Copland at St. James, Chicago

The Episcopal cathedral in Chicago, St. James, is presenting Aaron Copland's "Appalachian Spring" as originally written (for 13 instruments) late this afternoon. Members of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and the Lyric Opera comprise the ensemble. The concert, which begins at 5:45, is preceded by a reception with light refreshments which begins a half hour earlier. Running time of the piece is twenty minutes and folks at the cathedral say the program is expected to wrap up by six fifteen p.m. St James Cathedral is located at 65 E. Huron Street, and the telephone number is (312)787-7360. The concert and reception are free and open to the public.

Found!

Late this afternoon my calendar emerged from way at the bottom of a decent sized pile of photo boxes I've been trying not to go through. I'm assuming it just got naturally stacked there: bottom line, I'm very glad to have it back in my hands. The very few things I need to jot down should make it in by the end of the week.

Have a great night, all.

Sigh -- an Entire Summer Down the Tubes?

Hold a thought for my paper calendar, which has gone South! I'm confident it's just under a pile of papers, but you never know ...

Meanwhile, if I've made a commitment to you that you consider crucial, please contact me by phone, email or in person so you can be sure I'll be where I said I'd be when I said I'd be.

Thanks.

The Quote I Never Used -- a Gutless Gut Check Time for a Former Reporter and Editor

"Give it to some crippled children." Respecting a man for what he says is important, not how politically correctly he says it.

The one I wish I'd never said: "You have enough bling to go with that?"

Oh, and don't tell me it's for a favor, or that it's a press release from somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody. Is it a story? Is it worth telling? Is it true??? That's all I want and wanted to know. That's what I used to write.

Overdue Thanks

I have not used the gifts, most of them, from the Christmas before my sister left to take a teaching job in Florida. They are sitting in a pile waiting for a slew of thank-you notes for which I simply do not have the words. I will say this, though: Rarely have I felt more cherished, more appreciated and more simply understood than I did on that day. I was surrounded by people who constitute my family -- not all of them, but the core minus Jackie and hers. I really felt everyone went out of their way to make that a memory we can all cherish. Maybe what meant most to me, besides being surrounded by Mom, Beth, Lauren & Joss -- and a bit of snow -- was that Joss (Jonathan) made it a point to come over so his mom could make him mashed potatoes. They were very tasty, and sometimes food does equal love, though one shouldn't stuff oneself overfull. I haven't even delved into the thoughtfully chosen book of novellas with critical essays: I think I felt the hand of both my sis and Lauren and Jonathan's dad in that. I'll never be able to explain how very much all of that meant to me. Sometimes it's the being there that is the most important thing, but the gifts, too, made me feel cherished. I love all of you family types of mine, and regret that I end up feeling so isolated from you for one reason or another.

-----

The unfortunate name which my little beastling dog ended up carrying (accidental insults abound through it -- she just didn't look like a "Gracie," and I didn't have the heart to fully change her name as I felt she'd already been through too much) calls to mind the first person for whom my own dad ever named a dog.

That man, Andrew I. Kane, is suffering the loss of his wife, Jean M. Kane, and we all suffer for loss of her. I was physically incapacitated as the undertaker's widow drove my mother through a bad, bad rainstorm to be there about two weeks ago at Mary, Mother of the Redeemer Church in North Wales, Pennsylvania. I'm not intent upon imposing my religion, culture or worldview on anyone, but I do want to capture the details of her service here if not for you, then at least for me to come back to at a later time to get an idea of Mrs. Kane's legacy and lasting impact on this world. We've all got 'em.

If you'll indulge me, I'm just going to type:

Jean M. Kane

Entered This Life: October 6, 1935

Born to Eternal Life: May 10, 2014


Those we love remain with us/for love itself lives on,/and cherished memories never fade/because a loved one's gone./Those we love can never be more/than a thought apart,/For as long as there is memory,/they'll live on in the heart.


Mary, Mother of the Redeemer Church

North Wales, Pennsylvania

Friday May 16, 2014

10:30 a.m.


Footprints

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord./Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky./In each scene I noticed the footprints in the sand./Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,/other times there were one set of footprints.

This bothered me because I noticed/that during the low period of my life,/when I was suffering from/anguish, sorrow or deteat,/I could only see one set of footprints.

So I said to the Lord,/"You promised me Lord/that if I followed you,/you would walk with me always./But I have noticed that during hte most trying periods of my life/there have only been one set of footprints in the sand./Why, when I needed you the most, have you not been there for me?"

The Lord replied,/"The times when you have only seen one set of footprints in the sand is when I have carried you." -Mary Stevenson


Funeral Mass

Reverend William J. Teverzcuk

Entrance Hymn: How Great Thou Art

First Reading: Revelations 21:1-5a,6b-7, read by Matthew A. Taormina

Responsorial Psalm

Second Reading: Thessalonians 4:13-18, read by Patrick J. Taormina

Gospel

General Intercesions read by Kathryn K. Taormina

Presentation of Gifts: Amazing Grace

Communion Hymn: I Am the Bread of Life

Meditation Hymn: Ave Maria

Words of Remembrance delivered by Andrew J. Matin

Recessional Hymn: On Eagles Wings

It is my shame and mine alone that I was not strong enough to make it there, and my worse shame still that I do not have the words that can console Andy or his daughters. I am unafraid to say that I love them; that they were an indelible, sparkling part of my childhood and that I feel the lack of them sharply. It's like losing two pints of blood each time someone I love passes or someone I love suffers loss.

I will deal with the death of my own father one of these days, one of these days soon I hope. I know for certain that he wouldn't be pleased at how hard I've taken his passing, though of course everybody needs to be remembered and everyone likes to know they're missed -- that they've made an impact.

For my part in the meantime I will do my best to be cheerful and to be good. Most importantly, I will try not to be such as Cassandra -- though I will warn people and admonish them as conscience dictates. Hypocrisy is a always a risk when one feels the need to share one's views with another: that is something I'm going to strive to minimize, too. Sometimes there's a veritable sheet of sheetrock covering both of my eyes that I really should peel away before I presume to tell the rest of the world, if I even do, how to conduct its business.

Try to be patient with me if you read these words. It may not always look like it from where any one given person is standing, but I really am trying my best here in all I do.

The New York Post's Take on Bergdahl

the New York Post's take on last known POW