Craftitude: a mini biography from glue to duct tape

My name is Mary and I am a random crafter/gifter (All together now: "Hi Mary!")

Maybe it's a pathetic need for approval. I like to think it's because I'm generous, and even when I don't have a lot of fundage, I sometimes have cute ideas and time on my hands. And sometimes hormonal insomnia.

As a kid, I didn't do a whole lot of crafting that I can remember. One horrible memory involves a gift-wrap covered shoe box that I thought the recipient could use to store treasures inside. She looked at it and said, "A BOX??? You're giving me a box?" I didn't craft for awhile after that.

I danced ballet and tap and jazz starting at age nine, when my family moved from Missouri to Maryland. I performed with my class, my sisters, and a close girlfriend in recitals and plays and school dance productions. At age 16, I stopped when my family moved from Maryland to Oregon. I think dance was my craft during that time.

The big craft projects of my teenage years involved pictures of rock stars collaged onto things - I remember a lampshade. Also a small barrel onto which I glued a collage of photos of The Rolling Stones, and in which I stored rolled-up or tall and slender things - posters, gift wrap, umbrellas, canes. And my teenage bedroom was itself a constantly morphing giant collage of posters and memorabilia.

My late teens and twenties were craft-free. I was too busy partying. But I did put together some killer outfits, and was living on my own for the first time, so I got to decorate. Maybe I was crafting an image. I also worked in retail, so I got my crafty rocks off creating displays.

From my late twenties to mid-thirties, not only did I get to craft a wedding, but also a succession of nicer homes with my husband. 

In my later thirties, when I wanted a baby and couldn't have one, I channeled my frustration into decorating light switch plates. I worked full-time and also volunteered, but my then-husband worked long hours. I thought it would be fun to sell the switchplates in the boutiques frequented by tourists in our little Colorado mountain town. I made labels with light bulbs on them that said "Me and My Bright Ideas." I got a booth at a craft fair and sold maybe five. No stores wanted them. My friends and family were the lucky recipients of my crafts that year. I still sometimes see them in the homes of sentimental people who love me and apparently don't care much about decorating.

I divorced, remarried, and finally had that baby. And couldn't sleep. Since it was Halloween time and I had tons of baby food jars. I filled cleaned baby food jars with candy corn, put skeleton fabric on the lids, and mailed them to my family in Oregon. Jars. I mailed jars.

Later that season, I graduated to plum butter. I didn't mail those, but I did give them as gifts to local friends. And sold a ton at the craft fair.

Encouraged, I went on a beeswax bender. I made rolled beeswax candles and poured beeswax ornaments. They smelled yummy and were well-received, and had the bonus feature of being mailable. I sold those at the craft fair too, and a local gift shop even carried and sold a lot of them.

I also painted little plaques, but I am not a good painter, and it required too much patience.

After that, I apparently slept for awhile. Or was too busy with other things. Or the baby became more interesting or needy. She is a damn interesting kid.

Also, I was a children's librarian, and got to do tons of crafty things with the kids. And brought the baby to work at the library with me. It was the favorite time of my life (so far). But because of my husband's work, we moved to another little mountain town, this time in Oregon.

Quite suddenly I became a single mom, so I was occupied with redefining my life and making a new home just for the two of us. I also realized that I was just the single mom of one now, instead of two - the other being my former spouse, but that's a different, slightly cattier story.

I worked for a time as a school secretary, and then I found a job with a mentoring program. One of the things I got to do was come up with activities for the mentors and mentees to do. The mentor pairs made duct tape wallets. Pouches, really, more of a clutch. I discovered that I really loved duct tape. All the colors and patterns. The clutches were unique and useful - and easy to make. Probably everyone I knew at the time got one from me as a gift.

In 2006, I moved back to the Portland area to be closer to my family, and to give my daughter better educational and cultural opportunities. Also, for the ocean. If Colorado had my family and the ocean, I would still live there. Well, and if I hadn't been ripped away from my life there from a husband who moved us to Oregon and then left us. Sorry - tangent. It still chaps my hide a little.

In November of 2010, my car died. I had a decent job, but I was working paycheck to paycheck. As a stereotypical struggling single mom, I was screwed. I didn't want to ask my parents for help. I ask them for help enough (but I always pay them back).

This was before crowdfunding. I posted a note on Facebook, and emailed all of my friends and family who weren't on Facebook, boldly suggesting that if everyone I knew mailed me $20, I would have enough for a down payment for a new car. As a thank-you gift, I would make each donor a duct tape clutch. I called this personal fundraiser "A New Car in our Clutches." I raised $1100, and found a great car that came with great monthly payments until I was able to pay it off.

Since then, there have been a couple of times when I wanted to raise some extra cash and have sold them to friends again. At one point, I made 30 duct tape clutches - one for each of the training facilitators whom I supported at the educational nonprofit where I now worked. All of my daughter's teachers have gotten them. It's kind of become my "thing".

A couple of times I have volunteered with groups of families of kids with cancer, showing them how to make the clutches. Just to give them something distracting and fun and creative to do. Several friends have asked me (and paid me!) to craft duct tape wallets with their kids and their kids' friends for birthday parties.

I love what the duct tape clutches represent to me. Color and fun and utility and community. Generosity and uniqueness. Right now, I am preparing to make five of them for a friend and her family. I am waiting to find out what their favorite colors are.

Just this morning, I woke up with the brilliant idea that I want to make salt and sugar scrubs in pretty jars for people I love. What is it with me and jars?

Creating and giving make me happy.

Sudden Winter

Yesterday I saw a hummingbird searching for sustenance on unseasonably early blossoms.

Today there is a blizzard, and I wonder about that little bird.

A Love Letter to My Valentine Date

I have known Kim for probably 25 years. We used to work together in the corporate offices of a NW retailer. Despite the fact that I have married and divorced twice and moved a dozen or so times in the interim years - five of those years in Colorado, and another four in a BF little town five hours' drive from Portland, we have remained good friends. We rarely talk on the phone. We have only snail mailed, emailed, and had lunches, or dinner or movie dates. I admire that she eschews Facebook, preferring "real" relationships.

Kim has always been very independent and stable. She has been with the same employer for probably 30 years, and lived in the same house she bought at least as many years ago. She knows, as I do, that it takes a helluva man to be better than none. Never married, she is one of the most self-aware and successful women I know.

She always looks put together. Perfect hair and makeup, always trim, and fashionably dressed. And no matter how slovenly I feel I look, she tells me I am a gorgeous goddess.

Almost every year she throws a huge themed birthday party for herself, and asks guests to bring gifts to benefit a charity of her choosing. One year it was a "bridal shower" for her and her "fiance" - a Mr. P.W. Herman. The next was a "baby shower" for the same. And the following year was a "divorce shower". Last year was an Alice in Wonderland costume party. All invitations include gift suggestions for the nonprofit she has chosen to benefit. Money is always the right size, but children's books and clothes, appliances, baby items, and more are requested. Of course, half the fun is watching her open these items and knowing that we are committing badass do-goodery in the name of fun.

She has volunteered with the same literary nonprofit for 23 years, but always credits me for her good works, saying that if I hadn't turned her on to the group, she would never have started.

Even though she has no children of her own, she is the penultimate "cool aunt", having maintained friendships with her friends' kids, going so far as to remain close to the kids even if or when the initial adult friendship has run its course.

When my daughter Eva was 3, because I lived out of town and rarely visited, I asked
Kim to host a tea party for Eva and her same-aged cousin Eliza, and for children of other friends. The fact that she did so without even thinking this was an unusual request speaks volumes to her generosity. It was a circus-themed affair - and hats were encouraged. The day was so warm that Eva took off her party dress and ended up in her panties only, and no one said a word. We all wanted to be only in our panties.

When we were worried that Mitt Romney might be elected President, we vowed to run away to Canada as a lesbian couple with my daughter.

Back in November, we were having one of our periodic lunches. Since I lost my job in September, she insists on paying, and often includes Eva. Lately, every time we see each other, we schedule the next date. We are both single, so we thought it would be fun to make our next date for Valentine's Day. Nothing fancy, maybe dinner and a movie.

Last night I got the following email: "I am really looking forward to this Mary...I am not sure if we ever talked about this, but Valentine’s Day is MY favorite holiday (birthday second) So what fun to share it with someone I admire and love as a true Goddess, you. Frankly, I think celebrating the evening with girlfriends is a truer sentiment for the day: the souls' connection to one another."

I have nothing further to add. How lucky am I?

A (temporarily?) Poor Person's Polemic

How very humbling it is to find myself - a former executive assistant - queuing up for free groceries at the local food pantry. The last time I was here was a year ago Thanksgiving, making a donation of a turkey for a needy family. Now my daughter and I are the needy family.

Two and a half years ago, I decided to take a summer off. I hadn’t had a summer off in 35 years. A dear friend had died and my mortality was staring me in the face. I had a little cash, and reasonable reassurance that I would be welcome to return to my employer at the end of the summer. It didn't turn out that way.

Instead, I desperately accepted under-employment for $30K a year (which isn’t bad money, but $10K less than I made before). I was a customer service rep at an “online movies and DVDs by mail” call center. I tried to tell myself that it was fun - I was helping people watch movies! Most of my customers were very nice. In the “very nice” category, I would even go as high as 80%. But have you ever heard that expression, "A hundred atta-boys is negated by one aw-shit?”

Things that in my mind are not worth getting apoplectic about include: repeatedly calling up your “online movies and DVDs by mail” provider to badger the rep because your DVD took two days to arrive by mail instead of one. Cussing out the person on the other end of the line, because - since you didn’t update your credit card - the monthly charge did not go through, and now you don’t have any money to cover the bill and can’t stream. Screaming at the person who is trying to help you when they try to explain that it is NOT the website’s “fault” that you don’t have a decent internet connection.

So maybe I wasn’t too upset when I was let go after two years. I was even pleasantly surprised when I applied for unemployment benefits. $351 a week, which translates to $295 a week after taxes. My preteen daughter and I had just moved, thank goodness. We were forced out of the old place because the owners were divorcing and had to sell. So we had to pay for deposits, and a moving van. It seems like we can never get ahead.

The new place is definitely a downgrade (a friend recently referred to it as Section 8 housing). Our unit is about 1000 square feet and the complex is old (but “updated!”). It’s not the new construction and the 1800 square feet we have enjoyed in the past. I had to really “sell” it to my daughter, because we have lived in very nice townhomes since we sold our little cottage in a tiny burg about eight years ago to move to the city. We are nearer to my big, fun, obnoxious family, and the schools and cultural opportunities are so much better.

We fortunately live at the edges of my daughter’s very excellent middle school district, and there is an indoor pool at the “clubhouse.” Still, it’s not cheap – about $1175 a month, which includes rent, renter’s insurance, a storage area, covered parking, and water/sewer/garbage, which varies. A la carte really adds up. If it weren’t for child support of about $600 a month, we’d be totally screwed.

So a little less than $1800 a month minus rent leaves us with about $600 a month for food and fuel and the rest of the bills: car insurance, internet, electricity, natural gas, and phone. Fortunately, my car is paid for. Needing car maintenance sets us back in a big way – ditto a doctor visit for my daughter (I am just super grateful that her dad’s health insurance covers her, even though I have none for myself).

Things are squeaky tight. We don’t have “regular” TV, but we get lots of DVDs from the local library - the library where I can’t even get an interview for a part-time job, even though I was an assistant library director in a previous life.

So we get “food boxes” every 4 weeks from the local food bank. There are usually 4 or 5 liquor boxes filled with a variety of things, at least 1/3 of which we would never normally eat.

The mostly elderly volunteers at the food pantry are extremely sweet. If I make any sort of self-deprecating remark (because I am embarrassed to be getting food aid), they say, “We’re here to help, not to judge.” Some of them know my parents, since it happens to be their home parish, which is a little mortifying in itself. And my parents have been graciously helpful by slipping me a “little something” here and there.

So far I am concentrating on applying for jobs that pay $15 an hour or more - up to six applications a day, many of which require a bachelor’s degree, which I don't have. But I apply anyway, because I have work and life experience up the wazoo. When I’m not applying for jobs, I’ve been spending time with my dad, who at 79 is not only a self-employed arbitrator, but also maintains a 20-acre horse farm with his wife. He sometimes needs secretarial help for his arbitration business, and physical labor as well around the farm, which I am grateful to do – and I LOVE to drive the tractor.

Mom sometimes needs help around the house, or errand-running, since by choice she doesn’t drive any more. I take her grocery shopping every other Tuesday because that is “20%-off-for-seniors” day at her favorite store. We joke that she really goes to check out the old guys, and I am her “wing man.”




I'm really glad to have this time with my parents, because they're aging, and – let’s face it – may not be around for long. Many of my friends’ parents are already gone. Also we usually have a lot of fun together.

With the little extra I get here and there, I supplement the Food Pantry food we get. Why? Well, let me put it this way: it’s not easy to eat well when you’re poor.

The very first time we got boxes from the food pantry, I was newly unemployed and felt very vulnerable and I cried with gratitude. There was meat – steak and salmon even, and chicken – and some fresh produce, and cheese – good, “real” cheese, not “government” cheese. Of course, there were a lot of canned goods: beans, veggies, fruit, tuna, and peanut butter. We got milk, butter, and eggs, and even some really yummy “gourmet” items, like scones and frozen enchiladas. And there is always a “snack size” baggie of coffee, which I imagine little old ladies dole out of big cans, although the intake lady at the food pantry always points out, “It’s Starbucks!”

There is usually a single roll of cheap toilet paper, and a bar of soap of a brand that I would normally never use – Irish Spring, or Dial (I’ve had an aversion to Dial since my mom used it to wash my mouth out when I was a gutter-mouthed kid – not that it helped!). There’s strong-smelling powder laundry detergent, in a little baggie usually nestled in a box next to another little baggie full of sugar. I wonder if people ever confuse the two items and imagine how easily one could ruin their tiny allotment of coffee with detergent mistaken for sugar.

I am super grateful for the food, but the bulk of is starch: ramen noodles, cereal, pasta, rice, oatmeal, frozen bread, and sometimes cookies. That first week, there was even a box of Ho-Hos, which amused the heck out of me for some reason. We will never ever ever run out of rice, oatmeal, and beans. My daughter loves pasta, but there is often no protein to supplement it, unless I sprinkle some cheese on it.

That first time must have been a banner week at the food pantry, because it has not been as bountiful since then. Very little meat and cheese. There’s been ground chicken, which has bits of bone in it, I think. I reminds me of the "pink slime" that was all over the internet about a year ago. I used it once with Hamburger Helper. My daughter said it was fine, but the grittiness nauseated me, and I felt like I was serving her Soylent Green. I have thrown away any that we have received since then, but it’s not like you can pick and choose what you get.

Once I made a huge pot of chili with some ground turkey that was out of date, but I figured it must have been frozen before that date. A few hours after having a very small bowl, I became violently ill. You know that worst-case scenario picture you have of vomiting into a bucket while you’re sitting on the toilet with liquefied bowels? Yeah, it was like that.

Just yesterday I picked up our fourth every-four-weeks allotment. As in previous weeks, there were wrinkly peppers, potatoes with eyes, and other moldy “fresh” produce. My thumb impaled a rotten onion.

There’s always a can or two of chili or beef stew or pork and beans that I set aside to give to my local ramp hobo. Ya know – the one who holds a sign on the freeway ramp? Maybe I’ll even carry a can to give to the smartass street kid who occasionally accosts me for change and yells at me for walking by. On second thought, it might be hurled at me, along with the inevitable invectives. Never mind.

We will not eat the margarine, the off-brand pot pies, nor the “all-natural veggie (cardboard) pizza” with the torn cellophane. Ditto the hardened baked goods and microwave popcorn. We don’t have a microwave. I reluctantly keep the tons of white rice – which is nutritionally void – because my daughter loves rice. But it’s a “last resort” food.

How hard must it be for a person on a special diet? Someone I know once pointed out that dietary restrictions are for rich people. If you have diabetes or gluten intolerance, being low-income is not for you. A couple of friends have asked why I don’t get food stamps? Unbelievably, we bring home too much money to qualify. Not that SNAP benefits will be around for much longer for all but the poorest anyway.

With any “extra” money I have, I fill in the blanks. Even though we get food boxes every four weeks, most of it is gone within two. And I have to buy toilet paper, toothpaste, moisturizer, remedies, band-aids, q-tips, feminine products, paper towels, baggies, shampoo, soap, dishwasher detergent, and fabric softener, although I go to the dollar store for most of those items.

I shop at the cheapest grocery store for juice and milk for my daughter, half and half for me (if I feel really extravagant!), yogurt and eggs (that dozen teeny tiny “USDA small” from the food box lasts maybe a week), and as much cheap cheese and meat as I can afford.

We sometimes need spices, oils, condiments, baking needs, and soup that isn’t generic chicken noodle or tomato, and cereal that isn’t generic Cheerios. And not-rotten fresh produce. Berries and nuts are now considered a delicacy in our home. I splurge on chocolate for my daughter, because it’s practically medicinal for a girl that age, and because I never want her to feel “poor.”

I used to be the person who would go to food bank events with a couple of cans of corn or green beans. When I have an income again, I will be the one who brings aseptic containers of real juice and Oregon Chai. I will bring Frappuccino and nuts and olives and oils and canned salmon and even fancy frozen food that is NOT past the due date. Because being poor is demoralizing. I have never been the person who gripes about what “welfare queens” buy with their SNAP cards. But if I had been that person before, I would be ashamed of it now.

When we’ve been flush, I’ve always donated money and goods and I have always volunteered – I am the original Badass Do-Gooder. I thought I would use this time out of work to volunteer, but aside from the endless searching and applying for jobs and helping my parents, I have no motivation, and sometimes don’t even want to shower or get out of bed. In the end, I usually do, because I don’t want my daughter to see me this way, although often when she is at school I have a good cry. Sometimes I cry in front of her. I can’t help it – I cry a LOT. My despair is exacerbated by menopause, and I have no insurance for my happy pills, but surely it’s better than keeping it in.

I have some savings, and a couple of retirement funds, but I have invested so that it is virtually impossible to touch those funds for many years without paying penalties, although I will if I have to. At the moment, I have the luxury of not having to take just “any” job, although I suspect I will become a lot less picky when I get to the last month of my benefits.




I am 52 years old, and I don’t relish the idea of spending the remainder of my working years in retail. The idea of retirement seems impossible at this point, but once I reach retirement age, my savings and retirement funds will make it easier.

Another aspect of our situation is the Judgy McJudgersons. I am not afraid to ask for help, but one person with whom I said I wanted to speak privately bullied me into asking her in front of her adult children. I was humiliated. And even though she had previously offered to buy me dinner, she still needed to get a dig in when the check came and she said sarcastically, “Well, since you’re destitute, I’ll pay for your $10 meal.” It’s the little indignities that count. One person unbelievably suggested I sell my car. She actually said, “You can’t be poor – you have a car.” Um, WHAT?

People have made comments like, “Can you really afford Starbucks?” even though I used a gift card. And even if I didn’t have a gift card? Kiss my ass! A $4 splurge is usually quite calculated on my end, and truly no one else’s business. I’m just grateful that I quit smoking a couple of years ago. The finger-pointers would have a field day with that one. I don’t dare advertise that I got a beauty school pedicure a couple of months ago. How lavish is that? And I cut my own hair now. Badly.

I’ve even gotten the hairy eyeball from strangers while at the Coinstar machine. Hey, I saved this change for many moons, and now I need it. Go back to your shopping, people – there’s nothing to see here. And I have never placed more faith in the lottery, silently bargaining with the Universe about all the good I would do if I could just win! Having that hope to nurture is worth the price of a ticket.

Still, there is beauty in all of this. My daughter took me to the movies with her birthday money from her granny, since going to the movies is definitely not in the budget. At first I resisted, but it was an exercise in grace for us both. We go to free events, and parks, and we live in a vital funky city, with lots of places to bring a picnic and soak up local atmosphere and people-watch for free.


We have a community of friends and family members who do nice things for us: I get taken to lunch or dinner every once in awhile, and I sometimes get slipped a twenty. One deposit of $50, and another of $100 recently showed up in my PayPal account unbidden, and I got $200 (gasp!) in Trader Joe’s gift cards in the mail the other day from a friend who has been where I am right now. A check for $150 came from a friend just in time for my daughter’s 13^th birthday. These are my guardian angels.

I’ve sold crafts for extra cash, and I know my friends pay me more for them than they would for a stranger’s. One friend took me to a concert the other night. Another friend came to visit from out of town and he told me my money was no good while we explored my hometown. He bought meals and even filled my gas tank.



My daughter’s older cousins give her snazzy hand-me-downs, and she is alternative enough to like thrift shopping for clothes. Very generous friends allowed us to live in their guest room for three months while we shopped for a new place after losing the previous one.



So many people have it worse than we do. And I am grateful to have resources to take advantage of. If anyone ever deigns to interview me, I can go to the local “Dress for Success” chapter to be outfitted and get my hair done. I haven’t bought clothes for myself in eons, although if I lost some weight, I would have a great wardrobe. Quitting smoking and sitting on my ass for two years as a customer service rep put on the weight, and I do my best to avoid the food pantry carbs. I try to keep moving, which also keeps the blues at bay.

Hopefully I will find an amazing job soon. Not like the last “better than nothing” job I had. We’ve never been well-off, but we did okay. It’s never easy to be a single parent. And we are still doing a lot better than many others.


I am not even going to address the politics of why things are the way they are. I just hope things get better. Even though she is young and she might change her mind, my daughter says she does not want children, and I am relieved to hear that. As much as I love her, if I knew what direction the world was headed before I had her, I don’t know if I would have been so eager to reproduce.

Meanwhile, I try to view this as a social experiment in grace, in humility, in trying to make do. We all have a story to share, and this is just a part of mine.

Free-Form Resume

What I Do Well:  Administrative Work, Cleverness, Common Sense, Creativity, Customer Service, Dependability, Diplomacy, Editing, Grammar, Honesty, Organization, Prioritizing, Relating, Writing

What I love: Art, Books, Collaboration, Community, Costuming, Creativity, Experiences, Helping, Kids, Laughter, Meditation, Movement, Movies, Music, Nature, Silliness, Talent, Travel, Words

Work I’ve Done: Admin Assistant, Avon Lady, Babysitter, Barista, Buyer's Assistant, Candlemaker, Cashier, Catering Assistant, Clothing Retailer, Cosmetics Manager, Editor, Executive Assistant, Gas Pump Jockey, Gentlewoman Farmer, Hallmark Goddess, House Cleaner, Librarian, Lovers’ Ware Rep, Magician's Assistant, Mentoring Program Assistant, Miss Mary the Story Lady, Netflix Rep, Newspaper Receptionist, Office Manager, Painter, Pharmacy Clerk, Pretzel Seller, Purveyor of Fine Duct Tape Accessories, Ranch Gatehouse Keeper, School Secretary, Short Order Cook, Software Tester, Software Trainer, VISTA Facilitator Contractor, Writer

Volunteer Projects: Badass Do-Gooders, Campaign Worker, CCD Teacher, Fred Meyer Volunteer Council, Klamath Crisis Center, Klamath Kid Center, Pagosa Women’s Club, Parish Council, Precinct Committeeperson, Red Cross, SMART (Start Making a Reader Today), V-Day

 Raves:

“Mary writes as well as I do, and I was an English teacher!” -Debbie, former boss

“She’s left a lot of happy people in her wake.” -Larry, former boss

“Mary can tell anyone in her own ‘Mary Way’ that we aren’t interested, or something may not be feasible, and make it sound like a compliment.” -Ed, former boss

“That girl could sell a towel to a fish.” -My brother Joe

"You should blog! You should blog! You should blog! You should blog! You should blog!"

I have heard this so often and every time I do I think of my neglected blog. Here we are five years later. I have decided to use this as an online diary. Following is what has transpired since I started this blog, and what I suspect I will be writing about going forward.

My daughter Eva is now 13 years old, in seventh grade, and 5'8" tall. She gets amazinger and amazinger every day. I still have no idea how I got to be so lucky. The fact that she is not only beautiful, but smart and talented and NICE - so very very NICE - is beyond my ken. Must be some sort of reverse psychology, because I have learned so much from her about how to treat people.

Teenagers and menopausal women are an interesting combination.

I am unemployed. I apply for about 30 jobs a week in what I consider to be my "field" - administrative support. Usually referred to as a "rock star" in the most annoying of the want ads for this particular job. I would prefer to work non-profit as opposed to corporate, but at the moment, having spent the past 5 months not working, I am getting a little freaked out and ready to take anything. This happened before - the first 6 months of the year 2006, and I barely had any nibbles. And in the last week of my 26 weeks of benefits, I received three job offers. Come on history - repeat yourself already!

It is probably a good time to think about changing careers - something that will sustain me into retirement. This week, my ideas include floral design and being a Fat Yoga Instructor.

We have moved three times in the past two years. The best thing that has come out of this is the decluttering of our lives. We are no longer owned by our stuff.

The person I loved the most and quite possibly "the one true love of my life" died in April of 2010. My brother's wife of 30 years died last year. They were the best and purest souls that we brought into our family and it really has been weighing on me, this mortality.

I am now 52, fatter than I have ever been, have been single for 3 years, and I am not allowing any of these things to define me. I still act like I am 8 years old, according to Eva.

When I am not applying for jobs, I have been doing things that please me. Walking, swimming, being outdoors when I can (I can't wait for the spring!), watching movies, reading, and writing. I have also been spending a lot of time with my aging parents, who are both 79 for the next month, until my dad turns 80.

I am going to garden this year. Finally. Getting sunburnt and having dirt in my fingernails sounds so good right now.

My daughter and I are going to start volunteering at the Audubon Society this year.

Traveling and experiencing things are my goals now.

I recently dumped Facebook. It has become a time suck and there is too much chaff to wade through in order to find the wheat. Virtual society is more and more people posting links to articles or inspirational quotes or funny pictures, and less and less of people talking about themselves. I want to have personal relationships. I want to talk to people and see people. I want to mail people birthday cards instead of posting things on walls. I would rather have 20 REAL friends than 200 electronic friends.

On Being Catholic

Anyone who knows me knows that I am as irreverent as they come. I am also fairly progressive and open-minded. And maybe that is why some people are surprised to learn that I am a practicing Catholic. Sometimes it surprises me too. I have kind of a love-hate relationship with the church. There are many things about which we disagree - don't get me started. I have been married twice, but never in church. I have also been divorced twice, and it could be a cause-effect thing, but that's water under the proverbial. I see the church as a member of my family, and you don't leave your family if you disagree. In this way I have made my peace.

What do I love about the church? The ritual, for starters. It's a comfort to know that no matter where I go, most Catholic masses are going to be pretty much the same. The repetition of certain prayers can be a soothing mantra. Plus I love the smells of incense and candles and the stories of saints. I admit I love the opulence of most churches. But I give very little money to the church, especially since there has been so much paid out to settle lawsuits with victims of abuse at the hands of priests, which sickens me. Instead of money, I give my time. For the past two school years, I have taught CCD, which stands for Confraternity of Christian Doctrine - a confusing name for Sunday School.

When my daughter Eva started asking questions about God and about how everything got here and what happens when we die, I realized that she needed a spiritual foundation. I thought the best thing to do would be to expose her to what I grew up with. I rarely took her to church when she was younger. I consider mass sacred - it's my time to be reflective and feed my inner self and I resent it when people bring loud squirming kids to church. But once Eva exhibited some curiosity, I knew it was time to fill her in on what I believe and expose her to at least part of how I came to believe it. In this way she began her own journey.

Last year, my sister Laura and I taught Eva and her cousin Eliza - Laura's daughter - and 20 other little first-grade heathens (may God have mercy on their souls) what they could digest, at their level, about what Catholics believe. The curriculum was surprisingly dogma-free. They learned how God created everything (let them question Creation later, like *I* did!), and simple Bible stories. We taught them prayers, and about the church community and the church year. We did the Holy Family on a Stick craft, and colored stained-glass windows. We talked about why we should be nice to each other, aka the Golden Rule, and why we should care for the Earth. Sometimes we watched a Veggie Tales movie. It was kind of charming and sweet, except when the little darlings tested our patience.

Second grade is a bigger deal. This is the year of First Confession (now known as Reconciliation), and First Communion. Sister Marianne teaches Eva and Eliza and their friends. I still teach, but I have a group of older kids who have yet to make their first confessions and communions. Third and fourth graders are a little more challenging - the know-it-alls have gained confidence by this age. But I divert it as best as I can by sassing it up a bit and making it fun. Example: when I taught them that "amen" means, "I believe", we embellished it a bit. We declare, "Amen, Baby! I believe!" Hey, faith can be sassy - I think God smiles when we do this.

The thing is, I don't really believe in confession, but it's a requirement before communion, and another thing for Eva to figure out on her own later. I explained it to my class this way: you need to clean your inner house before you invite Jesus in, in the form of communion. If later in life, Eva decides she wants to report her transgressions to someone to receive forgiveness and lighten her psychological load, I will not judge her. My personal take is that if I do something wrong that I regret, God knows I am sorry - and I am not going to do it again. There are many things that I have done that the church frowns upon, but I consider these things a difference of opinion. We agree to disagree.

Last month Eva made her first confession, which was very charming - she was all nervous and quite frankly searching for sins to confess. Please, how many sins can an 8-year-old commit? But we've all lied and disobeyed our parents, so I'm sure that's what they talked about - I didn't ask, confession is private. And nowadays you don't get away with just having a chat with a guy behind a wall - you must first prepare and pass an interview so that you know the import of what you are about to undertake. You have to know that reconciliation is a celebration of God's forgiveness, and what a sin is, and the difference between a sin and an accident - which explains intent. You must know The Law of Love, which is love God with your whole heart, mind and soul, and love your neighbor as yourself. The Act of Contrition must be memorized, and it's a long prayer. We ended up singing it to the tune of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", which worked like a charm.

Now on to First Communion. More things to study for another interview. Plus, there's the whole fancy dress and party thing. This is a big deal in our family, especially since Eva and Eliza are both doing it.

Eva's dad - who thinks the Catholic Church is the Great Satan and has never forgiven them for The Inquisition - bought her a confection of a dress last year, specifically for her first communion. I used to describe it as a mini wedding dress, until I realized it's actually more of a wedding cake of a dress. Sadly, it's used and has schmutz on the bodice which can't be cleaned. It's a killer play dress.

Eva has picked out her own dress. It isn't all white - the bodice is lavender and it has little lavender flower petals in the skirt, but she will wear a little white cape over it, and it's her *DREAM DRESS*.

Maybe Eva is already learning the secret to loving your faith: jazz it up a bit and make it your own.