If only I had a camera...

I have a camera on my phone but seriously, I have never used it. If you know me, my cell is for making phone calls. 

After the funeral mass last week, I was in the back of the church with the girls, talking quietly with some friends. Angela was also pal-ing with a couple of her friends and I was keeping her in my peripheral to make sure she didn't cause any trouble in the meantime. I had not looked directly at her in a few minutes, and when I did, I observed her saunter over to the gorgeous large Michaelangelo "Pieta" replica statue, which depicts Our Lord in the arms of His Mother following His crucifixion. There was a kneeler in front of the statue. She knelt down slowly and just stared at the statue briefly. She carefully made the sign of the cross and folded her hands. I could see her lips moving. She kept studying the figures. She was kneeling there in front of Jesus; her head was almost up to where his hand was lying there before her. Ever so slowly she stood up and reached over the kneeler and placed her tiny hand in Jesus' hand and she gently caressed his wounds, carefully and sweetly. She must have done this for 30 seconds. I was tearing up; it was something you can't force, you can't teach. And I didn't have my camera to capture it to remember it forever.

Angela knelt back down briefly and made another sign of the cross. She sauntered off as quietly and thoughtfully as she had approached, then walked over to me. "Jesus has a boo boo," she said, pointing to the palm of her hand. "That is where the nails on the cross were," I replied. "I'm sure you made him feel better." If only we could all love like that, with the simplicity of little children.

RIP Fr. Schoenbaechler

               I must preface that I didn't know Fr. S. very well at all. I had
met him a couple times, but never really chatted with him. My more recent memories of him are within the past year, when he would come to holy mass at Guardian Angels parish, slight and quiet in his long black cassock, bent over in prayer throughout. He was there early and left late. He came on Christmas morning too; I would like to think he enjoyed the Gregorian chants as he taught Latin for many of his 70 years as a priest. My favorite thought, however, is this. Two weeks before he died, the children at our girls' school went to visit the nursing home where he had been staying for awhile. He was the person the children wanted to see most, but he was too weak and tired for visitors, let alone spending time downstairs listening to the songs the children had prepared for the retirees. When preparing to leave, we received word that he was awake and could see some visitors in his room. Rita and three schoolmates, three teachers, and Rita's Latin teacher were able to go visit. Rita recounts the visit as this: They had prepared some Latin recitations and hymns to sing for him. He was frail but happy to see them, and they did their recitations, which he loved. He then gave them an impromptu quiz on their declensions (uh oh!), which they passed, and then they asked him if they might sing for him the Victimae Paschale, the beautiful sequence from the Easter mass.  When they started to sing, Fr. S. jumped right in and sang the whole piece with them. Before they left, he gave them his blessing...what a blessing it was. He was such a treasure. You may hear (and sing) the Victimae Paschale Laudes here:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aueJzA1uCj0

The girls and I were able to attend his requiem mass on Monday. It was somewhat of a large affair with the Archbishop in attendance, one of the Resurrectionist priests, and several other priests participating, as well as several altar boys and two or three hundred of the faithful. And of course it was his beloved Latin mass. I recalled a letter he had written years ago and want to share it as well...
                                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I began serving the “old Mass” as an altar boy in 1927. I am now 88 years old, 62 years as a priest. As a lad, knowing the perfect recitations of all the Latin Mass responses, I dealt with priests of every age and devotion and I do not recall any who deliberately mumbled their prayers. The churches were not air-conditioned in those days and in the hot summer days it was not uncommon to omit the sermon; Low Mass might last for only 20 minutes, and Communions were much fewer in those days. Now with the Novus Ordo, I have attended Mass in 10 minutes. A possible scandal.

The only scandal I can recall in the old days was people sleeping during the sermon. Nobody complained about the Eucharistic fast from midnight; nobody complained about Communion on the tongue or about the Latin. In fact, we were proud of the Latin we knew. Non-Catholics marveled at the piety and the reverence of the congregation and the head-coverings of the women. Those were the glory days of the Church when our Catholic faith was a family thing, a treasure we prized. Our faith was so much a part of our life that it colored our moods, shaped our social activities, influenced our style of dress, and flavored our conversation. How many families can make the same claim today?

Last Sunday I experienced what perhaps was the greatest joy of my priesthood. I could scarcely contain myself. Indeed, my cup runneth over. I celebrated the Tridentine Latin Mass with a congregation of two hundred people. It was like a repetition of my First Holy Mass 56 years ago. It was a Missa Cantata — those sacred Gregorian melodies so fitting for worship: the solemn Trinity Preface, the solemn Pater Noster, the Holy Gospel, and the Orations.

My daily vernacular Mass has been a joy in my life, but there was always something about this Tridentine Latin Mass that went beyond all telling. I’ve found something that I had lost some 35 years ago. All those years my heart ached for the Latin Mass that I had lost, always hoping that some day, please God, I would find it. Last Sunday I found it. And like the widow of the Gospel who found her lost coin and who called in her neighbors to rejoice with her, now I was the one who wanted to call in the whole world to share in my joy. It was like being away from home all these years and always hoping that some day the permission for me would arrive to return home and share again with my dear ones the joys of long ago. It was home sweet home again. My joy knows no bounds.

My humble and ineffable thanks to our good Holy Father, Pope John Paul II, the Good Shepherd who went out looking for all those abandoned sheep to lead us back home again — to Rome, sweet home.

Would I go back to the new Mass? No way!

Rev. Charles Schoenbaechler, C.R.

Louisville, Kentucky

If anyone ever wonders why I love the Latin mass, Fr. S. describes it here for me.

Here ye him.

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. +

What was that again?

So I'm sitting in the waiting room at Angela's speech therapy place. A nice, well dressed "older" lady comes in, apparently late for her physical therapy appointment. She checks in at the desk then has a seat next to me. I smile nicely at her as she sits down. Older lady: "Oh, I'm so late! But you know I went in to get my hair done, and she colored it for me and it took longer than I thought." Me: "Well your hair looks really pretty. I like it a lot." (It was really pretty, a short mocha brown with pretty caramel highlights. Very nice.) Older lady: "Well thank you, I wasn't sure if I would like it or not." Enter young male physical therapist. PT: "So are you ready?" Older lady, walking off with male PT: "Oh I'm sorry I'm late! My hair dresser wanted to color my hair. I was afraid she put too much blonde in it. Do I look slutty?" Then... backward glance over shoulder at me sitting in the chair as she leaves the room... "Oh, she's blonde..." Hmmm. That totally made me laugh (as did the PT). Just another day at speech therapy...

We love her just the same.

I know I always write about sad stuff, so I am trying to turn a new leaf. I was mopping cafeteria floors the other day, which is always prime time for thinking and pondering life's important moments. Which in turn is suitable fodder for blog entries. I was thinking about my life before I was acquainted with the special needs community, and my life after. The difference, the sameness. The difference is that I am 100 times the person and Catholic. I have been a pro-lifer for many many years, despite secular education's best efforts to make me otherwise (into which I will not delve because I made a committment to have a happy blog post). Because of the special needs community, I am even more so, since I have a better understanding of "quality of life." Before, I may have thought quality of life meant whether or not a person can do things, especially the things I find fun like running and hiking or learning new research or going to wrestling tournaments. I learned that quality of life is in our relationships, being with the people we love, being loved by them, and loving God. The "activities" are the side show. Enjoyable or exhilarating, yes, but not really necessary for a "quality" life. I know a young man who has been blind and wheelchair-bound since birth. His parents treated him "like any other child" and expected him to try and do, and make the most of gifts he had. They love him unconditionally. And despite the fact that he could be so limited (at least by society's standards), he is happy. His parents are happy. He has used the gifts he has, which are many, and does good with them. I have met many many families who have children with Down syndrome as well. We love our children because of who they are, not how complete they are. I don't think I could have grasped that before I had Angela. I recall talking to a priest when Angela was first born, and he was saying how he supposed she could attend Mass if she could "not disturb others." Huh? At first I was thinking, is he for real?! But then realizing that he had no idea what a person with DS is like, I didn't get too bent out of shape... But I knew at that moment that, frankly, few care about people with special needs if it doesn't affect them; therefore, few care to educate themselves. I know because I was one of them. I was SO one of them. I would not have dug into every piece of literature I could get my hands on to read about DS if I didn't have a daughter with it. I wouldn't strike up a conversation with an adult with DS out of the blue. Anything other than "normal" was not important. The difference. When Angela was itty-bitty I had to take her for a hip x-ray because the Dr. thought she had a "hip click." I was unconcerned, as was the other Dr. who gave her the once-over and said, "It won't hurt to check it but I doubt they'll find anything." But I marched her dutifully in for her x-ray and I was sitting in the crowded waiting room with her all bundled up in her car seat. In the melee came a harried-looking older gentleman, pushing his daughter in a wheelchair. He was looking all around for a place to park her; I motioned for him to come over by me and I moved Ang's car seat over so he could park the wheelchair close to me. He walked up to sign in and I sized up his beautiful little girl. She looked to be about 8-10, thin as a rail, with what I suspected to be CP or some similar diagnosis. Her hypertonia was excessive, and she had a hard time moving her head around. She had a little homemade shawl around her. When Dad came back and wearily sat in his seat beside me, he arranged his daughter and tucked her shawl more tightly around her. She could not talk other than slight murmurs. I said to him, "Is this your daughter?" as I reached out and held her hand and said "Hello! Aren't you just a beautiful girl!" and continued to hold her hand because it was icy cold. Dad went on to explain to me that she was in for a back x-ray because her scoliosis was starting to cause problems and they would likely be fusing her back at some point. She was however, very thin, and they would undoubtedly want her put on weight if she was to have a surgery like that...which inevitably meant a feeding tube. It was so obvious this Dad was exhausted; he didn't want her to have back surgery, and he didn't want her to have to rely on a feeding tube. He just wanted her to be happy and feel good and be well, so he was doing whatever it took. It hit me right then and there, she was his Angela; he loved her so much, and would do anything for her. To the outside world looking in, that precious girl was so broken...but to Dad she was his girl. I knew then and there it's just what we do, the people to whom God gives these precious people. We just love them, without strings attached. If there is sameness, it's in the imperceptable yet awesome responsibility we have daily in raising children. Whether they have a "diagnosis" or not. So our hopes and dreams for Angela are similar to our hopes and dreams for Maria, or John. We want them to avoid sin, obey the commandments, follow Christ in His Church. Be good examples to others. Be brave and courageous. Stand up for people who can't do it themselves. Work and pray. When our Lord told us to have faith "like little children," there is a reason for that. You don't have to be highly educated or rich to be good. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

There are no accidents...

I've been wanting to write about this a long time. In the midst of all my relief, happiness, and blessings, the reality check comes. It comes hard and fast and when it's not expected. It comes in the blink of a teary eye. I see an email note that tells me little Madeline McConnell is gone, snatched from her beautiful family, a family I barely know. I never met Miss M in person, only through little pictures on my computer screen. Yet Jeff and I sit staring helplessly at the monitor, tears streaming down my face, silent, Miss M's round mug peering out atop a busy bee costume. Not much cuter than that, to be honest. Not much in the whole world.
I'll retrace my steps. Madeline's Mommy is my dear friend Amy from college. Amy was an enigma to me, because she was one of the first devout Catholics I had ever known in my life. If I knew any, I wasn't aware of it. Amy hung her rosary on her maple bedpost in her dorm room in Case Hall. She actually prayed it when we weren't bothering her with our petty dumb freshman college drama or worrying about our dates or our hair. She didn't get sucked into all that. In hindsight, I realize it's probably because she prayed her rosary. She was captive by a bunch of protestants and non-believers, including me, who didn't have a clue. One of my funniest memories is of my sweet Baptist roommate, noticing the rosary on the bedpost, exclaiming, "What a pretty necklace Amy, how come you never wear it?" But none of us ever actually asked to learn how, or why, or simply join in. Amy was undoubtedly praying her butt off for all of us hopeless waifs, but never let on. Her beautiful humility was intact and she probably knew her prayers would be answered in some way, whether it helped us convert or not. It would help someone somewhere.
Fast forward 20+ years. Facebook connects me and my friend Amy. She's got a wonderful husband and three handsome little sons...and expecting a daughter with Down syndrome. I have one of those daughters, so I was more than happy to share with her that our daughter with DS is amazing, beautiful, the only one in the family who doesn't have a disability. But I knew Amy and her boys would just have to find that out themselves. And did they ever! Madeline was, well, the star of the show. Gorgeous beyond belief. Full of spunk and fight, which she needed for her laundry list of health problems including her little heart that needed all kinds of fixing. Ending up with a trach tube was the last of her major obstacles. At about sixteen months old she had the world by the tail, and as far as we humans could tell, things would get "normal" at some point. Until the trach tube came out. One minute Maddie is playing, the next she's not, and there was no warning, no sound, no message.
No one can "explain" how these things happen. It happens all the time though. But one thing is for certain- there are no accidents when it comes to death and judgement. God knows when and why and how the beginnings and endings of our lives occur. We certainly don't understand it though, and even more certainly aren't happy about it. Amy's pain must be excruciating. I've prayed and prayed, asking God to take care of her, to comfort and console, give her peace. The sorrow is hers. Maddie's little baptized pure soul is so dear to God; she must be even more beautiful in His presence, no worries. No more doctors and checkups, no trach tube mishaps, no midnight runs to the hospital. Things are infinitely better for her now, whether we can fully appreciate that or not. Meanwhile, Amy will "get it." I know she will, because He doesn't abandon those who love Him. He will not lead the McConnells to something then not lead them through it. He will bring about some great good, somewhere, somehow. Amy has already endured and conquered more than she ever dreamed she could...and this is no different. Meanwhile I will pray that Amy redoubles her efforts, finds a way to pass on this huge amount of knowledge she now has, of which most of us aren't privy, that she can await with love and patience the day she will see Maddie again. She needs to know this friend indeed is praying and doing penance for her, and she is remembered every time I pray my rosary. Rest in peace, little Madeline, and live in peace, Amy.

Talking about Jessica...

It's been one of those weird kind of springs, full of highs and lows and normalcy all jumbled into a rush of minutes and hours and days that simply won't slow down. On May 20th, after weeks of intense suffering, beautiful wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, and friend Jessica Lichtsteiner-Hosking lost her mortal life to cystic fibrosis. The fact that the disease had taken its toll in recent years, and the knowledge that it was inevitable that the CF would eventually kill her doesn't really make it any easier. Faithful folks say that knowing you are going to die is a blessing, a grace, because it allows you to become closer to God in preparation for death and judgement. I have no doubt this is true, and find comfort in that. And our Faith encourages us to be hopeful, all the while praying for the dying and the dead, that their souls may be together with God in eternity, and eventually we may be reunited with our mothers and fathers and friends there too...It's the human factor that is the hard part. We are people who live in groups- beginning with our own family unit and radiating outward to our schoolmates, relatives, coworkers, parish members, and communities. And though Jessica, who lived a whole 27 years, was not part of my daily life lately, I have so many memories of her, and to self-soothe my own heart I wanted to write about her.
Jessica was the oldest of eight beautiful children born to two of the most beautiful people I know. Talk about do anything for anybody- it's an amazing bunch. I met Jessica when she was perhaps 10 or 11, but she was one of those children with big doe-brown eyes and a sprinkling of freckles and sunny brown locks of hair- the genuine smile of someone who just means it. I taught her in school from the sixth grade on, pretty much all her science classes. I think I may be correct in saying those were her favorite classes as well, because she always had a penchant for anything science. It was no surprise to me that she went into a medical profession when she became a respiratory therapist.
She was always polite and kind-hearted; she called me "Mrs. Lampe" until the last time I saw her several weeks ago. I know she was her mother's helper always, but not because her mom "made" her do it, but because she was part of the family and wanted to help. Back in the fall she came into school to watch my daughter and some other little ones for a couple of hours while we taught class. It doesn't sound all that taxing, but she came in looking thin as a rail, on antibiotics and oxygen, obviously tired, but willing. Her attitude was one of resignation but it wasn't depressed or sad. It was realistic yet hopeful. Her smiling brown eyes and huge grin said it all.
The night she died, I was actually out on the trails out back, running as hard as I could. I knew through the grapevine that it was probably her last day on earth. I was striding along, and I was crying for her, for her suffering, for the suffering of her sisters and brothers, her friends, her parents, her husband and tiny daughter who would only know her mother by photos and stories. I would go from elation in knowing that her suffering on earth would soon end, hoping in her redemption, to bitterness that God chose to take her now and leave everyone behind to miss her and feel that vacuum wherever she had been before. I felt a piece of agony with her parents who had cooperated with God in bringing her here, only to see her leave forever, and thought that my heart would break.
As I ran along, I started climbing hills and sucking in air, gasping in the strain of it, and I felt a part of Jessica's torture. I felt that sensation of gasping, needing that oxygen, and I offered it up to God for Jessica alone. The hard part was that when I stopped I could get that oxygen. I could stop and take a deep deep breath and feel it fill me and save me. Jessica could do no such thing. And I so wished I could run over there and give it to her myself and say "here, I brought you some air! Take it! Fill yourself up with it!" And I knew I couldn't do that, but I just wished I could. So I was running along crying by myself in the woods, sobbing over loss and change and pain, not so much for me, but for good people, wishing it didn't have to be so. Because I know what happens. We all keep going. We move on and on and on and on. People come and go, we start thinking about school and bills and what to do with the car problems, what movie to watch, what shoes to buy. We meet new people and love them, people we love move away. And maybe that's the only way we could all possibly survive losses like that.
I hope Jessica's husband and family know she was loved and admired and will not soon be forgotten, lost in the runaway train that is life here on earth. I for one will say hello to her often and say a little prayer for her while I'm at it. Her humble life will sit quietly with us all, and memories of her will patiently hold us over until we see her again, God willing. Rest in peace, Jessica.

Sweet Summer...

Where is the summer going? June was a wash, mainly because Chief (our puppy) caught parvo, and he required round the clock care for about 2 weeks. I was in class for a week, the boys were off wrestling for a week. It just disappeared. John has turned sixteen and gotten his permit, Dominic turned twelve, and Ang will soon be 3. Our high school 25 year reunion is around the corner. Hard to believe how fast time goes.
Angela will "age out" of her First Steps early intervention program when she turns three in August. It's a little traumatic only because she's had THE BEST team of therapists as our safety net to keep us helping her grow- we will soon be on our own! We chose not to send her to public preschool; I realize that there are aspects of that which would benefit her greatly, but I see more benefits with her being with her family, who love her and want her to do well more than anyone else could. So I'll be signing her up for Down Syndrome of Louisville's playgroups for her age, where they have a very capable DI teacher doing preschool stuff with them. She can go twice a week, and I'll go with her. I also need to get her going to a private speech therapist weekly. Her speech has seen a lot of improvement the past couple of weeks- let's pray it continues! She had her last therapy session this week with her Developmental Interventionist, Sarah. Sarah is moving to China with her family in August, and she is going to work with children in a school and orphanage there while her husband does his doctoral work and teaches school. It's kind of a neat course of life, since Sarah's little boy she adopted is from China! It was extremely sad for me to see her leaving the house, knowing she won't be back to see little miss Angela like she has been doing for some two years now. AND, she was a great inspiration for me to follow her into the world of being a DI. We will miss Sarah. Thankfully, I will at some point in the next couple of years be actually working with Angie's other therapists as a colleague when I become a DI, so I know I'll see them often, which is a real blessing.
Do you like the chicken pictures? Rita and Maria like the chickens a lot, and they are kind of nice animals outside of being smelly. We had two broody hens this spring and have seven little chicks now- too cute. Pray they are hens so their lives may be spared! ;-)

Jeff Update...

Nothing too exciting, but they took the stitch out (it's been stitched shut since April 24 to heal up) and everything looks really good. The doctor seemed pleased with the progress and told us to go ahead and make an appointment with the ocularist (the lady who makes eye prosthetics)so he can get an eye in there. He also wants to go ahead and fix the eyelid (it's droopy and has been for years)so it will sit more naturally for him. Apparently they take some fascia out of his leg (yet more harvesting of pieces from other parts of his body. Interesting.)and create a "sling" with it to his brow bone, so his lid won't sag. Jeff is always so hesitant for things like that; he feels really selfish doing something for cosmetic purposes, but the doctors act like they really want to do it and want Jeff to be happy with their work...also an interesting perspective. If the $$ turns out okay we will go ahead with it. I think it will be okay. I found out the prosthetic eye could be as much as $2600, but sometimes when there is no insurance to cover things like that they will make deals, so let's pray for deals! I hate to use the phrase "Jeff deserves it" but that's kind of how I feel. In the big scheme of things, we really deserve nothing. Every good thing is a gift, nothing should be expected. But Jeff endures a lot, and I think we would all agree that living with no front teeth and a funky eye that everyone looks at could be wearisome. I was complaining the other day about a couple of blemishes on my face (yes, the 43 year old with pimples AND wrinkles. Lovely.) and he just laughed at me and told me I was beautiful regardless, and I'm thinking "yea right..." But then I realized that I think Jeff is as handsome as the day I met him, no teeth and funky eye and all, and I believed him. When you're married for so long and you find yourself MORE in love, it's pure bliss. We're so on the same plane right now and it's so amazing and secure and beautiful, right in the heart, in the gut. I can't even put it into words actually. Tomorrow is our 21st anniversary too, and I've now known Jeff for 25 years, more than half my life. Crazy huh?

The 'Eyes' have it...

Just in case there is one human who reads this, Jeff is doing okay after his surgery yesterday. As usual for Jeff, it's never as easy as it seems and this one was practically as crummy as his original evisceration eight years ago. But the hard part is done anyway, and he now has a fancy new dermal-fat graft from his tummy inside his empty eyeball. Yummy, huh? The surgery ended up being longer and more difficult than originally planned. Apparently the old implant in his eyeball (made of a material that was rough-surfaced) had not only eroded away the tissue that enclosed it, but it was stuck to the tissue in other areas. So getting the old implant out was tough and bloody. His head is sore and swollen. But the Docs thought everything went really well and he's on his way now. His eye will be sewn shut awhile and in a few weeks we'll worry about getting his prosthesis in. The old one probably won't work but it could. He also needs some work on his eyelid. He's a brave and good man, he is. He never complains or whines about it. And most of us would be tired of people staring, and never looking the same, or like ourselves. Jeff just goes with it. Deo Gratias.

Of tests and surgeries...

Okay. So I am looking into grad school, with the intent to work on my Master of Education and Interdisciplinary Early Childhood Education Certificate so I can be a Developmental Interventionist for wee ones with Down Syndrome. (What a MOUTHFUL!) Therefore, I realized I would need to take the Graduate Record Exam. In short, it stinks. I took it yesterday after very little studying and scraped my way through several hours of torture including word analogies and antonyms, reading comprehension, two essays, and math problems. I did finish with above-average scores, but it is my observation that the very essence of the test is not to test actual knowledge, but how well you take a test. Basically every question is a trick question. At $140 a pop it most surely is a money making scheme. The good news is that I can take it several more times this year if I want to improve my score. Yea, right.
Now I have to figure out how to fund grad school. Or maybe I ought to go into the standardized testing business and become a millionaire. Sounds good to me.

Onto other more important issues. Jeff's fake eye has been steadily getting more irritated, goopy, droopy, and generally gross. He finally broke down and went to have it checked out. Apparently the fake "eyeball" that is back in the socket (not the cap that "looks" like an eye) has worn through the flesh that encloses it. And apparently that is because of a general defect in the material from which it is made. The Dr. said they have seen a lot of this with this brand of prosthetic,, folks coming in years later with the thing wearing through. So, Jeff will have to get a whole new prosthetic ball in there. That entails pulling the old one out, re-wrapping tissue around it, possibly getting some extra from his abdomen, then placing the new tissue-wrapped ball back in the socket. Gross. Then, he will have to possibly get a new anterior cap if the old one doesn't fit anymore (which cost $1000 back in '01) and get some work done on his eyelid that has become saggy. Of course, he loves all of that. The good news is that it's fixable and he won't have to deal with a perpetually runny, gross eye. Jeff's always very patient with that kind of stuff but I know it must get old. People stare at it and wonder why his eye is droopy and runny. I close one eye a lot when I'm doing things just to see what Jeff's world is like; it lets me not forget. Please pray for his good soul.

Oh, if you're wondering about the hand x-ray, take note of the pinky. That's Jeff's more recent mishap where he chopped the end of it off when he smashed it in a trailer hitch here in the driveway. It looks fine now, just a tad shorter! ;-)

the facebook frenzy...

This facebook thing is rather fun. In a matter of a couple of weeks I have reconnected with a dozen or more people from my ever so distant past. A few observations:
1. The majority of my classmates I am meeting on fb are liberal. It is painfully apparent that I am WAY more conservative than I ever thought I could be. What a difference 25 years makes!!
2. No one has big families. I LOVE having a big family. I guess we never take vacations and don't live in a McMansion, nor do we drive new vehicles (Jeff and I have a pact never to drive a vehicle which was manufactured in the decade in which we are living!!), and we rarely go out to eat or to movies. But the exchange is PRICELESS.
3. Everyone is everywhere. I wish we loved our hometown enough to stay in it. Greenhills was tremendous. I was way too cool to actually STAY there. That being said, I love Kentucky. It's more me than Cincy is. I'm pretty much a redneck.
4. The diversity of our GH class is so interesting. We are all rather well-educated I think. They did a fair job in that department!
5. I need to get off this computer and get to work. Laundry waits for no (wo)man. God bless anyone who actually reads this banter! ;-)

Special Olympics and the R-word

I know I really shouldn't be sensitive. Back in the day when I was much younger and inexperienced/unwise/unfeeling/uncaring/shallow/infantile I made Special Olympics jokes or called someone or something "retarded." I would make fun of "retarded people." Folks do it all the time. Just like when someone takes the name of God in vain, I cringe inside each time. When someone says "Jesus Christ!" to exclaim disbelief or irritation about something, I always say to myself "Bless His Holy Name." But when someone says "that's so retarded!" I usually keep silent, although I always feel like I'm about to bust. I'm not alone. Ask any mother or father of a child with DS- a child who may have had a heart surgery (or two) before his first birthday, or was born with such low muscle tone she is just limp, and the mere act of nursing is next to impossible. Ask those parents if that child is any less of a person than the well child next to him. Ask those parents if they love that child any less because he's "not perfect." Every time I look at Angela, I don't see a retarded/imperfect/broken child. I see OUR child, whom we love just like the others, her own perfect little self and all her assets and flaws there to see like every other child on earth. Now, whenever I see someone else's "handicapped" child, I know that is THEIR Angela, and well, we just "know." It's a silent sorority of mothers who love their children, period.

I can't make it stop. Even the president will do it, and he's supposedly the nonjudgemental messiah here to make all men equal. He can be the ultimate representative of the downtrodden poor, all the while counting his $51 million, laughing while the working (and not working) people wallow at his feet as he promotes his sham. And makes retarded jokes. Isn't he funny and witty? Give me a break.

Faith and Reason

"If the work of God could be comprehended by reason, it would be no longer wonderful, and faith would have no merit if reason provided proof." -Pope Gregory I

I came across this today while reading a DS article and it struck me just how much faith plays a role in my life. I have a friend whose blog is often wrought with drama and annoyances and "issues," and how hard it is to overcome these issues and how every little problem is SUCH an inconvenience. And I know my faith is what keeps me from that vortex of wishing things were different, or better, or somehow smoother. I guess we all wish for things to be better, and usually it's financially better, of which I claim no exception, and we may even pray to God that He somehow lifts us out of worry and stress-heck, a nice lottery check would be nice. But that is where a good Christian continues... God, I wish you could help me with xxxx problem. But if it's Your will that it not happen the way I would wish, so be it. I will carry each cross to the best of my ability, for You. That is the comportment we should have. And it ain't easy. But like all habits, good and bad, once you are in the habit of acceptance, working like it's all up to you and praying like it's all up to God, it's easier to do.

I remember when Jeff had his serious accident, a friend, blubbery and distraught said to me, "Shelley, he might lose his eye!" My first and only response was "But the other eye is okay, right?" To which someone might say to me, "But what if the other eye weren't alright?" Well, then, I say we go to the next "good" thing. Can he talk? Feel? Hear? Is he dead? If he's dead, was he wearing his scapular? Can we find the priest now? There is bound to be something good, somewhere. And we just need to focus on that.

And all of these inner conversations and thoughts and wishes are due to my faith. Not what I can see and touch and count with reason. I always find it interesting how the erudite like to belittle the faithful, as if their reason and science are oh so much superior in intelligence to the sheep who follow an unseen God. I certainly don't feel any dumb-er since I became a Christian. In fact, I have grown in wisdom and love that I never would have had. I would be a cold sob right now. Really.

I love Thee, O Christ, and I bless Thee,
Because by Thy Holy Cross Thou hast redeemed the world. Miserere nobis.

Our chattering Angela...

Angela is quite a character these days. Since most of you don't have the pleasure of having a child or sibling with Down Syndrome, I must say we parents tend to micromanage everything. For example, most of us don't worry whether our child will be able to distinguish his colors, match and sort objects by color or shape or whatever, or say his words clearly and meaningfully before he goes to kindergarten. Because most the time we just know they will do those things whether we teach them or no. But when you have a child with DS, and all the research tells you that early intervention and practice sets up the neural pathways that may not connect otherwise, you tend to watch and worry and, if you're like me, wonder if you're ever doing enough.
At 2 1/2, Angie talks A LOT. Unfortunately, most the time we have NO IDEA what she is talking about. She points and uses appropriate facial expressions and inflections and gestures, and most the time I know what she's trying to get across because some of the words are quite good. But every so often I have to just throw up my hands and say, "Ang, I have NO idea what you're talking about." She gets a little frustrated by this, because usually she is begging for some food item I am denying to get for her. Sometimes it's like she is telling a story, recounting something. But it's a lot of gibberish. Thankfully, she has the best speech therapist in town. Angela's therapists (speech, physical, and developmental) are known as the "dream team" around here. And her speech therapist assures me that Angela's incoherent chatter, scattered with s's and o's and ah's and t's, is merely her practicing for when she gets everything together, and she foresees Angela having excellent speech.
I've always said Ang's speech is most important to me. I want people to know her, and if she can't carry on conversation well, no one will listen to her. I don't want her to be invisible like that. I friend of mine is deaf, and she is so funny and witty. She reads lips very well, but she doesn't speak very clearly; she is hard to understand. And I realize now that she is easy to "ignore." I don't mean ignore on purpose, but it takes actual work to converse with her because you have to concentrate so hard. And most folks are in too much of a hurry to chat with someone when it requires work... So, yet another lesson comes from being Angela's mom. I never would have thought of that if it weren't for little Angie. She teaches us something every day.

A Little Bit 'O Spring...and a Walk to Beautiful...

So it's going to be 78 degrees today, then down in the 40's by tomorrow, to last a few days. I am trying really hard to keep things in perspective, remembering that any weather God gives to us is His will, and I should "rejoice and be glad in it" because it is His day. Especially during Lent.
I was up in the middle of the night a few days ago (Angela was having a hard time sleeping or had a bad dream or something, so I got up to sit with her for awhile until she fell asleep.) Anywho, I flip channels around to the PBS station (thanks to our fancy new DTVConverter!) and find a NOVA program called "A Walk to Beautiful." It was a tragic yet hopeful documentary about the plight of women in impoverished countries, Ethiopia in this case, who have no access to medical care, and suffer "fistulas" when they are in labor for days upon days. The result is chronic incontinence, no control of bowels or urine whatsoever in many of the women. They are shunned and secluded because of this injury, and many are young girls who have been raped or married very young. The "Walk" part is that there are hospitals and doctors who are addressing the problem, largely made possible from a charitable foundation called the Fistula Foundation, but the afflicted women often must walk hundreds of miles to get to them. Once there, they are given surgeries to correct the problem (it is curable!), a clean dress, and a bus ticket home. It reminded me how good we have it, despite all the complaining I may do. It reminded me that those people are no less people than I. I could just as easily be there as here.
Just as I never understood what it meant to have a handicapped child until I had one of my own, or deal with serious injuries such as Jeff's until he had them, I am sure I could have no true understanding of life as an Ethiopian woman living in Godless squalor. Despite modern communication and travel, the world is still very very big. I am feeling very small and insignificant indeed.

Winner gets the good hardware.

This weekend was the Kentucky State Middle School Wrestling Championships. You will recall that Justin got there by way of his first place finish at regionals a couple weeks ago, and Dominic got there by his runner-up-to-Justin finish. Dominic ended up losing his last match to his friend Ian who wrestles for Trinity; they have been back and forth all year and it was Ian's turn I guess. Sadly, Dominic was wrestling GREAT. He was actually winning the match 4-0 when Ian caught him too far over and managed to pin Dominic. I was sick over it but he had wrestled SO WELL at the tournament it's hard to feel bad. He would have placed if he had won that match. We were extremely proud of him. Next year he will be a force for sure.
Justin had to work his way to the finals too, and he had a fairly tough draw in the brackets. Jeff and I kind of knew he could/should/would win it all, but you know how things are; you don't know what will happen 'til it happens. In wrestling anything can happen on any given day. The best part is that there were some "favorites" to win among the wrestling gods in KY, and Justin was somewhat under the radar except for those who are around him a lot. He wasn't really favored to win. But he was on his game Saturday, which he needed to be, and he pulled out the victory. Better still, he won in a spectacular way, stacking his way to the pin in the first period of the match. Justin controlled the matches all day, and only one boy scored on him at all. We were happy for him. He did get some really nice hardware and a nice giant bracket to put on his wall. I told him he has to keep winning tournaments so we can pin brackets all over his walls and cover up the holes and scratches in the drywall...The best part of the (very long, tiring) day was all the good wrestling folks who were happy for Justin and made it a point to tell us they are really happy to see the good, respectable, hardworking boys win, and how much they think of all our boys. We think so much of them too.

Ice Ice Baby

Well I always think of Mom when some natural disaster hits, so here's to you, Mom.
This was one crazy storm. Last Tuesday had it all- 20 degree temps, freezing rain, snow, lightning (yes, lightning), and trees and limbs falling...nonstop...all night long and all at the same time. The sound of trees cracking, crashing, ice falling, hitting the house and roof was a bit unsettling. It was one of those "not much we can do about it" things except say our prayers, sit, and wait. The power was off too. We waited until morning to fire up the generator with the futile hope that for some reason the power outage was only temporary. When we finally got some daylight we saw that the outage was indeed NOT temporary, and we settled in for several days without power. It was beautiful and awesome and treacherous all at the same time.
Now, I live with MacGuyver. If you know Jeff you know he's pretty resourceful and hates being unprepared for stuff. Like back in September after hurricane Ike blew through, when the gas prices were sky high, and we went to get gas for our generator and found most gas stations either closed (no power) or out of gas, and the ones that did have gas were disturbingly creepy- full of mad, short-tempered people tired of paying 3.85 for gas and then waiting in line for it. So he happened to have a day or two's worth of gas ready for the generator, and we had just stocked up at the store. Also, he had bought a bunch of candles and wind-up flashlights. We had plenty of light. We also had developed a system using the generator back in September. We knew how many things we could plug in at once and rotated the garage freezer with the fridge. We put our beer out on the patio. (Yummmmmm) We also have natural gas at the house, so we can cook on it or on the wood stove, and we have hot water in the upstairs bathroom. Phone service was out, so no internet. All in all, a crazy week but we are only minimally out of whack. I have been on the phone nonstop for two days, folks wanting to "get on the list" so Jeff can come rescue them from their tree disasters. Too icy right now, but he'll be full force by the end of the week. This town looks like a tornado came through, and I'm not kidding. Enjoy the photos...God bless us all.

All Lampe Finals

So we had a long day of wrestling yesterday, but all was good from the Lampe perspective. Dominic and Justin were wrestling their regional tournament, from which the top four in each weight class qualify for state. They were also wrestling the same weight class. As it turned out, Justin wrestled well and won his way out to the final, and Dominic pulled an upset to beat the #2 seed to also reach the final- it was an all-Lampe 89# final! Justin can beat Dominic, it's kind of just "how they are." Different types of wrestlers, and Dominic's just not at Justin's level yet, mainly in intensity. But there they were at the end, #1 and #2 in the region. Rather exciting I must say. Proud Mommy cheering them both on.
John was at a 22-team stacked tournament at the same time. I got over there to see him qualify for HIS final too. All Lampes, all the time.
He had a different story, since he had to face the 2008 state champ, who has been on fire this season, apparently not losing anything and pinning everyone. John was no exception as he got stuck too, but he knows he has work cut out for the state meet. John has a way of figuring these things out; he'll adapt and work on the strategies the best he can, like he does. It may not be his year to win state, or maybe it is... We are proud parents I must say. They are just some really good boys.

Duke

This is the famous Duke. Running partner, couch potato extraordinaire. Gotta love 'im.

Don't email me.

Well, at least not at the one associated with this blog. I don't know how to fix it, but my email address is ampe2368@bellsouth.net. So email me there. Also, I am seriously time-deprived, so it will be nothing short of a miracle if I actually post anything here. I've had this blog for months now and never put anything on it. I'll try really hard.
This winter is one of change and sameness both. I find myself on lockdown more because Angela picks up colds like my furniture picks up lint, so she stays in a lot. Rita and Maria are out more, but mainly because Rita is in charge of the small barnyard critters, the chickens and rabbits. It's an extremely repetitive cycle of laundry, dishes, sweep and vacuum, laundry, dishes, sweep and vacuum, laundry...well, you get the picture. That said, I don't mind. I kind of like those things that are "normal." Those are the things that are constant and good and let me know that everything is running. Heaven help us if I get behind in the laundry. We usually make the children do everything, but the laundry is one of those things best left to moi. Seriously, our kids are quite self-sufficient.
Different this school year has been John being at St. X, which was one of those decisions wrought with worry and what-ifs but has been found to be a good thing. He made all A's this quarter in honors classes, and has been having a tremendous wrestling season. He seems to like school even though it's extremely challenging. He studies all the time. His teachers and coaches are all very happy with him and we are told all the time what a good boy he is, which is every parent's dream I think. He hurts himself a lot; we seem to have a handle on his bloody noses (his nemesis all last year) but he has split his chin twice, both requiring trips to the doctor for stitches and/or glue. He also had a terrible bout with bursitis in his knee over the summer which made his knee swell up like a balloon and had 60-70 cc's of fluid drained off with a VERY large needle. Ewwww. Besides that he's tweaking his normally 152 pound muscle-bound self into a very swelt 137 pounds and doing 2-3 hour wrestling practices every day. He's in his element. But I really don't want to hear him whine about food any more. He has that sunken-in, death warmed over look on his bony face most the time. Today he has a black eye to boot. Cute Cute Cute. He makes a mommy proud.
Justin just went out to Tulsa and wrestled in the Tulsa Nationals, the first one he's ever done. We're *told* by the experts that Tulsa is the most competitive youth tourney in the country. If that is true, Justin is better than we even thought. He didn't place, however, he went 3 wins-2 losses, beat the #3 seed, and every match was close. Nobody really dominated him. So we are excited for him. Dominic is wrestling really well right now too. He and Justin are the exact same weight. Within a few ounces of each other all the time. Tonight and tomorrow is their regional tournament which qualifies them for the state meet. Justin is the #1 seed and Dominic is the #3 seed! Crazy. It could be an all-Lampe final tomorrow night!! How cool is that?
Jeff and I just try to keep up with everything. It's impossible really. I only teach two classes a day, but Angela has therapy a few times a week, and of course, Jeff keeps the trees going and breaks his back for a living. Ugh. The hurricane back in September was the gift that keeps on giving; he had PLENTY of winter work due to it and he is STILL getting calls as a result of it. That was a crazy storm. The kids and their cousins all got me running this summer, and I've been doing that regularly ever since. I love it. I take either Dominic or Justin with me most the time and our goofy cane corse Duke with me all the time; he's a baby but he can clear a playground! Scares the bejeebies out of everyone. We Lampes like that.

Until next time...Deo gratias.