Celebrating Love Throughout the Year

"Excuse me, but is that your book?" Debbie asked me as we were filing out the door after Mass this morning. She had spotted the Valentine's gift I had given to my husband this year. It's by "the Cooking Priest", an award winning cook and television host who uses the occasion of dinner time to bring families closer together.

There is a wonderful You Tube clip that shows Fr. Leo in action and will give you an idea of how wonderful his ministry to families is. It is available on his website called "Grace Before Meals."

If you've seen Fr. Leo on TV before, then you'll be glad to know that, even better, he is coming to Raleigh on March 10-12, 2013. Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church is hosting him for their Lenten Mission, open to everyone at no charge, from 7-8:30 PM each night to share his philosophy of family togetherness as presented in his book "Grace Before Meals."

The book I gave to Jim is Fr. Leo's second one called, "Spicing Up Married Life" which he wrote in honor of his parents' 50th wedding anniversary. After hearing about this book, I checked local bookstores and amazon.com, but couldn't find it anywhere. I was able to order it directly from his website.

The idea behind his book is that we should celebrate our marriages not just annually, but at least every month on our special date throughout the year. And he offers recipes, reflections, and conversation starters to help couples do just that. Tonight Jim and I are going to follow the first chapter since it is the 26th, the monthly anniversary of our wedding date more than twenty-four years ago. To that end, I've read the chapter, shopped for the ingredients for the first meal, made arrangements for our son to eat on his own ("Mom, why don't you get me some more of that baked potato and cheddar soup and you and dad eat on your own?"), and planned to set up a special table in front of the fireplace to enjoy our "date night" together.

"Kids at high school have been celebrating their monthly dating anniversaries since the beginning of time," our son Connor advised us. "It's probably because they never know how long their relationships will last."

Well, we can take it from the experts on romantic love. And pray that with God's love in the center, our love will last our whole lives through.

Art & Spirit Retreat at Avila

My mother and I have been getting together for a date each month to do something fun together.  This time we attended an "Art & Spirit" weekend at a favorite retreat house of mine called Avila in Durham, NC.  My mom is a painter and I am a spiritual companion, so we thought we'd meet half way and do something that was a little bit familiar and a little bit risky for each of us at the same time! 

There happened to be five mother/daughter pairs on this retreat for thirty or so people from all walks of life, faith backgrounds, and artistic abilities!  We were greeted by our two enthusiastic and artistic fascilitators who led us through a variety of art forms to help us express our thoughts about God and about our inner selves.  We used extemporaneous speaking, poetry writing, collage-making, painting, story telling, closed-eye drawing and song.  And to all of this merriment, God added his own display right outside our workshop windows: thick, wet, giant snowflakes that fell all day long!

At the closing session we had to share a piece of our artwork with the group and tell what it revealed about ourselves.  My mom said that she was impressed by how conceptual everyone's artwork was and wondered how she might incorporate more of herself into her still life water colors.  Below is her self-portrait to which she added the words: "Take a flying leap!"

As for me, I enjoyed setting aside my usual left-brained activities in favor of indulging my creative side, which seems to have been arrested in development since I was the age of five.  Although it was difficult to become inspired with ideas for the projects, I eagerly dove into my self-portrait by gluing tissue-paper flowers all over it. When I proudly displayed it to my mom, she laughed and said that my kindergarten teacher used to have us making things out of it all of the time!  And then she added that she never did like that stuff :)   Luckily with art, as with many things in life, it's not as much about the results as it is about having fun in the process.



Adventures in the Spiritual Life this Lent

I was having coffee with my friend Suzanne this morning, when she suggested that I dust off my blog this Lent.

"What? You mean I might not have to give up sugar and could just write about the things I'm doing instead?" I secretly connived.

That sounded like a pretty good idea to me. And though I didn't know whether anyone would be interested in reading it, I thought that I could at least offer it to God as my Lenten sacrifice and then see where it goes from there.

In the past few years I have tried to do something less predictable when Ash Wednesday rolls around. One year I had the brilliant idea to give up saying "No" for the forty days leading up to Easter. It was truly an adventure to do that, and while my family didn't suspect a thing for several weeks, it all came crashing down at the end. I don't think I'll ever do that one again now that I've seen up close and in person why discernment is a good and necessary thing!

To kick off Lent in Veritas (our 11th and 12th grade youth group at St. Mary Magadalene Catholic Church) last Sunday, we decided to show "The Passion of the Christ" by Mel Gibson. If you've never seen it, the movie is a very graphic and powerful depiction of the last hours of Christ's life. To prepare for the event, I watched the movie at home three times last weekend. First I decided the movie was too bloody to show in its entirety. Then I heard from our youth minister Liz that there is a "Re-Cut" version that tones down some of the more difficult scenes by using different camera angles and music that is less intense. So I ordered "The Definitive Edition" of the movie on Amazon and watched it again. While the movie seemed a little less shocking, I was surprised that the director kept the worst scenes intact. Then I realized that the DVD I ordered actually contains both the first edition of the movie and the re-cut version on the same disc! So, I had watched the first edition, but had become a little bit desensitized to it after one showing! Next I watched the re-cut treatment of the more objectionable scenes and found that while they were indeed toned down, you could still get the full effect of what was happening even though the camera may have moved from the action to the faces of those watching it. Still too intense to show in full to our teens, I thought. So we ended up showing the re-cut version for the first 60 minutes, ending in the middle of the scourging when Mary the mother of Christ comforts Mary Magdalene.

So, I thought I'd pass that along if anyone else is interested in seeing The Passion of the Christ this Lent. It is a powerful way to better understand just how much God loves us and wants to set us free...free from the things that distance us from Him and His PASSIONATE LOVE for us!

A Surprise From My Daughter

Courtney researched the small towns of Italy before we left on our trip, pouring through books and taking copious notes to select the best ones to visit during our last week there, when we would have a rental car to travel through Umbria and Tuscany. So at breakfast in Assisi on our second morning there, she told me the itinerary for the day and we pulled out a map to chart our course.

We would be driving on the Super Strada 75 West to Perugia and from there would transfer to E 45 South to Todi and then onto winding State Road 448 West to Orvieto. Mind you, this was only my second day with the car and the first day of driving had proven harrowing.

We checked out of our palace apartment on our last morning in Florence and waited with all of our luggage at a taxi stand down the street. There were already three people in line there, one looked like a fashion model dressed in a sheer shirt/dress? and boots, and the others were a pair of housecoat clad Italian women in their upper years who were talking animatedly into their cell phones. It seemed that they had all been standing there for quite a while and could not get taxis to stop. Without an alternative, we took up waiting along side of them and watched as the drama unfolded. They hailed cabs that already had people riding inside, and stuck their heads into open windows when the drivers slowed down. Back and forth they went to nearby stores to try to get better cell reception as they dialed frantically on their phones until finally, two cabs stopped to take the girl and then the women to their destinations. After 45 minutes or so, a cab stopped for us too, but not before we called our rental car agent and told him we might not be able to make it. He advised us that the city buses were on strike that day and that all of the cabs were full. We would have to hoof it, he said. But to our relief a driver did finally stop, and he said he was asked to come for us by another driver...could it have been those hardworking Italian women who had seen to it that we would be taken care of as well?

At the rental car agency we were shown to our car and given a brief "Cheeri-o!" We pulled out of the parking lot and into the Florentine traffic, not fully understanding much about the direction we were heading in or what the traffic signs meant. But we were on our way and happy to be leaving the overcrowded town of Florence.

We made our way onto the Autostrade A1 Toll Road and soon learned to keep in the right hand lane where the trucks were driving. Every time I got into the left lane to pass, a car would rocket into my rear view mirror and impatiently wait for me to get back over again. We drove through tunnels before I could figure out how to turn my headlights on, but luckily for us they were illuminated from inside. I never really located the speed limit signs, but tried to keep up with traffic. Oh, did I mention that the car was a stick shift? Luckily I had learned to drive one when I was a teen, but it had been about twenty years since I had used a clutch...but that worked itself out pretty quickly. The one problem I had though, was in not being able to locate the parking brake. This inconvenience meant that when I stopped the car, it began to roll. And in Assisi it was very hilly. And in Todi and in Orvieto....So after sending my mother and daughter out of the car for whatever we needed when we stopped, I used my time sitting there with the footbrake on to eventually discover that I could park the car in gear and also push a little button marked "P" that prevented the car from rolling, no matter how hard I pushed on it when I stepped out!

So with those competencies under my belt, we headed out for a day of driving in the green countryside dotted with castle-topped hill towns and pointy evergreen trees lining the horizon. Our first stop was Todi and after a harrowing time of driving through the narrow city gate and up and down a few treacherously skinny streets, we parked our car in a city parking lot and climbed up the hill to the magnificent church, built in the 13th century, at the top. It was Sunday and mass was just beginning, so we happily stayed for the liturgy, as almost all were, in Italian. I could follow along with the prayers and the responses pretty well, and used my Magnificat to read along as the bible passages were proclaimed.

Soon we were off to the parking lot and to our car, and after driving up to two "Do Not Enter" signs (at least I think they were, as there were no words, only symbols on their signs), I drove down a step hill then hugged a building as my car climbed at an impossible incline and twisted out onto the street above. And on to Orvieto we went, stopping at a bridge to eat in a bit of shade along the river the lunches we packed for our journey.

"So, why are we going to Orvieto?" I asked my daughter, somewhat hoping to get out of the second half of this trip.

"Oh, you'll see!" she grinned with a mischievous smile. "There is something for you and something for me there, and you won't be disappointed!!"

After another hour of driving or so, we made it into the town and safely parked our car. Then out into the streets we went, climbing the hill through wider avenues this time until we came to the top. There were lots of restaurants and shops here and the town seemed rather affluent. We walked past jewelry stores and pottery shops and place after place containing religious goods for sale. Then suddenly the vista opened up to a wide piazza containing an ENORMOUS blue and white stripped church which was built in enthusiastic response to the Eucharistic Miracle that had taken place there. Here is what our guidebook has to say about it:

"In 1263 a skeptical priest named Peter of Prague passed by a few miles from Orvieto on a pilgrimage to Rome. He had doubts that the bread used in Communion could really be transformed into the body of Christ. But during Mass, as he held the Host aloft and blessed it, the bread began to bleed, running down his arms and dripping onto a linen cloth (the corporal) on the altar. The bloody cloth was brought to Orvieto where Pope Urban IV happened to be visiting. The amazed Pope declared a new holiday "Corpus Christi" (Body of Christ) and the Orvieto cathedral was build (began in 1290) to display the miraculous relic." (Rick Steve's Italy)

I was suddenly thrilled to be there, and rejoiced with Courtney that her surprise had hit a home run. After touring the church and seeing the miraculous cloth, we toured the Etruscan tunnels build beneath the city and then headed off for home. What a day!

The Policia and Me

It wasn't until my run-in with the law that I began to feel more comfortable with and even began to like the people of Italy.  Up until then most of our interactions with them had seemed to provoke indifference, impatience,  and at times, outright fury.  The day before, a simple request to a shopkeeper for "un toiletta" got a scowl and a "Ba!" and harsh pointing to some vague location down the road.  And questions to people staffing "Tourist Information" booths got the most curt responses and the quickest ejections despite the fact that there was no one else waiting.  One museum ticket seller even erupted into a fit of anger when my mother misplaced the ticket he had just sold her and asked for another one.  All of this treatment left us feeling sheepish and a little afraid to ask anything of anyone!

But when we returned to our rental car parked in 2-hour space in front of Santa Maria degli Angeli church and found a 39 Euro ticket on the windshield, I decided to fight back.

An hour earlier I had parked the car,  looked around for a parking meter to pay for the space, and finding none, asked a passerby whether I could park there.  He said yes and so I left the car there with some confidence.  When we returned to it at 7 pm, my heart sank as I saw some papers under the windshield wiper. Since the papers were written in Italian, I approached someone nearby who read them and confirmed that indeed it was a parking fine, and suggested I walk to the police office around the block to ask about it.

So my daughter and I walked across the street and down the block to a government office building and went inside.  There was a large middle-aged man sitting at the desk who looked up when we walked in.  Not having much Italian, I waved the ticket at him with an imploring look and shrugged my shoulders.  He seemed defensive and held both of his hands up in surrender as he said, "Not me!  It is from Assisi police!" and sent me out the door and on my way without any further explanation.

To be honest, I was very upset by now about the injustice of receiving a hefty fine when I had not stayed longer than allowed.  So I resolved to find the police office in Assisi the next day to see if I could get the ticket rescinded.

Back at the convent where we were staying that night, I talked to one of the nuns about my plight.  She was sympathetic, which helped a bit, but not overly optimistic about my being able to fight it. She told me where to find the police office in the piazza and said that a plumber who had parked at her gate while he worked at her place recently had been fined 60 Euros by the police.  She and he had tried to fight it, but the town would not back down.

So off I went at 9:00 am the next day to see what could be done.  I found the police office down a small alley and climbed two flights of stairs.  The stairs opened into a reception room with a man, sitting with his back to me, who was talking on the phone.  In front of him was a man of higher authority sitting at a desk in the next room. Neither man looked up at me as I stood awkwardly there at the reception desk.  After a few minutes I noticed a sign that said in Italian "Open to the Public 9:30-12:00 Ore".  So I went back downstairs and waited a half hour before returning again, this time with my mother and daughter in tow.

The man who had been on the phone earlier greeted me this time and asked me about my business there.  I showed him my ticket, told him I was parked for under two hours, and asked him why I was issued it.  I added that I did not want to pay it.  He listened patiently to me, explained that there is a dial on the windshield of all cars and that you have to set the time of arrival on the dial before leaving your car in a timed parking space.  I gently said that I didn't know about the dial, that I wasn't parked for more than two hours, and asked if the ticket could be excused.  He replied, "You want to pay? You want to pay?" I shook my head no.

He said, "You have a ticket and you want not to pay?"

I nodded and replied, "That's right" and made a motion in the air of myself ripping up the ticket.

He said, "If you do not pay, you will have to write to the judge your justification."

"I'll write to the judge!" I said.

So the man at reception took my papers to the man in the office behind him and they discussed it.  I felt sure that they were going to excuse my fine right then and there, for surely they could see that it was all a misunderstanding.  Then the phone rang and the man helping me returned to his desk to take the call.  Next, a woman walked in from the stairway with a handful of documents and stood at the counter beside me.  She was agitated and began to call out to the man on the phone.  Just then a policeman in a white helmet and blue uniform came in from the stairs, and the irate woman began shouting at him about her problem.  This caused the man in the back office to storm in, take the phone out of the other man's hands and slam it on the desk. He then took every other phone in the office off of their hooks and slammed them down, one after the other to make his point.

So the man who had been on the phone got up, handed my ticket to the policeman and returned to the woman at the counter and began discussing her problem with her, to her exclamations of, "Perfecto! Perfecto!" He was unruffled despite all of the poor treatment he was receiving and simply dealt with whatever was the most pressing matter at hand.

The policeman was a young man in his twenties who held up the ticket and said, "You wish not to pay?"  I nodded yes and he asked for my driver's license.  Then he began making multiple copies of my license and stamping forms and filling in my information on them.  Then he returned for my signature and told me I had two choices.  I could pay the fine now or write my defense for the judge.  I said I would write to the judge.

So he asked me to follow him, and my mother, daughter and I walked down the stairs, out into the street, across the piazza, and into the tourist office with him.  He explained to the person there my situation.  Two women suddenly appeared from the back room and the officer told them my situation too.  I nodded as he talked in Italian to them as I could pick out every few words and was able to follow along.  They stopped and looked at me in surprise and said,  "You understand?"  I said that I did nothing wrong and that I preferred to write my case to the judge rather than pay the ticket. So they gave me a desk and a pen and the name of the judge who  would hear my case and then stood with me as I wrote my defense as best as I could.  They were companionable and interested in what I was doing, and chatted with me as I wrote.

After I got it all down on the paper, the policeman suddenly said, "Look.  You can pay me now and you will be free of all of this or you can submit your defense to the judge and pay the fine later plus a penalty for administrative costs. The judge will most likely not excuse the ticket because we were not wrong.  The time on your windshield said you arrived at 2:00 pm.  So  the officer was right in issuing you the ticket."

I laughed as I said, "I can be free??!" and I held out my hands as if he were going to cuff them.  They all laughed at this and I suddenly realized the hopelessness of my situation.  None of them really had any power to release me from my ticket.   At that moment I knewthat it was not the spirit of the law that mattered, but the letter of it.  Even if I was parked for the allowed time, it did not matter to them.  What I was really being fined for was not using the time clock on my windshield.  I felt that this law took advantage of tourists who did not understand their parking system.  After all, my rental car was in a virtually empty parking lot at dusk in front of a church.  There was no one waiting for a parking space and yet I was slapped with the equivalent of a 49 US dollar fine.   With that, I told the officer that I agreed with his advice and I paid the ticket on the spot.  One of the women standing there smiled and said her son had received a similar ticket a few months ago and had to pay the fine too.

And so we were smiles all around.  The officer filled out a few more forms, collected my payment, and handed me a receipt attached to the ticket and with a smile said, "You are now free.  Here is your souvenir!"  It may be hard to believe, but I actually left feeling good.  I had made a connection with the people of Italy on a deeper level and was satisfied with the helpfulness of all who became involved.  And at the very least, I had certainly gotten my money's worth!



- Posted from my iPad

City of Peace

Although we've been to other hill towns in our last few days in Tuscany and Umbria, Assisi, for me, is the crown jewel in a land of rolling hills and fields of sunflowers, and green trees pointing up to the ever-blue skies. From our balcony we can survey the farming landscape dotted with evergreen trees and the tiled roof tops and the bell towers and domes on the many churches that populate this tiny town. In the afternoon a windy breeze sweeps up the hillside and cools us off as we rest in our room to escape from the midday heat. There is a palpable peace here that is a soothing tonic for the soul. St. Francis and St. Clare, pray for us!

Oh, Assisi!

Saturday, June 23, 2012 Assisi, Italy

"When I got to Assisi, Milan, Florence and Rome completely disappeared from my memory and all the rest besides, so captivated was I by the gentle landscape, so miraculously evangelical and Franciscan, by the delightful churches, by a wealth of happy memories and by that noble breed of men, the Umbrian peasants who are richly endowed in good looks, physical strength, a joyful disposition and gentleness.

Little had I dreamt that such a marvelous place existed. I would have stayed for the rest of my life -if only women were accepted - at the tiny monastery of the Carceri, an hour and fourteen minutes walk up the mountainside from Assisi. No more heavenly and tranquilizing sight exists than Umbria as seen from up there. St. Francis certainly knew how to choose the most ravishing spots in which to practice poverty: He was far from being an ascetic..." Simone Weil, 1936.