There's not Always a Tomorrow

This week I wrote out and gave three Mass cards.  In my Catholic faith, it's customary though not required to give a Mass card offering Masses for deceased fellow Catholics. Three. In one week. One for a lovely 95 year old woman who I knew all my life. She was like a second mother right next door.  Another card for the elderly mother of a dear friend.  Lastly, my husband's cousin; a 54 year old man with a wonderful wife, four beautiful boys, and a precious grandson.  I think this one was the hardest.  Yes, people die young all the time and people die suddenly more often than we like, but this was a double whammy.  Tim went in for a ridiculously routine outpatient procedure that should have lasted one hour maximum; so routine that he took a medical transport there so his wife wouldn't have to miss work.  Easy. Thursday before the Sunday his grandson was to be christened he boarded a bus, put his faith in his doctors, and never again regained conciousness.  Just like that, this husband, dad, granddad, brother, uncle, cousin, and friend was gone from this Earth and all the people that loved him.  Blink.  

I attended his wake the other night.  I was lucky enough to get there slightly before it actually started at 7pm.  I say lucky because by 7:30, there were so many people it was like Times Square on New Year's Eve.  The line of visitors was down the hall, out the door, and down the block.  I never saw anything like it.  It was overwhelming to me that this man who I'd known for 30 years as a mellow, funny guy with a wild past, who I loved and whose company I enjoyed, touched hundreds and hundreds of lives so much that they took the time to stand on line for over an hour just to pay respects to him and to his family.  It felt like the wake of a celebrity and the more I listened to the hushed conversations I realized it actually was the wake of a celebrity...a rockstar.  I had no idea how this man's life impacted so many others' lives.  It was remarkable!  He was so unassuming and so "regular".  He was a kind, generous, gregarious, gentle soul wrapped up in a leather exterior; perfect. If you go by his life, God definitely takes the good early because He misses them by His side. God's speed, lovely man!

In all the sadness that was his wake and funeral, Timmy's passing brought together family and friends and coworkers and union brothers (and sisters).  I watched men bear-hug and slap each other on the back and shake their heads in utter disbelief as to why they were brought together.  As did I.

On top of the sadness of his passing, Timmy's death brought family together that hadn't been together since the last death.  Isn't that awful?  People who I love to talk to and love to see and hear about their accomplishments and those of their children I see only in the awfulness of death.  Now THAT is sad.  Why does this happen more often than not?

We are too much consumed by our daily lives.  We are so busy...so much busier than our parents were...that we miss so much.  Of course our children take priority but isn't getting to know their family, extended and immediate, just as important as football or soccer or baseball or swimming?  It would be difficult in my family, and my husband's, to see family every day or weekend or month; we're just too big!  But could there be a happy medium?  Could we make a point to make time for people we love to see and talk to but rarely do?  Yup. I really think we can...and should.

So let's start small.  Let's start with phone calls.  Cawl me...we'll tawk and in the meantime, say a prayer for those gone too soon...it's always too soon...and to the loved ones left behind.

~Eileen Cassidy Bishop

This week I wrote out and gave three Mass cards.  In my Catholic faith, it's customary though not required to give a Mass card offering Masses for deceased fellow Catholics. Three. In one week. One for a lovely 95 year old woman who I knew all my life. She was like a second mother right next door.  Another card for the elderly mother of a dear friend.  Lastly, my husband's cousin; a 54 year old man with a wonderful wife, four beautiful boys, and a precious grandson.  I think this one was the hardest.  Yes, people die young all the time and people die suddenly more often than we like, but this was a double whammy.  Tim went in for a ridiculously routine outpatient procedure that should have lasted one hour maximum; so routine that he took a medical transport there so his wife wouldn't have to miss work.  Easy. Thursday before the Sunday his grandson was to be christened he boarded a bus, put his faith in his doctors, and never again regained conciousness.  Just like that, this husband, dad, granddad, brother, uncle, cousin, and friend was gone from this Earth and all the people that loved him.  Blink.  

I attended his wake the other night.  I was lucky enough to get there slightly before it actually started at 7pm.  I say lucky because by 7:30, there were so many people it was like Times Square on New Year's Eve.  The line of visitors was down the hall, out the door, and down the block.  I never saw anything like it.  It was overwhelming to me that this man who I'd known for 30 years as a mellow, funny guy with a wild past, who I loved and whose company I enjoyed, touched hundreds and hundreds of lives so much that they took the time to stand on line for over an hour just to pay respects to him and to his family.  It felt like the wake of a celebrity and the more I listened to the hushed conversations I realized it actually was the wake of a celebrity...a rockstar.  I had no idea how this man's life impacted so many others' lives.  It was remarkable!  He was so unassuming and so "regular".  He was a kind, generous, gregarious, gentle soul wrapped up in a leather exterior; perfect. If you go by his life, God definitely takes the good early because He misses them by His side. God's speed, lovely man!

In all the sadness that was his wake and funeral, Timmy's passing brought together family and friends and coworkers and union brothers (and sisters).  I watched men bear-hug and slap each other on the back and shake their heads in utter disbelief as to why they were brought together.  As did I.

On top of the sadness of his passing, Timmy's death brought family together that hadn't been together since the last death.  Isn't that awful?  People who I love to talk to and love to see and hear about their accomplishments and those of their children I see only in the awfulness of death.  Now THAT is sad.  Why does this happen more often than not?

We are too much consumed by our daily lives.  We are so busy...so much busier than our parents were...that we miss so much.  Of course our children take priority but isn't getting to know their family, extended and immediate, just as important as football or soccer or baseball or swimming?  It would be difficult in my family, and my husband's, to see family every day or weekend or month; we're just too big!  But could there be a happy medium?  Could we make a point to make time for people we love to see and talk to but rarely do?  Yup. I really think we can...and should.

So let's start small.  Let's start with phone calls.  Cawl me...we'll tawk and in the meantime, say a prayer for those gone too soon...it's always too soon...and to the loved ones left behind.

~Eileen Cassidy Bishop

Blessed be the Mother

I wrote this for my church bulletin in commemoration of  Mother's Day 2016.  Keep in mind it was for the church bulletin when reading the "religious references".  Happy Mother's Day to all those beautiful mothers out there! :)

The noun mother, by definition, is “a woman in relation to a child or children to whom she has given birth”.  Everyone has or had a mother to whom they were borne.  It is impossible to enter this world without one.  It’s impossible to even have a heartbeat without one…or a heart for that matter!  And to that end, biologically speaking, virtually every woman can be a mother. That is to say, she is anatomically able to reproduce and give birth.  The verb mother, by definition, is “to bring up a child with care and affection”.  To make the conscious decision to dedicate one’s life to helping and teaching a helpless creature to become the best they can be in life.  It is quite possible to be a mother who does not mother, e.g. guppies.  Guppy mothers eat their babies; not the most nurturing environment!  

Possible too, is mothering without giving birth to a child.  How many of us know a woman or women who have loved us and nurtured us as though we were their own child?  Women who have never had the experience of childbirth yet love a child or children in their care as though they felt every contraction of labor.  The blessed women who adopt to ensure a good life for that child filled with love and affection.  Is that child flesh of their flesh? No, but he is heart of her heart and his love for her, because of her mothering, is unconditional.

Since becoming a mother I see so clearly now that mothering is not always easy and rewarding.  Sometimes it can be hard and disappointing. My usual self-confident nature is questioned and tested almost daily; as is my patience and compassion. I share this with my mother and she nods empathetically because it’s all too familiar to her. She went through it all (seven times) and understands my frustration.  She gently reminds me of their attributes and tells me of the joy and pride I’ll feel when someday too soon I will watch my children succeed as adults who are ready to take on the world. In only the way a mother can, she picks me up, brushes me off, and sends me back in.

So on this celebration of Mother’s Day, we celebrate the woman who gave birth to you or took you from a lesser life and with the Grace of God, spent or will continue to spend the rest of her life until her dying day, caring, nurturing, worrying, supporting, and loving you.  The woman who taught us how to speak, how to hold a fork, how to take our first steps, and how to pick ourselves up when we fell.  The woman who gave us pep talks to lift us up and whose sometimes brutal honesty kept us grounded.  We celebrate this woman who bought us to church and taught us about Christ and Adam and Eve and the Holy Spirit; about Noah and Job and Sts. Peter and Paul.  This woman who lovingly molded us into the person we are today.  She wasn’t perfect.  She made mistakes and not-so-great decisions.  She yelled and maybe even, Heaven forbid, spanked.  She punished, grounded, muttered under her breath about your behavior.  Sometimes her words stung.  Sometimes she realized this and swallowed her pride to apologize to you because she sees she’s hurt you and your pain is her pain.

Those of us blessed with a mother still gracing this Earth must cherish every moment with her.  Perhaps not every moment will be joyous and fun; perhaps even upsetting and frustrating but should be cherished just the same.  She’ll be gone someday, and if her prayers are answered, long before you follow and the opportunity to be with her gone along with her.  Those who’ve lost her already must remember only the wonder that she was.  Forget the cross words said in anger or the swat given in frustration.  Remember that like our Blessed Mother Mary, the woman who raised you accepted that task not as a burden, but as a gift from God. 

Deacon Ron ends every liturgy with “Go in peace glorifying God with your life.”  This Mother’s Day, glorify God with your love for the woman hand-picked by Him to be your mother.

Happy Mother’s Day, 2016 to all of the mothers within our Sts. Francis and Clare family and may the Lord bless you and keep you.      

 ~ Eileen Cassidy Bishop

Working Girl

Here's a question:  Does everyone get the emails that read "Moms! You can work from home and earn up to $10,000 a week!" I mean, I get INUNDATED with them! How do they know I'm a housemom? Is it based on the times of day or the frequency of my Facebook posts? Maybe.  That's why I'm curious if anyone who posts midday more than once or twice gets targeted.  And is it just assumed that stay-at-home moms are bored and have so much time on their hands they need a filler?  Probably by some.  And there certainly are moms out there who are but I'm guessing that in order to earn $10,000 a week you're probably working constantly as opposed to filling in the tedious times.

The funny part is I'm probably busier than I was with two babies 15 months apart toddling around and even before that, when I was selling staffing services and commuting four hours roundtrip three days a week! The only difference is now I can pee with the door closed, choose to stay in my jammies past 7:00 a.m. most days, and choose where, when and for whom I work. I DO work from home already...I am the CEO of Bishop, LP with duties including but not limited to bookkeeping, cooking and cleaning, writing, and appointment making for everyone in the company. I am available for my mom to take to her appointments and do miscellaneous tasks. On top of that I am a volunteer court mediator two or three days a week spending my mornings gathering some juicy stories for cocktail party fodder and hopefully settling cases filed in various courts.  This one is actually my favorite because I get to actually see and talk to people during working and school hours!

But that's only a few times a week and I'm usually done by noon.  I can't (and won't) clean my house everyday or go shopping everyday.  I'm not sure I have enough creative juices to write everyday or work on crafts and such.  I'm a relatively intelligent woman and sometimes feel I really should be doing something more; especially now that the kids are in middle school. But I don't want to have  to go to work.  I don't want to be torn between getting to work or staying home with my sick child or having to leave work early for appointments or picking up said sick kids from school early.  Or being there when and if my mom needs me.  Of course, if I had to, I would and will if there is the financial need or I can't stand being along with my own self any longer, God forbid.  And I will simply have to deal with these excuses just like every working person does.  But for now I will keep status quo.

There is, though, one thing that has bothered me since my last day or work back in 2003 (yes, I wrote that right!) is not having my own money. Gene and I always pooled our income and have from the beginning of our marriage so paying bills and everyday expenses and even treats have always been paid from one account so the change was pretty transparent once we became a one-income household. But it was a real burr in my saddle when it came to getting things for Gene; I hated that he basically bought his own gifts and I just picked them out. It didn't matter than he said I was crazy to think that.  It's what I thought (and still think).  So I solved my problem and got a job!

Yes, I did just say that I wasn't ready to be obligated to anyone to show up on time or at all.  But I fixed that.  I've become self-employed!  Anyone who is a Facebook friend knows that I sell those Jamberry nail wraps that no one has heard of...yet! I work when I want and if I don't want to I don't have to.  I satisfy my social animal by holding home parties (think Tupperware but prettier) and talking to random people who are nice enough to notice and compliment my nails.  I feed my addiction with my own money and have quite a bit left over. If I really wanted to dedicate the time to it, like many of my Jamberry associates, I could make a really good living at it. This year I'm proud to say that although we used house money for the Christmas presents, I used my money to buy Gene his presents...and they were pretty damn nice if I do say so myself!  I know this won't impress many people but if you haven't been reliant on someone else financially as an adult it's hard to understand how important it is to feel even a bit independent.

So for now I'll be a Jamberry consultant prettying the world one nail at a time and ignore those emails about earning money from home up to $10,000 per month (sure).  When and if I'm ready to go out and get a job working for someone else, it will be something that makes me happy because being lucky enough to be a Domestic Goddess, a Jamberry consultant, and being available when someone may need me "right now", makes me happy and I'm not going to give that up for something unless that something makes me equally as happy...and that's a pretty tall order!

In the meantime, ask me about Jamberry and I'll happily fill you in and send you a sample! Hey, it's my blog so I can shamelessly plug my wares!

~Eileen Cassidy Bishop

Decisions...

I've been cleaning closets and drawers, purging, tossing, giving away, selling (actually, not selling; that's a hassle) in an effort to try and make my daily life a bit easier and calmer.  It's working too.  I have really culled down quite a bit, I mean, who needs six frying pans if you don't have your own cooking show?  Or enough serving dishes to have a cocktail party for 100 unless you're lobbying for votes?  Or more jeans that Levy Strauss Inc. and more dresses and skirts and sweaters and blouses than the Dress Barn?  Don't get me wrong; the wardrobe is still pretty stocked!  Crazy part is, I usually wear the same four or five tops and bottoms all the time!

Why is my closet filled with things that no longer fit my body or my style? Why do I have skirts taking up space that will NEVER make it past my hips and haven't since the '90's? Why do I have so many pots and pans in my kitchen and basement I could open a restaurant supply store?  Thanks to my stint with Pampered Chef, I have two shelves in my basement filled with UNOPENED boxes! Why? I'll never, ever, ever use the mini bundt cake stoneware nor bake enough cookies at one time to need six cooling racks...SIX!!  NEVER!!

It was actually kind of liberating, though kind of sad, donating quite a bit of things including four pair of boots that were either no longer my style, or too painful to wear for longer than 20 minutes, or all of the above.  I freed up room in my closet while hopefully giving someone the opportunity to have something that they otherwise wouldn't have.  I have a friend newly single trying to stock her kitchen so it's been nice being able to give her some things here and there and keeping her from having to spend the money buying new.  Heck, mine are barely-used-like-new anyway!  There truly is some truth in the giving is better than the receiving, honestly.

I think one of my biggest problems causing my almost-hoarding status is my love of shiny new pennies. I am the one who falls victim to the racks strategically placed in the middle of the aisle at the department store or the must-have little do-dads placed at the end of the cashier lane that you buy because you've been staring at them for so long while waiting for your turn to check out you've thought of eight reasons why you absolutely have to have them! You skip out of the store thrilled with your new purchases and all the money you saved with coupons. You wear or use them once, maybe twice, then forget about them until the next thing you know you're giving them away and writing about them.

Getting rid of material things really isn't that difficult once you realize the reward of a tidier, more easily handled every day life.  But what about the emotional, memorable, or sentimental things? What about the people in your life that don't bring you as much happiness as they do sadness or disappointment who we hold on to simply because we've always had them and couldn't really picture life without them? Admittedly, I'm not the most sentimental girl on the block.  I think I used to be as a kid; hanging on to dried up and crusty prom and dance corsages and the invitations that went with them or pictures of old boyfriends. I don't have any of those things anymore unless I'm still friends with the exes and we can pull those pictures out and have a chuckle over them. I do keep hand-written love notes and homemade cards because I can read them or look at them and see someone's heart and renew my gratitude for those authors and artists in my life.

But those things are still material things, aren't they?  What about the actual people in our lives?  I don't think there's anyone in my life right now that I would want to live without.  But I wonder sometimes if maybe I'm too emotionally invested in someone who may not be worthy of what I have to offer.  I wonder if I might not be a calmer, more loving and attentive person to those in my life who would truly appreciate anything I have to give them; time, attention, support.  Or maybe just presence.  Presence for talking, laughing, leaning, loving, or just living in the moment happier than if I hadn't been there to share it with them.  Someone who will think of me and smile instead of clench their teeth and stress ever-so slightly at the thought of me.  Even though those are the people who could benefit the most by accepting only a portion of what I could give them.

Do I sound a bit like I'm blowing my own horn?  Yes, I think I do too.  But I know for a fact that for some people, I'm all that and a bag of chips and those people accept what I offer and give back to me tenfold. Those are the people with whom I want to surround myself.  And those that don't? Well, depending on the association I have with them I am pretty sure I won't stop trying to offer what I have but will try very hard to accept that they simply may not need therefore want it. Of course I'm hurt and insulted that they don't but maybe those people just can't spread themselves so thin or don't feel they can give back so don't take. Or maybe, like I just said myself, don't feel they're getting from me what they give. Maybe I'm just like those I'm backing away from...at least in the eyes of that person or those people. If that's the case, I hope I care enough to notice and either try harder or realize that it may be for the best...kind of a mutual break-up.

So just like I will continue to look in my closet at all the things I loved enough to buy but really don't serve me anymore and let go of to make room for something else, I will continue to look in my heart at all the people in it and decide how much room they should take up in there and if I might be better off giving them a smidgen less room in case there's someone out there sitting on the rack in the middle of the aisle just waiting for me to take them home.  

~Eileen Cassidy Bishop

Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down

After our rather turbulent morning, I watched them walk away from the house towards school.  I watched them walk side by side and wondered what, if anything, they were discussing.  He was upset because I made him go to school even though he "felt like he was going to throw up".  

Timeline with expected outcome:  
06:15   Wake up from a sound night's sleep 
06:16   Instantly approach Mom and tell her I feel like throwing up.. 
06:17   Receive pity. 
Remainder of day stay home, watch TV, play Xbox, chill.  

Timeline with actual outcome:  
06:15   Woke up to alarm from a sound night's sleep and immediately remember that I have Spanish today 
06:16  Told Mom I felt like I was going to throw up at which time I received consolation from Mom and snuggled for 20 minutes. 
06:40  (Approximately)  Mom told me to shower and dress for school.  
06:41  Began hissy fit that lasted approximately 2 minutes concluding at 6:43am.  
07:00  Showered, ate breakfast, brushed teeth, tried to reason with Mom to no avail while trying desperately to keep up the Sara Bernhardt act.  
07:35  Annoyed, I departed for school. 

As I explained to him, I wasn't trying to punish him for not feeling well.  I was, in fact, trying to save him from a day of total boredom.  It wasn't going to be a day of Xbox'ing and snacking because "I'm starting to feel a lot better".  It would be a day of laying in bed, quietly amusing himself with Legos or reading, and maybe some limited TV.  Strangely enough, he didn't respond that that was okay with him, as I expected, but with nothing (indicating a thought process of  "hmmmm....maybe this wouldn't work out to my benefit")

Now let me stop here and explain the root of it all.  In his defense, he got sick last night having just left his football banquet where he ate pizza, meatballs, salad, chocolate cake "so chocolaty I could barely eat it" washed down with not one, but TWO glasses of lemonade.  My theory is when the stomach acids began the arduous task of trying to break all of this "food" down, they threw their hands up in dismay anticipating failure and promptly sent it back from where it came; back to the outside world.  Afterward, left with a slight case of heartburn, he fell asleep and slept all night waking as cool as a cucumber and with a rather healthy appetite.  

As an aside to all the mothers reading this, especially to those with children in his class, I promise you I would not have sent him if I even slightly suspected any type of virus.  

So back to our morning.  When I advised him to seek out the nurse if his nausea continued, he lamented, "But if I tell her I got sick last night YOU will get in trouble 'cause I'm not supposed to go to school if I throw up!"  So clearly, his staying home was for MY protection. Ahhh.  He said this, too, with a straight face even with his sister and me rolling our eyes and glancing sideways at each other.  I told him I'd take my chances at which time his shoulders drooped and he stomped off defeated and deflated.  Trying to find a silver lining for the poor thing, I reminded him that the house painters were coming and if anything would make him want to throw up it would be the paint fumes that, within hours, will be pungent.  Didn't work.  Just glared at me.

My expectation of their to-school conversation was one of Cat trying to talk to him and he snapping back a one-word response; at least until he knew I could no longer see him from the window where I stand watching them until they disappear from view.  Once that happened, I'm thinking at least a bit of the veil lifted only to be completely removed once he sees his 'brahs' waiting for him at the school's entrance.  Why do I expect this outcome?  Because it happens pretty much every two weeks or so now that he's almost a 'tween' and the conclusion is always the same.  When he gets home from school and I inevitably ask "How was your day" the response is always "Good!"

Yes, yes, it's the centuries-old whine of mothers worldwide.  I get that.  But still, give your old mother a break (and a little credit).  I love you, I love to spend time with you (usually), I get that it's Monday morning and cold outside, but please, for both our benefits, get up, get ready, and get out!!

~Eileen Cassidy Bishop

Signs?

I was getting ready for church yesterday morning, rather begrudgingly due to a wee bit of a wine headache (ahem).  We (or maybe just me) contemplated going to the evening Mass at another church and just hang out in the morning, but we, or maybe just I, was afraid we'd wind up not going so we decided to keep to our regular 11 o'clock.  And as happens just about every day, at least once, my thoughts turned to my late Aunt Terry...Therese (for the Saint).  I was thinking about the last time my mom and I saw her and what we said to her both privately and in front of the rest of the family...her children.  I remembered what my mom said to her; "you said you would teach me how to pray. Teach me, I'm here."  But she didn't get the chance; she died that night.  Standing in the shower one memory lead to another and another after that.  It was one of the few-ish times I let myself really dwell on her, my aunt, my go-to girl who let me complain about everything and everyone and never tried to 'fix' it; never tried to give me an answer or tell me it wasn't that bad or I should be patient and it will 'take care itself'.  She would nod knowingly, crack a joke, and we'd move on.  There was never EVER a time with her that I didn't smile.  

So off we go, the four of us, to morning Mass.  My mom, the day before, sold her Florida house, enabling her to move back up to New Jersey (to be closer to most of us) so I wanted to offer the Mass in thanksgiving for taking this worry off all of our plates.  Offering the Mass to someone or something is something she would do, my mom, which started me thinking, briefly, of my aunt (Mom's little sister) again.  However, having to give my full attention to what was happening in the there and now, I pushed it back until another time.

I'm not sure if you're familiar with the Catholic Mass, but before the Consecration of the Host, which is when the bread becomes body, we offer special intentions.  They range anywhere from world peace to deceased family members.  After each intention, the congregation replies "Lord hear our prayer." It's nice.  Well at this particular Mass, after the morning of memories and last-minute decisions to attend our "regular" Mass, the Deacon says, "and for the dearly departed, especially Therese Yates."  We just looked at each other, my family and me.  We smiled, got welled up, pulled ourselves together and got back to it.  Both Gene and I had forgotten that we scheduled it for her when she passed away in June.  It was a really lovely surprise.  Good thing we came!

Lots of people talk about loved ones leaving little signs that they're with them still.  Dimes found, cardinals in the yard, a meaningful song comes on the radio, that kind of thing.  It never happened to me...or at least I never took notice.  When my dad passed away I had a few dreams, but that was it.  I just didn't buy it but it brought those people peace and that's what's important.  Well I think I finally got a sign!  It's all I've been thinking about since.  Coincidence?  Probably.  But since it brought a smile to my face and filled me with special, and yes, a little sad, feelings, I'm buying in.  She and I spoke often of religion so of course it came during church, right? 

I just wanted to share mostly because it is cathartic for me and unknowingly, you helped me cleanse a bit.  But also I wanted to write something about Therese to give those of you who didn't have the joy of knowing her, an idea of the kind of person she was.  I hadn't up until now as I was afraid it would read like a eulogy or obituary.  So I took this opportunity to even a little bit, introduce you to her.

If you didn't get to meet her, you missed out!  She was funny, smart, the queen of sarcasm and straight faced delivery.  A true friend and confidante.  She ran her church's Outreach program like she was the CEO of a company, and it showed.  She was so fun to be around, whether it be in a casino in Atlantic City or just sitting in her backyard poolside.  

She threw the best Thanksgiving dinners.  It was always the official start of the holidays for us all.  You never received an invitation; you were just expected to be there.  She created beautiful and detailed and huge Christmas villages that were always ready by Thanksgiving so everyone could enjoy them.  She was generous.  She thought of everyone's children at Christmas time and always had a little something for them. My kids were two of many recipients who received gingerbread house kits at Thanksgiving to have ready for Christmas...maybe she was trying to turn all of us into village builders too!  Like with her own children, she would get right down with them and play with her grandchildren and grandnieces and nephews like she was one of them.  I could go on and on but the bottom line?  She was awesome.  She wasn't supposed to leave this soon and she broke a lot of hearts when she left.  She is missed every single day.

So as this is starting to sound like an obit after all, let me close by apologizing to all those people I may have rolled my eyes at listening to or reading about their "signs from the other side".  Whether they were coincidence or a beloved with a day pass from Heaven, it made you smile.  It gave you warm feelings and comfort feeling that you're being watched over even after they left this world.  So keep on looking for dimes and cardinals and songs!  Any time you're reminded of someone who's passed on is a good time.

~Eileen Cassidy Bishop

I almost didn't post this because I don't want to offend anyone.  I honestly believe the signs are there if we choose to see them.  Perhaps not left because they miss us or are worried about us, but because they're telling us their fine...more than fine even!  I think I simply need to pay more attention.  For all I know, my dad, my aunts and uncles (they've all passed on now), grandparents; they've been reaching out for ages but I never took the call.

A Tree Grows...Hopefully

One of my elderly neighbors tripped and fell and hurt herself quite badly in front of my house a few weeks ago.  The sidewalk, as like most in my small development, are uneven due to the town planting trees with surface roots in the grass island opposite the front lawn.  I felt terribly seeing her with her hand in a sling and her poor face looking as if she went a couple rounds with Ali!  It was a little scary too, when you hear that someone falls on your property.  You worry if there will be repercussion.  But she's a good egg and a great neighbor so I pushed that aside.

But as quickly as you can say "lawsuit", the township guys were out marking most rises (but not all, which I don't get) the gas and electric company came out and marked the lines, and this morning the concrete company is out ripping up the old sidewalks and framing out for the new.  While I'm terribly sorry she was hurt, I'm glad that they're stepping up and doing the right thing.

But here's my issue, because, well, I gotta have an issue, right?  The concrete guys dug up my invisible dog fence (the only thing that keeps the vagabond from darting through the neighborhood like a moving target for cars!)  They fixed it when my alarm went off, and fixed it just fine, so not really an issue...now.  The second issue, which cannot be "fixed" per say, is said concrete guys dug so close to one of the trees (a beautiful flowering pear) that they dug it up until it was at a 30 degree angle.  The result?  Said township guys came out with chainsaws and actually took the tree down!!  Why?  It was perfectly healthy!  It wasn't sick or blocking wires!  It simply needed to be up-righted and the soil tamped down around it.  It would have certainly been worth a try at any rate!  Makes me mad (and sad.)  The township will promise to replace it, I'm sure.  Thing is, they took a tree down over five years ago from said grass island due to disease, promised to replace it and, well, still waiting.  So based on that, I'm not too confident.

My issue isn't only no longer have a lovely tree to gaze at out my front window, but that it was removed without a thought because it was easier than trying to save it.  My township has a tree company on retainer so why couldn't they have been called?  Well, maybe not as they're usually called to take DOWN trees (some of the most beautiful and oldest in town).

I'm no tree-hugger.  However, I'm so sick of seeing things sacrificed for either convenience or to make or save a couple of dollars.  There is an empty lot at the end of town.  A HUGE empty lot located where other warehouses sit.  One of the companies decided to expand their facility which I think is great that their business is doing so well.  Problem is, instead of using the giant empty lot located across the street and less than 100 feet from the existing warehouse, they tear town a beautiful wooded area because it's easier than, what?, putting in a walking bridge or pedestrian traffic light?!

There's an empty warehouse in this same area that is absolutely huge.  Like HUGE!  With office space within.  So someone explain to me why yet another company is tearing it down to put a new one on the exact sight.  Please, there has to be a reason, right?  Nope, no reason other than it's easier and cheaper to raze the existing warehouse than to update it.  Oh, and faster of course, because everything today has to be done yesterday.

We vacationed down the Shore this summer and fell in love with a sweet little cottage-y house for sale about a block from the beach.  It was beautifully and lovingly maintained; it was obvious.  Just so pretty and quaint in among these Goliath duplexes that rent for $5,000 an week and sell for $2+ million.  So for giggles, we looked it up on Zillow and it was priced at $1,250,000!!  What?!  No way!!  But then we looked closer at the listing and it said "quaint little home or a great site to rebuild".  Ah, now I get it!  Even though this house is in fine shape and well-maintained (per the listing), they'd rather sell the lot to a builder who will tear it down and put up yet another monster house (blocking the ocean views from all of the people living across the street three houses wide), wasting this beautiful house in which a family may have been raised or, at the very least, a house that saw years of happy families during the Summer months.

Why?  Because it will make MORE MONEY!!  What....a....waste!!!

So as you can tell by now, this rant has no point; it's just me thinking out loud and tricking you into being my audience and letting me annoy you.  And maybe to plant a new seed or watering the existing one already planted in your psyche.  I just think the Depression Era viewpoint of "waste not want not" and the New Age "Reuse Recycle Reduce" has to be followed before we are like Logan's Run; living in a marble and glass dome because we've destroyed our environment to the point of near distinction. (and if you've never seen the movie, you should)  I'm not saying re-use your teabags and paper towels (though I'm guilty of the latter), just be more aware of what you're buying to ultimately toss or fixing what you've already bought instead of replacing it. 

Okay, now I'm starting to annoy myself and the air is significantly thinner up here on my soapbox!

~ Eileen Cassidy Bishop

See You in September.....at school!

The kids are back in school two days now.  Yesterday I had an appointment that took up the morning so pretty much had no time for myself.  So today? Today I'm still in my jammies at 11am having just finished doing my nails.  Yup! I do like me some September!!  The rough mornings of waking them earlier than their internal alarm clocks go off and a half hour AFTER their external alarm clocks are completely worth it!

But on the other hand...the house is SO quiet! I have the TV on in the other room to keep me company. Hmmm, maybe I should put on Springer; then I'll feel like the kids are still here yelling at each other. Nah, not that lonely! I've made some calls, scheduled some appointments, had heart-to-heart talks with the dogs and older cat to try to not scare or eat the new kitten.  I'm not sure they were listening though.  The kids made their beds before they left so I don't even have that; though again, not that lonely or bored!

And please don't misunderstand; I absolutely adore my kids!  Obvious to those who've read any, if not most, of my previous blog posts but perhaps not so much to those reading for the first time.  They are my world, my breath, my heartbeat that keeps me going every day.  I can't imagine my life without them and have a hard time remembering what it was like before they arrived (and I lived almost 40 years before they came into the picture!)  They make me laugh, cry, scream, and reach deep to answer questions only their brilliant, curious minds could conjure!  They are pretty, and healthy, and athletic, and as snappy as all get-out.  They make me, even on my worst of days, thankful.

But seriously?  24/7 for over two months without a break?  Even Mother Theresa herself would long for the first day of school.  Doesn't absence make the heart grow fonder?  Bring it!!  If only for six hours a day.  Honestly, I'm not sure I could go a whole lot longer than that without them!

~Eileen Cassidy Bishop

A Good Friend is a Good Friend Until the Bitter End; Like It Or Not!

I had to bid farewell (not good-bye) to a very dear friend this afternoon.  Not only to her, but to her beautiful children as well.  My kids' first and still friends.  We spent so much time together when our kids were young we'd joke that we were each other's "daytime husbands"!  Yet life got busier and the kids' needs grew as they grew, so we hadn't seen much of each other in the past year or so.  But each time we did, after the quick catch-up of current events, it was like picking up where we left off. Cliche I know, but true just the same.

But we can't blame busy lives for the upcoming separation.  She's moving halfway across the country to start a new adventure and leaving many friends and a lot of family behind to miss them terribly.  I'm sad yet happy for her.  I'm hopeful she'll build a great new life with new friends yet worried that it won't happen soon enough and she'll be lonely.  I want her to miss us all but hope she's too busy living to do just that.  I guess the bottom line is, I hope for her happiness...and for a place in her heart that's only for me.

I've discovered it's harder to make friends when you're a grown-up than when you're young and less self-conscious.  I remember my freshman year of high school and walking up to absolutely everyone I saw saying, "Hi! I'm Eileen Cassidy.  I'm a freshman; are you?" Seriously. Every single person.  By the end of the week, I could remember only a handful of names yet most remembered the dolt walking around with a goofy smile introducing herself to anyone who'd listen.  It actually worked out quite well for me in the shorter long run; because I met everyone, I didn't fall into a click with the grammar school friends I had but hovered around everyone like a bee around flowers, enjoying it all and missing little.  And it was easy.

It always seemed to be easy.  I didn't have a best friend to speak of but many close friends, some  whom I remain close to to this day.  I didn't have the "graduate from high school in June and start full-time college in the Fall" experience of dorm-mates or sorority sisters but I already had friends and made new friends with coworkers and night-schoolmates.  There was always something business or social going on to keep me well-stocked in friends.   It was brainless; no work required. 

Then I became a stay-at-home mom.  Actually I became a housewife and then a stay-at-home mom.  Because of the economy, I was laid off and was home (alone) for almost a year and a half before my son was born.  I had full intentions of returning to work after a six month hiatus but then I got pregnant and well...At any rate, my deep well of new relationship opportunities was drying up and because I no longer went into an office or spoke to 40 clients a day, I was getting lonely.  But I had the baby and then 15 months later had another baby, so socializing was pretty far down the list.  I was lucky enough to have some great neighbors who checked in on me when they could but the majority of the time it was just the three of us; not a whole lot of conversational interaction going on there! (Yes, of course my husband was around but he was working a LOT...nuff said!)

But when I finally had had enough of my own company, I went out to parks to meet other moms swinging toddlers on baby swings or pushing strollers along the path.  The problem was, these moms were perfectly happy with the status quo, or so it seemed, that I was pretty much ignored or worse yet, I received curt replies to my questions or comments.  Major blow.  Major!  I realized my problem was, though, that I came to the party not only late in life, but late in the life-style too!  While I was a DINK* working well into my 30's....like well into them, these women were younger than I and had already been doing this mothering thing and therefore were pros!  I mean, it has to be that, right?  My shtick worked my freshman year so, like, what?!

Not until I moved to a new house in a new town with my new babies meeting new neighbors and getting involved in a MOMS group, did I finally FINALLY realize that it's not hard to make friends...especially when you have kids and even when you're old...ahem.  But it's not as easy as it was when we were five or 10 or even 20.  And friendships mean more when you're older.  It means sharing serious conversation about serious, private issues that you know will not be shared with another human (well, maybe a spouse but you can kill them if they blab).  

I think that's why losing this particular friend is hitting me so hard.  She's the one who taught me to trust in another woman my deepest darkest fears and secrets.  The one who knew me best and who I leaned on when I desperately needed someone to lean on when no one else on the planet, including my husband, knew I needed to lean.  To rest easy knowing that she will take my confidences to her grave without even thinking about it.  The one who will, even miles and miles away, be there when I need her as long as I ask her. 

 So before I start going into something really personal, let me just say this:  friendship, like marriage, is not easy (when you're an adult.)  To sustain it, it takes patience and kindness and acceptance; all traits awarded to one who's taken some punches and realized it's all in the name of Adulthood.  I look at it as one of the gifts we get for growing old...you know, one of the few gifts for growing old.  Patience, compassion, and friendship...friendship that lasts through separation, time, and age.

So to my dear friend I say, no matter where we are or how old we become, you can always count on me...for ever and ever and, well, ever.

*Double income no kids

~Eileen Cassidy Bishop

Just One Wafer-Thin Mint?

I was thinking of the Monty Python sketch the other day while cramming the last bit of food from my plate lest I waste a morsel.  It was the "One wafer-thin mint".  Do you know it?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJZPzQESq_0

It's one of their more disgusting bits but best describes how I feel a good portion of the time when I finally push away from the table!  Seriously! Too stuffed to eat another bite but...well...okay, one little Andes mint to top me off.  POOF!!  Then come the morning after, I step on the scale butt naked so I can't "allow" a couple of pounds for my pj's, and am astonished that I've made absolutely no progress in my weight loss efforts!  I even went so far once as to send an email to the scale company saying that their scale is obviously inaccurate (I really did!) 

Why do I do this to myself every single time I try to make a conscious effort to lose weight?  When I make an effort to exercise I don't stick nails in my bike tire so why do I sabotage the weight loss effort?!  Sometimes I'm even fully aware of what I'm doing...okay, most of the time.  Whatever, all the time!  I think to myself, "Self, you've had a weight loss for the past three days.  Don't eat the Krimpet.  Just put it down, walk away, and get a drink of water or a grape."  But then the devil on my shoulder says, "SHUT UP!"  And that's that!

I will, however, go so far as to say that although I'm about 25 pounds heavier than I'd like, I pretty much maintain (read I haven't gained another 25) thanks to exercise.  I can't even imagine my size without 10 mile bike rides five or six times a week!  But even with my dietary slip-ups I really can't understand my inability to lose weight!  I've tried everything (not hypnosis...too pricey!) short of lopping off a leg to lose even five pounds (how happy would I be if my leg only weighed five pounds?!)  And when I say I've tried, I've really tried.  I've flicked the shoulder devil off and have actually eaten a grape instead...or drank a glass of water (or lemon water with a little unfiltered apple cider vinegar thrown in...yum, right?!)  I've opted for fruit salad at a BBQ and club soda in my wine but nothing!  Maybe 1.2 pounds today, 1/2 pound tomorrow, and 3/4 pound the next, only to be followed by a two pounds gain on day four!!  What?!  Yes, there are those mornings that I go downstairs to the kitchen completely defeated and reach right for the Capt. Crunch or bagel thinking, "Screw it!  Nothing works! Embrace the big butt!"  Then I feel gross and guilty and fat and sometimes ruin my whole day's outlook.  What a drag!  What a vicious cycle I've created for myself!!

So how do I break it?  There's got to be an answer to this right?  Hormone replacement therapy since menopause's bony hands have taken hold of me?  Starvation?  No carbs?  Atkins, South Beach, Paleo?  Tried, tried, tried, and tried more than a few times.  I think the answer is in the same hidden treasure chest as the answer to the meaning of life.  I'm beginning to settle for acceptance.  I'm not throwing my hands in the air quitting and bellying up to the toppings bar at Yogurtland, but I'm not beating myself up (as much) when I "slip" and eat a Hostess treat.  Yes, I'll still get annoyed at myself and even shake my head in disgust and maybe even whimper quietly when I can't button that damn button on my jeans that CLEARLY is sewn on WAY too far from the hole on the other side.  I'll even try a new holistic product if it's within my parameters of possibly wasting money on it, or a combination of supplements and vitamins designed to curb my appetite and keep the parts lubed.

But here's what I won't do:  I won't stop doing my hair, my make-up, or my nails.  I won't stop treating myself to a new dress or skirt.  However, I won't buy the next size up if it doesn't fit; I'll just go without.  Totally a psychological thing but too bad.  I won't silently curse my thin friends because I think and sometimes know that although they look fabulous, they have their own demons and shoulder devils to wrestle with.  I won't roll my eyes when they whine about gaining SEVEN POUNDS OVER THE WINTER because I know that they work out diligently and like my frustration with dieting to no avail, they too are bewildered as to the "why".

I think unless you're Jack LaLanne (he's the juice guy to those born after 1975) or that scary chic on The Biggest Loser, maintaining a healthy lifestyle has to be a conscious, always there choice (and honestly?  It probably is for those people as well.)  The reality of it is those people who can eat and eat and be thin and muscular and do absolutely nothing are very, very few and far between.  Unfortunately I'm friends with most of them!  But really, if I were the only one battling this issue, it wouldn't be the number one retail industry in the US!   It's been said a million times that Hollywood is to blame for the self-loathing of our body image.  Or Barbie.  Or Twiggy (google her, youngin's!)  In all fairness, though, I challenge anyone to find an advertisement that EVER had a Rubenesque woman as their model; fit girls sell more stuff.  Hollywood's not to blame, our own inferiority complex is...our drive to look like the girl in the ad; at least in my case.  I am going to try really hard to see the good in the mirror and forgive the not-so good.  To be aware of the imperfections and hope that if I maintain a healthy lifestyle, eventually....like really really eventually my body will acquiesce. And if not, I'll get one of those scooters to get around!

~Eileen Cassidy Bishop 

Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming...

My children swim on two swim teams; one Summer, one Winter.  They are 10 and 11 years old.  They swim anywhere from two to five (maximum) events out of about 65.  Their races last anywhere from 20 seconds to 1.5 minutes.  That's it. And if you miss it, welp, sorry!!  No replay monitors!  Usually, my kids couldn't care one iota if I missed their event...until I do. That's the time they come up all excited squealing, "Didya see me? I took 3 seconds off my time!!"  Without skipping a beat, I lie through my teeth; "You didn't hear me screaming?  You were amazing!!  Good job!"   Technically not a lie; I often scream when they're swimming and they're ALWAYS amazing!  Oy.

I'm sure, if you spend any time on Facebook, you have read at least one blog about a swim meet.  They're exciting...in two minute blocks.  But those two minutes?  Nail biting exciting!! Especially when it comes to your own kids.  The rest of the four-ish hours are spent doing whatever job you've volunteered for or, if you have the meet off, reading a book, chatting with other prisoners, um, parents, slathering lotion on your swimmers (when they come over to you ONLY to ask for something to drink, eat, or buy from the snack bar), and trying desperately to align your chair to be even somewhat in the shade.  Good times...good times.  I saw a tee shirt once that read, "If I only have one day left to live, I want to spend it at a swim meet 'cause they last forever".  True that!

When the last regular Summer season meet arrives, there is much rejoicing!  There's a pasta lunch and inspiration bags (filled with inspiring quotes and goodies for and from fellow teammates), a camp-out, team family skits, and award nights...and saying farewell to graduating seniors leaving for college or points unknown.  The entire month of July is dedicated to daily morning practice and preparing to either host a meet or actively participate in an "away" meet.  So come the last meet on the last Saturday of July, everyone is ready for a break.  Suddenly, however, every kid now WANTS to go to the pool and spend the entire day there.  Why?  Why else?  Because no one is telling them they have to!  The nice thing is not having to be there as early as 7:30 a.m.  There is an air of relaxation between the kids and the moms (read chauffeurs), summer vacations away are planned (now permitted since no meets will be missed) and the chat doesn't focus solely on swimming.  It's a nice respite before, for some, it starts all over again in October!

Why do we do it?  Why do we give up evenings for one or two hour practices three to five times a week and sometimes entire weekends for a two-day meet in the Winter and every morning and Saturday in the Summer?  Because it's an awesome experience!  Not just for the swimmers, but for the rest of us watching these boys and girls give they're all doing something I could BARELY do when I was a kid!  Reading their faces when they win a race; watching them shake hands with their neighboring competitors and cheering on the last one lagging far behind.  Seeing they're proud faces when they go up to receive their place ribbons while their teammates clap for them.  It's deafening when these kids, either still trying to psyche themselves up for their own race or after spending the last four plus hours swimming or trying to stay cool (they're not allowed in the pool except for their events), are cheering for individual swimmers and the relay teams at the top of their collective lungs screaming, "SWIM FAST!! PULL!!  GOOD TURN!!  GO! GO! GO!"  It's an amazing camaraderie between swimmers, and swimmers and their coaches; not to mention the parents patting each other on the back congratulating each other for their kid's win (or good try).  It's cool. Very.

My kids' grandparents will never see them swim live (I love them too much to make them sit in either the blistering Summer sun or the mind-numbing humidity of the indoor Winter season) and I'll continue to bitch and moan about one thing or another.  But I hope the day never comes, and it very well may, when I hear, "I don't think I'm going to swim this year."

~ Eileen Cassidy Bishop

I want to give a shout out to our team's own alum, Kelsi Worrell, the best Fly girl at the PanAm games 2015!  She's on the Olympic track and we could not be happier or prouder!! She has been an inspiration to every swimmer on our team!! Swim fast, Kelsi, you got this!!!

The Beast Within

She was a tough kid.  I don't mean 'tough' like she beat anyone up or anything; I mean tough as in stubborn and obstinate.  She was Mary Contrary to anyone who dared challenge her and would dig her heels in so deep, debate with such quickness, most decided in the end to think twice about it next time.  Victory was HERS!!!  Problem was, she was stubborn and obstinate; character traits found in narcissistic, selfish people.  Not really what one looks for in a friend.  Don't get me wrong!  She had plenty of friends!  Tons of them!! They'd hang out, laugh, get in trouble, play Running Bases and Red Rover; but growing up there was really only one that challenged her (almost daily) and hung in all the way through adulthood, God love her!  The downside was that they fought nearly every day!  She loved her and treated her like family...but she never really gave the girl any reason to change; her friend loved her through thick and thin.

But the older she got, the more she realized that being so vocal and contrary was not the means to success, especially for a woman.  So early in her adulthood, she started the difficult task of reinventing herself and willing herself to let things slide or let things go that otherwise she would be all over.  She let people talk down to her without verbally bringing them to their knees simply to keep peace (or her job). She let misinformation go uncorrected so as not to appear contrary or "better than" the informer.  She treated people with kindness, patience, and generosity in the hopes that she would be treated the same; and often she was.  However, too often she wasn't; and that caused her pain.  But she pushed on!  She made a great friend who would wind up being her life-long BAE (before anyone else) and a wonderful guy who would wind up with the life sentence of her husband.  These two loving people put up with her slip-ups and backslides; always there not to shake a finger at her, but to offer a hand to pick her up.  With their help, she continued with her metamorphosis.  In peeling away layers and exposing more delicate tissue beneath, a surgeon needs a strong surgical team there with him in case the scalpel should accidentally penetrate too deeply too quickly and cause too much bleeding. These two were her team.

So after time, she did change.  She became more docile and more forgiving and more patient.  She became more vulnerable too.  She became much more sensitive toward others' feelings as well as toward her own.  For the first time in her life, she became a "cryer".  That was one she wouldn't mind removing!  But be that as it may, one must take the good with the bad!  She was really comfortable in this skin.  She had good friends and liked being the one many turned to for advice or comfort or simply as a sounding board.  Backslides did occur, but she would try to rely more on her intellect and reason and less on simply proving she was right and needing to win.  So she's come quite a long way.

But here's the kicker; people from her early years, family mostly, still see her in her original state and remind her often of past indiscretions or misconduct.  Often it is disguised as humor and just some friendly razzing, but done nonetheless.  For those, the damage may be done.  They may not be willing to erase the past and let the new girl in, but that's not her problem...it's theirs.  When an addict enters recovery and comes out the other side better and stronger than before, will he surround himself with people who will remind him of misdeeds that happened while under the influence or with people who try to put themselves in supporting roles, helping him to continue to fight the good fight?  Do you think that perhaps, if that addict was constantly reminded of the past, said addict might not pull away to save his own skin and to stay focused on his constant battle?  Or worse yet, slip up since he's made to feel it's what's expected?

But she's not an addict.  She'll not slip back into that early role if she occasionally stands up for herself and speaks her mind.  But she thinks she might.  And if she does, she might lose everything she's worked so hard for.  Or if she tells people how they really make her feel, she'll be viewed as pitiful and in need of comfort.  Yuck!  But she's caused herself anguish in losing her voice so although she's worried about how she'll be viewed, she realizes that she has to let a little of that old girl back in.  But in a good way.  She needs to speak up if she sees something wrong in behavior or circumstance but do it before her anguish builds too high.  She needs to maintain the calm she's taught herself.  So much of her pain is self-inflicted because in trying to tame the beast, she's tried to kill the beast.  So like any good animal trainer, she must go back in and face the beast.  Let the beast roar or hiss; they need to do that on occasion, and let its voice be heard in a less off-putting manner.  I've been to circus shows, the tigers bat at the trainer...but gently!  As if to say, "I love you but watch it! I can and may still attack you if you push me too far."

So perhaps she needs to keep some of that soft tissue protected by at least a layer or two; like one's veins are protected by skin.  But look at your hand.  You can still see the veins, right?  Like everyone else at any age, she'll learn from her mistakes for the rest of her life and be constantly tweaking.  She will pass on to the young advice that may prevent those who listen from making the same mistakes she made.  But the young don't listen so she'll look on and offer her hand, not her wagging finger, to help pull them up when they've fallen...'cause she knows just how they feel.

~Eileen Cassidy Bishop

The Girl By the Sea

Once upon a time a little girl child was born in the little seaside hamlet of Rockaway Beach.  She was a fair-skinned, dark-haired beauty; the eldest of four children.  She was obedient, loyal, kind, and loving to her family and they all returned in kind.  The six lived a happy though sometimes hard life.  For shortly after she was born, there was a terrible crash heard 'round the world causing almost everyone to fall on hard financial times.  Her father, a successful furniture shoppe owner, was forced out of business.  For who could buy furniture when one couldn't even afford sugar?

So down they went, like their neighbors and friends, falling on the jagged rocks of Hard Times.  Gravy sandwiches and sugarless tea was the lunchtime fare when the little girl would dash home on her school lunch break.  On occasion, however, because her parents so longed to give their children treats from time to time, the little girl would be given a nickel to see a double feature at the local movie theatre.  Sometimes she chose to spend that nickel on a bag full of half-penny candy instead; especially if she'd already seen whatever was showing and didn't have to worry about missing that week's cliff-hanger installment.

The years went on, as did the hard times of the Depression.  The girl, now a young woman, excelled at school, especially numbers, She graduated and in a short time landed herself a job with a large company as the assistant to the head bean counter.  Her starting wage was $18 per week; a windfall by the day's standards!  Everyday she would board the train from her little hamlet to the large island of Manhattan.  Hair in pin curls wrapped in a kerchief, she and a gaggle of others would dash into the restroom and brush out their locks, rouge their cheeks and lips, and begin their day only to return home that evening with straight hair and faded cheeks.  For hair lacquer was for the rich and for the famous actors gracing the great stages of the island.

Along with the scarcity of hair lacquer was that of nylons.  Another luxury afforded only by those not living hand to mouth.  The young woman and her sister would take turns climbing upon a stool and carefully drawing black lines down the backs of their legs to give the illusion of nylons.  Shoes were resoled, socks darned, and dresses worn to threadbare before being replaced for that windfall of $18 was given to her parents to help sustain the household; a common practice of the times.

All this while, as the little girl grew, her industrious father, having lost his furniture store and therefore his livelihood, began the arduous task of relearning a skill at an older age; for how could he find work when younger men were available?  The father steadfastly, by mail correspondence, worked hard and long and was rewarded with a degree in bean counting.  Slowly and surely, he rebuilt his purse.  In the end, he again found himself the proprietor of a successful business built solely on blood, sweat, and tears and the support of a loving wife and family.

The young woman observed all of this, as did her younger siblings, and modeled their lives to that of their parents.  They each married and raised families by trying to mimic how they were raised.  Times were changing, as were children, so failures were inevitable.  But because they were taught by their parents' actions and attitudes to not give up and to always strive for better, in the end, they too, were successful in both family and business.  They raised loving and supportive families who relied and leaned on each other through wars, through recessions, though sickness, and through death.  They never gave up therefore they never failed.

I know these facts to be true for this in not a fairy tale but the story of my incredible mother, her parents, and my aunts and uncle.

~ Eileen Cassidy Bishop

Wherefore Art Thou, Brain?

Did you ever have so much to do that you were physically unable to do anything?  Physically unable because your mind is so churned up and twisted that it can't help you decide what to do first?  Or it's able to tell you what to do first but not able to transmit to your muscles to get the BLEEP off the couch and do it?  I have and I don't have a job outside the house!  

So how do I fix this?  Get more organized?  Gad yes!  Delegate more to my kids?  Well, I suppose I could but they already do their fair share and besides, they're pretty stressed too (at times).  Hire a personal assistant?  Yes! Yes, that's it!!  It may be tough, though, as I've been told I'm not the easiest person on Earth (can you imagine?!)

But honestly, I'm not so crazy busy that I should have such a hard time.  I definitely think a key component is organization --- how's that for an original thought?  FlyLady does it.  Some chica I heard talk at a MOMS Club Luncheon does it and they both make it look so easy!  And dang it if I haven't tried!  And not to blow my own horn or anything, but have you seen my kitchen cabinets?  Works of organizational art! (Except the junk drawer, I need that available for the unexpected visitor for clearing off the kitchen island...leave me that!)  I can locate anything at anytime within seconds.  My clothes and linen closets are pristine.  Refrigerator?  Categorically organized by food groups.  I challenge anyone to knock on my door and inspect them.  

I started Quicken (for the second time) recently with the intent to follow a budget for the first time in my almost 24 years of marriage and to help my husband understand our financial process in case I get hit by a bus.  I did fine until I couldn't get my bank and checkbook and Quicken to match.  It's now been a couple of weeks since I opened the program.  A for effort?  He's good with numbers, he'll figure it out.  And as far as the budget, well, we've come this far....

I pay my bills through the bank as soon as they come in because I'm able to schedule payment dates; unless I don't feel like it.  When that happens, I put them right on top of my computer keyboard so the next time I sit down, in order to do anything at the PC, I MUST pay these bills first.  Unless I don't feel like it.  Then I move them to the top of the printer, right to the right of me, always in my sight so I don't forget to pay them by their due date.  Unfortunately, they are sometimes covered up by miscellaneous papers and I'm scrambling at the last minute to ensure payment is received on time! Here's where the self-saboteur comes in:   I KNOW instead of moving them to the printer it will only take me 30 seconds to sign on to the bank site and set up the payment.  I SEE them on the printer and know that if I don't take 30 seconds to sign on to the bank site and set up the payment I will quite possibly face a late charge.  I WANT to take the 30 seconds but some gear in my brain has frozen rendering me unable to do anything other than NOTHING (which translates into Words With Friends, Candy Crush, Facebook, etc.)

So is it stress, disorganization, or just good old-fashioned laziness?  Yes!  Too lazy to get more organized which totally stresses me out!  I think personal assistant is definitely the way to go.

~ Eileen Cassidy Bishop

Happy Birthday!

I've been thinking of my dad a lot lately.  Probably because today he would have been 91 years old.  He dropped dead (literally) of a heart attack getting ready for bed, 11:20pm, February 25th, 1983.  Ten days after his 59th birthday.  BAM! Just like that. One moment sitting in the family room watching television with my friend Maryann and me, smoking a cigarette and drinking his nightly cup of coffee, the next moment (okay, 20 minutes later) falling to the floor in the bathroom most likely (and hopefully) leaving this world before hitting the linoleum.  There. Not there. No tearful good-byes, no "I love you's", no last last minute deathbed apologies for past trespasses.  Here.  Not here.  Nothing Hollywood-worthy or novel-worthy. Just...gone.  

It was shocking and sad and absolutely awful for all of us.  All but my dad and that makes it all okay in my mind.  It's how I would want to go; quickly with no more and hopefully less than a moment's pain or fear.  Feeling relatively good one moment and nothing the next.  No suffering, no doctors hovering, no tubes or hard decisions for my loved ones to have to make.  Just peace and quiet until Jesus comes to take me home.  Doesn't seem so bad when you look it that way, right?

See this way too, I get to remember my dad the way he was most of the time; alive, smiling, busting chops, bantering and playing with his grandchildren, losing his patience...ahem.  I look at it as a blessing.  I knew his heart wasn't well and he was suffering with chest pains more often than not and although I never would have thought it then, perhaps my hindsight has shown me that he probably wasn't going to grow to be an old man with my mom.  But what if he did?  Would he have gotten miraculously healthy and lived that long life happily and pain free?  Probably not.  So yes, it was a blessing.

My father-in-law died a slow and painful death.  Painful for him and painful for my husband and his family.  I remember my mother-in-law saying angrily, "I'm so angry at myself for begging God to let me keep him with me!!  I should have been praying that God take him and end his pain but I was selfish and didn't want him to go."  I felt so terrible for her that she was carrying this guilt around years after he had passed.  What she asked God for is absolutely what I would have asked God for if it had been my husband, father, brother or anyone I loved!  And anyone who has prayed that prayer has probably experienced the same guilt as my mother-in-law.  

So although I'm obviously not glad my father passed away when I was still in high school and hadn't come to the realization of how much I needed him in my life to advise and guide, I'm glad he was taken as quickly as he was.  I'm not sorry I didn't get to say good-bye or "I'm sorry" (I was a teenager after all so clearly an apology would have been necessary for something!) because I believe with all my heart, and have from the moment of his passing, that I could talk to him anytime I liked!  No, he couldn't say "I love you too" or "I forgive you", but I know he would have and that's enough for me.  It really is.

James Francis Cassidy, born February 15, 1924 was a loving man filled with quiet humor and subdued affection.  He could instill fear when he yelled (even in my older brothers) and calm when he quietly comforted.  He was impatient and quick to anger (a trait I thankfully didn't get...right?!) but when I think of him now, almost 32 years after his untimely death, I am filled with love and gratitude that God found both of us worthy enough to belong to each other as father and daughter even if for only a short time.

I love you still, Daddy, and will always.  Happy birthday in Heaven!

~ Eileen Cassidy Bishop

Rollin', Rollin', Rollin' on a....

I've been called many things in my day; bitch (admittedly), stubborn (guilty as charged), intolerant (I'm getting better), gossip-monger (sometimes, unfortunately), holy roller --- now just hang on a minute!!  I am NOT a holy roller!  Am I a practicing Catholic?  Yes. Do I teach CCD and Childrens' Liturgy on Sundays? Yes. Do I witness where and when I can about my Faith? Yes, but probably not as often as I should or could.  Hmmm...maybe I am a holy roller!  Nope, I'm sticking to my guns on this one; NOT a holy roller.

Actually, anyone who knows me, I think, would agree with my personal assessment...unless, of course, they're trying to get under my skin.  Fortunately for me, I don't have any friends like that.  Smirk.  

You see to me, a holy roller is an in-your-face, steam-rolling, often obnoxious witness to Christ and His church (whichever sect).  I don't want to work that hard.  If I get a vibe that bringing up my faith will not bring the conversation to a screeching halt, I may do just that.  But I may not.  I think, like politics, religion and faith are to be discussed at the 20,000 foot level; cocktail party chat to get to know your fellow invitees.  It's just safer that way.

That's not to say I haven't had some pretty heavy conversations and sometimes debates with family or friends because I absolutely have.  Or talks with those close to me who share my feelings and beliefs.  That's what helps feed us spiritually.  Hearing what people don't agree with or understand is, to me, just as important as what they do agree and understand.  Not to mention a better understanding of what their doctrines are.  But I tread lightly.  I wish everyone did too.

I was listening to a conversation over the summer about someone's Catholic church and the church's policy that if you don't go to church (read make your offering) weekly, your child is unable to attend CCD.  My church has that policy as well but this particular church, according to this mom, took it a step further and gave an actual monetary minimum.  I was kind of surprised but what do I know, right?  When I commented about how, without the weekly tithing they might not be able to even hold CCD classes, I was verbally attacked by another mom who is usually pretty mild-mannered with "DON'T PREACH TO ME ABOUT THE CATHOLIC CHURCH!!! I WAS RAISED A CATHOLIC AND THEY'RE ALL ABOUT THE MONEY! NO OTHER CHRISTIAN CHURCH WOULD DISALLOW A CHILD FROM CCD!"  Needless to say, I suddenly had a really important call to make and disengaged myself from the conversation!  Clearly there was some history there that I had no intention or desire to learn about.

Look, here's my point (which I knew would come to me eventually).  If you go to church every week, every day, or Christmas if you can fit it in, that's none of my business.  Who am I to say, "that's fine" or "that's not enough" or whatEVER?  Just like I don't want you to tell me how awful and rotten and political my religion is, or how priests are pigs and pedophiles because they can't get married (that was actually one of my favorite comments), I will respect your choices, actions, and beliefs.  Do I agree with or like everything my religion mandates?  No (sorry Mom).  I like a lot about your religion but disagree with probably just as much.  It's what makes the world go 'round!  But let's keep it friendly; I'm having a good time at Life's cocktail party and don't want to have to walk out pissed off...or worse yet, get thrown out for pissing someone else off!

~Eileen Cassidy Bishop

Is This As Good As It Gets?

Well this has been, to say the least, quite a Lenten/Easter Season for the Bishop family!  It's been a season of awakenings, questions, doubts, concerns, and fear; most centering on and for my 10 year old son, Leo.  For those of you that don't know us well, my husband Gene and I are devout Catholics, whereas, we have a firm, strong, deep belief in the teachings of Christ and His Catholic Church.  We talk a lot about Jesus with the kids.  We ask "What would Jesus do?" and "Do you think that's something that Jesus would want you to do/say?"  His name is not wielded like a weapon but as a wonderful teaching tool.  What better example of love than He?  Yes, sometimes when you're tired or achy, a Sunday Mass of kneeling and standing, standing and kneeling can be torturous.  Our response to their laments is usually, "One hour.  One hour to give to Jesus after all he gave to us.  It's all He asks for.  Doesn't really compare to dying on a cross, does it?"  Some may think that's a harsh thing to say to an eight or 10 year old, and they are welcome to their opinion, but we, as their parents, think that at a young age, children need to realize exactly what He, His mother, and His father gave up for us.

So our Leo has been reeling for the past two weeks riddled with utter confusion on what happens after we die (very typical, by the way, for his age).  It's been pretty hard around here come evening prime time.  Just as Leo is winding down, his crazy bright mind starts churning and fears of total blankness quickly overtake him and he's literally sick with fear and doubt.

The first time this happened, about two weeks ago, it was pretty scary for me.  He had gotten so upset that he was gagging over the toilet.  Between gasps, he asked randomly, or so I thought, "Are they absolutely SURE we come from monkeys?!"  Homina homina homina....so that's where this is coming from!  So I begin my bumbling explanation using words like "paleontologist" and "similar" and "likeness" and "no proof" and and and...after a few minutes of this I simply asked, "What do we believe?"  He replied, "Adam and Eve were the first people on Earth and that man is from dust and from dust we'll return."  Whew! "Right!" ......"But how do we really know there's a heaven?!"  Ugh.

There's the rub.  We don't know, do we?  At least not as far as science is concerned.  Stephen Hawking will tell you that the concept of heaven is made up by people afraid of the dark.  He feels we are computers and when our "CPU's" stop functioning, we simply turn off. Period. Black. End of consciousness.  Holy hard drive, Batman, that makes me really really sad!!!  Not that I believe his theory, but that he does.  He's basically saying that for overcoming his amazingly debilitating physical issues, for obtaining umpteen degrees and awards for his great mind and spirit, his reward for bearing who knows what in his personal battles, is nothing.  Darkness.  His beautiful mind will simply cease.  Again, it makes me terribly sad for him.  However, he has to be allowed his theory and his opinion just like with any other subject.  But I will say, just as we don't know there's a heaven, he doesn't know there isn't, does he?

But back to my dilemma!  So the next day, after getting him calm enough to fall asleep, Leo awoke completely fine.  "You okay?" "I'm cool." Hmmm....okay!  Three nights later, here we go again! A good two hours of basic 10 year old freak out.  So after talking to friends, I read Heaven is For Real by Todd Burpo.  It's a great book written about an almost four year old boy named Colton and his near death experience in heaven.  I tell Leo and Cathy about it, paraphrasing and reading text from the book.  They're bug-eyed and curious..."can we call Colton?  I'd really like to talk to him."  It went really well!  Leo kissed me good-night, told me he loved me and that he wasn't afraid anymore.  Yeh!!  Wow! All my problems should be this easy to solve, right?!  Yeah, two nights later...

So long story longer, I think it's just a matter of letting him eventually come to terms with it himself.  He's watched a couple of interviews with Colton, he's spoken to our Parish priest, his parents have droned on and on; now it's time for him to  process and deal with it his own way.  If that means spooning with him until he's asleep or reassuring him with our own faith or simply trying to redirect him with "happier thoughts", that's what we'll do.  Hey, the way I look at it, I had a good couple days thinking parenting was a breeze!! I'll bet that's a rarity in itself!

*Just as a side note, I didn't write this piece to start a debate on religion v. science.  Like all my other blog entries, I simply wanted to share my experience and what I got out of it.  However, comments and opinions are ALWAYS welcome, but please remember...be nice! :)  ...oh, and advice is even MORE welcome! 

Love Means Saying "Thank You"

I watched the show Sunday Morning, well, Sunday morning, and Ben Stein closed the episode talking about saying 'thank you' to your parents.  He was visiting with women at a drug treatment facility and they were talking about how wonderful their parents had been to them; how they had never stopped loving them or fighting for them through their whole ordeal.  He asked the women if they'd ever thanked them.  They replied that they had apologized over and over again but don't ever remember saying 'thank you'.  "I don't remember but I must have at least once, right? ....no. No, I don't think I ever did."

It was a V8 moment for me.  I thought about how my last blog entry was about giving thanks and even listed a few things I was thankful for.  I even mentioned my mother but not to say that I was thankful for her, but thankful for her recovery from cancer.  Of course I'm thankful for her!  But when have I ever actually thanked her or my father?

Thanked them for just being my parents.  Thanked them for being happy I was born into an already crowded family of six children and welcoming me home as if I'd been the first.  Thanked my mom for balancing the checkbook to the penny every month while the two of them pinched said penny so we never went without (much)...the checkbook that held the money my dad made trudging off everyday to his job in NYC.  Thanked her for cooking, yes cooking me breakfast every morning of my childhood and for greeting me every day when I arrived home from grammar school.  For the beautiful home my parents made for us.  For taking care of me in sickness and in health, for better and for worse (and there was plenty o' worse!), until my adulthood released them from servitude.  However, it didn't release my then-widowed mom from saving my butt financially on more than one occasion! Thank you for that, by the way!

But it's more than just what they did for us; it's that they did it without hesitation and without including us in any of their worries.  We didn't grow up with a lot of money.  My dad made a nice living but with all those dang kids running around...well, when there was a chance to earn a bit extra working in my grandfather's office or working on income taxes for people, he jumped at the chance.  I always thought he did it just to help them out!  So thank you for allowing me to spend my youth in the bliss of financial ignorance!  I had so many other things to worry about like boys and ...boys and ...boys.

Ben Stein talked about how for decades parents are our servants and we their masters.  It made me chuckle because I'm constantly telling my kids I'm not their servant.  But we are, aren't we?  Yes, I am their mother, their teacher, their taskmaster, their nurse, their housekeeper, their cook, their seamstress, their launderer, their landscaper (well, okay, that's Dad), etc.  But we are also their confidant, their pillow, their rock.

I can assure you I don't do the grunt stuff as willingly as my parents did (or appeared to do).  Don't get me wrong, my parents were NOT Father Knows Best meets Donna Reed and there were plenty of times we thought they were cheap and unfair and downright cruel.  I'm sure there were plenty of times when they thought they were too...along with thinking we were spoiled brats!

See, here's the thing.  I never got to thank my father.  I always thought he'd be around. Period.  As a teenage it never even entered my mind to thank them for their hard work on my behalf.  Now that I've lived a good portion of my life and see the atrocities that call themselves parents, and feel the pinch and euphoria of parenthood firsthand, I regret having missed the chance.  I'm not going to wallow in guilt though; I was young and narcissistic just like many if not most teens out there.  That much hasn't changed....I'm talking today's teens, not my narcissism!

So thank you Mom.  Thank you for being there.  Thank you for loving me unconditionally.  Thank you for saying "no".  Thank you for fighting for me, for praying for me, for being genuinely happy when you answer my phone calls.  I love you.  

~Eileen Cassidy Bishop