The Morning After

OK, it's finally over. And as far as I can tell the world is still turning on its axis, just tilted considerably more to the left. I am not happy but neither am I in the depths of despair. I bailed on the election coverage very early last night because I just couldn't take the agony. I got in bed with a good book and my dog. True comfort in any storm. At least I know there are still a good percentage of people in this country (at least 44%) that held out for the conservative candidate. They weren't swayed by charm and charisma and a multitude of lofty promises that were such the antithesis to Obama's proven record. But enough about that. This morning as I caught up on last night's events I saw pictures of crowds of people who took to the streets to await the results of the election. Finally an election that meant more to them than a World Series or Super Bowl win. And this is what I saw. Lots and lots of people, people who looked like they were from anywhere USA. A mix of faces, joyful faces, tearfilled faces. And my defeat didn't sting so badly. The part of this election that I can find comfort in is this moment in our shared American History that erased the notion that we are not equal. That there are two different worlds at work for the haves and the have nots. Can we see today that all men are equal? That in this great country opportunity DOES EXIST FOR ALL? Now do this Mr. Obama, worker of miracles, who has enjoyed all of the benefits offered by this great country, protect the most vulnerable in our society. Lead us down the path of light and hope for all of God's people. Protect the rights of the unborn. I pray for your conversion.

On the Eve of Destruction?

I write this on election eve. Never have I been so concerned, worried, afraid about the future of our country. It also has occurred to me that as I often fantasize about living in my beloved city by the lake, I realize that I would be the proverbial perch out of Lake Michigan water. What would a die-hard conservative be doing living in Chicago? As the city gears up for a day long celebration of all things Obama, I feel we ARE on the verge of true "CHANGE" and its not for the better. We shall see Wednesday morning, what is left of Grant Park. We shall see what is left of anyone who hasn't drunk the koolaid. We shall see what is left of our right to free speech, our right to bear arms, etc., etc. Enjoy the party thrown by hizzonor da mayor for his crony, BHO, but I think it's gonna come with one hell of a hangover.

The State of the Union Causes me to Ponder

My kids know me too well. A lifetime of growing up with a protective, way-conservative mother has conditioned my kids to sort of protect ME from life. They know I would prefer a world where only kind words are spoken, especially to children, everyone goes to church every Sunday, and no one takes unhealthy risks physically, spiritually, or emotionally. I am naive, always have been. That doesn't mean stupid, or clueless. I have a healthy dose of suspicion but that doesn't mean my probing questions are always answered truthfully. I want to think the best of the people I care about and that includes my kids and the kids they pal around with. My bubble has been burst on numerous occasions. It pains me to know that their language is peppered with majorly offensive four-letter-words. (Not around me mind you.) It pains me to know that once again, it is way-cool to smoke. It pains me to know that yes, alchohol and drugs cross their paths. And don't even ask me about sex. They know where I stand there. I've taught them since they were little to respect themselves and to value the gift of life. Marriage is sacred and intimacy is a great responsibility. (If they only knew what pains I've taken to be true to those values.)

They are more or less grown ups now. Willl they take all that I have given them and toss it aside, or take it to heart? That is the question that every parent asks themselves. I take pride believing that I have raised competent, intelligent, decent human beings. But of all of the things I've dreamed for my children, the one most important to me is the decent part. I want my kids to respect themselves and others as well. I want them to look at the world and people critically as well as lovingly. You can do both. In this anything goes world where the mere mention of the world judgemental sends people into a tizzy, I say we must be judgemental. If we're not, we have no standards and all behaviors and actions are equal. NO WAY. As my ethics guru Dennis Prager states, (and I paraphrase) "you can judge the actions/behaviours, you cannot judge a persons motives." But make no mistake, you will be judged, just not by me, or anyone else for that matter. We all however will face the Ultimate Judge.

So when I start ranting about offensive movies, tv, or song lyrics my kids automatically know exactly where I'm going. They have heard it a million times and would rather not hear it again. I just can't help myself. Our culture is rotting away and our kids have been immersed in it for so long that they are desensitized. I just pray that the contribution that my children make to this world will lift it up. I pray that our world will be a little bit better because they were in it. When it comes to using their God given talents in this world I tell them "Use Your POWERS for GOOD"!

Well, I just spent a week in my favorite city and it just wasn't enough. I often wonder if it would have such a hold on me if I lived it on a daily basis. Probably not. I didn't get to The Lake, didn't make it all the way up the Magnificent Mile, spent a whole week there and felt cheated. Got to spend time with Dad, very good, and he very much appreciated it. Spent an evening revisiting my childhood with classmates from the SKS (St. Kieran School) class of '73.

Who in their right minds would bother to take the time to reconnect with their elementary school classmates you ask?! More than half of a class of 57, that's who! We came from nine different states to relive the best days of our childhood. We started the evening with mass in a church building that didn't even exist until more than ten years after we were gone. We honored those who have passed. We told stories, secrets, and probably several tall tales. We passed hour upon hour reminiscing. Astonished that a tale so vividly remembered by one, was totally forgotten by another. Lots of selective remembering and forgetting! Crazy teachers, classroom high jinx, first crushes, slumber parties remembered, playground torments regretted. Acknowledgement that apologies were due to kids not treated terribly well.

Our greatest accomplishment: we grew up. Many with college age children, grandchildren, and even sadly, children lost. Marriages, remarriages, and yes even "partnerships". That wasn't even in the vocabulary back in '73.

We had so much fun, we promised to do it again soon. We really missed those of you that didn't come. You probably weren't the least bit interested, or curious as the rest of us. Or maybe you still felt the sting of hurtful words, childish mistreatments, the loneliness of being different. Its amazing how time heals. Generous hearts recognize the good and forgive the bad. We recognized that the community that we were once a part of, built mostly by the choices of our parents, partly by chance, was for the most part, good. God bless you all, thanks for the memories.

So, that "toddlin' town" that I love so much and frequently wax nostalgic about has my first born daughter as one of its newest residents. THAT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!! I should have at least suspected this outcome from a child for whom "Marshall Fields" was among her first words! Sure, share my love for that amazing place but don't leave me for it!!!!! OK, I admit I am truly excited for her and a bit envious of the adventure she is embarking upon. It's been less than a week and she is soaking up the atmosphere and meeting dozens of interesting people. She meets people and makes friends easily. Good for her, slightly anxiety inducing for me. After all, this is the big bad city, you have to keep your guard up right? That's the thinking of a Mom, not an 18 year old who is meeting new people daily who share her interests. In four years of high school you are lucky to find a small handful of kids that "get you" and let you be who you are. Here she is surrounded by artsy types who love the same movies, brew pots of tea for each other and whose dreams are as colorful as their hairstyles.
She has a partial view of the lake which includes the Shedd Aquarium and the Planetarium. On Sunday, Lake Michigan was a dazzling shade of blue dotted with the sails of lucky urban sailors. She will get to watch that amazing lake as it changes colors like her old mood ring. Of course this great view comes at the cost of the ear splitting L train that rumbles a few floors below her window. Funny what you can adapt to when it comes as part of your very own first real apartment.
I deserted the Windy City for a patch of collegiate warmth in the southwest. My daughter has done just the opposite. The old "grass is greener" philosophy I suppose. Adventure is best for the young and fearless. Have a blast Sunshine!!!

Recollections of a Catholic School Girl

Once a Catholic school girl, always a Catholic school girl. On second thought, Madonna was a Catholic school girl, so maybe I should take that back. Well, it holds true for me anyway. Catholic school in the 60's-70's was definitely different from my parent's generation. We still had plenty of nuns to teach us, classrooms were full, and discipline was the rule. The Sister's habits got shorter over the years then disappeared altogether. Most of ours were fairly young (I'm now realizing just how young) and good natured. No horror stories of ruler bruised knuckles just one completely humiliating memory of having to stand face to face with the blackboard for forgetting my religion homework. I pretended I was reading what was written on the board and studying the intricate details of the nearby phonograph. Even though she sentenced me to my first and probably only punishment, I completely idolized my second grade teacher Sr. Laurent. At 8years old I was convinced that convent life was in my future. I'm sure my parents were very proud...seriously.

Sister's were our role models outside of our family. Their lives of sacrifice and faith, modesty and dedication were modeled for us daily. But, the times, they were a changin'. The lives they led must have appeared so antiquated and irrelevant to most of society. And maybe eventually to them. Women had more options in the world. One by one, we lost them. To what, we didn't always know, it wasn't discussed. Can you imagine? People's private lives being private?! Maybe we were just protected from the realities of life. You did that back then, protect your children from scandal, heartache, the harshness of life. Hey this was the late 60's after all, in Chicago no less. (We had no idea at the time about the war or that Uncle Bob was cracking skulls of hippie protesters on the streets of Chicago. Now that I know, I'm rather proud of him.)

Our priests were respected. Having one in the family was an honor. To us, he was just Uncle "B", but he was special. I was always proud to reveal to the Sister's in particular that my uncle was the pastor at St. Patricia's. Still, it didn't get me out of doing my religion homework. Report card day had particular gravitas since the pastor was the bearer of the good/bad news. He would go into every class and hand out every report card. Fr. McCarthy did it gravely but mercifully, swiftly. On the other hand during Fr. Crawford's tenure it was agony since he ALWAYS opened it first. He would smack you (lovingly) on the head with it if it wasn't up to par. From this we learned good old fashioned accountability. Not only did we need to make good for our parents, but also for our community. Each time the priest would enter our classroom we would all stand and in unison say, "good morning Fr. McCarthy". Respect was a daily lesson, not something splased across a glossy poster, decorating a drab hallway. Weird tho it sounds now but Halloween night just wouldn't have been complete till we made the rounds of the convent and rectory while still in full costume.

Sure it got boring wearing that same plaid skirt and green sweater year after year, but in the first few years it was a bit of a thrill to dress for Friday mass in my little green bolero jacket, plaid snap tie, and MATCHING PLAID TAM! Oh yes, we were a sight to behold! As Vatican II changes filtered down and formalities relaxed, we lost the tams (darn!). However, on Sundays I'd have to hunt down my round lace doiley and attempt to firmly secure it to my cowlickly little head by the always elusive bobby pin. It wasn't a fashion statement, it was a statement of dignity and humility, and dare I say, modesty. Remember modesty? Think of that little lace doily next time you are sitting behind a female at mass who's camisole "top" can't reach the top of her low rise pants.


Catholic school was always a given in our household even though the presence of that little brown tuition envelope struck terror in the heart of my parents. I am grateful for the sacrifices that they made to keep us there. And so, I have tried to do the same for my kids. Yes, the times are still a changin'. The nuns are gone, and the schools struggle with enrollment, the challenge of paying the salaries of lay teachers, and the costs of keeping up with technology etc. etc. I've spent enough time in the classroom working with the kids to know that that little concept of respect is often hard to find. Alot of those vintage cultural aspects of Catholic schools are gone. Hopefully the important things remain especially the fostering of a lifelong love for Christ and his Church ...not just those groovy plaid skirts.

For some amazing photos and video from the Chicago History Museum's current exhibit: Catholic Chicago go to http://www.chicagohistory.org/Growing up Catholic in Chicago

Happy Father's Day Dad. From your daughter who likes to remember the old days.

I am often guilty of romanticizing the past and pining for days gone by. My parents must have done an awfully good job of making life carefree for us kids because I never felt that their lives were a chore or that raising four kids was any great hardship. Even tho....in the early days dad worked two jobs, the nine to five grind with long commute to the city at Bell Federal (remember the big lighted bell sign on the corner?!) and a night/weekend gig as a banquet waiter at the old McCormick Place. We had one car and a small new house in the south 'burbs. Mom would drive us to the station where we'd sit in the un airconditioned car and wait for dad's train to pull in. We'd spend the time listening to the radio (classic crooners, none of that hippie stuff) and try to spy dad coming off the train. Years later his trek home was to walk from work to the train, then grab a bus that would drop him off at the end of our street. We loved to stand in the living room window to see who would be the first to spy dad coming down the block. Even when he would be walking home in the dark, we would strain to catch a glimpse of him in suit, tie, pocket square, and hat, carrying the daily paper. I don't recall him ever being tired or grumpy. He would hand off the Chicago Daily News which he read on the train but save the "funnies" to read to his girls. If it was Friday he inevitably quizzed us at dinner, "guess what I had for lunch today?" To which we would all reply, "a stein of beer, a bowl of clam chowder soup, and a fish sandwich!" Either all Fridays were still meatless back then or Dad observed the tradition regardless.

Our house was modest, our vacations simple, our priorities were straight. Faith and family. Love and kindness. Dad didn't amass a great bank account or a cushy retirement. He gave all he made to provide for his family. He loved his wife, I especially thank him for that.

South Shore Prom 1954

Lauren

2008

Arline

1954

Best Friends' pose creates stunninng inspiration for another generation.

Cinderella goes to the Prom circa 1955

"Its deja vu all over again" as the wise man once said. I would have to say my 2008 Cinderella measures up nicely next to her 1955 counterparts! Take a vintage 50's prom dress, heirloom jewelry and handbag, add rockin' pink platform maryjane's and you have recycling at its finest. I think Arline and Joan would approve. These two best friends were stunning inspiration for this contemporary 18 year old going to her senior prom 53 years later. She found a mint condition dress at an antique shop a year and a half ago and tucked it away for the occasion. I unwrapped my mom's exquisite rhinestone necklace and earrings (the very same she wore to her prom!) and added her silver bag. Sure, she went out on a limb, and the adult chaperones probably appreciated her style more than her peers, but if anyone could pull it off, she could. It wasn't exactly the Boulevard Room at the Conrad Hilton, but the night was a success none the less.

8037 Crandon Ave.

This little gem is merely a shadow of its former self these days. Perusing public records, I've seen a recent picture and she could use some TLC. A classic Chicago Bungalow that could use my touch. What I wouldn't give to have the chance to bring her back, with a few improvements of course. My mom grew up here and always spoke about what a wonderful city it was back then. Minutes from the beach and the Loop. South Shore Country Club, Jackson Park beach, theaters downtown where you could catch a live performance by your favorite "rat packer". Her obsession was Dean and Jerry back then. After the war, and the early 50's life was good (OK, let me have my fantasy I know it wasn't good for everyone). Something tells me life wouldn't be quite so peaceful now in this neighborhood as it was back then. I'm afraid it hasn't experienced the rejuvenation that many classic neighborhoods have.

Pardon me while I rant...
I've spent hours combing sites about Chicago bungee rehabs. Seen countless photos of proud homeowners showing their handiwork. Question: What possesses someone to purchase a quaint vintage bungalow and turn it into a rehab monstrosity? Second story additions just blow my mind. Re dos of a 1928 kitchen that look like they came straight out of a 2003 Home Depot brochure! These modern kitchen and bath re dos look like they belong in a 21st century suburban tract house! I know, modern conveniences, blah blah blah. Vintage design doesn't have to equal archaic or impractical. Where is the architectural integrity?

So I will have my bungalow rehab dreams and pray that, if I ever really get the chance, my dream bungalow doesn't turn into a money pit nightmare!

Mourning the Loss of Chicago Catholic History

My parents were guilty of it too. Fleeing the decaying city for the suburbs. Starting their families in the fresh, clean new suburbs of Chicago. I really can't blame them. They saw their old neighborhoods disappear before their eyes. Once magnificent neighborhoods full of history, classic architecture (what I wouldn't give for one of those "bungees" now), gorgeous churches built with the artistry of classic craftsmen from the "old country". I've heard stories of the elaborate movie palaces, weekly church dances, hanging out on the lakefront beaches, everything the magnificent city offered right at their fingertips.




Searching the internet I've found that so many of the old churches are gone. The neighborhoods that kept them alive changed so much that the parishes just died. Mom and Dad married at Our Lady of Peace on 79th Street at Jeffery. Its now a Haitian Mission. Looks like the building is still standing but I doubt it would be recognizable to her.




Dad went to dances on Saturday nights with his buddies and met girls from all of the surrounding parishes. St. Agnes, St. Sabinas, St. Killians, Visitation. He was quite well known for his prowess on the dance floor. Even now (65+ years later) the ladies still remember him!

Surely there are hundreds of stories out there about the good old days. Tell me how it was.