Flipping the calendar to a new year feels like a fresh start, a clean slate – kind of like Catholic Confession. We set goals to lose weight, eat healthy, take vitamins, and floss daily. Some pledge to change in deeper ways, to create, to make a difference in the lives of others. We want to be better human beings, greater contributors to society, and better caretakers of our health. This led me to an extensive to-do list.

Resolution List:

1) Write 2) Be prompt 3) Stop talking so much 4) Call the kids three times per week 5) Visit Mom once per week 6) Call my mother-in-law once per week 7) Learn to knit 8) Learn to cook 9) Quit swimming so much – related to #1 – you can’t write while in the pool and my skin is so so itchy 10) Stop fretting about things I can’t control 11) Stop biting my nails and cuticles – related to previous item 12) Eat only real food; eliminate preservatives 12) Remember my vitamins 13) Grow spiritually 14) Fear less 13) Stop after two glasses of wine.

Thank you, Tim, family, and dear friends for putting up with a perpetual train-catching, Tostito-munching  dreamer / yapper who spends 90% of her free time running, swimming, going to yoga, drinking wine and lamenting how she wants to be a better mother, daughter, friend, believer, artist, cook, and philanthroper and often gets so wound up that she naws her finger tips til they bleed.

That was rough. Ouch. Upon review, Resolution List #1 includes 16 weekly phone calls – no can do. Cell phones are out while running, doing yoga, swimming, praying, and working. State laws prohibit calls while driving, and that’s often the only time I am not moving, writing, or working. I try to be early, but in my quest to be present, I lose track of time. I’m working on that. Food restrictions might be good for my cholesterol, but they wreck havoc on trips with friends to Taco Real in Hammond. Am I supposed to skip the queso fundido and chips? Wine headaches are an issue, but there must be an alternative.

Revised Resolution List :

1) Write 2) Be on time 3) Listen and pay attention 4) Love unconditionally. The kids, my mom, and loved ones have their own lives, and they don’t need scheduled talks with me to feel my love 5) Find balance in my fanatical desire to exercise 6) Have faith 7) Switch to vodka.

The revision remains too complex for a focused 2016 goal.

Final Resolution List:

1) Love – love others, love life, love what you do, love who you are, and love God – and skip the booze.

Yesterday, while slipping and sliding through the ice in Rogers Lakewood Park with Molly, her husband Tim, and our dogs, I asked, “So do you have any new year’s resolutions?” Molly answered, “I haven’t thought about it. How ’bout you?” Without hesitation, I said, “I have a list as long as my arm.” Luckily Molly’s husband Tim chimed in with one specific, love, faith and hope-filled goal for 2016 that quieted by potential litany of desired life changes.

Tim has it right – one focus – one thing to put your energy into and to give your all. What is yours? Mine is to write – to share, to craft words of hope, humor, and honesty, and to glorify God.

January is my do or die month. Either write or shut up about it. Shit or get off the pot. Draw a line in the sand. Apply the discipline of marathon training to art. Create a plan of long and short runs, major brainstorming and scrutinizing edits, stresses and recovery. Say no to the second glass of wine when you have a long write in the morning.  It worked with the 20-milers, so why not with this new goal?

I think I’ll go online and scope out a trail marathon. I’ve never done one of those before.

Don’t know when I’ll be back again. Oh Grandma, I hate to go.”

I feel guilty when I sit still. I feel like I have to be reading, writing, grading, learning, viewing, . . . picking my nails, anything. I envy Tim’s ability to relax. He and Watson are peas in a pod after I get back from a run with that dog. They can both just sit – Tim reads and Watson pants. Meanwhile, I putz. I’m sure my intermittent commentary drives Tim crazy, but he tolerates it calmly. He stays in his groove while I ruminate and roam.  In the June edition of Mindful magazine, Christine Carter’s article “Relax into your Sweet Spot” exposes the dangers of this mindless busyness. Carter argues that finding a balance is more than coordinating your calendar. It’s about taking joy in doing nothing, in resting, in imagining.

As a compulsive doer, the concept of just sitting is hard for me to grasp – unless I’m on the beach with friends, but there I visit, story tell, and laugh.  At home, I feel guilty if I’m not cleaning, organizing, eliminating, and donating. I actually daydream about getting rid of stuff. At work, programs, meetings, class preparation, student interaction, policy review, grading, networking, advocating, and scheduling consume my day, not to mention using technology tools and trying desperately keep up with them.

Carter argues that we need to be content with stillness. Believe me, I love a good shavasana in yoga, but that’s only because an instructor has relentlessly stretched every guitar string, I mean hamstring in my legs. Ping! Breathing is supposed to help, but I find I’m too busy marveling at the detox sweat pouring down my legs.

So why the constant need to do something, to accomplish, to produce, to satisfy, to tick an item of a list? I wonder if it’s because I fear the stillness of not moving. The rhythm of movement in a run or in the lap pool gives me a sense of peace.

Yesterday at mass, I sat across from a boy who had been in a tragic bike accident while at Purdue. He sat serenely in his wheelchair, and I noticed that he can now move his head from left to right, a seemingly impossible feat six months ago. I prayed for a miracle for him to be able to move his legs. And I also thanked God for the still moment that enabled me to feel intense compassion and love for this young man and his parents.

I’m going to try to take Carter’s advice in finding my sweet spot. I’m going to sit outside and watch the breeze. But first I have to finish this post and switch a load of laundry.

This is a true story. I swear on the Bible.  As we start to think about a new school year, I feel the need to share something that happened last September when I opted to take on Cross Fit as a new form of exercise. These were my thoughts and actions on packed a work day last fall.

That’s it. I can’t take the constant rushing and trying to balance everything. Today, I am going to tell Father Kevin that I can’t lector at 8:00AM mass on Thursdays anymore. I got up at 4:30AM, greeted Tim, checked e-mail, read texts, loaded the dishwasher, and headed out the door at 5:20AM to meet Maggie and Teresa at the Y for our Thursday morning run. We had a great visit as we did our regular five-mile clockwork loop through Valparaiso, and our run ended with a spectacular sunrise. We paused to chat in the Y parking lot, and when I looked at my watch, I said, “I have to get going. I have mass this morning.”

Already feeling behind in my day at 6:45am, I jogged home, kissed Kevin hello, thanked him for the coffee, and raced up the stairs to shower. Everything was timed: five minute shower, re-brush teeth, dry hair, get dressed, zip downstairs, gather books and student essays, load car, and drive to church. I was all set . . .  unless I got stopped by the train at Beef Mart.  Knock, knock, knock. Oh no! “Hi Nancy, is Watson ready?” Jess of Reeves Royal Acres usually picks up Watson for pet camp – yes, it sound ridiculous – after I’ve left the house on Thursdays, our day of refuge from Watson’s boundless energy. . “Come on, Watson, time to go,” I try to calm Watson as he skyrockets to the ceiling with joy and whirring Reeves Day tail. Easy going Jess coos to Watson and snuggles him close to her body. Meanwhile, I silently rant, “I have to get going. Someone else is going to have to read for me at mass.” Jess says Watson’s treat stash at Reeves is low, and I shove the box of biscuits at her. I lock the door, sprint to the garage, make every light on Calumet Avenue and see the flashing yellow in front of the middle school. I brake to a crawling 20mph because of a previous traffic stop, look at the clock blinking 8:00AM and decide to tell Father Kevin that I can’t lector at mass anymore on Thursdays. With running long on Thursdays and teaching morning classes at VU, it’s just too stressful. I can’t make it on time. Besides, if I don’t read at mass, I can probably squeeze in a Cross Fit workout on Thursdays.

I slide into my chair at St. T’s, late as usual, but still in time to lector. I approach the lectern completely unprepared for the following scripture scolding: “A Reading from the Book of Galatians. . . Why are you so stupid? After beginning with the Spirit, are you now ending with the flesh?”

I felt like God had hit me on the head with a frying pan. I quit Cross Fit, and I still read at 8:00am mass on Thursdays – when I don’t get stopped by the train.

Eileen Clare, so beautiful, so miraculous, nothing I write does her justice. I wrote the following story while I was on the plane to see her, and my compulsive orderliness warrants that I post this before I put my other reflections out there. Trying to capture every moment of my life with Eileen, I feel compelled to record every detail about her incredible arrival as if precious moments of joy can be savored again and again if only I capture them in words. I wasn’t present at Eileen’s birth in Seattle, but I felt an overpowering impulse to get there as soon as possible. In the midst of the chaos, I learned a great lesson.

Thurs, April 30, 2015 – 8:41pm Ding, ding. Son-in-law Bobby’s text: We’ve been admitted to the hospital – we’re in our room now. Katie and baby are doing great. Will keep you posted.

I shoot up straight from reading my book! My text: Oh my gosh! The baby is born??  Then I think straight.  Text again: Love to you in labor. 

Tim and I look at each other in disbelief. I then text about twenty people to say that Katie is in labor. I must confess that I think we now live in a strange world.

Fri, May 1, 2015 12:05am Bobby’s text: Everything is going fine. Katie and baby are both doing well. Still progressing – will update when I can. Love you all.

I try to stay awake. Faint ding, ding, ding.

1:47am Ring Ring. Crazy dreams. Half asleep. “Hello.” “Mom, mom, mom!” “What? What?” “Did you get the text?” “What? What?” “The baby! The baby is born!” “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” “Bobby texted and you didn’t respond, so I called!” “Oh my gosh, thank you, Brendan, for calling. Oh my gosh.”

I roll over to Tim. “The baby is born, Grandpa.” I scoot to his side and plant a long, dry old lady kiss. He murmurs, “I didn’t plan a marrying a Grandma.” I smile, roll back, and thank God. Thank You, thank You, praise You, thank You, praise, thank, praise.

I pick up my phone. 1:42am Bobby’s text: A baby is born. Mom and baby are healthy. We’re in love.

Brendan’s text reply: Best text I’ve ever received. Congrats all around.

3:16am Texted photo – Eileen Clare Immen 7 pounds, 10 ounces, 20″ long.

Crazy dreams. Bells going off. Ding, ding, ding. Text, text, text. More messages from Bethy, Brigid, and Brendan.

4:20am Angels’ harp sounds. My alarm.

5:00am “Tim, I have to check flights.” “I know you do, Nance.” “But the Hawks game invitation – Game one of round two. I said we’d both go. ” “The baby is more important.” “I knew you’d get it, Tim.”

Southwest.com – $455 each way. Expedia.com – 8 hours or more of travel. I figure we’ll be there over Memorial Day weekend in three weeks. We can Facetime, Skype, send photos. I won’t go. I drive to the 5:30am Masters’ swim at the Y.

“Congratulations!” Facebook. That’s how they know. I dive into the water to catch up with the others in my lane. Stacia stops, treads water, and gives me a hug in the deep end. I have never swam with tears in my eyes.

6:30am Locker room chatter. “Eileen Clare – 7’10” – the only time this little girl will want her weight revealed.” From the shower next to me, “Are you going out there?” “We have a flight booked for May 23rd. The flights today are $1000  round trip.” From Kathy in the shower across the room, “You will never have this chance again. You have to go.” Drying off, I say, “I can’t go today because I am having a new stove delivered.” Sherri looks at me, “What time? I’ll let them in.” Can people really be this nice?

6:50am Home. I crawl into bed with Kevin. “Did you get the text, Uncle Kevin?” “Yes, it’s awesome.” I kiss the back of his head and try to remember him weighing  8’3” eighteen years ago.

7:00am Cheapair.com. No flights work. Texts ding, ding, ding – pure love and joy. My phone is dying – little charge left.

7:10am Ring! “Hello.” “Nancy, it’s Therese. I don’t know why but there’s a bunch of empty seats on American today. It’s wierd. There’s a 10:40am to Seattle. Can you get to O’Hare?” “Yes!” Therese goes on to say the passes are a shot in the dark, and she doesn’t usually recommend them. D3 passengers are the lowest in the non-revenue rankings. “I can get to the airport!” Therese says she’ll see what she can do.

7:20am Plug in phone downstairs. Run upstairs to pack.  Change clothes. Hurry! Phone rings! I race downstairs – topless – and charge into Kevin on the stairs. “Oops! Sorry, Kev! I think it’s Aunt Therese calling about a pass on American Airlines to Seattle.” He averts his eyes from my saggy grandma boobs. I grab the phone and it’s Tim’s Mom. “Mary, I can’t talk now. I have no clothes on!” I hear the disappointment in her voice, and I say, “I’ll call you back!” I kiss Kevin good-bye and say I hope I’m leaving for Seattle.

7:30am Therese calls. She put me on the non-rev list. I pack. Think, think! Contact lens, toiletries, running shoes, papers to grade, gradebook, baby gifts from friends, change of clothes, ipad, phone, charger! Go!

7:40am  Out the door, on the road, pay tolls, call Tim and leave message, call Therese, Mom, Mary Scannell, and Maureen. Ding, ding, ding. Do not read texts. Put down the phone. I have to live to see the baby! Stop calling people.  I’ll get pulled over and miss the flight!

9:35am Airport parking. Lot E for Eileen. Row D9. I am the delirious #9 in my family. Shuttle. Text, text. Shuttle announcement. Terminal 5. “Wait!” I yell. “That’s me!” The doors close. Oh my gosh. I missed my terminal. I am completely devastated. I’ve missed my terminal because I was texting. “It’s okay,” says the guy next to me, “It will go around and be here in 15 minutes.” My heart sinks. I missed it. I won’t make it through security.  Another man asks, “What time is your flight?” Defeated, I reply, “10:40.” Confused, he asks, ‘An international flight?” “No, Seattle, on American.” He smiles, “That’s not Terminal 5. It’s Terminal 3.” Whoosh. Fighting tears of relief, I say, “I’m going to see my granddaughter. Want to see a picture?” I share the photo from my phone, and his wife wells up, “Is this your first grandchild?” “Yes.” The doors open, and I yell, “Thank you!””Enjoy! Congrats!” The people on the shuttle have witnessed a lunatic in action.

9:50am At the kiosk. The boarding pass won’t print. I have not flown non-rev in years and am not sure of the new processes. A kind woman takes my elbow and somehow steers me to a open spot at the American counter. The smiling agent prints my pass and points, “Go to that security line. It’s faster.” I say, “I’m racing to see my grandbaby!” She smiles.

9:55am Security – slow but steady.

10:05am Free! Bolt to the gate! The gate agent takes my pass, looks up, and says, “You have a seat.” Thank you! Thank you! I call Therese and leave a blobbery message of gratefulness. I call Tim and say, “I’m going to get on. I wish you were here.” “I know you do. I’m glad you’re going, Nancy.” “Love you, Tim.” “Love you, too, Grandma.”

This ends my airplane musings.

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Eileen Clare’s newborn smell, rosebud lips, fluttering eyelids, curled fingers, her shallow breaths, faint squeaks, and complete sense of peace are among the most cherished images of my life.

Tomorrow, I leave to visit two of my daughters, Katie and Brigid, who are studying, post-grad and undergrad, at Seattle University.

A friend asked, “Are you going for anything special or just for the weekend?”

“Oh, I’m going to rub Katie’s belly.” That’s all – to see my oldest daughter bursting with pregnancy  in her seventh-month fullness of motherhood, round, beautiful, and brimming with dreams.  To see Katie’s husband Bobby beam with joy over becoming a father. To see Brigid marvel at being the key babysitter for our beautiful new granddaughter.

Tim had business in Seattle last week, and when he hugged Katie good-bye, he felt the baby kick. I’m going to Seattle to feel that, to squat down and let the baby hear my voice, and to tell her that I love her .

It’s worth it to go to great extremes to understand.

Katie sent me this link this morning. Pope Francis is much further along on his run than I, but I am inspired to catch up. “Fast on indifference” – now that’s a remarkable training plan:                                http://time.com/3714056/pope-francis-lent-2015-fasting/

As a runner, I love the preparation, the training, the process of being out there in the wind, rain, and cold.  When I recall marathons, images of twenty-milers, water breaks, blisters, weather, and soul searching conversations come to mind.  Life-long friendships began during long runs with the sharing of goals and dreams.

A few years ago, Father Kevin McCarthy asked me to give a talk to parents in St. Teresa’s GIFT (Growing in Faith Together) program about either Lent or Resurrection. It is no surprise that I chose Lent, and I was terrified. Who talks about Lent?

Memories from elementary school of giving up gum, candy, or pop – except on Sundays – came to mind. In high school, I gave up sweets and chocolate, with the hidden agenda of weight loss. But  Lent is more than giving up sugar or Starbucks, it is making a sacrificial commitment to change, so we can better serve the Lord.

A few years ago, Tim and I began a Lenten ritual of daily donating. There’s a box ready for tomorrow, and for each of the forty days, we will “give” something. We’ve discovered the morning joy of thinking, “What am I going to give today?” along with wondering, “Where did all this stuff come from?”

Miraculously, this custom has enabled me to move beyond the concrete – a sweater, jacket, scarf. Instead, I pray, “How am I going to give of myself today? What am I going to offer a struggling student? How am I going to help a co-worker feel validated and valuable? What can I really give today?” It’s amazing – I discovered that I can share the Light of Christ and His everlasting love. Because He has given it to me.