MAM'S DISSERTATINGS

The Demented Way to Heaven

2011-05-29T20:58:00.022-04:00

Time flies when you're residing in the land of dementia. I haven't posted since December. I can't believe that.

I have news to report on the dissertation end. Back in February I actually wrote up a draft of a proposal. I felt as though I turned a corner and was actually entering the Piled High and Deep world eager and ready. But, hold on, don't get too excited. Real life reared it's ugly head. I got a phone call the beginning of March telling me Mom was "on her way to Heaven". So up to Boston I flew. We took her off all her meds. We were told to prepare for death. Mom had stopped eating and drinking. But in Mom's usual dramatic diva-like way (and in God's I-know-better-than-you-mere-mortals way) Mom came back to life off the meds. I always knew Mom was over medicated. Now, God decided to back me up. That's why I like Him. :) Now if only other mere mortals (especially the ones who wear white coats and scrubs) would get out of His way and let Him to do some work, we might be able to get Mom's meds figured out.

And recently they put Mom in a new chair that she can get herself out of and she fell twice in 24 hours and ended up in the hospital last week. On the way to the hospital the ambulance got in an accident and they had to call an ambulance for the guy who hit them and then call an ambulance to switch over to. I can't make this stuff up, folks.

Anyway, they discovered Mom had no fractures (thank God) and that she had another UTI, which by the way, I told everyone she had for two weeks but no one seemed to hear me. I think I should just start calling myself Dr. MAM and not even bother waiting for the final PhD degree. I bet if I told everyone I was Dr. MAM people would listen better.

Mom came home from the hospital this past Monday. She had 4 real good days, one horrible day, one great day, and a pretty good day today. Mom likes to spit out her meds, which I cannot blame her for. In the hospital she gets an Iv, so no spitting. Where she lives they crush it up into ice cream or applesauce. The crusher they use is horrible. It doesn't crush the dreaded chemicals into dust. Who likes to taste and try to swallow chunks? Not me! I have watched Mom try to take those dang meds and it is not pleasant. Makes me think she's not getting her correct dose, which is why I have a feeling we are not through with this UTI, which by the way the doctor said was a very unusual bacteria. LOL. Of course it is. And they put Mom back in the chair she can get out of. So, I know, it is only a matter of time before she falls again. I just about give up. And the Hippa rules, etc, make it impossible to truly protect someone like Mom. A secure belt for her own safety is considered a restraint. So instead we just risk having her fall and fracture herself, and possibly need surgery, which would mean more anesthesia, which is how we ended up here in the first place. Whatever. Other than that, Mom is in one of the best places an old person can be in. What a nightmare it must be if you are in a bad place. Ugh. Mom has some great people around her. So for that I'm grateful. Some kindhearted CNA's, nurses, and volunteers paint her nails, put her makeup on, dress her the way she likes to dress, and keep her entertained.

I'm so drained. I cried all day Friday and could not sleep Friday night. I worry sick over Mom falling out of this new chair. It's just crazy. What good is this chair if she hurts herself? Makes no sense to me. This whole past year, no matter what happened, I could deal with it. I hardly ever cried. But this chair freaks me out. It already has proven (twice) it's an accident waiting to happen. Oh, well. Hope Mom's guardian angel isn't old and feeble like she is. Because he or she needs lots of energy to keep up with Mom.

Hmmm, maybe I'll get back to the proposal I started in February. Maybe I wont.

Mom's a trooper. UTI's make her lose her mind. I said to her on the phone before she went to the hospital, "You're having a hard day, aren't you?" Mom said, "Yes, yes, yes, Oh God, oh God, oh God! But it's ok , dear. I'm learning to be courageous." Then yesterday on the phone I said, "Sometimes I cry because I know how hard this is for you. I worry" She said,"Oh, sweetheart, I don't want you to suffer because of me ... although it does give me a good feeling. But I really don't want you to suffer even though it does make me happy." LOL

I went to a healing service today to pray for Mom and myself. I'm either going to have a nervous breakdown or an ulcer by the time my trip to dementia world ends. The man who prayed over me told me that his mother went through the same thing. Practically identical stories--his mother came back to life after being taken off meds--one UTI after another--hell of a time getting meds figured out. While we were praying for Mom, my brother, one of the nuns, and a volunteer took my mother outside for the passing Memorial Day Parade. Mom was all excited and happy and talking to EVERYONE. LOL Mom always was a social butterfly. Mom turned 87 this past Thursday. No one thought she would live to see another birthday. Last year at the parade, she stood proudly and saluted perfectly the way an ex-Marine should as the Marines passed by. The Marines saw her and stopped to salute her. Today she couldn't stand but I'm sure she sat TALL in that awful new chair and saluted with pride. Once a Marine, always a Marine. Semper Fi, Mom!

For now, I shall leave you with some pics of my trip to see Mom in March. You can see the remarkable difference in her from day 1 to day 7. Moral of this story is don't over medicate your elders.

2010/2011 Whatever

2010-12-31T20:24:00.011-05:00

Well, it's New Year's Eve, and I'm in bed sick as a dog. I woke up yesterday with a bad cold or something. Some horrible germ is spreading through my body. Whatever. It seems to be the perfect way to end my horrible year.

I see I have not posted since August. My mother declining has drained me of all the creative energy I usually have. I have not done a thing on my dissertation except to just think about how I haven't done anything. The last couple of years have been full of loss that has sent me into some sort of limboish state. It seems to be one loss after another. And working too many part-time jobs for hardly any money is killing me. I just can't seem to find one job that pays enough, so I keep ending up with too many part-time jobs that pay little, and leave me with no time to work on anything else. I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm so behind in my tuition payments this semester that I'm seriously beginning to wonder if God's plan is for me to drop out of school. I just don't know. And God doesn't seem to be giving me an answer.

I wish my mother lived closer to me, but that is not an option. I've got find a way to not think about (and worry about her) so much. Living with dementia is like living with a cancer or some such chronic disease. Each day a little piece is missing from both of you, and neither of you have any idea if tomorrow will come. You try to squeeze whatever and as much as you can into short phone conversations, and then you think about what was said in those conversations all day--every word and every voice inflection. You also start to question your own mortality and your own purpose. Heck, you question every single thing you ever believed in and still do believe in and whether what you believe in is really what you believe and if it ever was. You also realize who your kindred spirits are. As my grandmother use to say, you can count your real friends on one hand.

This has been one heck of a rotten year. Oh, hell, I'm going to just say it--it has been one heck of a rotten three years. And I feel as though 2011 will be the year I lose my mother, so I don't see it getting much better. I lost my mother's dear friend, Josephine, Thanksgiving week. She was 90. I loved that woman. She was such an inspiration. This is the beginning time of many unwelcomed changes.

I don't know much of anything anymore. But what I do know is that life is hard.

Aging: However you fight it, you still end up dead.

2010-08-08T23:09:00.041-04:00

Well, it's been over a month since my last blog. And it sure has been one heck of a long seven weeks. I feel like 5 years has passed.

I just have one thing to say--aging sure does stink.

A brave friend of mine posted on her blog how she is not too happy with the aging process. And I have to agree with her. I hate that society, especially Western culture, puts so much superficial value on appearance. No matter how hard we try to convince ourselves that we will age gracefully and not morph into vain women who think too much about their looks, we still do morph into that. One day you wake up and realize you have turned into a pathetic woman who is mourning her youth. I admit it. I am pathetically watching my cuteness fade away. And I hate every second of it fading away and I hate even more every second that I waste on mourning its demise. I am PATHETIC.

But there's nothing I can do about it. I have no money, no insurance. Therefore, I should count my blessings that even if I was tempted to undergo some dreadful plastic surgery or face a needle full of poisonous Botox, I can't. So back fat, wrinkles, thick mid section, and hormonal acne it is for me. Bring it on. At least I can dye my white hair. Maybe I should just dye my whole body. Tie dye would work. (Is that the correct way to spell tie dye?) Now that would be making a statement, wouldn't it? Or, maybe, I could just move to a part of the world where a woman has to cover up. You know, I think those women are on to something. The older we women get we actually envy that. This is a well kept secret. Come on, you aging women know I'm speaking truth.

Hmmmm, or maybe I should just join a convent or become a hermit--is a female called a hermitress? I envy the lives of nuns and hermits. Actually, the contemplative hermit existence appeals to me. I love being alone. And I love conversing with God. And I think there must be such freedom in never thinking about what you are going to wear or what makeup will cover your wrinkles or what lipstick will not creep into the lines that are creating road maps to heaven or hell around your mouth. But what an act of submission to God that would be. To be seen without makeup. I don't think I have done that since I was 16. And I have not been sans nail polish since the fourth grade. Yes, a hermitress life for me would be best. Spare the world.

What's really depressing is that I actually fooled myself into thinking that because I have never had children, always work out, for the most part eat healthily, and hardly ever drink alcohol that this would not happen to me. HAH!!!!! What a lie, It's all a lie.

It's like that health fanatic runner who dropped dead jogging in his forties. And look at George Burns. He smoked cigars and drank every day and lived to a ripe old age. You just never know. When God decides your number's up, it's up. Ugly or beautiful. We all end up dead.

You know what? It just isn't worth the energy to think this much about myself. And I'm probably cheating God by wasting so much of my energy.

So let's talk about what I did in June. At the end of June I saw Mother Teresa's relics. They are touring the USA and Canada. Now there was "real" woman. Most of society would think she was nothing if they were basing their feelings on the superficial and on how modern culture defines beauty.

I sometimes go over to the hospice that the Mother Teresa nuns operate here. It's a hospice for men with aids. And each nun there is truly beautiful. They each own one pair of sandals, two habits, and belongings that fit into one paper bag. They spend 24/7 helping the worst of the worst. The poorest of the poor. And they live the same way themselves. No air conditioning for them.

Every time I'm in their presence I feel nothing but joy. And the men that live with the sisters truly love them. The ones that are well enough help the sisters with chores. They jump at the the opportunity. These men that once were homeless have such a deep respect for these women. That's because sincere suffering knows true beauty. Here are some pics from the relic showings--

Mother Teresa's sandals. Look at how worn out they are. She wore these for many years. Think of all the countries these sandals walked and all the people she helped while wearing these sandals.

This a street person who I used to know. He doesn't even recognize me anymore. My mother used to know his mother. When his mother was alive he lived with her and she took care of him. Since she died he spends most of his time on the streets in a wheelchair. One of the nuns decided to take him inside the church and show him the relics. He came alive. He was beaming--the first time in years I have seen him smile. When he was looking at Mother Teresa's rosary and crucifix he became transfixed. It was as though he was having a private conversation with her. It seemed like time stopped in the Basilica.

Me at the hospice. Mother Teresa's rosary and crucifix. She received the crucifix when she was 20. These were both with her when she died. The two stands are holding a piece of her hair and a drop of her blood. Not a very good pic of me. But since I was hanging with Mother Teresa nun's I shall consider it a lesson in humility to post a bad pic. Ha ha.

And I ended up in the newspaper--http://articles.baltimoresun.com/2010-06-30/news/bs-md-ci-mother-teresa-20100629_1_relics-baltimore-basilica-rosary

Something beautiful happened when I was at the hospice. The relics were being displayed in the hospice's tiny chapel. I decided to stay a while and pray. All of a sudden the men who live in the house came in and sat down. I asked one of nuns what they were doing. She told me, "The men say the rosary everyday. They are going to pray it now." 10 men live in the house. 9 black men and one white man. Various ages and various stages of sickness. In order to live at the house they have to have no where else to live. And they can't be drinking or using. The praying is voluntary. To see these men who have had, shall we say, colorful pasts humble themselves is inspiring. Each man said a decade of the rosary out loud in his own style, rhythm and cadence. One guy even rapped it. Ha. I loved his rapping. It was so great. I bet God looks forward to this rosary recitation everyday. It must put a huge smile on His face. It was the most sincere praying I've ever heard--straight from the heart. Of course, the oldest and sickest man sat next to me--practically on top of me. He kept dozing off. In between dozes he would perk up and shout, "Jesus! Hell! Jesus!" I thought he was going to fall asleep on my shoulder. I sort of was propping him up. When the praying was over, I patted his knee. He opened his eyes and managed a little smile and nodded his head. Hmmm...life. The journey goes on.

Tonight on a phone conversation, I said to my 86 year old mother, "Mom, I guess we're all on a journey. And the purpose is to make it to heaven. There doesn't seem to be any other purpose or explanation." She said, "What do you mean guessing? No guessing about it. Dear, that's all we have. I just can't imagine not knowing this." My mother has had a horrible time lately. Eight weeks ago she broke her hip. She had the beginning signs of dementia before the hip fracture. And now the anesthesia from her surgery has advanced it. She's not the same and she knows it. And she had the added complication of a UTI that landed her back in the hospital. She almost died the night they put her back in the hospital. She is now back home where she lives with the Little Sisters of the Poor. She is happier there but very frustrated that she is having a hard time remembering certain things and not being able to move around freely. She can't get through the night without waking up and crying out for help.

Even though this has been hard on both Mom and me, especially since I live far from her, there have been some heart felt and humorous conversations and words spoken that will always stay with me. But it's late now, and I must go to bed. I need to get a good night's sleep in order to continue my journey.

Something Called Acedia and Goodbye My Howard. (And the heck with proofreading.)

2010-06-25T22:56:00.017-04:00

Oh, oh, oh. What to write, what to write, what to write.

My last post was April 25th. And here we are at June 25th. For someone who supposedly has a gift for writing, I sure have not been prolific in any way, shape, or form for over two years--actually almost three years. Totally depressing. I think I have written only two or three poems in three years. That's sad. I must admit that I have never recovered from my PhD coursework. And this is starting to really worry me. Something happened to me and I don't know what. It's like some part of my brain has shut down. Not to mention my memory seems shot too. I keep waiting for myself to get back to the "normal" I was before coursework hell, but I have finally realized that there is no normal for me to go back to. It is lost forever. Bye bye "normal" Mary Alice. Yes, she must be put to rest. She must have a proper send off. I have to slay this demon and watch it descend to the underworld. The funeral will be at 9am this Monday.

The best writing teacher in my masters writing program told me when I told him that I wanted to go on for my PhD, "What? Why? You're a real writer. You should be writing. They will suck all the creativity right out of ya'! Don't let 'em kill ya'! They will destroy you!" He was a crusty 83 year-old man who was always a professional writer and never really a teacher. I'm beginning to think he was right. Wisdom sometimes disguises itself in the form of crusty old men. I'm dead. I'm just doing it walking.

I'm reading a book that might shed some light on my lack of creativity and energy. It's called Acedia and Me, A Marriage, Monks, and a Writer's Life by Kathleen Norris. I'm only on page 68, so I still have a lot to learn from this book. But the concept of acedia is interesting. And I do think I have a touch of it. A restlessness that for as long as I can remember has always been inside me. Like there is something else out there. Like I'm just not in the right place. Like things that don't bore other people bore me. Like I'm waiting for my real life to begin. Like who the hell am I? Like why even as a two year old when I would look up at clouds I knew someone stole me and placed me far away down here where I don't like it?

Now, from what I'm reading so far, I don't have this acedia affliction nearly as deeply as Norris has it, but I definitely can relate to the idea. I think acedia afflicts creative people. I probably inherited this tendancy from my tortured artist father and my frustrated wannabe drama queen mother. And like quite a few of the artists/poets/writers that Norris talks about, my father also committed suicide. These tortured souls experience darkness of the soul and of the creative spirt. But they themselves do not understand that this is actually normal for many people. So many of them drink or self medicate in self destructive ways. And they fool themselves into thinking they have to be this way in order to create. But don't anybody out there worry, I'm not that tortured. Don't start calling me asking me If I'm about to do something drastic. Once during a prolific period I shared my poems with friends. At the time I tended to write angst poetry. It's my favorite way to write. Next thing I knew I was getting phone calls, "Are you alright?" "Are things Ok? My husband and I are worried about you." "Do you need anything?" "Are you depressed?" I responded with laughter, "I'm fine. I'm the happiest depressed person around." Geez. One thing I have never been accused of is being depressed. But it's normal to feel the feelings folks. It's when you run away from them and hide that you get really lost. People who put on a happy face 24/7, even when it's just them and the night, just have to be on really good meds.

Norris says that today most people call this feeling depression, but acedia really isn't clinical depression. It's more like spiritual sloth or being unable to care. Does anyone even know what sloth is today? I grew up with a mother who liked that word and actually used it. I don't even know if you could find a kid today who has ever heard of it. Anyway, Norris examines how monks going back to the fouth century discussed acedia. They called it the noon day demon. Praying and working would be going along just great and then bang--around noon time to early afternoon--nothing except soul weariness. They were unable to function much. They couldn't even pray. hmmm...

Anyway, the last few years have been difficult for many reasons. And that is how I feel. I feel soul weary. I'm drained.

Oh well, what are you going to do?

On another note, in past blog postings I have written a lot about my homeless buddy, Howard. I don't think I'll be writing much about him anymore. He has gone missing and I am missing him terribly. For years he has been making me feel extra beats of happiness when I turned the corner to find him waving at me with his big floppy hands from way down the end of the street. I have asked everyone about him. The last he was seen he was shaking terribly and no one has seen him since. I often wanted to take a picture of him but I felt that might be intruding on his privacy. Now I wish I had hid in corner and snapped a pic of him. He probably would not have even minded. When I was away at school for that one long year, I missed Howard. I was so happy to see him again on his corner. Now the corner is so lonely. Just about everyday on my way to Mass I expect to see him as I take a left turn, but no Howard. Ugh. I just hope if he died he went quickly and if he did not die that he is being taken well care of.

There's a line in this song that always makes me think of Howard.

If you haven't got a dollar, not a penny to your name, someone's gonna miss you when you gone.

And here is one of the few poems I have written in years. July of 2008. Geez. I don;t even remember writing it, and after reading the content, maybe I really do suffer from acedia.

The Watered Seed

Maybe you’re just breezing by
A fleeting moment of release
A brush against my soul’s skin
A taste of sweet abandonment

Will you linger a while?
Long enough to break the skin
And root a firmly planted spirit
Grow up in me a worthy soul

A soul with strong branches
And bendable leaves
Foliage that never withers
A pasture that’s always green

My soul needs a bit more tilling
It requires complete cultivation
Unburying old fears, dirt free
So much hope in a tiny seed

How much more can you give?
How many more breaths do you have?
To breathe long life into this soul
To make it bloom as it ought to

Many masters bring false freedoms
Followers crossing barren fields
Seedlings birthing nothing tough
Trees with no roots to take hold

Where do their paths lead?
Do you breathe on them there?
Do they brush your breeze away?
Do they ever rest in your sunshine?

My freedom is in the yielding
The way a seed submits
To its planter’s understanding
Counting on his springs of faith

Drinking from your well of life
Will make this seed crawl
On its knees, out of the dirt
and back to the dirt, on its knees

Mary Alice Moore July 8, 2008

Dissertation Hibernation

2010-04-25T20:41:00.024-04:00

Well, I have not posted since the end of January. I can't believe how fast time has gone by. I wish I could tell you that my lack of posting was due to being buried in PhD research and writing, but it hasn't, and I can't lie. I have not been a very good dissertator. My spirit is willing, but my brain, heart and body just won't cooperate. Too many jobs and life's problems have made me want to spend what little free time I have escaping into the world of past seasons of 24 and movies on instant Netflix. I didn't start watching 24 until Season 6. A friend of mine told me how I could get all the past seasons at the library. Oh, what fun!!!! 24 is the only show I watch. So I am not even going to feel guilty. Too bad this is 24's last season. UGH.

I'm happy to report that I did read two dissertations by other PhDers. Reading them made me feel so much better about the whole dissertation. I realized it is not that big of a deal. I just need to get started. Once I get the proposal written and accepted I can then start the process. I fear the proposal more than the actual dissertation. I feel clueless as how to do the proposal. I know that once I get going I'll be ok. It's just that the getting going doesn't want to be got. Hmmmm....

What else has happened over the last few months. I had a birthday! Yep, March 29.

That is me at the Cheesecake Factory. My neighbor and good friend Susanne takes me there every year for my bday. :)

My homeless buddy Howard also had a birthday in March. I know this because one day he called me over to him. He was very excited. I said, "Are you talking to me?" He said, "Yeah, TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!" I said, "Noooooooooo, really? How old are you?" He said, "60". I said,"Get out of here, Howard. You look younger!" He smiled. And then he gave me a little hug and kiss on my cheek. That was the first time a dirty homeless guy ever hugged and kissed me. It was a sweet moment. :)

Another sweet thing happened. Jenna, one of my best friend's daughter, and I spent a whole day wandering around DC. This was so special because the last time I saw Jenna in person she was 11. Now she is 19. She is such a great girl and has always had such a pleasant personality. I could travel the world with her in happiness and contentment. I love my Jenna.

My beautful Jenna. We had such a good time. She is almost finished her first year at University of VA in Richmond. I hope she visits me more often!!!!!!! She's always been my favorite "kid"!!!!!

Something else monumental happened. I got my first bread maker. WooooHOOOOOOO!!!!! You have no idea how excited this purchase makes me. I know. I'm so easy to please. Just give me a 45 dollar bread maker and I'm happy. This is a recent purchase--two weeks ago. And look at how many recipes I found today--http://allrecipes.com/Search/Recipes.aspx?WithTerm=bread%20maker%20recipes I have always wanted a bread maker. My best friend has been telling me to get one for 10 years. Walmart finally had a sale. :)

Is it supposed to make that sound???

YUM!!!!!!
What songs are on my mind? I usually post a song. Let's see if i can go find on my favorite U2 song. Hot dang!!! I found it. Bono--ahhhhhh ....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDy-QI78mLI

I've seen U2 live a few times. AHHHHHHHHHHH--wonderful.

Well, that's about all I have to say tonight.

Peace out,

MAM :)

There's Always McDonalds, Hope & The Fiddler.

2010-01-31T22:49:00.009-05:00

Ohhhhhhhhh, well, here I am again--another Sunday night--another week gone by.

Since the last time I posted I was informed that I lost one of my teaching jobs. That's life in the academic jungle where humans sometimes act like crafty foxes. No advance notice. One week a job, the next week your job is given to someone else. Another department took over my department's classes and I got thrown into the jungle without a machete, which is probably a good thing because I could have done a good job swinging that machete. Yep, that's the way the jobs tumble and the pages rip. I have to say I was upset when I found out and was sort of in a funk for a few days. But my homeless buddy Howard put it all in perspective.

Howard was in his usual spot outside church. He saw me coming down the street and started waving me over to him. He said, "There was a funeral here this morning!" Howard tends to get excited whenever there's a funeral. Howard mumbles, which is probably due to his lack of teeth. I said, "What did you say?" He said, "There was a funeral. I wonder who it was. Do you know?" I said, "No. I didn't know her. But yesterday they said her name. I think her first name was Anna." Howard said, "I hope it wasn't the lady in the gray car. I help her. She can never find parking. So I help her find a spot. I hope it wasn't her." I said, "Howard, you help everyone." Howard smiled and then said, "How ya' doin'?" I said, "Not too good today, Howard. I lost one of my jobs." Howard said, "Ohhhh noooo!" I said, "Yeah, I hope I find another one soon. I have no money." Howard ever so sympathetically said, "Don't worry, baby. You'll find somethin'. I know you will." I said, "I hope so. If you're a praying man, Howard, pray for me." He smiled and said, "Ok. But don't worry. There's always McDonalds!" I looked way up at big Howard and said, "Howard, if I end up at McDonalds, you're going to get a lot of food!" Howard smiled and chuckled. I smiled and chuckled too as I walked into church. I love Howard. He never fails to make my day.

After Mass, Howard was still standing watch on his corner. I walked over to him and said,"Here Howard. This is mine, but I want you to have it." I handed Howard my rosary. He took it, smiled and simply said, "Thank you." I said, "Keep it in your pocket. Keep it with you always." He smiled and said, "OK." I looked way up at him and mischievously said, "Oh, and Howard, make sure it's not in a pocket with a hole in it." Howard smiled and laughed. Oh, life would be so boring without Howard. You know, Howard has a really interesting life. He knows everything that goes on in a whole city block. He has all types of friends. And he knows how not to worry. Howard is freer than a lot of folks I know. Thanks to Howard, my new daily mantra is There's always McDonalds! McDonalds and Hope. You can't live without them.

As my week continued my job woes lessened. It looks like I will still be teaching my night class,which starts in a few weeks. But I won't believe it until I'm standing in front of my students. I also applied for an online teaching position and another job. So maybe, just maybe, I'll have something secure lined up soon.

Moving on to the reading front. I started these two books the last couple of days: The Music of Creation by John Michael Talbot and The Monks of Tibhirine, Faith, Love, and Terror in Algeria by John W. Kiser, The monks book is fascinating. I reluctantly put it down. Here is a review that is from Goodreads.com:

Few Americans heard about it, but the story gripped Europe (and especially France) during the summer of 1996: The mysterious kidnapping and murder of seven Trappist monks living in the Algerian village of Tibhirine at their monastery of Notre-Dame de l'Atlas. John W. Kiser III tells their story, or at least what parts of it can be known; much of what happened to them remains unclear, including the motives of their captors. Parts of The Monks of Tibhirine are grim, but this is an unavoidable fact of the case. The monks' bodies, for instance, never have been found--except for their heads. Kiser describes the scene: "The monks' desiccated faces, hollow eye sockets, and exposed teeth made them look like mummies." (Apparently they had been buried, then disinterred.) Readers looking for a nonfiction thriller won't find it on these pages, however. Much of the book is a history of monks living in Algeria, and much of the rest chronicles the good relationships the seven doomed monks shared with their Muslim neighbors. Their devotion to both their faith and their neighbors is inspiring; the way they died is abhorrent. --John Miller

Those who know me well know I love classic movies. Yesterday TCM had a great line up--Fiddler on the Roof, National Velvet, and Wuthering Heights. I wanted to watch all three,
but I'm just not one for sitting all day in front of the TV. But I had to watch Fiddler. Fiddler on the Roof was one of the first movies I ever saw in a theater. My mother took me. It was a special occasion. We rarely went to the movies. My family didn't have extra money to waste on movies. Oh! How my mother and I loved that movie. I have not seen Fiddler in years, so when I watched it yesterday it was like seeing it through new eyes. It's the perfect movie. Great acting, great music, great scenery, great directing. Just perfect. Every human emotion is explored during the movie. Creativity at its best. Here's a video of Topol in the If I were a Rich Man scene. Topol is a genius. He was born to play this role.

Here's an interview with Topol. He has played this role on the stage more than 2500 times. Wow. I have seen the film many times, but the never the stage production. I so wish I could see it, but I can't afford to go to any stage productions anytime soon. But I shall not fret over it because There's Always McDonalds!. :)

Books, Secrets, Respites, Suffering, and Grace

2010-01-24T23:19:00.003-05:00

Well, it's January 24th, and I just finished reading my second book this month. I think it's safe to say I'm off and running. The book I literally just finished I wrote about in a previous blog.Annie's Ghosts: A Journey Into a Family Secret by Steve Luxenberg

I give it four stars. A couple of months ago,I met the author when he came to speak at the library where I was teaching an ESL class. His book is about a family secret his mother kept. After his mother died, the author found out that his mother had a sister that none of the children in the family knew about. The book's topic falls into the area my dissertation will explore--that of using writing as a healing mechanism. Here's a link to an excerpt from Annie's Ghost.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/style/longterm/books/chap1/anniesghost.htm

For anyone who has been part of family who has kept secrets (haven't we all?) this book is worth the read. Also, anyone who has a family member with mental illness and/or mental retardation will find the book insightful.

On a lighter note, my one and only favorite TV show premiered this past week. 24

Oh 24! How do I love thee? You are the only show I watch. In 2007 I discovered you. You rescued me from PhD coursework hell once a week. I trust you will also get me through the dissertation process. Your season premiere did not let me down. I feel energized. Save me from my dissertating misery. Give me a reason to go on each week. :)

On a more serious note, the whole Haiti crisis has me contemplating life. There's so much suffering in this world. So many people in well developed countries overlook the role suffering truly plays in life. When we have material things easily at our reach, and grow up in a culture that expects everything instantaneously, we forget, or choose not to notice, that the majority of people live in third world countries where poverty is a daily struggle.

I consider myself fortunate in that I have traveled to parts of this suffering world. I have seen horrible poverty upclose in places such as Mexico, Colombia, and Bosnia.

In Mexico I drove past cardboard shacks on my way to an idylic beach resort. I remember seeing little children playing outside these shacks. I wondered what happens to these shacks when it rains?

In Colombia I saw street children who were most likely addicted to glue standing on corners ready to reach into car windows to steal gold chains off of clean and shiny necks. And in a small Colombian shady airport I saw heroin addicts and prostitutes roaming the airport and in the airport bathroom there was a ghostly looking person lying on the floor. To this day, I'm still not sure if that person was dead or alive. What was really frightening was there was no one for me to go to for help. No one wnated to be involved. All I could do was pray for that person and get back to the plane. I have seen addicts on the streets in the US but something was much darker about these Colombian addicts. I also grew up in a home with a father who was an alcoholic and brothers who were addicted to drugs. I think the difference is that in this country you feel a little more hope where in poverty class driven societies that hope seems less available. Many third world countries are based on two classes--the wealthy and the poor. There's no middle class. So the poor and the addicted seem to stand less of a chance. There is not a lot of access to recvoery programs.

In Bosnia, I gave out food refugees. I'll never forget the faces of those people and the way they praised God as we came into their world for a short time. One thing I have noticed is that the biggest smiles I have received have come from the "smallest" people I have met. Small in the eyes of those who don't understand.

Mother Teresa used to say the worst poverty she saw was in the west which is surpsising since the Western world is wealthy. Here is an excerpt from an interview Mother Teresa gave:

"You, in the West, have millions of people who suffer such terrible loneliness and emptiness. They feel unloved and unwanted. These people are not hungry in the physical sense, but they are in another way. They know they need something more than money, yet they don't know what it is.

“What they are missing, really, is a living relationship with God.”

Mother Teresa cited the case of a woman who died alone in her home in Australia. Her body lay for weeks before being found. The cats were actually eating her flesh when the body was discovered. “To me, any country which allows a thing like that to happen is the poorest. And people who allow that are committing pure murder. “Our poor people would never allow it.”

And the teeming millions of the poor of the Third World have a lesson to teach us in the affluent West, Mother Teresa declared.

“They can teach us contentment,” she said, her leathery face gently smiling. “That is something you don't have much of in the West.

“I'll give you an example of what happened to me recently. I went out with my sisters in Calcutta to seek out the sick and dying.

“We picked up about 40 people that day. One woman, covered in a dirty cloth, was very ill and I could see it. So I just held her thin hand and tried to comfort her. She smiled weakly at me and said, ‘Thank you.’ Then she died. “She was more concerned to give to me than to receive from me. I put myself in her place and I thought what I would have done. I am sure I would have said, ‘I am dying, I am hungry, call a doctor, call a Father, call somebody.’ “But what she did was so beautiful. I have never seen a smile like that. It was just perfect. It was just a heavenly gift. That woman was more concerned with me than I was with her.”

Mother Teresa, who had a wonderful way of making you feel you were the most important person in the world when you were talking to her, told me of another incident.

“I gave another poor woman living on the streets a bowl of rice,” she said. “The woman was obviously starving and she looked in wonder as I handed it to her. “She told me, ‘It is so long since I have eaten.’

“About one hour later, she died. But she did not say, ‘Why hasn't God given me food to eat,’ and ‘why has my life been so bad?’

“The torture of hunger and pain just finished her, but she didn't blame anybody for it. This is the greatness of our poor people.”

Mother Teresa added: “We owe a great debt of gratitude to those who are suffering so beautifully. They teach us so much.” http://www.assistnews.net/Stories/2009/s09100027.htm

Lately I have been thinking about a friend of mine who died a few years ago. Out of respect for privacy I will not mention her name. She was a model and married into a family that made billions from Austrian crystal. As long as I knew my friend she was miserable. She was anorexic, addicted to prescription drugs, and an alcoholic. All the billions, the clothes, the cosmetic surgeries, two lovely little girls,and parents and a family who loved her could not make her happy. She drove her porsche SUV off of a mountain top and three weeks later her husband put a bullet through his head. No amount of fame or money can heal the two daughters left behind whose relatives on the father's side are fighting over inheritance rights. What chance do those two little girls have? Every time my friend came to town she wanted me to go out with her. Over her way too many Kalhua's she would say, "You have nothing. How come you're happy?" Hmmm.

I'll never forget the date she died--Dec. 21st. I was away at school at IUP. I had distanced myself a bit from her because she had become too difficult to deal with and was always high. I found myself thinking about her. I told myself that when the semester ended I would email her. That day I said some prayers for her. On Christmas day I was getting ready to email her when I found an email from her sister to me. It told of the details of my friend's death and that she died on Dec. 21st,the day it entered my mind to contact her and the day I felt the need to pray for her. I hope those prayers somehow comforted her when she was dying. She had a big heart and was just a girl who got in way over head living the fast life of a model.

Ignore typos. It's way past my bedtime and I'm tired.

Peace,
MAM :)

Yep. Yep. Yep. And Priceless Memories

2010-01-18T22:41:00.017-05:00

Yep. Yep. Yep.

And I'm not even getting a stipend.

Yep. Yep. Yep.

This calls for drastic measures--

Ahh, I'm in such a funk and wondering why I'm even bothering trying to do my dissertation. It looks like I might have to keep my night-time teaching job afterall. I have no idea how I will make it financially without it unless something gives soon on another job. On the other hand, if I keep three jobs I will not have time to do my dissertation. And the thought of starting up another semester with such a hectic schedule is making me hyperventilate and break out in sweats. This is not good.

And watching Haiti suffer from the devastation of the earthquake is making me feel like why the hell should this even matter. I could be dead tomorrow. Those poor people. I wish I had a job that took me to places that need help. l filled out a form with MercyShips to volunteer in Haiti sometime over the next two years. They have a category for writers and teachers. Chances are I will not even be able to go. My bad back will probably disqualify me. But I often have this desire to just chuck all this *&^$ and go live among the poor and make a difference in this world.

Now, if I could get a full-time job teaching my ESL students doing the same thing I do now I could be satisfied. However, adjuncting is not enough to live on and there's no security. But I do love it. If I didn't have a dissertation to worry about, working three jobs would be no problem. Dang this dissertating!

On another note, I have a little update on my homeless buddy Howard. Not only did he get a new bright and shiny red winter parka but he also got another coat. I saw my friend at church--you know--the one I asked to help Howard out at Christmas time. I said, "Did you have something to do with Howard's new red coat?" He said, "No, I gave him a green one! I don't know where mine went." I said, "I bet the green one is under the red one. Howard is looking pretty bulked up." We laughed. Then a few days later it was warmer out, and I stopped to talk to Howard. He had his red coat unzipped and sure enough there was the green jacket under the red coat. LOL. :) Good for Howard.

I had a "meeting" with another homeless person this past week. A lady was standing in the foyer of the church. I was taking one of the poinsettas that the church was getting rid of. This lady was watching me. She quietly came over to me and shyly said, "I'm staying at the House of Ruth and I missed lunch. Can you help me?" Hmmm. The House of Ruth is for homeless and abused women. Now, I grew up in the city and am not naive when it comes to "street" people. I know when one is sincere and when one is conning me. I make it a rule to never give money. The good thing is I never carry cash so I'm not lying when I say I have no money. :) This lady was different than most I see. I smiled at her and wished her luck and gave her some pointers on who to get help from. She nicely thanked me. I went back to picking out which poinsetta I wanted. I heard the lady come back my way. She said, "Excuse me. I want you to have this. I'm not catholic." I turned around and she handed me a rosary. She was holding a pocket bible in her other hand. She said she didn't know what the rosary was but knew it was for catholics. I said, "Oh, no, you keep it. I want you to keep it." I slipped it back in her pocket. She said, "But I'm not Catholic." I said, "That doesn't matter. You can be any religion. Keep it with you at all times. It'll help you." She took the rosary out if it's pouch. It was made of beautiful red crystal. She said, "Is it okay if I wear it as my cross?" Normally, you do'nt wear a rosary around your neck but I said, "Of course you can." She smiled a huge smile. I thought, Jesus's mother must be smiling too. I know I was. This lady warmed my heart. At the bottom of the church steps we parted ways. She yelled after me, "Thank you. God bless you. You have a good day." She has been in mind ever since.

Here's a couple of pics from when i went to Bosnia ten years ago. We gave out food to refugees on Thanksgiving day.

A Room Without Books is Like a Body Without a Soul

2010-01-10T23:52:00.007-05:00

Hooray, I've started 2010 out properly. I started and finished a book and it is only January 10. After working so many dang jobs this past year, I didn't think I'd ever get my reading brain in focus. This is the same way I felt after I finished my PhD coursework. After that draining experience, it took me a whole year to unwind before I even wanted to pick up a book. So the fact that I picked up on reading so quickly after this past semester of working too many jobs and being totally burnt out is something to write home about or shall I say blog about. This past year, I started out with two jobs, then went to three, and then in September added a fourth. Come Christmas I was exhausted and had no energy to jingle any bells.

Last year I joined a group on Goodreads.com called the 75 Book Challenge. I was well on my way to completing the challenge when I picked up my fourth job. That addition cut short any further additions I might have made to the 75 challenge group. Below is my log from Goodreads telling what books I read in 2009. Now that I'll be working two jobs in 2010, and will be on reserve on my third job, and am determined to start my dissertation, I should have no problem completing Goodreads 2010 75 Book Challenge! HA!

MAM's 2009 Book Log

1. Mother Teresa's Secret Fire: The Encounter that Changed Her Life and How It Can Transform Your Own 5 stars

2.Edith Stein: A Biography/the Untold Story of the Philosopher and Mystic Who Lost Her Life in the Death Camps of Auschwitz Herbstrith, Waltraud 4 stars

3.Moments of Grace: Inspiring Stories from Well-Known Catholics Kresta, Al 3 stars

4. Matt Talbot and His Times Purcell, Mary 3 stars

5. Green Dolphin Street Goudge, Elizabeth 4 stars

6. Barabbas Lagerkvist, Pär 4 stars

7. 1984 George Orwell 4 stars
Well, this was not what I expected. But I liked it. I didn't love it. Not sure what I would have made of it if I read it in high school like so many others did/do. I have to saya the rats freaked me out. I hate rats. I probably would have caved in too.

8.Something Beautiful for God (Paperback)
by Malcolm Muggeridge 5 stars
I've always wanted to read this and found it for 87 cents. It's is a gem of a little book.

9.Francis of Assisi: The Man Who Found Perfect Joy
by Michael De LA Bedoyere 3 stars.I like Saint Francis but this was not the greatest book written about him.

10. The Courage to Create
by Rollo May 4 stars. Very good philosophial look at creativity.

Something Beautiful for God (Paperback) Muggeridge, Malcolm 5 stars

Malcolm Muggeridge's thoughts on knowing Mother Teresa and a transcript of his interview.

Description: No woman alive today has inspired so many with her simplicity of faith and compassion so all-encompassing. As she daily embraces the "least of the least" in her arms, Mother Theresa challenges the whole world to greater acts of service and understanding in the name of love.

First published in 1971, this classic work introduced Mother Theresa to the Western World. As timely now as it was then, Something Beautiful for God interprets her life through the eyes of a modern-day skeptic who became literally transformed within her presence, describing her as "a light which could never be extinguised."

12. Dolores Clairborne by Stephen King 4 stars. I am torn between 3 and 4 stars. Considering Dolores is a hoot and I now feel like I know her, I give it 4. :) I needed my King fix (it's been too long). I have been satisfied.

#13 Finished March 27, Crossbearer: A Memoir of Faith (Hardcover)
by Joe Eszterhas 4 stars

"I found this book extremely entertaining and read it in three days. Joe still is on his journey and I think still has things to learn about his faith (don't we all)regarding dogma, etc. Also, he struggles with reeling in his ego. If he ever ventures ...more I found this book extremely entertaining and read it in three days. Joe still is on his journey and I think still has things to learn about his faith (don't we all)regarding dogma, etc. Also, he struggles with reeling in his ego. If he ever ventures on to Goodreads and reads this, this is not an insult.;) I think the ego comes from years of beating down and being beat up by Hollywood, not to mention the childhood he had. I spent some time in Hollywood and I frequently thank God I left. I couldn't take its superficiality. However, Joe's heart seems much bigger than his ego and he humble's himself, alot. He admits to flunking Christian test number 1, 2, 3, 4 etc, etc. etc, etc. It seems by the end of the book his ego has become smaller. He is starting to pass the tests that come his way. You can't help but grow very fond of him, and what a life he has had. There were times I was busting out laughing and then filling up with tears. I wish Joe peace and luck. And that he continues to grow in his faith. If he was my neighbor, I'd look forward to chatting as we passed each other on walks around the neighborhood."

#14 Called Out of Darkness: A Spiritual Confession Rice, Anne 3 stars I was dissapointed in this. Very tedious read.

#15 Death on a Friday Afternoon: Meditations on the Last Words of Jesus from the Cross Neuhaus, Richard John 5 stars

#16 The Life of Faustina Kowalska: The Authorized Biography (Paperback) Michalenko, Sister Sophia 4 stars A good introduction to St. Faustina.

#17 Jacob Have I Loved Paterson, Katherine childrens, fiction 3 stars

#18 The World According to Mister Rogers Rogers, Fred 4 stars cute and makes you feel good

#19 Slaughterhouse-Five Kurt Vonnegut

Ok, I finally read this. I am reading my way through the classics I never read. I enjoyed it. It has a lot of memorable lines/quips. However, if I had read it in high school, I wouldn't have cared much for it. It is interesting how as I forge through classics 30 years or so after most have read them, I find myself questioning--highschoolers are reading this??????????????? Much would have been lost on me back then. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm ... in the words of Vonnegut, "So it goes."

#20 Prince Caspian (The Chronicles of Narnia)
by C.S. Lewis 5 stars

#21 Thura's Diary by Thura al-Windawi 4 stars A diary froma 19 year old girl during the Irag War. This was very good.

#22 The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis 5 stars This was a hoot.

#23 The Silver Chair (The Chronicles of Narnia)
by C.S. Lewis 5 stars
I am emjoying this series immensely.

#24 Twilight (Twilight, #1) by Stephenie Meyer This book is so dumb.

#25 The Horse and His Boy C. S. Lewis

#26 Prayer Primer : Igniting a Fire Within by Thomas Dubay 5 stars. Great for seekers at any stage of the search

#27 The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Hmmm ... I did not know what to expect when I took this book out of the library. I am trying to read classics I have never read, especially kids books. At first, I was getting distracted reading this, but then something kicked in and I was hooked. This book is deep and philosphical for a kid's book. Quite a few adults probably would not pick up on the profound metaphors. I found myself smiling at the author's whimsy and satirical humor. He does a good job of bringing heavy concepts to a level that a child can understand while maintaining a healthy respect for a child's ability to grasp supernatural theory. No baby talk here. I love his concept those who know where they are going -- Children always know they are going. -- That's so true. It's the adults who get lost. I also love his rose philosophy-- the rose was not unigue until the prince made it his friend. And then the fox's lesson of "taming" was pretty crafty.;) All in all, I was torn between 4 and 5 stars. I decided to give it 5 since I was moved to review it. I hardly ever spend the time reviewing books. So 5 stars it is. :)

# 28 The Chosen Chaim Potok 5 stars Wow! I enjoyed every word in this book. GREAT writing. Potok held me captive from the first to last sentence. The character development is excellent. I love the tender relationship between Reuven and his father, and the tense relationship between Danny and his father is palpable. The friendship between Reuven and Danny is well explored. Also, the Jewish history is so interesting. The characters will stay in my mind forever.

Here are two passages I marked:

Reuven's tired father talking to Reuven

"Human beings do not live forever, Reuven. We live less than the time it takes to blink an eye, if we measure our lives against eternity. So it may be asked what value is there to a human life. There is so much pain in the world. What does it mean to have to suffer so much if our lives are nothing more than the blink of an eye?" He paused again, his eyes misty now, then went on. "I learned a long time ago, Reuven, that a blink of an eye in itself is nothing. But the man who lives that span, he is something. He can fill that tiny span with meaning, meaning is not automatically given to life. It is hard work to fill one's life with meaning. That I do not think you understand yet. A life filled with meaning is worthy of rest. I want to be worthy of rest when I am no longer here. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Danny to Reuven:

"You can listen to silence, Reuven. I've begun to realize that you can listen to silence and learn from it. It has a quality and a dimension all its own. It talks to me sometimes. I feel myself alive in it. It talks. And I can hear it."

The words came out in a soft singsong. He sounded exactly like his father.

"You don't understand that. do you? He asked.

"No"

He nodded. "I didn't think you would."

"What do you mean, it talks to you?"

"You have to want to listen to it, and then you can hear it. It has a strange, beautiful texture. It doesn't always talk. Sometimes--somtimes it cries, and you can hear the pain of the world in it. It hurts to listen to it then. But you have to."

#29 Survival in Auschwitz Primo Levi 4 stars I was walking through my library and this book caught my eye. I was surprised I had not heard of it before. It is amazing that people survived this horrid time. Gives proof to the innate knowledge that life is sacred.

Here are passages I marked:

All took leave from life in the manner which most suited them. Some praying, some deliberately drunk, others lustfully intoxicated for the last time. But the mothers stayed up to prepare the food for the journey with tender care, and washed their children and packed the luggage; and at dawn the barbed wire was full of children's washing hung out in the wind to dry. Nor did they forget the diapers, the toys, the cushions and the hundred other small things which mothers remember and which children always need. Would you not do the same? If you and your child were going to be killed tomorrow, would you not give him to eat today?

Sooner or later in life everyone discovers that perfect happiness is unrealizable, but there are few who pause to consider the antithesis: that perfect unhappiness is equally unattainable.

We are slaves, deprived of every right, exposed to every insult, condemned to certain death, but we still possess one power, and we must defend it with all our strength for it is the last--the power to refuse consent. So we must certainly wash our faces without soap in dirty water and dry ourselves on our jackets. We must polish our shoes, not because the regulation states it, but for dignity and propriety. We must walk erect, without dragging our feet, not in homage to Prussian discipline but to remain alive, not to begin to die.

30 The Last Battle C. S. Lewis. 5 stars. I finally read all the Narnia books. My mother has been trying to get me to read these books for 35 years. LOL Mom will be proud.

#31 Ten Prayers God Always Answers Anthony DeStefano 4 stars This was good. It is different from the spiritual books I usually read. I tend to read the mystics whose message you need to ponder deeply. This book is simple and not laden down with over-your-head theological concepts. Each chapter relates to a different life circumstance and the author lays out a prayer that relates. What makes this book unique is that the prayers come from a perspective that the general and/or overwhelmed mind tends to overlook.

#32 The Prison Angel. Mary Jordan and Kevin Sullican 4 stars. Well, this was a pleasant surprise. This woman has had an incredible journey. Raised in an affluent Beverly Hills family,and well off herself, later in life she found herself searching for a deeper meaning to her existence. She had gone through two failed marriages and had seven kids. Her father had instilled in her an affinity for helping the poor. When she was 50 (and her kids were grown) she became a Catholic nun and moved into one of Mexico's worst(and nightmarish) prisons to help the inmates and their families. She had already been volunteering her services on a part time basis before deciding to make it her life's work, so she knew what she was getting into. She chose to live in a cell right along side the other inmates. She stepped in between guards and prisoners during riots. She ministered to the richest drug dealers and the poorest innocent inmates. She forgave and ministered to the worst murderers (some of whom murdered her friends) while at the same time comforting the victims families. She stood up to guards wehn they were brutally beating prisnoers. She would get down on her knees and beg them to stop and they usually did stop. She walked straight through bullets flying; the inmates and guards would drop their weapons upon seeing her. It was interesting reading what her children thought of her decision to live this life. You would expect they would not approve. But they felt this was who their mother was meant to be and that it made perfect sense. This is a story of how God can turn bad into good when you possess sincerity and a heart that only wants to put God before others and do His will and not your own.

Mother Antonia is still alive. And I believe is still living in the prison. I need to do a little more internet research to find out her whereabouts. She was asked to create an order of nuns so that her work will continue. Here is info from the nuns' website--

The Eudist Servants Of The Eleventh Hour is a new branch, a twig sprouting on the 400 year-old tree of the extended spiritual family of St. John Eudes, whose strong branches include the Congregation Of The Sisters Of Our Lady Of Charity, our Eudist sisters, and the Congregation Of Jesus And Mary, our Eudist priests. Both of these orders were founded by Saint John Eudes, close friend of Saint Vincent de Paul, in the early 17th century. The Eudist Servants Of The Eleventh Hour is an association of the faithful whose members are sisters who are mature women who love Jesus and want to follow Him by serving the poor and the needy. The Eleventh Hour refers to the scripture where Jesus calls the last, and signifies that the community is for older women, generally between the ages of forty five and sixty five. The reference to St. John Eudes is recognition that the community is part of the Eudist Congregation, and it is also in honor of St. John Eudes spirituality. In 2003 the Eudist Servants Of The Eleventh Hour community was formally accepted by Bishop Rafael Romo Munoz of Tijuana, Mexico.The community's mission is to minister to the poor and the needy, to bring to them the love of Jesus Christ. To accomplish this members must, in their hearts and in their lives, bear the pain of the poor, the imprisoned, the sick, the rejected, the forgotten and the abandoned children of God. Members of the community serve, with the permission of the local Bishop, in a variety of locations in Mexico and the United States, and perform a variety of services. Mother Antonia Brenner, the Servants founder and current superior of the community, serves by ministering to prisoners and guards at a prison in Tijuana, Mexico. Several other sisters work alongside her in Tijuana. Sister Kathleen serves her ministry in Baton Rouge and Lafayette, Louisiana as a prison chaplain. Still another Servant, Sister Lillian, serves in her home area of Texas, tending to the elderly in nursing homes.

The Servants operate a ministry center, Casa Campos de San Miguel, located just three blocks from the La Mesa penitentiary. The Casa is a refuge for women leaving prison and for women visiting incarcerated family in the nearby prison, and also for women and children who have come to Tijuana for treatment for cancer. The sisters also have a convent nearby, Corazon de Maria, which serves as the community headquarters and is also a residence for some of the sisters in Tijuana. Corazon de Maria is also used as the community’s house of formation. Still other sisters and associates live in the United States and commute daily to Tijuana to visit area hospitals and comfort patients and their families.

All of the sisters are self-supporting, both economically and with their own health care. Vows are taken for a one year period and then renewed annually, if mutually agreeable.

#33 Alice in Exile: A Novel by Piers Paul Read 3 stars

#34 The Rite The Making of a Modern Exorcist. Matt Baglio 4 stars Ooohhhh, this was really good. The only reason I didn't give it 5 stars is because it ended abruptly. It seemed to lack a conclsuion. Even so this book is an excellent reference. Along with being informative it leaves you not wanting to put it down.

35 Road to Survival David Snyder 5 stars Great little book about the author's work

David Snyder combines both writing and photography. He travels to countries around the world to document the work of Catholic Relief Services and its partners during emergencies like those recounted in this book and reports on development projects aimed at improving the lives of poeple in need. During his travels, David lives and works with Catholic Relief Services staff and partners whose daily efforts in areas of crisis, disaster, and poverty to assist those in need are the final link in a chain of assistance that begins with supporters in the United States.

Catholic Relief Services is the official international relief and development agency of the United States Catholic community. Their mission is to help the poor and vulnerable overseas without regard to race, belief, or nationality. They work in 99 countries around the world and touch the lives of 80 million people.

#36 Honeymoon in Tehran: Two Years of Love and Danger in Iran by Azadeh Moaveni 3 and a half stars. Interesting reading considering what is occurring in Iran now.

#37 The Stoning of Soraya M.: A True Story by Freidoune Shebjam 4 stars This started off slowly but really got rolling half way through. When it got rolling it was unstopable. The stoning scene was heartbreaking.

#38 Tales of Padre Pio: The friar of San Giovanni by John McCaffery 3 stars

#39 Midnight Express by Billy Hayes, William Hoffer 4 stars The book's ending is so much better than the ending in the movie

#40 The Old Man and the Sea Ernest Hemingway 5 stars Oh my gosh! What a great story. I can't believe I never read this. I was "hooked" from beginning to end. All I can say is--fishermen are brave. I feel so sad for the old man.

# 41 Bud, Not Buddy by Christopher Paul Curtis 4 stars

#42 The Time Machine by H.G. Wells 3 statrs. Some people love this book, but I just coudn't manage to get into. I was sort of bored with it. Maybe it is just the mood I'm in.

#43 A Mercy by Toni Morrison 3 stars This was good but it just seemed as though it wandered, and I wanted the characters to be developed more.

#44 The Road by Cormac McCarthy 4 stars

#45 The Little Book of Mother Teresa by Sangeet Duchane 4 stars

#46 All Star: Teacher's Edition Bk. 3 (All-Star) by Linda Lee, Jean Bernard, Kristin D. Sherman, Stephen Sloan, Grace Tanaka, Shirley Velasco

#47All-Star - Book 3 (Intermediate) - Workbook (All-Star)

#48 All-Star - Book 2 (High Beginning) - Los Angeles Workbook

Here's to more good reading, less working, and postive dissertating thoughts!!!!!!!

I'll end tonight with a little song to get you in the reading spirit. :)

Peace, MAM :)

Hoods, Chill Factors, and Corners

2010-01-03T23:19:00.004-05:00

As I walked to Mass this morning in the bitter cold and heavy winds, I felt my ears stinging from the cold. I was so stupid not to have worn a hat. I actually worried about getting frost bitten. Oh, how cold it was. I couldn't help but wonder about my homeless buddy. Did Howard find a coat? I haven't seen Howard since before Christmas when he asked me to help him get a coat, specifically one with a hood to keep his ears warm. Ever since Christmas I have been worried about Howard. Did the friend in church I asked to help Howard get him a coat? Things just kept happening to me that prevented me from getting over to that part of town. So today I was hoping to see Howard, but I was also worried that I would find him standing on the corner freezing and shivering. Howard's bigness sure can keep him steady in the heavy winds but it won't help him stay warm. As I crossed the street and turned the corner I was on the lookout for Howard when lo and behold I spotted a lone figure standing in just the right spot. He didn't look like my usual Howard does, but I thought it might be him. Oh! This figure was a beautiful sight. One big round puffy glow of firey redness. There was my Howard all bundled up in a brand new very puffy bubble-like winter parka with a hood! OH HAPPY DAY!!!!!

As usual, Howard started waving to me. I practically skipped on over to him with a big smile on my face, "Howard, you got a coat!" He just smiled and said, "Yeah." I said, "Well, where did you get it? Who gave it to you?" He didn't go into much detail. Howard is a man of few words. All he said was "18 dollars down the street." I don't know who got him the coat but I was praying all week that he would get a coat. And he sure got one. You can't miss him coming in that fire-engine red snow parka. I told Howard I was happy he got a coat and that I was worried all week about him. He just smiled. :)

I guess since this is supposed to be a blog about my dissertation I should say something 'disserly'. Someone recommended a book that is up my dissertation topic alley. It's called Couldn't Keep it to Myself Wally Lamb and the Women of York Correctional Institute. Here's link to info on it--http://www.amazon.com/Couldnt-Keep-Myself-Correctional-Institution/dp/006059537X I got it out of the library. It looks very interesting. Now if I can just get myself motivated to read again. I was so busy with all my jobs this past semester I had no time to read. And I am so burnt out that I need a miracle to get my reading brain back in gear. UGH UGH.

Anyhooooooooooooooooo---that's about all I have to say tonight. I can go to sleep feeling less worried about Howard. All is well in my soul and on Howard's corner today. My song choices tonight are in honor of my Howard.

Oh Happy Day

It Is Well With My soul/The River's Gonna Keep on Rolling On.

Happy New Year and all that #!@*

2010-01-01T23:46:00.004-05:00

Another year down the academic drain.

Enough said.

Pre Christmas Eve Jitters

2009-12-23T23:04:00.003-05:00

Well, it's the day before Christmas Eve and all I have on my mind is my homeless buddy, Howard. Thinking about him is making me jittery. I saw him today outside church. As I hobbled along to daily mass with my possibly broken toe I saw Howard waving at me and calling me over to him. I said, "Are you talking to me Howard?" He said, "Yeah, baby." I said, "Did you get in out of that snow we had? I hope you weren't out in it." He said, "I'm okay." Howard looked extra messy today. And he looked very cold. I said, "Howard, please try to keep yourself warm.' He said, "You comin' tomorrow?" I said, "I'm not sure. What day is tomorrow?" He said, "It's Christmas Eve." I said, "Probably not. Why? Do you want some food? I'll try to make you some cookies if I can come." He said, "No, forget all that stuff. I don't need that now. Can you get me coat with a hood? Anything with a hood? To keep my head warm. Do you have somethin' at home you can bring me?" Howard has never asked me for anything so this sort of shook me up. And it was obviously difficult for him to ask me. He must be so cold. I said, "Oh, I don't have any men's clothes. But let me figure out something." He said, "That's ok. Don't worry." I said, "Hmmm, I know, I can ask a friend inside the church. He talks to you all the time." Howard protested. He was not happy about me asking someone else. I said, "Look Howard, you know him. He's really nice to you. He's cool. I bet he can get you a coat or something." Howard said, "No, I don't want to bother no one. And I don't want him to know it's me asking. Don't tell him what I say to you." I said, "Howard, if he gives you a coat just take it. Don't worry. I have to find you a coat" Howard then went on to tell me that all the other ladies don't him like I do. LOL Poor Howard. He said, "They yell at me all the time. They all think I'm the man who breaks into their cars, but I'm not. I try to explain to them that I don't bother no one.It's that other guy that comes around." I said, "I know it's the other guy. You would never do that. I don't like that other guy." Howard smiled at me.

Anyway, I talked to my friend before and after mass and he's going to try to bring Howard something warm to wear. Howard will be mad at me for asking someone else to get him a coat but at least he will have one. I don't have any money to go buy him a coat. If I had money I would just go buy him one. This is one those times I wish I had money. And I'm really wishing I never spent my little bit of money on all that candy I made to mail to people. I could have bought Howard a coat with that money. Dang. But if my friend comes through Howard will get a Christmas coat from my friend and some Christmas candy from me. It might just end up being a good Christmas for Howard. :)

Let us touch the dying, the poor, the lonely and the unwanted according to the graces we have received and let us not be ashamed or slow to do the humble work. Mother Teresa

Frightful Stuff

2009-12-20T23:25:00.002-05:00

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm ...

Time Flies and minutes are fleeting & bugs bug me..

2009-12-11T21:22:00.014-05:00

Friday Dec. 11, 2009 9:30 pm

It's been over a month since my last blog. I guess the lack of verbosity says it all. Not much to say. Not much to tell. Been way too busy with all my jobs to disserate or post. The plan for now is to NOT renew one job come January. I started off with 4 jobs this semester, then went down to 3, and now realize I will never get this dissertation started if I have more than two jobs. My evening teaching job ends next week. THANK GOD! I have no idea what I was thinking when I said yes to all these jobs. All I know now is that next semester I'll have only two jobs. I'm completely burned out. Being burned out is not the way to go into starting a dissertation.

On a side note. You know what I hate--I hate those long legged centipede bugs--you know the ones with all those legs. Well, one just crawled over my bed and I jumped right out of bed. UGH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Now for the rest of the night I will be scratching thinking bugs are crawling over me. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH And jumping out of bed was not a good move for my bad back. I went to my chiro yesterday. Last weekend I had horrible food poisoning and threw out every single one of my bad vertabrae and bulged every rotten disc. OUCH OUCH OUCH and OUCH. And now using my laptop in bed is making my bad neck feel worse. So I will sign off for tonight. I'll pick this post up tomorrow. YAWN!

PS Friday 10:10 pm. Bug Update. I just squashed the nasty ugly hideous little long legged creature. Thank you God for showing him to me before I lay me down to rest. Now I can sleep peacefully and buglessly. :)

Saturday 11:15PM

I'm back. Did you miss me? :)

I have one thing to report that is dissertation related. My evening teaching job is at a local library. Recently the library needed my room for an author lecture and book signing. I got to meet Steve Luxenberg. And wouldn't you know his book falls into my dissertation category. His book's title is Annie's Ghost. Here's his website. http://www.steveluxenberg.com/content/index.asp
I also met his wife and daughter. They were so nice and helpful with ideas for my disseration. Mrs. Luxenberg gave me info on a Victims of Torture group who uses writing for healing. Advocates for Survivors of Torture and Trauma --http://www.astt.org/

What else is new with me? Not much. Been super busy with my work and my students. I love teaching ESL. And I LOVE my students. My morning class runs in 8 weeks sessions. We had a party the last day of class which was cool because Zully taught us Latin dancing and Mekfira and Andenet taught us Ethiopian dancing. We have a lot of fun--maybe too much fun. :) Not sure if I'm teaching them much. But two moved on, and 4 went up to another level within the class, and most raised their pretest scores. So I guess I'm teaching them something.

Are you wondering what's new with my homeless buddy Howard? You remember him. he shows up regularly in my posts. :) I'm starting to feel real bad for Howard. It's getting cold and wet out there. This past week it was rainy, windy and cold. And there's Howard just chillin' on the corner. He's like the postman. He shows up no matter what the weather. I said to him, "Hey Howard, it's getting cold out here. Why don't you go inside someplace and get warm?" He said, "I'm all right." He never goes inside the church like some of the others do. I wish he would keep himself warm. One particulary chilly day I was practically skipping along with my can of smoked almonds I had just bought. I love smoked almonds and hardly ever treat myself to them. I was dreaming about eating them later in the day when I spotted Howard looking particularly miserable. I stopped and said my usual, "Hey Howard, how ya' doin'" He sadly said looking away from me, "I'm so hungry." Now you see Howard never asks me for food. Here is where I sigh with a heavy heart. I said, "Howard, do you like almonds? I just bought some. If you like them, you can have them." He said looking at my bag, "What you got there?" I pulled them out of my bag. He said, "Oh, man, peanuts!" I said, "No, almonds, Do you like almonds?" He said, "Yeah". I said to myself, Bye bye almonds.

The other day I saw Howard again. He didn't hear me say hi. I looked up (Howard towers over me). Howard had headphones on. LOL. I yelled, "Hey Howard!" He took off one of his head phones. I said, "You got headphones?" He just smiled. I said, "What are you listening to?" He shrugged his shoulders. I said, "You don't know?" He said, "No" and chuckled. I started chuckling too. I said, "Ok Howard. That's cool that you have some music. See ya' later." He said, "Bye Baby." And inside the church I went. I love when Howard calls me baby. :) I got to get a pic of Howard one of these days.

I got a new Ashley Cleveland CD recently. Like Howard I need my music.

PS Ignore my typos. I'm too tired to fix them right now.

Doodle Brain

2009-11-04T23:21:00.027-05:00

Everyone supposedly has a hidden talent. Well, as I looked through more of my Piled High and Deep notebooks today I found that I'm quite the little artist, or shall I say, doodler. I have always loved to doodle on my schoolwork--and shriek--on my textbooks, and sometimes even on my desk. This love goes back to early childhood. Many times I found myself being chastised by a controlling teacher telling me to erase my doodling and to pay attention. The irony in this is that stopping me from doodling made me pay less attention. I tend to focus better on what I am hearing if I concentrate on a doodle. This is probably the same theory coming into play that makes me unable to fall alseep in silence. I need to have headphones on with talk radio going to block out outside noises. My father was an arist. I guess I inherited my doodle love from him. Although he was a much better artist than I am. I cannot draw at all, but I do love a good doodling session. Anyway, I would like to share with you some of my notebook doodle masterpieces--

Super Student

Smart Student Cap

Why didn't Bono marry me?

Nature Escape

Huh, what is the teacher saying?

Academic Overload

MAM the Creative Academic Revolutionary--it's a lonely business

Maybe I should get a job with PhD comics and forget this whole dissertation idea.

A traditionally boring academic post just to prove I'm legit

2009-11-02T20:44:00.038-05:00

Well, it's already November. Someone recently told me in an email that the beginning of your dissertation goes ever sooooooooooooo slll-----ooooowwww----llllyyyy. Not a truer statement have I heard lately. I think I will call myself Mary Snail instead of Mary Alice.

The other day my friend Arlene called and said, "Wow, so you've started your dissertation." I said, "No, not really." She said, 'Yeah, you have. It's on your blog. You took out the box and opened it. Boxes are BIG!" I said, "Huh, you actually read my blog?" Ha ha. Arlene is right. Only mothers and dissertators know just how daunting an unopened box can be. So I guess the fact that I have the box sitting on my kitchen table is a testament to the fact that I have begun the process.

I'm also happy to report that today I dusted off my PhD notebooks and started reading through them. Wahoo! Speaking of notebooks, here's a tip for those of you who might be in school. Remember to write legibly. Boy, is my penmanship messy. I used to have beautiful penmanship. My grandmother and mother used to take great pride in my pretty script. My cursive is no longer pretty. It is downright hideous. I noticed my penmanship changing for the worse after my car accident years ago. Must be a side effect of the nasty bump my head took. Ever since then I have trouble writing with a pen. Oh, well. Good thing computers came into being.

Nana and Mom would no longer be proud.

Another thing I noticed reading over my notebooks is that I don't even remember taking some of these notes. Here's an example--

I have no recollection of drawing this chart. I must say it seems pretty impressive. I don't know about you, but I feel smarter just looking at it. It is about Sociolinquists.

I looked at notes from my Statistics course, my Technology and Literacy course, and my Language and Social Context course. Here are some notes I highlighted (probably only of interest to me)--

Researchers are narrow. Know your area very well so that you are an expert.

Working narrowly makes you go deep.

The more participants in your study the more degree of freedom.

Researchers try to find patterns, make senses, organize.

Truth--search for truth w/a capital T versus small t. Truth for you and me versus truth for everyone.

Why is allegiance to universal truths so deeply felt by some?

Descartes was deconstructionalized--a mistake to separate any person from their historical origins.

Truth--one of the most difficult of all topics to define and explain. Truth is intimately related to questions of meaning and establishing the relationship between the two is difficult. And there is disagreement between searchers of both. There's agreement as to what contstitutes truth: statements, propositions, beliefs, assertions, but how truth is established is debated.

Major theories of truth: Correspondance Theory--holds that a statement is true or false depending on whether the content of a statement or belief accurately matches or represents some state of affairs in the world. Picture theory of meaning--holds that a statement is true or false depending on whether reality matches the picture represented by the belief. Consensus theory of truth--holds that the truth of a statement is a matter of consensus on beliefs and values that responsible people would reach in an ideal speech situation. Coherence theory of truth--judges the truth of falsity of statement in terms of the degree to which its conherent w/a background of settled beliefs. Contextualist theory of truth--claims that truth is not something about which there can ever be an important philosophical theory because truth is just a term of agreement, a statement is justified or regarded as true relative to some particular community or culture of inquirers. Pragmatic theory of truth--truth of assertions is determined by whether they function well in helping us understand the world.

Philosophical hermeneutics--truth and meaning is something that is disclosed in the relationship of interpreter to the object of interpretation.

Conflict arises when it is believed that calling a statement true is to claim that it accurately accounts for and explains events that actually occur in the real world=representation versus accuracy.

human action is considered meaningful in the sense that it cannot be adequately described in purely physical terms.

This note particulary stands out--

a process of dialogue and listening in which the living word of conversation is privileged.

I really like the bolded sentiment. Conversation is alive and it is truly a privilege to listen and to be heard. :)

I also noticed while reading my notebooks how often I became bored. I must have a short attention span. I like to doodle. What does one do when they get bored? They turn to their Jordanian neighbor and ask how to spell Mary Alice in Arabic--

Isn't my name pretty in Arabic?

And when all else fails when bored, you take nap. Good night!

Nana Cliches, Crumbs, and Shelters.

2009-10-22T15:01:00.022-04:00

Well, quitting my 4th job was a good move. I feel like I can breathe again. It's amazing how freeing up a few hours two days a week makes such a difference both mentally and physically. So now I'm down to just three jobs. Ha!!! Gee, is that too too many? Oh, well. I guess things will fall into place when they're supposed to. I'm getting so much better at not worrying. When I was younger I used to worry all the time. The older I get I realize my Nana really knew what she was talking about when she spit out phrases such as, "Today has enough worries of it's own. Don't worry about tomorrow". Nana was a great one for cliches--especially biblical ones. She loved them as much as she loved her God.

Another one of Nana's favorite cliches was, "You have the world in the palm of your hands, Mary Alice." Nana understood the value of a good cliche for she worked hard her whole life. Nana raised three kids by herself during the depression. I'm sure Nana had many private tribulations. I say private because Nana was a very private lady. Most of her sufferings I learned about from my mother. My mother said she never once heard my grandmother complain, and she had much to complain about. That is truly amazing when you think about the inner strength it takes to never complain. And my mother said she saw my grandmother cry only once. She cried when she buried her wayward alcoholic husband. My mother was a full grown woman when her father died. Her father was never in her life. My mother asked Nana why she was crying. Nana's answer was, "I'm crying for what could have been." Hmmmm. Back then, there was no Alcoholics Anonymous.

Now, my good ol' 84 year-old Aunt Mary likes to tell me what my uncle said whenever he found Aunt Mary worrying. Uncle Warren would say, "Mary, is there anything you can do to change the situation? No, then there's no use worrying about it. Will worrying fix it? Will worrying change it? No. So don't worry." He was definitely Nana's son. Nana probably told him when he was sick as a child in the hospital (he had hemophelia), "Worrying won't add a minute to your day, Warren". ;)

Nana was cool. Everyone liked Nana. She was one of those salt of the earth people. I loved her so much and I miss her everyday. I miss her hand on my knee patting it. I miss the way she would hold my hand even when I was too old to hold hands. She used to spend Tuesdays at my house when I was growing up. I used to run home from school to eat her homecooked concoctions and listen to her stories. Nana always had a story for me. I would sit at the kitchen table, or on a stool by the the sink, listening to her life lessons while I peeled the carrots and potatoes that went into her chicken pot pie. Nana always called me, "My Mary Alice." I can still hear the caring inflection in her voice when she pronounced the MY. Looking back I realize how much Nana knew I needed to be truly special in someone's eyes. Nana was everything to me. When she got too old so that her Tuesday visits had to stop I called her everyday at 3pm to tell her about my school day. Sometimes she would help me with my homework. Even if I already knew the answer I would ask her for help anyway. :) Nana loved a mission.

I remember when Nana was old and living in a nursing home. Sometimes I would be there when my Uncle Warren would come to visit her. My uncle was a lay Eucharistic minister in the Catholic church and would bring my grandmother communion. He inherited Nana's love for faith. Nothing made Nana happier or prouder than to receive communion from Uncle Warren. He took such good care of Nana. He would ever so tenderly wipe her mouth with a kleenex. I remember thinking how this was the circle of life unfolding. Growing up I would hear Nana and my mother tell stories about how much time my grandmother spent in the hospital with my uncle when he was a boy. And then years later life reversed itself. My uncle was taking care of the woman who took care of him. My uncle was the definition of a "real" man. He was good man who worked hard to take care of his seven kids. And he was a good son. I miss him too.

On another note, I haven't talked about my homeless buddy Howard in a while. I saw him yesterday. I sense there might be trouble brewing on the street corner. Lately, there's been a new guy hanging outside the church. This has been worrying me. Howard looks a little disconcerted. The other guy seems to be a smooth operator. Howard is sincere. The other guy is much younger than Howard and he's spry. Howard is getting on in age and is floppy. Yesterday when the other guy was out of earshot I asked Howard, "Howard, is that guy moving in on your territory?" Howard just grunted. I said, "Well, is he?" Howard said, "Argh, I'm alright but he ain't nice." I said, "What? Why?" Howard growled, "He goes inside the church and steals money from ladies purses when they ain't wathcin' They had to lock the other doors. Only the middle one is open. I never go inside the church and bother folk!" I said, "I know. You're good. He's sneaky!" All I know is the other guy will not be getting any of my homemade cookies anytime soon. Only Howard will. Howard is respectful and special. Speaking of Howard's cookies--poor Howard lost out on his cookies this week. Yesterday I forgot to bring them and apologized to him. Howard just smiled. Then when I got home I forgot that I placed them in a bag and set them on a chair by the door. Without thinking I sat down on the cookies. Now they're cookie crumbs. :( Might make a good crust for a pie or a cheesecake. Oh, now, there's an idea!

Hmmm, this post really has nothing to do with my disseration, does it? Maybe I should go and read a paper or two from the box I finally opened. I'll leave you with this song: Out of the Rain by Etta James. Thinking about my Nana, my uncle, and my Howard makes me realize how many obstacles they each overcame to reach some shelter.

Be back later ...

And he said, let the box be opened! WAHOO!!! APPLAUSE PLEASE

2009-10-16T07:20:00.013-04:00

A true miracle has occured. Let it be documented. A miracle such as this should be captured on video.

And now ladies and gentleman! Let me present the The Binder Opens and The Box's Unveiling.

Your thunderous applause is warming my heart--music to my ears! CLAP CLAP CLAP Bravisimo MAM!!!!!

First comes the binder ...

Then the unveiling ...

Well, there you have it. I just had to share.

On another note, I talked with a priest friend today who thinks I'm nuts working four jobs. He gently "suggested" I quit one. Considering he has a good track record consisting of good advice, I think it's time for me to admit that all my friends are correct in their deeming me nuts. MAM is most certainly certifiable. Something has to give. So I'm quitting one of my part-time online jobs. That will free up Wednesday mornings and afternoons and Saturdays. And if my two teaching jobs are offered to me again in January, I'll only do the morning one. I need to devote the next few years to the dissertation. And I also need to do what the priest said and trust that God will work out jobs for me come January. But I guess I need to be alive and not dead from exhaustion and mental burn out in order to see it all work out. So quitting a job it will be. I've been poor for so long a little longer will be of no consequence.

Peace, from relieved-to-see-light-at-the-bottom-of-the-box MAM :)

PS In an earlier post a friend said I need good music playing while I work on my dissertation. This song is making me happy lately. Woooooweeee. Ain't doin' too bad at all baby!

Fessing Up and Paper Memories

2009-10-13T23:47:00.003-04:00

Ok, I must fess up. I did not open the box yesterday or the day before. :( ARGH! I really do need to go through the papers, etc. in the dreaded box in order to get my academic blood curdling again. Ahhh, why did I say yes to that 4th job?

Note to self: MAM, that was so stupid of you to accept a 4th teaching job. Why did you not realize paperwork came along with teaching jobs? STUPID DUMB MAM! Bad Bad MAM! Never do that again, MAM!

Felling guilty (although I really have nothing to feel guilty about) made me look in my computer files for papers I wrote during my PhD coursework period. However, I really want to read the hard copies with the teachers comments on them but they are in the dreaded box and it is late (11:20pm), my feet have ice packs on them, and I do not have the energy to go lift the lid to that heavy box. So I did the next best thing. I pulled up a PhD paper from my computer to reread. I must say I cannot believe I wrote this paper in such a short amount of time. I do not recommend cramming PhD coursework into one year. Everything I did was so rushed. I'm amazed I pulled it off. And that was with working on top of studying. For those of you wondering what my interest is in, this paper will give you some insight. If I can ever get my juices flowing again (and time ends up on my side) my dissertation will explore how writing is a healing mechanism.

The following paper was one of the first papers I wrote in my program. I'm happy to say the paper received an A, which I admit was unexpected. I always expect the worst, so an A wasn't even on my radar. I considered the grade a gift. It gave me the needed confidence to continue on. :) I remember calling my closest friends and my mother squealing with relief and delight over my grade. Eveything you did in grad school seemed to have so much pressure attached to it. Unless you have gone through it, it's hard to explain.

Anyway, here is copy of the paper. I'm not even sure if this was the final version I turned in. I won't know that until I open up the box and read the hard copy. :) Rereading this one I see some punctuation errors I hope I didn't have in the final version.

Dr. Ben Rafoth

English 800

3 December 2006

Narrating My Way to Healing Truth and Meaning:

A Philosophical Approach

Thursday of this week would have been my father’s eighty-second birthday. My father died when he was fifty-six years old. Why do I still remember his birthday year after year? It’s not as though I liked him and have fond memories of him. I hated him. When I was a teenager, I got down on my knees every night and begged God, “Please make Dad die of a heart attack or something.”

When I was fifteen, my mother asked me through her sobbing, “Mary Alice, should I leave him?”

I answered, “Of course you should. He’s terrible.”

At eighteen-years old, my prayers were finally answered, just not in a way I expected. After two years of my father being legally separated from my mother, and a judge placing a restraining order on him to stay away from me, and being estranged from my four older brothers, my father decided that he couldn’t take one more day of living. He committed suicide. What he loved more than his family finally exerted its full supremacy over him. He was found in a room in the Hotel Sonesta in the city of Boston, my hometown. The room had a soft hazy early morning summer view of the Charles River. Harvard’s crew team was rowing through one of their daily morning practices on the river. The rowers had no idea that when they looked up at the hotel’s windows between rowing a stunned maid was figuring out what to do with the dead body she had just found—definitely not a good way for a maid to begin her work day. Resting by my father’s middle-aged body was a piece of paper with words scribbled in blue ink on it, a pen, a bottle of pills and a bottle of alcohol. Actually, I think the suicide note was lying on his protruding belly. I do not know what kind of alcohol was in the bottle. I wish I could find that maid and ask her. I want to know. I wonder if it was that dark Heineken that he loved more than me.

Are you thinking, “Why is Mary Alice telling me this?” Or, are you thinking, “I sure wish Mary Alice would keep her private thoughts to herself,” or maybe you are thinking, “Mary Alice needs therapy.” I do not need therapy. Not anymore. I’ve been there and done that—five years of psychiatry—from age fifteen to twenty. It helped. One thing my psychiatrist told me to do was to write. She used to tell me to write my feelings and thoughts because the act of writing would help me heal. I resisted her advice. Back then, I just could not write. I couldn’t write because when I was twelve-years old my brothers picked the lock on my diary and read it and then blabbed my secrets to my mother and father. I hated my brothers, and I hated writing. It would be a long time before I again wrote for myself.

I rediscovered personal writing in my twenties, during a time in my life when I felt safe from anyone who would steal my thoughts. At twenty-three I had a job cleaning houses. I was a Merry Maid. I hurt my back moving a piece of furniture, and bulged a disc. Needless to say, that was a not a merry day for me. While I was still recovering from that injury, a seventy-three-year-old man ran a red light and crashed his Lincoln Continental into my Chevy Cavalier’s driver’s side door spinning my car around four times, the car stopping on a curb facing the opposite direction from where I started spinning. I’m still dizzy. Occasionally I suffer brutal dizzy spells. Along with the head injury, came severe back and neck injuries. For ten years, I couldn’t do much physically. When you can’t do much physically, you think that there isn’t much of anything that you can do, but you end up finding out that there is one thing that you can do, and you do a lot of it and you do it well: you think. As the hours drag on, you think, and you think, and you think. All my thinking brought back memories of what I did best during my school years. I always did well with any subject that involved writing. This revelation made me decide to pursue writing.

Years later in my professional writing master’s program, I found my pen—and my niche—resting in creative non-fiction narrative. I also discovered a liking for Composition and Rhetoric, and a desire to teach writing. Hopefully, my current participation in a Composition Ph.D program will allow me to share my love of writing with others. I want students to love writing the way I do, although I know many probably will not, and that’s OK. If they can just learn to breathe, smell and taste the sweetness and bitterness of each word they write and read I will be content. I want them to know that in that sweetness and bitterness lies freedom—and that sweet liberty can be found in the process of writing—and it can result in the writer and/or the reader experiencing healing.

Writing heals. Writing is a long sought-after curative. Like an old witch doctor’s remedy brewing ever so slowly over a fire awaiting its recipient’s ailment, the making of the cure is a process. Sometimes that process is slow in the making or sometimes speedy. Either way, it’s a progression. The process of writing and healing is the same: a progression. Treading through these progressions, I discover who I am and the reasons why things happen as they do. Sometimes I discover these things slowly, sometimes quickly. Writing about my father has helped me understand him and has brought me to a transcendental place of peace and forgiveness. I no longer hate my father. Writing about him has allowed me to find truth and meaning in his life and to see how his truth and meaning relates to mine. Finding truth and meaning through my writing makes me feel like a philosopher who is pondering the deepest, most difficult questions that one can ask of one’s reality. Just as philosophers search for truth and meaning, so do writers. Writers are the truth seekers and truth bearers of society. They present their findings to their audience, not with the intent to push their own truth on their audience, but in the hopes that the audience will find their own individual truth and meaning in the writer’s words. While this truth searching has the potential to bring healing, it can also lead to frustration. But as my psychiatrist said, you need to travel through the place of suffering before you can get to the place of peace.

Truth and meaning: what huge concepts to wrap my brain around—it takes more than using just my brain to understand them. It takes using my whole body, my whole mind, my whole heart and my whole soul to even attempt to fully comprehend these concepts. And I probably never will fully comprehend them. I am led to acknowledge that my truth is my truth only, no one else’s. Even if my best friend has my same set of beliefs and values we know and experience them uniquely. There is no single definition of the concepts of truth and meaning; however, there is conformity as to how truth is presented. According to Thomas A. Schwandt, “There is general agreement that what is true or what carries truth are statements, propositions, beliefs, and assertions, but how the truth of same is established is widely debated” (259). With that said, let us now consider the concept of meaning. Meaning is closely related to truth and just as complex. Who is to say what has meaning and what that meaning is? Interpretivists believe “that the meaning of action is fixed, finished, and complete and thus, in principle, determinable or discoverable by the inquirer” (Schwandt 155). My story above about my father will mean certain things to me and different things to each reader (the inquirer) depending upon each reader’s life experiences. I know the truths behind my writings; however, I want the reader to discover his or her own truths as his or her own, not mine. I am just a guide opening a tunnel of thought that the reader needs to travel through alone.

Scholars will most likely never agree on a single definition for truth and meaning. But in the same way that unity is found in deciding where truth is presented, there is also agreement on the questions that are proposed in an effort to reach a definition: What is truth? How is truth identified? Is truth absolute, relative, objective, or subjective? What is the meaning of truth? These are all questions asked by philosophers. Thinking of how I need to employ the wholes of my body, mind, heart and soul in attempting to grasp an understanding of truth and meaning reminds me of what I was taught in my childhood religion classes at St. Teresa of Avila school. My Baltimore Catechism taught me that my purpose on earth is to know God, to love Him, and to serve Him in this world, and to be happy with Him forever in heaven, and I am to do that with all my body, mind, heart and soul. I remember my little grade school mind being mesmerized by the thought that my mind was capable of reaching outside my familiar surroundings into the mysterious unknown (heaven) in a search for great mystical truths. To think that I could get closer to the Divine by just thinking amazed me. I did much of my thinking while looking outside my classroom’s long windows at the tall trees that touched the sky that led to the place where the Divine was said to live: heaven. There just had to be something divine beyond those lovely puffy clouds that looked like giant cotton balls. I remember imagining myself sitting on one of those clouds questioning God. Just as I did looking out those windows in my religion classes, I believe every person regardless of their faith (or lack of faith) searches for truth and meaning looking out their own window. Whether you believe in God or not, the natural law leads us down a road of self-discovery. Natural law claims that all law is derived from nature and/or a supreme being, depending upon the person’s belief system. I consider the act of writing a spiritual experience, which leads writers and readers to discovering what their relationship is to the natural law.

In my limited study of composition and rhetoric, I am drawn to classical philosophers such as Saint Augustine and Saint Thomas Aquinas, who connected their ideas to the Divine, and to Plato and his student Aristotle, who searched for transcendental truth through reality and reason. Augustine claims that we are sent here by someone greater than we are and that we are on a continuous search to know who sent us, and Aquinas claimed that natural law is attributable to divine providence. Aristotle believed in a balance between reality/science and transcendentalism while Plato believed there is a spiritual world beyond what we find on earth. Studying the works of these classical philosophers can lead readers to spiritual awakenings. Their words can reach into and revive the depths of a reader’s soul, which makes sense since supposedly the soul is where the Divine deposits its seed. A well-written piece of writing has the potential to water that seed and make it grow. Plato believed that “We can recognize it [transcendental truth] because we somehow ‘knew’ it before our birth, when our souls were with the Divine” (Bizzell & Herzberg 55). Writing can take the writer and the reader of that writing on a hallowed journey with each reader finding a completely different set of truths and meanings from the same piece of writing. I submit that the writers of today are philosophers, and like the classical philosophers of old we modern day philosophers also struggle with the concepts of truth and meaning. If classical philosophers wrestled with the ideas of truth and meaning, why should I be surprised that a neophyte philosopher such as myself has trouble defining and understanding these concepts? While writers and philosophers have differing views of truth and meaning, I am surprised, yet comforted, by the similarities I find among the methods used by philosophers and writers as they attempt to find an understanding of truth and meaning. Examining this surprise can only aid me in my future role as a teacher of writing’s healing abilities.

Like many philosophers (and writers), Aristotle was concerned with reaching transcendent truth. Aristotle “treats rhetoric as legitimately appealing to the whole person, not just to the ‘rational being’ alone” (Bizzell & Herzberg 146). The whole person consists of both physical and spiritual properties. Transcendental truth is the pursuit of a relationship with the Divine, a feeling that you are one with your creator. This feeling can last for a fleeting moment or for hours. The patron saint of my grammar school, St. Teresa of Avila, experienced this feeling and described it in her famous biography, The Interior Castle. After reading many of her writings, including her biography, I consider Teresa of Avila to be a great truth-seeker, as does the Catholic Church. Pope Paul VI named her the first female “Doctor of the Church.” This title is bestowed upon those whose writings have immensely influenced church theology. She reportedly had mystical experiences. When I was nineteen, on a trip to Italy, I was in the Cornaro Chapel in Rome, and I saw Teresa’s relationship to the Divine captured in the famous statue, Ecstasy of Saint Teresa, by Bernini. After researching Aquinas for this essay, I was struck by the Thomist views I have encountered reading Teresa’s writings. When I came across the following piece of writing in my research, I was pleased that my inclination to view Teresa as Thomist was substantiated:

St. Teresa's position among writers on mystical theology is unique. In all her writings on this subject she deals with her personal experiences, which a deep insight and analytical gifts enabled her to explain clearly. The Thomistic substratum may be traced to the influence of her confessors and directors, many of whom belonged to the Dominican Order. ("St. Teresa of Avila")

Thomas Aquinas was a medieval Dominican. As any good narrative writer does, Teresa personally wrote about her experience with detailed simplicity and emotion:

Beside me on the left appeared an angel in bodily form . . . He was not tall but short, and very beautiful; and his face was so aflame that he appeared to be one of the highest ranks of angels, who seem to be all on fire . . . In his hands I saw a great golden spear, and at the iron tip there appeared to be a point of fire. This he plunged into my heart several times so that it penetrated my entrails. When he pulled it out I felt that he took them with it, and left me utterly consumed by the great love of God. The pain was so severe that it made me utter several moans. The sweetness caused by this intense pain is so extreme that one cannot possibly wish it to cease, nor is one's soul content with anything but God. This is not a physical but a spiritual pain, though the body has some share in it -- even a considerable share. ("Art and Architecture of Venice Cornaro Chapel")

Teresa of Avila was a simple and straightforward woman. Her book, The Way of Perfection, is described this way: “Although it is a work of sublime mystical beauty, its outstanding hallmark is its simplicity which instructs, exhorts, and inspires all those who are seeking a more perfect way of life” ("Catholic Information Center on the Web"). Aristotle would most likely approve. He recommended that simplicity was needed at times in order to reach an audience. In his Rhetoric Aristotle states, “It is this simplicity that makes the uneducated more effective than the educated when addressing popular audiences -- makes them, as the poets tell us, ‘charm the crowd's ears more finely’” (Aristotle’s Rhetoric). Teresa of Avila was a seeker of truth and meaning—the same as Aristotle, Plato, Augustine and Aquinas were, and like them, Teresa always desired to teach and keep the higher good of her audience in mind. She did this with passion and feeling while maintaining an artistic style to her writing.

Aristotle considered rhetoric an art, and he felt that good rhetoric is not only persuasive but also ethical and reasonable. Aristotle thought that all public speeches are made up of a balance of three rhetorical proofs: ethos (ethical), pathos (emotional), and logos (logical) (Bizzell 145). Ethos relates to character. According to J. Michael Halloran, “The speaker (or writer) must understand ethos in order to create in his audience a strong and favorable impression of his own character” (60). Pathos appeals to the emotions of the audience. Such an appeal attempts to create any number of emotions, including fear, sadness, contentment, joy and pride. Pathos does not concern the veracity of the argument, only its appeal (“Rhetorica”). Logos is appealing to your audience based on logic or reason, but it is “more than a simple argument based on logic, logos refer to thought plus action” ("Logos Press Thoughts Plus Action"). Let us apply these concepts to the art of writing. And yes, I did refer to writing as an art. As Aristotle considered rhetoric an art, I consider writing an art form. Good writers should consider the same principles Aristotle used as a rhetorician when writing. Writers should want to appeal simply to the emotions (pathos) of their audiences, and by choosing values or emotions that the writer relates to personally the writer will gain credibility (ethos) with the audience, and by using logical aruguments (logos) to persuade readers, the writers’ words will result in the readers believing what they read.

Augustine prescribed similar proofs. Augustine believed that rhetoric should be capable of “pleasing, teaching, and persuading or moving to action” (Bizzell & Herzberg 382). I am in good company with my deeply-held belief that writing is healing: “Augustine suggests that our worldly journey to blessedness should be a cleansing or healing process. God ‘cures’ our impurities with the ‘medicine’ of his word. Augustine says that God is to Christ as our thoughts are to our words” (Bizzell & Herzberg 383). Augustine also cautions not to rely too much on logic and not to deceive your audience:

One may, unfortunately, have one without the other, and it is better to have truth than logic. Similarly, says Augustine, to study rhetoric or the “rules of eloquence” is to point out how God has made human nature amenable to persuasion. ‘Men did not themselves institute the fact that an expression of charity conciliates an audience,’ says Augustine. But one should take care not to use these rules to persuade people to falsehood. (Bizzell & Herzberg 384)

Aquinas also believed that truth is crucial, but that it has to be combined with reason. Steven Kreis stated in a lecture that, “As Aquinas himself put it: ‘whatever is known is known in the manner in which man can know it’” (Kreis). When writers think in the manner that Aquinas did their thoughts turn into more meaningful words on paper. The old writer’s adage “write what you know” makes sense when you absorb what Aquinas said. The Stanford Encyclopedia’s entry on Aquinas proposes what makes a good philosopher:

The proper philosopher may be thought to be someone — perhaps merely some mind — without antecedents or history who first comes to consciousness posing a philosophical question the answer to which is pursued without prejudice. But of course no human being and thus no philosopher is pure reason, mind alone, without previous history as he embarks on the task of philosophizing ("Saint Thomas Aquinas").

This can also be a definition of what makes a proper writer. Writers come to their work with the same baggage (antecedents) as philosophers do. In Writing As A Way Of Healing author Louise DeSalvo states:

In Creativity as Repair, Andrew Brink has observed that the impulse to create usually comes from some early damage to the self. Doubt, pain, trauma, insecurity, uncertainty—these feelings are the fuel that drive the creative process. This wound or loss initiates a life’s work of healing, ‘of trying to make right what early went wrong.’ Writing, then, uses language to repair psychic wounds. (33-35)

I started this essay with a story about my father. Along the way, I described how writing about him has enabled me to connect his truth to my truth. I sat at table with the wise Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, Aquinas, and Teresa of Avila. My time with them was enlightening. I saw how each was connected to the other. Plato mentored Aristotle, both Augustine and Aquinas respected Plato and Aristotle; Aquinas simply referred to Aristotle as “The Philosopher,” (Kreis) and Teresa of Avila was Thomist in her views. As they were connected to each other, I am connected to my father. Two quotes from Aristotle come to mind: “To run away from trouble is a form of cowardice and, while it is true that the suicide braves death, he does it not for some noble object but to escape some ill.” Moreover, “We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” My father was an artist. I am an artist. He used a paintbrush. I use a pen. He did not see the light. I do. He did not heal. I did. I just wish that his paintbrush healed him the way my pen has healed me.

Works Cited

"Art and Architecture of Venice Cornaro Chapel." 1997. 30 Nov. 2006 .

Bizzell, Patricia, and Bruce Herzberg. The Rhetorical Tradition. Boston: Bedford Books of St. Martin’S P, 1990.

"Book II Chapter 22." Aristotle's Rhetoric. 2004. 1 Dec. 2006 .

"Catholic Information Center on the Web." 2006. Catholic First. 29 Nov. 2006 .

Desalvo, Louise. Writing as a Way of Healing; How Telling Our Stories Transforms Our Lives. Boston: Beacon P, 1999.

Halloran, Michael S. "Aristotle's Concept of Ethos or If Not His Somebody Elses." Rhetoric Review 1 (1982). JSTOR. 1 Dec. 2006.

Kreis, Steven. "Lecture 28 Aquinas and Dante." Lectures on Ancient and Medieval History. 2006. The History Guide. 29 Nov. 2006 .

"Logos Press Thoughts Plus Action." Logos Press. 29 Nov. 2006 .

"Rhetorica." The Rhetorica Network. 1 Dec. 2006 .

"Saint Thomas Aquinas." Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. 9 Jan. 2005. 1 Dec. 2006 .

Schwandt, Thomas A. Dictionary of Qualitative Inquiry Second Edition. 2nd ed. California: Sage Publications, 2001.

"St. Teresa of Avila." New Advent Catholic Encyclopedia 2003. 1 Dec. 2006 .

Until next blog,

Peace, MAM

Thinkin' outside the box.

2009-10-10T23:16:00.003-04:00

I'm thinking about it--just thinkin' 'bout it. I just might open up that overloaded Piled High and Deep box. Yep, I'm thinking about opening it tomorrow or maybe Monday. Yesiree. I am seriously considering it. This is a big step--that is seriously thinking about it is the big step--really, it seriously is! Thinking about it with anticipation instead of dred is a new feeling. For two years I have felt only dred when I look at

the box.

But the last few days the dred has diminished. I find myself wanting to open

the box.

Stay tuned my mighty followers!

Academic Junk Pile Up

2009-10-03T22:10:00.001-04:00

Just in case any of you might be wondering, "Just what is all this academic junk that MAM needs to wade through?" Well, I shall show you --

See the box? That has all the PhD papers I wrote, handouts, journal articles, group projects, etc. One year of my life is in that box and it's overflowing. The rest of the junk is made up of notebooks and binders. I also have a little bit of my masters work among this mess. Some of that will come in handy too for my dissertation. This takes up two big shelves on a big bookshelf.

Oh, and what is above does not even include my textbooks, writing books, etc.

The first thing I'm going to do with all of this is go through the box and reread all my papers to get my mind back in academic mode. Then I will go through my notebooks and my syllabi. Then I will go through my masters papers to see what relates to my PhD dissertation topic.

The big ? is-- How fast will I get through this working 4 jobs 7 days a week? Oh, well. This semester is all about one tiny step at a time.

"Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb.”

Winston Churchill

My friend Jilda left me a voice mail recently that went like this-- "Hey Mary Alice, Has working four jobs driven you insane yet? What? Three jobs wasn't enough for you?" Now, coming from a New Yorker such as Jilda this message is a little worrisome. Jilda moves at a very fast clip and is concerned that I might be going insane. When a New Yorker who fights Manhattan holiday crowds, the Bronx subways and busses starts expressing concern that maybe your life is going at a fast pace, you take notice. Hmmm...

"One step at a time is all that's possible - even when those steps are taken on the run".

Anne W. Schaef

It warms my heart to know Jilda is thinking about me. It's nice to have friends who want to walk this walk with me and who are hoping I succeed. Without their encouragement, this walk would be lonely. I would not even take these steps. Jilda's one small message put a little skip in my small step.

"One step at a time is good walking”

Chinese Proverb

Peace, MAM :)

One Small Step

2009-10-01T23:34:00.001-04:00

Well, it is October 1st and I have come to accept that this semester I can only take my life a day at a time. I have way too many jobs and too little time. I have come to realize that there are certain days of the week that I cannot think about dissertating. Wednesdays and Thursdays are exhausting and I am completely brain dead come 9pm. On Wednesdays I work three jobs and on Thursdays I am up early and work two jobs and then need to be back up early Friday morning to do it all over again. I am figuring out that the days I need to take off from anything related to dissertating are Wednesdays and Thursdays (Does this blog count?). I can only do what I can do this semester. Life just gets in the way.

Due to my history I tend to get agitated at the pace my life takes. I always feel like I am playing catch up. I am always behind what is considered normal behavior for my stage of life, whatever that "normal" may be. I lost my teenage years to family dysfunction, lost my college years until early 30's to recovering from a car accident, and feel like I am losing my 40's to PhD Piled High and Deep anxiety. I need to accept that I have four years left to do this dissertation, and if something horrible happens a dissertator can always ask for an extension, not that I want or plan to do that. But at least that option is there if the worst happens.Besides, the older I get the more I think about my mortality. I could be dead in an hour, so why I am worried or spending one ounce of energy thinking about tomorrow, let alone four years from now?

Does anyone else out there think about their mortality? I think about it a lot. But this is nothing new for me. I have always thought a lot about it. I'm surprised when I find people who don't think about it much. Death has never frightened me. For some reason I have always felt that it is a friend. But now that I am what is called "middle aged" I find myself feeling like I am playing catch up all over the place. Dying doesn't scare me. It's the living that is scary. Since I am not married and have no children it's thoughts of who will take care of me if I become chronically ill that frighten me.

"Let us see life as it really is...It is a moment between two eternities..."

Well, I think have digressed from the direction I thought this post was going. Hmmmm.

I have been thinking about how this blog might actually end up in my dissertation. My topic is Writing for Healing Purposes, and since this blog is getting my mind and fingers back into the "writing" mindset I do think this blogging exercise of unleashing my fears, anxieties, and paranoias will provide much needed sweet healing power. I need to forget about the past and the future and just concentrate on this moment. With that said, I will allow myself to say this about my future: If my teaching jobs continue in January, I will have to go on reserve on my 4th part time job to free up some time. I can't quit my 4th job now because I do have to have a backup if both or one of my teaching jobs end. But the good news is I can list myself as reserve next semester on that job and only work when I feel like it. That will free up some time. But here I go thinking about tomorrow. Stop STOP Stop it right now, Mary Alice!

"When we yield to discouragement it is usually because we give too much thought to the past and to the future."

I like the quotes I used in this post. They are attributed to Saint Therese of Lisieux--The Little Flower. Today is her feast day, and I have been researching her tonight. http://www.ewtn.com/Therese/therese.htm
Since she was known as the saint of little ways and small things, I will take my dissertation process one small step at a time and rejoice in each small step, however small, as a monumental victory.

Peace, MAM :)

Plans Go Funny

2009-09-20T23:53:00.002-04:00

How does that saying go? You know, the one about plans and God. “If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans.” Did you know that Woody Allen came up with this quote? I didn't. While doing a google search, I learned that he penned this quote Makes me go--hmmmmmmmmmmm. I had great plans for the past two weeks, but I didn't get as much done as I had hoped. Woody being a writer/actor/director must have given him insight into the whole plan thing.

I also planned great things for this semester. But a voice mail from a guy I didn't know is probably going to put a crinkle in my plans. I fear plans are (once again) going astray. I was offered another teaching job. And I accepted. So we can add this new job to the three jobs I already have. Dissertation time was already hard to find.

Let's make a check list of my jobs:

Full-time (mostly) online writing coordinator and advisor for UMUC's Effective Writing Center.
Part-time e-structor for SMARTHINKING.com
ESL instructor for refugees and asylees 3 mornings per week.
ESL instructor for Latino coummunity 2 nights per week.

It's good to make a list. Helps me remember what's what. One of these days I just know I will show up at the wrong place on the wrong day.

What? This isn't high intermediate? Oh, you are Intermediate Beginning students? Opps. Ah, OK, well class is canceled then. :)

Zoe left me some good tips in my previous blog posting. I like her ideas for approaching my massive dissertation project. Here's what she said:

One thing to consider is breaking down these plans even further. For example, for sorting your PhD computer files, do it by task or time. You could decide that for one hour each day this week you will sort the files. Make an appt with yourself to do so, just as you make an appt for everything else - gym, Mass, work, etc. Put it in whatever schedule/to-do list/calender you keep. Treat it as an appt with an allotted amount of time. Do the same with other tasks - give them timelines, deadlines, and break them down into more bite-size pieces where possible.

Since she is by trade a life coach I take her tips seriously. For those of you who like what she had to say check out her site: The Integrated Woman Zoe is full of helpful tips for the woman who is juggling life.

Anyway, I did what she said. I broke some projects up into small tasks.

I went through my laptop's favorites lists and catalogued all those I saved over the last few years that relate to my research.
I cleaned out my laptop.
I looked over a classmate's webpage regarding his dissertation.
I got my IUP VPN working so now I can connect to research sites, journals, and libraries.
I paid my tuition bill. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Even though I feel like I did not accomplish much, these little things were monumental steps in the right direction. The first step is always the hardest.

All great masters are chiefly distinguished by the power of adding a second, a third, and perhaps a fourth step in a continuous line. Many a man had taken the first step. With every additional step you enhance immensely the value of your first.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

I think I'm on my way. But it just might be a very slow ride this semester. I asked God for some work to pay the rent. He made me wait a long time for my answer, but when He answered He gave me more than I hoped for. God is funny that way. I now have 4 jobs and less time. AHHHHH. I can't say I'm surprised. It seems to be pattern in my life. I'm glad God is funny because I laugh at Him all the time.

Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee And I'll forgive Thy great big one on me. - Robert Frost

Let's see. What else has happened since my last blog. Oh, Howard, my homeless guy finally reappeared on the corner. He saw me coming a block away and started waving. He also bowed respectfully yet dramtically to me. He has never bowed to me before. Our relationship is deepening. :) I asked him, "Howard, where have ya' been?" He said, "I had to go home. And I'll be gone again for awhile soon. A family member passed." I said, "Oh, I'm sorry. A brother or a sister?" He said, "Like a sister, My mother raised others too." I said, "Your mother was a good mother." He smiled real big and said, "Yeah, she was." Hmmmmm. Makes you wonder. I need to bring Howard some cookies this week.

I'll leave you with this quote. It makes me feel better when I let fear distract me:

Consult not your fears but your hopes and your dreams. Think not about your frustrations, but about your unfulfilled potential. Concern yourself not with what you tried and failed in, but with what it is still possible for you to do.

Pope John XXIII

Until next blog,

Peace,

MAM :)

Labor Day Pains--Such is Life

2009-09-08T23:43:00.002-04:00

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm...ok, today is the first day of my dissertating life.(I am not counting the past year and half of reading and thinking about it as the actual process). My dissertaton life that started today is what I consider the grunt work of dissertating. PhD Labor Pains. I have to now somehow make a plan and set goals. Where do I want to be by Christmas time? What do I want to accomplish by the end of this semester? I had high hopes this morning of having gone through my computer files by the end of the day. I wanted to organize PhD related items I have saved. I have failed miserly at this simple task. It seems I can't find some crucial files. Such is life in a computerized world.

So here I lay in my bed with my laptop. I'm feeling somewhat defeated. It is 9:50 pm. I was up at 7am. At work by 8:30--taught 3 hours of English to a class of ESL students who are at various levels of low intermediate English. Was home by noon--walked to the 12:10 mass. I find mass a necessity in maintaining my sanity. Some people meditate, some people chant, some people invoke Buddha, some people pray to Allah, some light insense. I like to go to daily mass when I can. It helps keep me centered and gives me the strength to survive my solitary life in this wacky world. I talked to the security guard outside church. Yes, I did say security guard. That probably surprises and stuns some of you. But I live in Baltimore city, which tends to bounce back and forth between number 4 and 2 on the country's most dangerous cities list. Just makes life more interesting. :) Since the guard is not always there, whenever I do see him, I know crime has escalated. I asked him, "Where is Howard? Did you scare Howard away?" Howard is my homeless friend who hangs outside the church. He was missing today and another day this past week. I make him cookies. He loves them even though he has to gum them. You see Howard has very few teeth. Howard is a lovable mess who wreaks of alcohol at least 3x a week. Howard is a very big black man with lovely dark soulful eyes and a big heart to match. He towers over me. He calls me baby and sweetie and sweeheart. He makes me smile. I worry about Howard. I miss him when he is not sitting on his usual perch (the rectory steps) or leaning against his usual pole (the No Parking sign). When he sees me coming a block away he starts waving his big floppy hands excitedly. I wave back. Howard seems to disappear whenever the guard comes around. But the guard told me that he is also friends with Howard. He talked to him earlier and also saw him across the street earlier eating some food. But even though they are buddies I still think Howard vanishes on purpose when the guard comes around. Howard never misses a day hanging outside the church unless he is sick. You see it's a good collecting spot for Howard. The other parishoners don't seem to like baking cookies so they give Howard money. But Howard becomes a ghost when the security guard visits. Even though the guard is nice to Howard, Howard is intimitated by the guard. Poor Howard. Such is life the big bad city.

I was home by 1pm. Time for lunch. I called my best friend telling myself I would only talk to her for 10 or 15 minutes. An hour later I was still on the phone discussing the woes and wonders of our worlds. Such is life in the long distance friendship world.

I was now an hour and a half behind my normal daily schedule. Off to the health club I went. I decided to go for a swim. This also is a necessity-- a doctor imposed necessity for my bad back. I was the only one in the pool. Bliss! My own private pool. Feeling refreshed I was on my way home to sort out files. At least that was the plan until my 23 year old friend who works the front desk wanted to talk. So talk we did about the woes of having to suffer ditzy females who seem to be populating at an alarming rate. Where do they come from? We did this until 5pm. Such is life in the health club world.

Dinnertime. I decided to follow Clara the Depression Chef's advice and make peppers and eggs. Check out 93 year old Clara's blog-- http://depressioncooking.blogspot.com/ Very frugal. I like frugality. I watched the movie Anastasia starring Ingrid Bergman while I ate. It skipped continuosly and annoyed me. I did the dishes and and made a fruit salad. Another phone call came in long distance. Next thing I knew it was 9pm and I was searching my computer thinking I will now sort my PhD files. Well, here I lie, it is now 10:45 pm and no files, no sorting. I need a plan. Such is life in the planless world.

I hate planning. I never plan. I learned a long time ago that when I plan something else happens. Ugh. But I really do think I need a "casual" plan and an outline for this semester. It will go something like this:

1. Sort Phd computer files.
2. Sort through huge box filled with Phd papers, notebooks and notes.
3. Reread notes and highlighted book passages that I have read over the last three years and have forgotten.
4. Compile list and sort through people I would like to include in my dissertation.
5.Read published dissertations that pertain to my topic.
6. Write proposal.
7. Plan and do whatever it takes to start the main writing process in January.

The actual writing process doesn't scare me. Once I start writing it will flow and I will end up writing too much. It's the figuring out how to go about it that sends me into brain limbo. I know I will feel much better when I sort all my files and organize my notes. I will also feel better when I reread all my papers and notebooks. This will get me into academia mode again. I also know that reading published dissertations will be a tremendous help. Once I see what others have done I will feel that I can proceed with my own writing.

Oh, and did I say that this will all be done while working three jobs, maintaining friendships (long and short distance), maintaining my health, and worrying about Howard. Such is life in MAM's dissertating world.

Not to self: Maybe I should dump all friends except Howard. I talk too much. Less talking and more researching is needed. But dumping friends is not a good move. When the paper is all crinkled, and the pen is all out of ink, and the printer is all out of paper, my friends and Howard will be the only ones who really care anyway. So the friends will stay. :)

Peace, MAM, who is so tired she can't be bothered checking this post's spelling.

The Mystery of Peak Productivity-- The Energizer Dissertator

2009-09-03T18:08:00.007-04:00

Hmmm, a close friend named Fab sent me this link today. http://www.phdcomics.com/comics.php?f=1219 Considering I have known this friend since we have been 7 years old, I wonder if she is trying to tell me something. After all, she might know me better than I know myself. Hmmmm. The cartoon shows that peak productivity for a PhD student is around 2am. This is very scary to me since I suffer insmonia if I go off my normal sleeping schedule. So there will be no 2am researching/writing sessions for me. And since I'm a long term thinker I know that in the long run 2am writing spasms will kill me. And I really do need to be breathing in order to dissertate. So no 2am productive moments for me.

I think this cartoon represents procrastination. And procrastination for me is really a disguise for all out fear with a capital F! What is interesting is that I have never had a procrastination problem until now. But you know what, I am not going to think about this today. Maybe I'll think about it next week, or the week after. What I will think about is how I know that I am being too hard on myself. I had good reason for waiting until now to start the dissertation process. This past year was full of emotional upheavel that left me feeling blank in the mind, heart, soul, and body. I am now ressurecting myself. The skip has crept back into my step. I actually have moments when I visualize the Engergizer Bunny sitting at a desk dissertating. "I am MAM the Energizer Dissertator!" "I am MAM the Energizer Dissertator!" "I am MAM the Energizer Dissertator!" Everyone, repeat after me, "She is MAM the Energizer Dissertator!"

I have 4 years left to complete this dissertation. One thing I have is patience. If I spent eight years off my feet recovering from my car accident and did not lose my mind, then these dissertating blues will not wear me down. I am strong. I am woman. Hear me roar! Oh my, does anyone else remember that Helen Reddy song? I can feel myself sitting in my bedroom looking at that bright blue LP cover, and singing along with Helen-- "I am woman. Hear me Roar". Fab was probably with me. This now brings upon me another worry. If I can so vividly recall that song's impact on my young life, (and the color of the LP cover) I'm too OLD to be dissertating. Pre-menopausal women should not even be allowed to dissertate. What is wrong with IUP that they let a pre-menopausal woman into their program? Don't they know I cannot remember stuff? Crucial stuff like authors names, page numbers, and where I last left my laptop? UGH. This is all so wrong. But enough of this jabberwocky. I'll think about it later.

Peace, MAM :)

MAM's first blog--a note to my mighty followers. :)

2009-08-24T17:28:00.014-04:00

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, my mighty followers (few that you are), do be patient with me and my bloggin'. Just as with my dissertation writing, I'm not sure what I am doing here. Yes, I have given up on ever being as sharp as I once was. I was sharp as a prickly cactus before I started my PhD program. The coursework killed many crucial processing cells. I have accepted that they are never returning. Did you know that "acceptance" is the key to a peaceful existence? I watched a Mother Teresa video recently, and she said something about it. She said "acceptance" in the good and the bad is key to finding peace--if you have food on the table today, and you have done everything for God that day, accept it. If you have no water today, but you did everything for Jesus today, accept it (I'm paraphrasing here). I accept that I am brain dead. I accept that I might be brain dead today and tomorrow--possibly forever. I am happy I'm brain dead. I accept that these dead cells will miraculously empower my fingers to type a worthy proposal and dissertation. Oh, oh, hold on a minute, my oatmeal cookies are burning. My God-given lacking brain cells forgot they were cooking. But that's Ok. I accept it. :)Ok, I'm back and happy to report my cookies did NOT burn. They only smelled like they were burning. See what acceptance did for me. I did not panic at the burning smell. I walked slowly to the stove--I didn't run. I accepted they burnt. And what happened? I was pleasantly surprised that they are edible. Maybe I will be just as pleased when my dissertation proposal is written and palatable to my diss director. Well, that is it for my first blog. Here's to more blogs and cookies! Peace, from Accepting MAM

PS I thought I would look for a transcript of Mother Teresa talking about "acceptance", and I found it. As you can see my paraphrasing did not do it justice. It goes as follows (maybe I can find a video of it on Youtube)

Everyday, you have to say - Yes!Total Surrender!To be where he wants you to be.If he puts you on the street, and everything is taken from you.And suddenly you find yourself in the street. To Accept to be on the street at that moment. Not for you to put yourself in the street. But to Accept to be put there. This is the difference. To Accept! If God want you to be in the Palace, Well then to Accept to be in the Palace. So long as you are not choosing to be in the Palace. This is the Difference. This is what made the difference in Total Surrender. To Accept whatever he gives, And to give whatever it takes with a Big Smile. This is the Surrender to God! To Accept to be cut to pieces, yet each piece belonging only to him. To Accept the people that come, and the work that you happen to do. Today, maybe you have a good meal. And tomorrow, you maybe have nothing. Maybe theres no water in the pump. To Accept!And to give whatever it takes.It takes your good name, It takes your good health.It takes - Yes: That's The Surrender! And then you are Free!

PPS I found a link to video--

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4YUJwF6stc