The Three Faces of Me

In my summer psychology class, my portion of our group presentation involved examining psychological disorders, specifically multiple personality disorders. The themes of multiple personalities has been explored in many films and television shows. Pop culture books examine the nuances of people like “Sybil” and “Eve”. As I delved into the mysteries of dissociative identity disorders, I became suspicious of three particular people: Me, Myself and I. Yikes. I think I have this disorder.

First, there is Tammy Jo, the ideal woman that JD married: that would be the woman who goes to church, cleans her house meticulously, cooks 5+ course meals for her guests, and operates a small hostel for the family and friends who often show up for visits and extended stays. This woman is usually congenial, fun-loving and likes to entertain. Socially she is comfortable and enjoys being around friends and family. When she is engaging, she can be the life of the party. This woman has not been seen since 2005. There is an ongoing manhunt to find her. If you see her, please phone J.D.

Second, there is Tam, the nursing student wannabe: this person is a hyperactive student who stays up all night, preparing papers, lab reports, and group projects. She is often attached to the internet, leaves much of the housework undone for months at a time, and laments that while she has perfection in her academic life, she loathes the idea of cooking and laundry. She is prone to impatience, fits of worry and anxiety about the last set of applications she has mailed out to various nursing schools. She waxes and wanes between feeling superior and utterly despondent about her station in life. Tam has good grades but feels she is discriminated against because of her age. While self confident, she thinks there is no end in sight, and can be seen mumbling in the corner “I just want to be a nurse”. She escapes from her non-reality of being an actual nurse, by voracious reading of books having nothing at all to do with nursing. She consumes massive amounts of caffeine, hangs out with other women who do this and is generally a cynic when it comes to most things. She thinks that Tammy Jo will be found when she finally becomes a nurse. Ha! What a farce. Despite her evil tendencies to be fiercely competitive, she will make an exceptional nurse someday.

Lastly, there is the Mrs. Maher, the Mom, the woman who has three teenagers of varying

temperaments and complexities. She can be seen driving up and down the freeways all during the day and night, taxiing her children to their social engagements and educational pursuits. She hasn’t had her hair done in three months and periodically checks her toenails to see if the polish from June still looks good. She has no use for pantyhose or closed toed shoes, and thinks a good meal can be found at the loft at Nugget Market in Town Centre. The Mom laughed louder than anyone else at the movie “Mamma Mia” and sobbed her guts out during the scene when Meryl Streep painted her daughter’s toe nails. Mom needs hormonal assistance in Thyroid world, and thinks that losing weight will solve all the world’s problems. She can be seen occasionally enjoying a glass of wine and frequently will kiss her husband on the cheek and pat him on the back. He puts up with that. She thinks he’s a saint. He is still looking for Tammy Jo…if you see her, don’t forget to call him.

Tammy Maher is a bi-weekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com

Hot Hot Hot!

I rarely ask JD about the weather and being married to a weatherman doesn’t necessarily mean I have any lowdown on what the weather is going to be. I am one of those people who go outside and see whether it’s warm, hot or raining and plan accordingly. Others need the information a week ahead of time because their livelihood depends on it. That’s where the meteorologist can really make sense. Coming out of the nirvana that was Independence Day, seeing the blue sky and feeling the Delta breeze, I thought we had this hot, smoky air business under control. The Big Sur, Santa Barbara and Butte fires changed all that. We’re in for the long haul I think. I don’t remember it ever being so bad and I’ve lived in California my whole life. Venturing to the other side of the track here, let me make a totally unqualified prediction…it’s hot hot hot!

What to do? We went into defense mode. Windows and shutters battened down, the dog shaved down to his nubs; plenty of fluids in the fridge and car, we brace the day when temps soar into the 80’s at 7 AM. The winter installation of the roof top solar panels proved to be worth their weight in cold hard cash, as they now soak up the electricity bills for the house air conditioning expense, what a relief because the price of gas is killing us! I have no doubt we’ll get through these triple digit days. However, reminded that others are not faring as well, we all need to be aware of the people around us who might need a helping hand. I am speaking of the elderly and shut ins who may or may not have the constitution to withstand this hot dry heat; and the little ones who need our constant attention as they enjoy cooling off in the water. We also need to be aware of parked vehicles on hot days where animals and small children can fall prey to the exponentially high temperature increases. What is 103 degrees outside may mean 130 degrees plus on the inside, all death traps. Beware.

Whether it’s stopping to check on those stranded on the roadside, to be sure they have the means to summon help, or throwing some water bottles their way while they wait, the little things help during the scorching days. Perhaps you live near someone who is living by themselves and could use a hand with outside chores. I think I’m going to send Conor to check on a few of the retirees in our neighborhood who might not be able to run their lawn mowers this week. He’s been outside practicing with the football team and comes home saying that even the limited amount of time that the guys are outdoors can be hard; imagine what it can do to the elderly, the young and the homeless. Heat exhaustion and heat stroke are big summer risks in these 100+ degree days.

Flip flops and sunscreen aside, people also need to know that the more time you stay in the pool to keep cool, there are several things that you need to watch out for besides the sunburns. A fellow nursing student friend of mine sent me some information last month about a phenomenon called “Dry Drowning”, a condition one can develop from a sudden laryngospasm of the airway, causing it to snap shut (caused by a sudden rush of water into the airway). Another condition is sudden heart failure in sensitive groups who jump into extremely cold water. Whatever the cause, the person stops breathing and essentially asphyxiates without taking any water into the lungs. Another phenomenon, known as Secondary or Delayed Drowning can be caused when people swallow water in the pool, with subsequent small amounts settling into their lungs. These victims for a short time appear to function normally, long after they left the pool. Their slow onset of symptoms of fatigue and loss of bodily functions (like defecating on themselves) can prove to be fatal. The signals of secondary drowning are multifaceted and come later on as a result of the lack of oxygen being transported throughout the body. The CDC doesn’t differentiate between wet and dry drowning, but statistical data suggests that about 10-15% of drowning deaths are dry downing events. Last month, media reports quickly spread about a 10-year old South Carolina boy who went home and died in his sleep, after an unremarkable day in the pool. He apparently had the secondary drowning symptoms but his mother was unaware of such a possibility.

One thing is known for sure. Drowning is normally a very silent killer. While it’s mostly myth that people flail about and signal others they are in trouble, most victims slip under the water’s surface without a word, especially young children. This is why it’s vitally important to train one’s eyes unceasingly on those enjoying the water, because it only takes a second to lose track of swimmers enjoying the summer fun.

Stay the course, summer is underway, have fun, be smart, plan ahead, drink plenty of fluids and watch out for your neighbor, because while JD says we’re in a period of record breaking temperatures, I say it’s hot hot hot!

Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her on the web at http://www.familyfare.blogspot.com/

Chi Squared my arse!

I tried to take a statistics class last semester and unfortunately, my first exam results weren’t so hot, so I ultimately had to drop the class. I literally had bad dreams about that class. My calculator and I couldn’t get along to save my life. There simply wasn’t enough time to put into the class. I had a rather good teacher, but he wasn’t one to let you have any helpful study aids for exams. Math, you see, has never been my friend. It has been my foe for decades. My first math teachers in elementary school made sure I memorized my math facts, but for some reason, I could never solve for “x”. Moreover, I never knew why it was so darn important for me to learn to solve for “x”, where to put it while I was solving for it, and why I had to put other stuff on both sides of the problems, in an attempt to solve for it. Moreover, it made little sense where or how in the real world I would ever need to do to one side what I was doing to the other in any situation I found myself in…you see my dilemma. It never made sense to me.

When I ventured into the mysterious world of general and organic chemistry a couple years ago for nursing, I had to learn dimensional analysis all over again. The rusty wheels in my brain started to churn and with a little oil from the tutors, the light started to illuminate in my head. Things convert to other things for a reason. This would be important in pharmacology and the procedures we would be implementing in nursing. It was essential to overcome my phobia, once and for all. My math switches being rusty, however, I had to make them operational. My future career as a nurse depends on it. Enter Mr. Hild (pronounced like Wild).
A couple of the nursing programs in the valley require that I have statistics, so with my trusty fifteen dollar calculator by my side and my pal, Trudy; we drove to Rocklin 3-days-per week for 7-weeks. There we met Mr. Hild for the first time. Mr. Hild teaches high school mathematics at Colfax High School and has been teaching at Sierra College for the last two decades. He managed to take this very old phobic math student and turn her into a statistics student. With an approach to teaching from a worksheet and practice method, we were able to drill ourselves through chapter problems, rather than use a textbook. Trudy and I would do the problems repeatedly until we had a good handle on each one. When it came time to take the exams, we were allowed to use our formula sheets and make notes to help us complete the tests. If one practiced as he suggested, one was essentially set up for success on the exams.

Chi squared problems, Poisson distributions, ANOVA problems, binomial probabilities…yeah, I know that stuff now and can solve not only for “x”, but I can find the mean, median, mode and standard deviation of a bunch of numbers. I can draw a bell curve in my sleep and no more bad dreams.

Teaching is about showing your students the map, giving them tools to unlock learning and giving pupils what they need to be successful. Ultimately, when a teacher can unlock the doors and turn on switches, then that teacher has created a learning environment where a student can be successful and overcome obstacles in learning. For the first time in 40 years, I enjoyed a math class and obtained grades I never thought possible. Mr. Hild, you opened rusty doors in an old brain that was closed for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It finally makes sense. Thanks a bunch!

Years may come...

Son, tomorrow you graduate from the 8^th grade. In about ten weeks you start high school. I know it’s not much of a summer vacation, but there is a lot to do before you go to high school. But first, a few words of advice from your old mom. What lies ahead Son, are primarily choices. It’s now up to you.

Many years ago, as I walked at my eighth grade ceremony at St. Vincent elementary school, I remember getting excited toward the end of the Mass, because Mr. Jarrett had taught us to sing an Irish Rovers song “Years May Come” and we were to perform this in musical rounds for our parents. I thought it was such a hip song. Yeah I was pretty much a dorky kid. A lot about elementary and middle school was learning the nuances of how to get along with others. My middle school years were the hardest years of my life. It was a relief to get out of grammar school. You, however, went from homeschooling to public school and made a success of all the changes you had to make to adapt to new learning environments. You made it all look so easy. Your fun loving nature, kindness and compassion towards others will be the recipe you need for success in high school. Don’t lose that good nature. Peers can help you be a better person or they can break you down. Choose good friends. Be a good friend.

Years may come where you have to make hard choices. You know this will be the greatest challenge in high school. Map a good path from the start. It will be an easier journey. Be a good example to others by being a person who is a friend to all. Choose the road less traveled.

Don’t let others define who you are. Everything you are right now will suffice. Let these next four years be about working hard and ‘making good’ on the fine goals you’ve set for yourself. Let music and sports be about contribution and teamwork. Don’t succumb to the pressures to be like everyone else, especially when you know that something is wrong. There is so much time for everything that will be put on your plate. Remember the virtue of patience. Choose to persevere.

Embedded in my memories of your growing up are the birthday interviews we did on videotape, the insane laughter you bring to carpooling and the inability I have to stay angry with you very long. Your volunteer days, the times you served others, most especially those Sundays you served Mass; these are the treasures you’ve given to others. Like your sisters, you care for your friends deeply. Don’t be too devastated when you are let down. Remember that forgiveness heals most things. Choose your battles and let go of the rest. It’s such a waste of time. Integrity will always win over popularity.

As you venture into the exciting world of high school, remember to honor yourself by respecting your teachers and coaches. Remember that we’re always here for you. Work hard and have fun. Congratulations on all your accomplishments. And like that old Irish Rovers song, “ Years may come and years may go… for each one…Thank the Lord that we have been...together through the years..”

Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com

Air Force Aunt

The United States Air Force made it possible for me to come into the world. I know, it sounds like a bit of a stretch, but for the most part, it’s true. I was born in 1963 to a USAF navigator, Thomas Joseph, who perished in a B-47 aircraft over South Central Minnesota during a Cold War training exercise 7 months earlier. He had just celebrated his 23^rd birthday. Two days later, while coming out of LABS maneuver, in a twist of fate that would change the lives of four families, a piece of the engine’s turbine wheel broke off and sliced off the wing of the aircraft, putting the plane into a unfortunate spiral which jettisoned the crew into the fields of Comfrey Minnesota, a small farming community in Brown County.

Forty five years later I’ve come to know that the most important people in my father’s life were people he met in basic training and the navigator cadet programs in Texas; men who came from all over the United States to serve their country and start their careers during uncertain times. Not much has changed since the 60’s given that our military is still very much on alert and war is still part of our National experience. As much as these men are all now retired, they’ve adopted me as ‘Air Force Uncles’ and I get a greater sense of who my father was because of them.

Tomorrow morning, my 20 year old nephew, Joseph Paull, will graduate from Basic Training at Lackland Air Force Base and begin his new journey. Over the last six weeks he changed from a boy to a man. Anyone who has been through what he has experienced knows this. You go to ‘boot camp’ or ‘Basic’ idealizing certain things, scared, confused about what is about to happen to you and when the finish line approaches, you can hardly believe what has happened to you emotionally, physically and spiritually. I got a call from him last week, an unexpected surprise for me. He has been on my mind a lot these two months, recalling stories that my air force uncles told me about what it meant to get through this process, I would think about Joe and what he was going through. His voice on the other end of the phone was different…amazed at how much he had changed, who he is becoming. I get it. I’ve never been so proud. It’s hard to convey pride over the phone. I just know that this journey he is taking is not easy. It’s damn hard. Although Lackland AFB's motto boasts that it begins with them. “Where the 'Blue' really begins", is in the heart. So in rejoicing over this accomplishment, I am flying to San Antonio today so that I can be at Lackland Air Force Base tomorrow. I can’t be anywhere else. As Joe’s Godmother, I’ve prayed for him as much as I’ve prayed for our kids. My air force uncles, in recalling these important milestones to me, talked about graduation and what it meant to have the support of family and friends, as they took these next steps forward. The path involves commitment and sacrifice; something only military men and women understand. As Joe’s circles tighten up, with the type of specialized training he will receive as he moves onward and upward into the USAF family, I hope he knows how much those of us outside the circle admire and appreciate his sense of duty and service to his country.

I am an Air Force daughter who has become a proud Air Force aunt. For this rite of passage, I will need to check at the airport, a cargo bag loaded with Kleenex , to see me through the ceremonials tomorrow, knowing that 48-years ago at Harlingen, Texas, a young airman with a red Buick; one I never had the privilege to know, led the graduation march of his aviator cadet class at his own commencement. There’s not much that has changed in 48 years. Both of these men who share the same name Joseph, have both shared hope for a peaceful future while looking toward the promise of opportunity. I pray that one will watch over the other, and that God will keep His keen eye on Joe as he moves forward. Protect him from enemies both seen and unseen.

Make way for ducklings

For some reason driving lessons came to me this week and what it was like learning to drive a car. Coincidently, my 17 year old is doing the same. We are two different beasts, or maybe not. I am trying to relax and enjoy the ride; after all I am paying a fortune for the gas.
A man, I can only call “Mr. Sweating” was my “behind the wheel” instructor in high school. He was a nervous sort. If memory serves me right, my friends, Lisa and Scott piled into the car with me; back then we did everything in groups of 3-4. I think Mr. S was a P.E. teacher who was forced at gunpoint to teach driver’s education. He reluctantly went over all the features of the car much in the way one would revel in eating earthworms for breakfast. The only thing on my mind was getting the steering wheel of that government issue car in my hot little hands and thinking as a side note “the brake is there in the middle… what a peach…ok, I can do this.” As we hummed along a little winding back road in Petaluma (turning left from Corona Road to Adobe Road, I picked up a little speed). I could hear Scott whispering to Lisa in the back seat that I was driving too slow or words to that effect. I hit the gas, imagining in my mind’s eye flying over the next hump in the road. I looked over to Mr. Sweating. He was wincing and shifting in his seat with his foot positioned like a hovercraft over the instructor brake . “You can let up a little” he shouted as we approached a bluff in the horizon. Scott and Lisa stopped giggling. A mama quail appeared on the road in front of us with 13,000 baby quail behind her and my first reaction was to hit the brake as hard as I could, sending the car into several dove tails and swerving motions that put us on all points of Old Adobe Road, luckily with no traffic behind us or coming from the other side of the road, I ended up on the side of the road or therebouts. Mr. Sweating exited the car stomping his feet, demanding that I get out of the car into the back seat. With the veins in his neck standing promptly at attention, he shouted in his best boot camp voice “NEVER….ever….NEVER….brake for animals while driving a car!!!” After that incident, although totally humiliated in front of my friends, I eventually passed my driver’s test. Secretly, I rejoiced that I had not massacred the quail family that day on Old Adobe Road.
Shannon is a much more conscientious driver than her mom. So I try not to hyperventilate as she talks her way through whatever route she is driving. More worried about others than herself, she wonders if she is driving too fast or too slow. I try to keep my comments to minimum, knowing how considerate she is, advising her that the honks and shouts of others mean nothing when it comes to driving safely. Last Friday, in a twist of fate, that delivered me promptly back to 1978, I was driving us all home on Bass Lake Road when the kids and I spotted a lovely young turkey Mom and 4,000 little turkeys trailing behind her as they made their way across the road. Slowing down, we laughed at them as they entered the grassy area when not 50 feet away, a mama duck and eight little tiny ducklings were also doing the same thing. Forgetting Mr. Sweating…and coming to full stop in Bass Lake Road. I put on my flashers and told my kids to stay put. I stopped the car coming from the opposite direction and shooed the whole family across the road (with one little guy overturning on his back, but eventually making it to the other side). In the spirit of Robert McClosky, I secretly looked up to heaven and told Mr. Sweating that if it was safe to do so, I would always and forever, make way for ducklings.
Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her on the web at http://www.familyfare.blogspot.com/

Mornings & Pigs' Ears

In the midst of getting the kids to school on time and thinking about my endless list of stuff to do, I tend to talk myself into my day while driving the kids to their points of destination in the morning. Our daily driving route puts us from El Dorado Hills to Placerville every day of the week. My three have gotten so used to it, they just assume that Tammy number 2 is figuring it all out and they hardly respond to my morning utterances anymore. We are not exactly morning people. I think all of us were born under the sign that blinks “Open all night”, because we all tend to solve the world’s problems after 5 PM. The first thing on my mind in the morning is where I can plug myself into IV drip of caffeine. I know every café from Town Centre El Dorado Hills to Main Street Placerville. I know all the Goth kids at Habit, hang out at ‘It’s a Grind’ in Cameron Park, and have ran into a few Tibetans at Cozmic Café. But mostly, I know where good coffee reigns supreme and where free internet access can be found. I’m that old lady in the corner with the pink laptop who can easily do 5 shots of espresso, but am desperately trying to cut back.

One particular diatribe with my interior self found me on South Shingle Road, picking up lunches for Conor and Birdy and passing by Lee’s Feed. “Remind me to pick up some pig’s ears for Conor!” Huh? That engendered a few giggles. “Ugh, I mean for Skipper.” Skipper is our dog. But I’m sure you can deduce that without me. Brain death approaching, I catch myself. Why can’t I get these kids’ names straight? Thinking about Conor chewing on pig ears really lit up the day. I’ve caught that contagion of my parents’ own brain damage. I remember the litany of names called out by Bob and Sally when they were thinking about something else, but wanted our attention; Deep in a place obviously somewhere else but trying to be present, it’d go a little something like this: “Tammy, Terry, Tricia, Teddy Bear? Whatsurname?” Drat. We’d give my mom the same blank stare. “Ugh, that’s the dog, mom, I’m the oldest…Tammy…remember?” “I know that!” she’d reply in exasperation. “I just get so mixed up sometimes!” It’s not exasperation. I know for a fact that until the caffeine is pulsing through my arterial system, I’m just not gonna make any sense in the AM and the kids’ names are gonna be fair game before 5 PM because in the real world of middle age, the brain synapses are just beginning to fire around dinner time. I honestly think the profitability of the entire nation would go through the roof, if our day started around noon.

Last weekend, I was inducted into the honor society at Folsom Lake College and the president of the college called us “the brightest of the bright”, my kids were choking back the loud chortles, while my husband held back tears. I could just hear him thinking out loud “so that’s why the housework is a little behind, and I cook more than she does now.” Honestly, it was embarrassing. I wanted to congratulate the other 4 people standing with me (who were all under the age of 21) except there was two other people around my age and I wanted to ask them, “Do you forget your kids’ names ever?” I just stood there, thinking I hadn’t yet had my morning coffee and I was starting to fade. It’s tough. Maintaining a high grade point average doesn’t always mean perfection in the day to day. I’m always a work in progress.

I’m convinced that the answer to this early dementia is to play more cards on line. It is an idea that I got from my Life Span class, learning about the Mankato nuns and the brain studies they’ve done on them. Apparently, they’ve avoided dementia and Alzheimer’s by playing cards, doing puzzles and crosswords. I really like spades. I also will indulge in a little Sudoku now and again. Today, while on Yahoo games, my card partner hurled some insult at me and I laughed. “Yeah, go eat some pig ears…I haven’t had my coffee yet.” That shut her up.

Arrivederci Cugini

Pictured: (Elena, Papa Maher, MoMaher, Matteo, Francesca & Fulvio)
We all gathered for MoMaher & Papa’s Golden Wedding Jubilee last weekend. The cousins from Italy surprised MoMaher by flying into SFO under stealth conditions. Family came from all around the country to celebrate the occasion and the pictures tell a story of what family means after 50 years of wedded bliss. The theme for me was Cugini or “cousins” – surely the spot light of the weekend. As mom and dad celebrated their milestone, one of my nephews was packing to leave for the U.S. Air Force. I am proud of him. Another nephew is headed to Dominican College in the Fall, a niece to a Design School in Seattle, and another taking first place with her crew team at Lake Natomas over the weekend. Having said all that, it seems like yesterday that they were all kids. Where do the years go? All these young adults springing into their lives faster than I remember them growing up…oy vey! These are cousins who have lived apart for most of their lives, but firmly bonded in this family of Joseph Luzzi and William Maher

JD spent several days on the video we showed at the party of people who were at the wedding 50 years ago. A junior bridesmaid, another cousin, hasn’t seen MoMaher since the wedding and they spoke over the weekend on the phone. Hopefully these long lost cousins will reunite in person soon.

Aunt MaryElla’s mother passed away the morning of the party and her funeral is tomorrow. She lived into her late 90’s...leaving a legacy of children, grandchildren and great children. She left a large family, filled with cousins and they took care of her until her last day.

Having had a late night supper with the Lake Como contigency on Tuesday night, seeing the young cugini ‘girls’ JD visited in 1995, now having children of their own, it’s amazing how time has passed. The laughter and stories are the same. Two year old Matteo delighted us all with his charm and sweet disposition. Fulvio, Francesca and Elena honored everyone with their presence, and knowing that it won’t be long until we see each other again, we simply hug and kiss our farewells all the way out the door, ciao caro, ciao cugini..buon viaggio! Ricordarmi! Remember me... Fulvio & MoMaher

The weekend was filled with local cousins, Italian cousins, and out of state cousins. Some had surprising and good news, a very special one was recovering from surgery (thankfully with very good news), some were a little too far away and sorely missed. We wish them much love; and to those who spent a little time with us this last week, we say simply “Arrividerci Cugini… Finché incontriamo ancora…Dio la benedice! ” Farewell Cousins, until we meet again, God bless you!

Golden Jubilees & white dress shoes

My sister-in-law, Cindy, has a birthday today. I wonder if she knows how much I miss her. She lives out of state with JD’s brother, Pat and their two daughters. It was sad when they moved from Sacramento years ago; both having careers closely connected with engineering and government contracts. When they first started out their married life together, we lived about 5 miles away from them and our oldest girls were just starting school. I have so many great memories from that time. There is something magical in the beginnings of family life. I remember the window of opportunity, encouraging Pat to travel to South Dakota to propose to Cindy and the telephone call he made to us on that same trip telling us that they had eloped or in his words “gone to Deadwood.” I’ve missed the years of cooking dinners, coffee klatching and wine tasting, but life has a way of taking families on journeys. The joys now are found in the cross roads when you come together to celebrate family milestones. Speaking of which...

It was a little over 21 years ago that JD proposed to me at the Cliff House in San Francisco. We were having dinner with a couple who were celebrating their Golden Wedding Jubilee. I always wondered about the special luck and blessing it was for us as a young couple to celebrate the night of our engagement with two people who had already spent half a century together. They were a couple crazy kids; teenagers really, who were married by a Justice of the Peace in 1937 in Deadwood, South Dakota. Reflecting on that a little further, I wonder if there was something in that South Dakota water, given that JD’s brother did the exact same thing almost 60 years later! It was simply amazing to hear the story of how Gene and Delores swept away in the middle of the night to get married. If Delores were alive today, they’d be married 71 years this September 25th. I remember them dancing at our wedding. There was a lot about that wonderful day that is a blur to me now, given that 20 years has come and gone. However, rock crystal clear in my mind, was Gene, all decked out in his white dress shoes and driving the red Cadillac; his wife of half a century next to him, still very much remembering Deadwood, but a thousand miles and 50 years away.

Next week, JD’s parents are celebrating their own 50^th wedding anniversary. I’ve known them almost half their marriage. The day will be crowned by an amazing party to celebrate the occasion with many family and friends coming from all over to celebrate the milestone of a half century of marriage. It’s the occasion that one has to see as a blessing... in counting the years like bars of Gold; because marriage to one person for half a century is a rare achievement nowadays. The ear-marks of such rarity being the memories; of joys and sorrows that sharing your life brings, like an investment that has had its ups and downs, shortfalls and yields. Most importantly, marking something irrevocably sacred and meaningful.

MoMaher, 50 years ago, April 12, 1958

The Golden Wedding Jubilee bring people together to celebrate a part of life that few couples ever reach, the half century mark. Considering that I’m not even half way there yet, I will be watching the days closely and taking notes. The South Dakota contingent will be there. It’ll be nice to wish Cindy a belated Happy Birthday in person and I am looking forward to seeing Gene again after all these years, hoping beyond hope that he’s wearing those white dress shoes and saving a hug for me.

Tammy Maher is columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her by email at familyfare@sbcglobal.net or on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com

Small things

My son seems to know when my moods are down. His bear hugs are the reward for the nights spent in the glider chair, rocking him back to sleep when he was a baby. My two daughters clean up around the house, knowing that when I walk through the door, it makes me feel better just knowing that there is some order around the house; no doubt a generous return of a few small motherly moments of taxi cab service, meals and laundry. I hope their memories of me will always bring smiles. It’s hard being in the midst of small things, completely cheerful all the time; and that is where my husband comes in- he’s provided miles and years of small thoughtful things. So despite my mood swings, they are always there for me. I think my patron saint, Therese, would be scolding me right now, knowing that it’s only in the smallness of being, that we find real love.

That’s nothing really and yet it’s everything. The small things add up to days and months and years of small great things that when the sum of them is counted at the end of the audit, a treasure is revealed; of sacrifice and love. It’s easy to buy someone something-a card or token of affection that says ‘I love you’, but it’s the day to day that counts in the end. It’s the getting up every day and going to work, day after day, year after year that says from a parent to a child “You matter and I am taking care of you.” It’s making meals, folding socks, driving hither and yon, listening. I don’t do all these things well, but I try. I certainly appreciate the amazing women in my life, my mom, my sisters, my aunts and my grandmothers, first setting the example for me; they are legends. I trudge along after them hoping to fill in part of their footprints.

I am a person of relative insignificance, except that I matter to my husband and kids and they show this to me every day in small ways. I don’t need to be famous, perfect or satisfied; I think I’ve always just wanted to be needed and in that, I have all that is necessary and every good thing. I have a few close friends who have stuck with me, despite myself and my failings. I tend to wander to and fro from this to that, disappointed when I miss my mark but keenly aware of where I fall short. Self-deprecating, is how an acquaintance described me last year and she’s right. Call it meno-maudlin-madness, I fit in and yet I don’t anymore. I wish I could skip this middle part and jump to the wisdom and insight of my parents and grandparents who don’t sweat the small stuff anymore. It’s hard to look back and look ahead at the same time, wondering to myself, “Will the small things be enough?”

So on the sunny side of things, this is a typical Thursday; yet it’s not. It’s Maundy Thursday or Holy Thursday; probably one of the most hopeful days of the year besides Easter Sunday. I will go to church with my family tonight and try to straighten this all out before Easter, this ‘out of sorts- funk’ I’ve been in, and when Sunday comes, it will be better. I know this because some things are just reliable, like the love of a husband of 20 years and three of the greatest kids ever. The narcissus bloomed last month, right on time, their little yellow heads popping up to say hello, having been planted in secret by my Dad and youngest daughter three years ago, the year that literally changed my life. It’s funny that they planted them right where I would see them, next to the front walkway steps, next to the front porch. I think that Pop planted those with Birdy for her benefit, doing a small thing with and for his granddaughter. I don’t think those two realize or know how much those flowers mean to me, when I see them pop up every year; they are small reminders of people I love and in the smallness of them, I know why I am here.

Happy Easter!

Tammy Maher is a columnist for the Mt. Democrat. You can reach by email at familyfare@sbcglobal.net or on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com

Shower her with roses

When some people give to others, it seems to come so naturally to them that they go through life almost unnoticed because those who routinely give so generously hardly draw attention to themselves; their minds resting easily on the needs of others. This week, one of those wonderful people has passed away after a courageous battle with a complicated cancer, and the hole she seemingly left in the world is vast. However, never to let anything go undone, she left it filled with a legacy of love.

When I first met Jonan and her husband, Bill, at church several years back, I marveled at their ability to balance their life together. I never saw one without the other. They took on several volunteer projects. Both gave of their time greatly by taking on the tasks of cleaning the church (not just surface cleaning, but deep cleaning the inside and outer buildings, including the bathrooms. As if that wasn’t enough, she was the person who beautifully decorated the interior of the church with fresh flowers each week. She and her husband were taking on retirement by going to work; the example they set for those of us in the middle of our lives left an indelible impression. Together they worked with the zest and zeal of artisans who also happened to have the hearts of Clydesdales; happy and cheerful, knowing they were serving a higher and more important need, not only for others, but for God. She was always about the business of cheerfully staying busy, stopping occasionally to chat about the most important people in her life, her family; comprised of eight children and over 30 grandchildren. You would never know that she came from a life of hardship and loss. Jonan was a woman who listened, rather than complained and was willing to offer advice if you asked her for it, never imposing herself on others. She was simply a woman of grace.

In the greatness of small things, she was creative. Whether it was sewing, crafts, entertaining or arranging flowers; her talents were wide reaching. Always, the mother and grandmother; she embodied the woman of Proverbs 31, reminiscent so much of my Aunt Carol; both women to be emulated. Many women live their lives honorably and justly, few do so in seeming anonymity. When she first was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer, it was humbling to watch both she and Bill tackle the business of fighting the cancer, much in the way that they cleaned the church or she arranged the flowers; with great tenacity and grace, always seeking the will of God, surrounding themselves with those they loved and even unto the end, she had her mind on others.

When JD & I stopped by to see her a few days ago in her final days; she seemed to grow ever more beautiful, taking on her youthful countenance again. Cancer may have robbed her of a certain quantity of days, but it would not deprive of her of the quality of them, because as she suffered through those last few days, love seemed to grow ever more present in her home, with her husband and children near her side day and night. I have been very few places where I felt an overwhelming sense of love; but never so much as was in their home the night we visited her. Wanting to reassure her, she reassured me. Wanting to tell her not to be afraid, she trusted in God’s will all the while asking after the kids who resided in her heart. As a Proverbs 31 woman, she has lived with dignity and goodness. It was an honor and privilege to have known her. My prayer is that she be showered by the saints with roses as she enters the heavenly gates.

“Who shall find a valiant woman? far and from the uttermost coasts is the price of her...with the fruit of her hands she hath planted a vineyard....She hath put out her hand to strong things, and her fingers have taken hold of the spindle…She hath opened her hand to the needy, and stretched out her hands to the poor...She shall not fear for her house in the cold of snow: for all her domestics are clothed with double garments…Strength and beauty are her clothing, and she shall laugh in the latter day…Her children rose up, and called her blessed: her husband, and he praised her. Many daughters have gathered together riches: thou hast surpassed them all. Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain: the woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised…Give her of the fruit of her hands: and let her works praise her in the gates.”

Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her by email at familyfare@sbcglobal.net or on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com

Pop's 7th Inning Stretch

Dad turned 70 years-old January 29^th and for all the hype that milestone birthdays bring, it’s no wonder that people plan parties, reflect on decades of living, achievement and the legacy that life brings when you have a portfolio 7 decades long.

My dad, AKA 'Pop-Pop' was born in New Jersey 7 innings ago, as Robert Howard Maher (yeah, with the same surname as yours truly). During that month, Franklin Delano Roosevelt established the March of Dimes. Benny Goodman performed in Carnegie Hall in New York City and the first ski tow opened in Vermont. So much has happened in the world since then; some were milestones and others are black marks on history.

For instance, the year 1938 was marked by several important historical events pertaining to the Nazi holocaust. German troops entered Austria, the Mauthausen and other concentration camps opened, Winston Churchill condemned Hitler in response to the Munich agreement, which allowed for German occupation of Czechoslovakia, and November’s Kristallnacht occurred (being the first night of large-scale violence against Jews by the Nazi regime). These dark spots on the year 1938 were only precursors to the darker years ahead marking the economic hardships of the Great Depression and the sorrows plaguing the emergence of World War II.

On the lighter side of history, in entertainment, 1938 saw the debut of Porky Pig, Daffy Duck & Bugs Bunny. Disney’s version of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs premiered. BBC’s production of the first science fiction program for television aired and RCA & NBC were born. Baseball introduced helmets for all batters at the plate, Pearl S. Buck won the Nobel prize for Literature, and Orson Welles’ version of H.G. Wells’ “War of the Worlds” was broadcast on the radio, creating a national state of chaos and panic. 1938 also marked the first time that Kate Smith sang her infamous “God Bless America” live on the radio.

Invention and innovation entered the world stage in 1938 with the discovery of oil in Saudi Arabia, DuPont's marketing of the first nylon toothbrush, Douglas’ test flight of the DC-4 airplane, and the maiden voyage of the Queen Elizabeth out of Glasgow. The Thousand Islands Bridge, connecting the US and Canada over the St. Lawrence River was dedicated by thenPresident Roosevelt.

It was also the year that a 450 metric ton meteorite struke an empty field in Chicora, Pennsylvania, Howard Hughes achieved a world record by completing a 91 hour airplane flight around the world and the Mallard steam train broke a record speed of 126 mph. Transportation changed all around the world in 1938. My... how things have changed throughout the world in 70 years' time!

At the age of seventy, one has lived to see many things both personally and historically. Like a consecutive tri-marathon, or a very long baseball game, Pop has endured being a child of the Great Depression who was the oldest of seven children. He survived a two-year stint in the US Army, a 30+ year career with the same employer, the tedious raising of three precocious daughters and marriage to the same woman for 42 years. As a result of the endurance, his legacy boasts eight grandchildren and a treasure chest of friends. He has enjoyed tenure as a high school tennis coach, a hobbyist who loves working with his hands, and a resume of rebuilding vintage sports cars and fixing a lot of stuff. His landmarks in the community include being a volunteer all his adult life. He is a member of the Knights of Columbus and the Elks. He is a Catholic who prays everyday and loves his family. For all that and so much more; Pop, you owe yourself a couple victory laps.

Congratulations on batting a 1000 and Happy 7th inning stretch. Let's party...woo hoo!

There ought to be a law

October 1980 marked a significant month that has since returned to haunt me. It was the last month I was eligible to take the SAT exam prior to college application deadlines. I remember the day well because it was the bleakest day of the year. Reluctantly, (I say this because I knew I was setting myself up) I stayed out late with friends the night before, succumbing to peer pressures to stay up late…stupid. Oh, how I wish I knew then what I know now. As a result of staying out late, I was tired, rushed and late for my SAT exam. Consequently, I didn’t eat anything, felt a cold coming on and could barely see the road in front of me driving to Sonoma State University to take the exam (it was so memorable, I hardly remember checking in, with barely a pencil to my name). This one day and the scores that ultimately resulted from it set the course of my future in ways I never expected. My scores were laughably average in so many ways. They told the story of the night before, being late and the terrible October weather. They told the story of a student who had storm going on in her brain because the questions might as well have been in Greek.

I was an AP student at a private high school. When the scores showed up, my parents asked what the numbers meant and in my head I responded “well, they mean that I will be applying to the junior college and maybe a state school; however Notre Dame is just going to have to wait.” “These aren’t too bad” was what I actually said. My epiphany in the experience of taking the SAT exam was simply this; standardized testing had nothing at all to do with intelligence. It has everything to do with how much money one spends on fancy test prep books, test prep courses and sheer luck. Of course, the sleep factor is important, as well sharpened #2 pencils, good bubble technique and a clear head. Good weather helps too. I hated that test and have since developed a strong opinion on standardized testing as a way to single out clever people who may possess little if any common sense. I worked in my careers with people who were book smart, but bad managers. They may have scored high on their HS SATs but they had little sense about people or good business decisions. Ah, but I digress.

I know there are many people who are largely Einsteinean, attended Ivy League schools on the heels of their awesome SAT scores and I congratulate them all. Good for you. Please don’t take offense at my disdain for standardized testing. It obviously has measured many things; but it doesn’t measure ability, character or the willingness to work hard and achieve greatness in themselves or motivate others.

It’s been a long time since 1980. Middle agers returning to school (that would be me) want to be nurses. We’ve had a lot of life experience. We’ve raised families. In the midst of this we returned to schools and enrolled in hard science classes. We studied hard, often late and into a state of exhaustion, in some cases to the detriment of our real lives. Knowing that hard work pays off, lo and behold we earned high grades. We are so excited about the possibility of becoming nurses, helping to ease the pain and suffering of those who need our compassion and knowledge, our caring and concern, and our smarts, we earnestly apply to wonderful, local accredited nursing programs, where we know the training will be excellent and the experience worthwhile….but wait! No, say it isn’t so…there is a little test we need you to take. It’s called the TEAS test. Huh? It’s just a little assessment test. I thought I just took a whole bunch of tests (you know the ones that I took in chemistry, microbiology and anatomy and physiology)?

Sacramento State University has decided that if one desires to obtain a 2nd bachelor’s degree, one now needs to take a Graduate school record examination (the GRE exam- the exam that kids take to get into Master and Doctoral programs) Excellent grades simply aren’t enough. Standardized tests carry as much weight as the grades and the performance of a single exam on a given day (in a single testing environment) will determine whether or not you will be admitted to a nursing program. I thought that’s what the boards were all about. I was expecting the NCLEX, but not this, not now. I thought I put this behind me 28 years ago. So history repeats itself once again and as I stare at my GRE scores in disbelief and anticipate the TEAS test this week, I study hard but I’m not sure it will be enough.

The weather is better this time. I don’t succumb to peer-pressure anymore, not since turning 40, and I have plenty of #2 pencils. My eraser is 6 inches long and I am mad as hell. My hypothetical patient, Mr. Johnson, is waiting in the wings for me to scale this Everest. Ok. I'll try Mr. Johnson, only for you. Standardized tests don’t define the kind of nurse I will be. There ought to be a law.

Let's get it started now

2008 marks twenty years for us as a family and as I watch the years go by, I feel like the first years of raising our kids were in super slow motion and the later years can only be described as the “don’t blink, you might miss it” years. That toddler who was a King in the epiphany pageant is about to enter high school in the Fall, the little girl with the long flowing hair is gearing up to drive a car and the baby girl is gearing up for the middle school years. I’ve been so busy trying to catch up with the backlog of laundry that I hardly notice that all three kids are about to surpass me in height. Our discussions are longer, the topics more interesting, and the disagreements a little more heated, but the years of parenting are golden. I hardly can imagine what it will be like when they are on their own. When my son wraps his arms around me, it’s a bittersweet reminder that it wasn’t that long ago that I was rocking him to sleep in the glider chair with my arms encircling him. The time between then and now is a quick blur. On New Year’s Eve my son turned 14 years old and Bird turns 11 today. My kids are growing up. I’m so happy and yet it hurts so much.

We haven’t had a real baby in our house for 11 years so every time I lay eyes on a little infant, that old longing comes back “I wish we had more”. These sandwich years are difficult because in a sense we are fast tracked towards trying to launch our kids into adulthood, while noting new concerns about the health and wellbeing of parents who are getting up in the later years of life. Every year JD and I remark on how the year has been for us; both the good and the bad and the surprises that each year brings whether they are setbacks or success, sorrows or joys; there is nothing that can prepare us for the changes we encounter year to year, only the expectation that whatever comes our way, we’ll handle it but by the grace of God. Usually when we talk about these things, it’s late on New Year’s Eve after all the reverie has died down, and the conversation starts out a little bit like this, “Did you ever think that this year we’d (fill in the blank) or that (fill in the blank) would happen?”

Uncertainty about the future, the economy, politics, education, coupled with the nuances of life and death; these are the things that prompt us to face the New Year with not only a slight trepidation, but renewed energy, recommitment and hope. Knowing that as we enter the first months of 2008, some of the people we know and love will not be with us by this time next year and there will be new relationships around the bend, people we have yet to meet. Perhaps the coming year will involve finding and rekindling friendships with old friends we haven’t seen in many years, who really knows what’s around the corner for 2008?

More than anything, we see 2008 as the year we prepare for the changes in our own lives, including the kids getting ready for college and high school, helping our parents when and where we are needed and seeking our own vocational goals. Becoming a nursing student at this stage in my life has opened my eyes to the importance of life long learning. It’s never too late to go back to school, to learn something new; to start over again.

So in these uncertain times, it’s better not to know what the future holds, rather it’s a time to start over, in a sense and make changes, while holding fast to the important things such as faith, family and friends, knowing that while some things are just passing, the important things are everlasting, no matter what year it is. Let’s get it started now…Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas Clare

Clare was born in February of 2001, a day we never forget, because on the day that she came into the world, JD’s brother died suddenly of a heart attack. Clare is our goddaughter, a gift from heaven, and as a small side note, she was born with cystic fibrosis. When Clare came into the world, we had no idea that she would be afflicted with this chronic disease. Her older siblings were all perfectly healthy however cystic fibrosis is an inherited condition that causes a mutation on chromosome number 7 and its protein product. If both parents carry the gene, the odds are greater that the child will inherit it, even though it’s a recessive gene. Genetics are the recipe of us, our phenotype is our characteristics or flavors that make us all unique. From our coloring to our size, our physical characteristics, genetic pre-dispositions; even our flat feet; these are all what makes us super special. If everyone was the same, well, life simply would be a little boring. Clare is one of the funniest little personalities I’ve ever met. I just adore her. She is bubbly, energetic and cute as button. This Christmas, her Auntie Tam wants to tell her truly special she is, so I am writing this open letter to her and sharing it with readers who might also know someone with CF.

Dear Clare:

You are growing up so fast. I hardly believe it every time I see you! Your smile is so infectious, it makes me smile too. I know you know a lot of things because you are a super smart little girl; but I had to tell you this Christmas how much you are loved by us all. I guess the lesson with living with CF is realizing that each day is important and life is a precious gift. Discipline is important too, because when you live with a chronic condition like CF, you have daily routines that involve taking medications that help keep the bad bugs away. Your mom and dad work so hard to make sure these things stay away, and as you grow up, you will see how important your daily routine is to your health.

I don’t want you to ever be too discouraged. I hope you have lots of strength and courage to see you through the bad days, plus I hope you always have laughter to make your good days even better. It’s important to stay happy Clare because it’s part of who you are and why you bring so much joy to others. I know how much joy you bring to your brothers and sisters and all who know you.

People are more than numbers and statistics Clare, so when someone tries to fit you into a box, I want you to tell them that God broke the mold when he made you. Each person has a trial to go through or little setbacks here and there; even the healthiest person has bad days too. When your bad days come, never forget that these things are passing and do not define who we truly are on the inside. All your sparkles inside you make up who you are. You are a special child created by God who has so much to give to those around you. I expect that like other people you will finish school, maybe have a family of your own someday or do something else that God has called you to, but the most important thing for you to hang onto and hold fast to, is your beautiful faith, because that is what will sustain you in every thing. I know you pray a lot and I hope you pray for me.

This Christmas I wish you joy Clare. Your life is a gift from the little Infant whose birthday we celebrate. One day when you are able to go out into the world on your own, I hope your share your joy and zest for life with others who might need a little light. You make me laugh. I love you. Merry Christmas Clare!

Tammy Maher is a resident of El Dorado Hills and biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach by email at familyfare@sbcglobal.net or on the web at http://www.familyfare.blogspot.com/

"John Hewitt's pupils do pretty well.."

Twenty five years ago, this was the tag line of a news package reported and written by Mike Hegedus, a reporter for the CBS station in San Francisco, KPIX. Mike is now a feature reporter for CNBC. Back then, while still reporting feature news for KPIX, he reported a story about a college professor working at San Francisco State University in the Broadcast Communication Arts Department (at least that’s what it was called back then.), an extraordinary man teaching broadcast journalism. Hegedus’ report went behind the scenes of our college campus television station, interviewing the professor, observing his students in action at school and around San Francisco as they worked “in the business” in paid positions and in internships. Many of these students are well known television and radio producers, writers, editors, anchors and reporters today, and so the tag line goes…

I am not sure if we fully appreciated back then, the impact Professor John Hewitt would have on our lives both professionally and personally. What endeared him to us was his candor, humor and honesty. John Hewitt was one of those professors in college you never forget. I never saw him particularly angry; except for the time I put together a package on Pier 39 that could have been a movie of the week in three parts. He was patiently serious about television news, about how carefully crafted it was written, its’ accuracy and relevance. In the midst of the seriousness, he was able to laugh with us and at us. He was the sculptor and criticism of technique and none of us wanted to miss his class. It’s the course where we put in more hours than was required. It was the class where we shot stories on huge cameras we lugged on our shoulders, with microphones bigger than our hands, hopefully covered with windscreens that looked like koosh balls. Our tapes were ¾’’Beta and the editing decks were these huge monstrosities that you had to reserve time to work on. When we checked out equipment from the “cage”, we signed our lives away and all our cords had to be coiled a certain way “or else!” It wasn’t just the cameras we checked out. With that, we needed to lug light kits and batteries. Yeah, I learned how to coil cords at State. When we were at State, the studio cameras were still black and white and sat on these huge ‘Ed Sullivan Theater’ pedestals. Lord, in today’s digital world, it seems downright ancient.

A graduate of U.S.F and Columbia University, Professor Hewitt taught for over 30 years at San Francisco State University, scattering his students far and wide into television markets all over the world. He's authored several books, is a television journalist, documentary writer/producer and Emmy award winner. One can say that on a professional level, he prepared his students for the hype and insanity of little garage news operations to major market newsrooms, but I’d like to think that he taught us to look at the world objectively with fresh eyes, both for what was newsworthy and hard hitting, versus what was sensational and sheer fluff. His experience wasn’t something he kept to himself; he shared it greatly and generously.

John and his wife Annette put on an annual Christmas party at his home in Marin County for his students; a tradition that started not long before my class graduated in 1985. Going back to John’s house the year after I graduated was like going home to see old friends, and it was at that party that I met J.D. 22 years ago. We were married almost three years later and his presence at our wedding was important to us. I have no idea how many of his students married and started families, but I know of two from the classes of 85 and 86, including ours. He was a professor who was a mentor and vicariously a part-time yenta, only because we spent so much time together.

We haven’t seen John or Annette since our wedding and we recently received word that he is now retiring, officially. A part of me is sad to hear this news, since he is really an icon of what is now known as the BECA (Broadcast Electronic Communication Arts) department at SFSU. We are grateful that we will be able to be part of this celebration, one in which a man’s legacy in education, his professional and personal impact on a small group of kids spans over three decades. Our good friends from college were all his students; people we still love to keep in touch with after 20+ years. Wishing him well as he retires and thanking him for all he has done for us will be an honor for those of us who were his students. His courses, although spanning only a few semesters for us, was such an integral part of sending us out into the world, and as the old Hegedus addage goes, “John Hewitt’s pupils do pretty well.”

Tammy Maher is a resident of El Dorado Hills and biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her by email at familyfare@sbcglobal.net or on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com

Sisters & sneezes

My great Aunt Agatha was an enigma to me. I can only picture her as the nun with a black habit and Whipple that circled her soft smiling face. She had the same smile my grandpa Chet and Great Uncle Horace had, being that they were all siblings. If any three kids looked alike, they did, being completely and totally Irish. All three of them are buried in the family cemetery in Alliance, Nebraska. My memories of them involve only childhood flashbacks of her black habit, Grandpa’s old car, Horace’s small house in Alliance that he shared with his wife Agnes. Every single one of them was short in height but I didn’t notice because I was a kid and I was short too.

Sister Agatha must have been smart as a tack because she was a nurse anesthetist back in the day when they were rare. I think of her while I study and I wonder if I will ever get close to being the kind of nurse she was. One of the most irresponsible things I ever did without my parent’s permission, was give away her habit rosary that encircled her waist. When I was around 11 years old, I gave it to this little old lady named Rose, who used to attend daily Mass at St. Vincent de Paul church, because I felt sorry for her. She had severe arthritis in her hips which made it hard for her to sit, stand and kneel. I figured if she had Aunt Agatha’s rosary, maybe she would feel better. I am sure someone in this person’s family is wondering where Rose got that really big rosary. I did stupid things like that when I was a kid.

I never would have been accepted into Catholic school had it not been for Great Aunt Sr. Agatha. She was visiting us at the time my parents were trying to enroll us at the school (without much success), and apparently she went down to the school and mud wrestled Sr. Nan, the principal, for a 5th grade slot for me. I learned about the discipline of Catholic schools the very first day of school. Sr. Mary Antonilda, my 5th grade teacher, threatened to cut off my tongue with a pair of scissors if I didn’t turn around in my seat and stop chatting with another girl named Tammy, sitting behind me. I swear I thought she had scissors for this purpose and I never talked to my neighbor again while she was teaching us. I loved Sr. Antonilda. She was this wonderful short little nun who had this silvery wig and this incredible sense of humor. Whenever someone in the class sneezed, she would pace the floor in the classroom asking in a sergeant’s voice “WHO sneezed?” and when no one in the first row answered she would mimic “machine gunning” the first row on down until she got to the person who finally admitted they were the one who sneezed. Then, she would smile and say “God bless you!” Every time she did this, we would all burst out in a fit of laughter and couldn’t wait for the next time someone in the class sneezed.

Sr. Mary Antonilda allowed us to go to daily mass during Lent in lieu of lunch. I would walk down the hill to church and watch old lady Rose in her pew struggling to get up and down. I finally got the courage to sit next to her (every day) and dutifully helped her stand, sit and kneel with the crook of my arm. When my classmate, “Murph” noticed what I was doing, he used to race down to the church ahead of me to snatch up Old Rose before I could get to her, and when I snitched on him to Sr. Antonilda, she admonished "Murph" to find another old lady to help (in those words exactly because when I told on "Murph", I told Sr. A that he stole my old lady). I still laugh remembering those days in catholic school; the impression all these nuns made on me and how they fostered my sense of responsibility and my faith.

I hope that Great Aunt Sister Agatha realizes that the day she mud wrestled or negotiated for her precocious niece to go to Catholic school was the day that started a long journey to becoming a nurse, just like her, and but for the discipline and drill imparted by Sr. Mary Antonilda, I would not be the kind of student I am now; and when someone sneezes, a little stern voice with "a slight twinkle to it," goes off in my head and it makes me smile.