Et Cetera by Susan Matthews

Van Gogh Would Cut Off His Other Ear

2010-08-04T12:22:00.000-07:00

What was the first painting that grabbed your imagination? Where did you see it? How did it make you feel?

My parents had Janson's History of Art in our bookcase while I was growing up. It was huge and I could barely lift it to the table. I would devour those pages of paintings as I imagined the stories taking place in them. We only had one TV and I didn't have first rights to it. The book was entertainment. (And I walked miles to school in the snow...)

Botticelli, Caravaggio and Dali were among my favorites for their drama and symbolism. I was just as fascinated with the painters themselves. When I was failing French in high school, a self-imposed book report (practically a thesis) on Paul Gauguin saved my grade. I didn't care for his art, but he was French and fairly interesting.

My parents took me to all the museums within driving distance and if you dated me, you got dragged to The National Gallery and The Philadelphia Museum of Art. And you liked it! I minored in Art History in college and had to buy my own Janson's History of Art. It is in my living room bookcase now. My kids have only cracked it a few times. Too many TVs!

As a reporter, I covered all the big exhibits for the Philadelphia Museum of Art and finally found an appreciation for Impressionistic and Modern art. Cezanne's work, and everyone's, is all the more interesting if you know the history behind it.

And to think people had these paintings in private home collections....

My parents have a couple treasured oil paintings on their walls. They are landscapes on canvas from the 1800s. Original art lends a legitimacy and intimacy to rooms, the way books do. I think that's what is missing from most homes today - real art. There are too many purchases made at the Home Goods store because they are inexpensive and match the colors of the room. Van Gogh would cut off his other ear if he observed this trend.

Find your art on ebay, at estate sales and small galleries. Just make the purchase personal. Frame your kid's finger painting. Take a water color or pottery class. Bring art into your home, visit museums and be inspired.

My favorite artist and inspiration is John William Waterhouse. His paintings are below. He was a Pre-Raphaelite artist, 1849-1917, who painted powerful women - mythological, saints, witches, mermaids - in a classical yet modern way for the times. Click here for more info.

My Lost Saints

2010-04-12T11:22:00.000-07:00

A Revision On My Rude Spiritual Awakening

By Susan Matthews

My son told me how much he enjoys Mass. I knew my little guy liked Bakugan, Star Wars and loud music, but Mass? Instead of being happy that Catholic school tuition isn’t wasted on him, I had a sinking feeling. It was then I realized how much I’ve lost in the wake of the continuing Catholic Church pedophile scandals. I had, as Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, “lost my saints.”

When I was his age, the Catholic saints were my action heroes. Their brave lives and gory deaths fascinated and inspired me. They stood up for their beliefs against all odds. I’d even played Mass. My little brother and stuffed animals lined my makeshift pew as I read from the Bible. It didn’t occur to me that I’d never seen a woman priest.

After college, I took a job as an editor with The Catholic Standard and Times, the official newspaper of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia. My boss, a priest with a doctorate in theology from the Vatican, explained the distinction between doctrine and tradition. Tradition with a capital T, he said. Also, celibacy for archdiocesan priests was a promise rather than a vow. While I respected his honesty and devout belief, the information tugged at me. For years, I wondered about confession, birth control, the role of women in the Church and the indictment of gays. Now I understood much of our practice of religion had nothing to do with actual doctrine or vows. Throughout history evil, greed, sexism and bigotry shaped much of what now constitutes Catholic “T”radition. I still needed to believe the Church was holy and good. Who was I to question?

Then came the sickening discovery that a priest, who had taken my husband, his brothers and other boys on childhood camping trips, had been a pedophile, known as such to the archdiocesan administration for decades. While my husband and his brothers were unharmed, others were not so lucky.

The Church hierarchy, and now possibly even the Pope, have allowed a legacy of depression, suicide and depravity. I find that to be as evil, if not more so, than the priest pedophiles.

It is our God-given right and responsibility to question. In politics, I’ve always thought one shouldn’t complain unless participating in change. But this isn’t government. This is my soul. With whom do I register my complaint? Where do I vote? What do I do here and now if I want to actively take part in reforming my religion? Where are my saints?

It seems contradictory, but I will continue to send my children to Catholic schools. I have no doubt God is present in what they and Catholic Charities accomplish. I’m friendly with several priests and two of my great aunts are Sisters of St. Joseph. I have tried to separate my faith from my religion, as my mother suggests. My father argues that Catholicism has endured centuries just fine.

But I find that lack of spiritual evolution unacceptable and I can’t sit in Church as if nothing is wrong. I’m by no means suggesting that other religions have it over Catholics. Having written for The Philadelphia Inquirer’s Living Religion section, I covered many faiths. Some people believe any organized religion is going to lead to corruption. Where does that leave society?

There’s a desperate need for faith and organized religion. Yet, church pews are emptier and fewer people are entering religious orders. Apathy, rather than reform, has taken hold. So much competes for our attention and, yes, sometimes we are lazy.

Instead of walking away from organized religion, we need to fix it. I just don’t know how. It’s not the sins of the past and present Church that concern me — it’s the Church of the future, or the lack there of. I want my children to experience the peace that comes with belief. I don’t want to rob them of their faith. The Church may do that soon enough.

My son deserves more. He deserves his saints — the ones I’ve lost.

She's All That and Knows It

2010-03-09T12:30:00.000-08:00

When a beautiful, smart woman continues to pursue a disinterested man who is seemingly (and probably) unworthy of her attention, it’s often assumed she’s suffering from low self-esteem. It may be quite the opposite.

This woman may be so confident in her "fabulousness" that she’s incredulous when said man doesn’t also see it. She is left to assume he is dense and then rises to the challenge of his deficiency. Determined to make him aware that she is wonderful, this type of strong-willed woman will persevere for months, even years.

Typically, this situation ends with another intelligent man who recognizes her worth without excruciating effort. She will then push aside her embattled ego and make room for true love.

As Erica Jong said, “You see a lot of smart guys with dumb women, but you hardly ever see a smart woman with a dumb guy.”

Three decades of field research have led me to this sociological conclusion. My methodology included roughly 21,900 hours of phone interviews with female subjects. Half of these were conducted with a particularly interesting case study I’ve titled “Veronica.”

Help Africa Turn A Page

2010-02-25T09:11:00.000-08:00

I'll admit I wasn't looking forward to the six-hour bus ride to Pittsburgh with my daughter's dance competition team. Not even a little. I settled into my seat and grabbed my More magazine. The universe has incredible timing. The first article I read mentioned a 10-hour hellish bus trip African villagers endured to get reading material offered by the Botswana Book Project.

Here I was on a cushy bus loaded with good stuff to read on my way to a nice hotel where my daughter would learn from the best dancers in the country. Every aspect of culture and learning is available to me. I quit my mental bitching and vowed to help with this project.

As someone who believes the answers to life's questions can be found in books, I can't imagine not having access to them. They are right under food and shelter on my list of needs. Which is why I think it's incredibly important to support any literacy and book projects here and abroad. If you're on the same page, consider helping with Books for Africa or the Botswana Book Project.

If you know of any more projects like this, please post.

Tavern By the Way Side

2009-12-31T17:40:00.000-08:00

Tavern on the Green is celebrating its last New Year's Eve as the magical must-see restaurant in Central Park. Sure some dubbed it a tourist trap with over-the-top decor. To me, it was a wonderland - inside and out. Glitz and glam that everyday folks could partake in. Massive chandeliers dripping in crystal, lighted animal topiaries and fascinating folks drew me back over and over. I could never decide which was the best time - Christmas with its stunning displays or summer on the private garden patio. While the food never seemed to please the critics, I always enjoyed my meals - especially the risotto.

I'll always remember when husband and I had the opportunity to dine between Regis Philbin, his wife Joy and producer Gelman at one table and Ashley Judd, Hugh Jackman and entourage at another. We also meet Hollywood producer and writer Eunetta Boone there that night. During dinner on the patio her adult niece proclaimed, "that bug's butt just lit up!" She had never seen a lightening bug before. It's not pretty when I snarf risotto.

First, The Plaza closed and now Tavern on the Green... Sometimes, I wish it wasn't out with old and in with the new.

QV...C You Later, Mom

2009-10-15T10:07:00.000-07:00

When checking on my mom's house, I found an HSN (Home Shopping Network) package had been delivered to her. The betrayal of it all! I work on air for QVC. My mother is a turncoat, or should I say turnchannel. It appears shopping is thicker than blood. I'm officially up for adoption. Maybe HSN will sell daughters as their value of the day soon. Until then, she's fresh out.

Invisible Ink

2009-10-12T08:06:00.000-07:00

Campaign manageseems is all consuming and doesn't leave room for balance. It seems like I'm constantly making quick decisions and implementing instantly. As a writer, I'm used to contemplation and several drafts.

I've never worked harder for someone else and I'm frustrated that I don't have as much time to write. But I know that experience is integral to writing and I believe in my husband's candidacy. Living is my invisible ink. You just can't read it yet, but it will appear on paper soon.

The Politics of Writing

2009-09-07T07:36:00.000-07:00

When she read my high school diary my mother justified her invasion of my privacy with, "If you write it, someone will read it." Having recovered from that early trauma, it's a logic that I live by today. Actually, as a professional writer, I pray for it.

I guess you could say I'm an open book. There are those rare times when I'm not sure I should share so much. My husband has just announced he is running for Congress. This might be one of those times.

His campaign began behind the scenes months ago. While I'm more likely to watch E! Entertainment than CNN, his political foray has been fascinating so far. I'm not sure it's prudent to document it. There's been more intrigue than one might imagine and I had a pretty good idea of what was in store.

Political pundit Chris Matthews is my uncle, whose show "Hardball" airs on MSNBC. Uncle Jim is our controversial county commissioner and my father is running for township commissioner. My younger brother Chris was the youngest director of communications on Capitol Hill under Senator Gordon Smith. Over the years, my mother has volunteered her public relations services to political campaigns. (Note to her candidates: hide your diaries.) In college, I was a member of the Young Republicans. My very first published writing was an editorial in defense of then Supreme Court nominee Robert Bork. You could say it is the family sport.

My husband did not grow up with dinner time debates. His was more of a "seen and not heard" household. He was instructed to work hard, do his best and make the world a better place. He has done that for 20 years as a dentist and the next logical step is public office where he can serve even more people. Being exposed to my crew may have given him a voice, but it's his core that makes him a good candidate.

Do they want a good candidate? Well that remains to be seen... and written about. Should I or shouldn't I? You tell me, folks.

Paper Trail

2009-08-22T14:43:00.000-07:00

My name is Susan and I'm a magazine-aholic. I've admitted it. It's the first step. The second step is finding a responsible way to recycle my addiction and the massive amounts of paper I generate as a writer. Our township only picks up bottles and plastics. I just stumbled upon www.earth911.com and had to share its wonderfulness. I really am a writer. Type your zipcode into the appropriate box and they'll list tons of drop off sites and charities for virtually anything that is recyclable. Yeah!

Celebrity Sighting in Aisle 9

2009-08-09T13:39:00.000-07:00

During my latest trip to the local grocery, the manager informed me that I was no longer their lead celebrity shopper. I can't say I was surprised. It's really not that hard to outshine my not-so illustrious career - a TV commercial for a local radio station, QVC guest hosting and a not-yet (beginning to suspect never-to-be) released movie. I knew the day would come when my status would be usurped. But by who? Apparently, Jake Gyllenhaal and gal pal Reese Witherspoon have been hanging in my hood and needed some milk. By all accounts they were quite nice and posed for photos. The checkout guys will have something to talk about for months - maybe even years. Now I've got to up my game or find somewhere else to buy my bread.

Trust Your Gut

2009-08-03T04:35:00.000-07:00

My cat may be smarter than me. In referring to whether someone is a nice person it is often said that "animals and kids know." Animals rely on their instincts for survival while people tend to dismiss those impulses in favor of logical reasoning.

I recently read that our brains process so much information so quickly that our conscious minds can’t keep up. Our instinctive reactions are based on the accumulated knowledge – not vague or unrelated emotions. It turns out that when we trust our gut, we are really trusting our brain.

You may have seen Gavin De Becker, an FBI profiler, on Oprah over the years. He has built a career and written two books on the subject of trusting our instincts in order to protect ourselves. "The Gift of Fear" and "Protecting the Gift: Keeping our Children and Teenagers Safe" should be required reading for parents. The situations he illustrates are scary, but his advice is practical. While you may never get mugged, chances are your child may get lost in a store at some point.

While safety is most important, this information can be applied across the board in business, everyday decisions and relationships. Embrace your instincts.

I'd love to hear about your instinct experiences. Please share with a comment.

Stop to Smell the Writing

2009-07-24T07:17:00.000-07:00

Whoosh. Where did a month go? My husband's Congressional campaign consumed the month of July. I'm considering it time well spent in the pursuit of research. I know there is a juicy book in all this. But now it's time to find a better balance. Less political plotting and more story plotting is on my agenda for August. And my garden needs some serious work, too. Words and weeds here I come.

Seven Simple Resume Tips

2009-06-21T16:49:00.000-07:00

Tis the season for receiving some ridiculous resumes. Recent grads and the growing ranks of the unemployed are flooding a competitive job market. I'm sure shredders have been well fed.

Writing a good resume is a skill, but it's not brain surgery. Google resume writing. Get even more specific and Google resume writing and your field. Better yet, hire a professional resume writer. Don't worry if you've only had one job. They dig deep for good material. It's a small investment in your career. Here are a few free pointers to get you started.

1- Create a new email account. Your college user name doesn't cut it. Lovelyladyhumps1@yahoo.com or kegmaster321@hotmail.com won't impress potential employers.

2- Make sure you've formatted properly and if sending online save as a pdf so that changes across platforms don't occur. Also, follow the employer's instructions for online submissions. If you can't do this correctly, why would he or she hire you?

3- Proofread. Have others proofread it. Mistakes, even a typo, make you look careless at best.

4- Use active voice when describing your skills in relation to your current job. For example, “Expertly handles a wide variety of customer service situations with diplomacy and concern" works better than "Handled customer service issues."

5- When writing your resume, imagine you’re the employer. What would you want to see? Why should he or she hire you versus the 1,000 other applicants?

6- Don't be vague. For example, “Marketed a product within a community” sounds like you're selling illegal goods.

7- If you include an objective, make it benefit driven to the employer. No one gives a rat’s ass about what you want. Except me and maybe your mom. We want you to get a great job.

Who Are You?

2009-04-28T09:41:00.000-07:00

While chatting with Archbishop Wood's principal about my speaking on Career Day, she commented on the pressure placed on kids when we ask what they want to be when they grow up. I agreed and offered an alternative. We should be asking them, “Who are you?”

That question gets more to the crux of the matter. Decisions based on personal truths tend to work out better than those based on desire. Our wants can be misinformed and fleeting.

I wanted to be a rock star when I grew up. Never mind that I couldn’t sing or play an instrument. (That hasn’t stopped some.) I've never been one for relentless travel or repetition. So much for worldwide concert tours with night after night gigs. It's no surprise that never worked out.

Who was I in high school? I was curious, communicative and very social. In my spare time, I wrote notes, stories and poems. I’d answer that question the same way today. I do what I am in my job, and not so surprisingly, I’m very satisfied. Do what you are!

Whether you’re an astronaut or laying Astroturf, you can bring yourself into any job. Former QVC host Mike Rowe, who is famous for his show “Dirty Jobs” on the Discovery Channel, once wrote, “Never follow your passion, but by all means bring it with you.”

I think that’s brilliant. He explained it further in an interview for Outside magazine. “If you bring your passion with you, you can apply it to anything that makes sense. If you follow it, you’re going to be miserable until X, Y, Z happens, which might be never.”

Whether you call it fate, God’s plan or luck, life takes many unpredictable twists and turns. The one thing that is stable enough to rest your future upon is you. Who are you?

Detention Diva

2009-04-28T08:14:00.000-07:00

I was recently invited to be keynote speaker at my Alma Mater’s Career Day. It’s an honor but more than anything it’s hilarious. I barely escaped with my diploma from Archbishop Wood High School due to disciplinary issues. Don’t get the wrong idea. I wasn’t lighting up in the bathroom or cursing out teachers.

The pink demerit slips were for uniform violations and I was taken down as a repeat offender. It wasn’t that I minded uniforms. They are practical and a terrific time saver in the morning. It’s just that these were damn ugly. Picture if you will a dark green polyester jumper over an ecru polyester blouse with a Peter Pan collar. What it lacked in beauty, it also lacked in breathability. The green knee socks and green and yellow saddle shoes didn’t have me kicking up my heels, either.

Mutiny was mine, but I paid a price for my insurgence. I failed conduct every year. The grade was calculated into my G.P.A. - earning me a spot at the bottom of my class. I was told I couldn’t graduate unless I spent two additional hours in detention for every point under the passing grade. That meant many hours of pulling weeds in the convent garden.

“Disciplinary Difficulty” was stamped in red across my transcripts with no explanation as to why I was a difficulty. That made getting admitted to college challenging despite a decent SAT score. Finally, Penn State accepted me on probation and I promptly reversed my fortune. I was the best-dressed student on dean’s list.

All is well that ends well. I have fond, if not fashionable, memories of high school. I’m thrilled for the opportunity to share my insights on career and choices while not wearing green polyester.

Call Me

2009-03-30T11:18:00.000-07:00

Last week's "30 Rock" had me “lizzing” – what the very clever Tina Fey dubbed whizzing while laughing. When her character’s old slutty chat line TV commercial surfaces, I flash backed to when I auditioned for just such a gem.

At age 18, I didn't quite grasp why guys would phone strange women to chat. "Hey Trixie, what's the weather like there?" You could have reached me at 1-800-Clueless. But I wanted to act.

The audition was all about mile high hair, more makeup than a Broad Street hooker and the cheesiest lines ever. I’m sure my sultry come-hither stare looked more like confused anger as I purred, “Call me, call me now” into the camera.

I was devastated when the director didn’t “call me” to say I’d gotten the part. It didn’t occur to me that I lacked the requisite C cup and looked more like pedophile bait at that age. It’s hilarious and scary to remember how disappointed I was at missing the opportunity to humiliate myself. So if something doesn’t work out for you, it might just be a saving grace.

Decorate By the Book

2009-03-29T11:16:00.000-07:00

Homes without books are icky soulless spaces. I only hope these people have worn out library cards. "Books are not made for furniture, but there is nothing else that so beautifully furnishes a house," said Henry Ward Beecher. I agree. Whether you're a big reader or not, books are a must-have decorating accessory to create coziness. Pick up bargains at thrift stores and garage sales.

Turn the page on how you store your books. Ditch the dust covers and let the beautiful bindings and covers show. The metallic ink against matte-colored covers offers an elegant library look to your collection. Vary stacks horizontally and vertically by subject matter to create visual interest and organization. Stash those Harlequin romances and other paperbacks in decorative boxes on lower shelves.

Displaying books in unexpected places adds panache to your home.

"Let books be your dining table,
And you shall be full of delights
Let them be your mattress
And you shall sleep restful nights."
~Author Unknown

That quote inspires a few design options. Consider adding built-ins to your dining room to create a warm library lounge atmosphere. Pass the brandy, please. If that's a budget buster, the same look can be achieved by lining a wall with freestanding bookcases.

Don't just stick to shelves. Let your books be free. Stacking a few larger ones on a short side table can elevate a lamp to the right height for reading all the other books. They can even be piled high to create a table.

My books seem to be giving birth faster than the bunnies out back. Too much of anything creates clutter. Edit your collection and donate the overflow to your local library.

A good book has no ending. - R.D. Cumming
Good decorating has no ending. - Me

How to Be Super Hot

2009-03-26T09:44:00.000-07:00

When notorious playboy Warren Beatty finally settled down with fellow actor Annette Bening after years of womanizing, everyone wanted to know what got the ring on his finger. He was quoted as saying, “She has an amazing capacity for happiness.”

That quality should be on everyone's checklist. Happiness is hot. Sure the moody, edgy person holds a certain amount of mysterious appeal while dating, but that wears very thin in a marriage. As life gets more complicated, you want a partner who can lift your spirits up - not drag you down into the depths of their despair on a regular basis.

Is it fair to discriminate against the chronically unhappy? After all, maybe they were born with the negativity chip or had a really hard life. Countless studies have been conducted and the results are debated. Theories aside, it’s easier to live with a smile than a scowl.

I maintain that one’s happiness is in direct relation to their gratitude. Some people are grateful for the smallest things, and no surprise - they are usually the happiest. So, if you want to be super hot, splash on some joie de vivre.

PS - Clinical depression is a whole different ball of wax. This post is just about happy vs. sad sack.

PPS - Warren and Annette have been married since 1991 and have four children. I know this but not how to do my son's third grade math homework.

Life Diving

2009-03-25T06:01:00.000-07:00

People say I’m brave because I try new things. That’s not really the case. There is a huge difference between bravery and impulsiveness. I usually lean toward the latter. My modus operandi is to jump off the cliff and look for the parachute later. I trust my gut to have picked the right cliff. I don’t always take time to fully consider the possible consequences and my ignorance propels me forward. It's an exhilarating free fall and I always seem to land on my feet. I’m not brave - just lucky.

I tried improv for the first time a couple years ago in front of New York casting agents. Somehow, worry worked a way into my head. I knew full well I could make a complete fool of myself and was terrified I would freeze. But I did it. That was brave. It was a much more satisfying feeling because I had to stand up to a fear. That left me with a sense of pride. I’ll cherish those agents’ reactions more than a hundred lucky outcomes.

Being impulsive is a personality trait, being brave is a choice.

I Love New York

2009-03-11T05:45:00.000-07:00

Here's my top five reasons for loving New York City.

1. Cab Rides - Why go to an amusement park for rides when you can experience terrifying thrills on your way to meetings?

2. Becco - Drink inexpensive, top-notch wine while eating the best Italian food in the company of the nicest staff ever.

3. The Cloisters - Travel back in time at the Met's medieval collection in Fort Tryon Park. It's a bit of a subway ride, but worth it.

4. Energy - It's palpable everywhere and makes me feel completely alive.

5. People watching - It's a fabulous field trip for writing research. The only place in the U.S. that comes close is Vegas.

Back So Soon?

2009-03-10T10:40:00.000-07:00

Destiny does come crawling back and this time with flowers. Take heart fellow writers.

Tomorrow's blog preview: Why I LOVE New York.

Date with Destiny

2009-03-10T07:40:00.000-07:00

When one door closes, break in through a window. That’s not exactly how the saying goes, but it works for my writing career. I’ve got a short attention span for disappointment. Sometimes, all it takes to get me out of a funk is a song on the radio. Last night, it was The Rolling Stones’ classic “You Can’t Always Get What You Want."

I don’t give much more time to professional highs than I do the lows. That might be because either way I’ll continue to write. Not much changes. Also, I’ve found that if you turn despair inside out, gratitude is on the other side. I’m thankful that I’m doing what I love. In the words of Mick Jagger, “sometimes you might just find you get what you need.”

So when you get stood up on a date with destiny, don’t just go home and eat a half-gallon of ice cream. Write a few more chapters and then eat the ice cream. As my wise friend Amy says, "destiny will come crawling back."

Homeless Front

2009-03-04T08:25:00.000-08:00

In writing my decorating book, I researched the impact homes have on our lives. If having a cluttered or unappealing home has a negative effect, imagine what not having a home does to someone.

In this land of plenty (even in the worst economic times), 700,000 people go homeless every night. The average age of a homeless person is nine - the same age as my son. That statistic will haunt me when I tuck my children in at night. I'm looking into how I can help Habitat for Humanity. I hope you will, too.

Joan F*$%ing Rivers

2009-03-03T09:58:00.000-08:00

When I got to QVC’s front doors at 2 a.m. during Monday’s blizzard, a tiny figure draped in a chic black coat held the heavy door open for me. It was Joan Rivers.

When people discover that I work on air at QVC, I almost always get questions about her. “Is she a bitch?” “What does she look like in person with all that plastic surgery?” They want some juicy dish and I've got none to serve up.

I have loved Joan Rivers from the moment I first heard her brash brand of humor on Howard Stern 15 years ago. My undying loyalty was sealed when she complimented a suit I was wearing. Where was my red carpet that day?

For the curious, here are my limited professional observations.

1- Brings her cute non-yippy dog to work diva-style.
2- Always impeccably dressed and attractive. (I’ll join her society for preservation.)
3- One of the hardest working people in show biz. Check out her hefty professional history here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joan_Rivers
4- One hell of an entrepreneur. (She brings Bergdorf’s style to my price point and makes a tidy profit. Win–win.)
5- Makes QVC entertaining.
6- She’s one classy broad.

Fast fact for writers: Joan Rivers is also an author and screenwriter. And, before her show biz days, she worked as a writer and proofreader at an advertising agency.

Color Theory

2009-02-26T13:15:00.000-08:00

The purple reign of fall and winter is over and hope springs eternal in yellow. It's far from mellow. The color gurus at Pantone chose Mimosa, a bright and warm yellow, as the "it” color of 2009. QVC buyers have responded with jewelry, fashion and home decor in similar sunny shades.

Yellow is an optimistic color said to stimulate communication. Maybe that’s why my living room holds so many lively conversations.

It stands to reason we’d need a happy hue during this time of economic doom and gloom. There may be deeper political reasons at play in yellow's sudden popularity. It's the color of liberalism in many countries, according to color expert Kate Smith. Are we now painting the U.S. “yellow dog democrat?” Hmmm. I’ll stick with decorating theories.

Warm yellows work well with other bright colors and also when grounded with neutrals. Try it out with inexpensive accessories such as throws, pillows and pottery. Other popular colors blooming in spring’s palette include: fuchsias, grays, greens and roses.

Go get some color.

Missing the G-Spot

2009-02-15T07:35:00.000-08:00

I'm no money wiz, but I'm pretty sure our country's economy isn't going to orgasm with this stimulation. The link below is a helpful resource for understanding the stimulus package. I'm a Republican who voted for President Obama. Clearly, I want change. But let's slow down and talk common sense.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/graphic/2009/02/01/GR2009020100154.html

Columbian Romance

2009-02-14T10:54:00.000-08:00

Today is the day you'll see many guys pathetically rummaging through the few remaining bent or inappropriate cards, rushing the jewelry counters or trying to make last minute dinner reservations in vain. It must be Valentine's Day.

Here's my advice to them. Be romantic all year long and you might get a reprieve from the over-priced stores and restaurants on the holidays and birthdays that somehow always seem to take you by surprise.

Most women would prefer your daily attention to a box of Godiva. My husband has finally figured it out. He brings me coffee in bed every morning. Now that's a token of affection in my book and a winning situation for both of us. Happy Valentine's Day. XOXO

SPAM and the Afterlife

2009-02-01T11:41:00.000-08:00

What is life's greatest mystery? Everyone playing the board game answered "the afterlife" - except me. I said, "SPAM." Who eats that stuff?

It's denial. I find it difficult to get past the dying part, let alone what comes next.

As a kid I had the whole St. Peter and the pearly gates imagery in my head. It seemed like Club Med in the clouds. No thanks. Lying around with nice folks listening to harp music sounded boring. The devil was offering really cool door prizes downstairs. Besides I liked the heat and was afraid of heights.

Catholic schoolteachers tried to flesh out the concept for me, but there were contradictions. Mr. Nicoletti taught me there was no hell. Maybe not so coincidentally, he is my favorite teacher. A year later in a new school, a nun asked me to explain hell in class. Thinking I was prepared for this trick question, I loudly proclaimed there was no hell. After turning three shades of fiery red, she told me I was headed there. I think that was my first travel assignment.

Confused as a teenager, I read about the Tibetan Book of the Dead and devoured books on philosophy and the occult. My idea of the afterlife was far from tidy.

As a young adult, I was a reporter for a Catholic newspaper and The Philadelphia Inquirer's religion section and interviewed many dealing with death and spirituality. The different perspectives taught me that thoughts on an afterlife are highly individual and can be beautiful.

Now that I've lost loved ones, the afterlife has become a real thing rather than an abstract idea. My childhood notions no longer fit. Now, limbo is just the time spent waiting for an editor to get back to me and purgatory is having my father-in-law over for dinner.

Hell can be right here on Earth. Some create their own and others are damned to an awful destiny of poverty, abuse and more. The unfairness of the latter is life's second greatest mystery.

This brings us to reincarnation. Last year, I read, "Many Lives, Many Masters," by Brian L. Weiss, M.D., a prominent psychiatrist who specializes in past life therapy and hypnotic regression. His research is compelling, but I'm not sure it matters to me if I was a 14th century butcher or will be in the Martian army in the next millennium. The here and now is all I know. This fact makes this life all the more precious.

I believe in a Heavenly afterlife and accept that I'm on a need-to-know basis. And, I don't need to know yet.

One thing is for sure. With it's long shelf life, SPAM will be there.

Coolest Room In the House

2009-01-28T12:26:00.000-08:00

In another bit of sixth grade memorabilia, I found a real prophecy. Sister Francis Michele had a bit of fun guessing what we would all be doing in the year 2000. She wrote that I would be the owner of a rare book shop in London. At first I laughed, but then realized she was pretty darn intuitive. She picked up on my love of reading, but how could she have known about my affinity for British accents?

I do get the warm fuzzies every time I walk into a book store - especially ones with coffee and arm chairs. Libraries are even better. I'll never forget when La Salle High School updated their's with a fireplace and huge comfy sofas. Too bad it was an all boys school and I was already in my 20s.

Back in my reporter days, I wrote a feature on medieval prayer books that got me into the rare books section at the Philadelphia Library. You would have thought I'd gotten tickets to a great game. Well, for me it was the Super Bowl of books. It was thrilling to see the same intricate manuscripts that another woman held in the 1500s.

Writer Steven Levy featured Internet innovator Jay Walker's amazing personal library in the October issue of Wired magazine. There's a man who knows what to do with his money! Not only is it architecturally astounding, it's filled with treasures such as a 16th century book of jousting and an original Sputnik 1 satellite hanging from the ceiling.

We transformed the useless formal living room in our home (everyone hangs in the kitchen no matter what) into a little library. Nothing is better than being surrounded by my favorite books, art and antique typewriter. I think I'll go settle down into that huge leather sofa with a page turner and a cup of tea - no make that glass of wine.

Who needs London?

Limerick

2009-01-28T09:18:00.000-08:00

My mom just gave me a folder of my earliest writing. Nothing there indicated I'd make a living at crafting prose. My grammar and spelling were God awful. However, this limerick from sixth grade was a bit prophetic.

There once was a girl named Sue.
She always had the flu.
She missed school
and played pool.
She always broke the cue.

From the Flipside of Holiday Fun

2009-01-07T13:56:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! I haven't blogged because over the holidays I'm either the happy hostess or at QVC. This year, I managed to have two parties at home, while on QVC. I missed my own fun!

The week after Christmas, I am always, and I mean always, sick. But I'm recovered and I've been writing my novel. I may finish it yet. Dare I give myself a deadline? Hmm. Why not? Let's say February 25th. You all hold me to it.

My resolution is to be more productive. So far, so good. I dusted off the treadmill, queries are flying out, pages are being filled and I'm trying so hard not to give in to time suckers. I'm even trying out this thing called sleep. I find it helps me get more done while I am awake.

I will have to forgo my new friend REM tonight, though. I'll be on air overnight and home just in time to get my day started. Only sweet day dreams for me.

Oh well

2008-12-16T11:43:00.000-08:00

After writing that last post during which I pontificated on the evils of self-indulgence, I promptly proceeded to go shopping and then imbibed in one cocktail too many at a party. Christmas brings way too many challenges. I'll be my better self in January. Cheers.

The Real Price of Self-Indulgence

2008-12-11T08:31:00.000-08:00

Even with current economic conditions, there are plenty of opportunities for self-indulgence. And, it sometimes seems the art of sacrifice has been lost.

But life is short. Why pass up something we can have and enjoy? Here’s what I’m discovering way too late in life - despite countless Real Simple articles and Oprah episodes. Austerity and sacrifice clear mental (and closet) space for us to see what we really deeply need. More is more in the minute, but it leaves us confused and empty over a lifetime.

Saying yes to the third (or fourth) cocktail, a half gallon of ice cream in one sitting, the 5oth fabulous lip gloss (I’m so guilty) or any selfish behavior may seem harmless enough. But it can become a habit instead of one-time deal. Over a lifetime, it adds up to illness, debt and unhealthy relationships.

Why do we sabotage ourselves? I think it has a lot to do with ego (our evil ids) and procrastination. It's a lot easier to deal with an immediate want than a long-term goal.

I know I need to pursue my dreams. Yet, I find myself spending inordinate amounts of time pursuing fleeting wants (the curse of online shopping) instead of writing. I have to change my ways.

By saying no, we begin to say yes – to ourselves.

(Important note: Daydreaming, bubble baths and reading are not self-indulgent – they are self-preservation.)

Numbing Conference

2008-12-04T08:39:00.001-08:00

I attended a dental conference with my husband over Thanksgiving weekend. Boy, did it make me thankful to be a writer. I didn't expect it to be a laugh riot, but it wasn't even a little fun. It was like having teeth pulled. (Sorry - I couldn't resist).

I've been to many writer's conferences and I've enjoyed them all. You might suggest that's because I'm a writer and that dental conventions are interesting for dentists. Not so much. It might be a change of pace from being stuck in some one's mouth, but they all looked pretty numb.

I met some really nice folks and I'm not criticizing their profession. God knows a finely crafted pun won't ease the pain of an abscess. We need dentists. It's just that their high suicide rate makes complete sense to me now. They perform miracles in a tiny space on people who would rather be anywhere else for increasingly less pay (thanks to greedy insurance companies). To add insult to injury, their conferences are boring. Hug your dentist today!

Turkey Day

2008-12-03T15:41:00.000-08:00

My son was so excited to march with the Boy Scouts in the Ikea Thanksgiving Day parade in Philadelphia. My husband didn't share in that excitement when he woke up at the crack of dawn to get him down there. But things started to look up for Daddy when he stumbled upon the Eagles Cheerleaders in a Dunkin Donuts. The girls were also going to the parade and wanted to pose with my son for a photo. My husband was more than happy to comply but my son passed on the offer. His camera shyness evaporated when he saw Ernie and the Count from Sesame Street. One day he may regret that choice, but for now he's still my little boy.

Writing Soundtracks

2008-11-20T17:15:00.000-08:00

I create itune play list soundtracks for all of my creative writing projects. In my critique groups, I’ve found that other writers do the very same thing. I guess it gets us in the mood – for writing, that is. Every fall, without fail, I return to classical music. This year I segued into my mellow mode with jazz and John Legend. But by November, I always end up back with my familiar Baroque favorites.

It started innocently enough with a little Bach in college. Then, Victoria’s Secret came out with a classy cassette (yes, I'm ancient) in the early 90s and I was addicted to the sexiness of the sound - lingerie for the ears. It took an honored spot on my rotation, which at the time also included Guns–n-Roses. Ever since, classical music has had a play list in my heart.

Maybe I enjoy classical music in the fall because it’s time-honored and traditional like the coming holidays. Who knows? Soon enough, though, I’ll be back to bellowing “No Sleep Till Brooklyn.” (Badly, I might add.)

Bullseye

2008-11-11T06:30:00.000-08:00

A deer crashed through a window at QVC and made it all the way down a long corridor to the studio entrance. They're looking for me. I’m a marked woman. Thank God I was off that day.

Curse of the Dead Deer

2008-11-10T09:08:00.000-08:00

Ever since the accident, I've been under the curse of the dead deer. It's some seriously bad mojo. First, I find out someone used my identity to open a cell phone account. It showed up on my credit report as a big negative. (Note to readers: check your credit often.) I filed a police report and have completed a small forest of paperwork.

Next, my hard drive dies. No worries, though. I back up twice a day, everyday. I check it and all my folders are there. There’s just one problem. My backup utility was corrupted from the get go and all those folders are empty. Everyday for years, I backed up a whole lot of nothing. It was then I realized I have no hard copies of my novel, scripts and all my other writing. I had just purged all the paper and intended on printing out copies of the latest versions. All the digital photos and music I’d never taken the time to copy to disc were lost.

I stood in the service area of Mac Outfitters three days in a row begging for heroic measures. My computer flat lined and they said there were no signs of life. After “there’s one last thing we can try,” Saint Andrew of Apple managed to salvage the bulk of my data. God bless him. I would have given him a kidney or my firstborn, but he settled for tears of gratitude and a small fee. (Note to self and readers: Back up seven ways to Sunday NOW. This blog will be here when you get back.) BTW, If you don’t hear from me, it’s because I lost your contact information. Please email!

So, it should be over, right? No, it’s a terrible trifecta! I wake up in the middle of the night to find that every stress-related illness I’ve ever endured has overtaken me. I’ll spare you the gory details, but the Hunchback of Notre Dame wouldn’t be seen with me right now.

According to the psychic, I should surround my car with white light to undo the bad "car"ma. How does one do that? Do I go to the Mall at night and park between two lampposts? Hmm.

Do I Offend?

2008-10-27T12:11:00.000-07:00

I’m not into bumper stickers and other forms of vehicular conversation. I prefer to blog. Be that as it may, I was shocked at what my friend encountered when she tried to obtain a vanity plate. All she wanted was “S.V.G.” on her plate. The state of PA couldn't approve it on the grounds it might be offensive. Isn't that a violation of her right to free speech? She explained that it stood for “Secret Vette Girl.” Well, that sensitive matter has to go to a supervisor. There’s our taxpayer dollars at work.

SVG. Hmm. Come on everyone. Join in. Come up with offensive matter that fits the acronym. It’s not that easy. I came up with one. Share amongst yourselves. This is fun.

Anyway, how about those flapping balls (testicles) that truck drivers hang off the back of their rigs? That’s what I call offensive. "Mommy, why does that truck have boy parts?" Maybe my friend should add big rubber boobies to her grill or a vagina muffler? Let’s have motorists remove sex parts before we start worrying about the now maligned letters S, V and G. Somebody quick alert Sesame Street. The alphabet better start flying under the radar.

Powell's Endorsement

2008-10-21T07:55:00.000-07:00

I’m thrilled Colin Powell articulated so specifically what I think about the upcoming election and candidates. I’ve been arguing the same points, but felt as if I was missing something. I sometimes feel like I’m at the kids’ table when it comes to politics. Not so surprising given my family (Uncle Chris is host of MSNBC's Hardball and Uncle Jim is our county commish). The only thing I was missing was confidence in my beliefs.

I’m not a political junkie like my best friend. She’s a die-hard Democrat addicted to MSNBC. She’ll tell you what she thinks loud and clear. Our differences go back to college. While she was reading the latest edition of Mother Jones, I was rallying with the young Republicans at Temple University. There were about five of us. It was a liberal school to say the least. I ran for student council on a ticket that included an African American male and a homosexual white male. You’d think we would have had it wrapped up on diversity alone – a regular rainbow coalition. We lost because we were young Republicans. Even the Democratic white supremacist students got more votes. So, even when it was super unpopular, I was a proud Republican.

But this administration’s execution of the Republican ideology has fallen woefully short and has been reshaped into something unrecognizable. McCain is guilty by more than just association. So, I’ll be a Republican voting for a Democrat.

God, I miss Ronald Reagan.

Door-to-Door No More

2008-10-21T07:54:00.000-07:00

Unless you’re a cute little kid selling something tasty or a politician, don’t knock on my door. Ever. It’s an invasion of privacy and annoying. How come we can put our phone numbers on do not call lists but any old psycho can come to our home and knock on the door?

Years ago I would share polite discourse with Jehovah Witnesses on the merits of Evangelization. But after several magazine sales pitches from prison release workers, I’m done with the niceties. I miss my German shepherd.

Do you know any landscape companies that specialize in moats and drawbridges?

Oh, Deer

2008-10-21T07:49:00.000-07:00

On my way into a 3 a.m. show at QVC, I hit a deer on the highway. It was horrifying. I thought for sure I had swerved into the path of a tractor-trailer. The poor deer didn't fair so well. Let's just say Bambi is out there looking for his mama.

Black with fur trim looks very chic, but not when it’s your car. Five panels of my car were destroyed and I couldn’t open my door. The amount of damage was amazing. I managed to do my airing and sell demilune cabinets. The show must go on. Dedication or dementia?

A psychic told me it was karma - or would that be carma? I feel like all the good will I built up with animals from being a vegetarian has been erased. Since the accident I've had to avoid several more deer. Are they after me? It’s pretty darn dangerous out there.

Last year in Pennsylvania, there were 2,487 deer-related auto accidents (eight were fatal for humans). I was lucky and the thousands of dollars in repairs will be covered by my insurance.

Here are five tips AAA Mid-Atlantic offered in the fall issue of Philadelphia Power Drive.
1- Observe deer crossing signs. Decrease speed and drive defensively in areas with high deer population.
2- Be alert. Honk your horn to scare deer away from roadsides.
3- Never swerve (like me). Slow down and brake instead.
4- If a collision with a deer is unavoidable, slow down and release your foot from the brake before impact. This raises the front end of the car during the crash and increases the likelihood the deer will go under the car instead of through the windshield.
5- Wear your seatbelt.

White Wedding

2008-10-21T07:47:00.000-07:00

My brother’s wedding was a blast. The reception was one of the best I’ve ever attended. The only thing more beautiful than the weather was the bride.

A lot of money is spent on weddings, but you can’t buy good vibes. They had those in abundance. The evening ended (all too soon) with a rousing rendition of John Denver’s “Take Me Home” to honor Jessica’s home state and family. Everyone circled around the couple and belted out “West Virginia, mountain momma….”

Blessings, Monkey Business and Brooms

2008-09-16T13:03:00.000-07:00

My baby brother is getting married this Friday. I say “baby” because there is a 15-year age difference between the two of us.

I’ll never forget when my mother told my brother Chris, who was 11, and me that she was expecting. He burst into tears and I burst into laughter. I suppose the little prince was saddened he would no longer reign as youngest. My response was, “And you were worried about me?” I had just gotten “the talk.” I followed it up with, “Aren’t you a little old for this?” Fortunately, my mother’s hormones weren’t raging that day and I didn’t get the smack I deserved.

At that time, being pregnant at 39 was considered very high risk. But the surprise, or “blessing,” turned out well. I can’t imagine our family without David. He added fun to the mix. This was before ADHD was the diagnosis du jour, so he was simply described as high energy. He climbed everything and anything. My parents had to install bars on his bedroom window. Once, my friends and I even handcuffed him to a chair to keep him still for a few minutes.

Besides being a monkey, he was a matchmaker. At age five, he helped set me up with my husband – our family dentist. During an appointment, with teddy bear in hand, David informed Damian that I was bringing my boyfriend to his Chuck E Cheese’s birthday party, but that next year he was expected to be there. He proceeded to firm up plans for us to meet out one night.

While we were engaged, David referred to my husband as “my sister’s new daddy” and the “broom.” He told everyone he was going to be the “ring bear” and wondered where he was going to get his costume.

He did a great job on my wedding day. I can still remember his smile as he danced into the reception to “Meet the Flintstones.” David grew up to be a great kid and made up for those terrible toddler years. He became an Eagle Scout, graduated college and is gainfully employed. Today, one would never guess the lazy lug on the sofa was that hyperactive kid.

Now, it’s his turn to be the “broom” and I couldn’t be more thrilled to be a part of his big day. I already love his fiancée Jessica like a sister. They complement each other in every way and they are off to a great start.

David, Chris and I have excellent role models in our happily married parents. They make it look easy. The problem is that it isn’t always easy. There are surprises - like David! I suspect he is a romantic like me and I want him to be prepared for the inevitable ups and downs.

The following is from Plato and I had it read at my wedding ceremony. When I’m disappointed by flaws in the "fairytale,” it reminds me that we’re not striving for perfection – just our own individual brand of love.

“Perfect love is a god, divine, everlasting, and as unattainable by human beings as the stars. In that form, love has existed in the universe since the beginning of time and will endure forever. On the other hand, there exists also the individual brand of love, which strikes us here on earth like a glint off the sun, making us suffer, pine, rejoice, and sometimes, marry. – Plato.

Congratulations David and Jessica!

Ode on a Mac

2008-09-08T09:32:00.000-07:00

“Truth is beauty. Beauty is truth.” – John Keats, Ode On a Grecian Urn. I wrote this in my journal when I was about 15. I didn’t get what it meant, but I knew it was important.

Keats was probably referring to universal truths achieved through artistic expression. Those moments of shared connection and clarity are absolutely beautiful.

Most of the time, finding truth while writing happens organically for me. It grows on its own – if I let it. Those four words are my challenge. “If I let it.” So much gets in the way - perception, distraction and ego.

In the search for truth, pathological lying or even white lies aren't the main issue. It's self-deception. There are tons of self-help books dedicated to living authentically. Getting to the beautiful truth, our own and that of others, can be awfully ugly. It's easier to detour into denial.

My subconscious seems to have a larger capacity than my front-load washer. Will all my truth bubble out one day? Will I come clean in a catastrophic manner? I can see my neighbors on the 11 o’clock news saying, “She seemed so nice. I didn't even know she had guns.” For right now, it just emerges in eye twitching, stomachaches, hives and migraines. I'd rather it come out in a novel.

Don't get me wrong. I’m a happy person. I’ve got a good life. The eternal optimist, I think everyone has the best intentions and everything will work out in the end. I rarely cry and it takes a tremendous amount to get me angry. I don’t think these traits are necessarily bad. It’s just that sometimes they get in the way of the truth. Some people are idiots with the worst intentions. It’s OK to cry when someone hurts you and sometimes anger is the right response.

Someone once told me I hide behind diplomacy and politeness. He said I avoid confrontation. I didn’t believe him. But I didn't want to argue - proved his point.

I had shared my thoughts at the loudest decibel as a teenager. But perhaps spending an inordinate amount of time grounded tamed my tongue. I’m not sure.

The problem with denial is that it can easily lead to those white lies and worse. My Aunt recently called lying a subservient act. By not telling the truth we are saying our feelings and thoughts don’t count as much as the person to whom we are lying, she explained.

That’s an interesting take. In sparing someone, we sacrifice ourselves. In deceiving, we receive an inauthentic life in return. It’s saying we don’t trust others to accept or love us as we really are. That's not so beautiful in life or writing. The best prose is raw and honest. If I want to be a good writer, it's time to allow the truth in.

Bring A Friend To Work Night

2008-09-02T17:44:00.000-07:00

Late July - Scheduled to go on air at 8 p.m., Saturday, August 30.

Tuesday, August 26th - Told the 8 p.m. airing for Saturday, August 30th is canceled.

Wednesday, August 27 - Put on standby for 6 p.m., Saturday August 30th instead.

Saturday, August 30 - At 2 p.m. told I'm not needed. I make plans to have dinner with Angela.

5 p.m. As Angela pulls into my driveway, I receive a call saying I'm needed for the 8 p.m. show and I need to be in a cocktail dress. It will be a three-hour, live, on-air party. Can I be there in an hour to prep? They need bodies to fill the set, so we swing by Angela's house to pick up her party dress.

6:30ish We are in the QVC studio. No one knows what the deal is yet. They are still meeting. Hmm. Angela wonders how I can put up with not knowing if or when I'll need to work on a daily basis.

8 p.m. Angela and I are on the cocktail party set, complete with jazz band, ice sculpture, snacks and wine! Cameras role. We're live folks. We mix and mingle with other guests, hosts, visiting viewers and the models.

8:45 p.m. I attempt to sell my sheets even though I can't hear Lisa, the callers or myself over the band. They didn't have a clip for my battery pack and now it has slid out from the back of my bra. I arch my back and throw back my booty to prevent it from hitting the floor and shattering. Lisa must think I'm convulsing. Despite my issues, we sell out.

9:30 The cocktail party continues and I can drink. Now that we're at least one (600 thread count, Egyptian cotton) sheet to the wind, Angela thinks this is a great job.

11:30 Another hard day at the office comes to an end.

Give It a Twirl

2008-08-30T10:30:00.000-07:00

People often choose unhappiness over uncertainty. I know too many people in jobs or relationships that drain them, yet they are afraid to make a change. We were much braver as kids.

In sixth grade, I wanted to be a baton twirler in the worst way. I practiced on the front lawn for days. Clunking myself in the head several times didn’t dent the dream. I had never tried out for anything before, but I was just as excited as I was nervous. As my mom dropped me off at try outs, she turned to me and solemnly said, “Don’t feel too bad if you don’t make it.” She clearly thought I didn't stand a chance. With motivational words like that, what kid wouldn’t want to take on the world? Where the heck was my "You can do it!?"

Instead of slinking back in the car to go home and avoid certain humiliation, I remember feeling sorry for my mom. I knew then I’d rather suck at baton twirling than be that pessimistic. I was already ahead of the game. And with that, I kicked baton butt.

During the Thanksgiving parade, I dropped my baton at the very top of the steepest street and had to chase it down through the band to the bottom. But instead of sitting at home, I had marched. It wasn't pretty, but I was a baton twirler.

As we get older, it seems harder to take risks. Now, I fear success just as much as failure. Success often entails more change than failing. I dislike change - even when it's good. Things will be different - unknown. But I'll be unhappy if I'm not successful. So will it be unhappiness or uncertainty?

The stakes are higher. There is less time on the clock. That's all the more reason to take a risk. Not initiating much needed change makes us passive aggressive martyrs. We blame our responsibilities and imagined constraints for not changing. But that’s crap.

My most important responsibility is my children. I want them to lead full and happy lives. "Show don’t tell" is an effective journalism rule that should be applied to parenting.

This is clearly a hurdle of the human condition. There is even a saying - "a bird in hand, is better than two in the bush." Maybe not - if your bird keeps crapping on you. Time for a new tweetie. Some situations are unhealthy. I say, choose uncertainty.

Take things for a twirl.

Disclaimer to avoid disownment: My mom has always been tremendously supportive and optimistic about my writing. She is just a risk-averse English teacher and was never a baton twirler.

High Thread Count Sh#t

2008-08-26T18:34:00.000-07:00

It took four years, but it was inevitable. I said shit instead of sheet tonight on QVC. Wouldn't you like a silky soft shit?

It really wasn't a Freudian slip. It was a very nice sheet set. Say "sheet set" four times fast. Not so easy is it?

It's a tough job folks. It's not all yummy cookies in the green room and hanging out with Joan Rivers. I have challenges.

On the upside, maybe I'll end up on You Tube or Talk Soup. Well, I've got to go get the marbles out of my mouth. I'm back on at 5 a.m.

Secret Vette Girl

2008-08-25T17:48:00.000-07:00

One of my friends has done the classic mid-life crisis guy thing - bought a Corvette to drive just for fun. Just three problems. It's 10 years too early, she's not a guy and she's got a retirement fund to fill. But I get it. Sort of.

I'm not a car gal. I never noticed what a guy was driving back in my dating days. In fact, I was kind of leery of guys with really nice cars. I thought maybe they were trying to distract attention away from some sort of personal defect or they were spoiled rotten. Both are bad. I do remember when Roy - (my friend to this day, despite his defects) - pulled up to our high school in a DeLorean. I thought it was a little cool - the doors, anyway. But I would never have admitted it.

But I digress. Ever since high school, "Secret Vette Girl" has LOVED driving. So for her, this makes sense. I know she is a little concerned about her investment. My friend has never been very good at denying herself a want and sometimes this hasn't worked out well. However, this time I will steal a line from Oscar Wilde....

"Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination."

I don't think he was just referring to money. I think he also meant emotions, spirit and passion. We should consider living outside the preconceived notions of how we are "supposed to live." I hope she'll look at this expenditure as symbolic of a bigger investment in herself. Give more than you think you have - to yourself. It will always pay off. Live large, lady - but do it in every way. Pedal to the metal.

No Impact Exercise

2008-08-13T15:35:00.000-07:00

Inspired by the comments to my Iron People blog, I tried to begin my new exercise regime last night. I watched kickboxing on FIT TV while eating a Skinny Cow ice cream cone (after a beer).

I know I'm not off to a great start. Tonight the treadmill! I must learn discipline. It's sure to be an invaluable tool when applied to my writing. Wish me luck.

Just Flush

2008-08-13T15:27:00.000-07:00

A good friend asked me to post a blog asking all of you, my faithful readers, what one should do when one’s life is in the toilet.

My advice is flush. Don’t let it stink up a good day. Her whole life isn’t in the toilet, just the things that weren’t working anyway. Let’s call it crap, or if you prefer, waste. It’s the stuff she doesn’t really need – relationships that didn’t have enough nutrients, things she couldn’t control and other negative toxins. Of course, when a bunch of things go wrong at once, it can seem rather messy and unpleasant. But oh the relief of fresh starts that comes soon after.

Now, that I’ve beaten her initial metaphor to death. Perhaps you have some more practical advice.

Just click on comments and share your insight.

Iron People

2008-08-05T19:08:00.000-07:00

Why is everyone running? Suddenly, it seems as if all of my friends are hitting the road. It started with marathons and has progressed to triathlons and other forms of sadomasochism.

They’re diving into waters where dead bodies are routinely found by the Philadelphia police and getting lost in the back woods ala “Deliverance.”

Is it about running away – from bills, kids and other responsibilities? Or is it about running to something – unfulfilled dreams and the such? Is it a coincidence that we are all just turning 40?

My friend Meg says it’s about personal satisfaction. I feel personally satisfied after 20 minutes on the treadmill once or twice a week. I celebrate with wine and ice cream.

Don’t get me wrong. I believe in fitness. I actually enjoy select portions of it. And I have to admit my friends are beginning to look like Mr. and Mrs. Buff Brick Shithouse. But is it sustainable? Is it worth the hours and the injuries?

What am I missing? Please tell me…

Dirty Jobs

2008-07-28T09:08:00.000-07:00

You'd be amazed at how many people choose to go through the drive through naked. Would you like fries with that? My first job was at Burger King.

A job in the Pathology department of the local hospital was actually fun. Aside from handling vials of gross stuff, I filed extremely gruesome photos of dead folks. One guy buried an axe halfway in the ground and threw himself on it. Very dramatic. Mind you, I couldn't get into R-rated movies at the time. But this was somehow OK for me to see. Anyway, I'm one of the few folks who loves hospitals and dead folks (they have no issues - other than being dead). Too bad math and science weren't my forte.

Then, I moved into a South Street apartment I couldn't afford. I spent an ill-fated month working at Uno's Pizzaria. Aside from the fact that the chef did crack in the alley and unusual items ended up in the pizzas, I was a HORRIBLE waitress. I quit before they could fire me.

I put toilet paper and cat food on my credit card until I went on to check i.d.'s at a night club in Society Hill. The bouncers were all Temple U. football players who should have been resting up for the big game. They almost always lost, but they were winners at the door as they pocketed underage entry fees. I also worked as a shooter girl which involved wearing a black bodysuit and a holster of shot glasses, a gin bottle and, if memory serves, 7 Up. I would bang the concoction on the back of an inebriated patron until it fizzed and down their hatch it went. I felt like a vampire going to bed at 5 every morning and the homeless man who slept in my foyer didn't approve of my hours.

Finally, the best pre-career job ever...I scheduled appointments at a swanky beauty salon, where I received free services. My hair and nails never looked so good. The angels had smiled upon me. Good pay and even better stories. One involves the F.B.I. and another a patron's bondage festish. I'll tell you about both over a fizzy 7 Up and gin.

Somehow, I managed to fit 20 credits a semester into two days. I actually enjoyed classes and would love to be a professor when I have gray hair and wisdom. I love those elbow patches on tweed jackets. Cerebral is sexy.

While studying Radio-Television-Film at Temple University, my 35mm camera became an appendage. After graduating I took a freelance gig photographing an engagement party for a family who I'm fairly certain inspired the Sopranos. With that short-lived career behind me, I was introduced to a newspaper editor who was looking for a sections editor. I showed him my Temple News clippings and the next thing I knew, I was a journalist. I had been writing my whole life, but it had never occured to me that it could be a job. Do what you bleed!

Another defining moment happened when I left the newspaper biz to freelance. A large pharmaceutical company offered me a fabulous communications position with equally fabulous pay and the opportunity to travel frequently to London. It was tempting. But, it wasn’t me. I have no regrets. A trip to London would be nice, though.

Good luck to all you graduates looking for jobs. Hope your perks are better than nude drive-thru.

What was your first job? If you've just graduated, tell me about your search.

Where Do the Months Go?

2008-07-28T08:56:00.000-07:00

I've become a vegetarian. Read "Skinny Bitch" and you'll understand. It has nothing to do with weight and everything to do with factory farming and toxins. It's been a few months and I don't miss much - maybe just tacos. Morningside's veggie burgers make up for it.

In an unrelated matter, working on a new non-fiction, I'll keep you posted...

How to Save a Life

2008-05-31T18:38:00.000-07:00

I watched my husband save a life last week. A good friend’s mom collapsed on the 18th hole of the golf course. We were at an adjacent pool with the kids. I didn’t know what was happening, but I called 911. When I got to my friend she was sure her mother had died. She wasn’t breathing and had no pulse. Damian was leaning over her and administering CPR.

A nurse jumped in to help give the compressions and he continued mouth to mouth. Someone brought out an automated external defibrillator. Damian used it as if it was something he did every day.

After what seemed like an eternity, he got a pulse back and the ambulance arrived soon after. She was medivaced to HUP and treated for cardiac issues. Alive and on her way to wellness, she is thrilled that she got to "kiss" Damian.

Not only did he have the skill to save a life, he didn’t wait to see if someone else would do it. To top it off, he treated our son's own dental emergency later that same evening.

He’s a good guy to have around in a crisis. I’ll never give him a hard time about missing dinner because of annual CPR re-certifications again. In fact, I’ll be joining him.

I’m proud of him, to say the least. I just hope he can save the rest of his own life - figuratively speaking. Declining insurance reimbursements and a demanding and often thankless job has had him down. I hope this situation breathes new life into his sense of purpose.

The No Slumber Party

2008-04-15T06:42:00.000-07:00

It was my daughter’s golden birthday this past weekend. The term was new to me, but apparently a few people were in the know. It’s when your age is the same as the date. It was her 11th birthday on April 11th and she was born at 11 p.m. So, of course, she just had to invite 11 girls to sleep over our house to celebrate.

I could have said no, but I remember how much fun I had going to slumber parties at her age. The girls were sweet and polite and there was no kitty-cat fighting. The clicks and gossip are coming, though. I heard hints of it in conversation.

My son showed off his drumming skills. He glowed in the praise of my daughter’s friends as he played along to their favorite songs. Very slick. I thought for sure they’d kick him out, but I had to lure him upstairs with a game of cards.

Now that she’s a pre-teen, I didn’t have to plan a theme or craft projects. No more fairylands, Winnie the Pooh or tea parties. They didn’t really require me at all.

Until they got hurt. The minute my husband pulled out of the driveway to get the pizza, mayhem broke loose. One fell down the steps with a soda. Then another promptly twisted her knee dancing. While I was tending to those two, my daughter hobbled down the steps leaving a trail of blood. She had dropped a glass and stepped on a shard.

By the time my husband got back, it was all cleaned up and everyone received the appropriate nursing care. He then fell soundly asleep, despite the noise that lasted until 4 a.m. How do men always escape the more harrowing aspects of parenting?

Next time, I’ll skip the balloons and buy bubble wrap.

First Communion Porno

2008-04-15T05:55:00.000-07:00

We got together with the Matthews clan for a First Communion this past weekend. It was the big day for my cousin Jimmy's daughter. She looked angelic in her little white dress. He and his wife held the reception in a large room at a sport’s bar. Not too many spaces hold us all.

Not to mention the Masters could be watched from about six large TV’s. This is a not-to-be-missed sporting event in our family. An avid golfer, my late Grandfather attended the event the last several years of his life. As a bonus, my daughter, his first great grandchild, was born during the 1997 Masters. Yep, it was on in the delivery room. Sadly, she doesn’t like to golf - yet.

But my second-grade son does. He also loves poker and taught all the little ones on a video game at the sports bar during the party. After he left them to go play pool (I know I should be very worried), there was much giggling from the eight and under crowd at the video machine.

A large hunk of male anatomy appearing on the screen caught my eye. Apparently the video machine offered a diverse array of entertainment options aside from poker. Dear Lord! Then full frontal female nudity flashed up. Faster and faster, lurid images popped up. Little eyes were wide. Holy Moly. My husband dove for the cord. Ahh. Just another blessed event.

Dog Sledding - Mush!

2008-04-15T05:29:00.000-07:00

I recently returned from dog sledding. Those who know me were perplexed. It doesn’t seem to fit me the way say sunbathing in Bermuda might. But it’s something I’ve always wanted to do. When we were young, my little brother Chris and I would tie our Siberian Husky Mishka to our sled for crazy rides. That’s when it used to snow in Philadelphia.

I managed to tie the trip in with research for my novel “Trying On Gigi Brigidi.” There was still plenty of snow falling in Jackson Hole, Wyoming the first week of April. It’s been a record year.

My citified protagonist gets relocated there by chapter five and I needed to get a handle on the changes that have occurred since my last trip there in the early 90s. That was a for four-day snow mobile safari through Yellowstone for a travel article. It will probably rank among the top three trips of my lifetime. I’m still waiting to take the other two – Italy and an African Safari.

Anyway, dog sledding was an absolute blast. Our trainer Dana was laid back and makes a mean cup of hot chocolate. The Alaskan Huskies are a mutt mix bred for specific racing characteristics by individual mushers. I had 11 on my team, lead by Zeus, a crazed and enthusiastic pup who has run the Iditarod twice.

We took off through the Teton National Forest, which gifts gorgeous views of the Grand Teton Mountain range and large unscathed swathes of forest. I got be a musher and manned the helm of the sled all by myself. And I live to tell…Actually, it was a peaceful and beautiful experience. I could have done it for days. My husband was quite pleased the overnight yurt was snowed in, though.

There was only one downside – make that backside. The excited doggies poo quite a bit while running. Aside from the rather graphic view, there is no windshield. Since this wasn’t a race, no one minded making puppy pit stops.

I also visited the National Elk Refuge for both a horse-drawn sleigh ride and a private drive. Besides thousands of elk, we spotted big horn sheep, coyotes, bald eagles, golden eagles and bison.

During a wildlife excursion, we got to see the elusive alpha of the Teton wolf pack. I was amazed at how huge they are – 160 pounds. He was spooky with black fur and piercing eyes. We also saw several moose, rare birds, coyotes eating an Elk carcass and an owl – not to mention surreal landscapes.

On a more civilized note, we stayed at the Rusty Parrot in Jackson. The room came with champagne, roses, chocolate truffles, a teddy bear, fresh apples and a wood-burning fireplace stoked every night. The comfy robes and slippers were ours to keep. It was probably the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. My low ick factor is borderline obsessive compulsive. I don’t go anywhere without my silk sleeping bag, shower flip-flops and Clorox Wipes. None were needed. I give the Rusty Parrot my highest rating. That would have been enough, but they threw in a chef prepared breakfast every morning. Those meals will have me on a treadmill for the next month. Dinner was delicious as well and incredibly intimate with only about six tables. The service was top-notch.

My favorite room in this Ralph Lauren-esque hotel is the library. Fresh cookies, a fire and great books. Ahhhh. Amazingly, I did get all my research done. A lovely real estate agent gave me insight while unknowingly convincing me that I could never live far from a major city, even though Jackson Hole may be the most beautiful place on Earth.

Tick Tock

2008-03-13T08:31:00.000-07:00

Angela’s 40th birthday bash was this past weekend. What a blast and what a reminder of how fast time passes. We’ve been best friends since 6th grade and graduated from the same high school and college. Those years seemed to last forever. But somehow the 20s flew by and our 30s were a wink. Needless to say, neither of us wants to waste a second of our 40s - although I’ve got a few more months. I will keep rubbing that in. When she turned 16 and was able to drive first, I sure as heck heard it!

We spent the afternoon “getting ready” together just like we did before school dances and, in later years, nightclubs. But instead of being filled with self-doubt about how we looked or worrying about the guy du jour, we were in the moment. We enjoyed the insanely expensive magnum of Champagne, gourmet cheese and relished how far she’s come and the exciting places she is headed. If that’s being 40 – bring it on.

Ironically, I just came across a list I made during my mid-20s titled “50 Things to Do Before I Die.” It was surprising to see my goals are pretty much the same today and thrilling that I could check off a few.

- write for a major magazine and major newspaper
- stay at the Plaza in a room overlooking Central Park
- learn Yoga
- organize a charitable event
- take painting lessons

There were quite a few items I’m currently pursuing.

- write for TV
- go back to Jackson Hole (I’m dog sledding there in April)
- write and publish a book

And, more to accomplish…

- castle tour of Europe
- write a screenplay
- learn meditation
- own exotic animals

I have more to do than I’ve done. But now I can enjoy them with my husband and children. The pressure is on. But it’s a grateful, anticipation filled pressure.

MIA

2008-02-22T11:10:00.000-08:00

I’ve been missing in action and hitting the pages. Yes those empty pages of my novel that had been patiently waiting since last spring. I understand why writers write every day. One skipped day becomes two, then three, then months. Next thing you know, you’re not a novel writer anymore.

My Christmas gift to myself was to buy a ticket back on the wagon. I joined a novel writing group through Writer’s Digest and 10,000 words are due every three weeks. I needed the self-imposed deadline. Also, we are required to critique each other’s work. The quality and diversity of the other work is humbling and inspiring. It’s just what I needed. I’m enjoying myself more than I have in a long, long time.

Why do writers sometimes avoid what we love to do? Is it fear or laziness? I’m not sure. It’s hard work but nothing, other than parenting, is more rewarding to me. Actually, it’s like parenting - the pregnancy and giving birth bit. I’ll let you know when the novel is born.

Poetry

2008-02-22T11:09:00.000-08:00

When I came home last night, I found a little red leather book with gold embossing on my kitchen counter. Feelings I had associated with it years ago hit me before I could remember what it contained. It was one of my childhood favorites - “A Child’s Garden of Verses,” by Robert Louis Stevenson. My mom had sent it home with my daughter, who is studying poetry in school now.

My daughter was struggling with her poetry homework the other night. She had a serious case of writer’s block. It’s tough to pull out words and string them together in meaningful patterns on demand. After her initial brainstorming, she was stuck. I told her to go do something else and it would eventually come to her (hopefully before the project was due). And sure enough it did — beautifully. The look of amazement on her face as inspiration struck was priceless. It’s a magical feeling of connection.

I haven’t written much poetry since high school and I won’t torture anyone with samples of my teen angst now. Back then, I said they were song lyrics. I had to maintain my cool girl rep. But that’s when I first felt the power of communicating through writing. I had written a very personal poem that I was sure no one else could understand. A classmate read it over my shoulder. She started to cry and asked if she could have a copy. It touched her on some level and I was honored.

Of course that poem was horrible and we were moody, overly emotional things. But when other classmates began asking to read my stuff, I was not only flattered but a writer was born. I also learned something valuable. One should write for themselves and about their own truths. We are all connected on some universal plain and others will relate to the honesty. If you try to write what you think others want to read, it will likely fall flat.

So smash your soul out on a page and wait for divine inspiration. Something incredible can take shape. If that’s not in your bag of tricks, then try to read other’s poetry or even the lyrics to your favorite song. I keep a journal by my bed that is filled with my favorites. When I’m feeling isolated or lost, I turn a few pages and quickly find that someone else had the same questions, if not the answers.

My favorites now are Edgar Allen Poe’s “A Dream Within Dream” and anything by Alfred, Lord Tennyson and Emily Dickinson. Yep, a dark romantic.

“There is a pain - so utter - it swallows substance up then covers the abyss with trance - So memory can step around - across - upon it - as one within a swoon - goes safely - where an open eye - would drop Him Bone by Bone.” - Emily Dickinson

Thanksgiving in NYC

2008-02-22T11:08:00.000-08:00

New York City never disappoints me. Through Uncle Chris and NBC, we scored amazing front row grandstand seats for the parade. It was a mob scene along the parade route (no cabs could get through). My kids got an express tour of Central Park as we took a short cut. A special thanks to all the NYPD (a shout out to Officer Castro) who helped us get through barricades. The crowd was in a great mood and included Joey Fatone of the Backstreet Boys. I recognized him in time to say hello. As for the parade, my daughter got to see her beloved Jonas Brothers up close and my husband cheered for Bob from Sesame Street, who seemed thrilled to steal some attention from Elmo. He’s been on that show for over 35 years! Seeing all the floats and the bands in person was incredible.

Then it was back to the Le Parker Meridian for some swimming in the enclosed penthouse pool. I actually got to read the entire New York Times while the kids played. Bliss. The open air roof offered a spectacular vista view of Central Park’s changing leaves. It was a warm 70-something so my daughter was able to join me in her bathing suit! Not your normal New York November.

Dinner at Becco (owned by Lydia of “Cooking with Lydia” fame on PBS) was a scrumptious Italian-American feast. Pumpkin ravioli sprinkled with cocoa for the pasta course, roasted brussel sprouts as a side and the apple-pecan pie were my favorites. Yum.

Then a nice guy offered to take our family photo with Times Square as our back drop. And he didn’t run off with the camera!

The next day my son’s pick was up first - the mythical creatures exhibit at the American Museum of Natural History. It was crowded but he loved it. He didn’t need to read the placards. He could tell you all you ever needed to know and more about Medusa or a Norwhale. I hope there is a career in that.

Afterward, we took in FAO Schwarz. Amazingly, my kids were not overly impressed. My husband and I sure as hell were. But then again, we were no where near as spoiled as our kids. Note to self: Work on their gratitude and sense of what other’s don’t have.

We window shopped past Tiffany and Co. on our way to lunch at the Rock Center Cafe. Our table overlooked the ice skaters outside and they offered the critical combination of chicken fingers for the kids and beer for mom and dad! Then it was orchestra seats for the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular. Love those Rockettes. Declan fell asleep halfway through and Kylie was calm. We finally wore them both out.

Sounds like a pretty wonderful trip right. Well….

My goal was two-fold — family bonding time and to have my husband cross off a “one of the things to do before I die.” His death is not imminent. Although, at several points during the trip he threatened to have a stroke. Traveling with children is challenging and that’s the understatement of the year.

Granted it’s easier now that we aren’t lugging portable cribs and hauling baby supplies like pack mules. But each age presents it’s own set of problems. My pre-teen daughter seems to have a uncontrollable urge to talk back. So our three-day Thanksgiving getaway to New York was peppered with sarcasm and complaints. There isn’t enough wine to drown out the whine. Or maybe I wasn’t willing to endure the next day’s tirades with a hangover.

I was the same little pain in the ass with my parents. It’s a rite of passage. I know when she looks back on this trip, she’ll remember all the highlights and not that I didn’t let her wear jeans to Thanksgiving dinner or that we weren’t spending the day with her grandparents and extended family. An occasional break (for me “occasional” means for the first time ever) from holiday tradition is healthy and makes it that much more meaningful when they roll around again.

Family bonding just can’t be planned though. It just happens in the day to day. So grab those moments when you can. Crossing things off your “to do before I die” list absolutely has to be arranged. This holiday season, gift one of those things to yourself. Life is short. Despite really loooong days with kids.

Civic Doody

2008-02-22T11:07:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was Election Day. To drive home the importance of voting, I take my children with me to the polls. As I was checking in, I explained to Kylie and Declan that I was performing a civic duty. Well my son thought that was just hilarious. “Civic Doody! You’re going into that booth to do Doody!” Ahh yes, second grade humor. Everyone was very amused as he loudly explained the joke in detail to my literal daughter who didn’t get the double meaning.

Declan isn’t far off from most people’s thoughts on voting. Many think it’s a bunch of crap. They believe politicians serve only their own egos and agendas. In many cases, I absolutely agree. But there are a few gems to be sieved out and that’s what voting allows us to do. Choose the lesser of the evils if you must, but make a choice. Or someone else will do it for you.

There was only 30% turnout yesterday. Smaller numbers are expected during local elections, but it still surprises me. The decisions made by these politicians have a direct impact on the communities in which we live. For me, that includes great schools, lower taxes and county preserved open space near my home. So, heck yeah, I’m going to vote.

You can’t assume your neighbors’ votes are going to take care of things. Did you catch the uber talented Sabrina Bryan’s sad exit from Dancing with Stars? The judges theorize her fans thought everyone else was voting for her, so they didn’t have to cast their own vote.

My Uncle Jim (Matthews), was running for Montgomery County Commissioner. Although the incumbent, he anticipated a rough race. Republicans have run the county since the Civil War. However, disapproval of Bush and growing democratic numbers threatened the hold. He was right to worry. The margins were slim. This highlights the importance of each person’s vote.

My daughter saw all the negative TV ads slamming her great Uncle Jim, so she had her fifth grade class pray for him. Who am I to say it didn’t help? What I do know is that when my polling place closed, he was in the lead by one vote. I’d like to think it was mine!

It was a long evening at GOP headquarters while we waited for word. I met so many people who take their commitment beyond voting - they are the party’s volunteers. They get none of the glory but they do get the deep satisfaction of being part of a process that makes the United States the greatest country – down to every county.

There is a happy ending, too.

Congratulations to Jim Matthews, Montgomery County Commissioner!

Pedophile Priests

2008-02-22T11:05:00.001-08:00

The following blog was adapted from an essay I wrote called “My Lost Saints.” It won an award in the inspirational writing category from the Writer’s Digest 2007 annual competition. There were 19,000 entries.

About a year ago, my then six-year-old son told me how much he enjoyed Mass. I knew my little guy liked dinosaurs, Power Rangers and loud music, but Mass? I was proud and sad all at once. It was then, I realized how much I’d lost in the wake of the Catholic Church pedophile scandals. I had, as Elizabeth Barrett Browning once wrote, “lost my saints.”

When I was his age, the Catholic saints were my action heroes. Their brave lives and gory deaths fascinated and inspired me. They stood up for their beliefs against all odds. I’d played Mass, too. Lining up all my stuffed animals next to my little brother, I’d read from the Old and New Testaments. Then, I’d deliver one hell of a homily. I didn’t understand that women couldn’t be priests. I’d come to that realization during my years as a parochial school student and many much more surprising facts later as an editor for an Archdiocesan newspaper.

After having been taught through 12th grade that Noah had an ark, my boss, a priest with his doctorate in theology from the Vatican, laughed and told me the stories in the Old Testament were metaphorical. They were teaching tools to help us understand complexities of our faith. I guess I’d always suspected that, but what about those who took the lessons literally and didn’t go on to pursue a degree in theology. When would they get the straight up truth? More illuminating chats involved the distinction between doctrine and tradition. Tradition with a capital T, he said. Also, celibacy for archdiocesan priests was a promise rather than a vow.

Over the years, I wondered about confession, birth control, the role of women in the Church and the indictment of gays. But who was I to question? My rude spiritual awakening continued. So much of our religion had nothing to do with actual doctrine. Throughout history evil, greed, sexism and bigotry shaped much of what now constitutes Catholic “T”radition. And if I doubted history, then I had my days at the Archdiocese of Philadelphia as proof.

My favorite childhood parish priest ran off with the third grade teacher. The priest who renewed my parents’ wedding vows has since married a former nun. They are now both Lutheran ministers. Then came the sickening discovery that a priest, who had taken my husband, his brothers and other boys on childhood camping trips, had been a pedophile, known as such to the archdiocesan administration for decades. While my husband and his brothers were unharmed, others were not so lucky. I’m infuriated with the hierarchy who condoned a legacy of depression, suicide and depravity. I find them to be as evil, if not more so, than the priest pedophiles. To add insult to injury, the absurd apologies that accompanied recent settlements enrage me.

I now realize it is my God-given right and responsibility to question. As in politics, if I’m to complain then must I participate? But this isn’t about government. This is my soul. With whom do I register my complaint? What do I do here and now if I want to actively take part in my religion?

I send my children to parochial school and will send them through Catholic education until they reach college. Catholics do an incredible amount of good. I have no doubt God is present in what Catholic Charities and Catholic schools accomplish. There are dedicated priests tainted by the scandal of others. There are faithful followers trying to live good lives. I do separate my faith from my religion, as my mother suggests. My father would argue that Catholicism has endured centuries just fine. Who am I to argue the finer points?

But I find that lack of spiritual evolution sad. I’m by no means suggesting that other religions have it over Catholics. Having written for The Philadelphia Inquirer’s Living Religion section, I covered many faiths. Some people believe that any organized religion is going to lead to corruption. Where does that leave society? There’s a desperate need for faith and organized religion. Yet, church pews are emptier and fewer people are entering religious orders. Apathy, rather than reform, has taken hold. So much competes for our attention and, yes, sometimes we are lazy. But instead of walking away from organized religion, we need to fix it. It’s not the sins of the past and present Church that concern me — it’s the Church of the future, or the lack there of.

I want my children to experience the peace that comes with belief. I don’t want to rob them of their faith. The Church may do that soon enough.

My son deserves more. He deserves his saints — the ones I’ve lost.