My Schubertiade Moment

My beloved dad passed away when my daughter, Bridget, was a sophomore at Thomas Aquinas College in Santa Paula. We live in San Diego. My parents lived in Redwood City. Santa Paula is in between those two places, so we made arrangements to pick Bridget up en route.

Now, Thomas Aquinas College (TAC) is sort of a sophisticated place. Kind of formal. I am neither sophisticated, nor formal, as you may well have surmised if you have previously read this blog. My daughter is more sophisticated and formal than I, however, which is probably one of the reasons she chose TAC. Every time I went to visit her, though, I kind of blundered around. I always felt like an elephant in the room, so to speak. Though it is a lovely place, it is not my kind of place. And this particular visit went -- typically -- awry for me, but in a more extreme fashion than usual.

Thankfully, the staff and students at TAC -- though tending to conservative formality and impeccable propriety -- are also very polite and forbearing of their visitors. And some of them, I suspect, are my kindred spirits. They just hide it well.

Anyway, the day of our arrival happened to coincide to a school-wide event known as the Schubertiade. It's this fancy type of classical music performance -- basically the polar opposite of a Van Halen concert -- where many of the students perform lovely classical pieces for their teachers and confreres. It is held in the library -- which, at TAC, is a VERY formal building -- and most all of the students attend. If you are a student at TAC, you had better attend the Schubertiade. And if you don't, you had better either be studying or doing your work-study job preparing dinner in the kitchen.

As we pulled up to the school in our minivan, Bridget happily greeted us and led us proudly into the library for this wondrous event. Those of you who know me are laughing very hard right now, thinking of me at such a thing. I have avoided classical music, at basically all costs, throughout my whole life. And my kid -- MY KID, for heaven's sake -- is excitedly pulling me into a Schubertiade. I mean, isn't this supposed to work the other way around?!?! I really don't know what happened. All three of my kids -- ALL THREE OF THEM -- are classical music afficionados, happily PAYING MONEY to go to the symphony.

I have to admit, though, that it was lovely. The performers were all dressed up, playing melodious things on pianos and stringed instruments (no synthesizers or electric guitars here). The student body sat all about the main floor of the library and on all the walkways that rise up from and surround the main floor of the library. Everybody was quite serious and respectful and quiet, as you would expect from properly raised young people. And -- okay -- the music was pretty good, I admit.

Bridget took us upstairs, since the main floor of the library was full. We were sitting on the third floor walkway, which overlooked the musicians below. And then...

It happened.

My elephant in the room moment.

In my purse was a zhu-zhu pet. Remember those? They were all the rage for a while. They were these little battery-powered hamsters that ran around and made a variety of cute noises. I had brought this zhu-zhu pet with me in order to cheer Bridget up because her grandpa had passed away, and she was sad. I didn't realize that it could turn itself on. Well... Maybe it didn't turn itself on, but something in my purse must have bumped up against it. And turned it on. On the third-floor walkway of the library, overlooking the main performance area of the Schubertiade, it started making all of its cute little squeaky, squealy noises inside of my purse. You could hear the little wheels going 'round and 'round. I reached into my purse to turn it off, but I couldn't figure out how. Zhu-zhu pets had something like 15 buttons, most of which were covered with "fur", and I couldn't find the one that would turn the thing off.

Down below me, a handsome young man in a tux sang away beautifully in a foreign language (I'm not sure which one), while a lovely young lady in a pretty dress elegantly accompanied him on a shiny black grand piano. I'm sure they could hear the squeals. I'm quite sure of it. But, they did not flinch. Neither did anybody else. Not really, anyway. Although, I did detect a few sly smiles from my kindred spirits in the audience. I was starting to get a bit desperate, though, so I pushed the elevator button. My goal was to toss it in there when the doors opened. Bridget, seeing what her mother was about to do, and realizing that the situation would only be made worse if the squealing, squeaking zhu-zhu pet were to ride up and down and up and down in the elevator during the amazing vocal performance that was concurrently taking place, grabbed the thing out of my hands and proceeded to hurry it down three flights of stairs and past all of her friends and teachers (to whom she had been so much looking forward to "showing off" her family). She looked so cute, cupping the little toy in her hands, quietly but quickly fleeing the scene. She kind of looked like Cinderella as she ran out of the ball. Now, more of the nice young people were overtly smiling and trying to stifle giggles. None of the faculty or staff looked amused, though. But, they were polite and pretended not to notice anything -- in the true Catholic tradition of charity towards tuition-paying parents.

I did not see anymore of what happened. But, Bridget tells me that when she finally got downstairs, the first door she got to was a fire exit, so she couldn't go out that one without setting off an alarm. She did find an alternate door and took the toy -- still making noise -- outside. I guess one kind faculty member saw her distress and -- thinking that she was holding a real live rodent -- went over to offer his assistance. That was very nice of him. Don't you think?

Anyhow, the Schubertiade continued on and was concluded without any further disruption. Everybody clapped politely and exited. Nobody said anything rude to me, or even acted as though anything unusual had taken place.

Was I embarrassed? Of course. But, over the years, I have learned that I am prone to causing embarrassing situations -- even when striving to the utmost to avoid them. I have found that it is really better for all involved if I just keep my cool.  So, I just laughed. And sent in a donation.


(Hop over here to read Bridget's side of the story)

Standing With Rosie

I think it's okay to talk about this on my blog, as people have been spreading the word and asking for prayers and positive thoughts and love.

My daughter Bridget, who is 23 years old, graduated a little over a year ago from Thomas Aquinas College (a.k.a. TAC) in California.  If you ever visit TAC, you will be impressed by its beauty and peace and the kindness of the faculty, staff, and students.  Sir Anthony Hopkins just happened to pop by one day, because he saw the bell tower of the chapel from the main road that passes by the school, and was intrigued.  One of the students saw him walking around the chapel, recognized him, and showed him around the college.  A couple of days later, he came back to give an informal talk to the students about his life and work.  Bridget said he was an utterly delightful man -- incredibly kind and personable in visiting with all of the kids.  He also told her that she has beautiful eyes, thus endearing him to her forevermore.

Anyway, Bridget has many dear friends from this lovely school, one of whom is an incredible young lady by the name of Rosie.  And this is a little story about Rosie which I think illustrates her spunk and her spirit.  At TAC, the curriculum is set up in such a way that if you fail even one class during one semester, you have to leave the school and not return until the corresponding semester of the following year, at which time you have to re-take ALL of the classes from that semester, even the ones you didn't fail.  This is because there is only one course of study at TAC, which is taken by 100% of the student body, so all the classes for each year are taught only once during that year, and you have to take all of them in sequence.  So, if you are taking junior level literature, science, math, philosophy, theology, and music during the spring semester, and you fail even one of those classes, you cannot return to the school until the following spring semester, at which time you must repeat all of those classes and pass them before you are allowed to continue.  So, during the spring semester of her junior year, Bridget was really worried about passing math.  This was shocking to me, because math has always been Bridget's favorite subject.  I guess it was a very tough class, though, and she was quite stressed out over it.  I happened to be at the school one day, visiting with Bridget and Rosie.  Bridget told Rosie of her worry about passing math and not being able to return for the fall semester.  Rosie was two years ahead of Bridget, so she had already graduated, and she told Bridget, quite joyfully, "Well, that's okay.  If you fail out, we'll just go to Europe together during the fall.  Europe is lovely during the fall, and we'll have such a good time."  Bridget looked at her in a rather stunned fashion, and I commented that I thought that would be a grand plan.  As it turns out, Bridget got an "A" in the math class, so she didn't get to go to Europe.  Sort of a bummer, actually.

Now, I am so heartsick to have to tell you, Rosie needs all of us.  She needs us to stand with her, because she has been struggling with a serious form of cancer for quite a while.  Through it all, she has remained upbeat and strong.  She has fought hard.  We were told yesterday, though, that it looks like Rosie's fight may be coming to an end.  The cancer has spread throughout her body, in spite of the treatments she has been given.  The doctors have told her and her family that she could pass away sometime over the next couple of weeks.  She is going to try some additional therapy, even though she was informed that her type of cancer does not usually respond well to it.  But Rosie, being the fighter that she is, is going to give it a shot. 

As you may have surmised, Rosie is Catholic.  She has a very deep and sincere faith.  It is not a pushy, judgmental, in-your-face kind of faith.  It is the kind of faith that lifts you up when you are around her.  A joyful faith.  Her family also has this type of faith.  Her family is one of the most special families that I have ever had the privilege of knowing.  She has several brothers and sisters, who are all on their way to be by her side.  And they have all asked if you would please join in praying for Rosie, so that she will be at peace and comfortable at this time.  They have also said that Rosie's spirits are good and that she is actually encouraging others (which does not surprise me, at all).

So, if you would all join Rosie's family, loved ones, and friends in praying for her, it would be so appreciated.  And if you are not comfortable with praying, if you could just surround Rosie with loving thoughts and well-wishes, that would be so kind.

May God bless and Mary keep you.