Author: Denis Wilhelm

We Ran Away From Home And Joined The Circus

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Nana and her circus “performers”

It’s fun to escape reality sometimes and the Circus seems to be the perfect place to “get away from it all” and be a kid again. After all nobody knows how to enjoy a fantasy like a child. And the Circus is one BIG FANTASY. Where else can you find grown ups that play with tigers and entire families that “fly through the air with the greatest of ease” and contortionists and monkeys in polka dot underwear and elephants that do tricks. What better place to find all those things than at the Circus – plus some “not too scary” clowns. The fact of the matter is, running away from home and joining the circus seems pretty attractive at times. I could so be the guy getting shot out of the cannon – most days I feel like that anyway!

So yesterday Deb and I “ran away” for a little while and took our granddaughters along for the ride. I have to admit that this ‘Circus thing’ was new to me. Or at least enjoying the Circus was new to me. Deb grew up going to the Circus each year with her grandparents and LOVED it. I went once as a kid with my Godmother and HATED it. Not sure why; maybe I was scared of something or maybe I was bored. Whatever the reason it left me with a negative impression of the Circus. Deb on the other hand had been waiting a long time for this day – “And if no one else wants to go, I don’t care!” “I’m taking the girls to the Circus!” (Imagine hands on her hips and maybe a little foot stomping).

So we went. And it was magical! Not the Circus actually but watching Charlise and Anna and Nana relishing every moment of every performance. And while watching them I was transported to another place and time and I could see little Debbie Dobbs clapping and waving at the Circus performers. And I knew that I had waited 50 years just to be in that moment. That moment when Nana was a little girl again and there were no wars to fight; no hunger; no disease; no injustice; no heartaches; no sadness – only smiles. The only tears were tears of joy. And I was blessed to be along on her journey.

Running away from home and joining the circus won’t make the problems of this world go away but they may help put it all into perspective. On one magical Saturday my girls and I took a ride to that fantasy land. And I came home refreshed and ready to take on another day as an adult. And now I firmly believe that all adults need a little ‘Easter Bunny’ or ‘Santa Claus’ or ‘Tooth Fairy’ once in a while; not to mention leprechauns, elves, magic potions and ‘cloaks of invisibility’.

Just imagine the fun that you will have…

Peace,
Denis

Calling All Grammar Police!

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I have to admit that sometimes I don’t speak properly and there are times when my spelling, grammar and punctuation need editing (Just read any blog post). But I am aghast at how awful some people’s use of the English language has become. Too often I find myself silently correcting another’s speech. And sometimes not so silently – Rosko! It has become such a distraction that I find it hard at times to be in meetings with (allegedly) well-educated, professional people. I am afraid that this grammar (or lack thereof) problem has become nearly epidemic.

Let me give you some examples:

I have a customer who says “irregardless”. Irregardless? Really??? It’s not even a word! I have a work associate that routinely uses the word “exasperate” when he means to say “exacerbate”. Which I must admit, I find completely exasperating! And don’t get me started on using “I” or “myself” incorrectly instead of “me”. I guess some people think that they sound fancy when they say “I” instead of “me”. News flash: you only sound stupid when you use it incorrectly.

Being this correct all alone is exhausting. I need your help because this is not just limited to my circle of friends and acquaintances (although there is some serious verbal abuse – not that kind – going on with my work associates and family members). Recently at a family gathering someone commented that our two-year old granddaughter “Sure does talk good, don’t she?” We tried to shield the child.

Please share the load. Start correcting poor speakers. We owe to our children and our grandchildren. This problem is nationwide – worldwide and it’s time to right this wrong. I promise that tonight when you turn on the news you will hear folks butchering the English language. Especially some of those yokels who want to mandate that ‘English only’ is taught and spoken in our schools. I have a challenge for those people: start speaking English yourselves. And it’s pervasive. Even our past President couldn’t pronounce “nuclear”. This is a far-reaching and overwhelming issue. Celebrities, politicians, clergy, business leaders – all guilty of massacring our language.

Don’t get me wrong. I love regional dialects and accents and colloquialisms. I think that they are charming. My friends from Boston move their ‘R’s’ around – like taking the ‘R’ out of chowder (chowda) and placing it in ‘idea’ (idea-r). And my friends in Wisconsin routinely say things like, “Hit it once with a hammer a couple of times” or “Throw me down the steps a pack of cigarettes”. And my friends from the South will welcome “All y’all”. Even here in Saint Louis some folks make ‘O’s” sound like ‘A’s’, for example: horse is pronounced “harse” and corn is often called “carn”. And this can sometimes lead to humorous statements, like when our Deacon invites us to “Pray to the Lard”. I chuckle every time (Lard please forgive me).

I haven’t even taken the time to discuss poor writing skills. I’ll save that for later. Suffice to say, I receive e-mails that are so poorly written I sometimes feel that I need a ‘decoder’ to make sense of them. And don’t get me started on text messaging. It is truly the decline of our entire civilization. R U kiddin’ me?

So I’m calling all grammarians. Step it up! Do your part. Stop the abuse. Our precious language is counting on you.

Peace,

Denis

P.S. Feel free to correct my grammar, spelling or punctuation in this post.

Sharing Girl Stuff

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On Sunday evening, my granddaughter Anna told me, “Nana and I share girl stuff”. I’m not sure exactly what she meant but I have a pretty good idea. On Saturday her Nana (my Debbie) bought her a pink tutu and ballet slippers. And on Sunday morning they made pancakes together – Anna knows all the rules of Nana’s kitchen – “we wash hands first, Pawpaw!” Plus later, on Sunday afternoon Nana painted Anna’s toenails red. So I suspect all of that stuff that they shared was “girl stuff”. So grandmothers and granddaughters share girl stuff and so much more. What a blessing for all.

Debbie had a grandmother that she loved dearly and her Mimi loved her. Mimi would take time with her just like Deb now takes time with our granddaughters Charlise and Anna. Debbie fondly remembers how she and Mimi shared girl stuff, too. And I know that Deb must feel Mimi’s spirit smiling down on them during those special times when she and our granddaughters are together now.

Six-year old Charlise loves spending time at Nana’s house. She actually calls it Nana’s house (as if I’m a boarder only allowed to live here out of Nana’s enormous generosity). There are always favorite foods and special meals. Always special things to do and special places to go. Nana makes certain that Charlise’s weekends at Nana’s house are always fun! They bake cookies together and there’s popcorn and “movie night”. And I get to join in the fun sometimes, too. But the “girl stuff” is just for them. And I believe that’s the way it should be.

Now (almost) three-year old Anna will tell you that she’s Pawpaw’s girl but everyone knows that she’s Nana’s shadow. Not only does she act like Deb but she mimics her every move. If they’re cooking together, Anna will take notice so as to stir and mix in her ingredients in the exact same manner that Nana does. If they’re signing together, Anna will finish the words of the songs that Deb is singing. And she even plays with Deb’s stupid little dogs – one of the reasons that I still haven’t called the animal shelter for a pick-up. She even loves feeding those dumb dogs.

Nana's Girls

So Nana and her girls “share girl stuff”. And it’s really nothing new. I suppose grandmothers and granddaughters have been sharing time together since life began. But what makes it special isn’t what they do – what makes it “sharing girl stuff” is the intrinsic bond that grandmothers and their granddaughters have. There is something almost primal in their need to bridge the generations. Granddaughters learn about tradition and grandmothers get to glimpse and help shape the future. It’s their legacy.

And grandfathers? Well we get to marvel at the wonder of it all.

Peace,

Denis

Praying With Men

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On Saturday my son-in-law Travis and I went to a ‘Men’s Day of Recollection’. This has become an annual event for our parish and it is held at a local Catholic high school nearby. I don’t know who named it ‘Day of Recollection’. It could just as easily be called ‘Day of Renovation or Reconstruction or Restoration’ but that’s beside the point. Each year the format is basically the same although the themes vary – but not greatly. This year was not much different from the other years that I’ve attended with one exception – I prayed. Now I know that probably sounds strange but it’s not that strange for me. I have attended many workshops and retreats and not prayed – NOT REALLY PRAYED anyway. I guess I’ve just been sort of programmed to pay polite attention to the presenter and participate in the discussions and attend the obligatory Mass and sing the hymns. And that’s what I usually do – just barely do.

You see I can’t remember when I haven’t been angry at my Church (at the institutional Church). And in fact part of the presentation on Saturday was about how all mainline churches are losing members in droves and how the Catholic Church is no exception – and I thought; well no duh! As the talk continued, we were somehow supposed to take comfort (or shame – not sure here) about the fact we are not alone. The Presbyterians, and The Lutherans, and The Baptists, and The Episcopalians are all in the same boat with us Catholics. I’m not sure if ‘the why’ was explained but I think it has something to do with our secular world not wanting to FOLLOW THE RULES. And that includes our acceptance of abortion, gay marriage, female clergy, and bargaining rights for public-sector employees. (Just kidding about that last one – although I have a feeling some men in attendance were thinking it). Anyway that’s about when I started to fade out. Whenever someone starts throwing around the word ‘secular’ I feel as though I’m blushing because I believe ‘secular’ might be code for ‘Denis Wilhelm and his kind’. After all, I voted for Barack Obama and my favorite nuns are the ones that don’t wear habits.

So while I was (sort of) zoned out. I started praying. I prayed for our pastor (who was our presenter). I prayed for the other men attending the retreat. I prayed for Travis, whose love motivated me to be there in the first place. But mostly I prayed for myself – for patience; for understanding; for guidance. I prayed my granddaughter Anna’s guardian angel prayer: “Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God’s love commits me here; ever this day be at my side; to light, to guard, to rule, to guide. ~ Amen”

It’s funny that a child’s prayer would bring me great comfort at that moment. I realized (once again) that I AM A CATHOLIC – warts and all. I understood more clearly that all of us men who were gathered there on Saturday brought our strengths and weaknesses to God. Some of us were just searching for a way to live in peace. Some of us were mired in the need for ‘black and white’ answers in a world where all the questions are shades of gray. Some of us were holding on to hurt and pain for years or decades that we can’t (or won’t) let go. And some, like me, were carrying all of those things.

And in the strength of those seventy-odd men I was reminded that if God can continue to forgive me for my failings – I can continue to seek the Truth. I will commit myself to living my faith. And I will (try to) follow the rules. But I will also never stop questioning, challenging, hoping for a better world, a better church, a better community.

I know that we are perfected in Christ. For some of us it just takes a little longer. Now if I could just be as patient with myself as God is with me…

Maybe it should be called ‘Men’s Day of Recalibration’.

Peace,

Denis

‘Gnomeo and Juliet’ and What I’ve Given Up For Lent

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Last Saturday I took my two granddaughters to see “Gnomeo and Juliet” an animated re-telling of the Shakespeare classic (Shakespeare’s lead was named Romeo, but you get the idea). Anyway it’s a cute movie about star-crossed lovers that are actually garden gnomes featuring Elton John music. I enjoyed it as much as the girls plus there was a bit of a morality tale included – which is never a bad idea, especially in a kid’s movie.

What does this have to do with Lenten sacrifice? Let me explain. At the end of the movie Anna (the almost three-year old) asked, “Pawpaw, can we clap now?” My response, “Of course we can!” So the three of us sat there, while watching the closing credits, clapping and cheering. I must admit that we received some stares and some looks of bemusement by our fellow theater goers but I didn’t care because my girls were so delighted.

And there you have it. I’ve decided to ‘give up’ public decorum for Lent. If I feel like clapping and cheering for a movie that my granddaughters LOVED – I will. I am ‘giving up’ my social embarrassment or my need for conformity. Now some of you, that know me, are probably wondering when exactly have I ever held back or been worried about peer pressure or social norms? But the truth is that too often I have let courtesy or political correctness dictate my actions. I have sacrificed compassion for good manners. I have failed to offer or accept forgiveness because of embarrassment or awkwardness. And I have denied Christ publicly by not always behaving in a Christian manner.

But I have some great examples of how to live my faith life. My son-in-law Travis ALWAYS says grace before meals – even in restaurants – even in fast food joints! He has made me feel comfortable with doing likewise. When we begin by making the ‘Sign of the Cross’ sometimes heads turn but it reminds me how grateful I am to have such a faith-filled son-in-law who is setting an amazing example for my grandkids. My co-workers Kim, Rosemary, Sherry, and Michael ALWAYS bring Christ into our workplace. Their quiet example of love and devotion to God is model for all Christians. And I am honored to be in their presence. My wife, Deb is ALWAYS showing me how to live a Christ-like life. She will drop whatever she’s doing to help a friend or a stranger. She will hold your hand and cry with you or share a belly-laugh; if that’s what you need. And she’s never afraid to show public outrage at injustice or public displays of affection regardless of who may be watching. She loves completely – I wish that I had her compassion.

So this Lenten season I will be pushing myself out of my comfort zone. I will pray in public and try to love more openly and praise God in my word and in my deed. I may even hug some people (so beware).

And of course Anna, “We can clap now!”

Peace,

Denis

Rock Solid

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“These are uncertain times we live in.” I’ve been hearing that a lot lately – the economy, the unrest in the Middle East and Libya and Egypt, the crazy governor of Wisconsin, exorbitant healthcare costs, unemployment, the housing crisis, the general moral decline of our society, etc., etc., etc.

And those things are all real and they do create uncertainty and anxiety. But are “the times we live in” any less certain than any other time in mankind’s history? I doubt it. I believe that because we are human and subjected to life (with all its good and bad) we will always feel some uncertainty. Perhaps if we don’t dwell on all the bad stuff maybe life will be a little easier to live. And I suppose it might be true that (a little) ignorance is (a little) bliss(ful). This reminds me of a joke:

There are 3 kinds of people – those that make things happen; those that watch things happen; and those that say, “What happened?”

I must admit that sometimes I fall squarely into that 3rd category. It’s not that I live my life with blinders on but there are times when I feel absolutely overwhelmed by the injustice in our world. There are those days when I feel so powerless to the suffering and heartache many in our society face that I want to bury my head in the sand. I don’t want to face the truth.

Recently in Madrid, at the Metro Station near my hotel, each day I encountered a woman begging. I just turned and walked away. I couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eyes. I think that I was afraid that if I looked at her (really looked) that I might feel some compassion and give her money. What was my fear? Was she truly powerless and in great need or a scammer looking for a quick buck? I’ll never know because I walked away. And even if I had given her a few Euros I still wouldn’t have known. That’s what troubles me now – why did I need to know? Jesus doesn’t ask us to judge; he asks us to give. And sadly, in Spain, I chose to run away out of fear or ignorance!

But I have hope. I know that bad things will happen and that life will have its share of difficulties and disappointments but my trust is in Jesus. I believe that even through the crappy stuff He won’t abandon me. And even with my selfishness and lack of compassion He has offered forgiveness to me. It’s now my job to accept His forgiveness and promise to do better the next time. So I can either ignore my anxiety and fear or I can embrace it and “hand it over to God”.

Because even in these “uncertain times we live in” – Jesus is the ultimate certainty.

“Everyone who listens to these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock.
The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and buffeted the house. But it did not collapse; it had been set solidly on rock.”
Mt 7:24-25

Peace,

Denis

Listen To Your Mother

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Mom and me

After winning his Oscar for ‘The King’s Speech’ on Sunday night, Director Tom Hooper said, “My mum in 2007 was invited to a fringe theater reading of an unproduced, unrehearsed play.” He explained: “She’d never been invited to a play reading her entire life. She almost didn’t go because it didn’t sound exactly promising, but thank God she did.” She rang him up after and said, “Tom, I think I found your next film,” Then addressing his mother directly, he said: “So, with this tonight, I honor you and the moral of the story is; listen to your mother.”

That got me thinking about listening to my own mother. Mom’s been talking and I guess I’ve been listening for over 55 years now. But have I really acted upon her advice? Sometimes – maybe. Mom’s got lots of advice, such as:

“If you look better; you’ll feel better!” – The idea here is that if you’re sick (or near death) just dress up a little bit and everyone (including yourself) will ‘think’ you’re feeling just fine.

“Don’t worry about it; half the things you worry about won’t happen and other half won’t be as bad as you think!” – Unless of course it’s happening to her.

“Let’s not air our dirty linen in public!” – What in hell is our ‘dirty linen’? And why do we have to care what others think about it anyway?

“If you walk like a duck, and quack like a duck; people will think you’re a duck” What??? “Quack!”

Seriously though, my Mom means well (usually) and she loves me (always). And she might be a little crazy but she’s my kind of crazy. And I do listen but honestly sometimes I don’t really want to. Sorry Mom.

So to those of us who still have mothers: let’s take the time to listen – really listen. And to those of you that have lost your mothers: I believe that you can listen too. Your mom is still talking to you (and I’m sure that you can hear her in your heart).

And to all you mothers out there: even when you think that we’re not listening we are – especially when you think that we’re not listening!

Our moms give us life and I suppose that they just need to make certain that we cherish and make the most of it. Mothers have this profound (albeit sometimes frightening) influence on their children. How we choose to channel “our inner mother” is entirely up to us.

My own kids (well two of them anyway) listen to their mom and (I think for the most part) take her advice as well. Their relationship with her is one of mutual love and respect. They value her input and look forward to her involvement in their lives. But I’m certain that there must be times when they disregard what she has to say. So it’s not her fault that they’ll likely never win an Oscar.

If only they would listen…

Peace,

Denis

P.S. Blake, call your mother! (Sometimes you should listen to your father, too.)

Getting Well

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Deb’s been in the hospital this week. She has acute pancreatitis. And I’m not a doctor but I can tell you this much: It hurts! She’s had this in the past (and has been hospitalized with it previously) so I consulted WebMD and now of course I can write with authority on her condition: It hurts and they (the real doctors) can’t do much for it. Often pancreatitis is linked to heavy drinking but Deb only has a glass of wine occasionally so something else is clearly causing this but the doctors don’t know what that cause is and therein lies the dilemma. Oh, and her numbers; they love to talk about her numbers – something should be 400 and hers was 3,000 and is now 800. And the 3,000 is why she hurts! Plus Deb doesn’t tolerate pain medication very well so basically she’s had to just (sort of) tough it out. And she’s a pretty tough cookie but it hurts!

The hospital staff (nurses and techs) have been great and last night Debbie started to seem like her old (young) self again. We were laughing because Anna (our almost three-year old granddaughter) upon hearing that her Nana was in the hospital with a sore belly, wanted to know if Nana was getting a baby. She said, “If Nana had a baby then she could be a Mommy, too!” I’ve tried to explain to her in the past that Nana is Mommy’s Mommy but apparently I’m not that convincing. Sorry Anna!

Debbie thinks she’s coming home today but she’s still on an I.V. and they just started giving her clear liquids yesterday so that may be a little optimistic. I want her home but I want her well, too. So I’m trying to be patient, which is a challenge to say the least. But if the patient can be patient so to the caregiver (in theory).

We have friends and family dealing with much worse medical conditions, so all things considered Deb has much to be thankful for. Still it’s hard to see her lying there and it’s frustrating that they can’t give her a definitive diagnosis. But she’s getting well and for that we thank God.

And we thank all of you for your prayers, words of encouragement, and good wishes.

Peace,

Denis

Homebody

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I’ve always been confused by the saying “familiarity breeds contempt”. I’m home after two weeks of traveling – first to Mexico City and then to Madrid and I’m very happy to experience ‘the familiar’. Don’t misunderstand me, I love to travel and even when things don’t go swimmingly (thanks JFK Air Traffic Controllers for the nearly two-hour delay after an already long day of traveling from Spain!) I still consider travel a bit of perk with my job. But more wonderful than experiencing new people and new places is the joy and comfort of coming home. Home is where my life is.

There’s something about this house that just embraces me when I’ve been gone for a while; it puts everything right. I know it’s not the house actually. It’s the home. It’s the love. It’s the family. It’s what helps define me.

I love coming home to Deb. I love catching up on everything that’s happened in my absence – hearing about the latest things that Anna has said and finding out what Noah’s now doing and what’s going on in Charlise’s ever-expanding world of ‘big girl’ school. I realize everything’s not in ‘freeze-frame’ while I’m gone but sometimes I wish it were. I’ll catch up on what’s going with our folks and hear about a friend’s visit and a family funeral that Deb attended in my absence. Life goes on…

My Office. My Home. My Place.

This morning I’m up early, because of jet-lag I suppose, and I’m wearing my ‘favorite shirt’ and I’m about to have some blessed ‘American Coffee’ (no cafe con leche, por favor) in my favorite coffee mug and allow the day to unfold in its normal ‘familiar’ way. And I will relish the experience.

At heart I’m just a Midwestern boy. I miss country music and black coffee and small town gossip. I want to travel to castles and palaces. I want to see ancient artifacts and historically significant places. But more than anything I just want to come home. I guess that makes me a homebody and that suits me just fine!

“Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home”.

Peace,
Denis

Unconditional Love

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If you’ve ever wondered what unconditional love feels like just get yourself a grandchild or two. I speak from experience. I know that my wife loves me and I know that my kids love me, too. But my grandkids love me UNCONDITIONALLY. Let me explain. I’m their Pawpaw and that alone is all they need from me. I don’t feed or clothe them. I’m not responsible for their education or their upbringing. I’m just the lucky guy that gets to love them and be loved back – threefold!

And based on my grandkids, I’m pretty good at this grandparent thing. I just show up and little faces break into big smiles; giggles ensue; and happiness abounds. I know what you’re thinking, these kids are just loving and they love everyone but that’s not the way I see it.

Here are some examples:

Recently at church, six-year-old Charlise, held on to me for nearly the entire Mass. She acts at times like she’s too big to hold but that morning she needed to be held and squeezed my neck tight and when I picked her she whispered in my ear, “I love you, Pawpaw”. She then laid her head on my shoulder and it was bliss.

Two-year-old Anna told her mother a couple of weeks ago, “I love you Mommy; but usually I’m Pawpaw’s girl”. And of course she is. You can ask her! This week she asked Mommy if she could call Pawpaw to see how he’s doing in Spain? Did I mention that she’s two?

Noah doesn’t talk yet but when he smiles at me it lights up the room. And yes, he smiles a lot at other people too but it’s different with me – you’d have to be there.

I know that those of you who are grandparents have experienced this same unconditional love. I’m not unique or special (well maybe special) and all grandkids love their grandparents just because…

I think the way that grandchildren love their grandparents is how God loves each of us. God is not waiting for you to do something for Him. God is not expecting anything in return. Much like a grandchild that is thrilled to see you, God must be thrilled when we take time for Him, too. Of course God doesn’t need us, just like our grandkids, but being wanted is so much better because we aren’t really needed. If I died tonight I know that my grandkids would be raised and loved by their parents – they don’t require me. But how wonderful to be wanted; to be loved; just because…

What a lucky man I am to know God’s unconditional love through the example my grandchildren have given me. And for the record; Anna is Pawpaw’s girl and so is Charlise and Noah is my boy. Just like God’s love for me; my love for my grandchildren is limitless and eternal.

Peace,

Denis