Real Life Reflections

Although few of us want to admit it, and I'm sure we all want to believe that we're above this, I think we're all influenced by the big screen. Face it, it's mezmerizing: those perfect bodies, beautiful faces, and predictable outcomes. We all wish our lives followed a Hollywood script and that someone could airbrush away our physcial defects (and maybe a few extra pounds): a smaller, straighter nose, a longer, slimmer, more curvaceous waist, muscles that were a tad more defined, etc. Alas, though all of life may be a stage, the lighting experts and make-up artists aren't included in the ticket price. Still, we try to mimick as best we can, and although a select few may come close to imitating Hollywood beauty physically, our lives themselves can't be so easily controlled. I love a feel-good movie as much as anyone. Superheros who save the day, no matter how unrealistic the rescue, make me cheer. I'll walk out of the theater with a smile on my face and a ligh...

When my husband and I were in the falling-in-love stage of our relationship, I worried that my love for him would compete against my love for God - that I had to choose between the two - that loving God and loving a man couldn't co-exist. I expresed this concern to my sister who, at the time, was an old married woman with five years of marriage under her belt. She looked at me, somewhat surprised at my question and said, "If you love God, how can you not love Marc?" Her answer has (obviously) stayed with me all these years. I recently had a conversation with my daughter in which she gave me a synopsis of a book by Rob Bell, The Sex God (you can find it at Barnes and Noble or Amazon). Rob Bell's message is somewhat similar to my sister's words that day so many years ago, but with a slightly different angle. Rob Bell's message, according to Ami, is that spirituality is connectedness to God. Sexuality is connectedness to other human beings. Our lives are all abo...

It's January. The parties are over. The decorations carefully boxed and stored until the season rolls 'round again. Ralphie and his father's leg lamp as well as George Bailey and Clarence now sit silently on a shelf or perhaps in a drawer. We've visited and/or partied with everyone we could ever want to visit (and quite a few that we'd prefer to never have to see ever again). Every group whose roster we've signed, every group whose roster our spouse has signed, our families, our friends, and our place of employment, all celebrate the holidays in some form or another. We've shopped and spent and baked and cooked and wrapped until our feet and fingers are numb and our pockets are empty (or beyond). I think perhaps that the whole world must be as exhausted as I am (or at least the women who are the ones who typically make all of the above happen). As I sit here typing this, I look out to my living room and see mounds of festive decorations. They no longer deco...

"Make new friends but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold. " At the beginning of a new year, most people look forward and make resolutions to better them self in some way over the next twelve months. This new year, however, I looked back and was overwhelmed by what I found. Friendships - real friendships - are not easy things to build. Real friendships require trust, and it takes time for us mortals to be able to do that with each other. Although few of us will to admit it to ourselves much less anyone else, our hearts are vulnerable. We station sentries at the door and train them well. They keep any potential pain away. The problem lies in that they are zealous guards and often refuse entrance to everyone - including friends. Oh, they'll let people in to a certain extent - like maybe onto the porch or possibly into the living room, but for a friend to make it to the back of the house (the kitchen, the bathroom) where the real stuff of life goes on is no mean f...

At 5:45, Mom rang the dinner bell (literally), and we all came running. The noise that had been spread throughout the house in the form of TV (singular), radios, record players, conversations, arguments, and dogs barking now came together in one concentrated center. "Only three talking at a time!" my dad would yell. We sat elbow to elbow, around the kitchen table every night. Even after Mom went back to work full time, she still had a full meal on the table seven nights a week: meatloaf with mashed potatoes (real mashed potatoes) and gravy or chicken parmigiana with pasta, salad, and garlic bread or a family fav - stuffed green peppers. Most nights didn't lend themselves to loitering in the kitchen. Homework, boyfriends, girlfriends, and the TV (Archie Bunker on Tuesday nights at 7:00 was Dad's favorite) all demanded our attention. If it was your turn to clear the table or wash the dishes though, you didn't have a choice. Of course, the table-clearer had great mo...

She was such a tiny little thing. Her jet-black waves framed her face, drawing attention to her brown eyes - so brown that one had to look closely to be sure that they too weren't black. We found her huddled in a corner. There were only three of them. Their parents had been taken away as had their other siblings. Her brothers didn't seem to mind, but she was clearly frightened. My heart immediately ached for her. She was so young to have had so much loss. We sat in the room, simply visiting with her guardians. Her brothers played as if life was everything they wanted it to be. We waited, hoping that our presence, our unintrusive presence, would eventually relax her and bring her out. We hoped to gain her trust by not forcing it. Fortunately, the young are more trusting than the rest of us, and we didn't have to wait long. Slowly, she uncurled herself as she continued to watch us warily. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her body relax. She ventured ever-so-slightly a...

I remember that Florida vacation when my brother, Dave, and I played in the ocean. A wave knocked us both down, and he landed on my leg, twisting my knee painfully. My dad carried me the rest of the week whenever we had any distance to walk. I was twelve and thoroughly embarrassed. Now it's one of my most treasured memories of my dad. He died five years later. I remember my last vacation with my dad. We went to Washington, D.C. He was so sick, but he refused to accept defeat. I remember my dad laughing at a remark that Dave made about the quality of McDonald's hamburgers. He laughed so hard he cried. I'd never seen him do that before. I remember taking my Donald Duck umbrella outside on a windy day and trying to fly like Mary Poppins (it didn't work). I remember my brother, Ed, watching Batman. I thought it was a stupid show, and with only one TV and Ed being the oldest, he got to watch what he wanted to watch. I was out of luck - no Gilligan's Island for me. I reme...