Because Christmas is a season, not just a day, you don’t have to put away the Christmas novels and stories after December 25. Reading books set at Christmas is a great way to keep the season going. Here are 3 books by Catholic authors–I’ve enjoyed them all. The first two are historical fiction, the third a contemporary novella.
Working Mother by Erin McCole Cupp is a well-researched piece of short fiction in which the Holy Family, in exile in Egypt after King Herod’s slaughter of the innocents, faces a crisis after Joseph is injured at work. Living hand-to-mouth in a refugee camp, Mary seizes an opportunity to help support her family while Joseph recovers from his injury. This story speaks to the devotion of the Blessed Mother for her son and for her husband. Read my full review here.
The Diaries of Joseph and Mary by Dennis P. McGeehan invites the reader to journey with Mary and Joseph from their early childhoods until Jesus sets out for his baptism at the hands of his cousin. These fictional diaries allow the reader to peek into the minds and hearts of Jesus’ mother and foster father. Read my full review here.
The Boys Upstairs by Jane Lebak is an uplifting Christmas tale of transformation for two brothers: a priest who’s a disabled war veteran and who takes in boys who are living on the streets and a police officer who’s seen more than his share of holiday tragedies. Their own rough start in life leads them to find ways to be strong for others in crisis.
Use my Amazon links to purchase these books and support Franciscanmom.com.
I prayed Christmas Eve Vespers last night while sitting in a chair at the foot of my mother-in-law’s hospital bed.
All those years we took for granted our health, our loved ones’ health, everyone’s ability to be together and celebrate Christmas. All those years did not prepare us for this one; how Hubs and I would be at the hospital, comforting his mother who no longer knows his name or recognizes him as her son.
He’s back at the hospital with her today instead of hanging out here at home with us, relaxing, enjoying snacks and watching Christmas movies. Or movies someone got for Christmas (not always the same thing).
It just about kills him–as it has been for the past several years–that he can’t fix this. He can’t make Alzheimer’s go away. He can’t bring back his mom’s memory.
He can only sit by and hold her hand and reassure her again and again and again and again that everything is OK, that he is there. He can hold the water bottle and help her drink. He can play her favorite hymns on his iPhone and hold it close to her ear so she can hear familiar music.
He is doing those works of mercy like they’re his job (as the kids would say). They’re not his job, actually. He does them out of love.
Last night he missed his family’s Christmas Eve party for the first time in his life. The kids went; we are thankful that 2 of our kids are old enough to drive so they could enjoy this time with their cousins after visiting Grandma in the hospital.
Today he missed Mass with the family and he’ll miss dinner. We’ll save him some, but it won’t be the same. Honestly, I don’t even care if we eat. We have plenty of snacks and another giant box of Bagel Bites, and the rest of the enormous pan of baked ziti one of his cousins generously sent home with the kids so Hubs and I could have a meal after we got home from the hospital.
It was hard to rejoice, this morning at Mass, knowing that while we sang “Silent Night” Hubs was on his way into that hospital room to spend the day listening to his mom talk (sometimes in Polish), holding her hand, trying to get her to eat something–anything–and having only snacks for himself until he gets kicked out of the room at the end of visiting hours, then driving more than an hour to get back here.
This is our Christmas in this Year of Mercy.
It’s going to be a hard year.
Please pray for Hubs, and his mom, and our family, and all others whose lives are impacted by Alzheimer’s and dementia. May God have mercy on us all.
On what would have been her 101st birthday (and she’d be furious at me for divulging her age), a tribute to my grandmother, revisited from 2 years ago.
I wrote more about my grandmother in my chapter of Word by Word; her witness was a huge influence in my life.
We called her “Nanny.” (She hated the nickname, but once a little kid learns it, you’re stuck with it.) Today she would have turned 99 years old.
Only two of my kids remember her, though we do have a picture of her with all 3 of them. She passed away when Little Brother was about 7 months old.
Nanny lived 2.5 miles away from our house. I know this because when I was in middle school (and high school) I used to ride my bike there, and my dad made sure we all had odometers for our bikes.
Pictured here is Nanny’s house as it looks today. She lived on the second floor. When I was in middle school, I received my own key to her house. By that time she was recently retired from her job as a secretary in the courthouse in Paterson, NJ–and she was tired of going down the stairs to let us in when we’d show up to visit.
We were always welcome in her home, even unannounced. And she always knew we’d been there if we showed up and she wasn’t home. We started leaving her little notes on the kitchen table so she wouldn’t worry about someone breaking in.
I inherited my grandmother’s supersonic ears. She could always tell when we were raiding the glass bowl of M&Ms she kept on the dining-room table. (I inherited that table.)
I wish I’d inherited her crossword-puzzle skills. Every Sunday she bought the New York Times, removed the magazine so she could do the puzzle, and threw away the rest of the paper. She’d sit at the kitchen table and work on the puzzle while her Sunday chicken roasted and the potatoes boiled. If I rode my bike over there in time for dinner, I got the wings. And sometimes she’d let me take a crack at the puzzle after she’d gone through it.
Nanny’s house was four blocks from the Catholic school where my mom taught and where at least 3 generations of my family (including me, my brother and sister) were educated. Maybe 4. My great-grandfather might have gone there too. On sick days, Mom would drop us off at Nanny’s house, where we’d be set up on the couch with a crocheted daisy blanket and a book to read. (I inherited that blanket too.)
Nanny was a daily Mass-goer and Rosary pray-er. She always went all out in decorating for Christmas–INSIDE the house–right down to the fake snow on the mantelpieces in the dining room and living room. One year for my birthday she gave me a big box of art/office supplies: new crayons, scissors, pencils, stapler, art paper and more. I was thrilled.
Hands down, Nanny made the best roast chicken, mashed potatoes, turnips, and tuna-fish sandwiches (on Wonder bread, with butter. Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.) I don’t ever remember her baking anything, but she knew where the good bakery was, and when she went there, she’d bring you back a lemon cupcake or blueberry tart. You could always find Coke in the fridge and Mallomars in the cabinet, and the Milky Ways were kept in the vegetable drawer.
I miss Nanny, and more than that, I wish that my kids had what I’d had: the chance to grow up with anytime-you-want access to your grandmother.
I’m linking up with Reconciled to You and Theology is a Verb for #WorthRevisit Wednesday, a place where you can come and bring a past & treasured post to share, and link up with fellow bloggers!
My house doesn’t look like Christmas yet, and I’m OK with that. I am not going to be climbing on things and hanging things up this year–my foot (and the boot that’s on it) won’t allow that. But I have a daughter who’s just home from college and looking for things to do, so I’ll show her where I keep the decoration boxes and leave her to it.
I’m even OK with the fact that I won’t be doing my traditional chore of putting lights on the Christmas tree (that job involves 4 hours, at least 3 folding chairs plus a stepstool, and much up-and-down. I’m vertically challenged.) The year this photo was taken, I hit my Personal Best of 1500+ lights and, I believe, at least 2 blown-out extension cords. I’m the Clark Griswold of Christmas-tree lights, and I’m not ashamed of that in the least. There were so many lights on that tree, who even needed ornaments?
But someone else will light up the tree this year, and I’m sure they won’t use as many lights as I do, but that’s OK because the doctor says my foot is healing well. I have to continue wearing this boot full-time until January 5, when I get to bring a shoe to the doctor’s office and wear the boot only half-days for another week.
At least this keeps me out of the mall, which is perfectly fine with me. I’ve been doing a lot of online shopping thanks to various free-shipping offers and my good friend Amazon Prime, and I’m here to tell you that Target’s “order online, pick up in store” is way, way, WAY better than Best Buy’s. (Place order. Wait for text message. Go to Customer Service and tell them you’re picking up. Hand them your driver’s license for verification, take your stuff and go. By the time you get home, your receipt will be in your email inbox. It’s THAT easy.) Using that service saved me a trek through the whole store. The less walking, the better.
I’ll have a couple of weeks off from work to celebrate Christmas, and I’ve got plans:
set up a gift-wrapping center in TheKid’s old room
start wrapping gifts and use my Super-Secret Gift-Numbering Method™ to keep snoopy people from snooping
2 beta reads and 1 (short) freelance editing job
spend some time with my Everything Notebook, doing some goal-setting, planning and dreaming
I wish I still had this sign to hang on the door to the room where I’ll be doing the gift wrapping. I should have kept it!
It’s time again for the Festival of Lessons and Carols, happening Friday. This is my favorite musical event of the whole year. I’ve participated every year since 2011, though last year I attended all but one rehearsal and missed the performance because I was too sick to play, let alone sing.
From a performance in 2013. I’m not in this photo; the instruments were off to the right.
For today’s #WorthRevisit Wednesday, I’m revisiting December 2011, the first year I participated in Lessons and Carols. None of my kids participate anymore, but I’m still there and, if they’ll have me, I’ll continue to be there in future years. (Hey, I multitask. I play guitar AND sing alto. I’m the only guitar, but one of 6 altos this year–the alto section is nothing short of amazing. Not that I’m biased.)
One of my favorite activities in high school was the choir. We were probably about 60 strong–that’s half the school! I loved the chance to sing in harmony.
We only had 3-part harmony (soprano, second soprano, alto) since my high school was not coed. I was a second soprano, but over the years I’ve migrated to alto. (And I’m not above throwing in a tenor or baritone part now and again, just for the fun of it.) I do not harbor any illusions of having a solo-quality voice, but I do just fine in a group and I can sustain a harmony line without being near anyone else who’s singing that same part.
Right now, I’m thoroughly enjoying a chance to stretch my musical muscles. Over at the school parish, preparations are under way for a Festival of Lessons and Carols, scheduled for the Tuesday before Christmas. It’s a mixed group in many ways. First of all, we’ve got soprano, alto, tenor and bass–and a children’s chorus. WOW! It’s amazing to be part of creating that wonderful sound. We’re coming from at least 4 different parishes and at least as many different choirs/ensembles. There are kids (as young as second grade), teens, college students, young adults, parents with kids of all ages, and empty-nesters.
Soon, we’re bringing in the musical instruments! And we all come together to make music. Christmas music is wonderful, and there is a huge repertoire of beautiful Christmas music out there. As a musician at church, though, I’m pretty much limited to standard carols. And that’s fine–people attending Mass during the Christmas season expect, and should find, those old familiar carols. It makes things easy when people visit from other parishes, other traditions, or just haven’t been to church in a while. When we play and sing at Mass, we’re there to lead people in prayer through song, not to perform for them.
This Festival of Lessons and Carols is a combination of Scripture readings and beautiful music, most of which is not your standard carol. It’s a performance, but don’t think for a moment that it is not also worship.
Last year Big Brother played bass at this Festival. The rest of us came along to be part of the audience. I loved it and was thrilled to be asked to take part this year (along with Little Brother and Big Brother, who will participate again).
That whole “singing is praying twice” thing? For me, it’s completely true.
I love that we pray before we rehearse, thanking God for the gift of music, for the opportunity to share that gift and to give God honor and glory by using that gift. (That’s the gist of the prayer; the music director does a better job phrasing it than I just did).
And I love being a small part of this large group. Some people in the group are like me, with ordinary musical skills. Others are incredibly gifted. When I sing with them, I am challenged beyond what I think I am capable of doing.
Great joy!
I’m linking up with Reconciled to You and Theology is a Verb for #WorthRevisit Wednesday, a place where you can come and bring a past & treasured post to share, and link up with fellow bloggers!
As I do each Monday, I’ve gathered up links to the work I’ve done in other spaces. There hasn’t been much this week. A lot of work has gotten done ahead of time for my job, so that there will be time off for Christmas! And this week I completed an outline for a possible book project; that was sent out today.
For the Christmas-music version of Teenage Musical Torture, I’ve been waking TheKid with such gems as “Dominic the Donkey,” Bob Dylan’s version of “Must Be Santa” (complete with accordion–it’s a real treat) and the barking-dog cover of “Jingle Bells.” Because laughing in the morning is way better than shouting.
On Sunday at rehearsal for the Festival of Lessons and Carols, I noticed that my guitar strings were in terrible shape. I’m really bad about changing my guitar strings. It takes FOR-EV-ER, and I suppose that if I did it more often, I’d be quicker at the job. But I have a 12-string guitar, so that means the job takes twice as long.
But since the strings were actually starting to unravel, I had to do something about them before one of them decided to break in the middle of Mass or that concert.
Amazingly, I managed to get all the strings changed out in 1 hour and 15 minutes, shaving 45 minutes off my Best Time Ever–and the new strings nearly held perfect tune during folk-group practice last night (I was still restringing the guitar when people arrived at practice.) Maybe next time I won’t wait so long to do this job.
During yesterday’s Epic Burst of Productivity (really. It was insane.) I dug through the freezer and inventoried the meat. I also sorted it out, as things tend to get shoved in there without regard to putting like items together. And unless there is a Sale of Epic Proportions at the grocery store, I won’t be buying any more meat until mid-January.
Baby Jesus wore a blue snowsuit with a faux-fur-trimmed hood.
All the Angels had puffy coats under their robes.
The Shepherds sported blue jeans and white Nikes.
The pastor contributed his own “capuch” and a deacon’s stole to complete Francis’ costume.
Mary had a kidney transplant three weeks ago.
The Sheep was played by a three-year-old boy who had to be persuaded to take off the Eagles hat underneath his furry-eared cap.
Due to a shortage of teenage boys, there were almost Two Kings instead of Three.
Mary’s pony stopped along the path to Bethlehem to graze on some leftover autumn leaves.
The goat butted the Shepherds and the Sheep.
Most of the choir members had colds and couldn’t sing.
We were right next to a Dumpster.
It was a beautiful sunny day.
There were so many people we didn’t have enough chairs.
But there were plenty of cookies and lots of hot cocoa.
All the children played their parts wonderfully.
The pastor sang with the choir, and at the end everyone sang “Joy to the World.”
Today we reflected on the miracle of Greccio and the miracle of Bethlehem.
We were thankful for our warm clothing. Baby Jesus probably wasn’t so lucky.
We were thankful for the children who eagerly donned angel wings and shepherds’ robes.
We were thankful for a young girl’s new lease on life thanks to a generous organ donor.
We were thankful for the cookies, and the cocoa, and the fellowship shared around some pots of delicious homemade soup after it was all over.
We were–and are–thankful for the miracle that brought us all here in the first place.
I’m linking up with Reconciled to You and Theology is a Verb for #WorthRevisit Wednesday, a place where you can come and bring a past & treasured post to share, and link up with fellow bloggers!
Here’s a crowd-pleasing recipe for fish tacos that’s quick to put together. Don’t save this dish for summertime! Fish tacos make a quick, light meatless meal that you can enjoy all year ’round.
I reviewed a novel that’s a perfect gift for the teen boys in your life: Roland West, Loner. This novel packs plenty of mystery and suspense, along with a healthy dose of the Communion of Saints.
Working Mother by Erin McCole Cupp is a well-researched piece of short fiction in which the Holy Family, in exile in Egypt after King Herod’s slaughter of the innocents, faces a crisis after Joseph is injured at work. Living hand-to-mouth in a refugee camp, Mary seizes an opportunity to help support her family while Joseph recovers from his injury. This story speaks to the devotion of the Blessed Mother for her son and for her husband. Read my full review here.
The Diaries of Joseph and Mary by Dennis P. McGeehan invites the reader to journey with Mary and Joseph from their early childhoods until Jesus sets out for his baptism at the hands of his cousin. These fictional diaries allow the reader to peek into the minds and hearts of Jesus’ mother and foster father. Read my full review here.
The Boys Upstairs by Jane Lebak is an uplifting Christmas tale of transformation for two brothers: a priest who’s a disabled war veteran and who takes in boys who are living on the streets and a police officer who’s seen more than his share of holiday tragedies. Their own rough start in life leads them to find ways to be strong for others in crisis.
