A Lesson From the Father in the Elevator and the Grocery Store this Afternoon

Today was super busy: studying, Mass, lunch with friends, a visit to a grant competition for our older son and then the fitness center, where I haven't been in more than a week. Tomorrow looks even busier.

Father's Day, A Missing Remote and an Angry Old Cat

One of the problems with getting to know someone via facebook and blogs is we really have no idea what he or she is like in real life. Take me, for example. Checking out the last three posts on this blog, you might get the impression I am a depressive who seeks out drama. That is not entirely true. 

Sure, posts about: the death of the priest who married us; the closing of the parochial school my brother's children attend; and the turmoil in Ankara are not exactly a gallon of giggles. But truly, there are plenty of hijinks at our home. Consider the Search for the Remote on Father's Day and its Successful Discovery the morning after. 

This tale involves an elderly cat we recently adopted named Venus as well as a huge rip in the back of the sofa that nobody will take credit for. Generally we cover the rip up with an Americana quilt commissioned by a family friend's ex-father-in-law,  a man who spent time in the federal penitentiary, convicted of financial shenanigans. But I digress.

In Praise of My Husband, the Father and the Coach

My husband has been coaching our sons in  basketball  for more than a decade. This afternoon, he coached as a father for the last time.

During more than 20 years of knowing my husband, I have rarely seen him cry, even in private moments. Today he nearly shed tears as he spoke with his eighth grade recreation department team after their final game. He has been filled with sadness the past few days with the sense of loss over this part of his life.

How blessed I am to have this man in my life and as the father to our two teenaged sons. 

On Being Fatherless and Planting Mustard Seeds

Reality has a way of intervening into my own little bubble of bliss. In our small family of four, our Father's Day was fine. And yet, over the past few days I have encountered no fewer than 10 children of our acquaintance who are essentially fatherless.

Happy Birthday, Husband!

Greg is 48 today. He is a magnificent man. Our lives are happy and full.

Today our oldest made us breakfast and while Greg and I continued our Mad Man marathon. We started watching the show this year, and a friend has loaned us Seasons One and Two DVDs.

Greg went to the 11 a.m. Mass; I will take the boys to the 8 p.m. Mass. When he returned, we kept up our marathon.

Midafternoon, he and I headed the gleaming corporate offices of Dow Jones in Monmouth Junction, NJ, where Greg picked up an award from the New Jersey chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists. A World Trade Center survivor, Greg won a first-place prize in the essay category on his piece on life after 9/11.

We are home now. I am grading year-end papers and he is changing out of his suit and into sweats and a tee-shirt. He is heading out with our younger son to a local park, where he will coach a middle school basketball league he started a few years ago.

What a busy and blessed life I get to share with this fine man.

"Cape Fear": How Far Would You Go To Protect Your Loved Ones?

Because I teach "To Kill A Mockingbird" and show my students the Oscar-winning film, I ended up buying a six-DVD box of Gregory Peck movies. Among the box's treasures is "Cape Fear," a film that came out in 1961, the year before "To Kill a Mockingbird" and stars a very different Peck from the sedate, level-headed Atticus Finch.

My husband and I settled in to watch "Cape Fear" this weekend. It's a psychological thriller that takes place in Georgia. The action is set into motion when Max Cady, a convicted rapist, played by Robert Mitchum, finishes his prison term and tracks down lawyer Sam Bowden, the key witness against him. Peck portrays Bowden.

On Father's Day, Something I Just Have to Share

Webster Bull, who brought me into the blogging world, has written a moving tribute to his father.  

My father always smelled good. Rules of personal hygiene were the third tablet of his Commandments. Towel off methodically before exiting the shower. Brush until foam forms on your lips. Shave downward, re-lather, then repeat with upward strokes. And always rinse the sink, cupping and tossing the water with knobby hands, then brushing the last flecks of beard and suds toward the drain with the hairy backs of your fingers. Dad’s hands were the knobby, hairy ones. Mine are girlish by comparison.

My earliest memories of Dad include sitting on the toilet seat beside the sink and watching him perform his morning ablutions. In most of my memories today, in fact, I am watching him exhibit his power and grace.

Read more here....