When Enough Is Enough

My name is Theresa, I am a Cradle Catholic, it is the only religion I know. But today, I am officially disgusted with the Roman Catholic Church. I have resisted the urge to leave the church over the last ten to fifteen years, due to the fact that 1.) it is all I know and 2.) I believe in the teachings of our faith. That being said, I have got to voice my absolute anger over this last wave of priestly predators that have come to light, both in Ireland and Milwaukee, WI. I have severe doubts about the Holy See and their ability to govern the ever shrinking supply of priests.

There have been so many accusations of abuse by priests in the church that some have grown numb to it. Not to the act, but to the Churches response. In an article written by Laurie Goodstein and published March 24, 2010 in the New York Times, Ms. Goodstein states that Father Lawrence Murphy had abused at least 200 deaf boys back in the 50's and 60's when he was in charge of a school for the deaf in Wisconsin. It makes me sick to my stomach and the fact that the Vatican covered it up, makes me even sicker. True it was brought to their attention in the mid 1990's, but they failed to act because they wanted to avoid another scandal. Excuse me? Haven't they learned their lesson? Oh and this is rich, Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger (aka Pope Benedict XVI) was in charge of the cover-up. In my eyes this behavior is tantamount to condoning the acts of abuse. They said that they were focusing on sin and repentance rather than the criminal aspect. So in 1998 Father Murphy died as a priest. It was said he had no remorse for his actions.

I cannot believe that Christ would condone any of this. There are pundits out there who suggest we are to do what Church leaders tell us to do and ignore their examples of behavior. You know, do what I say, not what I do. I really believe the Church is at a crossroads where if it is to have any credibility at all, some housecleaning needs to take place.

The College of Cardinals has run a muck. Until we get leadership in the Church that is not from the same generation as the abusers we are not going to led out of the darkness. I probably run the risk of excommunication, (that seems to be the punishment for those who dare question the Church), but I can not in good conscience sit by and remain silent, especially when I have this blog as a platform.

If you have a different opinion, please let me know as I am always open to hearing the other side and maybe there is something I am missing. We need to generate conversation, as this is the 800 pound gorilla in the Sanctuary for all of us. Why should we leave the Church over this, when there are other alternatives.



Seldom have so few done so much harm to so many. Men who have been given access to our children,

Still believing that Christ designated Peter to be his representative on earth and even yes, the Pope to be

Speedbump On The Way To Sixty

Okay, so yes, we are going to talk about me turning sixty again, so get your barf bags out. Here we go.

It was March 17th, St. Patty's morn' and I had taken up my usual position on the sofa, in front of the TV with my computer at my side. The Today show was on and I was sipping a cup of coffee and enjoying the Riverdance troupe dancing on the plaza at Studio One A. I love the sound-track and was thinking what a nice way to start the day.

All of a sudden, I noticed something weird going on with my left hand in which I was holding my coffee cup. My fingers and hand were going numb, so I put the cup down, thinking maybe I was holding it wrong, you know? Gradually, I lost the feeling in my whole arm. Very scary. After a few minutes it subsided. Okay, that was different, but it went away, so I'm all right. A few minutes later my mouth began to tingle and before I knew it, the left side of my tongue went numb. Just like the Dentist had given me a shot of Novocain. At this point I was spooked. Were these the first signs of a stroke? Should I call Sam? Should I call 911? Should I wait to see if I have anything else go numb?

I speed dialed Sam at work and told him what had happened. He said he would hurry home and take me to the hospital, but if I got worse, I should call 911. I went upstairs and got dressed then checked the internet for the nearest ER. We made our way slowly, due to the fact I had the directions written down but screwed up on a turn and our GPS was not locating the satellites. Sam and I were both able to keep our composure and he did a really good job (patience is not one of his virtues.)

We went to Northwest Community Hospital in Arlington Heights and from the minute I walked in, they made me feel like was their number one priority. I explained my symptoms and they immediately sent me to triage. My blood pressure was 198/100 (wow) never has been that high. They wheeled me to a room, I put a gown on and they got to work. EKG, more BP checks, a shot of Ativan through an IV (thank you sir, may I have another?) and five baby aspirin with a water chaser. By now the symptoms had passed so I figured they would sent me home, 'cuz I obviously was o.k. Not so fast missy, "We need to run more tests so we are going to admit you for observation," he said with an incredulous look on his face that I would even be surprised at being assigned a bed. Looks like I'm staying

Another interesting sidebar involved a cardboard bedpan, which I broke when they sat it under me and peed all over myself and the gurney. What brain surgeon invented a cardboard bedpan?

They said I had a CT scan, but I don't remember it. (Could be the Ativan cocktail.) It was late afternoon before my blood pressure went down to a reasonable level, but that didn't stop them from taking it every two hours through the night. This was my first hospital stay since having my Son 36 years ago so I had forgotten that you really don't get any rest when you are there. They alternated between calling me Mrs. Bond and Theresa, which is o.k. but the flu shot at 12:00 a.m. and the blood draw at 4:00 a.m. were a little much. Then there was my roommate who needed a bedpan every hour or so and her IV alarm that kept going off just when I was dozing off.

As I was watching TV in my hospital bed (which by the way is a nice alternative to the couch), I thought of my Dad and how it was always him in the hospital situation. The rest of us have all been healthy. Age is catching up with me and I am not happy about it.

After another day of testing they let me out of the asylum (as Dad would say). All the tests were normal except my MRI. There was some white stuff in the top of my brain which may indicate a problem. Small vessel disease, which is usually seen in people my Mother's age, Vasculitis (sp) and something that sounded a lot like dementia. Hopefully the next MRI will not show anything, except my brain of course. The diagnosis is a TIA or "mini stroke".

Suffice it to say I am officially scared and will watch my blood pressure, caffeine, salt intake, and exercise when I am up to it. So much for losing 10 pounds by my birthday. My goal now is to be here April 18th.

Going Cold Turkey Into The Rest Of My Life

Antidepressants are the most prescribed medications in the United States. Approximately 10% of the population is taking some sort of mood enhancer or mind altering drug for depression. In the decade from 1995 to 2005 the number doubled, thanks in part to commercials saturating the television networks by drug companies, pushing their antidepressants. According to an article in USA Today, spending on direct marketing to consumers went from $32 million to a whopping $122 million.

That being said, I happen to be one of the 30 odd million people on medication for depression. Have been for over 10 years. But here lately, I have been questioning my dependence on pills. We are a nation of "pill poppers" looking for an easy fix. I don't have time for a one hour therapy session every week, we might say, so just give me a pill and I'll be on my way.

In 2006 I went off all my medication with the exception of blood pressure pills. Of course you have to do it in a step-down process and it takes about a month. At the end of that month, my Dad died. It brought to mind one of the Airplane movies when Lloyd Bridges, the air traffic controller mentioned he picked the wrong day to quit smoking, sniffing glue, etc. That's how I felt. Of course I had just experienced one of the triggers for depression, the death of a close family member and back on it I went. Over the past decade or so, there have been many reasons to be on medication for depression, my husband's kidney failure and ultimate transplant surgery, and moving 2400 miles from home, being just a couple of them. So you take a pill, so things don't bother you so much. There in lies the problem. You never address what is bothering you, your entire brain is not functioning.

I also believe being in an altered state of mind stifles my creativity. I fancy myself a writer and would like to see what I could accomplish with a fully operational mind, at what ever level that might be. You have to be open to creative thoughts, not knowing for sure where inspiration will come from and if part of your mind is missing, well you know......

As I have discussed before, ad nauseam, I am almost 60, and realizing, really realizing, that I have a finite number of years left. I want to fully live those years with all my brain, not just a part of it. So I am making the conscious decision to go off Paxil and start living again. There will be good, bad and ugly, I am sure. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. Get ready for T Bond, uncensored.

The Not So Incredible Shrinking Woman (The Saga Continuuues...)

It's been a while since we've heard from this particular character in my life and I thought we should catch up with her progress.

The last four months have been a whirl wind of sorts, what with selling the house, trying to find a new place to live and moving all within a two week period, it did not leave much time for sensible eating or exercise. When they finally arrived in Chicago, it was December 15th, three and half long days on the road, with two dogs and horrible weather, had left them somewhat frazzled. But you all know about that.

Their meals consisted of non-stop takeout for the next two weeks. (Not to mention Christmas goodies). Weighing herself after the holidays, she was pleasantly surprised to find she had only gained five pounds. Not to worry, she'll just start exercising and whip herself back into shape. Right....the weather was horrible, so she couldn't walk, the treadmill was still buried in the office, next to the desk with the sawed off legs, so she had to wait until she could get it onto the loft landing to use it. That took an act of Congress.

Meanwhile she had been watching Denise Austin on the Imus in the Morning Show and Denise mentioned that what all you need to do is walk or run 12 miles a week to get into shape. Well now, and she had been walking/running 3.5 miles a day? Piece of cake. So now she had permission from Denise Austin herself to cut her daily workout down to 30 minutes a day to get 12 miles in.

It has been three weeks now of consistent cardio exercise, but the weight has not budged much. There's the old theory that muscle weighs more than fat and after a vigorous workout you do weigh more, but please. It's not like she was sitting on the couch eating bon bons everyday. Then the Girl Scout cookies were delivered. Nothing like frozen Thin Mints.


Then there was the frozen pizza incident. She noticed that the fat and calorie count was based on if you sliced the pizza into sixteen pieces! Holy Crap, who does that? She was eating pizza two or three times a week. It all started to make a little more sense now. That and the donuts, pies and potato chips that came into the house every day. Cheese and rice, you'd think someone wasn't watching their weight around there!

An article in the New York Times says that it doesn't matter how much you exercise, if you sit around most of the day, and say, watch TV, it scuttles your workout and you tend to gain weight. People who watch more than three hours of TV a day are heavier than those who do not. Rats.

So now the TV is off for most of the day, the radio is on and she is determined to lose ten pounds by her 60th birthday. April 18th is not that far away but if she doesn't let the occasional errant potato chip dropped on the stairway veer her off course, she just might do it.

Trying To Head North In The South Bound Lane

In our search for a Catholic church, we found ourselves at St. Julian Eymard, my cousin's church in Elk Grove Village. It was the first Sunday of Lent, appropriate because I had not been to Mass in two weeks, and why not start the season off by going? I seem to be good at starting and stopping, or at least pausing in my faith. The homily spoke to that subject in that Christ wants us to "come back to him." In the hymn "Hosea" we sing, " Come back to me with all your heart, don't let fear keep us apart. Long have I waited for your coming home to me and living deeply our new life."

As the priest talked of turning away from sins of the flesh, and rejecting pride and materialism for things that really mattered, I found myself wondering what I would wear on Easter Sunday, oh yes, my coral colored suit and how I needed new shoes and wouldn't those" killer" platform heels I saw at Marshalls the other day look hot with it? Oh yeah...back to church. See what I mean? I have great intentions, but it is hard to stay on the straight and narrow.

The Lenten season is a time to pause and reflect on our spiritual life leading up to Easter Sunday. A chance to try to repent for our missteps and shortcomings. To try to show our gratefulness for the Son of God's sacrifice on our behalf to attain everlasting life.

That being said, it is not easy. Nothing seems to be enough. Sure we can give up sweets, which would benefit us, (notice I didn't say anything about beer). When I was growing up in small town America, Lent was a dark time. It meant sacrifice for us, it seemed like a long time between Ash Wednesday and Easter. When you are a kid no candy or soda pop for six weeks seems like an eternity. The chocolate Easter Bunnies tasted extra good when you went without for a period of time. We rejoiced, Alleluia, Lent was over, bring on the Peeps and the marshmallow eggs!

In retrospect, that is what lent is all about. A dark period where we go out into the desert of our spiritual lives looking for redemption, being tempted along the way. It is a time for prayer and soul searching and waiting for the light of Christ to bring us out of the night.

Good Girl, Sophie

Our hearts are heavy tonight as the Grand Dame of our house, Sophie, is in the doggy hospital seriously ill with liver cancer. She has been a part of our life for 13 years. Our protector, confidant and friend.

I remember the cold, snowy February night we traveled to Comstock in response to an ad in the paper for $25.00 puppies. Her mom, a full blood German Shepard, paced the living room as we went to look at her puppies. If I remember right there were around 6 furry guys. Some black, some brown, all vying for our attention. One in particular caught my attention, because she had the most beautiful fur and seemed a little shy. To this day she has the most beautiful coat and softest fur. People want to pet her all the time. Anyway, Sam let me pick the one I wanted and I chose Sophie. Climbing in our blue Chevy pickup truck, the three of us headed back home to begin our life together.

Sophie and I had a love-hate relationship. I loved her and you know how she felt about me. She immediately bonded with Sam. She was his puppy. They would go for rides in the pickup and she would bounce from the front seat through the open sliding window into the bed of the truck. What an agile dog she was and she loved it.

Most feared her, as she was fear-aggressive, and very protective of the house. She scared the crap out of anyone who came to the door. My beloved guard dog, as I told her yesterday when we went to visit her. I was never afraid to be alone in the house or anywhere, if she was nearby. But she loved kids, knowing instinctively they were not a threat. Our Grandson Max would chase her around and around the pool table downstairs and they had such fun.

She eventually tolerated me, as we spent a lot of time together the last 3 years, when Sam was traveling so much. She would go into a depression when she saw Sam leave with his travel bag and do the dance of joy when he returned. If Sam went to bed before I did she would position herself between us, to keep an eye on both of us. She guarded the house, the car and her people.

Last night as we sat in the family room, one member of our family was missing. The house is emptier and quieter without Sophie around. Waylon misses his playmate, Sam misses his best friend, and I miss my protector. Regardless of the outcome which will be very sad, we must celebrate her life and the joy she brought to us. We are truly a family having spent the last five years in a strange state with only each other to count on. If only there were a way to slow down the aging process, but the girl's body is nearly 100 years old and I am sure she is tired.

I know all dogs go to heaven, she has a loving spirit, and she will have playmates there. Hopefully one day we will all be together again on the other side.

It may not sound like it, but we are still hopeful that the Geriatric Vestibular Disease will run it's course, she will get her equilibrium back so she can walk, and come home to us for however long she has.

Thank you Sophie, for a job well done.

In Search Of A Church

This past Sunday we visited our second Catholic Church, St. Theresa Church in Palatine, IL. It is only 5 miles from us and Palatine seems to be a nice city. It has a population of approximately 65,000. We are getting used to looking like tourists while trying to find the front door of the church. Needless to say, our comfort zone is long gone, our cheese has been moved.

We found our way in, it felt friendly and welcoming. Lots of light in the entry, skylights in the sanctuary, padded pews, the whole nine yards. A floor to ceiling kelly green velvet curtain served as the back drop to the large Crucifix behind the marble altar. There were missalettes in the pews which were used for the liturgy and hymnals. There was time for peacful prayer.

I searched out the choir and was happy to find a group wearing robes and sounding very nice. It appeared to be about the size of the choir at St. Ambrose Church in Parchment, MI. The songs were familiar, the liturgy was familiar, it felt right. Even though it felt intimate, it is still a Parish of 4,000 families. I thought St. Joseph's in Vancouver was huge, it had 2,200 families.

There are so many Catholic Churches to choose from in the area (as my Brother Phil likes to say, "You can't swing a dead cat without hitting one") we are thinking of trying one more in Barrington. We both felt good about St. Theresa's, but need to know what else is out there.