Friendly Thanks

Friends
So Much has been penned about friends
To the point where we don’t even hear
All those cliche words that fly at a closed ear…
Until the day we think our world will end
And we’re saved in the nick of time by a friend!

Today, I am thankful for my real, honest-to-goodness true friends — no long post — no gushing – no cliches – no long dissertation.  Just simply, “thank you.”  May you be blessed with these special people as a part of your lives.

Peace,

Kathy Marie

Angel Songs -- Good Things Come In Simple, Small Packages

Hollywood glitz … at first overshadowed by taller people, more mature acts and elaborate stage settings … lost in the overpowering bright lights … a tiny, ten year old emerges from the shadows into the bright lights.  Adorable, with dancing eyes and a naturally engaging warm little girl smile, she opened her mouth and began to sing.  Suddenly, this tiny figure’s voice overshadowed and overpowered all the others and the vast stage setting surrounding her.  Blessed with an unusually mature, beautiful operatic voice, even at her tender age of 10, she immediately captivated judges, studio audience and the TV world.  She became the odds on favorite to take it all from day one.

 

As contest weeks flew by and contestants were eliminated faster than you could blink an eye, the delightful little angel continued to shine … to pour everything she had into her performance … to amaze with the heights to which she could send her voice … to remain a down-to-earth ten year old.  It was obvious so many were rooting for her and even judges occasionally let slip a hint of whom they thought the odds-on favorite was.  In the last few weeks of the finals, it was almost a foregone conclusion that this little girl was going to walk away with it all.

The grand prize for the winner was $1 million and a headliner tour and Vegas show — so adult, so glitzy, so over showy…so, NOT 10 years old.  As much as a viewer wanted this little girl to win; as much as you knew she deserved it; as much as you’d love to see a fairytale ending, you also harbored doubts about whether the sudden fame and much too mature environment was the best for her.  But, you kept rooting … when she outdid herself week after week, song after song.  And, you just knew she had to win when she matched talent with Sarah Brightman on the season finale.  Everyone knew Jackie was going to win and you just prayed her parents could keep her grounded with what all would come her way when hit with sudden international fame.

But, there were two fairytale stories in the making.  Many had overlooked the simple guy from Mississippi … the talented country singer who wanted to win the million to help his grandparents who had lost everything in one of nature’s most memorable disasters.  He wasn’t glitzy or showy or overpowering Hollywood/Vegas either.  Like his little  colleague, he appeared to remain grounded.  Like Jackie, he appeared to genuinely love to sing and he, too, gave everything he had week after week.  They both deserved to be the two finalists. This viewer wished both could win, but the rules of the game deals the cards and dictates only one walks away with the jackpot.

In the end, a stunned and emotional country voice from Mississippi won out over the little angel voice from Pittsburgh.   But, in the end, they were both winners — both fairytales, still in the developing stages, can get to come true in due time — the appropriate time for each.   It was heartwarming to see Jackie embrace Michael as winner and her genuine graciousness in post-show interviews indicates she is far more mature than in just voice.  I look forward to seeing and hearing a lot more from BOTH winners and I pray they both remain grounded in their roots while showered with fame.

Simple and small packages — two class acts!

Peace,

Kathy

Better Than A Textbook

They’re great neighbors whom everyone loves.  Their two delightful primary and elementary age daughters are textbook examples of courtesy and a conversation with them reveals intelligent minds filled with knowledge and curiosity beyond their years, while still retaining the innocence of childhood.  They’ve graced the neighborhood with their presence since before the youngest was born so there was an element of surprise when the “for sale” sign went up in front of their house.  Surprise deepened when neighbors learned why — an employment opportunity beckons from another continent.

Their new home is a former communist country and for the older neighbors, it’s still hard to imagine an American family with young children willingly uprooting from the land of the free and the brave to take up residence in what is perceived to be an uncertain environment.  But, fortunately, the family sees beyond the older stereotypes and views it as an excellent career move, but most importantly, as a wonderful educational opportunity for their daughters — one they could NEVER receive from a textbook.  They will be going to school with children from all over the world and learning first-hand about a culture far different from theirs on a daily basis.  

Perhaps, in those classrooms, a community as diverse as the world itself, can grow into a “true community” where differences are foundations for learning and similarities are foundations for global understanding and unity.  Hopefully, the adults of the world will take notice and follow the younger generation’s example.

Peace,

Kathy Marie

If I Were A Teacher...

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”  From as early as I can remember and without hesitation, I always answered, “I want to be a teacher.”  I suspect that unequivocal decision resulted from a combination of factors.  I loved books, learning and school.  A few family friends whom I looked up to were teachers.  I loved children and planned on getting married and having kids, so a teaching job, perceived by me to be an 8 to 3 job, was the ideal choice since my schedule and theirs would match.  And, I must confess, I liked the idea of having the summer off! 

A wise high school guidance counselor strongly encouraged me to think about other career paths as a back up plan “just in case the teaching choice doesn’t work out.”  I never followed his advice because there was no doubt in my mind that I would ever be anything but a teacher! 

A few years later, I learned the lesson of life taking unexpected paths.  I never became a teacher, as a twist of fate placed me in a corporate library setting where I was happily surrounded by books and people for over 30 years, sneaking in a few teaching opportunities through seminar/workshop presentations and Junior Achievement.

But, if I were a teacher, I would:

1.  teach the youngest among us, learning from the naturally honest, freely creative thoughts flowing from fresh minds not yet tainted by fear of expression, prejudice or indoctrination.

2.  teach students to respect themselves so they would in turn respect others.

3.  teach students to be flexible because life doesn’t always go according to YOUR plan and those that survive constant change are those that know how to go with the flow and adapt to new environments.

4.   teach students to always hold on to their natural curiosity and let their minds dare to imagine because life’s greatest inventions and societal improvements do not come from stagnant brains.

5.  teach students to always set aside time for themselves so they might be healthy and strong to devote time to others.

6.  teach students to LAUGH so they might more easily deal with the tears.

And, I would send them off into the world with prayers that they may laugh more than they cry over a lifetime and always be surrounded by family and friends willing to share both.

Peace,

Kathy Marie

Thank You Notes? "What Are They?"

Childhood birthday parties were a lot of fun shared with family and school friends while playing games, singing, dancing, eating and opening presents.  The end of the party might have been the end of the celebration but for one important task that had to be done as soon as possible, preferably within a few days — writing thank you notes to all who came.  You thanked them as you opened their gift and did a general thank you for coming as they left the party, but the rules of etiquette dictated a hand-written note of some sort be sent after as well.  This fancy word “etiquette” was a system of “rules” that was supposed to turn us into courteous, respectful human beings with good manners.

In this day and age, I wonder if anyone sends thank you notes anymore.  You rarely hear the words “thank you,” let alone see them in writing.  I plead guilty to occasionally failing to use the etiquette of childhood and resorting to email or e-card notifications.  In all honesty, I do enjoy receiving mail in my inbox, so I appreciate the time someone spent to send greetings or thank you’s, regardless of delivery method.  However, viewing a message on a computer screen can’t compare to personally holding a card and reading the personal note written just for me in the handwriting of a relative who is no longer with us. 

So, it saddens me somewhat knowing we might be raising a generation who will never know what a real thank you note is.  I mourn not just for the lack of courtesy and respect, but more for the loss of genuine human interaction (the personal touch) and the loss of connection to previous generations.

Peace,

Kathy Marie

Fr. Becker's House Calls

My Roman Catholic early childhood, deep in the days of Vatican I, positioned me in the center of a vast, almost-cathedral like church where the priest turned his back on the people or towered over them from his preaching perch known as the pulpit.  Mass was said in a language called Latin that most of us did not understand, but the beautiful echoing sounds of the Gregorian masses we both prayed and sang to laid a foundation for my love of church music which continues today, albeit in more modern words and upbeat tempos.  Priests were separated from the congregation by a huge sanctuary guarded by a locked golden gate flanked by a beautiful white marble “communion rail.”  The golden gate served as the earthly replica of the one St. Peter so vigilantly guards in Heaven.  To the young child briefly contemplating a breaking of one of the ten commandments, the locked gate and rail were a stark reminder of the consequence of being locked out of Heaven for all of eternity.  I had a fear of fire, so the thought of an eternity in Hell conjured up by this Heavenly replica was enough of a deterrent to any wayward thoughts entering the pure mind of a Catholic child.

Separated from the people, with back turned, in a very formal setting, priests remained a mystery of sorts.  Separation of priest and parishioner eased on a few occasions outside of the church proper that offered limited, but rare glimpses of the human being behind the Roman collar and black suit.  One such occasion I always looked forward to were Fr. Becker’s annual summer house calls.  Fr. Becker came to us from Germany and his deep booming voice, thick with guttural German accents, needed no microphone to be heard from the pulpit.  His sermons might have been a little long and dry and somewhat beyond the understanding of a young child, but he lived his life devoted to God and serving his parishioners in a very kind and compassionate manner.  His annual house visit showcased his softer, “priests really are human beings” side.

He usually arrived at our house near mid to late afternoon, around the time my dad came home from working in the shipping yards of a local steel plant.  Dad, after laboring outdoors for eight hours in the summer sun reflecting off hot steel, enjoyed sitting and relaxing for a spell before suppertime arrived.  He and Fr. Becker would sit on the front porch, have a beer and talk about sports, work and life in general.  Just two regular guys, taking a well-deserved break from demanding jobs.  They shared the same first name — Peter — and both relished being the namesake of the infamous St. Peter who held the keys to the eternal pearly gates. 

Being an observer of these annual scenes provides me with pleasant memories now that both dad and Father are no longer with us.  Fr. Becker went to Heaven quite a few years ago and my father joined him almost four years ago.  I can just picture the two of them sitting on the front porch of God’s house with the REAL St. Peter — just three regular guys, having a beer, talking about sports, work and life in general and trying to send good vibes down to earth to make it a better place!

Peace,

Kathy Marie

Erratic Symphony

Song is not necessarily music produced by instruments or words sung by human voices.  This Saturday, I was awakened to a semi-chaotic melody produced by nature — otherwise known as a thunderstorm.  As a very young child, I used to sit on the porch during a storm, watching the wind blow sheets of rain in many directions while thunder echoed in both my ears and my heart, much like the boom boom boom of  a huge drum in a parade.  I was never afraid in those early days because I was protected by an awning and my dad who sat next to me.  As I grew older, and wiser, I began to realize complete protection did not exist as I saw the pictures of  damage and devastation caused in seconds by vivid lightning strikes and massive, angry, swirling winds ripping up and hurling anything in their path.  Thus, a fear of the furious music of nature began to develop.

Weatherwise, the last week in our area has been much like a frustrated composer, trying over and over and over again to create the perfect sonata.  One minute, calming, gentle patter from softly falling rain lightly touching a roof and leading the listener into a relaxing sleep  –  next minute, the lullaby quickly turned into a raging cacophony of heavy rain threatening to break through the roof, enhanced by howling winds, pinging hail and the sound-breaking roar of echoing booms exploding across the sky.  The daily repetition and variation indicated the composer was having a great deal of trouble getting it to come together into an acceptable musical masterpiece.

There are indications the composer is calming down.  Personally, I’m looking for a station that plays lullabies!

Peace,

Kathy Marie

Will Your Kid Write About You When She's 60?

There are no empty spaces on my bookshelves. My bookcases are not the neat ones you see in furniture showrooms – a perfectly coordinated blend of designer sculpture pieces, flowers in vases, photo frames and just a few books precisely placed and coordinated with empty space to show off each individual component of the picture. Piled, stacked, bunched, overloaded and topsy-turvy would more likely describe the design theme for my bookshelves and the overflowing stacks of books on the floor below. No tolerance for empty space here! 

A professional organizer would most likely call it clutter. A psychologist might call it an addiction. I call it “love.” Love for books. Oh, ok, so I have an addiction. But, this is one addiction I’m not going to seek a cure for! Why should I? Books are friends, teachers, motivators, inspirers, dream makers, entertainers… and, best of all, memory makers — which brings me to the reason for writing this blurb.

I’ve been surrounded by books all of my life as I think my parents read to me from the day I came out of the womb. Among my fondest childhood memories are the still vivid pictures of favorite books that I read over and over and over again. Books were special in our house and I was taught to treasure them, with favorite ones kept to be handed down for posterity. You could find me curled up just about anywhere with my nose and 100% of my attention buried in a book. Books taught me the fine art of writing; stimulated my imagination; educated me on more subjects than I can remember; transported me to other worlds, cultures and times; enhanced my communications skills and built friendships through sharing of favorite tomes.

 

But, THE most important legacy of those books is the legacy of memories created by family story times. Pre-bedtime ritual included reading even before I could speak. Bless my parents with hoarse voices accommodating my seemingly never ending requests to “Read it again.” The gift of speech enabled me to chime in, interject my own interpretation of the tale or ask a gazillion questions about the characters, etc. The gift of reading enabled me to take my turn reading to them. With my parents’ encouragement and attentiveness, books inspired me to turn on my creative juices and make up new stories or formulate new dreams.

Yes, all of this is good – developing literacy, communication skills, imagination, creativity, dreams and goals. But, the special family bonding time – the feeling of safety and contentment curled up in the lap of a parent with a book and your favorite stuffed animal – listening to the comfortable and reassuring ebb and flow of a parent’s voice – creates a picture in the mind that lasts a lifetime.

Are you creating that kind of memory legacy for your children? In this hectic, over-scheduled, everything has to be done NOW world, it is even more important to take the time to connect, utilizing “family only” times. It doesn’t have to be done with books and family story times, but it’s not a bad way to start. If, at the age of 60, your “child” still vividly recalls and treasures those memories, waxes nostalgic and even writes about them, then you have surely done your job as a parent.

Peace,

Kathy Marie