Author: tom

The days ‘dwindle down’ as the song says. Another year is speedily slipping away with all its memories happy and sad. Our memory is such a discriminating bank of data that it happily lets the sad things slowly slip from its cache. We more easily remember those happy things, but the sad things are still there. One of those inevitable mixed feelings or memories is the loss of one you love. In this year we have suffered two such losses, Barbara and Eleanore. We in faith rejoice that their pain is over and they are with the Lord, but still miss them and the joy they brought to our lives. Eleanore, or at one time Sister Richard Marie, IHM, spent about 65 years plus in serving God by serving others. As some wag said, “If she didn’t make it to heaven we ain’t got a chance!” Her life of service was seemingly always filled with smiles and laughter. As I saw her lying there on the bier being kissed and touched goodbye by all the many sisters, friends, and relatives, I missed that smile. How she would have giggled and smiled at all this fuss over her! Her simplicity covered a deep and discerning intellect which only a few had the privilege of witnessing. In the vigil service the night before her burial they had a reflection or meditation that was most appropriate. It was on the virtue of meekness, one of the beatitudes. It is one not often talked about in these days of ‘instant satisfaction’ and ‘seeking high self esteem’. It had a verse in which meekness becomes a person, and speaks to the doubting questioner about why it is so valuable. He questioned how it could be considered a ‘blessing’ when on its face it looks like a weakness. Meekness answers, “To be meek is to be so full of truth that everyone is comfortable in your presence. It is to have a spirit young as the dawn and a heart as old as the evening” As I read the words and images coming to me of my memories of “Nellie”, as we called her, did say and see , “that was she!” She would have been a bit perturbed about all these people being here around her were she alive, but she still would not show it. She would just smile and say ‘thank you but your really shouldn’t have….” The words used in the reflection were from “Seasons of Your Heart” by Macrina Wiederkehr. By my visit to her farewell festival I learned another wonderful thing about her. She was a water color painter. They had them all about the room where she was laid.

I had hoped on the next day to obtain some, but sure enough by the next morning all of them were gone. Her many friends and relatives had taken them. I did get one of ‘tulips’ later, which my sister Marge gave me. It was revelation about which she would have never boasted and they were all so beautifully done they were worth bragging about. The trip north had many happy moments. The chance to help my grandson twins, Alex and Aidan, age 6 and their little brother Odie, age 4 visit the men’s room. I spent a night in Dan and Marge’s home with a visit to their son Paul his wife and family. Another night was spent with my son Tom and his family. I listened and watched as my daughter Suzanne, an attorney, chatted with her cousins Bidi, a doctor, and Frank Allen, a lawyer. I enjoyed Sister Monica, Marge’s youngest and an IHM nun as was Eleanore. She is beautiful as ever and sang even better than I have ever heard. I also met two of her friends, Sisters Patricia and Kelly. It was a strange experience to be meeting nuns named Monica, Patricia, and Kelly when over the years as a student in the classes of these sisters, such names would have seemed out of place. I recall the names always seemed to have the word “Saint” in it like, Sister Saint Arthur, or at least Mary appeared some where in the name. Sister Eleanore for most of her life was known as “Sister Richard Marie”. It was also a nice touch that a “Father Pat” part con-celebrated mass. Sister Eleanore was born next after our Father Pat and they were close buddies all of his life. He died in 1980. A big Sunday breakfast at Tom’s home which included son Paul and a report on his upcoming travels. Then I was off to the plane with grandson Tommy driving and telling me of his plans and hopes for next year at Harvard. It was a pleasure to see so many of the clan, almost all the Allen’s and Lukens’s, most of my own family, some of Joe’s, and Marge’s. Sister’s Rosemary and Mary along with Marge took part in the mass and the singing by Sister Monica Walsh, which will always be a highlight of the ceremony.

The last Thursday in August saw the end of an enterprise. I have been playing the piano during lunches, one week noon, the next one o’clock, at the Fountain Inn, an assisted living home. They are in down town St. Pete’s and surrounded by the South Florida University. This past week or so they sold the building to the University. I learned on arriving on August 28th that they would be moving all the patients, residence, etc out by Tuesday Sept 2. So four years or more of having fun giving some music to those suffering from the ills of age will come to an end. I got some hugs and one lady asked if she could give me a kiss. I agreed. It will leave a gap in my life, which I may fill in the same manner somewhere else, or with some other equally enjoyable tasks. I still play at a nursing home within walking distance of our home on the first and third Tuesdays of each month. I will always remember the Fountain Inn for most appreciative audiences for my limited talents. I recall an incident, which I recorded here sometime ago, about “plinkety plink”. The guy who called me that was one that would neither accept my hand nor tell me his name. He always commented on my arrival as he sat there waiting for the lunch to be served, “Here comes Plinkety Plink!” I would agree with him. I found that he complained about almost everything and shocked me one day by asking me if I knew “Have You Ever Been Lonely?” I got it out and played it, and he started to sing along! I made it a point every time that he was there for lunch to play it. I missed him a couple of weeks and then asked about him to sadly learn he was hospitalized and later I was told he died. I did learn his name but even now forget it since he will always be to me the complaining ‘plinkety plink’ guy that somehow let me give him a bit of joy one day. The song was very appropriate for him since he was a “lonely” guy as many noted after his leaving. So we move on and looking back to find with a bit of surprise that come September 24th we will have been in this home six years. We’ve noted previously there are times when it feels as if we’ve never been anywhere else. The beauty of sky, the occasional rainbows (one time three at once) and the water every where we drive or walk through this valley of green, keeps reminding us of how lucky we are. The years of being surrounded by rows of homes on busy streets is happily given up. It is just the people who occupied them that we sometimes miss. The wonder is still with us. June often comments “I can’t believe this is our home”. When we lived in the city we took those trips away just to get this kind of environment, but now we are on seemingly an endless vacation. Admittedly there is always the threat of a hurricane or too much rain, but on most days they seem far removed from this green paradise.

In an essay I read the writer lamented the death of the Latin Mass. It stirred some memories for me of “introibo ad altare deo…I will go to (or enter) the altar of God.” These words are beginning of the mass in Latin. The essay was in AARP Magazine of Sept-Oct; just it being there attracted my attention. The writer laments the death of the Latin mass since he misses the mumbo-jumbo that gave the ritual its mystery and magic. I remember my years of memorizing the responses in Latin, which at that time was clearly “mumbo jumbo” to me. I recall reading in “Angela Ashes” how Frank McCourt was driven by his father to go and learn to be an altar boy. He never made it due to the Latin part. I later had six years of the language. Now most of that is also just a “memoria”. I am sure that the discipline of memorizing what was gibberish had it effect in helping the discipline of learning how to learn. But it was not my thinking at that time! It had grandeur to it though. You were the people. The priest intoned and you responded. It was like playing a part in a play. There were vestments, there was a script, and there certain actions and places you had to be at certain times in the performance. The only difference was your back was to your audience. It also got you up early and interfered with the beginnings of your holidays. Latin by the way was the language I heard on being roused from sleep. My father would rap on the door and say aloud, “Benedicamus Deo!” (Let us bless the Lord!) to which your were expected to respond, “Deo Gratias” (Thanks be to God). Of all the Latin masses the one I loved the best was the High Mass. It had music. A choir and booming organ dueling with each other over the nave in a musical language. It was comparable to an Italian opera. This was even more magnified in an ordination Mass. It had a bishop and con-celebrants and all those to be ordained joining in the service. It was always held in a Cathedral or a church to match a cathedral. Like opera even when you can’t understand the words the music it is still enthralling. I agree with the essay writer’s thought “..the Mass always gave me morning shot of poetry and drama before the drudgery of school..” I can’t say exactly when that occurred for me but it sounds like it should have. “Ita Missa Est”, the word for the Mass is finished and so will these ramblings until the Lord gives me another opportunity to send them onto you again. Pax Tecum!

The barber cutting my hair said, “So you’re retired, was it difficult to do?” It made me think a bit. (I really should do that more than a bit, but…) I replied “I can’t say it was”. The ultimate “I’m going to retire” came after a gradual incline towards it. It’s like a lot of decisions we make, they are partially made for us due to the circumstances. We then come to the fork in the road and unlike Groucho Marx’ we can’t “take the fork”. It began actually in 1991 when the courts of Philadelphia Common Pleas was being reorganized. One of its reorganizing steps was to revamp the Jury Selection Commission on which I sat. In simple language one non-professional replaced the four lawyers sitting as Commissioners. In the era of saving money wherever they could in government it was surprising it had not been reorganized long before that. So that was the first retirement. It left my law practice, which had really been run by my secretary, para-legal, Judy Higgens, most of the time anyway. The years ’92 and ’94 brought some other changes, the first the giving up alcohol and the second giving up some blood vessels in my legs to be used to by pass a blockage in the ventricle vein in my heart. The latter caused time off and a good deal of it was spent in Florida. We had come down to Florida in ’90 to see John then in Veteran’s Hospital. He never got out of the hospital and the Lord called him home on April 7th of that year. His son Richard owned the home where John had been living in St.Petersburg in an area called “Shore Acres”. They, he and his wife Shirley, kindly invited us to use their home in our visits to Florida and so we did then over the next six years. I continued to practice in the field of Family Law, enjoying the work where we brought children or a child to parents for Adoption, and struggling with the side where the parents fought over who got the child and/or the property. Both involved innocent children, one to bring them to loving and anxious parents, the other to Solomon like divide the child or children between the parents. Our visits to the home in Shore Acres came more often and of longer periods. In 1996 our guest for Easter in Shore Acres were Jerry and Betty Hopkins, grandparents with us of the Twins, Sean and David Hopkins. However, Jerry developed some symptoms, which caused Betty to decide they should head home to see his cardiologist. He too had had a by-pass recently. Our plans for the activities with them fell apart. With time on our hands we decided to take a look at some houses in the area since we had been talking off and on about owning our own place here in sunny Florida. We did so. We found one we liked within a few blocks of Rich and Shirley’s home. It had a wall large enough to fit our new breakfront, two bathrooms, two bedrooms, living area, kitchen, central air and one car garage. The price was right so we signed an agreement. I wrote in the Jottings for April 1996: “… we signed an agreement to purchase a property with a view towards seeing it more often, and some day maybe permanently. We have a dividend of having the property presently rented.” As you can see when this was written in April of 1996 we still were not speaking or thinking of retiring.

There was no “difficulty” in finally making the decision to quit the law practice. In May of 1996, I wrote, “Our plans are unsettled as to the precise time of a move (to Florida). We are contemplating making it our home at least partially in 1999, the year I turn 70. We are planning on spending more time here in the winters between now and then but still keep an anchor back at 7435 (Dorcas St. Philadelphia) until we feel comfortable here. The distances between us and children, and grandchildren continue to make the decisions difficult, but not impossible. I can now report… we will settle on 1644 Connecticut Ave. NE on May 5th” One month later the thoughts of 1999 etc. had disappeared and I reported “…come December 31,1996 I will give up the formal practice. I will have spent 38 years as a licensed practitioner in Penna. I had four more years’ prior thereto in the USMC as a member of the DC Bar and legal officer. ..I feel great having finally made the decision and am joined in this feeling by June. We both look forward to seeing the world, our grandchildren, and reaping the benefits of having stuck around this long” It certainly wasn’t difficult to decide. But unsaid at the time for whatever reasons both June and I also remember that at that time I had another incident which helped make it easy. I had been representing a woman Lawyer the mother of a child less that a year old. The husband and father was also a lawyer! The nit picking that he particularly presented, even at times without his own counsel’s knowledge or agreement, led me to ask a very simple question: “Why am I continuing to do this? Why do I need all this aggravation? In fact I was taking it home with me and that was definitely a “no-no”. I have a pension, the few fees I would pick up would only now create a need for time which would interfere with plans to enjoy the summer month, etc.?” So without any ‘difficulty’ I decided no more practice. Judy as I recall had already contacts and information on where she could find employment, and in fact I think she was doing only part time work by this time. The 1999 date disappeared and we moved to Florida in 1997 into a renovated 1644 Connecticut Ave, NE.

In rereading one of the ’96 Jottings I came across a quote which I have often thought about when I sit down to write these notes. It was from John Mortimer’s biography, “Murderers and Other Friends”. He is a Barrister, playwright, novelist, but is best known as the creator of “Rumpole of Old Bailey”. He states, referring to another book, “The book contains a lecherous old journalist, author of an appalling column called ‘Jottings’, which he fills with random and frequently pretentious thoughts”. I laughed when I read it, and still do today but often feel sure some reading these ‘jottings’ refer to them in the same manner. (My editor commented: “I wonder who?”)

So these are my ‘memories’ of how and why I retired. Memory is a mystery. I have recently came across a number of writings, columns, etc. about the mystery. In reading Augustine’s Confession you find it’s largest book (we would call it a Chapter) is on memory. Sometime ago I read a book by John Horgan, entitled, “The Undiscovered Mind: How the Human Brain Defies Replication, Medication and Explanation”. I learned one of my favorite writers Garry Wills, author of a biography of St.Augustine had now published a new translation of “St. Augustine’s Memory”. Then in the NYTimes Magazine for July 27th appeared an article called a “Bad Trip Down Memory Lane” A study by a Harvard psychologist on the “recovered memory”. She attempted to discern whether the memories of child abuse by those who had suddenly recalled it happening was a reality or a fiction. It is the “repressed memory” problem. She conducted tests on them and then on people whose child abuse was a known fact. Her conclusion from the test was that the repressed memories were fictions, not fact. The attacks that followed her findings from organizations protecting people abused as children and so forth, led her to decide may be she should use a different alleged repressed source. So she turned to alien abductees who suddenly years after the event recalled having been abducted by aliens. Her findings like wise resulted in the conclusion that the so called “repressed” memories where imaginary i.e. false. The onslaught of criticism again engulfed her. She has since given up and has gone to Managua, Nicaragua, to the Harvard affiliated Central American Business Administration Institute to study how trauma affects people, but the trauma will be verifiable life-threatening events: diseases, hurricanes, land mines. Incidentally the researcher was a woman named Clancy and all this was done at Harvard University. But even the Harvard aroma was not enough to quell the uproars. The mind is a mystery and the most mysterious part of the mind is memory. “Though the term ‘false memory’ is slippery and inadequate, there is now little doubt that the phenomenon exists. A rash of satanic ritual abuse claims in the 1980’s and ’90’s —claims that were never substantiated but destroyed families and ruined reputations — demonstrated fairly conclusively that both adults and children sometimes report things they think happened that didn’t”. (Bruce Grierson, NY Time Mag. July27, 2003). John Horgan, author of “The Undiscovered Mind”, refers to an “explanatory gap”, i.e., the explanation does not make sense, or as he puts it “…the inability of physiological theories to account for psychological phenomena.”

All this ruminating about memory seems even more relevant at this time since we are reminiscing about the now departed Bob Hope, whose theme song was “Thanks for the Memories!” And we do often thank the Lord for giving us this faculty in which to store joy and sorrow which are at our beck and call at anytime. It may be a mystery but one I can live with.

Until next time pax tecum!

The sun is back at last. We had a week or so of rain and it was depressing. We both agreed that had we endured the month or more of the weather in Philadelphia area we would be even more so. So once again it is the “Sunshine State”. There were many comments regarding its name especially by vacationers who packed up and left after days of rain.

There is a common phenomenon, which I have enjoyed over the years, the friendship of men in a group. I had never actually thought about it but was made very aware of it, and of my enjoyment of it, by discussions of it in two books. One was a book devoted almost entirely to the subject called “Inklings”. The other was in a biography of “Augustine of Hippo” where the author quotes the extensive writings on the subject by Augustine. “Inklings” was the name of a group who met at Oxford in the ’40’s in the rooms of C.S.Lewis and at a local pub. It had as its members, himself, his brother Warren (Warnie), JRR Tolkien, and Charles Williams- all authors. “Jack” Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien were professors at Oxford in literature of different periods. So naturally the discussions were on literature mostly and they each read aloud their work as it was being written. (I came across a reference to the “Inklings” in another book I am reading published in 2003:”…in England, as a group of Christian writers called the ‘Inklings’ sought to evoke the Middle Ages…”)

The other group of men who enjoyed gathering together happened in late years of 300 A.D. They were interested in philosophy, theology, and literature of the time. This was Augustine’s group, called ‘servi dei’ (servants of God). Lewis and Tolkien were into creating stories with mythological qualities, like “Hobbit”, “Lord of the Rings”, “Chronicles of Narnia”, and “Prelandria” all of which continue to be read even today. In fact at one point Lewis declared regarding the “The Lord of the Rings”, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it really succeeded (in selling I mean)? It would inaugurate a new age. Dare we hope?” He should be around today to see the age of “Harry Potter” which owes part of its birth to JK Rowling’s admiring and reading the ‘Chronicles of Narnia’,a Lewis mythological story. Then there are those movies of JRR Tolkien’s works that certainly seem to have “really succeeded”. In reading of Augustine’s group I was reminded of the meetings I attend with a group of men who discuss Biblical subjects. Such discussion inevitably lead to talk of philosophy in it barest forms. The warmth and interest of one group, which meets at 6:15 in the morning, reinforce the concept that these groups are enjoyable. I can’t say I’ve ever sat with a group and discussed literature per se but I have many times met with groups of men interesting in other subjects, like the sport of running and golf. They consisted mostly of learning about how to do it better. I am sure most the men have experienced the fun and enjoyment of sharing ideas, even on those subjects more mundane than philosophy and literature. Lewis says this about those who join in these types of discussions, “The man, who agrees with us that some questions, little regarded by others, are of great importance, can be our friend. He need not agree with us about the answers.” In some instances the groups I have been with have been as large as 20 or as little as three or four but the size doesn’t hinder the quality and the banter that ensues. The groups I read about were “men only”. Lewis was a bachelor till almost 55 years of age, and Augustine became a celibate priest and bishop early in his life (37 years of age). He had spent part of the years prior to that living with a concubine in what we would call today a “common law” marriage. Such relationships incidentally were socially and religiously accepted in those days. The term “religiously accepted” here meant accepted by Augustine and Christians. Both men were not quite misogynist but pretty close. Augustine was a big fan of the Apostle Paul and his thoughts about the place of women in your life. My own experience is that woman in a group either as a member of a committee seeking some goal, or part of class of ideas adds a whole new dimension. Augustine was so bad that he wrote this about Adam and Eve, “Why, after all, had God chosen to make a woman to live with Adam? If it was company and good conversation that Adam needed?” Augustine will answer, “it would have been much better arranged to have two men together, as friends, not a man and a woman” Of course, if Adam had been given such a companion the order to increase and multiply would have been impossible to fulfill. (I wonder how this suggestion would go over today with all the discussion and action re same sex marriage!) I think this exaggeration by Augustine was due to his love of the company of men and not from any sober thinking on the subject. His understanding was generally what all the men of that era thought about the place of women in their lives. Lewis likewise never prohibited the attendance of women; it just never came up. The culture of the University and the use of the Pub made it certain women would not be involved. JRR Toilken and Charles Williams were both married men and on occasions countered any really discriminatory remarks about women and their capacity to think. In spite of this deficiency in reasoning I found the idea one I agree with, namely there is great enjoyment in a group of men conversing about what they consider important subjects, whether it is God or Golf. Lewis was an Irishman having been born in Belfast. Another Irishman that enjoyed such meetings was Frank McCourt. The man whom some say put Limerick on the map as Joyce put Dublin. He, McCourt, didn’t agree with that remark since he wasn’t a fan of Joyce. But he after a hard day’s work in the 60’s would visit a bar where writers hung out. They would drink and tell stories. In an addition to literary types like Pete Hamill, there were the likes of Michael Harrington, the Clancy Brothers and Daniel Patrick Moynihan. Frank’s younger brother Malachy went along too and together they sang and told stories which eventually lead to a cabaret show called “A Couple of Blaguards”. It is still being shown as we recently saw it here in St.Petersburg. It opened on Broadway in 1984. He and his brother later formed a group that would meet on the First Friday of the month in rough accordance with the Roman Catholic tradition of those receiving communion on that day for nine months straight will die in the state of grace. They met in a bar called “Eamonn Doran”. Those stories later became part of the best selling book, “Angela Ashes” These type of events we see disappearing today in the rush of living and with so many other sources of education and entertainment. It was refreshing to read of it and how it enhanced the ability of one doing it, to grow in friendship and learning. So I expect now after all this praise of men’s groups raising our knowledge and enjoyment, the ‘poker night’ will be permitted to continue.

The McSorley clan has a new member. On June 25,2003 Joseph and Sara Lukens received the gift of a son. As the lawyer father announced it, “Daniel Finnegan Lukens has entered his appearance”. I was surprised to see the unquestionable Irish moniker since I had no idea Joe and Sara were admirers of the Irish or their culture. I can envision Daniel Finnegan in a few years learning ‘step-dancing’ from his Irish cousins’ Luren, Dana, and Tara Walsh, daughters of Vince and Evelyn Walsh. I am sure with their help they will all be on the “River Dance XXXVI” in 2013. He, the new child, has given Joe a prime subject on which to practice his writing talents. He sent a three-page email about the first night of Finnegan being home. It could be one of the readings at the kind of groups about which we’ve been speaking. It was appropriately entitled “Finnegan’s A-Wake”.

We spent the first week of July with Mike Golden (June’s son) and his family at a condo in St.Pete’s beach. It was called “Caprice” as in “an unaccountable change of mind or conduct” and it was all of that. We had good weather and the view from our balcony was breathtaking. We could look out over the Gulf, there was not beach immediately in front of us. Then turning our eyes left we could survey southerly the entire St. Pete’s beach from where we were at it northern end with the beach extending and bending out further into the gulf to the southernmost point of the peninsula where “Pas-a-grille” lies. The balcony was in shade most of the day so it was perfect for this “sun-lover”. Immediately below us was the resort’s pool. We managed to venture into it at least once a day. The gulf was so warm on one day it was like a sauna and not great for lounging in, so it was back to the pool. We naturally ate too much but we did walk every day. I got off usually by 6:45 AM to beat the heat and sun, and June usually a short time later. Most of the time I had the pleasure of reading. I was and am working on two rather large tomes but not as large as “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” which is 869 pages. I gave it to June for a birthday present on June 28th and she finished it while we there. In fact, she stopped on the night before our last full day for fear she would have nothing to read at the beach tomorrow. Grandson Matt Golden was also reading it but not at that pace.

Until next time we get this chance to send along our ‘thoughts’, pax tecum!

The month of May ended with the Lord taking our great and lovable friend, Barbara Nummi to heaven. She was like a sister to us. The month began with another great celebration of a loving sister, Rosemary, who is a friend to all whom she meets. Barbara had a memorial service on May 27 with an overflowing church listening to the history of the woman’s immeasurable love. On June 1st a full church listened to praises and plaudits for Rosemary celebrating 25 years service to that church and its people as a sister of the Holy Child order. Both were filled with moments of loving memories. We are eternally grateful for the blessing of having both these loving and lovable sisters and friends in our lives.

Both services had readings from the Bible on love for one another. In Barbara’s case the Pastor remarked that the selection from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians on love is one usually read at weddings. He agreed heartily however that it was properly a part of any memorial for Barbara. Likewise the readings at Rosemary’s service included the letter of John admonishing Christians to love one another. Rosemary even sang a little tune in her remarks. She remembered it from her days of performing on her Father’s birthday. It was, “The Right Somebody to Love”. It was a Shirley Temple song and it was a theme of Roie’s talk in that her life has been a seeking and finding of the right somebodies to love They, the right someones, were any and all those she met or with whom she worked. Barbara was equally seeking and finding them from her husband and children to all those residents in the apartment house she managed, as well as her church friends, her Via de Cristo reunion groups, or wherever she took that shining smile.

My attending the celebration for Rosemary had me traveling from St. Petersburg, FL to Princeton Junction, NJ to the home of Sue and Tom, and their three daughters, Kate, Meg, and Colleen. The house is situated across from a large open field with several new buildings widely placed over about a half-mile area. It was a great place for a walk. The area housed the West Windsor Library, the Municipal Offices and Court, a Post Office, a Senior Citizens Center, and a Police Station. The Police station had a sign on the door (I think the handicap’s entrance) that really got to me. It read: “Do not bring any suspicious packages into this building”. Now I wondered how would I know that the package I was carrying was suspicious? Certainly if I thought it worth carrying it couldn’t be such to me, could it? I know that on occasion I have wondered where did I pick up this particular item as I moved from room to room or from house to house. But I never had a feeling that it rose to the category of it being ‘suspicious’ or whatever. Well, now that I’ve warned you be sure to oblige when and if you ever find yourself entering the West Windsor Police station in Princeton Junction, New Jersey.

The traveling gave me a great opportunity to practice patience. The prayer of St. Francis often came to mind: “Lord, grant me the serenity to accept those things I cannot change, and change those things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference”. I left my home with a ride from a friend at 12:15 PM and arrived at Sue and Tom’s home at 1 AM the next morning. The scheduled time was approximately 5 hours door to door, not over 12. But due to mechanical difficulties which some how always seems to be discovered after you have boarded, put your luggage away and began the crossword puzzle in your seat. It is then that we were advised that there was repair needed and it would be about two hours before the part could be brought in to Tampa Airport and put onto the airplane. By the time the full plane load had emptied into the waiting area the time was extended from two to four hours. After a short visit to the Men’s room the time was extended to 7 PM. It was then about 3:30 PM. It was then suggested we try another flight. I made several phone calls to advise June of the breaking news. She jokingly suggested that if I stayed there long enough she and her son Mike could run over and have dinner with me. I finally did get a seat to Newark on the 7:50 PM flight. It was exactly 5 hours later than my scheduled flight but interestingly enough the flight number was only one digit different. My 2:50 PM Flight was #319, and this one was #419.1 arrived in Newark at 10:31 PM and went immediately to the baggage claim area where I had anticipated meeting my son-in-law Tom. I had the great help of Barbara Nummi’s daughter in law Annie Nummi, and her son Andreas. Annie is an employee of the airline I was using, Continental. She kept insisting she stay with me until someone came to pick me up but I assured her someone would be there in no time. “No time” ran to about 11:30 PM.I finally called June to get Sue and Tom’s home number since their cell phones were of no help. My daughter answered and said surprisingly “Where are you?” I responded, at the baggage claim area for Continental in Newark Airport. She was surprised since somewhere between all the phone calls she and Tom had been lead to believe the flight was cancelled and I was flying in the next day. A few moments later some guy comes into the area with a sign printed on an 8 x 10-card reading “McSorley”. He was likewise calling out the name. I was alone in the area so luckily he had little to choose from. He then asked me if I knew of the address 350 N. Post Rd, Princeton Junction? I said yes, it was my daughter and son-in-law’s home address. He was assured therefore that I was the right guy so he took my bag and off we went to his car. He drove me to 350 N Post Road. Naturally since I was coming from Florida he, like almost everyone you meet when you travel north, has a relative in Florida. His was his father-in-law who lived just bit north of us in Dunedin. He was interested in the name “McSorley” since he knew someone with that name in New York, and of course knew of “McSorley’s Wonderful Saloon” the book and the place.

On Friday night we, Tom Baker and two of the girls, drove over to Yardley, Pennsylvania to have dinner with my daughter Mary and her family. It turned out to be another ride down memory lane since Mary had invited an old neighbor, Terry Carroll, and his daughter Mary Jo. It was also a belated birthday party for me, which the three guys and the girls were happy to partake in since it meant eating a beautifully decorated birthday cake. Terry and I reminisced about all the things he did to help us when we first moved into our house back in 1958 across the street from his family’s home. We recalled a ride in snow on Christmas Eve to Princeton New Jersey to the Creative Play things plant to retrieve Christmas toys that had never been delivered and which Santa had to have in the living room by morning. But a better memory was that of Mary Jo, their first adopted child now 22 years of age and finished with college. June and I went to the hospital to pick up the baby that was to be called Mary Jo. We took her home to Terry and Nancy Carroll who were waiting in our home. They met us outside and we stood there while the baby being held in June’s arms entranced Nancy. The time passed and she kept sighing about how beautiful the child was until finally June said, “Aren’t you going to take her?” We all laughed and naturally Nancy took into her arms this lovely young lady now sitting across the table from me. On Sunday at Rosemary’s luncheon I had a similar experience. A couple came up to me with a young lady and introduced themselves. It happened that I had been able to provide them with a child who was this young lady now in her 20’s. Both incidences reminded of the rewards and joy I received from practicing law in the adoption field. You got more than money in seeing the love in the eyes of the recipients of a child.

So June and the last days in May were both celebrations of life. One, through faith, was a celebration of the life hereafter and the other of achievements in this present life.

We wish you all a happy a prosperous month and peace be with you (pax tecum)!

May the month of birthdays, Mother’s day and May processions. I think I remember it more for celebrating Mom’s day and that school was coming to an end. Marge and I have birthdays. Bunny King is another celebrating the day she became herself. We’ve added two more, some friends here in St.Pete’s, so I guess we can call it a month of birthdays. However, with the number in our clan I suppose we could have a lot of months we could call such. I have often wondered what the expression “mayday” had to do with the month. It was an assumption I made from reading and hearing it that it had something to do with May.I found it otherwise. If you’re not familiar with the expression “mayday, mayday” it is an international radio distress signal used especially by ships and aircraft. It’s an oral SOS. I know now that it has nothing to do with the month but is derived simply from the French word, m’aides meaning “help me”. Now I know many of you reading this will be so grateful for having this bothersome expression explained, well, maybe not ‘many’ when I think about it.

The other “May Day” is related to the month. It is regarded in number of places as an international holiday to celebrate labor organizations. I recall it was a day of big parades in Communist Russia and I believe we used to counter it with a Law Day here in U.S. I read that even today there were parades and protest in Germany celebrating the labor organizations there. Having straighten out the difference between mayday and May Day let us move on so my Editor will be dealing with seemingly less boring material.

I read an essay in which the writer celebrates the indifference to religion as an achievement. There was the indifference in general, i.e. they believe in God but don’t much care about Him, and in the particular, in that they don’t mind what others think about God. The first was evident to him by a comparison of number of those who say they are believers and the record of church attendance. He equates ‘religion’ to church attendance only. The evidence of the not caring what other people think he bases on the fact that he is a “professed” atheist and friends whom he believes have a personal relationship with God, haven’t bother to attempt to proselytize him. His evidence in both cases is weak to say the least. Religion is not “church attendance” and people being indifferent to his professed atheism is based on true tolerance. It based on Love, not duty or law. He has made it clear by his public profession that he is not open to other’s viewpoints. All of this he classes as an “achievement”. He gives it a fancy intellectual name of “apatheism”. He brags about having achieved something. He defines it as a disinclination to care either about others beliefs or they to care about yours. In plain English he is applauding ‘indifference’ to the basic question of why we are here as an achievement. I disagree. Indifference is not to be applauded even when it comes to politics. We constantly lament the failure of the people to make use of the great gift of democracy. We don’t call this lapse an achievement. Politics is a long way from questions such as why are we here? They have been part of man’s thinking since he was able to communicate. In both cases these are lapses in our behavior and not something to celebrate. We could just as reasonably celebrate the thievery of the corporate big wigs. Why not be indifferent to their behavior? Mark Twain spoke of such merchants as “The dollar is their God, how to get it their religion.” (“Life on the Miss.” p.466) They are practicing the religion of materialism to its fullest and are equal to those fanatics who justify killing people in the name of their god. The writer shows a lack of knowledge of what “religion” really is all about. It is not church going alone, nor tolerance of others beliefs, but true religious feeling is based upon and built on love of our fellow man and the one who made him. It deplores the fanatic as much as any non-believer. Tolerance of others beliefs is based on love not indifference. It is like the tolerance we exercise for our children. We love them and when their behavior is leading to future pain and suffering we, out of that love, correct their beliefs. We no longer tolerate their behavior. There we have a duty to do so which is not true of our neighbor but we don’t love him any less because of his poor thinking.

The writer brags about his having quashed his “religious mindset” and mastered the “spiritual passion” which he acknowledges exist in all of us. The eminent Theologian and professor of Ecumenism, Han Kung wrote some words on this: “It makes no difference whether one considers the human race (diachronically) in its many thousand years of history or (synchronically) in its global extension: One will never find a tribe that lacked faith in some sort of transcendence. From a global perspective, atheism among the masses is typically a Western “achievement”(emphasis added), even though it has spread East. It is thus the affair of a cultural minority in this century.”(Is There One True Religion? P.231)

The whole article angered me. It angered me that he treated a very important subject in a flippant manner, which was supposed to be funny. It angered me that such tripe would grace the pages of a prominent literary magazine. It angered me so that I should have stopped reading but it did do one beneficial thing. It made me ask myself the question, do I care what my family and friends believe about these questions? I found I do. My finding was accentuated by the fact that a much-loved friend is now suffering from a terminal illness. The consolation in believing that there is more to life than just here makes accepting it a bit easier. I have no idea how one not believing in that fact, copes with such a problem. I wonder even more so when they themselves face that inevitable day of leaving off this ‘mortal coil’. Maybe that’s what gave rise to the saying, “There are no atheist in foxholes’.

I have a friend who is a pastor of a church across state in Deland, Florida. His name is Jim Brissey. I have tapes of his talks. He started one the other day with a story the latter part of which went like this. A woman went to see a Psychiatrist and explained to him that she constantly has dreams that one night she is teepee and the next night a wigwam. “What’s wrong with me Doc? ” You’re two tents!” he replied. You can moan if you like. He went on from there to talk about those two ‘-tents’. One is ‘con-tent’ and the other is ‘dis-content’. It is a good intro to an old American problem in which we easily get ‘need’ and ‘want’ so confused they become synonyms.

Jim and I met over a year and a half ago at a men’s via de Christo retreat in November ’01. I served as his assistant head server. He was the head server. The main job of both is not so much handling the distribution of the food as to entertain the team and participants before each meal. Whatever Jim’s past was prior to his ministry it certainly prepared him to entertain. He created one skit after another. He had costumes available. He had one skit that people who witnessed will as far as I participated never let it be forgotten. He was in a Spanish or Mexican costume. He had a sombrero three feet across, wild shorts, a Spanish looking blanket over his shoulders and outrages duck like shoes on his feet. He was “Juan-mo-time”. He went out of the dining room door and entertained them in slang Spanish dialect about his comings and goings. I remained inside dressed in a party dress, wig, and ugly boots. The girls in the Kitchen including June made up my face. Then came the announcement, “Here’s my girl friend, De-lor- ess!” I waddled out with eyes a flutter and whistles and huzzahs filled the air. It was great fun but even till today when I meet one of the participants or team members I’ll occasionally get a” How’s Deloress?”

Recently via the Internet a friend and a McSorley contacted me. He is Charlie McSorley formerly a Philadelphia police officer, or just a Philly Fuzz. I knew Charlie from his visit to our law office in the Land Title Building while my Dad was alive. He retired somewhere in there and began a organization to help other retired police officer but ran it politics and its deleterious effect on real good will. What I did learn by the renewal of acquaintanceship was how he had met my Dad. He told me the story and I may not have it all it proper detail if not excuse me Charlie. The basic story is something like Dad read of a “McSorley” family being burned out of their home. The head of that family was in the service or not available for some good reason. Dad proceeded to step in and help to relocate the family. Charlie never forgot that and made it a point to stop in when he could to say hello. I learned of one more good-works my Dad did. It is one of many I’ve learned of over the years.

Until I get another chance to chat with you, Pax Tecum!

April is the month of showers. We are looking for some but not too many. It is just great that the weather has returned (almost) to what we expect of the season Spring in Florida. On one of our first Aprils here we had the temperatures similar to what we just experienced. They were lower by far than normal. At that time, way back when we were using nephew Rich and Shirley’s home (often referred to as John’s house) we laughed at hearing a disk jockey on the radio complaining about the 40-degree weather. He was saying, “Don’t they know it is spring and this is NOT Florida weather!” For us at that time we didn’t feel it was “cold weather” so we thought the complaint humorous. My how things have changed! We now agree whole-heartedly 40 and below is cold. The time spent here has obviously thinned the blood or whatever and we are a lot more susceptible to lower temperatures than ‘way back ‘ when we first arrived.

It is beginning to feel like we have been here a good part of our lives and can’t believe it is only five years plus. I even was bragging to myself how much I knew about the area that I could now confidently give directions to anywhere in the city. I stopped bragging today when I went completely around in circles because I became disoriented as where I was going and how to get there. But other than that, the general feeling is we are at home and have been for sometime.

The time has passed in such a rush that we can be of two minds: How short a time we’ve been here or we’ve been here seemingly for years and years. We have kept busy. We have made the word ‘retirement’ look obsolete. I have two mornings around 6 AM where I join with other men in fellowship and study. I play the piano once a week at an Assisted Living Home. I play while they eat lunch so they can’t possibly concentrate on the quality of the playing. I do the same twice a month (this month three times since there are five Tuesdays) at a nursing home nearby. It is so near that I can walk to it in nice weather. They are there in wheelchairs or movable gurneys, and since the are pushed by other into the lobby where the piano is, most of the time they express little feelings one way or another about the quality of the playing. I give out hard candy between bouts of beating the keys. I give it only to those who are permitted to have such luxuries. I feel sometimes it is better received, the candy that is, than the forced concert. Yet I do get some smiles and ‘thank- you’s’ that make the journey and time spent feel it is worth the while. There is one guy there who has a devastating smile. The way he smiles and his eyes light up spontaneously when I kid or josh with him is heart warming. It is with such affection as if at that moment no trouble interferes with what is between us as human beings. Bradley is about 43 years of age and is built like a linebacker. He has a full head of hair and large shoulders and arms. If he stood he would probably be around six feet tall. He is in a chair and is paralyzed. He has been that way since he was born. He can move his arms and hands with real effort and tries to speak but only on occasion makes noises. But when he smiles the room lights up. He has been there as long as I have been coming over 5 years. Sometimes when he is not there I shudder to ask about him, since with many others I learn upon asking they have left us permanently. Some I do learn however have just been rehabilitated (The home is a ‘Nursing and Rehabilitation Center’). The lives of the people there accent in spades the blessings we have, we who can walk out of that home and back to our own.

My relating the experience with Bradley brings to mind a counter experience with a grouch. In my playing at the Assisted Living Home I ran into such a person. I may have even told the story in these pages before but it comes back to be now since I have learned the grouch is no longer with us but in heaven. It came about this way.

The entrance to the dining area is two doors wide and before your reach the dining tables there is an area like a lounge on both sides. On the right side is a couch and the piano, on the left chairs along the nearest wall and a couch and soft chairs fill up the rest of it. Some years ago as I entered the lounge area and went over to the piano, there was sitting on the left side just inside the door a resident who proceeded to groan aloud, “Here comes plinkety plink”. That was I, in case it isn’t clear, since to him the so-called music I played was just that, plinkety plinking or some such expression. I went over to the “gentleman” and smiling agreed that in some cases it was so, but I keep trying. I asked him his name and offered my hand. He rejected both offers with a grunt. From then on whenever he was present I would say, “Yes, here comes Plinkety Plink” or agree with him as he said it. I never could get a handshake. I could hear him on occasions offering his opinions on other subjects with just the same attitudes. Sometimes it was the food, or the lateness of the serving, or the table he had been assigned. However after maybe a year of this loving conduct a small miracle happened.

I came one day and the hallway from the entrance door to the door to the dinning area was filled with people on both sides. Down the middle of the hall lay a paper with numbered blocks on it. Then further up the hallway I saw objects of plywood standing on the blocks. They had horses painted on them and on top of the horses were painted jockeys. The residents were having a horse race down the hallway with the aid of dice. I worked my way down the hall and went into the lounge part of the dining area and guess who was sitting there all by himself, our plinkety plink admirer! He was moaning and groaning about lunch being late and the hallway being misused, etc. etc. So I ignored him and started to play some music. Then came the surprise. He started humming a tune. He then asked me do you know “Have You Ever Been Lonely”? I said I’d look for the music”. I found it and played it. He hummed and sort of sung along. I didn’t get any thanks but I felt so good that he was at least tired of complaining about the playing and was some what joining in. In the months that followed he actually acknowledge the fact that I played the song. He didn’t say thank you again but mumbled occasionally that he heard that song. One day some months ago I notice on several visits plinkety plink was not there. I inquired and learn that “Art” was in the hospital. Now I knew his name so I thought the next time I’ll find out what hospital and really surprise him with a get well card. Alas, the next time I asked I was told Art had gone to his reward. I felt sad but he taught me a lesson. Don’t give up on grouches. Perseverance in the form of a smile or a laugh sometimes gets amazing results. It has helped me in dealing with other listeners in the nursing home and elsewhere. It has encouraged me to continue playing even when I feel I am not getting any better at it. A pastor once told me when I said something about very few were there to listen or such, “Play anyway the music goes up and down the hallways and those not there but bedridden enjoy hearing it”. He knew that from being at the bedsides while music was being played in the lounge or elsewhere. He saw the joy in the eyes of those lying there seemingly alone since they now felt they were among the living. I also recalled Father Pat being upset about someone in the Army Company he served as a chaplain. It seems he tried very hard to form a choir. Now Pat was no singer and he knew it but when it came to church music he said rightly so it made no difference. In the course of his organizing one of the members told him about a guy who was professionally trained, in either piano or voice, I’m can’t recall which. Pat approached him about coming on board and joining the project. He declined since the quality of the talent was not up to his, and his needed etc., etc. It angered Pat who thought when it came to just bringing some joy in to the service or the lives of other the quality of your talent was not an issue.

My time is no longer filled with trips to the Golf courses. June and I walk often and try for at least three times a week. I putter around in the grounds weeding, right now mulching, trimming, and feeding the grass food and insect killers. Since my episodes of undefined origins of last Fall, I do not now mow the lawn. My time is devoted to projects like number paintings, audio courses, writing these thoughts each month, and reading. We have a great library system here. They will get you almost any book you can or could possible want. If it is not in the St.Petersburg library system, the go into the county system, and then even to the private and public education library systems. But when I think about it I am not at all that familiar with even Philly’s library system so they may be just as good. My library experience in the past has been with Law libraries only.

Until next time Pax Tecum !

The word March comes from the Latin word, “Martius”, meaning ‘of Mars’. Mars was the Roman god of war. This March the god of War seems to be returning to America. It looms just over the horizon. I read that some predicted it would begin in this month that of the war god. The month has a few other meanings for most of us. The winds of March blow us right into Spring and April. The basketball fans think of it terms of the “Final Four”. The Irishman thinks of it as the month, which brings St. Patrick Day parades. It is the day ‘everyone is an Irishman’ and some actually believe that to demonstrate their allegiance they must get bombed. In Ireland as I understand it, it is a holy day. It is the day they celebrate with Mass and devotions honoring the patron saint of the country.

Some trivia I learned about “St.Patrick” are, he is not officially a saint since he was never canonized, just one by the way he lived. He is alleged to have chased all the snakes out of Ireland, and I suppose that’s why there are none now in Ireland, but the historians say, ‘No, there were none there even when he was there”. The best I ever read about the work of St.Patrick was in “How the Irish Saved Civilization” by Cahill. His starting of monasteries and their copying of ancient writings preserved many classics from being destroyed or lost during the Dark Ages.
The first full weekend in March, the 7th through the 9th, we held what is called a “Discovery Weekend”. It began on Friday evening, ran all day Saturday, and ended on Sunday around 2 PM. I was the leader but with the help I had it was hardly a task. The team of some twenty people was formed over the months beginning September 2002. Once formed we conducted meetings regarding our tasks. Once organized we did a lot of praying and publicizing.

The concept of a ‘retreat’ – a pulling back to regroup from the battle – is an old one. Christ did it. He went away to some quiet place to regroup his thinking and sometimes took some of his workers along. American capitalists do it. They recommended it and in some cases the professions require it. In Pennsylvania to continue to practice law you had to attend and receive credit annually for attendance at courses of review. Others hold conferences for educating their employees and executives, updating them on the latest developments and ideas in their chosen field. Such is a retreat – a personal spiritual review. This one included good food and fun. The participants sit at a round tables usually about six per table. They discuss the topic just given by the speaker. The lay talks cover several aspects of the life of the spirit and include testimony of the speaker and his walk in faith. The discussions enable the participants to see that they are not unique in their faith struggles as they learn similar things from the others around the table. Such discussions engender friendship with them and the social parts like meals add to that nurturing. The table as a unit presents a skit on Saturday night after dinner. It is based on their table’s ideas from and about a particular talk. It is a great time to pick on the leader, a.k.a., the boss. At the conclusion of the weekend each select a table representative to tell what they believed they have gained by the work of the weekend. They usually refer to the making of more and better friends and of a closer spiritual awareness of what life is all about. One businessman attendee referred to the many self-help and business oriented conferences that he had attended. He noted they were created to improve the participants’ employment skills. He saw them as arid compared to the subject matter handled over this weekend. They , he recalled, dealt with the frills and coverings of life, but this conference – or retreat if you like– went right to the core of ‘what is life really all about’. The reward for the team, its leader, and the months of work, are seeing others faith enlarged, friendship and community created by people who may to some extent have felt left out.

Son Paul arrived late Thursday night. His sister, Sue, and her children arrived late Friday night. They picked up her husband Tom on Saturday at Tampa and were off with Paul to a ball game in Dunedin, the Blue Jays summer camp. I had the pleasure of hosting the nearly nine year old Colleen for lunch at the top of the Pier, and then we went home and practiced drawing and such until Colleen’s Mom, Dad and sisters got home. She made the point of buying her sisters, Kate and Meg, rings of sea stones at the aquarium on the pier. I thought she would in interested in the fish, but she spent more time looking over the seashells and stones gathered there for sale. She fed the pelicans and loved it. That evening we all went to a great Italian restaurant in downtown St. Pete’s called ‘Grazzi’s’. The girls got restless between courses and went outside to view the live music being played. We were on the same level as the band who played from that spot out to rest of the mall below and across from them. After dinner was finished Mom and Dad, Grandmom June, Paul and I went out to look for the girls. We saw two standing behind the trio playing, and then noticed up in front and to the side of the trio, was Colleen, playing a tambourine. We learned later that she had asked if she could join them and they said yes, so there she was keeping the rhythm with the tambourine. She is certainly, as she would refer to herself on occasion, ‘something else’! The way I understand this expression came about is that she once heard her parents referring to her that way to others, so when someone asked her “Who she was?” She would respond, “I’m something else!” The gang went off to another game on Monday and I had the pleasure of spending St.Patrick’s Day afternoon with her at the beach. She loved the water like a fish, but the waves were even more fun. There was a strong wind. It raised waves not often seen in the Gulf water. It was so strong that we could not put up an umbrella. We had lunch by the sand and water at a luncheonette like shack right on the beach. You placed your order than went to sit while it was prepared. They then announced your name over the loud speaker so you could go and retrieve it. Naturally we left the name “Colleen”, since it was her wish and it was St.Patrick’s day. She was pleased to hear it spoken so loudly that it went out over the Gulf of Mexico. The evening meal was a joint celebration of the Irish day and Colleen’s almost birthday. She would be nine on March 21. We had of course cake with “Happy Birthday” on it, candles to blow out, and ice cream. Shortly after the meal Sue, Tom, and the gang packed the car and headed for Jacksonville.

What had been predicted and reported earlier in these jotting is now a fact. American armed forces are attacking Iraq. The protests are loud and many. The pros and cons of the action fill pages of newsprint and email forwards. The attempt to unravel the reasons for the action leads only to frustration. The most difficult thing for me is to accept is the lack of open provocation– such as the invasion by Iraq of Kuwait in 1991. We have been asked to trust our President’s belief that we are in danger but we are not shown clearly where that exist. It has the ring of Vietnam and the domino theory of preventing the spread of communism. It would be so much easier if we had had a provoking to show our need to defend. Without it we must fall back on the belief that our President really is acting in our behalf and not some hidden motive. We have noted before that our confidence in our leaders so acting has been misplaced in the past so it makes doing so now even tougher. So we pray that we are not so disillusioned this time and until proven otherwise we will support our President. Faith in someone is often an unreasonable act but it is also sometimes necessary for sane living.

My reading of some of the lives of prior Presidents gave me a historical perspective on the failure of European nations to support the action. In 1801 President Jefferson suggested to France and other European nations that they join us in attacking the Barbary pirates of North Africa who indiscriminately raided sailing ships in the Mediterranean. They would steal the cargo, and enslave the seamen. The European nations, including France, paid the pirates off, a form of extortion, which incidentally didn’t always succeed. Jefferson suggested they send armed vessels and destroy the pirate ships. They decided paying off was easier. So he and America went alone. The 36-gun frigate the “Enterprise” defeated the pirate gunboat “Tripoli” near Malta. Later a force was organized of naval officers and marines, which lead a small, group over 500 miles across the desert “to the shores of Tripoli” and an American armada bombarded Algiers before the pirates finally surrendered in 1815. To maintain the peace, the United States established permanent Mediterranean squadron, the precursor of today’s Sixth Fleet. Later in 1904 Theodore Roosevelt had to send the fleet to rescue a rich citizen kidnapped by a Moroccan warlord. He too had tried to enlist the aid of the Europeans but failed. So American’s romance with Europe concerning Middle Eastern countries from the very beginning of our history has been to go it alone. Now every hundred years we seem to be warring on the Middle East and doing it alone.

The best news in March for me is that the miracle of reading without reading glasses continues. I kept thinking that it was just a temporary marvel but it’s continuing has confirmed that it is here for at least some good while. I returned to the Optometrist who originally diagnosed the cataracts way back in December. He confirmed that my vision has not only returned it is better. He found only the right eye slightly nearsighted and suggested reading glasses for close work. I found them helpful when I work on the number paintings. I still find myself on occasion when I pick up a book or go to sit at the computer looking or feeling my pockets for my reading glasses!

The other good news is that the weather as the month moved on became more like we know Florida. We discovered that the 5 years plus of our stay here has made us semi-Floridians when it comes to the temperatures below 60. We laugh and note when we see someone at that temperature and below it to say 50 wearing shorts that he or she must be from Minnesota or Canada. We go to the long pants and long sleeves when those temperatures strike us. But as March winds down we are getting days up in the 80’s and nights staying above 60. There are still exceptions but on the whole we feel we are back to real Florida weather. Until next time, Pax Tecum!

“I feel how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the republic they died to serve. I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.”

Abraham Lincoln wrote these words in 1864 to a mother who had lost five sons fighting for the Union. I thought of them as I read and heard the news of the disintegration of the shuttle “Columbia” on February 1st . They aptly fit as remarks one could make to the loved ones of those seven crewmembers that died. I thought President Bush’s image of the stars going home and his quote from Isaiah very apt. “The crew of the shuttle Columbia did not return safely to Earth, yet we can pray that all are safely home”

There was a dramatic contrast between Super Sunday of January 26th and the Heroic Saturday of February 1st. The week after January 26th and for many days thereafter we had heroes that were really only ‘celebrities’, on Saturday we had “real” heroes. The sacrifice made by the crew of the Shuttle Columbia made the ‘sacrifice’ of professional football players’ look mighty paltry. It was a proper placing, in my opinion, of what we should consider “important” and earth shaking. How so many of us glory in the acts of professional game players as compared to those real men who face the challenge daily of making this a better world. It is a sad commentary on our culture. It reminded me of a short essay written ironically about a verse in Isaiah, but not the one chosen by President Bush. It was, “See, a king will rule justly and princes will rule rightly…. No more will fools be called noble, nor tricksters be considered honorable.” The questions the writer asked are “Where have all the heroes gone? Where are the men of courage, principle, and integrity, who operate with vision, drive and initiative and whose achievements are plain to see, beneficial, and far reaching? What happened to the great athletes who played through their pain, who believed they were role models to the young, and who invested their lives in their communities, playing for one team all their careers? People talk about the death of God. But what about the death of heroes?”

The attempts to answer those questions are more relevant this month than ever. We are hearing these days about a war for the purpose of destroying an ‘evil empire’, but we are not convinced, according to the media. We are not convinced of the evil of the empire or that it is a thing we should attempt. Is the answer that we live in a cynical age that respects nothing and reveres nobody. Since it is alleged that God is dead, apparently we can’t find a proper substitute. Values have lost their basis for belief. One author wrote, “As modern people we look not for the golden aura but for feet of clay, not for the shining example but for the cynical motive.” It was further noted that we see fewer “heroes” for the very simple reason that there aren’t as many around! “We have traded heroes for celebrities” The author’s conclusion is that we are lacking in heroes “because we have lost sight of God as an active participant in human lives.”
It is incidents like the death of these seven heroes who dedicated their lives to making the world a better place that sometime make us think. We had a similar reaction to the September 11th massacre but how quickly we forget. We know, and hope, that none of these conclusions reside with the readers of these ramblings. We couldn’t bring ourselves to let this opportunity pass for me to remind myself by writing this of what is “important”.

A semi-important incident in my health life will take place next week. I will have growing cataracts removed from my eyes. The right one on Tuesday Feb.11th and the left on Feb. 25th. The right eye is the worst of the two. It has a nuclear and sub-capsular condition. For those of you not familiar with this esoteric language of cataracts, it means one has it happening on the nucleus or center of the eyeball and the other, subcapsular, means it is under the back of the capsule or the elastic covering of the lens. The left one has only the nuclear condition. All of this professional jargon is the result of my searching on the net and discussions with the doctor. I just didn’t want you to think I am branching off into the study optics. I originally thought the blur in my right eye was due to all the medicine changes since my pseudo-TIA in September and October. It was not that but just another dividend of the “Golden Years”. The aging process effects some people with a lot more pain and loss of physical activity than a couple of blurred eyes. The operation takes about all of 10 minutes with some preparation the day before, but a promise in most cases of better vision with a few days afterwards. So we shall be thankful for one more gift. I was hoping the operation would result in my ‘looking’ better, but it will only result in my ‘seeing’ better. Barbara Nummi, a friend of ours, is the administrator of an apartment house for modest income adults. It has a building full of “golden-years” residents. She said some of them who had cataracts removed were upset by the condition it caused, namely “more wrinkles than I’ve ever had before” It apparently didn’t occur to some of them that it may just have been the result of seeing better!
I am happy to report now nearly a week since the operation that it was a grand success. I may not look any better but I am seeing much better. I even find in some circumstance where the light is good I do NOT even need the reading glasses. I look forward to the operation on the left eye on Tuesday the 25th with the hope that my seeing will be even more improved.
All this talk about golden years and ailments reminds me of an adage. “You know you are growing old when all the names in your ‘little black book’ end with M.D. after them” My book is filling up.

Our nation faces a great moral problem. Shall we go to war? We are told that it is proper and right because we are attacking evil and removing a threat to others and ours lives. The doubters have an easy retort to this suggestion, since the knowledge of the evilness and arms of Iraq are not clear, that we attack North Korea since we know they have a nuclear capability or almost so. The same cynics point to other motivations for the attack on Iraq like oil and it is easier to wage such a war. This is an easily drawn conclusion and we see many columnist and media pundits arguing it. What ever happen to our belief that the man we elected President would only act for a good and proper motive such as protection of our country? We have been sadly disappointed in the past with the motivation and conduct of our elected representatives, so that it is easy to be a doubter. I am one, or was one. But as I thought about it I realized that most of my cynicism or doubting might be lopsided. I didn’t doubt President Kennedy when he told us Russia and Cuba were setting up a nuclear launching base in Cuba. I couldn’t read those pictures taken from high in the sky anymore that I can read the present ones. Could it be that this ‘reasonable man’ is being influenced by partisan politics? It is always tough to trust. Whether it’s a loving partner, an attorney, doctor, or a spiritual leader. Yet when we do, we grow in faith in one another. I have come to believe that we should trust President Bush in that he is not acting with insufficient knowledge of the danger and has the safety and peace of our country as a goal. The fear is still there. The trust is still shaky but with the help of prayer and moral determination we can support him, our leader, until, and if, the evidence clearly indicates the motive was not as we trusted and believed.

I think all of this can be applied to the most recent argument: We should wait for the UN to be united. I think reason can help us with answers there. The record shows Iraq as ignoring the UN for years and that only this threat of action has brought the UN to act. I would like to see the UN behind our President and the world united in this effort but their failure to show much upset at the past violations by Iraq leaves me to doubt it will come to past. The ‘past is prologue’. It appears the sudden partial compliance has come about only with the threat of action.
Reading of all the protests now being made, reminds me of my brother Father Dick, an active peace lover who protested through out his life against any war, justified or not. I recently received a copy of a “The Catholic Peace Voice” newspaper of Jan/Feb 2003. It devoted a whole page to “Richard McSorley” an “ambassador of peace and founding member of Pax Christi USA”. It has a smiling picture of him included. He would not agree with anything I have written here. He was against all war, justified or not. He is now in heaven enjoying his reward for faithfulness but I am sure if we meet again in that heavenly abode we would still disagree, as we did in this abode about this and many other things. I admired his perseverance in his beliefs even when we disagreed. “The man who agrees with us that some questions, little regarded by others, is of great importance, can be our friend. He need NOT agree with us about the answers.” (C.S.Lewis) So it was with Brother Dick and I. We agreed the issues were of ‘great importance’ but not on the answers. I wonder too how any protesters would be treated in Iraq? I think we all know the answer to that question.

Pax Tecum!

The year 2002 is a memory. It is now in that data box in our head where things past are stored. Unfortunately, unlike the data boxes on a computer we have little control over what enters and remains there. We would like to delete some of them, or prohibit them from coming in, but the data box in the head doesn’t work like that. The only form of deletion we do have is time. Over a period of time we note that some of those things we stored are not re-stored quickly or not at all. It is very annoying too when those things stored that you would like to have moved over to the “forgotten” or delete box just won’t move. But be that as it may, we do enjoy looking back and into that box of good memories and the year 2002 had quite a few. Without giving any priority to any, the one that covered more of my time and interest was being a member of the Church’s call committee. It was a new experience in many ways. I had never played a part in selecting my spiritual adviser and leader in the prior 60 years of my life. Other than selecting which church I would attend. It was just not done. In my law practice I had never worked with an organization, committee, that hired someone. I had one secretary for 9 years, and then another for some 25 years, so hiring help was not one of my tasks. I had never worked on a committee outside of the politics whose particular goals were and are far removed from a pastoral call committee. It gave you an opportunity to meet a variety of personalities all dedicated to this important task but none of them leaving the individuality nor talents out side. I remember one of the earlier meetings when Cindy, one of the woman members, stepped up to the black board and drew a time line with comments as where we needed to go and the limits we had put upon us. Why I was surprised shows you how little I had worked with women committee members of any sort in the past who did usually little more than agree or offer useless complaints. The core idea that I received was that all the personal interest in the task was left behind and the goal became the “personal interest”, i.e., to obtain a dedicated spiritual leader for our congregation. The details of the meetings, the trips to go and listen to the nominee, the interviews, the preparation of lengthy documents called “profiles”, all were overshadowed by the importance of our decision. A goal oriented group whether to win a football game or fix a community problem always creates and is directed by a spirit. It becomes almost tangible in some instances and with us it seemed so. We would call it a Holy Spirit since our task was of such a spiritual nature. When we reached for unanimity on our selection to present to the Church council and the congregation, it was not without its doubts by a few and the enthusiasm of others. What was amazing to me, and to others, is when the task was accomplished and we selected David Swenson, a former pastor from Madison, Wisconsin, we were ready to accept pats on the back as to our wisdom and ability. We were ready to do that publicly but privately we were amazed at the choice we had made. I made it a point, after the performance of the ‘prospect’ Dave that had just won a 90% plus vote of approval by the congregation, of thanking him for “making us look so good”. We had done our job but we all looked back in awe of how well we had done it. It was proof to us that that Spirit surely led us down this chosen path without our really knowing it. So it will be a great and happy memory for the box marked “2002” in my head.

The proud grandpop had three other memorable events in the graduation of the twins, David and Sean, and Tommy from High School. We feel particularly close to the twins since they spent the early part of their lives in our lives. We later had them as companions on our trips bringing us surprises on every one of them. We, June and I, often are ready to accept all that they do well as a result of those years with us and reluctantly admit that their parents, Walt and Tracy may have played a small part in their successes. They along with Tommy as we have noted in earlier issues all finished with high honors and won scholarships to what are called, by some, “prestigious” colleges. As the year wound down and they were finishing their first semester it was encouraging to see how well they were adapting to a whole new life. Sean and Dave were here to spend some time at Christmas and we got an in person report. Tommy has given us one via emails. He has become an assistant editor for the Harvard Independent, a weekly paper of the school. He is in the Art department and reviews cultural events such as plays, stand up comics, movies and even an advocate for the retaining of building to allow its dance program to grow. His articles are on the web page www.harvardindependent.com if you care to jump in for a look.

The year brought to an end our house being surrounded by swirling dust on a road oozing with mud. The new road and sewers going both up and down Connecticut Ave. and Helena Street, our corner, were in place. We happily said good bye to our enforced “gated community” since for it to remain meant more dust and mud. It appears so far that the drainage is working since we have been inundated this fall with more rain than many previous years and we are not flooding at the usual intersections on Connecticut Avenue.

The year’s last few months, November and December saw a return to me of good health and energy. It is so much so that I am back to the standard old problem of having to watch my weight since it is eagerly expanding. We have been managing to get a walk of some kind in almost daily, except when weather such as rain and cold windy days make it too tough.

As the year wound down I spent a good part of it reading about Theodore Roosevelt and his term of office a hundred years ago. The biography was entitled “Theodore Rex” and was written by Edmund Morris. I learned that the title of “Theodore Rex” was a name given by the author Henry James after some visits to the White House. My previous knowledge of Teddy was from reading about his bringing the Panama Canal to United States in John McCulllough’s “Path between the Seas” the story of the creation of the canal. I remembered him too as a character in the play “Arsenic and Old Lace” which we had seen years ago. In that play, as you may recall, the nephew of the two Victorian Ladies believes he is Teddy Roosevelt. Each time he proceeds up the flight stairs on the rear of the stage he shouts “Charge” after drawing his imaginary sword. The way most people are reminded of Teddy is as the Rough Rider leader of the charge up San Juan Hill in the Spanish American War in Cuba in 1898. Another way is “Teddy Bear”. I didn’t know it but those cuddly little bears came to life in 1902 as a result of a cartoon of Teddy bear hunting in Mississippi. He loved to hunt. He went on a bear hunt and had no success. His friends therefor captured one and tied him to a tree. Teddy arriving back after an unsuccessful attempt sees the animal bloody and nearly dead. He tells his friends to put it out of its misery since he is not so poor a sportsman as to shoot a captured animal. The event was captured by a political cartoonist Charles Berryman in the Washington Post. It showed a black bear being roped about the neck by a very white catcher. Roosevelt is shown turning away in disgust. The caption under the cartoon read, “Drawing the line in Mississippi”. The public like the bear cartoon so much it cried for more. The bear kept appearing but slowly shrunk to being just a cuddly cub with “big ears like a prickly pear”. It caused FAO Schwartz to have bear cub dolls made for them to sell. A guy named Michael Michton of Brooklyn New York made one too. He asked the President for permission to name him after him, thus came “Teddy”. The President agreed he could but thought it would be of little advantage to Michael or the bear. This year in November, 2002 “Teddy Bear” was one hundred years old !

The most impressive thing to me about his life was the scope of his interest. He read voraciously. He made a living writing before his politicking; he loved the outdoors and an active life. He had a tennis court built next to the White House. He was a good and loving father and husband. He was a Noble prizewinner for this mediation of the Russian-Japanese war. He refused to spend the money on himself or his family since he rightly believed he was chosen as arbiter because he was the President. In other words he was a great deal more than just a “rough rider” or soldier of fortune.

The author summed up his achievements:”..official histories would celebrate his administrative achievements, the Monroe Doctrine reaffirmed, the Old World banished from the New World, the great Canal being cut; peace established in the Far East; the Open Door swinging freely in Manchuria and Morocco; Cuba liberated (and returned to self government just in time for his departure); the Philippines pacified; the Navy hugely strengthened, known literally around the world; the Army shorn of its old deadwood generals …;capital and labor balanced off, the lynch rate declining, the gospel of cleaner politics now actually a gospel, and enough progressive principles established, or made part of the national debate, to keep the legislative reformers busy for ten years.”

As an off shoot of my remembering Theodore Roosevelt as the character “Teddy” in “Arsenic and Old Lace” I re-read the play. It was as funny as when I saw it. I found one more humorous piece, it was in the arrival home of another nephew Jonathan with his plastic surgeon. They are hiding out but it seems the plastic surgeon’s work has made Jonathan look like “Boris Karloff” much to his chagrin. He plans to have that altered. People keep saying “You look like Boris Karloff”. In the original case, guess who played the part? You’re right Boris Karloff. Till next time, Pax Tecum.

The year comes to an end. As all things must. It gives us thoughts of our own end, which comes as inevitably as the end of the year. My recent bouts, with whatever it was, made me think of the fact that no one lives forever. It gave more meaning to the sign by my door, which reads. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life!” And so it is. While harboring these thoughts recently I had added to them, by way of a sermon, as to how we are conditioned to think of life in cyclical terms. By that is meant that we think now of the events of Christmas and all it entails, then of New Year’s celebration, and then of what the New Year will bring, as so on. We seldom recall or think of our lives in terms of a line, linearly. We are here and now but soon we will be but a memory since our line of time will run out. This is not meant to be morose or gloomy but just realistic about something we seldom speak of or discuss. It is interesting to see that “Tuesday’s with Morrie”, a best seller, in which there were a series of discussions or sermons by a teacher waiting to come to the end of his life. His reflections were on the making use of the time we have in that line called life to make our lives more meaningful. He notes that it get its meaning from the giving of love and help to others. It was a best seller I suppose since people could “read” it. It was not meant to become talk at a round table, much less the dinner table.

Time has been one thing I have had much more of since I am not hopping into the car to go off to hither and yon. (I received permission to drive again on December 3.) When you limit your car travel to only necessary journeys, and those by other drivers, it reduces them quite a bit. You need to call on friends, and we have had plenty of offers, which requires that the journey should be a required one. Whenever I think of “time” and its proper use I hear my father speaking once again. He constantly reminded me to “Stop wasting your time! Use it for something good!” We differed often on the meaning of “good”. It was a worthwhile idea and as did the character in the Irish play “Da” I feel him in the room whenever I find myself playing one more game of computer ‘free cell’, or the likes, while projects like these jottings, or reading to be finished, are left un-attacked.

There being more time available led me back to playing chess on the computer. I have had the CD for sometime and only used it occasionally. Well, after a few losses from stupid moves I found myself angry. I laughed when I read in the life of the sixth President of U.S., John Quincy Adams, that he too had a tough time controlling his anger when losing a game. He had given the game up while in Europe but then on the long boat ride home, not having his books to keep him occupied, he took it up again. He even found some books in the Ship’s Library, which helped him, improve his game. “Yet rage at losing continued ‘to a degree bordering on madness’. He feared that since chess was such a ‘painful test of intellect’, it affected his emotions too much to be a sport”. That raises the question, “When is a ‘game’ not a ‘game’? “The answer for some is, ‘when it is golf’, or maybe chess. I read the excerpt from the Adams biography to June and she smiled indicating her agreement. Yes, it sounded like her husband and his reaction to losing any game!

In reading the life of JQA, or John Quincy Adams, I have now completed the biographies of four of the first six Presidents. I missed Washington and Monroe. I hadn’t planned to go down any list of President bios but it just occurred to me as I was reading JQA’s. While reading JQA’s bio I was also reading a novel about the revolution called “Rise to Rebellion” which of course had Washington, the Adams, Samuel and John, Jefferson, Franklin, and others discussing in public and private the dastardly acts to the colonies by George III and his Prime Minster. It was fun hearing John Adams talking in the novel while walking his son John Q. of what was going on in Philadelphia. Then at the same time I am reading about that son’s actions in places like St. Petersburg, Amsterdam, Ghent and London as a representative of this newly born country.

The islands of Sulu Archipelago are in the news. It is an island in the Philippines where the Muslims have once again taken over the island. A short while ago they even held some Americans as hostage, but I think that matter was resolved. Even now though the Muslims hold the island. Sulu is a stretch of some 400 islands, which run from the bottom of the Philippines over to Borneo. The Philippines and Sulu have often been in the McSorley’s lives. I was reminded of Sulu both by those recent reports in our newspaper and to the problems in the Philippines in the first term of Teddy Roosevelt. This I learned from a biography on Teddy, entitled “Theodore Rex”. He inherited the problems when President McKinley was assassinated and we were still governing the islands in our benign imperialistic age of 1895 and on. Both items brought back the visit I made to Sulu in l970 and the many contacts the McSorley family have had with the Philippine Island. When I was ten, in 1939, my oldest brother, Frank, was ordained a priest and went to the Philippines as a missionary. My next oldest brother Father Dick who went out to teach as a scholastic in the Jesuits followed him. Part of the training of the Jesuit is a three-year term of teaching and his was to be in the Islands. Frank was down in the southern end, at Cotabato, and Dick was in the middle on the western side of the islands. Along came the Japanese in 1941 and with the capture of the Islands both brothers were interned. Frank was taken from Davao, Cotabato up to Manila, to Santo Tomas University which became a concentration camp. When MacArthur returned to the Philippines among the troops if not exactly then but later, my brother John was sent there with a Marine Air Squadron. On a routine mission to ascertain what if any Japanese troops remained his plane was shot down. He was transferred to Manila and was about to have a leg amputated when Frank some how or other discovered he was there. He interceded and John did not lose his leg. Sometime later Dick was also released and ended up in Manila. Dick then learned that part of John’s squadron had assisted in the chasing off Dick’s Japanese guards. The air-raid over the place where they were resulted in the prisoners being abandoned quickly instead of being killed. The three, Frank, Dick, and John appeared on the front page of the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin some time in 1944-45. I remember the great relief my mother and dad had in as much they had no certain knowledge that Frank and Dick were alive. They had no information on where John was until that picture. My brother Joe a Naval officer was around the same time in Manila Harbor. So he added to the McSorley’s who made a stop in the Philippines. In 1948 my brother Jim, an ordained priest, selected the Philippines as he first mission. John son Richard went of to Philippines to attend a college being run by the Oblate fathers some time after 1958 when Frank was now the Bishop of the Sulu Vicariate. Lastly, sister Marge and I went to Sulu in l970 to represent the family in the burial of Bishop Frank who died there. Of the seven boys only one Pat never paid a visit or worked in the Islands. So any news of the Philippines, and most of it recently has been of the area of Sulu, brings back memories of the family members whom at one time were there. The news indicates that Sulu is now completely under the control of the Moslems. When Frank was the bishop in Sulu he built several schools and medical centers. He permitted the student who attended his schools to have classes after the school day in the study Islam religion. The classes were on the same property as the schools. This was before the Vatican Council and was unheard of in Catholic schools in U.S.A. It was ecumenism before I ever heard of the word. When he died there was a long delay in naming a successor, and in the interim the radical Muslims groups began again to gain control. There was finally named Bishop but apparently the gap in time caused a loss of the ground Frank had gained. Some time in 1997 or a bit earlier the Catholic newspaper in Philadelphia reported the news that the “first Bishop of Sulu had just be appointed, and he was a Filipino”. My sister Winnie got off a note advising them that they were dead wrong since the first bishop of Sulu was none other than a Philadelphian. Sic transit gloria mundi!

“Since 9/11 has been an unmistakably Clausewitzian flavor to American foreign policy. War, it seems has made a comeback this year as a legitimate tool for the ‘continuation of political intercourse'” (N. Ferguson, 12/15/02 N.Y Times Mag.) How sadly true this is! Christmas brings thoughts of peace. “Peace on Earth!” was the cry and song of the angels. How devoutly we do wish that it would be. Every day another war seems to be continued or started and peace is no where evident in many parts of the globe. It seems the Angels cry has fallen on deaf ears. May the Peace of the Season be with you all and bring you a New Year full of even more.

Until next time, Dominus Vobiscum. The Lord be with you !