomorrow.” He handed her the receipt and just like that she was gone.

Elaine walked out of the cleaners and headed back to work, not giving the young man at the cleaners a second thought. She enjoyed her secretary position at the insurance company where worked with her best friend, Francesca. Francesca was like a little sprite, tiny, full of laughter and great fun. She had convinced Elaine to go on a blind date that evening. It was only a favor for a friend. At least that’s what Elaine told herself.

Later that evening, Elaine and Francesca walked from the office the short distance to the diner. Elaine couldn’t believe she had let Francesca talk her into this blind date. The girls walked past the other young couples sharing sodas at the counter to a table in the back of the restaurant. There, Patrick waited with his friend.

“Hello Patrick, John,” said Francesca. “This is my dear friend, Elaine.”

Elaine shook Patrick’s offered hand and turned to John. Surprise covered his face as they both realized that had met, of sorts, earlier that day. He quickly stood, banging his knee on the edge of the table.

The original story is about Edith and John DeBoer, who are celebrating their 70th wedding anniversary this year. Their true love story is quite inspiring. I found it in the SouthtownStar here: http://southtownstar.suntimes.com/lifestyles/vickroy/10966123-452/vickroy-a-lifetime-of-caring-and-comforting.html.

I chose to change the wife’s name and I added in the characters of Francesca and Patrick. The rest of my piece continues the story – they marry, move to Texas. Eventually John gets shipped off to Europe with the National Guard. When he comes back, he and Elaine have children. John opens several businesses. He and Elaine end up doing volunteer work, where they counsel people to solve problems peacefully. Eventually, John is diagnosed with prostate cancer and he creates the first support group for men with this disease. They are now celebrating their 70th wedding anniversary.

“President George W. Bush signed the federal version of the Born Alive Infant Protection Act in 2002. The federal bill passed the U.S. House in an overwhelming 380-15 vote, with a majority of outspokenly pro-abortion representatives supporting the legislation. Even after NARAL withdrew its opposition to the federal version of the bill, Obama had continued to oppose the state version.”

The Born Alive Infant Protection Act was passed on the Federal level in 2002. This act provides protection to a baby who survived a failed abortion. When Barack Obama was an Illinois State Senator he voted against similar legislation three times. He was the only verbal opponent of the bill.

The fact that Obama voted against this legislation, on the state level, three times is one big reason why I knew this man would NEVER be anyone I could support in any leadership position. If someone can vote against saving a baby multiple times, that tells me that this is someone who cares nothing for the weakest in our society. This is not a “clump of cells” or a “fetus,” as the pro-abortion folks like to say, it is a child, a tiny helpless child who happened to survive the very process that was “chosen” to kill him or her.

My youngest son, just a day old, snuggled on my bed, while still in Christ Hospital.

I thank Jill Stanek, who was a nurse at Christ Hospital, in Oak Lawn, Illinois, for being brave enough to expose how babies who were born alive during abortions were left to die in a utility room. I find it hard to wrap my mind around the fact that the very hospital where I delivered all three of my children allowed something so heinous to occur, possibly in a utility closet not far from where I was recovering from childbirth.

I wish the mainstream media would pick up this story, but I think Rush Limbaugh was correct when he said, “We talked about it during the 2008 campaign. Nobody wanted to hear it. The hopey-change thing was just too big of a theme.”

I do not often agree with Rush Limbaugh, or Newt Gingrich, who has also been outspoken on this topic, but on this subject, I agree 100%.  If nothing else, it should give all Americans cause to stop and really think about the kind of person they want as President. I want someone who cares about everyone, from the smallest to the oldest.

The quote above is from the article at http://www.lifesitenews.com/news/rush-obamas-infanticide-vote-most-shocking-underreported-significant-story 

I am taking a creative writing course. One of the assignments was to write a short piece using dialogue. This is not necessarily my favorite kind of writing, but since I am taking the course to stretch out of my comfort zone, I decided to give it a whirl. 

They called it a near miss, but Jethro called it something a bit different.

The alarm buzzed, the off button smacked. Jethro’s feet hit the floor. He could hear his sisters in the next room, obnoxious, noisy and annoying. He wandered out of the bedroom and into the hallway.

Chelsea and Kelly raced past Jethro.

“I can’t wait for breakfast,” laughed Kelly as she hurried to the kitchen.

“Me, too, “ agreed Chelsea, running after her.

“Good morning, Jethro,” squeaked Ellie. The youngest, Ellie was the smallest and most willful.

Jethro grumbled as he watched Ellie straighten her white socks. Dexter, his younger brother sauntered out of their bedroom. Jethro admired his little brother. Dexter’s physical build and graceful demeanor made him seem older, more mature. He had an air about him that could be mistaken for arrogance.

Dexter jumped into the breakfast fray. Jethro got pushed aside by Ellie. He simply let her have her way. He arrived in the kitchen last.

“You take too long, brother,” giggled Kelly, her mouth full of food. “It’s the same every morning. Why do you let Ellie get ahead of you when you are twice her size?”

Chelsea looked at her brothers and sisters, shaking her head in dismay. “Jethro,” she said softly, “You know what you need to do.”

“No, no, I can’t…I don’t want to,” he replied.

“Yes, you can,” she continued. “Believe in yourself. Make the leap.”

Jethro wasn’t sure of anything. When he was young, he never had to fight for anything, not even breakfast. His older sisters and parents took care of him. He was the golden child! When Dexter came along, things were still pretty good. Sure, there was a big to-do over the new baby brother, but all in all, they got along fine.

And then, along came Ellie.

The siblings knew neither age nor size had anything to do with who was in charge. They all knew their place. Ellie was the boss, the head honcho, the queen bee. She was the squeaky wheel and she always got the grease.

Maybe, thought Jethro, just maybe Chelsea was right. He needed to believe in himself. He needed to take that leap and claim what was his. And that is when it happened. He hunkered down and made the jump, soared across the 3-foot span, just barely catching the edge of the counter.

Yes, they called it a near miss, but Jethro called it something different. He finally got his breakfast before Ellie. He embraced his inner-cat.

Note: I have two dogs (Chelsea and Kelly) and three cats (Jethro, Dexter and Ellie Mae). Jethro came to me when he was a week old and I bottle-fed him for 5 weeks. I don’t think he knew he was a cat until I adopted the other two felines. He never tried to do cat things, like getting on the counters, until the other two corrupted him with their catty ways.  

Life's a dance, you learn as you go..."

“Life’s a dance you learn as you go
Sometimes you lead, sometimes you follow
Don’t worry about what you don’t know
Life’s a dance you learn as you go”
~John Michael Montgomery

Some fifteen or so years ago, my husband and I regularly took ballroom dance lessons. At the time, our sons were young and we really needed some time together away from the house and kids. Our neighbor’s daughter would graciously babysit the boys while we went off to learn how not to step on each other’s toes. It was a wonderful way to learn something new with my favorite guy.

I kind of forgot about our ballroom dance lesson days until I was looking for things to photograph in our home with my newly acquired Nikon D50 camera (a terrific hand-me-down from my oldest son). We received the trophy, pictured above, from our dance instructor, Marge. She gave all of the couples in her class a trophy. What made the trophies special was that they were originally Marge’s trophies. Marge was a feisty older lady, who came here from England as a bride during the World War II days. She danced professional and competitively for most of her life. Marge took all of her trophies and relabeled them for her students. For fifteen years, I have kept this trinket out in our living room, dusting it occasionally but not really seeing it or thinking about what it represents.

David made this piece for our dance instructor, Marge.

As I viewed the photos on my computer, I took a trip down memory lane, hearing the dance music play in my head, remembering how David and I would count the steps together as we pretended to glide along the dance floor. We even decided to perform in a recital, along with all of the other couples in the classes. We practiced that dance for weeks! I recall that we would often dance in our yard, with the music playing over the garage stereo, much to the amusement of our elderly neighbors. They would throw comments at us like: You kids are so cute. Or, my personal favorite: Always keep dancing.

Through the years, even though we have not continued with dance lessons, we have managed to keep dancing. When I look at that little trophy today, I realize that we have kept dancing through our lives. Every kind of step, from the slow to the snappy, we have managed to keep one another focused on the beat of the music, the rhythm of our lives always intertwining. It does not seem to matter if we are dancing at an event or dancing at home. Most of the time, we dance to our favorite tunes in our family room, surrounded by an audience of felines and canines. And as the lyrics above state, we do learn as we go, we take turns leading and following, and most of all, we just enjoy the dance together.

Check out the rest of David’s glass work at the 3 Boy Glassworks website.