A Letter to My Mother's Priest

Dear Father,

I have been acting as chauffeur and attending your Church with my elderly mother for a couple of months now. I sat inside, for a few weeks, until I felt that I was offending those around me by not sitting, standing and kneeling at the appropriate times and not reciting along with the congregation. When one woman glared at me, I knew I had to move. I now listen either on the back steps or in the hallway leading to the classrooms.

I am not a Catholic. But, I can see the beauty and love in the people who attend. I can understand how ritual and reverence gives humanity a deeper connection to Source and to their community. Also, I can see and feel the love within your heart, and I always appreciate your sermons. I once shook your hand and said "you are a good man" - because I can feel that you are truly filled with love.

What I don't understand is why the Vatican and the church's hierarchy insist on continuing to separate the people - who are really manifestations of God - FROM God. The recitations repeated by the congregation only seem to add to that separation. I sense a real dichotomy, between your sermons and the rituals and rules that you must follow, in order to comply with the diocese and Rome.

You see, I believe that we are all worthy. We are all God. We have all of the answers inside of us - there is no need to go outside to one day hope to find God. Having people say that they are not worthy and calling themselves "sinners" only brings feelings of fear and negativity to the soul, which contains the God spark. I understand why Jesus did what he did. But, his message was distorted. As a scholar, I'm sure you know how many times the words in the Bible were translated and misinterpreted. Entire chapters were hidden or discarded. The power of women was thwarted.(I must say, I am happy to see a feminine presence on your alter, though). All, in order to control the populace.

Again, though, I must say that I don't sense the negativity in you. In fact, I only see love and joy when you greet the congregation after the service. It warms my heart to see you talk to the small children.

My mother would be mortified if she knew I were writing this letter to you. She was raised Catholic and left the church but came back. Organized religion never "took", with me. This is a great shame in her heart. I wish it were not so, and that she would understand that I feel God's presence every moment I am alive.

I dreamed about you and the Church last night and awoke feeling it was time to write this letter.

Take care of yourself, Father, for you are a shining star.

This is a Singing Telegram

I cannot believe I still remember the words to an annoying singing telegram I used to perform for the Melody-Gram Singing Telegram company of Harrisburg, PA nearly 30 years ago. I Googled the name recently, and it seems there are several Melody-Gram businesses across the US. I kind of doubt they are affiliated with the one I worked for, in the 1980's. But, you never know. In between my stints in road bands, I was an associate at J.C. Penney's, in the men's accessories department, and when I wasn't there, I was carrying helium balloons, silk roses and a little clip-board with the lyrics of the personalized tunes I belted out, acapella, for surprised (and occasionally humiliated) victims - er, recipients.

I probably answered an ad in the Patriot News to get the gig. I remember climbing up a flight of stairs into a tiny office and singing "Happy Birthday" to a rather nerdy-looking man wearing Bermuda shorts, a plaid short-sleeved shirt, black socks and loafers. I got the gig. In fact, for a little while, I was the only employee. To do my job, I wore a black skirt, white blouse (with a ruffled Peter-Pan collar), red suspenders, a red clip-on bow-tie and a bowler hat. I carried a black cane and was also instructed to rouge my cheeks with round red dots. This was called "The Charlie Chaplain costume". My other costume was for the "Bee Gram". Again, I wore a bowler hat but this one had antennae with black ping pong balls suspended on them. I sported a yellow and black striped shirt and put a big black ball on my nose. The "bee grams" were special, because I was required to "buzz" the middle verse of the song, instead of singing it. I had no sense of shame or public humiliation, in those days!

The owner of the company, Rob K., wrote all of his own telegrams. He changed the lyrics to well-known tunes, such as The Can Can or Jada or Danny Boy, to fit the special occasions, most often, birthdays. But, we had customized songs for sweethearts, mothers and fathers day and holidays. If I didn't know the tune, he'd sing it to me until I got it right. Before performing, I'd stop by the little office, in costume, pick up my balloons, the telegram and the customer's name and address and then head out into the city. Luckily, I lived close by and had a car. Once in a while, Rob would drive me to a nighttime job, so I would have a safe escort. I was always surprised that he listened to a police scanner as we traveled down the highway. When it was showtime, I was fearless as I strode into law offices or banquet halls or even on to the stage of a local dinner theater, to sing my songs. The people usually blushed or giggled as I sang. I mean, it is kind of embarrassing now that I think of it. Sometimes I sang into microphones but mostly, it was just a one-on-one or small group gathering.

I think I was paid about $10 or $15 per gig. It helped pay the bills, for sure. Plus, it was fun. And once, I even got to sing for a manager at Penney's, with the entire staff watching. They didn't know I had a second job and were a little stunned. Most didn't know that I was also a singer.

Melody-Gram grew and Rob K. had more ideas for costumes and characters. He went all out and bought a big "Miss Piggy" outfit, complete with full facial mask, purple dress and long-sleeve gloves. I only wore that outfit, once. On the dinner theater stage. I had to hold the mouth open with one hand, so the audience could hear what I was singing to the actor being "honored". Rob ALSO dressed as Miss Piggy sometimes and sang in falsetto. Thankfully, the budding business was growing and several more messengers were hired.

Towards the end of my stint, my sister Linda accompanied me to Rob's house to pick up an extra large bundle of balloons. He and his wife lived in an apartment not too far from the office. As we were leaving, Linda whispered to me, "that's the biggest fire extinguisher I've EVER seen" - as she pointed to the enormous silver canister next to the wall by the front door.

Here are the words to the birthday song, sung to the tune of the Can Can:

This is a singing telegram
To say how glad I am
That you are celebrating I'm relating
Best Wishes on your day of birth
I can't express my mirth
You are so special on this day.

Happy Birthday
One Year Older but don't doubt
Happy Birthday
Time to blow the candles out
Happy Birthday
Cake and ice cream all about
Happy Birthday
you'll have more without a doubt

So just relax and have some fun
The party's just begun
It's time to kick your heels and you will feel
So glad that your birthday once again has come
Its not time to be glum
You are so special on this day!

(and, if it were a "Bee Gram", I had to "buzz" another chorus).

Now, I may have mixed up the lyrics just a little bit - my high school friend, Jill, still remembers the words too, since she also worked for the company. But, just as the business was really taking off, suddenly we all stopped hearing from Rob K. Everybody was perplexed and we had come to depend on the extra money. A few weeks later, we saw his name appear in the Patriot News. Seems he had been caught at the scene of several late-night fires at local churches. He was convicted and sent to prison as a serial arsonist. Not sure what his vendetta was, against organized religion.

I was sorry to see that job end. He was always decent to me, plus, he was the only boss I ever had who gave me a Christmas bonus.

Stealthy Normalcy

I am now back online, thanks to a little cigarette-lighter-sized device from my phone company that plugs into my computer. I notice that my entire mood has changed, since I am able to once again scroll through Facebook and listen to music and check my email several times a day. I feel hopeful and happy again. I have come to depend on the community I've developed via these bits and bytes. I look forward to the new photos of adorable animals and left-wing political statements from folks I know and also from those I've never met. New and old music via You Tube and other services soothes my soul and provides inspiration. Even though I am still mostly isolated here at mother's house, I feel like I'm part of the larger world again. Without actual human contact, I am starting to feel alive again!

Mother does not know I have the Internet back. It might throw her into a rage And, even though she does not have to pay for it, she will not be happy that I am footing the bill and I can expect a series of lectures about my "financial foolishness". So, I must keep this form of global connection secret from her, until the time is right. But, I am feeling free again!

Still no job or steady income, but I say my daily affirmations "I am open to abundance, money easily flows to me" and "all my needs are taken care of before I even ask - I am safe" daily. Also, "I have a comfortable, reliable, fuel-efficient vehicle". Still no form of transportation to call my own. But, I have been starting to ride a bicycle agian (after decades) - beginning very slowly and gingerly. Need to take it easy, for my back. But, it might provide me with a way to the land of the living. Slowly working on this. Plus, balancing on 2 wheels is strengthening my back and core muscles. And, my lungs feel stronger, too. Believe me, I am sick and tired of being flat on the floor and in pain!

So nice to feel hopeful again! God bless the Internet!

But, I must remember to be gentle with myself.

Mowed the lawn

Just a quickie, in response to yesterday's post. Got the guy from across the street to start the lawn mower. No flirting or pretense of helplessness was required. Can't believe this healing body of mine was able to mow the entire top section of the lawn. A push-mower, not a riding mower. Mother sat outside and watched as I mowed the front yard. She pointed to spots with her cane and made me re-do several areas. The weather was beautiful and I did not let her critical perfectionism get to me (too much - I was muttering, under my breath, though).

How Do I Turn on the Damned Lawn Mower???

As I've been getting stronger and am now able to walk longer and longer distances (nearly 3 miles!), I would like to be able to help around the house more. What needs to be done most, is mowing the lawn. A cherubic-looking 13-year old boy named John stopped by the house last week and for $15, he was going to mow the yard. I said yes (but perhaps I should have negotiated a better price). However, it rained most of the week and we cancelled him for the time being. When I suggested to mother that I call him to come back, she informed me that it was my responsibility to pay him the $15, since mowing the job was MY job. Funny, she never told me that before.

Now that I'm feeling better, I'm perfectly willing to do this. However, I can't get the blasted lawn mower started. I have tried several times - but a body needs to have exceptionally strong arms and upper body strength in order to yank the starter at the correct speed. I'm going to have to ask a man from the neighborhood to help me. I think my sister, Linda, has done this before. She is so much more forthright than I, but I'm getting better. "Please, Mr. Nice Man, could you pull this starter for me? I'm such a poor, helpless female and can't do it all by myself..." (although I don't think she's used those exact words, that is her sentiment - Linda is also a much better 'flirt' than I).

At any rate, I'm glad I'm getting stronger. Still using a back brace (from the drugstore) and still have to take Tylenol and the occasional 1/2 a Vicadin for the pain. Especially after sitting or driving for a long time.