mama mondays: a chat with 911 fire chief this morning!

"Aaaarrgh, Matey!"

Before I get to the important stuff, a few kid quotes to start off the week with a smile.

Heard recently via Nick, age 4:

"Mom, know what makes me mad about Skittles (the cat)? Sometimes, I don't know how, but sometimes she just shoots out her nails and gets me in the head!"

This one came during a car-washing expedition:

Mom: "So, are you still scared of car washes like when you were a baby?"

Nick: "Nah."

(Big pause as car wash kicks in full force)

Nick: "Whoah, NOW I'm scared! It's like a giant squid is trying to attack me!"

*********

Alright, so here's what's going on today (Monday). I'll be joining Tanya Watterud on "Real Presence Live," our local Monday morning Catholic radio program. Specifically, I'll be interviewing the renowned speaker Chief Dan Daly, who was one of the workers on the scene at Ground Zero on September 11, 2001. After this life-changing experience, Chief Daly retired to commit his life to helping soliders and speaking across the country and around the world. In a couple weeks, he'll be in Fargo to speak at a benefit to help raise funds for local soldier, husband and father, Rusty Ouart. While in battle in Iraq, Rusty received trauma to his brain, and military insurance will not cover the hopeful treatments that could bring him around to more normal functioning. There is a tremendous endeavor going on here in Fargo for the cause with Chief Daly headlining the event. Please tune in to hear Daly's inspirational words and learn more about the efforts to give Rusty the chance he surely deserves. (Two of his children are classmates of two of my children, so we have a vested interest in the cause, but everyone is connected, considering the sacrifice he made on all our behalf.)

The interview will take place at 9:45 a.m. on AM 1280 Fargo and 1370 Grand Forks. Or, connect through your website here. To learn more about Chief Dan Daly, check out his website.

And on another note, I can't believe it's finally February!

What do you like most about February?

faith fridays: what's with the catholic stuff anyway?

I didn’t launch Peace Garden Mama with the thought that faith would be such an integral part of it. Little by little, however, my zeal for my faith began to spill into my posts. Then, during Lent last year, I divulged more of my faith life here. Doing so surprised me. I felt my writing come alive. It felt more authentic, like I was no longer holding back this very important part of myself.

The blogging world is generous in that it comes with few restrictions regarding content. Even so, we always take a risk by infusing our faith into our writing, especially within the context of a largely secular world. We also risk alienating readers who might feel we are trying to be didactic, trying to force our beliefs onto them. Because I value all of my readers, both Protestant and Catholic, full-fledged believers as well as those with a million questions and hesitations regarding any faith life, I think it’s important to be clear about my intentions: all are welcomed here. In fact, I love that we’re not all in exactly the same place. I hope to grow from you and perhaps I can reciprocate, whether the subject is parenting, writing and/or faith matters.

I thought it might be helpful to share a little of my faith background so you’d have a better sense of where I’m coming from, especially regarding the “Catholic stuff.” I’ve interviewed a lot of people through the years, and have found that knowing someone’s history is largely the key to better understanding and appreciating them. Like most believers, my faith journey has been an evolving one with many twists and turns. I won’t share everything right off, but here’s a little of my "testimony" (Can I get a witness?) to perhaps prompt a dialogue and help you understand what drives me.

I grew up in a Catholic home, but my father quit practicing his faith visibly when I was quite young. (Thankfully, he came back to his faith some 35 years after letting it go, praise God!) It was largely my mother and her quiet example of persistent faith that offered the richest spiritual soil for my earliest years. My father contributed in another, less visible way. Despite his resistance to living out his faith, this former seminarian still insisted my sister and I go to church with our mother. Though slightly confused by this at the time, I later came to realize that even though he may not have felt worthy of a vital relationship with God at that point, he still wanted that for us. That spoke volumes to me later, because even though he wasn’t able to be the example he would have liked, his unspoken sentiments seemed to be that there was something about this faith, this Catholic faith, that shouldn’t be discounted. As I prepared to leave for college, he encouraged me to become part of the Newman Center for Catholic students. It was some of the best advice he could have given me. That experience was crucial for my well-being and gave me a “home base” for my faith during a time when so many of my peers were discounting faith altogether.

But challenges came my way as well. I was confronted by lots of questions about my faith that I couldn’t adequately answer. For a while, I even strayed from Catholicism and became involved in some non-Catholic Christian groups. These groups were energizing and I loved the zeal for Christ I found within them. But in time, I began to sense the loss of something I couldn’t quite define. As for the questions I couldn’t answer, instead of just shrugging my shoulders, I began desiring to learn more about the faith of my upbringing; one, so I could answer the questions with confidence; and two, so I could determine whether the answers were adequate for me. I was opened to whatever God wanted for me, even if it meant leaving the Catholic Church.

Many things came into play in my ultimate decision, and I hope to talk about some of them in future posts, but the end result is that my fervent study, far from pushing me further from the Church, slowly began to lure me back in. The depth that seemed to be missing earlier became apparent in my search. At the point at which my non-Catholic husband was confirmed in the Church (the same evening our firstborn was baptized), I realized that the faith I had “discovered,” while the same one of my youth, was also a new faith entirely. Not because the Church had changed, but because I had. I had grown and learned there were answers to the questions that had been raised; answers that were not only adequate but life-changing. To be honest, I was delightedly shocked at the Church I was coming to know, which was so different than the one being purported from the outside. I also felt profoundly grateful I hadn’t jumped ship when it would have been the easier thing to do.

Recently, I was invited to write an account of my faith journey for a friend working on an article about why people leave (and in some cases, return to) the Catholic faith. By the end of reading the finished piece, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Everyone interviewed for the article had left the Catholic faith at one time or another. Some returned, some didn’t. Realizing I, too, could have permanently walked away from this Church I have come to adore filled me with a deep sense of gratitude that only quiet tears could express.

Like other sinners, I have made mistakes, plenty of them, and I’m sure I’ll make a few more by the time my earthly end has come. But I can honestly say that despite suffering and the imperfections of this life, I live with a deep-seated joy and peace because of my faith, which is deeply rooted in Catholicism and its abundant riches. And I’ve come to a point in my life at which I can not ignore this and pretend it’s not a big deal. It’s a huge deal. It’s the difference, for me, between living vibrantly and simply just living or even dying a slow death. I speak with conviction about the latter because I’ve been in that place, too.

So, I will continue to bring my faith life into my world of mothering and writing, and as I do, it’s important to me that my readers know division is far from my purpose in this. Each of us has our own unique journey with much more in common than not. I choose to focus on those commonalities, while still sharing what it is about my particular beliefs that make me feel so intensely alive.

Have you ever had questions about your particular faith? And if so, did the answers draw you in further or propel you onto a different path?

thursday thrills: mr. potatohead, i love you!

On days I have meetings or appointments that don't lend themselves to having a 4-year-old tagging along, I have two wonderful helps at my disposal. One is a part-time sitter, Kristi, who has immeasurably blessed my life over the past several years. Another is a drop-off childcare business that, lacking a permanent grandmother in the vicinity, we've gratefully used over the years.

This week, I got to talking to the owner of the childcare place, Terry Graalum. She's an energetic woman who, I recently learned, has an art background. She's also a woman after my own heart in the quest to make lemonade out of the lemons that life dishes out.

Lately, the most bitter lemons in these parts have come in the form of cold weather that has kept us from functioning at full capacity. But Terry isn't one to let opportunity slip by. So the other day, when the snow was coming fast and furiously, she saw not dreary weather but an artistic canvas unfolding before her eyes. Here's what her creative genius produced:

Apparently, some kids were helping her with the initial snow structure, gathering up the snow base that she would use for her masterpiece. But eventually their bodies tired out, and it was then that Terry rolled up her sleeves (or, rather, put on her sculpting mittens) and went to work. When one of the boys returned a while later and saw the still-uncolored creation, he exclaimed, "HOW did you DO THAT???!!" He was absolutely awestruck at how a mound of snow had been turned into Mr. Potatohead.

Pretty cool, don't you think, the ways people use their creative energy?

When was the last time you were wowed by someone's creative talent?

writing wednesdays: motivation

What is it? What is it that compels us to put thought to paper, to fashion a sentence...and another and another...to rework and rewrite and then, finally, to send those pieces of our soul off into the world? Is it that we desire fame and want to be noticed? "Hey, look at me?" Is it that we enjoy suffering? Because we know that the writing life inherently involves at least a little of this most days, and a whole lot of it others. Are we just practicing, writing just for the sake of littering a white page with black letters? Or is there something more?

Of course, our motivation for continually retrieving pen and paper, or facing our blank computer screens day after day, varies depending on who we are, where we're at in our life, and what our goals are. But I would hazard to guess that at bottom of all our motivation is something much less shallow or simple than anything I've proposed thus far.

I've been thinking about this subject for a while now because I think it's important we're aware of our own intentions, as well as to use what time and space we have each day as wisely as we can. I am someone who is driven, in many ways, by my desire to help provide for my family, even while knowing that if I'm going to do this through writing, I am going to have to be fully engaged in my craft and the outside world, and I am going to have to work my rear-end off. Nevertheless, I am compelled by this need, because writing is something I've nearly always done relatively well, and it seems pointless to go down another road less familiar when I've had success through writing and, through more hard work, anticipate more.

But even that isn't enough, and I've known it all along. There's something else about the writing life that is so alluring that when asked what they'd most like to do in their lives if they could choose any endeavor, a room full of women on Oprah a few years back responded, "Write." It wasn't until then that I realized just how universal this need to express ourselves in written word seems to be. There's something soul-freeing about turning our inner thoughts into something tangible; something that has the potential to be a transforming force to others.

My blogging pal Jody Hedlund said it so well in a recent post of hers, "What a Writer Wants Most," that I'm inspired to borrow a few of her words:

"But most of us want our words to make an impact, to hit readers in the heart and leave an imprint that changes the way they view life. We want our words to breathe fresh hope into lives that often so desperately need it.

"We labor over our stories because deep down we know that the real joy in writing comes not only from the creative process, but also from being able to share the pleasure of our stories with others."

Spot on! There is an innate need in us, all of us, to share our stories, to know that our thoughts-turned-into-words have truly affected others. And most of us hope that our written expression will stir something within our readers, causing them to be changed somehow from taking in what we've taken the time to write.

Not all of us choose to do this through writing, since our gifts are not always the same. For some, it might happen through another artistic channel. But the need is there in every single one of us and it is an extremely powerful need. And part of that need comes from our desire to not leave this world without having made a difference, without having left some kind of indelible mark behind.

A few months ago, something happened in my life that caused my motivation to come to an absolute halt for a period of about three days. I truly was ready to give it all up, every last bit of writing. Once I started down that road, every piece of writing I'd done until that point seemed completely meaningless. I would call what I experienced a "dark night of the writer's soul," and it's happened to me a few times before, but this time it was quite intense. Several factors contributed to my emerging from that pretty much intact and not too much worse for wear, including the voice of a writer friend I will introduce next week. But I would not wish it on any writer. If it does happen, know that it can and will most likely pass with the help of a few rightly-timed variables.

I'm greatly relieved my "dark night" dissipated fairly quickly this go-around. I feel so much more alive when I'm writing, when I'm sharing tiny shreds of my soul so that others might feel more peaceful, more thoughtful, more joyful, more alive themselves.

Are there other factors besides what I've mentioned that keep you motivated? Have you ever lost that motivation, even if for only a short while? If so, what brought you back?

mama mondays: brett favre's mom and my mom #2

Kid Quote of the Day: Nick, age 4: "Mom, I didn't get to use the computer yet today, or even yesterday, or even the day when it wasn't yesterday yet!"

Yes, you are indeed looking at a photo of Brett Favre's mother with her arm around the shoulder of my dear mother-in-law (Mom #2, as she refers to herself in email messages to me, though she's my #1 mother-in-law). Nope, it wasn't doctored a bit, except for the lovely words Bev added. It's the real deal, and it was taken just a few days ago in Mississippi, where my Mom #2 was visiting her #1 daughter near her home in Mississippi. What's really cool about this, I think, is that this crossing happened at the crux of Mrs. Favre's son's fabulous football career, in those hyped-up days leading to the incredible playoff game that was to (and did) occur in Favre's hometown territory this evening.

I wanted to save this photo for today, being that it's Mama Mondays and it seemed awfully appropriate and well-timed. I knew it would have a lot of meaning, too, with that much-anticipated Vikings v. Saints game just having ended. Even though we in Vikings territory are more than a little bummed at the outcome, it was an exciting year for Vikings football fans. They gave our corner of the world a lot to get pumped up about.

But I need to come clean: I'm not die-hard football fan. I tried quite a few years ago but discovered my husband has enough enthusiasm for the game to cover the entire household. Somehow, in order to balance things out, I felt it necessary to fade into the background during football season. Generally, I pop in when it counts the most -- the final quarter or so. By then I have a feel for what could happen and rarely feel as though I've missed anything important. During the first quarters, I generally get a lot accomplished around the house. Tonight, for example, I did about five loads of laundry while the Vikes were sweating it out on the field and my husband was doing likewise in front of the tube.

In the end, it was Troy, our daughters and I who huddled around the TV biting our fingernails in the final minutes. Wow! What an exciting game. Tough to take the ending, but it truly is just a game; gotta keep it all in perspective. Life goes on. Favre had an awesome year, it's hard to dispute that.

Besides, I have this photo to remind me of a remarkable season, and two remarkable women who had the incredible chance to meet just days before the big game. We saw Bonita on TV tonight and it was a bit surreal to think she'd been with Mom #2 only days before. This definitely comes close to topping Troy's brush with Eddie Van Halen about a year ago, and even my mingling with Heloise this past fall.

But seriously...look at how these two lovely ladies are touching. Even though they'd just met a short time before, you can see a connection there. Bev admitted she was rather starstruck, but also heartened by the fact that Bonita seemed relieved to have a few Vikings fans in her "camp." So, you can bet the smiles on their faces are genuine.

Many might say my Mom #2 was extraordinarily lucky to have met Brett Favre's mother, and at this particular juncture in history to boot. But I say she's the lucky one to have met Bev, who will always be one of the classiest and most star-quality-worthy ladies in my book.

Have you experienced your 15 minutes of fame yet? Don't be shy -- make it 20 minutes by sharing the details here!

the gift of faith: finding the cathedral of st. paul

While plotting a weekend trip to the Twin Cities a few weeks back, I was delighted to find my travel companion, Marie, and I on a very similar wavelength about how our Sunday might go down.

"I kind of enjoy going to Mass when I'm traveling," I said, wondering if she'd think me strange. After all, when in Rome, do as the Romans do, right? Why go through the trouble? Why not just sleep in one last time before returning home to a busy life?

"Me too! And I've always wanted to go to the Cathedral in St. Paul," she said, her voice excited.

It would be a cinch, she promised, with her GPS, or "Tom-Tom" along. "I'll just plug in the address and it should be no problem."

Since my only experience with a GPS ended in me verbally chastising the "lady in the box" who'd led me off course and then refused to hush up, even as she continued to err, I wasn't so sure about "Tom-Tom," but decided to trust Marie.

All seemed to be going well Sunday, the final day of last weekend's trip. The lady in the box seemed to know her stuff, after all. Until we passed by what looked very much like a grand cathedral similar to the one we'd seen in photos. "Hmmm, I wonder why she didn't tell us to take that exit?" I said as we passed it from the Interstate.

"Must be a big wrap-around on the other end," Marie responded, hope-filled, still trusting the box that had been chirping at us to "keep right," and "in one mile you will turn right," and "after the exit, get on the motorway." (Where does this lady come from, anyway, that she would not call a highway a highway?)

"Maybe that wasn't it? Maybe that was the Basilica?" I said as I watched the big church fade away.

But soon, I began seeing familiar sights from our shuttle trip to the restaurant the evening before. "Isn't that the road we took to get to Buca?" I asked, pointing to a side road. Maybe the Cathedral was closer to Buca than we'd realized. They were both in St. Paul, after all. Hmmm...

Silence.

And then, up ahead, wouldn't you know it? A train. And not just any train but the slowest-moving train this side of the Mississippi. By this time, we were already losing hope that we would make the 10 o'clock Mass that we had to make if we were to make Mass at all. As the train slogged by, the van clock seemed to speed up:

It wasn't looking so good.

"She's saying we're close, though," Marie said. "Once the train passes, we're almost there."

"It just doesn't seem right," I said. "Where's the big dome?"

Finally, the train passed, the cars thinned out, and as we rounded one last corner at the command of the GPS, the lady in the box announced very assuredly, "You have reached your destination."

Marie and I looked at each other and started laughing. We were not at the Cathedral at all, but back at Buca di Beppo!

"I must have put in the wrong destination address!" Marie said. "I can't believe it!"

After recovering from our attack of mishap giggles, I got my wits about me and told Marie I was determined that we would go to Mass, even if we were a little late. "Look, we saw it from the Interstate. We will find the Cathedral of St. Paul Cathedral if it kills us!"

So we back-tracked...and about fifteen minutes later, a sight for sore eyes:

It was rather overwhelming, to be honest, but in a good way:

Even at the risk of a misadventure and some hearty chuckles realizing the lady in the box was smarter than we were, Marie and I concluded that some things are seriously worth the trouble:

I breathed in and out deeply, feeling overwhelmed with happiness over finding the Cathedral, and from the sight of babies and old people and everyone in between joined there for refreshment of soul. And throughout Mass, I couldn't help but think again of Emilie, the friend who had brought us to this city on this particular weekend. I kept recalling a particularly poignant post she'd written once for her blog, lemmondrops (May 18, 2006):

"I used to go next door to the Cathedral when I was stressing about things. Sometimes I'd sit in a pew. Other times I'd walk around and look at the architecture, the powerful statues of the Gospel writers, the stained-glass windows, the engraved words: 'Truly this is none other than the house of God, the gate of heaven.' Other times I'd kneel in front of the Mary statue and stare at her innocent, childlike face and try to figure out what her big appeal is to so many Catholics. I've never had a thing for Mary, although lately I've been thinking about her more, trying to find new ways of imagining her, wondering if being a mother to a son will make me identify more with her. Anyway, being in that big Cathedral when it was empty and quiet calmed me down. I haven't done that for years. Maybe I should go over there today. I used to say a simple prayer while I was there - I'd ask God for grace, peace, courage and wisdom. Sometimes I'd just say those four words, over and over, like a mantra. 'Grace. Peace. Courage. Wisdom.'"

It brought me so much joy to know that this was the very space where Emilie had been comforted on those off days, where she'd come for solace on an occasional lunch break. Marie and I were seeking solace, too. Aren't we all?

After Mass, as we headed out to the van, we stopped abruptly in our tracks at the sight of a building just inches from the Cathedral, the place where Emilie had been employed during that time of her wandering next door to the Cathedral midday. It was the office of The Catholic Spirit, the place where she and Christina had met as co-workers (see yesterday's post), the newspaper for which she wrote her last column just days before her death.

What a way to end our trip, feeling this echo of a beautiful life still with us somehow. I can't imagine what would have been loss if we'd let our misadventure completely re-route us, if we'd been denied the chance to be here in these spaces where Emilie used to pray and work, work and pray...for solace.

Over the last week, I have obsessed here about Emilie Lemmons in one form or another. It must seem strange, this continued grieving I've done here a little over a year after her death. And yet, for me, it has been part of the healing process, and I hope for others as well, regardless of what it is you are grieving.

Doors close, and sometimes it is terribly hard to stand on the other side of a closed door. But when, after a long, winding adventure, you finally find the next open door, the realization comes that, yes, it is definitely worth it to keep seeking.

I will, Emilie. Thanks...

the gifts that emilie gave

Though this post will comprise the crux of a weekend trip I’ve been unwrapping little by little throughout the week, I know it’s going to be the most difficult of the five to write, simply because what I’m about to share cannot be fully understood in earthly terms and thoughts.

“It only makes sense from a spiritual perspective,” Marie and I concluded on the shuttle ride over to Buca di Beppo, an Italian eatery in St. Paul, this past Saturday evening. “There’s just no way to fully explain it in physical terms, especially to someone looking in from the outside.”

So here’s my attempt at the impossible.

Who, after all, can make sense of our having traveled 250 miles to a birthday celebration in honor of someone who is no longer alive to gather with people we’d never met? What would compel two mothers to leave their families for a weekend and take part in such an occasion nearly four hours from their homes?

It was all about Emilie, and even though other events entered into our weekend, Saturday’s celebration was the central gathering that placed us at Buca, a restaurant where Emilie Lemmons, a fellow writer-mother-blogging pal, had celebrated her final earthly birthday, her 40th, with friends two Januarys ago.

A few weeks after she died on Christmas Eve 2008, Emilie’s friends had returned to the spot they’d so enjoyed with her the year prior. It seemed right to celebrate the life of a woman they’d come to adore and love at the restaurant of her choosing, a place where they'd all shared giggles, pasta and wine the year before.

Both Marie and I came to know Emilie through her beautiful writing. And actually, we came to know one another through it as well. Her dying is what caused us to meet one snowy night last winter. We’d been sharing her world through words, and as those words began revealing the possibility of a life soon to be cut short, we did the thing humans seem to be inclined to do when loss is imminent by gathering to grieve.

In the weeks after Emilie’s untimely exit, I formed some online connections with her friends in the Twin Cities. Her blog may have ended, but it didn’t feel right that all life, all connection to her, needed to end. I was delighted to find a place of welcoming through a few of her faraway friends, as well as her sister, Ellen, from Oregon.

Which is why when Liz, who organized this year’s birthday celebration in Emilie’s honor, invited me to the event, I jumped at the chance to go, despite several obstacles. Eventually, things fell into place and Marie and I began firming up our weekend plans.

That’s how we came to travel a fairly good length of roadway to celebrate the birthday of our blogging heroine on what would have been her 42nd birthday at one of her favorite restaurants; how we came to meet, in real life, Missy (Marketing Mama) and Liz (Random Thoughts of a Lutheran Geek), bloggers I’ve met through Emilie, along with a few other of her friends.

As if that wasn’t thrilling enough, another special blessing came to me at Buca. Through my work at our local Catholic radio station, Real Presence Radio, I recently met, on air, the lovely St. Paul freelance writer Christina Capecchi. It was in December, in the middle of a live phone interview, that I recognized her name as someone who’d recently left a comment on Peace Garden Mama regarding her time working alongside Emilie at The Catholic Spirit newspaper. We marveled right there, in the middle of the broadcast, at the connection and shared our mutual admiration for Emilie. Though Christina wasn’t part of Emilie’s blogging circle, she had been an integral part of her life. One thing led to another and Christina, though she’d never met any of us in person either, was welcomed into the celebratory fold.

Christina and Me: Does this look like two people meeting for the first time?

In other words, there were a lot of new introductions Saturday night. We had all known Emilie in one form or another – some through a close friendship, one through a working relationship, and a couple of us as fellow writers and faithful readers of her blog. What bound us all was Emilie herself. As food and drink were passed and shared at Buca, the thought occurred to me that there was just one person missing: Emilie. But then I realized, no, she is here. I also realized that if she’d been there physically, I would not have, because I likely never would have met any of those beautiful people. It's a bittersweet thought, indeed.

As we got ready to part from Buca, Christina handed me the gift bag featured in my Monday post. It was Emilie’s birthday but I was being given a gift. Even though that might have seemed wrong in any other setting, something about it seemed so right at that moment, and I don’t mean because I was the recipient. The gift represented new friendships and connections borne from old ones, and it represented life – Emilie’s life and the power of it, how her vibrant time on this earth had brought us together, and how the seeds she’d been planting and carefully tending during her time here were bringing forth new life that has only now begun to blossom.

I am so thankful for all of it, but especially for my faith that helps me see life through a lens revealing this world as just a beginning of something much more. And it heartens me to realize that Emilie is already there, already experiencing the bliss of the next world, even while staying near to help draw us toward that even more beautiful life that is to come.

Emilie and Stephen Lemmons

Lemmondrops blog

What do you consider this life's most precious gift?

the gift of extended family (a.k.a. the good day cafe with aunt betsy)

Photo by nobody@flickr.com (swirlspice)

When I realized my hoped-for trip to the Minneapolis-St. Paul area to celebrate a special birthday occasion was going to happen, I knew I'd want to make use of every hour of my mama-away time. It's not everyday a mother has the chance to watch the dirty dishes and piles of laundry fading in the rearview mirror and point her minivan toward the sunset.

Indeed, the sun was setting when I started off on my adventure, bound first for a longtime friend's home in the Minneapolis suburbs. That was the start of the trip and the subject of yesterday's post. The middle of the trip is the subject for tomorrow's blog. Today, I am switching the order a bit to bring you an account of my brief time with Aunt Betsy, which comprised the last hour of our time in the Twin Cities.

Some background first. Aunt Betsy was in high school when I was a little girl, which meant she was THE coolest aunt on the planet. What I remember most was her closet full of assorted shoes (which she rarely wore in the summer, anyway, preferring to drive barefoot); going to the mall to meet up with her cute, chatty, stylish friends (who always made such a fuss over my sister and me); riding on the shoulders of her tall boyfriend; and realizing that she, alone, seemed to understand my complex emotions as I grew into a pre-teen and teen myself. She always seemed to magically know just what to say to me when no one else had the patience or words.

I knew that Marie, my traveling companion, would enjoy Betsy and I was right. It all started with the pick of restaurant. "Just tell us the place, and we'll be there," I'd said during our last-minute pre-trip planning, knowing Betsy would find the perfect eatery at just the right location. With her as our guide, we converged at The Good Day Cafe, a fun little spot I later learned transforms into the Bad Day Bar in the evenings. In the daytime, it is filled with light and happy colors, a sinful-as-all-get-out bakery, and some fun decor, including the light fixture made of whisks and a collander.

Starting our visit with an Almond Joy Mocha didn't didn't hurt at all, either, nor did the toast with raspberry jam and cinnamon-sugar Beignets (a harkening back to Betsy's years living in New Orleans as a graduate student), nor did the crab cakes Benedict served with a side of fried potatoes and onions (I didn't say it was a low-fat trip, did I?). The fact that the Vikings were playing and winning by a landslide, as viewed by a TV just a few feet from us, only enhanced the mood (we knew our guys back home would be dancing in their pajamas). But even if we'd met at a greasy spoon cafe somewhere, we still would have had a great time.

Marie and Betsy hit it off and even discovered they share a common friend, even though their lives had never converged until that day. And I enjoyed, as I knew I would, catching up with Betsy's life, and sharing a bit of what I've been up to. Our breakfast foray was the sweetener in a hearty cup of freshly-brewed tea -- the perfect ending to what had been a phenomenal weekend.

Marie and Me

So, though my order in this story is a bit disordered chronologically, what matters most in my sharing today is that yet another gift was unwrapped that morning at the Good Day Cafe: the gift of a favorite aunt, the one who helped me see as a little girl that my freckles were a blessing not a curse, helped me ease into my first week at college when my parents could not be there to do so, and has given me so much through the years in her wise counsel and gentle understanding.

Me and Aunt Betsy

I have other aunts I also adore, but Aunt Betsy will always rise to the top, simply because, at age 6, she let me try on and wear her blue clogs. That sealed the deal right there. And as it turns out, Marie has an Aunt Betsy, too. We're both in good hands. (Thanks Bets!)

Who is the "Aunt Betsy" in your life?

the gift of old friendship

"Make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other's gold. A circle is round, it has no end, that's how long I want to be your friend." (Girl Scouts of America song)

Yesterday, I spoke of a weekend filled with an assortment of gifts. As promised, I'm going to continue unwrapping those gifts one at a time throughout the week. Today's gift comes in the form of having visited an old friend in her new suburban home in the Minneapolis area.

Lori and I met in the fall of 1986. We worked together in the music department at Minnesota State University Moorhead and hit it off fairly quickly. By the year's end, neither of us had roommates lined up for the following fall. I enjoyed working with Lori and had thought about asking her if she might consider rooming together. I can't remember who asked whom first but I do recall finding out that she'd had the same idea. It was a done deal and I was thrilled it had worked out so nicely. We stayed in touch throughout the summer, planned our dorm color scheme (mauve), and later, shared some crazy moments building a loft in our tiny Neumaier hall dorm room to create more livable space. It was a great year full of new experiences, and wasn't the first year we were roommates. Several years down the line, Lori flew from her temporary home in NYC to be one of five bridesmaids in my wedding.

It was so great to see her again, and we discovered quickly that our mutual gift for gab that used to keep us up all hours of the night has not rusted over the years. We had no trouble filling several hours of time. The next morning, after I was woken by her little son's sweet voice singing "Elmo's World," as soon as the coffee began flowing, we started in again and didn't stop until it was time to part; after our "girls only" brunch with her daughter and a double group hug (orchestrated by said daughter) had been accomplished.

I was still only hours into my wonderful weekend at that point. If my weekend had ended there, I would have deemed it a most precious experience, but it truly was only the beginning!

Thanks, Lor, for reminding me that golden friendships can truly keep their sparkle through the years. Our time together was a treasure to me.

Stay tuned for gift number three!

If you could receive a gift, any gift, today, what would it be?

mama mondays: bottomless gift

I'm having a hard time putting into words my feelings from the weekend that has just come to an end, so I'm going to have to unwrap each gift that came from it slowly, throughout the week, to reveal a little at a time. This might mean more, but shorter, posts this week.

At the very least, I can say that my weekend away from home was not unlike the gift bag I received last night from a new and beautiful friend. "It's just a little something -- the bag makes it look like more than it is," she said as she handed it to me. "A few small things for you, and some treats for the kids."

I didn't open the gift until after our estrogen-packed evening had come to a close, back at the hotel when it was just me and my travel mate and friend, Marie. As I began to remove the contents of the bag in that quieter space, I realized there was more inside than I'd anticipated, and I delighted in each treasure I uncovered, feeling more than a bit undeserving of such a thoughtful gesture. Each time I was fairly certain I'd gotten to the bottom of the bag, another tissue-wrapped gift would appear. Marie and I giggled as I continued to dig deeper, only to find I had not yet reached the end. "There's another one!" "Okay, I think that's it. Nope, no, there's another!"

So, what brought on this flowering of gifts? New friendship, simply put. But there's more here than what I can possibly articulate (yes, sometimes I am rendered speechless...). The bottomless gift seems to be symbolic, which is why I was able to accept it graciously even while feeling unworthy. The gift was about having discovered, through the most amazing set of circumstances, a soul sister. And I sense that this tangible gesture is only the beginning of something deeply and mutually fulfilling; that the truest part of the gift that was revealed to me last night cannot be wrapped in tissue paper at all. Not only that, but this was just the icing on a very delicately decorated cake that comprised ingredients of a weekend I will be savoring for a very long time to come.

I've got to end with a kid quote, because it's Mama Mondays and because it's been a while and because this one is publication worthy, in my eyes.

So, the other day after dinner, Adam, 7, says, "I don't like burping. Wanna know why?" (pause...) Cuz burping budges into your conversation...just like Olivia."

Yeah, man, that burping thing, isn't it just as annoying as an older sister? I tell ya...

Ah, well, life can't be perfect, but at the moment, it's pretty darn good.

What gift did you receive over the weekend?

faith fridays: the healing capacity of light

"There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." — Edith Wharton

Did you know light heals? I’m not talking metaphorically, though that way is just as true. I mean literally. Sunlight acts as a natural antiseptic and is capable of killing all sorts of ugly stuff – bacteria, fungi, yeasts, molds and mites, whether in air, water or on a surface.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that fact as I left a luncheon talk the other day. The event, “Out of the Darkness, Into the Light,” featured a panel of five post-abortive women invited by our local FirstChoice Clinic to talk about their dark journey to and through abortion.

I realize this sort of topic can be extremely divisive, so if you’re inclined to click out of this post immediately, I assure you, “I come in peace.” And even if it’s a bit uncomfortable for you to delve into this issue, I hope you’ll stay long enough to absorb what I learned through these brave, beautiful women who have dared to let light come into their lives and heal them, and in turn, help heal others.

How could this topic not be divisive? Life is the most powerful force there is, and as such, there’s bound to be tension and emotional upset when such topics emerge. Everything hinges on life. Without it, there is only silence and darkness. God said first, “Let there be light,” and that changed everything. The same is true today and for all time. When darkness takes over, life on earth will cease. Even though we as Christians fully believe that life and light brighter than any we’ve known here await us in the hereafter, we have some power now to either hasten that process of the earth darkening, or temporarily reverse it.

After listening to these women the other day, I’ve come to believe that they and others like them will be key in transforming and unifying our world’s hearts and minds on the issue of abortion. It is imperative we listen to women who have experienced the devastating effects of abortion and lived to tell. Listen I did, and having done so, I can’t get their brave voices out of my head.

A little background on the women who formed the panel: they all came from Christian homes, though varied religious affiliation, and they all admitted on some level they knew that by choosing abortion, they would be killing their child. But as is always the case with abortion, other forces took over; mainly, fear. Fear that their parents wouldn’t love them if they found out they were pregnant. Fear that they would be publicly shamed. Fear that this life within them would compromise their goals if left to grow and thrive. As their fears grew, so did their capacity to trust the lies to which they eventually succumbed.

Each of the women told their ages at the time of the abortion and how far along they’d been in their pregnancies. Four were in the first trimester; one had had a late-term, partial birth abortion. As a teenager, she endured labor following the premeditated death of her child. Some remembered every detail of her abortion while others had repressed much of the experience. Most remembered at least some of the details of that day: the emotional coldness of the abortion facility and how the women in the waiting room were all stone-faced; being called not by a name but a number; sobbing while the abortion was being performed and then hearing the staff muttering with disdain, “What’s wrong with her?”; being offered cookies and juice after the procedure; being assured there’s really no reason to be sad, “It was only a blob of tissues.”

Some repressed details that would seem obvious, like the season in which the abortion took place (winter, fall, spring, summer?) and where the clinic was located (“I remember the city, but that’s it.”). All remembered the resulting fall-out – the digression of their lives, how things quickly began spinning out of control. One, a mother of two, started drinking heavily, even drinking and driving with her children in the car. All engaged in self-destructive behavior in one form or another.

The moderator of the panel explained this phenomenon, saying that even when we don’t want to believe that abortion is murder, God’s law is written on our hearts, and so is an innate sense of justice. “Andrea Yates went to prison for killing her children. We just went on with our lives, or so we thought,” she said. Because there was no physical repercussion for their actions, they subconsciously punished themselves, she explained. Guilt and shame and grief drove them to self-destruct.

All of the women expressed in varying ways how the further down into their souls they pushed the reality of what they had done, the more it festered in the dark and grew, fueling their shame. They also all shared examples of being pulled out of the darkness and in some cases, being saved from physical death, and in all cases, being saved from spiritual death. They expressed the deep healing that occurred once the source of their shame was brought to light and recognized for what it was: murder, yes that, but not unforgivable.

“With abortion, there are two people who die,” the moderator said. “The baby dies, and the mother dies inside, too.” She described one post-abortive mother who committed suicide after planning her funeral in detail. She was buried in black with a rose in her casket to represent her dead child.

I know – this is hard stuff to read. I am not sharing it to cause anyone distress or an unnecessary rousing of emotions. I’m sharing it because these women gave me the courage to do so. They helped me see clearly that to believe abortion is a help to women is an absolute deception. No matter the relief that might happen immediately after an abortion, no matter how free a woman might feel for a short while, it cannot and will not last. Sooner or later, it will catch up to her. Women are just as at risk as the babies. If that is truly grasped by the wider public, there is a strong chance the tide will turn.

I don’t believe in hearing a life-changing message without taking some kind of action. How could I listen to these women bare their souls and walk away without any effort to affirm them in their courageous move to try turning darkness into light? In this case, I am simply the mirror hoping to reflect the light to which I was exposed the other day so others might feel its warm, healing capacity as well.

We all have turned away from the light at times, and in doing so, turned our backs on the very God who created us. Many of the reasons we used to justify these sins were fear-based, just like in the cases of these women, but in the end what we did hurt someone else, maimed us and saddened God.

The only way any of us can make our wrongs right is for light to enter in. The natural antiseptic qualities of sunlight have the capacity to make our bodies whole, just as the Light of Lights can heal our wounded spirits.

I stand in awe of women who have had abortions, and later, have gone through a reconciliation process and come out healed. I admire those who have been on the inside and have found the courage to shine their lights out into the world. We are all children of God first, and as long as we recognize this first and cooperate with Him, God can and will make all things good. No sin is unforgivable.

One in four pregnancies ends in abortion, which means it’s possible someone reading this has had an abortion. If you are one of them, please know that healing is possible. Contact Rachel’s Vineyard to take part in a confidential, post-abortive healing retreat. If you’re pregnant and scared and live in the Fargo-Moorhead area, FirstChoice Clinic will treat you with love and compassion and help you explore life-giving options that you will never regret. If you know you’re going to keep your baby but need assistance, contact the St. Gianna’s Maternity Home or The Perry Center. No one should have to travel this dark road alone. These organizations and others like them exist to bring light to lives and help heal wounds.

For all others, what are your thoughts on the healing capacity of light?

writing wednesdays: where land and sea meet

Last week, I hinted at some of the exciting changes on the horizon. In many ways, I really do feel that I'm at that beautiful place where land and sea meet, a place fraught with endless possibility. This coming fall, my youngest son will enter full-time kindergarten; my oldest, high school. This will open up to me daytime hours that have been primarily occupied by caring for my children over the past 14 years. Necessarily, many of those hours will be filled with another kind of job. But what?

I've been ruminating over the options for a while now, and in the last couple of months, have felt a rising conviction within myself. After peeking out at the choices as they are, I've come to realize several important things. One, that my kids' need for a mother who is available as their needs arise is not going to go away anytime soon. Two, that I have within me what I need to create the kind of job that will meld best with my unique family.

So, I'm going to give it a go. For the past several months, I've been plotting out my future path. The future begins now, so the months leading up to fall will be preparation months as I ready myself for my new job. The position I imagine will keep me at home, writing, but instead of simply sneaking in my paid projects during mainly nighttime hours, I will work during the day. I am expanding my horizons, widening my notion of the sorts of projects I will take on. I have taken concrete steps to make this happen, and I feel really good about my future as a freelance writer. I'll still do what I've been doing for the past 15 years as a freelance writer, but along with articles and columns, I plan to take on copywriting jobs as well, helping companies better address their communications needs, especially in the area of writing.

Strong writing is needed in almost every avenue of business, and I've primed myself to be in a place of assistance to those companies who need a boost in this area. I am stepping out, little by little, getting the word out. I want to move out slowly as I work to build what I feel will be a fulfilling venture that will meet my family's needs as well as the needs of the people with whom I will work. I will be drawing on my degree of mass communications and my many years of writing experience. In time, I hope to start a separate blog so my clients can go there and see what I'm up to, and what I've done in the past. I've reserved a spot for this on Blogger and named it "Peace Garden Writer," though I have yet to make it "live." I've enjoyed the Peace Garden theme and it seems to have stuck, so I'm going with it.

In some ways, I'm taking a risk by sharing this here, because I don't know exactly how it's going to go. But I truly believe that something tangible happens when we state our goals; something that would not be possible if we kept them locked up inside of us. When we release them, they become even more real, and more likely to come to fruition. In other words, I believe that our dreams are made manifest in the simple utterance of them.

Aside from the paid writing I will do (and already have begun), I will move forward with my goal of writing a children's novel in the coming year. I am hoping to attend a conference or two to gain guidance. I will stay connected with my best writing pals for support. I will continue to learn my craft. I consider myself a lifelong learner and hope that I will never lose my zest for acquiring new knowledge.

One of the primary motivators for me in this new venture has been the book, The Well-Fed Writer, by Peter Bowerman. This book has given me the courage I need to move forward with what I feel is a sound plan for me and my family.

Thank you, readers, as always, for stopping by when it works for you, and for taking time to comment when you feel inspired. I'm excited about what's ahead, and looking forward to keeping you involved in the details, just as I look forward to hearing from you about your writing goals and dreams.

So, to the writers in the crowd especially, I'd love to hear from you on this. If you have any ideas for me as I embark on this new venture, I'd be grateful to hear them. I'd also enjoy hearing your writing dreams for 2010!

forum column (january 2010): wrap rage, begone!

Just a little post-Christmas venting, published in today's Life section of The Forum of Fargo-Moorhead:

Parenting Perspectives: Enough already with the impossible packaging
By: Roxane B. Salonen, INFORUM

It’s a new year, time for bygones to be securely fastened to Father Time’s backside cloak as he hobbles away into yesteryear.

Unfortunately, while taping resolutions onto the fridge recently, I realized I’ve yet to resolve one of last year’s goals: tracking down the mastermind behind today’s brilliant packaging. You know, the kind which has led to unprecedented cases of parental “wrap rage.”

I realize much of this packaging prowess arose from practical concerns, such as the need to design theft-resistant and mail-safe packaging, but with parental heart palpitations and needless kid tantrums on the rise as a result each holiday season, perhaps it’s time to confront the foe.

The online resource Wikipedia defines wrap rage as “the common name for heightened levels of anger and frustration resulting from the inability to open hard-to-remove packaging.”

If reading that brought on flashbacks of peaceful family gatherings turned nightmarish with the frantic unwinding of twisty thingamabobs – the eventual opening of which was followed by a newly visible crop of rectangle thingamajigs and industrial-strength tape requiring extraction by chainsaw – you may need to see a doctor.

Don’t be surprised if you’re diagnosed with PPTIPS, or Parental Post-Traumatic Impossible Packaging Syndrome.

I can almost feel the collective rise in blood pressures. Whose wouldn’t rise sharply after witnessing sugar-plum visions of dear ones rotting as quickly as one’s patience upon haggling for an hour with said packaging?

A friend recently turned to Facebook for commiseration, updating her status: “I just lost 45 minutes of my life trying to free the Littlest Pet Shop Adoption Center!” She noted that, in all, two hours of precious family time was forever lost due to mind-numbing skirmishes with impossible-to-access toys.

A fellow parent responded that her tiny tot had received a John Deere tractor for Christmas, only to watch in horror as three adult members of his extended family worked tirelessly to free the coveted toy from the “insanely tight and thick twisty ties.”

Impossibly-Wrapped Packaging Mastermind, can you possibly sleep well knowing our children have reverted to waking up in the middle of the night, haunted from having watched us parents resort to using meat cleavers and ice picks to untangle toys from their plastic prisons?

I have just enough post-holiday energy left to make a proposition for the coming year to the Packaging Mastermind: This Christmas, our family would like to have you as an honored guest in our home. We’ll feed and treat you kindly. No hard feelings, really.

Naturally, you’ll be obliged to stay for the gift-opening. We’ll make sure the kids are ready as always, expectant hearts aflutter, faces aglow in anticipation.

Or, perhaps you’d prefer we place all our orders through the companies which, as a result of the nationwide wrap-rage affliction, have now promised “frustration-free packaging.”

If you choose Option A, that’s fine. Just bring your toolbox and an extra box of tissues for the kids.

Roxane B. Salonen works as a freelance writer and children’s author in Fargo, where she and her husband, Troy, are the parents of five children. She also has a blog at www.areavoices.com/peacegarden

mama mondays: first job

"First Job" - R.B. Salonen

Yesterday my daughter arose, all on her own accord.
While the sun and I slumbered on, blissfully unaware,
She got up, got ready for her first real job at the age of twelve.

This is no slave labor, nor a task for which she’s unfit.
Instead, the position is one she’s been preparing to take on
Ever since her brown-eyed baby sister joined our family in '00.

Back then, at age three, her nurturing tank was activated.
A babysitter’s job-in-training course ensued the very moment
She leaned over to touch and kiss the wee one, her baby “Di-di.”

The other day, as the sun and I began to stir and her ride arrived,
It occurred to me that the earth had not shifted, no sea had divided.
Well, not on the outside, anyway, though they did within my being.

For her, it’s about money, the chance to earn and collect
And buy the things for which she’s been yearning these days:
A c.d., a pay-as-you-go phone, a trip to the moon, for all I know.

But a mother’s gaze is rarely fixed solely on the present.
Instead, it is both backward-glancing and forward-looking.
It is impossible for a mother’s thoughts to be in one place only.

Backward, I recalled that first day -- the tiny pink body
Placed gently in the warmer, and eyes opening in surprise,
And my own heart melting as it did like popsicles in summer.

Forward, I imagined the possibilities of her life someday,
After the hormones have leveled and the soul has relented,
And all that she’s absorbed will be the base of all she’s to become.

At the moment of collision of both backward and forward,
I couldn’t help but wonder whether I had done what’s necessary.
Now, I thought, is when my will for her life makes way for God’s.

faith fridays: change, a wavering certainty

“I hate change!” a friend said the other day as she gritted her teeth and pounded a fist lightly on a table.

Though her strong sentiments don’t resonate with me the way they might have in the past, I understand the feelings that fuel such a statement. Sometimes, they creep back into my life as well.

Like at Christmas time, when I realized we were stuck in Fargo, unable to be with extended family as we’d been planning to do for months. My surrender did not come easily. It wasn’t until I confronted the fact that I’d be putting my family at risk by traveling that I pulled away from the forward-moving energy that had been building for weeks. At that point, a light depression settled in as thwarted energy swirled in an attempt to change direction. About 48 hours into it, frustrated surrender turned into acceptance, and I came to embrace our cozy Christmas at home.

Though I responded with a backward step initially, over all I’ve gotten much better at accepting change more quickly with each passing year. I think that’s because of the vast amount of change I’ve experienced in recent years especially. People I thought would live for a long time died. Our family business closed. A few friends veered off onto a different path. My kids outgrew their clothes. A flood threw our city off kilter. A new president was elected. My first two babies turned into middle-schoolers.

But eventually, perspective came. Change has become familiar to me. Recognizing that change is going to happen makes it easier to adjust when it’s time. I’m not saying it’s always easy, but it’s infinitely easier once the certainty of change is grasped; freeing, even.

And here’s another thing. After all that change unfolded, I discovered that I was still here, and that, along with all of those things moving around me, I was still moving as well. I began to see that change is good and necessary and that we are on a constant journey toward a certain destination, and because of that, change is an absolute necessity for all those who live and breathe.

I also came to see the blessings of change; how the income shift prompted creative new solutions in our lives, how old friends re-emerged and new ones appeared to fill empty spaces, how the flood reminded us to stay humble and revived our faith in one another, how new leadership mixed things up in a way that helped us redefine what makes us tick. Indeed, most change can be edifying if we let it be.

This fall, our youngest will go to kindergarten. That will be a huge change for me. I’m already making plans on how I will fill the quiet that will result. I’m excited about new chances to expand my writing in several different directions – more freelance opportunities and partnerships and a chance to make progress on a children’s novel I’ve started. And recently, I’ve taken on a radio gig – helping host our local Catholic radio station. I’ll be hosting once a month, and also will be part of a monthly three-woman radio talk program discussing current issues relevant to the faith life.

These days, I can't say that I hate change. I've become accustomed to that fact that change is a'coming, always. I might not always adjust immediately to it, but I know that in time I will surrender, even graciously, to the tougher changes in life.

Beyond all this even, a certain reality exists that makes my heart soar: No matter how much change goes on around us at any given phase in our lives, there is one absolutely rock-solid certainty: God will never change, will never leave our sides. If we’re feeling distant from our Creator, it’s not because God has gone away from us but that we have from Him. God will never abandon us -- never.

It’s worth saying again. God. Never. Changes.

God is God, for all time, and His love is infinite and steadfast. And perhaps that’s why I am ultimately okay with change, because I know there’s at least one thing in my life that is absolutely-100 percent-for-sure, always.

Perhaps this helps account for the fact that people who are believers in God are, on average, happier than those who do not believe in God. We, the faith-filled, have the assurance of that rock-solid presence no matter what in our lives is stripped away or bends to the wind.

I want to leave you with something I gleaned from my current read (Fearless by Max Lucado); a thought that ought to comfort anyone experiencing particularly tumultuous changes and challenges at the moment:

“Real courage embraces the twin realities of current difficulty and ultimate triumph. Yes, life stinks. But it won’t forever. As one of my friends likes to say, ‘Everything will work out in the end. If it’s not working out, it’s not the end.’”

I LOVE that. Do you realize what that’s saying? As believers, we get the last word. No matter how much unwanted change comes our way, no matter how many calamities, in the end, if we stay near our God we will be triumphant!

It’s a new year, a new decade, and even if there’s no other certainty in what’s ahead there is at least this: change will happen but God is still in control. And since God is love, we’re all in awesome hands.

What changes are you anticipating in the coming year? How do you feel about that?

writing wednesdays: 'spotlight' series: introducing renee schafer horton!

Writing Wednesdays

Spotlight's on...

Renee Schafer Horton!

I've known Renee, our January "Spotlight's on..." guest, for quite a few years now through a lively listserv connecting Catholic freelance writers. But here, I have the privilege of digging even deeper than what our list will allow. I'm pleased to introduce to you now: Renee Schafer Horton. I think you'll find her wisdom in many different areas quite insightful, as I have. Though my questions lent themselves to a long interview, Renee's answers are compelling enough to make it worth your while.

First off, Renee, I’ve known you mainly as a columnist and newspaper reporter, and being a former newspaper reporter myself, and one who occasionally still writes pieces for both secular and Catholic press, I’m curious to know more about that particular journey. What attracted you to journalism in the first place?

Here goes: My first byline was at 16 and the rush I got from seeing my name in print left me hungry for more. Of course, the work involved in any kind of journalism is pretty time-intensive, so other things kept me in the field, but they did seem to center around that adrenaline high that comes from knowing things first and then going out and telling the world. Sort of like Paul Revere crying, “The British are coming!” And the fact that it gives you license – and the honor/privilege – of walking up to complete strangers and saying, “Hey, tell me about …” is also very cool.

I know there was a “before” and “after” of your journalism career; meaning, your career before kids, as well as after you had mainly raised your young brood of four. What were some of the major differences between the industry in the earlier years and now?

What hasn’t changed? When I first started, I was typing in my stories on a typewriter or – big time! – a word processor, and if you made mistakes you used White Out or went back into the press room and cut out misspelled words off the galleys and replaced them by hand. There was also, IMHO, a lot more privacy for public officials. Journalists went after the mayor if he was misappropriating public funds, but left his private life alone. Nowadays, it seems like sex and immigration is all that sells – and newspapers are primarily concerned (it seems) with selling papers, not telling the news.

As a Catholic, I often feel like it is horrific what journalists do to spread the “sins” of public officials or celebrities. For example, Tiger Woods. The guy obviously has a problem, but leave him and his family alone. It certainly can’t help his wife and kids to see his sins paraded in public.

Another big change is the blogosphere and the concept of a “citizen journalist.” Blogs are great … but do they really provide reporting? Not many. Is that good for the country? I’m not so sure. But it has helped the world connect. For instance, the protests in Iran over the elections were covered by Iranians and Twitter because the government had shut down the Internet, but people still had their smart phones. Very cool.

Your newspaper career took a drastic turn not long ago when the newspaper for which you were working, the Tucson Citizen, closed down, pretty much overnight if I remember correctly. What was it like to receive that news, after you’d worked so hard to re-position yourself within the world of journalism?

I had been working overtime that week, so I was sent home early that Friday. I went to the B-Line café, about 15 minutes from the office, to work on my novel. I had just sat down with a cup of good coffee and a slice of pie – the whole reason one goes to the B-line – and my cell started getting text after text after text. I refused to look because I thought, “Dang it, if the copy desk has a question on my story, let them figure it out themselves.” Another text came in, and it was from one of the young reporters I had befriended (she had lost her mother the prior year) and I thought, “OK, just look at it.” And that’s how I found out. It was like being punched in the gut.

So I went back to the office and it was like a death camp. I went to my direct editor and asked for details and when he told me that Gannett was going to sell the paper but NOT its share in the joint operating agreement with the morning paper, I did what any journalist would do: I thought, “Is that legal?” And that’s when Mark (the editor) and I began reporting on the sale/closure as an investigation into JOAs across the country. This was – and still is – the only case where a newspaper company closed one paper in a JOA and kept its profit/loss interest in the remaining paper that is owned by another company. The morning paper, the Arizona Daily Star is owned by Lee. Your readers can read the whole complicated tale at www.reneeschaferhorton.com under the Clips tab, “sustained reporting.”

But you did have quite a distinguished career, having interviewed many phenomenal people through the years. What were a couple of your most memorable interviews through those years?

Probably my two most memorable interviews in the Catholic press were interviewing Fr. Charles Curran, who is the Elizabeth Scurlock Professor of Human Values at Southern Methodist University, and Patriarch Michel Sabbah, the former Latin Patriarch (archbishop) of Jerusalem. When I was asked to interview Charlie, I was thrilled and intimidated. I spent parts of two days with him in interviews, covering so many things I can’t even remember. What struck me about him was his humility and his generosity. It is too long to go into the whole thing, but after the interview, my then 5th grade daughter wrote him a letter. He wrote her back, and for six years they were pen pals. It cracked me up: Here’s this world-renowned theologian taking time to talk to my kid about her daily life with soccer games and kids being mean in middle school. It was really quite remarkable.

I got the interview with Sabbah by talking my way into his limo when he was visiting the Catholic Arab community in San Francisco. He was the first Palestinian to lead the Catholic Church in the Holy Land. His story was fascinating, but what stayed with me for years after was the suffering I saw in his eyes. It was like he had been talking to a brick wall for years trying to get the Israelis and the Palestinians to go for peace. It was heart-breaking. And later that night, I reported on a speech he gave and the most amazing thing happened. When he walked into the room, I actually felt God. I don’t know how to describe it, but it was a palpable feeling. You actually sensed the Holy. Very cool.

By default, you’ve taken up the challenge to, at age 50, re-enter the university atmosphere in order to become an instructor of high-school English students. How did you discern that direction? And now that you’re in the thick of studying for this future career, what are your thoughts? Are you feeling optimistic about what the future holds, or daunted by what you’re seeing?

I had tried, after the paper’s closure, to go back into freelancing. But it was so overwhelming, and frankly, the money isn’t there and I don’t have the same 24-7 hustle I used to have. So I considered a number of options and finally decided to do what I’m always telling everyone else to do – but what I rarely do myself – pray at length. I set aside three hours and just let myself go into the quiet and asked God to give me some clarity. And at the end of that time, teaching was what made sense. It was a very peaceful decision.

Now that I’m in the middle of it, of course, it is scary. When I’m in the classroom around kids, I absolutely love it. When I’m doing the classwork though, sometimes it seems, honestly, kind of redundant and stupid. Those times, I get discouraged. And when you look at the reality of teaching – so much work, very little pay, so many problems, so much responsibility – it can be overwhelming. Add to that my age and I could dissolve into worry. Instead, I chose to trust that it will all work out. I graduate, God willing and the creek don’t rise, next November. I’ll probably substitute until May, when contracts get cut, and hopefully I’ll get a job offer.

I’d like to talk about your vocation as a mother. The most intense years of mothering young children are behind you now. Sitting from your new post, does the world at this point look differently than you’d imagined, especially regarding your family? What are your favorite memories regarding rearing a family? What are you looking forward to as you look into the future?

Boy, you sure ask tough questions! I have to say, the most intense years of mothering are not when they are young. Those may be intense physically, but emotionally, a well-placed kiss solves just about every problem. What is hard is when they are teens or young adults and there’s not a heck of a lot you can do to make them feel good about themselves when something hurtful has happened. When you send them to college, you worry, worry, worry that they won’t remember to do the right thing, that they’ll be confused and hurt and lonely, that they won’t be strong enough to combat all the bad in the world out there. Navigating the whole “adult-child” relationship is hard, too! When do you advise, when do you let go?

I consider myself lucky in so many ways. For the most part, my kids talk to me honestly, even when it is things I would prefer not to hear. There is a lot of love, it seems. I lost my mother when I was 20 – she committed suicide on Easter Sunday, after telling me to go back to church and apologize to a priest she thought I’d offended by telling him he wasn’t joyful enough in the liturgy. (Proof of God’s grace: I just got a Christmas card from that priest – we’ve stayed in touch all these years). Anyway, point is, she died when she was 50 and I have no real example of how a mother would relate to an adult daughter or son. So I feel like I’ve kind of stumbled through this part of my mothering, yet my children appear forgiving. My eldest is always joking that she’s our “trial child” and she cuts us a lot of slack.

My favorite memories are when they were little because there was so much holding. We read books every day, just cuddled up on the bed or on the couch, me and four little ones (I had four children in six years). We made homemade bread and they loved to cook with me. I also thrilled at all their school performances and I liked the fact that we all did church choir/music together for many years. Now, they don’t want to be cuddled so much – and it has to come from them, not me.

What am I most looking forward to? Well, to be honest --- weddings!!! I live in this fantasy that if they marry well they will be happy and I will no longer worry about them! But none of them seem to be anywhere close to the altar, so I may be waiting a long time.

Regarding your faith life in particular, how has it strengthened your journey, both regarding helping to raise a family as well as in guiding your career path?

I’ve known God in a physical I-can-feel-you sense since I was 4-years-old. I believe this has to do with being raised in an alcoholic family where there was violence and danger. I believe you develop a sixth sense, and God is in that. So there were moments from the time I was 4 on that I knew God was with me. My belief was fairly black and white then, and it didn’t have much to do with the Church at first, even though I’m a cradle Catholic.
But when my mother died, I could have easily fallen off a cliff, as some of my siblings did, if not for the community of believers around me in college. That has been where my faith has saved me – through the hands of other believers – over and over and over again, amen. Church has been central to our family life; I frankly don’t know how people raise children without it!

My husband is Catholic, but doesn’t have the same kind of belief I have and our two sons, as adults, seem to be in a searching phase. The two girls are very involved in their parishes and my youngest seems to “connect” to the spiritual in a very similar manner as I do. I think God is like a rock thrown in a pond and all the ripples are the different levels of closeness. Sometimes you’re right near the rock’s impact, sometimes, not so much. We have to trust God that he’s working with everyone and not judge each other’s spiritual journey – which can be hard!

We moved five times in our first 17 years of marriage and the first thing I did in each new town was find a parish with 1. good music and 2. good youth groups/sacramental prep. And I got involved in lay ministry in every parish and that brought the family in. They learned to see the Church as their extended family and that belief has grown over the years. A good parish can help you raise your kids because they have good catechesis that backs up the family and they have lots of family activities so the kids see other young Catholics and connect with them.

You obviously have a desire to educate and inspire the next generation. What do you think you can most offer young people, and how do you plan to go about doing this?

I want to work in a poor school district or possibly on the reservation. I think the best thing I can offer students is hope. I want them to see that someone like them, someone who came from poverty and abuse, can get a college degree and go on to do things. I also really want to help students to know that God is there, that there is love, but I’m not sure how that can happen in a public school. I’m trying to figure that out right now.

Who are your children (names if you’re willing), how old are they, and what are they doing now? Are any of them or do any of them aspire to be writers?

Lauren will be 27 on Jan. 8 (when I turn 51) and she is the graphic designer for the Texas Catholic in Dallas. She graduated from the University of Arizona with a media arts major, but doesn’t want to be a writer. I think she’s got a knack for it, but you know what they say – you can’t tell your kids anything! She would really like to work at a magazine; that is her dream – to do design at a magazine. She also is really into murder mysteries and I think she’d be a great crime-scene investigator!

Noah is 25, and he graduated from the University of Arizona with a philosophy degree (religious studies minor) but has spent the past five years touring with his rock band, Holy Rolling Empire, and, to make ends meet, lays tile and laminate flooring here in Tucson.

Evan is 23 and just graduated with a mechanical engineering degree. He’ll be working at Raytheon Inc., here in Tucson. My husband also works there, but as a business-side guy, not an engineer. Evan has zero desire to be a writer but he is the one kid whom, if someone attacks me on my blog, he’ll jump on and defend me in the comments section and his writing is very well-thought-out.

Clare is 20, and a junior at the University of Arizona. After a spring break trip to Chiapas to work with a priest who is a cultural anthropologist, she decided to major in (surprise!) cultural anthropology. She is in a Christian worship band called Emmaus that serves at the Newman Center here, and her dream is to spend a few years on the Catholic church/Christian band circuit before doing whatever it is cultural anthropologists do.

What do you most want to tell the faithful, young people and other writers about what you’ve learned in your life thus far?

Geez, another hard question. Let me give it a shot – four on marriage/relationships, five on faith and one on writing, in that order:

1. Keeping score in human relationships is a waste of time and it is downright disastrous in a marriage or love relationship. People can die at a moment’s notice and trust me, you don’t want the last thing you said to someone to be hurtful.

2. Kids need time with you as a parent. They need to be physically cuddled. They need those two things more than they need to be playing sports every night and hustling to get good grades. BE THERE.

3. Try to be nicer first. This means, when you are really angry at the person (people) you love, instead of lashing out, try to be nicer, first. Think of something they do that is praise-worthy and focus on that. It will calm your anger. What you focus on grows, so if you keep focusing on the positive and rewarding the positive, it will grow. Yes, express your needs and concerns, but do it with kindness. Every single problem in every single relationship (excepting physical or emotional abuse) can be traced to poor communication.

4. In the end, life is very, very short and religious people need to work harder at being kind and accepting of each other – even the people you think aren’t “Catholic enough.”

5. And speaking of thinking, God is way bigger than we humans think. We have spent all our time – centuries as humans – trying to create God in our image instead of trying to walk through life in Jesus’ loving image.

6. Evil exists and we really should be paying attention to that.

7. Confession is a good thing for you. Get over yourself, and just do it.

8. When you hold onto your past sins, not forgiving yourself, the devil is driving your life. Make him let go of your life by refusing to dwell in the past.

9. Sometimes God seems absent. Show up anyway – for prayer, for Mass, for a sunrise. You’ll reconnect.

10. Writers write – every day. If you want to be a writer, set up a writing schedule, stick to it and accept that it is work. Then accept the grace from that work: Sometimes, your words can change someone’s life. Sometimes, they actually save that life. Write them.

Renee, thanks again for your time, and for sharing your insights with Peace Garden Mama. I wish you the very best as you continue with your studies and embark on this new adventure!

Thanks for having me!

Alright readers, here's your chance. Renee likely will be stopping by later to see if there were any comments that require a response. Here's your chance to ask her something I didn't.

welcome to the garden! introductions, please...

It’s a New Year, a time of beginnings and introductions, which makes this an ideal time to institute a feature I’ve wanted to include on Peace Garden Mama for quite a while now. While I can only write from my experiences and hope that in some way my words will connect with you and your experiences, I receive something valuable when I hear from you. So whether you’re a regular reader or someone who just happened to bump into the garden by mistake, I’d love to learn a little about you. If you’d kindly introduce yourself, I’d be obliged, and if you’ve enjoyed your stay, I hope you’ll come back another day. This will be a regular feature accessible to anyone who comes by from here on out. I look forward to hearing from you!

You can introduce yourself however you’d like, but I’ll throw out a few questions for you to ponder and answer for starters. Feel free to add your own thoughts as well:

1. Tell me a bit about yourself – age, where you’re from, and at least one of your life’s passions.

2. Peace Garden Mama is a blend of parenting (Mondays), writing (Wednesdays) and faith (Fridays). Which of those topics would be most likely to hold your interest and why? (Choose more than one if you’d like.)

3. What is a book you’ve read that has greatly impacted you?

4. What piece of wisdom have you learned in your life so far that you don't mind sharing?

5. If you have a blog, please share the URL, what you blog about, and how long you’ve been blogging.

Thanks for adding your splash of color to the garden!

happy north dakota new year 2010!

As we neared the North Dakota state capitol last night, I was disappointed to note that the windows were not lit up like a Christmas tree, as is customary this time of year. However, upon blinking, I realized there was a different kind of message in those 19 stories of window:

We couldn't reach our destination for Christmas; the snow held us back. But we're here now. I'm grateful for second chances.

Merry Second-chance Christmas to all, and yes, Happy New Year 2010, too!