Here’s how tonight’s dinner conversation went:
Dennis: Who did Jesus tell,”Upon this rock, I will build my Church?”
Olivia: Simon?
Mary: Yes. Simon who?
Chiara: Simon Cowell?
We don’t normally focus on this sort of stuff while passing the mashed potatoes, but tonight we went off on a religious education tangent. This answer definitely won the prize.
I was driving to and from Noah’s film club meeting, Olivia’s horseback riding lessons, and Chiara’s competition ballet-tap-jazz class yesterday — and squeezing in some much-needed raking during the “spare” minutes at home in between –when I started to get that overwhelmed, woe-is-me feeling. I was heading down the same road for the third time in less than an hour, wondering how we had reached this tipping point.
As I pulled onto the long gravel road leading to the stables to wait for Olivia’s lesson to end, Natalie Merchant started singing “These Are Days,” and suddenly I could feel tears forming out of nowhere. Not tears of frustration or desperation, but tears of sudden realization. Tears of gratitude for what I know is a blessing, as difficult as it can sometimes feel.
These are the days
These are days you’ll remember
Never before and never since, I promise
Will the whole world be warm as this
And as you feel it,
You’ll know it’s true
That you are blessed and lucky
In a flash I went from fragmented to full, fast-forwarding to some day down the road when my children no longer need me to cart them around or read the stories 
they make up or take them on a camping trip.
I remember when Noah was a toddler, and people who were parenting teens at the time would tell me to savor the terrible twos because adolescence was going to make it look like a cake walk. And they were right. And now, when I complain about a house cluttered with toys and book bags and school papers, those same parents remind me that in a few short years my house will be quiet and clean, and I will long for the days of clutter and confusion. And I have no doubt they will be right again.
These are days to remember, even when I want to forget.
Here’s Natalie to sing us out. Have a great weekend, and remember to savor the moments, even the ones that make you crazy.
So, I’m independent — politically speaking — for lots of reasons, mainly because I don’t want to be aligned with or beholden to either major party. I chalk it up, in part, to my libra-esque personality. Always weighing, always considering both sides, never wanting to give any side unequivocal anything.
As an independent, I find the goings on related to the current election season beyond comprehension. Although I have strong opinions on this or that policy, I can readily acknowledge that both candidates, even when they don’t agree with me, are smart men, good people, politicians with the best interest of our country at heart. Is it really possible that so many people on the extremes of this conversation — and from what I can see there are lots of people firmly planted on the extremes, at least on Facebook — are unable to look at the opposition and see decency, common humanity, differences in opinion but sameness at the core? I find it mind boggling, really, that we have come to this place of total disregard and disrespect for those who don’t share our exact opinions.
I’m saddened by the fact that I now dread signing onto my Facebook news feed because I know it will be filled with name calling, angry rhetoric, and outright insults. Good people seem to think nothing of pronouncing friends on the opposing side idiots or worse simply for looking at things from a different perspective. How did we get here? Was it social media that led us down this path of intolerance or something else? What does it take to return us to a place where good people can respectfully agree to disagree? Can we ever go back?
I find I refrain from all political commentary, on Facebook in particular, not because I don’t have political opinions but because I have come to understand that if I don’t hold the “right” political opinions I will be demonized by one side or the other. And, to be honest, I just don’t have the energy to waste in an argument with someone who will never see my point of view anyway. So I have opted to keep quiet, even when I have something to say, and that’s a very sad commentary on the free speech we hold so dear. Or should hold so dear, even for those who don’t agree with us.
I know who I’m voting for in November. That doesn’t mean I hate the opposition. It doesn’t mean I think everyone who votes for him is an idiot or some other unmentionable name. Every one of us has the power to direct our future. That’s the beauty of the voting booth. Go in, pull the lever (or whatever it is we push or pull now), and vote for the candidate of your choice. And, if by some chance your guy loses, have the decency to give the new president the respect he deserves, no matter what his party.
But whatever you do, between now and then, stop assuming everyone who doesn’t plan to vote with you is a moron. Tolerance is an empty word if it only applies to people who think like you.
I’m not much of a camper. I chalk it up to traumatic Girl Scout experiences as a kid — think rain, mud, latrine duty, French toast cooked over a coffee can. But as I write this column, I am simultaneously washing my winter sleeping bag in anticipation of a weekend camping retreat at the Shrine of Our Lady of Martyrs in Auriesville, N.Y., with Noah’s Boy Scout troop. And I’m actually looking forward to it. (more…)
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| Ecstasy of St. Teresa, Santa Maria della Vittoria, Rome/By Mary DeTurris Poust |
Happy Feast of St. Teresa of Avila. I have some of her words of wisdom posted prominently next to my desk at all times:
“Let nothing trouble you. Let nothing make you afraid. All things pass away. God never changes. Patience obtains everything. God alone is enough.” – St. Teresa of Avila
