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My 2025 Christmas Letter: letting Christmas happen

It’s been an eventful year for us, with its triumphs and its various ups and downs, just as everyone has. My youngest, Roise, graduated college from Sam Houston State and began the graduate program she wanted where she is doing great. My eldest, Maire, just had a new baby we are all crazy about. Valor is a wide eyed baby with a lopsided smile and a face that looks more “finished” than the faces of babies usually do. My other three grandchildren, Arelani, Blaze and Brazos, have become funnier, more creative and smarter even than they used to be. Or maybe it is that I am listening better. I enjoy them very much. Arelani is into crafts, science, fixing things, and putting things together with a box of parts, a couple tools, and an instruction manual. I don’t understand that at all. She makes the most ingenious things. She makes me laugh every day.

Blaze and Brazos are into running around out in the country, climbing trees, hauling beaches for their mom, filling their pockets with rocks, that sort of thing. The boys and I have a routine of reading from the series Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing and watching The Hoof GP together. That last one I don’t understand either. But we like it. They will cuddle up to me and watch it. It’s a You Tube show from a Scottish Hoof Trimmer. There is just something fascinating about it. They are the sweetest little boys.

My dad turned 75 this year. and I turned 58. We are growing old together. He was just a kid when he had me. He and my step mom take good care of themselves and I fully expect them to live forever.

My new book, Meeting the One Who Loves you; the way of prayer of St. Teresa of Avila was released this summer. I hope it does what St. Teresa and Jesus want it to do for its readers, and gets into the hands of people who are supposed to read it. I try not to worry about how it’s doing. My last one did so well I worry my new book baby won’t get as much attention. But I only need to trust it will do what God wants it to do.

My young dog, Daisy, died suddenly this summer. We still don’t know why. I think it was a killer bee. (We saw some under our car port). The vet couldn’t save her. We all miss Daisy. Our other dog, Joey certainly misses her. However, we are recovering well. I haven’t decided whether to get another friend for Joey. He looks bored in the back yard without her.

I planted a couple of vegetable gardens- something new to me this year.

Roses I am used to and I planted more of those too. I always will plant more roses. I want this place covered in a wild, lovely tangle. I have a dying elm tree in my front yard. It’s sad. However, I planted an Old Blush climber next to it. I plan for it to wrap around it, for rose laden vines to hang down from its branches. Then it will be a rose tree. I have done that before at the house I raised my kids in and it looked like fairy land. It smelled amazing too.

We almost lost one of the young special needs guys I take care of this year. Mac got pneumonia which is very dangerous for him. Unbelievably he made it through and has even recovered far more than we thought possible for him. He is doing great. I thank God for this all the time.

I started a new second job this year too, for another young’n with special needs. I pick him up after my first job and spend the evening with him. He’s fun and I have loved getting to know his sweet family.

I have read plenty of books this year as always. I don’t know how many. But since I read a book about every 4-7 days I suppose it would make quite a stack. I’ve developed and interest in T. Kingfisher books and the like. I read one after another.

I’ve lost myself in lots of music. I found plenty of new stuff I am happy with exploring. There is still plenty of weird, interesting music out there, and people still create plenty of beauty. Of course I still love the Cocteau Twins and Dead Can Dance. And hey “King’s X forever!” I still make coffee and listen to jazz every day at 2pm. I mostly like hard bop and straight ahead jazz. And sometimes you just need Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday.

Sometimes you need something fun and different.

I still have chickens, though those traitors spend most of their time at the next door neighbor’s house. They are an elderly couple and they love the chickens so it’s alright. They still come home too. I love having them around, scratching and pecking and being hilarious in the yard. They are Clementine, a crazy game hen, and Jewel, a fat brown hen. They are friends with a wild guinea in the neighborhood who lost its mate. So now it hangs out with my chickens. Its name is either Fred or Lola. I can’t tell which one the remaining one is. However it was lonely so I am glad it hangs around.

My cats are relaxed and happy. Every time I open the door, one is coming in or going out. Whatever they want to do. Presently there are three sleeping on my bed. I have three orange girls; a mother and two of her daughters. These are Annie, the mom, and Dia and Buttercup (don’t blame me my granddaughter named her Princess Buttercup). My daughter has Frankie, a temperamental black cat with beautiful green eyes.

I had a great birthday this year. I felt very loved by family and friends. Plus, I told my friends I wanted a pie in the face at my birthday dinner and they actually did it! It was so funny. I also have been wanting to start a “Little Free Library” in front of my house and my friends made it happen! On my birthday night Maire and I and the kids went to see my youngest daughter, Roise, play and sing with her band, The Fragments, over at Black Water Draw. We had a great time; great music and kids running in circles around our table, us handing the baby around, everybody happy. I love that.

I visited the major relics of St. Therese this year with my youngest daughter and my granddaughter. I have thought a lot about how I felt about that. I wrote about it too. But when I look back at it I think what comes through is how little I felt, how I could see all my wounds in a general way, and that I was seen by God and I was OK. I also felt my love for Therese and that was overpowering to me. I don’t feel a lot of big feelings these days. And I never cry even when I do feel them. That day I did both and I was kind of surprised. I’m glad too.

I also gave a talk at Little Flower Basilica in San Antonio this Advent on The Prayer of Recollection. I think it went well. I gave a handout to everyone there to take home and practice the prayer even if they didn[t have the book yet. I took them through a brief guided version of the prayer. I made my dumb jokes. 🙂

As we get ready for Christmas this year, I notice I feel different than I usually do. Christmas is a mixed bag for me as it is for most people- especially for us who have lost people we loved. I’ve kind of hated Christmas. As a neuro-divergent person, the executive function that appears to be required is overwhelming for me. It’s not even a lot but it totally freaks me out. I see the lovely things other people do for their friends and neighbors. Sometimes I can do some of that stuff and sometimes I can’t. I get really scared of forgetting someone. I worry about what to get or what to do.

And there is grief that comes up of course.

It used to be very important, after losing almost everyone I always spent Christmas with except my kids, that I keep up traditions we always had when I was raising my daughters. This is the first year I have kind of let Christmas happen. I usually have my daughters and my kids over to decorate the tree and make cookies. The kids love this. But I also do Advent candle lighting and prayers, and there is a certain order of me putting the star up at the end and us singing “I want to walk as a child of the Light.” when the tree is finished. We have always listened to Dead Can Dance’s album, “Aion” when we decorate the tree.

This year I was working and when I got home everyone was here. They already had music; traditional and pop Christmas songs on. They had the boxes of decorations out from the garage. Everyone was happy. We decorated the tree randomly. Some things I always put up first, almost in a ritual manner because they were my mom’s or from my first married Christmas. I didn’t do that. I put the delicate ones up and let everyone do whatever. Brazos wanted to put the star on the tree so my daughter Maire lifted him up and let him. I quietly lit the Advent wreathe while everyone was talking. Maire smiled at me from across the table. It was good. I just let Christmas happen.

Christmas Eve I’ll make enchiladas, beans and rice as I usually do. Maire is bringing the drinks. And Christmas will happen.

I look forward to the sense of tenderness I eventually know when things quiet down after mass and the candles are blown out. That’s when I think the morning star rises in our hearts, whatever we may be feeling. It still does. Jesus is here. He comes no matter what. And we can let that happen.

1

Grandaddy

It’s my maternal grandfather’s birthday today. It’s been a long time since he died- February 5, 1985. I was wishing I had a picture of him but all the old pictures burned when my mother’s house burned down. I don’t know why but I went to crying about him this evening. He never got an obituary or anything- not that I can find. But I remember him. I remember his scraggly whiskers and the smell of tobacco and coffee in his hugs. I remember his stories, his laughter and how he always knew even from another room that my granny was about to “start belly-achin’ “ about something. How I would tell him my troubles and he would listen carefully and say tenderly “Well now- doggone it all.”

I remember the old pictures of him when he was young, too. My favorite was of him in a pin striped suit, long-ish well groomed finger nails, cigarette between his fingers, slicked back hair of the period and those cool round glasses. He was a bit of a dandy in that picture.
Grandaddy was born Richard West Wallace August 3, 1911 in Cross Tracks, Texas, a town that doesn’t exist anymore. It had been near Lubbock, he said.

His father had been an oil field worker who was killed on the job when Grandaddy was twelve years old. He had three younger siblings, Edith, Jewel and Dudley. His mom’s name was Myrtle. Grandaddy had to quit school and go to work to support his family.

He had been a professional gambler when he was a young man. He played mostly a game called “Kelly Dice.” He had a hardened leather bottle with the dice in it. You shook it and threw the dice out a certain way. I never understood the game. He played card games like poker of course and could do the fancy shuffling. He played Dominoes and nobody could beat him. He had a scar from his ear down his neck where an angry opponent had cut him with a broken beer bottle.

. He is not my grandfather, we found out many years later but actually my great uncle. His brother had an affair with my granny and she got pregnant. What a mess. So my granddaddy stepped in to marry my granny to “give the baby a name.” An “illegitimate” child was a very big deal back then and they didn’t want that to happen.

He spent most of his adult life at 1518 Dewitt Street im Flour Bluff (Corpus Christi) where he raised my mom and had a seemingly stormy marriage with my granny. Their song, though, was “Walz Across Texas,” so they must have been at least a little romantic at some point. He once told me he still “held a candle for my granny.” She laughed when I told her that.


When he married my granny (Ruth Grady) he seems to have become a painter – not an artist but the kind that paints buildings. I remember his white jumpers he wore, splattered with paint of all colors. He fell off a water tower he was painting once and broke his feet to pieces. So he always hobbled. He was one of those people who could whistle a symphony if he wanted. I was always amazed at this as a child. Every morning he would come shuffling out of his room on his broken feet whistling like sunshine. When I was born he was still bed bound with his injuries. My mom used to put me in a cardboard box next to his bed and I would hold his finger for hours.

He was a good companion when I was a kid. Like my granny he drank coffee all day and rolled his own cigarettes. He had this fascinating cigarette roller. I loved sitting with him and listening to him as he rolled cigarettes with it and stacked them for himself and Granny to smoke later. He was an excellent story teller. He had pithy observations about life and people, and often drifted into philosophical speculation I thought was interesting. Memorably he was talking to me about the idea of hell. He told me he believed God was his daddy. He lit a match and asked me if he would ever burn me with that. Of course he wouldn’t. So he didn’t believe God would burn him either.

He taught my brother, Mark, and me how to play dominoes and Go Fish. We liked hanging out. He took me fishing once out in the ocean. I caught a huge crab and he was all excited. But I felt sorry for it and I cried so much he had to let it go. He wasn’t too happy with me and he complained loudly about it to Granny when we got home.


He read all the time and had a stack of ten or fifteen books next to his bed and others next to his chair. He liked westerns and detective stories. He loved my brother, Mark and me. He laughed while we talked to him. He made us “flapjacks” and and asked how much butter we wanted. (Put a lot Grandaddy so I can lick it off!”) He let us drink coffee. He used to say”bah” like a goat when we pulled his short white beard. He was a kindly and eccentric presence to us. He had a glass eye – a reminder of a suicide attempt when he was younger. He used to take it out and set it on the table and laugh at our reaction. He had a coffee can full of change in his room that my brother never got tired of counting for him. Granddaddy had an alcohol problem that affected my mom a lot but as kids we weren’t as aware of that. To us he was funny and told a good story. He was always trying to convince me that “the same thing happened to me when I was a little girl” I was indignant every time. “Granddaddy you were never a little girl!”


In some ways he was a lonely stranger and there is so much I will never know that went on inside him. He walked around quietly, deep in his own thoughts. He spent a lot of time in the hot garage outside but we were always welcome to go out and talk to him. He would sit down on a bucket, light a cigarette and talk to us.

He had a sepia silhouette on the wall in his room of a cowboy looking tired and droopy in his saddle, bowing his head. Grandaddy wasn’t religious at all though I know he believed in God. I wasn’t religious either but I always thought the cowboy was praying. I think Grandaddy felt like that cowboy; “rode hard and put up wet” as they say. The image I think of when I think of him is of a man with a tired body and a tired heart who read westerns in a cloud of cigarette smoke and coffee steam. I loved him.

By the time I was a teen he had developed what they called “wet brain” He thought he was late to work. He would yell about it. He thought there was an old man trapped in the mirror and he had to get him out. “I have to go to Whitney!” He would yell, thinking he had work out there and everyone was waiting, or that his friends left without him. He was sure my brother was stealing the change from his coffee can. One time he banged on the door for twelve hours. I ran out of patience at one point and yelled at him, “WHY?!?! Why are you doing that?!” He stopped and looked at me and then said, “”Cuz I’m crazy *** damnit!” I couldn’t help it. I started laughing and he did too.

He couldn’t remember my name by the end of his life but he trusted me. He would ask for me: “Where did that little brown-eyed girl go?” I would go to him and he would look at me earnestly with wild eyes. He whispered conspiratorially “Get me out of here!” I would say “I’m trying, Grandaddy.”


There was a lot of pain for my mom about their relationship. Her mother had been physically abusive but to her he had been the kind and tender one. As his drinking progressed she had felt betrayed and abandoned by him. There were a lot of resentments and deep hurt there for my mom as much as she loved him.


I’m always going to be grateful for the moment my mother had with him before he died. He didn’t know who she was while she was taking care of him. She said, “Oh Daddy don’t you remember me?” He said,” I’m sorry darlin” I don’t.” She said, “I’m Dinky” (her family nickname) and his eyes lit up. He said, “Well that’s my baby!”

To me that sums up his life even with all of its contrasts- that my mom was his baby.

Richard West Wallace 8/3/1911 – 2/5/1985
Now he has an obituary of sorts. And someday I will write down his stories.








2

No Kings Day Austin, Texas

“We will be protesting today in Austin. I dedicate this act of resistance to the Lord and his mother Mary, who praised the One who brings down kings from their thrones and lifts up the lowly, who fills the hungry and sends the rich away empty. I pray for all of the protestors today, that our acts of resistance may be given their full power for righteousness and Justice, amplified by the Holy Spirit. May everyone be safe and may peace prevail over all. The American people bow before NO KING, ” I wrote on social media the morning of June 14, 2025, the day of nation wide “No King” protests.

We bought stuff for our signs in the early afternoon. While we were there we saw a lady buying canvases and American flags and markers. I said, “Oh I think I know what you’re up to!” “You do?” “Yeah that’s what we’re doing too. We’re going to Austin.” I have to explain that my town is VERY conservative. If your’e not, you’re not going to talk about it in public to someone you don’t know. It’s not like anybody is going to beat you up or anything. People here are mostly kind and friendly. It’s just natural I guess. We’re definitely in the minority. Weird for a college town but it’s Texas A & M’s college town. We are always kind of excited to run into another not-conservative around here.

She invited us to come to her car in the parking lot for some masks. While there she told us about the local No Kings protest. I had thought it would be about ten people but was thrilled to hear the number was closer to 600. I could hardly believe it. I regretted not having being there.

At home we made our signs. My daughter Roise’s was so funny. (Rosie is how we pronounce it- it’s a Gaelic name that would usually be pronounced “Roh-sha” but we just say Rosie.) I had to laugh at hers it was so typical of her. It’s said,

“Dump your MAGA boyfriend.” On the back she wrote,

“They are a drop, we are the ocean.”

I wrote “He has brought down Kings from their thrones and lifted up the lowly- Mother Mary, Lk.1:52.

On the back I wrote,

“If you want peace, work for justice – Pope Paul VI” and “The American people bow to NO KINGS!”

I was happy with it. I took a dollar store red rosary along as well, to keep in my hand. I took a dollar store rosary so if it got broken it wouldn’t bother me as much as one of my usual ones, all of which are special to me for different reasons. And I made sure to wear my Our Lady of Guadalupe socks. Plus I brought bubbles. I really wanted some rose petals but by the time I took care of what my dogs cats and chickens would need for the day, and my girl wrote down all of our numbers we might need in case of arrest or losing our phones, we were pressed for time.

We dropped off my granddaughter at her godmothers’ and headed out. We both felt more nervous than we usually do for these things. There were a lot of reasons for this. Namely the president is doing dictator stuff regarding protests as if they are illegal which they’re not. Secondly two Democratic lawmakers and their spouses had been shot that morning, one of them and her husband had died. The president was having a dictatorship type military parade that day on his birthday. Protestors in L.A. were being overshadowed by a federalized national guard against the will of the governor of California, and so many other signs of text book authoritarianism, including ignoring court orders, were cropping up as if out of a fascist playbook. Today y’all know all this. But someday we might forget so I want to write down some context. It felt like this day could be a sea change, either in a good way or a bad way, as “No Kings” protests took place all over the county. I still don’t know, at this writing, what that sea change will be. We alternated listening to social justice themed songs and more calming songs in the car. We played a lot of Kendrick Lamar (love him) and I pulled out some 80″s hardcore punk with anti fascist themes. (I was a little punk rocker in my teens. In some ways I haven’t changed much.) My daughter didn’t like it so well . But it was my turn.

A friend let us park at his house in Austin and use it as a home base while he was out of town. So we met another friend there we were going with and called an uber. Our friend looked adorable. He had a back pack on with a bouquet of colorful roses sticking out of it, with a small American flag. Otherwise, we all dressed as plainly and comfortably as possible.

A friend from home was coming too, with her husband. We never did find them. There were 20,000 people there so this is no surprise. We texted each other but still gave up after a while.

People were excited and happy to see each other. It felt good to do something about the scary situation in our country while we still could. I’m not exaggerating here as some may think. Not being able to protest anymore is a distinct possibility. Our governor had called out the national guard of Texas too. I don’t think I saw any National Guard people though. Police and State Troopers were everywhere however.

Oh it was hot. We couldn’t really see anything up front. There was speaker after speaker on the Capital steps but we couldn’t see; a drag queen and activist called Bridget Bandit was first. Apparently the number performed after the speech was pretty good but I could only see the top of a big yellow wig. Loved the music. Then there were veterans, immigrants, immigration lawyers and Democratic state legislators, young people whose parents had been taken away by ICE, various activists. I was surprised that Dan Rather spoke.

I didn’t like that we had to stand around in the heat for three hours listening to people talk and we weren’t marching. Marching is the fun part to me. It really feels like community and shared purpose. It’s a powerful experience, walking with others. There were a lot of great signs though. People get so creative and artistic with their signs sometimes. And it was Austin so of course. There was a lot of color – people with clown make up on, Cowboy hats of course, with flags draped over shoulders or worn as capes. Plenty of baseball caps and the ocasional sombrero. One person was carrying a watermelon (a symbol of Palestine) or wearing the traditional Palestinian scarf of black and white checks and fringed ends. There was plenty of colorful hair as well. I enjoyed the variety.

I saw a sign or two with pictures of Elvis thst said something to the effect of, “The only King in America.” This just seemed typically Austin to me somehow. There were lots of flags; American flags, Mexican flags, the Texas flag, even a few Palestinian flags. There was an inflatable Elon Musk that was pretty creepy.

Lots of people were blowing bubbles. Who could be un-cheered by bubbles? So I remembered mine were in my pocket and joined in.

We lost our friend for a while. When he found us I said dang when are we going to march? He said he didn’t think we were going to because we were absolutely surrounded by law enforcement. I was mad. How annoying. I thought about leaving. But we didn’t. I was feeling dizzy but thankfully there was free cold water and even popsicles. People are great.

Finally people started leaving. I thought we were all going home but actually it turned out to be the march. It really was fun in spite of the ubiquitous police and state trooper presence. People came out of buildings along the way and cheered us on. Others rolled down their car windows to yell some of the chants. There was lots of honking. I saw a line of police in which one of them seemed to be trying to read my sign so I walked over and showed them all both sides. One of them said, “Wait it didn’t finish reading the other side,” so I flipped it over again. We smiled at each other. We should always be kind, I think. They’re just people doing their jobs. One of them said, “Watch your back!” There was a car coming up way to close behind me. They told me to move aside and I said “What about you?” I mean we didn’t know whether it was a friendly car or not. I moved on of course.

Somebody gave me a bouquet of white roses. I loved that. I held them as long as I could but it ended up being kind of a pain. I handed them to somebody who had just joined us and didn’t have anything to carry. She was happy.

Our friend we were marching with started a couple of the chants. “FREE FREE PALESTINE!” Hey this was about everything. We chanted that for a while. There was a young woman there in our part of the marchers who had a megaphone and she started some chants. Some were in Spanish and they meant, “The people united will never be defeated.” and then we would say it in English for a while. There were chants about ICE. The one most familiar to me from all the other protests I had been to was, “No fear, no hate, no fascist USA.’ I told my daughter and her friend about my first big protest. I was a teenager then. That protest was about trying to get Texas A&M to divest from South Africa over Apartheid. I had been to Brazos Valley Peace Action protests before (this was during the Cold War and the concern about nuclear weapons build up). But in this town those were fifteen people or so getting ignored on the side of the road. The anti-Apartheid was actually a pretty big protest. I carried a very big metal sign that said “FREE South Africa.” It was exhilarating for me. It felt so good to DO something about stuff that was out of my control and to do so with people who were as concerned as I was.

Along our way yesterday I kept giggling about the funnier signs and nudging the kids. One just said, “BRUH.” Some of them would qualify as great folk art. That would be a cool exhibit I think. Protest signs through the ages.

Mine was certainly not the only sign with Bible verses. I saw some with Psalm 107 about “may his days be few and someone else take his office.” I thought that one was kind of mean. Several people had the verse about “You shall love the immigrant and treat them as one of your own.” (LV. 19:34) Of course “Love your neighbor” showed up a lot. A girl marching in front of me had a sign that said, “Jesus is my only King.” I had thought saying that on mine too. I was pleased to have met other Catholics too. They saw my brown scapular and said, “Hey we’re from St. Austins’ what’s your parish?”

When we passed the Cathedral of St. Mary’s, I waved up at the statue of Our Lady over the church doors. I told the kids, “Yay, I knew she would be here!”

Eventually it was 8:30 and getting dark. In my experience if anything crazy is going to happen it was going to be after dark. And anyway I had started to feel sick. And we had to get home to our animals and pick up my granddaughter. We had my other daughter go and pick her up from her godmothers because we realized we would never get there on time.

The protest was supposed to end at 8 but I read online that it was still going at 10pm. I thought that was great. So we took an Uber back to our home base. We walked down the street to eat Indian food and talk over the day with hoarse voices. We were proud of our friend for starting some of the chants. He is usually pretty quiet. Who knew he had it in him? We complained about the heat. I remarked about how though there were jubilant parts of the day, this protest had seemed different to me. It seemed more somber than ones we had been to before. I think the overwhelming police presence put a bit of a damper on things of course. But I also think it was those shootings that morning and the clear signs of authoritarianism we are seeing in our country, like people being “disappeared” off the streets by masked men, put it unmarked vans and detained without warrants or due process. And a real grief along with the worry- grief yes, for what we were already losing- the whole idea of our country; its identity and what we have always thought we stood for, the freedom and human rights we were founded on, things we had taken for granted.

I am hoping there is still time to turn the tide and that’s it’s not too late. All three of us felt like this was an historic moment. I’m glad we were a part of it.

2

“My arm’s broke, my heart’s broke, my back’s broke;” care giving stories from the nursing home

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The first day of “clinicals” for CNA training (Certified Nurse Aide) my class showed up to the nursing home in our white scrubs at 6am. We would do this for three days in a row. We were to shadow the established CNA’s and sometimes follow our teacher around with the class, observe and also try out our skills we had learned in school.

I changed my first few adult diapers that day, with an acute realization of how embarrassing it must be for a patient to have that done until they were used to it. My teacher observed and made suggestions. I tried to make conversation with the people as I served them. It was awkward and weird and I think my face sweated with nervousness but I suppose that’s normal.

One guy I changed was aware and oriented but nonverbal. He graciously let me change him for practice but apparently I made a big mistake. Later in the day I noticed he glared at me whenever he saw me. I found out later that this was because the next time he had peed after I changed him pee went up out of the top of his diaper and got his shirt all wet. With a male patient you have to make sure – er – that there is a downward course for pee. I found him and told him I was sorry about that but he mean mugged me the rest of the time I was there. Oh well.

Later in the break room we had a chance to chat with the CNA’s that worked in the nursing home. To our complete surprise they urged us not to go through with doing this. “She broke her arm,” they said, nudging one of the group, who said, “My arm’s broke, my hearts’ broke, my backs’ broke. It ain’t worth it. It ain’t worth it.” They explained that they loved the patients, and that they each had at least one they were very close to that among themselves they referred to as their baby. “Of course you love them. You have to love them but when they die, it about kills you. “

It was really too late to turn back and we had done too much work and paid our tuition. All of us stayed on and finished our training.

I met some interesting people. There was a married couple who were able to room together. I remember their room had regular furniture in it and looked really cozy. There was a man who had filled his room with books and loved talking to us. There wasn’t time though. There never is. One caregiver has ten patients. By the time you finish getting everyone up and dressed fed changed and cleaned up in the morning it’s time for lunch. I didn’t like how even if one of them was crying there was no time to talk to them and try to help. Someone else in the next room had a physical need to be met. You had to keep going.

Photo by Marcus Aurelius on Pexels.com


i remember one lady liked to play rap on her radio with the volume all the way up. She sat in her wheel chair with her forehead on the speaker with the music blaring all morning until lunch. Sometimes she would really get her head moving. It was impossible not to smile watching her.

Some of the people there were very tragic, very disabled, helpless and alone. It was hard to see that. I wanted to track their families down and yell at them when I heard they seemed to have no one.

Institutions always feel like timeless, placeless places to me, impersonal and eerie in a sense. There’s a lot going on but seemingly little warmth or connectedness. However if you’re there long enough they start to seem more human. Such was the case at the nursing home. I have heard the denizens of nursing homes described as “limp, faceless people in wheel chairs.” It really offended me. It isn’t true. The first time you see someone wheeled into the lobby who seems listless and unaware maybe it seems scary. Maybe they seem practically dead to some people? Lean into the experience, move toward them and not away and like me maybe you’ll find out there is a person there with a lot more going on than you thought. Maybe they are nonverbal or have trouble holding their head up or they’re babbling but that doesn’t mean they can’t receive or even express love. In fact a lot of them had such a need to love that the staff gave them baby dolls to hold. I saw several people carrying baby dolls.

A lady stopped me in the hall and told me how tired she was. “Please I’m so tired. Can you find me a bed?” I didn’t know where her room was and nobody around me knew. So I led her to a vacant room and tucked her into bed. She thanked me. “I worked so hard today,” she said. I said, “I know. You rest now.” I thought to myself that she had probably worked hard all of her life.

One day at lunch I was told to go and hand feed the people at a certain table if they needed it. I sat next to one lady who seemed pretty out of it. I greeted her but I couldn’t get her attention. So I scooped up some food in a spoon and held it up to her mouth. She looked at me and then grabbed a spoon, scooped up some food, and held it up to my mouth. I laughed. “Well you showd ME,” I told her. Apparently she could eat on her own if she wanted to.

I met a saintly man during that few days who became a friend. His name was Jim. I’ve written about him before.

I decided during those days that I was not going to work in a nursing home. The pay was only a couple dollars more an hour than minimum wage. I wanted the opportunity to spend more time with people I helped. I also like a less rushed kind of day.
However, I would go back many times to that nursing home. I took my final exam there. But I also spontaneously went over there to visit because it made me happy. if I was in a sad mood I would stop by and hang out in the lobby and watch a checker game. Or just hug people. Or go pray a rosary and have some coffee with my friend Jim.
Going there always made my day.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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Abbess Hildegard

Born in 1098, the tenth child of her family and dedicated as a tithe to a monastery of Benedictine nuns at the age of eight, St Hildegard grew up to be an extraordinary and holy woman. She was a mystic, a poet, a composer of unique, soaring liturgical music so different from the plain chant of the time. St. Hildegard was the author of books, music, and plays. As a  Benedictine Abbess she communicated with Bishops and Popes. She was a popular public speaker at a time women were normally not allowed to teach or speak. Abbess Hildegard was a prophet, an adviser, an influencer of her time. 

Her colorful mandala like art, not created by herself but overseen by her, represented her visions of the Trinity, and other Heavenly realities. The paintings often have a multi-layered appearance leading the eye to a central space containing a symbol. Looking at them makes me feel like I’m  seeing into another world or a into a great depth. 

Her  illustrated book Scivias describes  her mystical visions  and the interpretations of them she heard from God. It was written in 1151. She begins it with her experience of God commanding  her to write it. It is still available now as are other works of hers which ranged from the botanical to the medicinal, to the  theological. Her exquisite music has been performed for centuries.. Her musical play, Ordo virtutum, or Play of the Virtues, may well be the oldest known morality play. It is beautiful but you may jump when in the middle of the serene vocals, the wild discordant  voice of Satan interrupts the song unexpectedly for a moment. I have listened to it so many times but it still startles  me. Otherwise her songs are pure ethereal loveliness. You might start with The Origin of Fire (no devil voice,) or A feather on the Breath of God which sounds as poetic and pretty as the title.

St. Hildegard’s world view, like her poetry, was lush, verdant, filled with rich, vivid imagery. She was deeply in tune with nature and the divine as expressed in creation. She was profoundly  Incarnational, at once earthy and luminous in her spirituality and writing. 

Here is Viridissima Virga, a hymn she wrote in honor of Mary 

“ O branch of freshest green,

O hail! Within the windy gusts of saints

upon a quest you swayed and sprouted forth.

When it was time, you blossomed in your boughs—

“Hail, hail!” you heard, for in you seeped the sunlight’s warmth

like balsam’s sweet perfume.

For in you bloomed

so beautiful a flow’r, whose fragrance wakened

all the spices from their dried-out stupor.

And they all appeared in full viridity.

 Then rained the heavens dew upon the grass

and all the earth was cheered,

for from her womb she brought forth fruit

and  the birds of the sky

     have nests in her.

Then was prepared that food for humankind,

the greatest joy of feasts!

O Virgin sweet, in you can ne’er fail any joy.

All this Eve chose to scorn.

But now, let praise ring forth unto the Highest!”

Hildegard possessed unusual wisdom and compassion. People of every class came to her for medical advise, healing remedies, wise counsel, spiritual help or prayers. At times she even delivered babies. 

She was a Renaissance woman before the Renaissance, a polymath, someone brilliant in many subjects and incredibly creative. 

Her faith was absolute. When she was sure she was doing Gods will she was literally unmoveable. She ran into some trouble with religious authorities for burying a sinner who had been excommunicated on the holy grounds of her monastery. She insisted the man had confessed and received absolution and communion. She was not believed by the Bishop. She was ordered to have the man’s body removed. She refused.  Her sisters stood by her. She and they were placed under an interdict which meant they could not sing the Liturgy  of the Hours or receive the Sacraments. It was basically a mass excommunication. Hildegard became very ill in her spiritual anguish and could not leave her bed. When the Bishop sent six men to remove her, she became so heavy they could not, no matter how many worked together to lift her, be moved at all. It was considered a sign from God. 

The young man’s body remained where it had been buried. 

St. Hildegard Abbey, also known as St. Hildegardis Abbey, is located in Eibingen, along the Rhein river in Germany.  It was founded by Saint Hildegard  in 1165. It is still functioning and is visited by pilgrims from all over the world devoted to her and interested in her life and work. . 

Strangely she was not canonized  for more than 800 years after her death. Finally on May 10th, 2012 Pope Benedict XVI did so though she had been already widely regarded and locally venerated as a Saint after her death in 1179. This lapse was because the necessary paperwork was lost en route to the Vatican when her cause was first undertaken.  Pope Alexander III ordered the witnesses of her life and miracles to be gathered and interviewed again but somehow no one ever did so. 

Maybe the delay was because we need this brilliant Saint to arrive in our consciousness now in these times we live in. Who doesn’t need a beautiful vision, remarkable and holy art, gorgeous music and vivid poetry, showing us a spirit  that is unique in beauty with the ability to open our eyes in new ways to the glory and splendor of God? I think we all need that right now. 

Pope Benedict XVI elevated St. Hildegard  to the well deserved status of Doctor of the Church on October 7 of 2012 because of “her holiness of life and the originality of her teaching.” She is one of only four women Doctors of the Church along with St. Teresa of Avila, St. Catherine of Sienna and St.Therese of Lisieux. 

After Abbess Hildegard’s death the  nuns  of her monastery reported seeing her luminous figure several times carrying a bright light through their monastery. She was radiant and she was chanting. 

We celebrate St. Hildegard of Bingen on September 17. 

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Red


Red had an easy laugh; open and free 

He laughed at himself because he was funny, 

And at the world because it was his playground and he loved when it surprised him.

At The Eagle Newspaper pressroom

Red was irreplaceable 

Ingenious 

An out of the box thinker who loved to save the day. 

He liked telling pressman history and showed me how to fold the paper hats they used to wear in the old days to protect their hair from ink. 

He was proud of his work. 

Red had endurance


Working long hours until the job was done. 

I hardly ever saw him not covered with grease and ink. 

He was often seen eating refied beans out of the front pocket of his uniform. 

Red was a hard worker but a rebel 

Full of mischief although he understood honor 

A little crazy though he had his own wisdom. 

He would have made a good pirate. 

Great in an emergency Red had the presence of mind to laugh and take a sweeping bow when his hat caught on fire. 

He was a gentleman who smiled at the ladies, opened doors for us, always ready with a compliment “You smell good!” 

Red was kind, believing in love. 

Red was a wild man.

Red could fix anything 

Blow up anything

Get into anything 

Race anything. 

He had a theatrical sense of humor; coming to work dressed in a sarape and sombrero, maracas in hand.

It was a national immigrant walk out day but those in the mail room were not allowed to participate under threat being fired. Red and Bob harassed the manager all day yelling “No worky Monday” on their behalf. Loudly they sang in fake Spanish their made up Tejano music making said employees screech with laughter and take pictures.

And who could forget Bob and Red’s mock strip tease routine in their tool belts when they popped out of a cardboard cake for that mail room crumudgen on his birthday? 

Red was accident prone.

Once accidentally peeling off the top of an Eagle truck under a bridge. We had a picture of him shrugging dramatically at the scene, smile intact.

Red was the most believable Gun Smoke cowboy and on alternate years, tie dye hippie, at The Eagle Halloween parties, always in character with memorable lines off the cuff

Red always had something inappropriate to say to make us shake our heads and laugh.

Red believed in peace but he didn’t mind stirring up a little trouble now and then.

Red was a dare devil we were sure would go out in a blaze of glory one day.

Red loved his six Yorkies with all his heart maybe especially Chester the rattlesnake fighter. 

He loved his kids and spoke of them often. 

He married in his teens and stayed with his wife until her death, often writing on face book afterward, that he would love her forever.  

Red tattle tailed on my daughter but also defended her to me, reminding me she was a good girl. 

Red made everything he touched and every place he inhabited into art. Things that dangled, things that drove, things you weren’t sure about. He was an unusual yet somehow traditional decorator. Odd keepsakes and knick knacks you couldn’t mistake for anyone else’s’ filled every available space of his house. 

Red had a quick mind and a ready wit.

Once he fixed a dirt bike in the woods with a rock.

At The Eagle Red is legend, someone we’re proud we knew. 

Red repaired my rosaries with love though he made cracks about it the whole time. 

Red loved the press crew as his brothers. 

He was there for my husband when he was dying, racing him around in his wheelchair for “one last ride.” 

He said he and the press crew wanted to heal my broken heart. 

Well they did. 

You helped a lot Red.

Red was a good friend to all of us. 

Red was reckless, adventurous, a lover of danger but he could be a sage at times, cautioning me against resentment. 

If he left us with a message maybe it would be a kindly but funny warning like the one he spray painted on a barrel of toxic waste the guys were stacking on the dock to be taken away; bad shit do not eat.” 

Red would tell us to forgive, to let things go and not to ever let hate settle in our hearts to embitter us. 

He would tell us to live, love and be free.

Don’t eat  bad shit that will damage your well being and the priceless gift of joy. 

I don’t think Red  will just “rest in peace.”

Too much to do.

God will have to start breaking stuff to keep Red occupied. 

We love you Red. 

In the great beyond

You do you. 

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