Waiting (once again) on the primitive printer in our office, I stared out into space and thought idly about what I was going to eat for lunch. Times Square doesn’t offer much in the means of good food, so I wasn’t off in hungry never-never land for very long.
When I snapped out of it, an unfamiliar face was walking towards me. I work in a very small office where everyone knows one another, so this was an event. I didn’t know this mystery woman, but something about her seemed so familiar. As she got closer I realized that she looked a lot like this timid Colombian girl I knew in college. Hmm, I wonder…
Mystery womanShe smiled sheepishly as she approached and made to walk on past. I stopped her, “Excuse…

More than once the kindness and generosity of strangers has touched and surprised me. But sometimes friends also show the depth of their generosity and affection.
I experienced both of these when my trip to a job interview near Elkhart, Indiana, went seriously awry.
KaboomThe drive from my dorm in Columbus, Ohio to the hotel was supposed to take four and a half-hours. The interview would be the following day. I never made it to my hotel.
One moment, I was looking for something in the passenger’s side of my car, and the next moment, my car was hurtling down the grassy embankment. When I stopped, the air bag had deployed, my seat belt was ripped out of its holder, there was glass everywhere, and I was bleeding. A thin…

I first met him at a four-week long summer program; I knew he was the one…or so I thought. Then he didn’t return the phone call. Then the letter came, and I knew he was the one. Then I didn’t return the phone call. Then a year passed …and another.
One day the phone rang with his voice at the other end, soft yet deep as I remembered it. He said to me, “The more I try to forget you, the more you remain in my heart.” By this time my heart was not sure what to think. Was he being sincere or only feeling the pangs of loneliness that hit all single people every once in a while? He continued, “Be daring. Come visit me. I will send you the ticket.”
Two weeks later I boarded the plane from San Antonio,…

“It’s about time you got married, don’t you think…”
This phrase should be deemed the cultural stigma that we cannot get past. First, when I was in my early twenties, my childbearing years were quickly passing, and everyone (except my mother who to this day says she’s too young to be grandmother) just looked at me in wonder. Even that cousin—the one no one thought would ever get married—found his mate.
In the year 2001 twelve babies were born in my extended family. Suddenly, I was the only one who did not arrive at family gatherings adorned with a diaper bag, stroller, walker, pictures and, of course, the camcorder (we don’t want to miss any of those special moments).
My…

Most women raise children. And some don’t. Those of us who don’t set sail for a different kind of life. Is the journey a chosen one or not? Are you a woman if you don’t have kids?
For Denise Carlson not having children was something that just happened. She traveled, focused on her career, was involved in theatre for a long time. In Los Angeles, she currently develops movies for the Disney Channel. Her 20s and 30s whizzed by.
“I’ve had a great time,” Denise says. “I got to have an extended youth. I didn’t have to take care of anyone but myself.”
Saying she’s a late bloomer, the mother question now tugs at her. After a friend adopted, she started thinking…

Are we allowed to say “housewife” anymore? I doubt it’s ever been a flattering word — brings to mind frumpy ladies in hair curlers with ambitions no grander than getting good deals on rump roasts at the local supermarket. My overachieving parents raised me to look upon the fate of housewives, homemakers, as rather unfortunate. Having a successful career was a very important thing. Much of the other stuff could be muddled through. Suppers could be thrown together; nannies could be hired. From my mother, there was always this unspoken but unmistakable plea that I should never marry the type of man who expected cooking and cleaning and having his pants ironed.
My mother cried through my entire…

I will not be going into work on September 11th.
I did not work in the Towers, or anywhere in the World Trade Center complex. I do not work for the FDNY or NYPD, and neither does anyone in my family. Neither my wife nor I directly knew anyone who died on September 11th last year.
All in all, my wife and I were very lucky last year. So why am I taking off work on the first anniversary of the terrorist attack? Because even though none of the above scenarios apply to me, I was nonetheless closely affected by the events of that day, and still am.
You see my office is about a mile or so north of the WTC site. I watched it all unfold from the relative safety of my office—the
explosions, the fire, the debris, and eventually the collapse of…

During times of crisis, things can get overwhelming if you try to do it all yourself. At different times we’ve tried to remind one another of that.
Mike: Since my mom has been sick, I’ve been overwhelmed with hospital visits, calls to the doctor, hospital bureaucracy, and still trying to be a husband and maintain my job responsibilities. There have been a lot of obstacles to overcome, especially in trying to make sure my mom is getting the proper care that she needs. I have been running myself ragged.
Marion: When Mike feels this way, I immediately remind him that I’m here to help. That he doesn’t need to do everything himself. I’ve made phone calls to try to alleviate some of the hospital…

I’m a good Catholic. I go to Mass every week. I’m involved in my local parish. I oppose both capital punishment and abortion on demand. I’ve attended Catholic schools from kindergarten to graduate school. I’m young—just ten years out of college, and barely into my thirties. I am Catholic. I am young. And I’m divorced. Divorced. GULP. Kind of goes down like a horsepill, doesn’t it?
Very much like a pill, in fact. Bitter and chalky, difficult to swallow. Bitter the taste of anger and tears that had passed between my husband and I. Chalky, like the rubble that lay where a vibrant relationship once had stood. And so, so difficult to swallow the fact that I had failed to live out…

Approximately a year ago, I wrote a well-thought-out, carefully polished essay on the subject of dating a co-worker.
The entirety of it had been pulled directly from my ass. I can’t even remember the last time I was simultaneously employed and in a relationship. One destroyed my energy and the other never paid enough. (It’s a Catholic website. You figure out which is which.)
I came to Florida’s Kennedy Space Center for a job. Cast over my shoulder into the Ohio River back in Cincinnati was a marriage-bent relationship that was ended by the potential groom with an email. I wanted that beaten away by the ocean, the vastness of the Atlantic purging my heart, the salt water returning me to a self-contained…

Men and women of a certain age were simply unable to reach maturity without attending some social event that featured the soundtrack from the movie Grease, particularly that portion in which the phenomenon of the summer romantic fling is celebrated (or, more specifically, as the song goes: “Oh, those su-um-mer nigh-igh-ights…….”). This was John Travolta’s—and, quite possibly, America’s—finest hour.
I’m not precisely sure what it is about summer that makes us more apt to release our phone numbers to the opposite sex; perhaps we’re simply trying to avoid the loser status of the one-seat line at the roller coaster.
What I do know is that you can also…

As someone who has dated people that he has worked with, I speak from experience. It’s the best of times and the worst of times.
Here’s the upside:

Smooches during the day are always good.
You always have someone to go to lunch with.
Work schedule conflicts are minimal.
Someone understands your plight when you complain about the boss.

Of course there’s always the downside:

Need to always look good at work.
Never get any work done because you’re daydreaming about what she’s doing.
She tells people about how romantic you are and the guys think you’re a wuss.
Getting that massage from your honey gets dirty looks from the boss.

Seriously, it was really hard to stay focused at work…

Recently, I (Mike) had to go away for a few days on business. It was the first time Marion and I had spent time away from each other since the wedding. While I (Mike) was kept busy and distracted from missing Marion with the demands of the conference I was attending, the experience was quite different for Marion.
Of course I (Marion) had been away from Mike before. The last time Mike was away was when we were planning the wedding. That particular weekend my sister called me five or six times to keep me distracted, asking me questions about the wedding. This time it felt different. We always get to re-connect at the end of our day. Mike and I always have dinner together and talk about the day’s events. There was one day…

Daddy always gets the big piece of chicken.
At least that’s what Chris Rock says. In a recent comedy routine, Rock stated that moms always get better presents on Mother’s Day than any dad gets on Father’s Day.
“Everything’s always for the mommy. ‘Did you tell Mommy how good she looks?’ ‘Did you get Mommy something nice for Mother’s Day?’ Everything’s for the mommy. The only thing daddy ever gets is the big piece of chicken!”
Dads really are unappreciated sometimes. Rock said in the same routine that nobody ever says, “Hey Dad, thanks for knocking out the rent this month!”
Mike’s dad has this quiet confidence.…

It’s been a year since we took that walk down the aisle. We’ve had a year filled with happiness, but it’s also been a difficult year because Mike’s mom spent half the year in the hospital and Marion’s grandmother has had her share of health problems as well.
In our first year we learned that marriage is about two people who are there to support one another no matter what comes their way. It’s about commitment, making a conscious decision to love your partner despite the difficulties.
The big day Our anniversary day was reminiscent of our wedding day. We went to the restaurant where our wedding reception was held, and we were filled with the memories of our special day. We even looked…

A year ago, my favorite morning ritual was to sit on my porch, drink coffee, and wave to the sad university students strolling to 8:30 classes. Then, I got married. I moved far away from my porch and surrendered coffee for green tea. One dawn, as I lay under the covers, I realized: I need a new routine. Then, I rolled over, snuggled into my husband’s warm hug, and found it.
It’s great: the alarm chirps, I roll towards Steve, and Steve hugs me. We lie together for a half hour, chatting and dozing and just passing time. He kisses my forehead. I stroke his hair. We talk of crazy dreams and plans for the day and, invariably, check the clock. We get up. He showers. I boil water. By the time we sit down for breakfast, I want…

April 20th–Our big day. All the preparation was done and our day had finally arrived.
Marion had a whole morning of preparation with her bridal party. “We all gathered in my sister Vera’s room, at the hotel and had fun laughing and talking while our hair was being done.” Vera gave Marion their mother’s Communion and Confirmation prayer books that were family keepsakes for many years. (Marion’s mom died when she was in college) This gift moved both Marion and Vera so much that they both started crying.
Mike and his best man, Crash (as he is known), stayed overnight at the parish rectory (courtesy of Fr. Brett) the night before the wedding. They were able to wake up and get all of those…

Believe it or not, the other day a few friends and I fanned out in pairs around a tourist spot in Santa Monica, California, and asked people for their opinions on what needed to happen to end clergy sex abuse in the Catholic Church.
We listened to Catholics, Jews, Muslims, younger people, older people, Asians, whites, Latinos, and African-Americans.
The answer behind the answer
When I asked this variety of people-on-the-street what it would take to stop the abuse, most concluded, “Priests should be allowed to get married.”
Now we know that married men also have problems with pedophilia, so getting married isn’t a cure-all to what ails the priesthood. There had to be an answer behind this answer.…

I knew a local cartoonist out in California named Paige Andersen, who one year near Election Day rendered drawings of improbable right-wing and left-wing extremists. I don’t remember the details. The right-winger was probably armed to the teeth, dispensing tax cuts as confetti, while the left-winger sported a pony tail and carried government cash ready to throw at any problem. I do recall that both drawings had arrows pointing to the respective extremist’s back pocket with the words, “Votes his pocketbook.”
As another election comes and goes, this part of the cartoon vividly comes back to me. It makes me wonder if polls ask the wrong question at election time. It may be we need to ask…