I learned about God’s humor from Sister Gregory, a delightful Franciscan nun who was staff advisor for my high school newspaper.
As editor, I had to “put the paper to bed,” meaning write the last headlines, cross all the t’s, and dot the i’s before going to press.
One night we had to work right through dinner time and both confessed we were hungry.
Sister excused herself and returned after a moment with a heaping, fragrant bowl of popcorn.
Some of my fondest memories of my childhood in the ‘30s were the Sunday afternoon visits to our country cousins.
We’d all pile into Daddy’s new model Chevy, (he sold them, so we always had a new one), drive the 20 miles or more to run in the fields, jump in the hay mow, and watch the animals warily, keeping a safe distance.
I was fascinated by an article I read this morning over my coffee and cereal.
It was in the July issue of Ladies Home Journal, and written by Michael J. Berland, president of a polling and research firm, who states, “Sure, her family makes her happy, but despite what society expects, a woman’s sense of fulfillment comes from being independent and having a sense of control over her own life.” He calls this the silver lining on that recession cloud because it has driven so many women to become actively involved in their family finances.
Must we live through a lot of history before we love history? Must we be an antique before we appreciate antiques?
My fascination with ancestors just took off this year when Janine, my daughter-in-law, discovered a Luxembourg Museum in her Wisconsin territory. For Christmas she and my son John bought me a year’s membership and took me for a visit soon after. What an exciting adventure!
When a recent series of health problems prevented me from my usual daily activities, including daily Mass, I felt loved by the attentions of my family.
They bought my groceries, picked up my prescriptions, and took me to the doctor. I found myself saying, “Okay, Lord, I get it. That’s why you gave me so many kids. Now give me back my independence.”
I grew up with clear notions of what kind of “old lady” I wanted to be.
I would have a pleasant relationship with my grandchildren and not always be criticizing them for wearing nail polish. I wouldn’t complain all the time about my arthritis and ulcers and tell them they didn’t need all that education because they “were just going to get married anyway.” I would keep up with the times.
Back in the “old days” when I was a student at Madonna High school (early 40s) we were taught by an order of Francisan Sisters who were on their toes when it came to keeping up with the latest Church trends.
The liturgical movement had just emerged and the good Sisters endowed us with the latest in liturgical art and the best of Catholic literature.
When I look at the pictures taken last year on Christmas Eve, they bring tears to my eyes and a smile on my lips.
Our family gathered as usual: eight of the 10 children and 12 grandchildren and great-grands who live in the area, not in Grandma’s house or Aunt Krissy’s, but at Countryside Nursing Home in Jefferson. Since Grandpa couldn’t join us, we joined him in the beautiful parlor with its huge fireplace and Christmas tree.
Sometimes I ask […]
Since my husband passed away last spring, I have often looked at my wedding rings wondering: should I be taking them off now? Or should I wear them on another finger? They still represent the love of my life, and I won’t pass them on to my oldest daughter until I die.
I began noticing the many widowed friends around me. Some wore nothing like wedding rings, and some wore them on other fingers. We all remember the dramatic story of Jackie Kennedy removing her wedding ring as the wounded Jack lay dying and placing it into his hand. That’s not for me. Still, I wanted to know what was right for me. I was hoping to get an answer from Bob.
