Advanced Writing at Siena College

Well, I got the very last seat in Writing 200, i.e., Advanced Writing. It meets every Tuesday evening from 6 PM until 8:50PM in Room 105 in the main building of Siena College. Last Tuesday was the first class I attended even though the course had actually started a week earlier. The tuition-paying students get first preference and I had to wait to see if there were any openings left.
So this is what I wrote about my first evening of class.

I walk gingerly over the icy snow and ascend the wide, steep concrete steps to the front door of Siena’s most majestic building; the one with the golden dome and the bell chimes that remind me every 15 minutes, over and over again, that time is fleeting.

I wanted to arrive early so I could explain myself to the Professor before she scanned the class and noticed an old woman sitting at one of her student’s desks. I imagined she would assume there had been some type of misunderstanding. I could even hear her say to me, Can I help you? Are you looking for someone? As I walk down the hall I’m feeling completely intimated and I start to question myself, why, in God’s name, did ever decide to do this in the first place?

Actually, this is not the first time I’m taking advantage of one of the few beneficial things about aging, i.e., the ability to audit a college course for next to nothing. And, it seems all the more valuable to me after I read the Siena College Catalogue and notice that the younger “regular” students are paying a small fortune for the same information. But, honestly I’d be glad to pay the fifteen hundred dollars if it meant I could be 20 years old again. What Senior Citizen wouldn’t trade places in a heartbeat?

Because I audited a course last semester, one aspect of my anxiety is already resolved; I know exactly where to find Room 105. Last summer, while attending an evening program at the Delmar Library presented by a local Peace Activist Group, I left my e-mail address on a sheet of paper at the back of the room. Shortly afterwards I received an e-mail regarding a course, Peace Building though the Arts, being offered at Siena College in the Fall. Although it sounded intriguing, it was a three credit course and at $500 per credit, it was way over my budget. Just as I was about to press the delete key I noticed some small print, for those over 62 the course fee will be waived. Holy Cow, this is fantastic, I think and before you know it I’m all signed up and ready to go. On the first night of that course, the anxiety I felt about my age was quickly resolved when I entered the classroom and saw a bunch of enthusiastic -looking gray-haired old ladies sitting there. There were so many of them in fact that it was the young kids that looked out of place.

So you see, even though last semester’s course was held in the same building, on the same floor and directly across the hall from this classroom, in my mind the experiences are light years apart. I know that this year I will stand alone. I will be the only one with graying hair, sagging breasts, gnarled fingers and wrinkled skin.

I see 105 written on the sign outside the door. Before I enter I notice that the classroom is already filled with students. I swallow hard, take a deep breath and walk through the open doorway to face a sea of youthful faces. As I enter, I’m thinking these kids must be wondering, who the heck is this old woman? I smile weakly and say Hi. Oh God, why did I do that, why did I say Hi, probably no one does that sort of thing anymore. Why didn’t you just keep your mouth shut? I walk quickly to the most easily accessible desk and lower myself into the seat. When I’m safely there, I decide I have to take control I realize it is high time I start playing some positive tapes. Oh God, Here I go again showing my age. Does anyone even use tapes anymore? OK, let’s call it a Pep Talk. I say to myself, Mary, you can do this. You didn’t get to be 65 years old without taking a few risks, without stepping out of your comfort zone once in awhile. Just put one foot in front of the other and propel yourself forward. Remember, you love to write. You have so many wonderful people you want to share, so many great stories to tell. You have a different perspective and you are looking at life from another vantage point. Don’t give up this opportunity. Learn. Contribute. Do your best. And know there is a reason you are here.

Winter Veggie Bisque

I recently made some soup for a dear friend who was recuperating from surgery. Earlier in the day, I was sitting in the waiting room at a doctor's office, skimming through some magazines to pass the time. Interestingly, I always seem to seek out the same sort of magazines. I guess that says a lot about who I am and what is important to me. I bet you do the same thing. For instance I never pick up magazines to do with Hunting and Fishing, Business and Finance or Sports. No matter how bored I get I just can't seem to get interested in them. On the other hand, I'm happy to see anything to do with People, Food, Psychology, Home and Health or Travel lying on the table. I might even grab two magazines at once (say People Magazine and Family Circle)so that I'm not left empty-handed or with a dreaded choice such as Money magazine. OK so now I've really gone off on a tangent, haven't I?
The point is that while I was waiting to be called to see the doctor, I started looking through a 2011 issue of Family Circle magazine, and came across a section containing several really appetizing-looking soup recipes. Isn't this a great time of year to try a new soup recipe? With temperatures in the teens, winds blowing, and snow and ice storms coming at us from all directions, what could be more comforting than coming face to face with a big bowl of steaming, delicious-smelling, home-made soup?
One particular recipe jumped out at me - it was something called Winter Veggie Bisque. For a moment I thought about pulling the recipe page out of the magazine. Almost immediately my internal censor held me back. What about the next readers? How disappointed they would feel when they realized the recipe had already been confiscated. My feelings of guilt won out. I am Catholic after-all.
As I was standing at the exit desk waiting for my follow-up appointment, I decided that I really wanted this recipe badly. Hand-copying it did not appear to be an agreeable option to me at that point since I had already spent over two and a half hours in the dear Doctor's office, and I was more than ready to leave. The perceptive receptionist saw the look of longing in my eyes and said understandingly, Would you like me to make a copy of something for you?
Oh yes, I replied and within a second I had my coveted recipe safely in my hand and was on my way to making my soup. It was so delicious as a matter of fact, I am including the recipe. Enjoy!
Love, Mary Beth

Winter Veggie Bisque

Makes 6 servings - Prep 15 minutes, cook 12 minutes

1 large onion, peeled & halved

1 Granny Smith apple, peeled & cored

3 carrots, trimmed & peeled

2 TBLS unsalted butter

2 packages (12 ounces each) frozen cooked winter squash, thawed

3 cups vegetable broth

2 Tablespoons sugar

1 teaspoons sugar

1 teaspoon ground ginger

¾ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

_1/8 teaspoon cayenne

½ cup heavy cream

1. Shred onion, apple and carrots either with a box grater or with a shedding blade in a food processor. Heat butter in large pot over medium heat. Add shredded onion, apple and carrots. Cook 7 minutes, until softened.

2. Stir in squash, ginger, salt, cinnamon and cayenne. Bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer 5 minutes.

3. Transfer mixture to food processor fitted with chopping blade or to blender. Puree until smooth (do this in batches, if necessary). Return to pot and stir in heavy cream.* Gently heat through.

Per serving 210 calories; 11 g fat (7 g saturated fat); 1 g protein; 27 g carbohydrates; 4 g fiber; 800 mg sodium; 37 mg cholesterol

· You can use fat free half & half or something similar instead of the heavy cream in order to lower the fat content.

Flipping a Coin for Dr. Coyne -

Inquiring minds want to know what happened to the rest of the "Flipping a Coin for Dr. Coyne' story. I promise to finish the story soon. I even hope to send the final copy to Dr. Coyne since I think he would get a kick out of it.
But, I have been too busy living life. Today was a snow day (really should have been called an ice day) and the schools were closed here in the Capital District so once again we had a little visitor for the day by the name of Connor. One little 5 year old boy can keep you busier than a one armed paper hanger. But what fun it is.
I am going to attempt to attach a moving picture but I have never done it before so don't know if I'll be successful.
Love, Mary Beth

A Weekend in the Big Apple

Bob & I were lucky enough to spend the Martin Luther King weekend in NYC with some wonderful friends. The restaurants we picked worked out fantastically, the Skyline hotel was great, the musical, Memphis, could not have been better (we had marvelously good seats in the 5th row of the Orchestra). The weather was quite decent given the fact that it is, after all, mid-January. But as always the most magnificent gift of all was the quality time we got to spend with some dear friends. And some of our best moments were the very ordinary moments.
In the evening after dinner we all meandered without direction through Times Square, wandering in and out of stores, taking in the bright lights and the massive colorful video advertisements that surrounded us on all sides. We smelt delicious chocolate smells at the Hersey Store and saw mammoth cylinders of M & Ms in every imaginable color. We observed the wonder on the faces of other spectators as they tried to capture the perfect photo of the most famous crossroad in the world. I, for one, enjoyed hearing the diversity of languages being spoken all around me. I liked that everyone seemed happy and friendly. Some out-of-towners asked to pose with NY City's Finest and they obliged. No one seemed worried or on edge. It was an ordinary, amazing night.
In case you want to benefit from our experiences, I have included a list of the places we went:

Hotel:

The Skyline Hotel NYC @ 725 10th Ave & 49th Street NY, NY, 10019

Website: www.skylinehotelny.com Hotel Tel: 212-586-3400

Direct Dial # (212) 609-2110, Cellular # (516) 426-2300

Matthew David Fisher, Corporate Sales Manager

Check in is at 3PM but we plan to be there a little earlier and will check in asap

Check out is at 12N

I believe it is $10 to park in the hotel garage.

Restaurants:

Excellent Italian Restaurant in Theatre District

Trattoria Trecolori Italian Restaurant

254 West 47^th Street

NY, NY (Between Broadway & 8^th Avenue)

Phone: (212) 997-4540

info@trattoriatrecolori.com

Excellent Japanese Restaurant in Theatre District

Natsumi Japanese Restaurant

226 West 50th Street (between Broadway & 8^th Avenue)
New York, NY 10019

Phone: (212) 258-2988 ‎

Sunday Dessert (if desired Singing waiters & waitresses – diner type food not particularly known for its food but a fun experience)

Ellen's Stardust Diner, 1650 Broadway (corner of 51st St), NY, NY 10019

Phone: (212) 956-5151

Theatre:

Memphis the Musical

Shubert Theatre

225 West 44th Street (between Broadway & 8^th Ave)
New York, NY 10036

Roman Catholic Church

St. Malachy’s Church – The Actor’s Chapel

239 West 49^th St (near 8^th Ave. & Broadway)

NY, NY 10019

212-489-1340

More of the White Stuff

Well, surprise, surprise it snowed again. Yesterday, Albany County got 15 inches of snow.
The schools were closed and Connor spent his snow day at his Mema & Papa's house. His Papa pulled him around the neighborhood on his sled and played with him in the Snow Castle that he made in the circle across the street from our house. Connor also enjoyed making angels in the snow although he wasn't completely satisfied with his results. I guess he was expecting his creation to look exactly like an angel whereas the truth of the matter was that it looked a bit more like snow that had been smashed down and pushed around. Can't you just relate to his feelings? Aren't there times when you feel like you put a whole lot of effort into something and it simply doesn't turn out the way you had hoped. Such is life, I guess.
When Connor came back into the house complaining of being "freezing" his Mema warmed his rosy red cheeks, and fixed him hot chocolate and grilled cheese. The day went along relatively smoothly until Connor finished his little art project (he cut out and decorated hearts and wrote I Love You on each heart and then glued them in a row onto a string - very cute and very creative). He got the idea from the a Christmas gift subscription to Highlights magazine that my friend, Mary Ann, had given him. (By the way, this is a great gift idea, it keeps on giving all year long.) This month's copy couldn't have come on a better day. But - and isn't there always a but - Connor was so wonderfully engrossed in his marvelous art project that his Papa decided to take a moment to check out his e-mails (Mema was at her annual GYN appointment, so you can't blame her). When Papa returned to the kitchen he was, shall we say, a bit surprised, to see the new hairstyle Connor was sporting. Yes, Connor decided to take the scissors into the bathroom and cut his own hair. When I asked him, why would you do such a thing?, he told me he was just doing his Mom a favor so she wouldn't have to take him for a haircut. His Mom was not thrilled by the favor. He now has a sweet little buzz cut and the damage is a lot less noticeable.
I'm just happy he didn't hurt himself.

Missing Sister Mauretia

I was trying to sleep but as usual this is when my mind starts working overtime. I spoke to my Dad this evening and he shared how lonesome he was feeling for his dear friend, Sister Mauretia. I'm feeling terribly lonesome also. I didn't realize the impact her death would have on me. Possibly it is because of the close connection she had to my mother and my father; possibly it is because she lived so close and was a support through some of life's traumas and a sharer in so many of the important joyous moments of my life as well. Whatever it is, I'm sad and I miss her. I wish we could have said a more direct good-bye. Why is that typically so difficult to do?
I'd like to share a little poem that was read at Sister Mauretia's Prayer Service. It was a poem that Sister Mauretia wrote in 1972 when she was on an Easter retreat at the St. Joseph's Provincial House.

My Little Bits

When I compare my love for You
Against Your great love for me, my God,
It is only a "little bit".

No matter what the pain or suffering
You shall ask of me - in contrast to
The indignations you endured,
It is only a "little bit".

The very earth sings out its glory to You.
The birds and bunnies are Your creation.
The sky - the clouds - the breezes blown
The beauty of each flower
The majesty of each tree praise You
And I, my God, can give only
My "little bit".

Yet the "little bit" is all I have
I freely give to You my peace and joy,
My love and praise, all my growth and change,
That seeking You I may find You in my fellow man.

And when Your gentle, loving Voice
Whispers my name to "come"
May all my little bits be gathered together
To become the reflection of You in me

written by Sr. Mauretia Kelly, CSJ, 1972

Personally, I thought that this was the most meaningful reflection shared at Sister Mauretia's Prayer Service.
The photo above was taken at the St. Joseph Provincial House shortly after Sister's body was brought to its' final resting place. Just before leaving the House, the Sisters of St. Joseph sang the most beautiful hymn. I'll have to see if I can get a copy of the words.

The Reflection I Presented this Evening at Sr. Mauretia's Prayer Service

I have known Sister Mauretia for as long as I can remember. I felt great sadness when I heard of her passing. Oh I'm sure she's fine, I have no doubt of that. Don’t you just know that she’s probably already rearranging things to her liking up there in heaven.

But even though I have no fear for Sister, I couldn’t help mourn the loss of a dear friend. I will miss her sage advice and her political support. She & I were of the same political persuasion and it was great to have her as an ally in those political debates with my father. I will miss the great family stories she shared with me. The last time my Dad & I saw Sister Mauretia was during her recent hospitalization at Albany Memorial Hospital. Interestingly, even though she had had a very bad night, she seemed determined to drill the family facts into my thick skull once and for all. Oh Mary I told you, don’t you remember?, she would say to me when for the millionth time I attempted to clarify the facts about who married who and how exactly they were related to each other. That last visit together, she also told me that my Grandfather, TJ. O'Donnell, had dated her Mother, Kate Hannon and my Grandmother, Margaret Coleman, had dated her Father, James Kelly, before realizing that it worked much better the other way around.

So by now you may be wondering - how exactly where we connected?

It just so happened that my Mother's Great Aunt, Bridget Byrne, had married Sister Mauretia's, Great Uncle, Patrick O'Reilly. They lived on a beautiful old farm in a quaint country hamlet named, St. Joseph’s, Pennsylvania. When my mother was a little girl growing up in Brooklyn, she loved coming up to the country every summer since both her parents were born and raised on farms in the Endless Mountains of PA. While there, she was often invited to stay overnight at her Aunt Bridge's farm in St. Joseph's PA. On many of these occasions, another little girl would be invited to stay overnight also. This little girl happened to be none other than Uncle Patrick’s grand niece, Anne Kelly, aka Sr. Mauretia. My mother loved these special times and over the years she and Anne Kelly became best of friends. Sometimes, Anne’s brother, Paul, would be staying over at the farmhouse too. Many years later, my mother loved to tease my Dad telling him that she had slept with Paul Kelly before she ever slept with him. She left out the part that she was a little child and Aunt Daisy was in the bed between them – why spoil a perfectly scandalous story!

When they grew up, Anne Kelly realized that she was being called to the religious life as a Sister of St. Joseph. My mother, not wanting to let go of her friend, told Anne that she would become a nun also. Anne was wise and understood that God had other plans in mind for my mother. Ever the teacher, she was correct of course and my father, Charlie, and I are glad that she was so willing to share her wisdom with my Mom.

Even though they traveled different paths, they remained wonderful, steadfast friends throughout their lives. Back in October of 1940 young women were not permitted to leave the novitiate simply to attend the wedding of a best friend. My mother however was thrilled when she was able to make the trip up from Brooklyn to the city of Troy to witness Sister Mauretia’s profession of final vows. Many years later my Mom & I happened to be driving towards the Hudson River Bridge when she suddenly recognized a building on a hillside on the opposite side of the river. She was so excited when she realized that this was the place she came to celebrate with her dear friend, Sister Mauretia all those many years ago. She even made me drive around to locate the YWCA where she stayed for the night.

By the time my husband & I married in 1971, dear Pope John the 23^rd had opened some windows and doors and Sister Mauretia and a dear Sister friend from the Midwest (wish I could remember her name) were able to come to Brooklyn to attend our wedding. They had a marvelous time and it was a blessing for us to have them with us to celebrate our big day.

Eventually my parents migrated from Brooklyn up to the Capital District. Shortly afterwards Sister Mauretia retired to the Provincial House here in Latham, So, as fate would have it, or should I say as God designed it, Sister Mauretia was living at the St. Joseph's Provincial House during my mother's final illness. Once again as in their childhood, they shared a bedroom, as Sr. Mauretia sat by my mother's side and held her hand in her last days on this earth. I overheard Sister reciting the names of all the people who would be there to meet my mother at the pearly gates.

And since my mother's death in 1998, Sister has remained a true and faithful friend to my Dad, Charlie, as he was to her. He enjoyed chauffeuring Sister Mauretia to every Dollar store in a 30 mile radius of the provincial house. He was also forever hunting for Sister‘s specific brand of Gingersnaps. And my Dad felt certain he was earning some credit in heaven when he brought hot cross buns for Sister Mauretia and her friends on the 5^th floor. I, being the daughter of Charlie & Rita benefited too from this marvelous friendship.

Being a garage sale/thrift shop fanatic, I appreciated the fact that Sister Mauretia always gave me a personal invitation to the fabulous mission sale held every year at the Provincial House.

I must confess there was a time I was a bit afraid of Sister Mauretia, maybe you’ve heard she could be tough.

But as I matured, I grew to love the fact that Sister was not a shrinking violet and was more than willing to express her views on all kinds of topics. She was a great role model of real womanhood. She never seemed like an old lady to me, she knew the score and no one was going to pull the wool over her eyes. Even at the end, she called all the shots. There was no use arguing with her, once Sister made up her mind. She was finished with this life on earth; it was time for her to go and that was that.

However, I do believe she is still accepting prayer requests. Thanks Sister Mauretia and by the way would you do me one more favor - Please give my Mom a great big hug for me. I know she’ll be happy to see you again.
Love, Rita and Charlie's Daughter, Mary Beth

The photo was taken in the St. Joseph's Provincial House Chapel the day of Sister's funeral.