The broken toy

As children bring their broken toys with tears for us to mend, I brought my broken dreams to God because he cares and he is my friend. But then, instead of leaving Him in peace to work alone, I hung around and tried to help with ways that were my own. At least, I snatched them back, and cried; "How could you be so slow?!"

"My child" he said, "What could I do. You never did let go."

I was born this way

Tonight's "Glee" episode was predicatable but yet inspirational. The assignment for the week for the Gleeks was to acknowledge the one thing that they would like to change about themselves either be it their nose, their fight with OCD, their identity, the eyes, their handicap, etc. Not only did they have to think about what the one thing was that they would like to change, but they also had to embrace it and support one another with each other's personal challenge. For example, Rachael wanted to have a nose job after her ex boyfriend accidentally broke her nose. She claimed that her nose was too big and too sterotypical. By the end of the show, she decided that the nose job was not in the cards for "she was born that way." A very poignant part of the show was when Quinn was exposed as being a fake. She was not always the perfect size 1 waist, blonde hair blue eye beauty that she is now. Matter of fact, at one time, she was a size 16, black hair with pony tails and wore large glasses. It was society who changed her. Her boyfriend carried a picture of the "old" Quinn in his wallet and said, in a very tender moment, "This is the girl I fell in love with" as he held up the picture to the "new" Quinn.

At the end of the show, all the cast members wore t shirts with their "challenge" and sang Lady Gaga's "I was born this way" as an anthem of acceptance.

Although I felt this episode dragged a bit, the poignant parts remain. How many times do we judge people for their outside appearance and not for their intellect or their inner beauty? Society has driven us to me "perfect" and "on top" at all times. Where is the acceptance that someone was "born" a certain "way"?

Yes, there are many things that I would like to change about myself - I would love to lose twenty five pounds, change my eye sight so I do not have to wear glasses anymore, be a bit more patient with those who tap dance on my last nerve, etc. Then there are things that I would not change for they are part of me and yes I accept them for "I was born this way." I have been very fortunate in my life to date people whose beauty came from inside and not based on outward appearance. Yes, they were good looking- very good looking. However, their real beauty came from within. For them, I am grateful.

A show about typical teenagers who just happen to break out in song for no reason has a message unlike many television shows of today. Tonight's lesson-- accept your faults. Accept the challenge to change those faults, should you choose. If you choose to change - change because you want to and not because society wants you to do so. If not, accept the faults, accept the challenges and be full of "Glee" for "you were born that way."

The tomb is empty but my heart is full

Nine thirty Easter morning I am sitting in the second pew at Mass in a church which is about fifteen minutes from my house. I started going to this church because the other church was about a half hour from my house and was non traditional in both in structure and style. This church, a more direct alignment with my own spirituality, is traditional in style and as are the people. Ironically, the pastor was the priest who gave me my first Communion over thirty six years ago. We are here to celebrate the tomb being empty, and looking around I see that the people around me have hearts that are full.

His message today was interesting. He spoke about the sacraments and how each sacrament gives us another layer of our personal spirituality. I have all the sacraments one could ask for. All except for one... (ok possibly two pending on the perspective) the sacrament of Holy Orders OR marriage. I have entertained both of those sacraments, and have moved in the direction of both at one point in my life. Both of them seemed "the right thing to do" and both do indeed seem enticing, but both also are frightening. As Fr. Bob spoke, he talked about how the person who delivers the sacraments to the recipient have a profound influence on the life of the recipient. It is the provider and the recipient who must have a connection. Wow! I thought to myself. WOW! Here I am sitting in a church with the priest who gave me my first Communion and he is gently reminding me of that day so many years ago.

My mind drifted for a moment. It drifted to my home parish where I was dressed in a white long robe, along with my classmates, as we entered from the back of the church to the front meeting Fr. Bob for the first time. I was so lucky for I had the first pew. (I knew then how lucky I was). I remember the tears - partly of nervousness and excitement. I also remember how Father Bob always looked for me at Mass and encouraged me to become an altar server. There was a personal connection with this gentle man.

I then remembered another priest who confirmed me. Although it was not at my "home" parish, it was at another church for sentimental reasons. I remember sitting in that front pew on a dark Saturday night lit only by candles as the priest, Fr. Rich, put oil on my head and proclaimed, "I confirm you, Michael Anthony RALPH." Today, so many years later, I see Fr. Richard at different events and we pick up where we left off with our friendship.

These two priests not only given me a connection to church but also a person connection. I can hear Fr. Bob babbling about something, but my mind drifted again.

This time, to the front pew with another Pastor-- Fr. George. I sat in that same pew the day I left for seminary again now with another set of tears-- some of concern, others of nervousness and others of excitement. Fr. George also became my spiritual advisor and a very dear friend. Sadly, a year ago I sat in that same pew at my grandmother's funeral, and ironically two of the the priests with whom I had a sacramental connection and personal connection were celebrating the funeral.

After Mass, I approached Fr. Bob who is still as gentle and as meek as he was so many years ago and explained to him that there was an irony to his homily today. I reintroduced myself to him and explained that how his homily brought me back to his church so many years ago. He smiled, and remembered who I was and asked me why I was at this church now, etc. I actually informed him of the two other priests who provided me with my other sacraments -- Fr. Richard and Fr. George. His response, "You are very holy with your connection with those two men." We offered each other an Easter greeting and went our separate ways. Driving home I reflected on his words, "You are very holy with those two men." No, not exactly. I do not consider myself Holy. I do consider myself blessed. I am Blessed for not only all of my other connections in my life but also for Fr. Bob, Fr. Richard and of course, my mentor and dear friend, Fr. George for giving me the different layers to my own spirituality.

It is nine thirty on Easter morning and I sitting in the second pew where I am reminded of the blessings of my spiritual life and personal life. I have traveled many roads and have met many people all of whom become another layer of spirituality in my life, especially Fr. Bob, Fr. Richard and Fr. George. It is Easter morning and yes the tomb is empty, but my heart is full. Alleluia!

The Day before Easter

Anyone who knows me knows that I love this time of the year. There are three high holydays of my life: Christmas, The Triduum and (jokingly) the Tony Awards. Today I am in day two of the The Triduum. A day where it is quiet after the drama of the last two days. This day is the day when we wait. We wait in silence. We have time to reflect. We have time to just sit and to think about the new beginning. Perhaps writing this blog is my way of reflecting on what is important, what is negative, what is postive in my life and perhaps forcing me to realize that whatever lies ahead, despite the drama, the ugliness, and the metaphorical "beatings", there will always be a positive end.

I have come to realize that people say certain things or certain things happen to us to remind us of the positive (no matter how large or small) of the world. For example, I was meeting with someone who has become a dear friend over the past couple of years, and I mentioned to her some of the minor "issues" I was having with certain events of my life. Her response, in a very calming way, was "Hey, embrace this Cross, you know it will all be wonderful when it is over." Ummm. Made me think. How many times do we go through something and don't realize the ending will be more glorious than the process?

That comment has stayed with me throughout these glorious days. On Holy Thursday, I mantained the old Italian tradition of visiting seven churches after an evening Mass. Ever since my pastor friend left our home parish, I have gone elsewhere to find the most meaningful prayer space available. This year, I went to church where I got more than I bargained for. I had been to this church before and I knew that the presider would be extraordinary. The Mass was well orchestrated, well rehearsed, meaningful, tearful, prayerful and beautiful. What a way to start the most holiest of time periods!! After Mass, I began my pilgrimage to visit the seven churches. At the second church, a church were there is always a dramatic display (one year they had silent monks keeping watch, another year the repository was in a tree and the visitors had to actually find it, etc), I was met by a black and white cat. It was a replica of my cat when he was much younger. This cat appeared out of no where when I got out of my car. He literally guided me to the place of visitation. Every step I took he was tangled within my feet. I went in one direction. He meowed and tried to trip me. I went in another direction, he did the same process. Finally, I headed to the direction of the visitation simply because once again, we had to "look." The cat, rubbing his head against my feet as I visited, began to purr as if to say "You found the place of rest. Enjoy your visit." This stray cat stood by my feet and as silently as it arrived disappeared into the dark silent night.

Perhaps it is a stray cat in the midst of a dark night, perhaps it is the kind words of a friend, or perhaps it is a place of prayer, they all remind us to take time to reflect and look for the good despite the ugly of life. Today, we purr. Today we have to make sure we do not get triped up in the drama of life. Today we enjoy the rest. Today we wait for the new beginning of Easter and look forward to the next high holyday.. The Tony Awards.

The Italian Gang

Although this was an email, the validity of it needs to be reposted somewhere, before it too gets lost.

I am sure for most second generation Italian American children who grew up in the 40's, 50's and 60's there was a definite distinction between "us" and "them." We were Italians. Everyone else, the Irish, the German, the Polish, they were Americans.

I was well into adulthood before I realized I was an American. I have been born American and lived here all my life, but Americans were people who ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on mushy white bread. I had no animosity towards them, it is just I thought our way was better with our bread man, our egg man, our vegetable man, our chicken man, to name a few of the peddlers who came tour neighborhoods.

We knew "them" and they knew "us." Americans went to the A&P. It amazes me that some friends and classmates on Thanksgiving and Christmas at only turkey with stuffing, potatoes, and cranberry sauce. We had turkey, but only after antipasto, soup, lasagna, meatballs and salad.

In case someone came in who did not like turkey, we also had a roast of beef. Soon after we were eating fruits, nuts, pastries, and homemade cookies sprinkled with little colored things . This is where you learned to eat a seven course meal between noon and four p.m. how to handle hot chestnuts and put peaches in whine. Italians live a romance with food. Sundays we would wake up to the smell of garlic and onions frying in olive oil. We always has macaroni and GRAVY.

Sunday would not be Sunday without going to Mass. Of course, you could not eat before Mass because you had to fast before receiving communion. We knew when we got home we would find meatballs frying, and nothing tasted better than newly cooked meatballs with crisp bread dipped into a pot of hot GRAVY.

Another difference between them and us was we had gardens. Not just with flowers, but tomatoes, peppers, basil, lettuce and "cucuzz." Everybody had a grapevine and a fig tree. In the fall we drank homemade wine arguing over who made the best. Those gardens thrived because we had something our American friends did not seem to have.

We also had grandparents. Not that they did not have grandparents. It is just they did not live in the same house or on the same street. We ate with our grandparents, and God forbid we did not visit them at least three times a week. I can still remember my grandfather telling us how he came to America when he was young "on the boat."

I will never forget the holidays when the relatives would gather at my grandparents' house, the women in the kitchen, the men in the living room, the kids everywhere. I must have had fifty cousins. My grandfather sat in the middle of it all drinking his wine where he was proud of his family and all that they have done.

When my grandparents died, things began to change. Family gatherings were fewer and something seemed to be missing. Although we did get together usually at my mother's house, I always had the feeling grandma and grandpa were there.

It is understandable things change.We all have families of our own and grandchildren of our own. Today we visit once in a while or meet at wakes or weddings. Other things have changed as well. The old house my grandparents bought is now covered with aluminum siding. A green lawn covers the soil that grew the tomatoes. There was no one to cover the fig tree, so it died.

The holidays have changed as well. We still make family "rounds" but somehow things have become more formal. The great quantities of food we consumed, without ill effects, are not good for us anymore. Too much starch, too much cholesterol, too many calories in the pastries. The difference between "us" and "them" isn't so easily defined anymore, and I guess that's good.

My grandparents were Italian - Italians; my parents were Italian Americans. I am an American and proud of it, just as my grandparents would want me to be. We are all Americans now.. the Irish, the German, the Polish, all US citizens.

But somehow I still feel a little bit Italian. Call it culture.. call it roots.. I am not sure what it is. All I do know is that my children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, have been cheated out of a wonderful piece of heritage.

One Singular Sensation

For those who really know me know that I have a theme song. That theme song was not only played at my birthday party as a celebration, but it is one of the most well known musical pieces of musical theatre. It has become "my song." The song, "One Singular Sensation" from A Chorus Line celebrates all those who were once in the wings of the stage who have come forward to make a difference in the world and now are center stage of their life.

Ironically, over the past couple of weeks, I noticed that "One" has become a familiar thread in my life. This year ends in "one", I am class advisor to the Class (with class) that also ends in "one", but recently as today I realized that ONE comment -- either positive or negative -- can make or break a person. Today, I received one of each -- one very positive email that not only brightened my day, but made me realize what I do is to better humanity and not for me. Then, hours later, I got the negative comment. It is true, for every one negative comment a person hears, he or she needs to hear ten or more positive comments. I must admit though, when I SAW the negative comment it was gut wrenching. ONE. JUST ONE comment was able break my day.

After a phone call with my dad (who in his own fatherly way gave me insight) and my best friend, I was able to think a bit more clearly about the situation. After talking to both of them, I realized one thing. One major thing. One thing that was bigger than a Chorus Line. I realized that it takes one person to make a difference in the world. It takes one person to leave the wings of the stage,and stand center stage-- unafraid. It takes one person to be jealous of others. I takes one person to build or to tear down a person either way, it takes just one person to help make someone else become "One Singular Sensation."

Let it snow. Let it Snow

Aaahh the phone rang last night about 9:3o with the message that school will be closed due to inclement weather. Our first snow day of the year. I slept until 8:30 and I then worked on the Fashion Show and on my curriculum. I have sat in front of a computer for the last six hours and I am getting a bit buggy. Although it was a day off, it really was not- I did indeed work. I worked on what was important and not was smoke and mirrors covered in fluff.

It is now 9:30 and I so waiting for another phone call to tell me that we have another day off tomorrow. I know in my heart that phone call will not come true, but it is nice to think about for a brief moment in time.