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Full disclosure: My writing this week is really just an excuse to use the photo on the right somewhere in the paper.
That picture is what could be seen in the sky around 7 a.m. on Monday, March 15.
In the preceding 24 hours or so, prior to me snapping it, I had been grumbling and complaining that “daylight savings” did its thing and I lost an hour between Saturday and Sunday.
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As I was turning into my parking spot at work the other day, I happily observed the sight of melting and disappearing snow.
It was an obvious sign that winter was almost over and sights and temperatures would soon be here that do not hurt my face upon impact.
As I was taking the key out of the ignition, I connected two other semi-related thoughts.
One: The pandemic is easing up on us. I’d heard a radio news report about the new CDC guidelines regarding those who are fully vaccinated against the COVID. One of these guidelines being that you can gather indoors with fully vaccinated people without wearing a mask. We are still in a time of pandemic, so some measure of care and cautiousness is still a thing. |
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During my previous career as a TV news producer, I had friendships with many of the on-air “talent”.
A few of them were with meteorologists (who really are good and decent people who do the best they can in spite of all the criticism they face for getting a forecast wrong).
While I don’t think the one I’m about to refer to will be reading this (although his ears might be ringing now!), I still want to mention he had a daily ritual of asking me — with an air of both irony and general concern — “How’s your comfort level?” |
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“These are the good old days” — William Powell as “Nick Charles” in The Thin Man (1934).
Someday, Lent will pass and spring will have arrived. Someday, winter will be back. Someday, I’ll hit age 40. Someday, I will no longer be the editor of the Catholic Herald. Someday, I will die. (Well, that escalated quickly.)
Everything we know, love, and treasure on this Earth will be lost to us or will pass away.
Despite the initial emotional reactions to those statements, they are facts.
All of our “stuff” will either leave us or we will leave it. The same goes for our friends and loved ones. For life to go on, ob-la-di, ob-la-da, someone has to depart from someone.
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As I was well into Ash Wednesday, last week, I was experiencing an interesting emotion. I was happy it was Lent.
Kevin, Kevin, Kevin, what is the matter with you?
You’re happy it’s Lent? You’re happy it’s a time of sacrifice and penance? You’re happy it’s a time when the joyous “A” word is not to be said or sung? You’re happy it’s the “sorrowful” time in the Church for 40-days until we get to Easter?
Yes, I am. Here’s why.
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By the time you’re reading this, we’ll be in the season of Lent — the annual 40 days of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving that leads us to Easter.
Being blessed with the COVID-19 pandemic a year ago, it might seem like we never really left the last Lent we had.
With how we’ve been living the past almost 12 months, we might not feel we have to give up anything for Lent this year. We might feel like we’ve been giving things up this whole time.
Here’s my uneducated, unscientific, un-everything else thought: Don’t. Don’t “give up” anything this Lent.
OK, truth be told, I am still giving up some things this Lent. I’m giving up soda and desserts (I’m sweet enough already?).
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Like the fellow once said, in song, (and yes, a line I’ve already used in a past editorial) “And you may ask yourself, ‘Well, how did I get here?'”
The word “fake” feels as natural to put together with the word “news” like “peas and carrots” or “Forrest” and “Jenny.”
For the countless number of people whose livelihood it is to deliver the news — be it on-camera, at a microphone, behind a computer, in a control room, or at home (thanks, COVID) — it’s a troubling prospect to have a significant count of people tell you what you do is “fake,” especially when you’ve put so much effort into making sure it’s clear, concise, and accurate.
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In June, it’ll mark 23 years since I graduated from a Catholic school (sorry, Mom and Dad, if that makes you feel old).
I attended Two Rivers (Wis.) Catholic Central School (TRCCS), in the Diocese of Green Bay, from 1989 to 1998, from kindergarten to eighth grade. Like some students in the Diocese of Madison, I attended school in two buildings throughout those nine years — St. Mark for grades K to four and St. Luke for grades five to eight.
Unfortunately, the school, later known as St. Peter the Fisherman, is no longer open.
Name changes and school closings are also known to some people in this diocese, so my experience was somewhat “universal” with what other Catholic school students go through all over. |
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Several years ago (I’ve been here that long?), I wrote a feature story on a young woman who was in her parish’s RCIA program and was on the path to being a full member of the Catholic Church come Easter Vigil.
During my interview with her, she remarked, with a huge smile of anticipation, that she couldn’t wait to receive the Eucharist for the first time.
It made me pause and wonder if I ever felt that excited about Holy Communion.
I don’t think I felt that way at age eight when I received for the first time, and any sort of pumped up and glowy feeling probably lessened after that. |
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It’s January 7, the morning after the latest installment of “I never thought this could happen here”.
Yesterday, January 6, 2021, gave us images of the U.S. Capitol building in Washington, D.C., being invaded by violent persons who fought with law enforcement, damaged the parts of the building, and even found time to take selfies as they occupied various legislative parts of the facility.
This was all done while U.S. senators and representatives were doing their thing with the electoral votes from the 2020 Presidential Election and later had to be evacuated for their safety
Because of the conflicts, that work was paused until the late evening hours and into the early morning.
I had a hope that yesterday’s breaking point leading to those images and actions would create an immediacy for unity and calm.
I was wrong.
