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Mountains

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            So many times, obstacles arise in our lives that at first appearance, seem insurmountable. There’s a temptation to give up, to walk way with downcast shoulders. But after a few steps, we turn around and take another look.

            A stronghold appears, low enough to give us a boost, just enough to get started. We rush back, reach and grab, pull ourselves up. And when we bend our heads back, we see another and another. Bit by tiny bit, the top gets closer.

            When I was a young teen, my primary goal was to move away from my dysfunctional family. I’d dream up a plan, but then millions of obstacles filled my mind, all convincing me that escape was impossible.

            Until my family moved to California.

            You couldn’t go online to research thangs back in the mid-sixties, but my new high school showed me a way out. Prominently displayed outside the counselor’s office was a notice about state scholarships for deserving, low-income students.

            That possibility opened my eyes, lightened my heart, and put a bounce in my steps. All I had to do was maintain my straight-A grade point average to qualify. I knew I could do that, and if faced with a challenging class or grumpy teacher, I’d double down, study harder.

            Every night after finishing my many household chores, I’d remove myself to my room and study, as late as I could. It did disrupt my sleep, but the window for escape kept me energized throughout the school day.

            When it was time to apply, my counselor, on my request, submitted the paperwork. She cautioned me that I most likely won’t get the scholarship, telling me that I wasn’t “college-material”.

            When the letter came, congratulating me on being a recipient, imagine how thrilled I was!  It would pay full tuition to any college in California. I would still need money for room and board, books and other necessities.

            There was a complication, however. My parents would only let me attend whatever college my brother chose. He’d be there to protect me, watch over me. Considering our rocky relationship, that’s the last thing I needed or wanted.

            Since neither of my parents had gone beyond high school, they had no concept of how large a college campus was, how easy it would be for me to avoid my brother.

            A huge obstacle overcome.

            Over my next fifty years of life, I’ve attacked every roadblock presented, with determination despite struggles. Each time I succeeded made me stronger, made me who I am today: wife, mother, published author and more.

            I’m sure more mountains will arise before me, but I will fight, climb, crawl, claw my way up and over.

Thoughts on a Monday

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I’ve never been the attention-seeking kind of person. You’d find me in the back of a classroom or off to the side in a meeting. I dreaded having to stand up and deliver a speech.

The night before, I wouldn’t sleep and the day of, I’d be so terrified I’d be sick to my stomach and shaking so hard my entire body trembled.

Yet for some reason I dreamed of being a teacher.

I knew that teachers stood in front of the classroom, after all, I’d sat in many growing up.

I knew that teachers spoke publicly and led discussions.

I knew that teachers performed for their students, joking, sometimes bursting into song, all to garner interest in the subject.

Teachers showed compassion for students, taking care not to humiliate even one. Or so I thought. Or so I convinced myself. And so a classroom was the one place where I felt safe.

That was my reasoning.

Later in life I decided to be a reader at my church. About once a month I stood before our small congregation and read the assigned portion of the Bible. At first, I was terrified, but each time developed a little bit more confidence. In time, I grew to love reading, loved imparting whatever passage I’d been assigned.

 After forty years of reading, I ma no longer terrified of standing up there, reading.

A few times now I’ve been brave enough to read a 3-minute selection of something I’ve written at a conference. I’ve been terrified each time. I don’t like the attention, but understand that reading before an audience is what authors do.

Many years ago, I joined the church choir. Not because I was a fantastic singer, but because I loved singing. Alone. In my car.

It was with great trepidation that I stood, with friends, at the microphone for the first time. It wasn’t so bad. So I returned Sunday after Sunday. And then it got down to me and a talented teacher from the parochial school. Worrisome, but still okay because of her powerful voice.

One rainy winter day I arrived at church prepared to sing. Found out she wasn’t coming. I figured I’d join my husband and sing from a pew. Nope. The choir director insisted I stay. I sang softly, but I sang.

I stayed with the choir for years after that, lasting longer then several directors. It was always me and others. And then one director asked if I’d like to cantor the Psalm. This meant going up to the ambo and singing a solo before the congregation.

I was terrified, but continued to cantor for quite some time. I didn’t even quit when the pianist played the intro to a completely different Psalm. I froze, feeling like that deer-caught-in-the-headlights, and not having the words to her version before me, shrugged and sang what I’d been assigned. Because she was an excellent pianist, she quickly switched to support me.

I quit cantoring when a different choir director chastised me publicly for singing a tad off-key. He was right, of course, but it hurt. I walked out of rehearsal and refused to return even when my friends tried to tell me he was joking.

That was twenty years ago.

I stayed with the choir through Christmas because I really wanted to sing the Halleluiah Chorus. As soon as the concert was over, I handed in my song binder and walked away.

***

Fast forward a whole bunch of years.

I’ve returned to college to complete my BA in English. I’d the oldest student in every class. All that youthful confidence is intimidating. They all think they know everything and try to outshine one another during class discussion.

I’ve changed since I earned my teaching credential at Holy Names College.

You see, I want to learn, to hear what the professor has to say, to easily see the white board, so now I sit in the front row. I don’t ask a lot of questions or wave my hand about looking for recognition, but I know that I am seen because when my papers are returned, the professors always give me a smile or a nod.

There are still some situations when I prefer to sit off to one side, or just to the left of the instructor. It’s not that I don’t want to be seen, but I want to have an exit strategy in case the material presented isn’t interesting.

At my age, I reserve the right to sneak away.

To blend into the walls and carpet and move stealthily to the door.

At my age, I don’t crave the limelight, but I do love it when friends and family congratulate me on something I’ve done or said.

My name will never be on a marquee, but I’ve rejoined the choir, since we now have one. It’s only been for two Sundays, but I love hearing how my voice soars above the men’s, the alto standing next to me.

I love singing songs in praise of our Lord, those mainstays of any Catholic Mass.

If asked, I will never be the soloist cantor. Too much pressure, too hard on my nerves. I don’t need the attention, the accolades. At my age, I get to choose where I sit, how I participate, what I do and don’t do.

Simple thoughts for a Monday.

Dream Logic

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When delicious dreams dance

Through your sleepy cerebrum

Do you see ghosts galloping by?

Are angels announcing successful situations?

Or decidedly deadly demons destroying

Your timely treasure trove?

Might competing cherubim choruses clash

Creating unheavenly harmonies, or

Little leprechauns lustily leap through,

Waving windswept rainbows bending

Toward the lavish land?

When unlucky lions lust for

Momentous meals does your being believe

It’s treacherously true, or does

Righteous reasoning untangle gigantic gnomes

Grappling on your luscious lawn?

Carefree cats carouse in your yard

Delirious dogs dangerously stalk prey

As your heavy head haltingly falls back upon

Puffy pillows of dainty down.

Soldiers slash and burn buildings while

Crafty commanders shriek scrabbled sentences

Waving wicked wands that sprinkle sparkles

In the deepest, darkest night.

Vicious venomous vipers sizzle zooed zebras

Lounging lazily behind links while

Porcine pandas ponder bulky bamboo

Priests praise gods in unholy ululations

While communities corrupt into chaos

Rioting right through your lonely life

Mothers majestically cradle crying babies

Born in proud poverty while

Faith filled fathers find superior strength,

Saving all from untimely death

Logic, luckily leaves as soon as eyes

Close and delirious dreams drip

Drop by drop preparing paths for

Dream logic to wind its wicked way

Into your nightly nirvana.

Never can one predict what may emerge

When the eyelids languorously close and

Dream logic descends.

The Car Ride

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Driving home the freeway jammed

Even the diamond lane crammed

Cruise ships seeking safe repose

Passengers fighting off woes

Fingers white around the wheel

Hearts forgetting how to feel

Tunnels permanently blocked

Wooden doors steadfastly locked

Hopeless, dreamless, zombie-like

Pounding in the golden spike

Absolute sincerity

Wallows in simplicity

Disaster looms up ahead

Patterns melt the tangled thread

Revolutionaries sway

Blinkers indicate the way

Arterial trends emerge

Widens an expansive urge

Switching lanes has come too fast

Now forgetting all the past

Exit sign soon arises

Throwing off all disguises

Speeding in direction shown

Eager not to be alone

Believing What Can’t be Seen

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            The early prophets tried to convince people that Jesus was not just a holy man, but God’s son. Jesus himself couldn’t do it, and his death on the cross changed very few minds.

            There was nothing marking him as special, no visible birthmark of God’s hand, no halo encircling his head, no rays of light surrounding his body. But He was God’s son even though many chose, and continue to choose, to disbelieve.

            Moving into the human condition, there ae many illnesses that are debilitating, that cannot be seen. People believe in cancer because they all know someone who’s contracted it. They’ve heard plenty about cancer in documentaries and news blurbs.

            Blindness ranges in degree, from limited impairment to complete inability to see. Wearing thick lenses is an outward sign as is walking with a white cane or a seeing eye dog. But what about those who can see, whose eyes appear “normal” and so observers question the diagnosis.

            Hearing impairments are often completely misunderstood and denied. Since the cause is inside the ear, the casual observer may doubt the loss, perhaps even going so far as to make fun of someone who’s speech is slurred due to an inability to hear consonants.

            During a child’s educational years, deafness substantially impacts learning. If a student can’t understand what the teacher is saying, then he is missing chunks of instruction that cannot be made up through reading books.

            There are probably many other “invisible” disabilities that people fail to take seriously, too many to detail in one tiny paper.

            The COVID virus is one such illness. Because it can’t be seen, because it presents itself differently in each individual, a good portion of Americans don’t believe it exists. They refuse to get vaccinated, refuse to wear masks, refuse to test when ill, and refuse to isolate when they have a “cold” and cough.

            It is because of these individuals that the virus is alive and well, constantly morphing into newer, more contagious versions of itself.

            When you have a cold, you stay home, avoiding family gatherings. Or you should out of courtesy for family members.

            If you’ve got the flu, you should stay in your bedroom so as to not give it to your immediate family.

            But…people who refuse to believe in COVID, who don’t wear masks or get vaccinated, then blithely go out in public even when they’ve got a dripping nose and a cough, spread the virus to innocent individuals.

            Perhaps they’re lucky to not suffer serious symptoms. Good for them. But what about their 80-year-old grandmother? What about the passenger sitting next to them on an airplane?  What about the asthmatic child who could die?

            If you don’t believe, then you don’t care.

            COVID, for most, can feel a lot like the flu combined with a cold. But there are people who contract COVID and suffer miserably.

            It cannot be seen. There are no pustules, no rash, no swelling that signals to others that a person is ill.

            Scientists are confounded by COVID, as it doesn’t act like most viruses. Most people recover fairly quickly, but there are those deemed “long haulers” who suffer for months or even years.

            The cause of that suffering cannot be seen, but it is there. Brain Fog, a symptom of COVID, impacts the ability to process words, both written and spoken. It affects retention as well as comprehension. Someone suffering from Brain Fog doesn’t look different from someone who isn’t. That doesn’t mean it’s a figment of the imagination: it’s very real. And debilitating.

            Muscle fatigue is another invisible symptom of COVID. Again, it cannot be seen, yet for those experiencing it, it is incredibly real.

            Taking a shower can be so taxing that the individual has to rest for hours. A walk around the block in a “flat” neighborhood can exhaust a sufferer for several days.

            Yet on a new day the individual can swim laps, hike hills, use the treadmill.

            Muscle fatigue can cause depression, especially among those who are normally quite active. Imagine being a marathon runner who gets tired walking in the house. Imagine swimming 30 laps one day and only being able to complete 10 the next.

            Imagine being too tired to hold a book when you’re an avid reader. Or not being able to stand long enough to cook your family dinner.

            Long COVID is as real as a hearing loss, cancer, the mumps or an upset stomach.

            The disbelievers need to believe. They could be the ones who give the virus to someone who then suffers for months or years.

            Is that the right attitude? To be so selfish as to not care about others? To be so deeply in denial that your lack of belief, lack of comprehension, lack of compassion can disrupt lives?

            Believe. It is real.

Holy Time

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there is only here and now

and the once was and the soon to be

the should be, the could be, the might be

joined together, past, present, and future

blending into seamless time

beginning at the beginning

stretching off into the eternity

marching in a straight line

from time before all records were kept

pointing to time unknown

dropped in, snuggled in, squeezed in

human beings alter the universe

irrevocably

jumping barriers

leaping across boundaries

in pursuit of dreams

quests for an unholy grail

chasing illusive butterflies of chance

that change predetermined destinies

altering time forevermore

some keeping meticulous track

of minutes

days

months

years

while others intentionally forget the done

glossing over the finished

as if brushing off flies

for by shedding the past

the future lies

untarnished

unblemished

shining bright as the star that led

the Magi to Bethlehem

in search of

the One who would be

the only here and now

The Meaning of Christmas

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the angels sang a lullaby

the night that Christ was born

in chorus of sweet harmony

they sang upon that morn

the Magi came from far and wide

to worship at His feet

they knelt and prayed right by His side

and vowed of Him to speak

the shepherds gasped in awe and fear

for Christ had come that day

to bring a message all must hear

before they fall astray

a star shone bright up in the sky

above His tiny head

and peace to all it seemed to cry

while He slept snug in bed

and so, dear friends, let us all fall

upon our knees and pray

for we must answer Christ’s call

rejoice in Him today

A Mighty Hand

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A mighty hand reached to the earth

and fingered fractured soil so fine

that particles of dust, no worth,

trickled like lonely sands of time.

Tears trickled through a curtain torn

showering grace as before the fall.

With tiny steps, the world reborn

 trumpets in harmonious call.

New life springs forth with joyful cry

in clear and confidant voices.

As one all speak to beautify

their world of wondrous choices.

Rains poured upon the thirsty land

bringing relief from loneliness.

Blossoms burst forth upon demand

blanketing wanton carelessness.

No longer parched, the land doth give

joy-filled colors to open eyes,

and offers gifts so all may live

without sin and empty lies.

A mighty hand reached to the earth

and dug the enriched soil so fine

and sighed, for it had earned its worth,

erasing the mistakes of time.

Resolutions

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            I was quite small when I learned that I was supposed to go the New Year with a set of resolutions guaranteed to make improvements, physically and mentally. The idea intrigued me. Just think, by choosing the right goals and sticking to them, in one year I would be a better person!

            Most likely my early resolutions were designed to keep me out of trouble. Things like keeping my mouth shut and staying out of trouble. While I was not what you would consider a bad kid, I had a tendency, only at home, to speak up in defense of myself when falsely accused of something most likely done by one of my siblings.    

I didn’t understand that resolutions should be achievable, so I chose goals so high, so difficult, that there was no way I could accomplish them.

            I remember a rocky period in my life when I had recently turned fourteen. At that time, I shared a room with my younger sister, the slob. She’d never make her bed or pick up her dirty clothes. Her half of the room was a complete mess while I was expected to keep my side neat as a pin, as my mother said.

I ignored the mess as much as I could, until the piles got to big and I made the mistake of yelling at my sister.

She wasn’t the one who got in trouble. When she tattled, my mother stormed into the bedroom and informed me it was my responsibility to keep the entire room clean. I spouted off some complaint about the unfairness of the demand and so my mother took away my radio. That I had bought with my one money.

New Year’s was approaching, and since I was still angry, I promised myself I’d sit in my room and keep quiet. I truly believed that I’d be able to keep this resolution as it meant I’d be out of sight, out of mind.

            Of course, it didn’t work. Instead of calming me down, my insides churned with suppressed rage. I reminded myself, over and over when I’d be accused of doing whatever, to keep my mouth shut, but the unjustness caused me to explode and then my punishment would be increased.

            As I grew older and supposedly wiser, I chose resolutions that should have been doable. For example, losing weight. I was tired of being the fattest girl on campus. I was motivated and so watched not just what I ate, but how much. I walked as much as possible, even on cold and rainy days. But when not a single pound fell off, I gave up, considering myself a failure yet again.

            In time I learned that I was incapable of sticking to resolutions and so gave up. In one of my teaching-preparation classes, I learned about self-fulling prophecies. If I told myself I would fail, then I would. What I never embraced was that if I believed I’d succeed, then I would.

            To this day I do not choose resolutions, even though there are many that would be good for me. Instead of dooming myself to repeated failure, I avoid the tradition altogether.

            Resolutions are just not for me.

A Reason Why Some People are Bashful

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            Socially awkward individuals might have grown up in a home in which they are mistreated. Perhaps they’ve been scolded for speaking in the presence of strangers or maybe their classmates teased them mercilessly. They believed that no one cared about them, no one ever asked what they felt about a given subject.

When you’re never asked which flavor of ice cream you prefer or what cereal you’d like, you realize that your preferences don’t matter. And it’s the not-mattering that takes hold of the emotions, locking them inside.

            Being invisible becomes a salvation. It keeps them safe from punishment for ridicule.

            The downside of this invisibility is that you never get recognition when you do something right.

            These feelings can begin in early childhood. Imagine starting school well behind your peers academically, and knowing it. That child is at a huge disadvantage when she had to work with others, either on schoolwork or on the playground.

            It happened to me.

My first few teachers thought that I’d overcome my shyness and so never called on me.

            Day after day I’d sit silent, not responding whenever the teacher did ask me a question. At times I managed a few words, just enough to respond. Most of the time nothing would come out.

            On the playground I was a loner. I played in the sand, by myself, day after day. Even when the sand was damp after a storm, that’s where I’d be.

            When Kindergarten ended, I’d learned colors, shapes, numbers and letters. I could hold a pencil correctly and write my name, the alphabet and numbers. I could draw shapes and color within the lines. But I still couldn’t speak when called on, and most importantly, I had no friends.

            It was a terrible way to begin one’s academic career.

            As I grew older, I understood I was expected to get high grades. I everything my teachers demanded except for answering when called on. No matter how much I wanted to speak up, I couldn’t make the words come out. It was embarrassing.

            By junior high I had developed a voice, but it was still a quiet one. So when a teacher asked me a question, I could respond loud enough to be heard.

One thing that didn’t change was my lack of friends. I couldn’t approach someone and initiate a conversation, even when I knew I had something to offer.

            In high school I made one friend, a girl who was a loner like me. Interestingly enough, when we were together, both of us could speak. It was awesome.

By the time I went to college I had overcome the paralyzing fear of speaking out in class. I could raise my hand and answer out loud, as long as the class was small and once I was comfortable in the class.

The thing is, children who grow up feeling unloved, disrespected, and unwanted have a difficult time shaking off those feelings. They grow up to be bashful, socially awkward adults.

People often think that a bashful person is conceited, thinking they are above everyone in the room. That’s not true at all.

Shy people can speak out when they feel confident and respected. In that situation, they can express thoughts and beliefs, make friends and enjoy being with others.

Imagine if all children are treated as if they are brilliant from an early age: they might just turn out to be a confident, outspoken individual.