Sometimes You’re Just Called To It

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achievements, Alverno College, Catholic Theological Union, GPA, graduate school, interview, Milwaukee, ministry, outcome-based learning, profile, religion, self-confidence, student, writing

I recently wrote a profile for Alverno College’s online magazine about one of their many exceptional Alumnae and wanted to share with you.
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Cait Phipps ’12 can’t really tell you why she decided to attend Alverno College. She tossed at least four recruitment brochures before she sat down to read one. “There was something that told me to look into it and then I just fell in love with the school,” Phipps said of discovering Alverno. “I didn’t even set foot on campus until after I was accepted. It just felt right.” It was the same feeling Phipps had when she decided to attend graduate school while receiving her B.A. in History and Religion. She began the application process for several schools but stopped when she received her acceptance to the Catholic Theological Union in Hyde Park., Ill. Like Alverno, it just clicked for her.

Phipps enrolled at Alverno with an Education major but during her sophomore year she had an anxiety attack and realized she needed to change … and wasn’t sure to what. “I’m a spiritual person, always searching for answers, so when I discovered I could take my personal struggle and use it with people of all religions, I switched to a Religion major,” she said. “I am not one to pick up on subtlety but, again somehow, I was put on the right path.”

Once Phipps switched to the double Humanities major, she knew she needed to seek a post-graduate degree for her career. At first, she didn’t feel secure in herself or her schoolwork, but at Alverno she learned confidence and leadership skills that developed her into a strong, productive team worker. “Before Alverno, I was a purely academic, isolated student. Then I grew into this outgoing person who is able to speak on my feet in front of a group. I am wonderfully prepared for graduate school.”

As part of that preparation, Phipps applied for admission and a scholarship, which required a GPA-equivalent. She heard the horror stories about transitioning from Alverno’s outcome-based program to a traditional graded program but wasn’t deterred. She finds it’s best to embrace barriers head-on and go in with a sense of fearlessness. To that end, Phipps was thrilled with the assistance Alverno provided. “Everyone was so helpful working to get my transcripts and grade equivalent submitted, and they really kept things moving. It was much easier and less difficult than what people said it would be. The Alverno community had my back, and now I want to make them proud.”

The Catholic Theological Union was impressed with Phipps and her submission materials from the start. They felt as if they already knew her from her transcripts rather than just a class list and a grade. “The admissions and scholarship offices loved the transcripts and the non-traditional approach from Alverno. They told me they wished all college narratives were as detailed as what Alverno provides,” said Phipps. In fact, she was informed of her scholarship before the grade equivalent was reviewed. The narratives proved to be a strong catalyst to help win the scholarship and, in fall of 2013, Phipps begins her studies for an M.A. in Intercultural Ministry.

Phipps is excited to jump into graduate school and her future, not that she’s held back before. She gave birth to her son, Konrad, just two weeks before the start of her year at Alverno and then for two semesters commuted from Illinois for her weekday classes. As part of her upcoming graduate work, she’ll spend most of January in Jerusalem at a work-study on religious dialogue. “I’d like to work toward breaking down barriers between cultures and religion and to bring people together through healing and peace.” After graduate school, Phipps anticipates she’ll work in a religious organization or a non-profit. Wherever her career takes her, it’s certain Phipps will embrace her calling at the most unexpected time.

Pictured here with son Konrad, Cait Phipps begins graduate studies this fall at the Catholic Theological Union in Illinois (photo provided by C. Phipps)

http://www.alverno.edu/magazine/2013/05/sometimes-youre-just-called-to-it/

How To Live Without

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100 items, Goodwill, moore, musings, oklahoma, reduce, tornado, writing

I’ve found both moving and hunger put different perspectives on life. Since March, I have been boxing my possessions to put in storage and reducing the amount of “stuff” in my life. Ultimately it’s a big undertaking and somewhat exhausting. Most often I’m frustrated at myself. I’m not sure how or when I needed eight pairs of black dress pants, but there they were, displayed neatly on trouser hangers with their straight, ironed lines defying me to bid them adieu. I’m surprised at how easily I was able to put them into the “Goodwill” box without a second thought. While I need to figure out exactly why I accumulated so much, it does feel good that I can make the choice to dispose of items at will and drive a carload to the donation center.  

This reminds me of an experiment – or lifestyle choice – a former work associate discussed with our team a few years ago. There was a challenge circulating to reduce your life to 100 items. The premise was to discover what were the 100 essential items you needed to exist. Could you do it? Articles were written and talk shows discussed the topic. Our team spent time debating what 100 items we would choose. Of course, none of us wanted exactly the same things, but there were some basics we thought were necessary. What was mind-boggling, though, was how little 100 items actually includes if you were to lay the items side by side and count each individually.

Toothbrush = 1
Toothpaste = 1
Comb = 1
Pair of shoes = 2
Jeans = 1
Shirt =1
Underwear = 1
Bra = 1
Jacket = 1, etc., and so on.

These items already total 10 and don’t even include a car (1), or apartment/house (1), or mattress (1), or pillow (1) or sheets (3 – fitted, loose and pillow case cover) or a plate (1) or cup (1). And what if you thought about all the items you have in your kitchen or house or car? And what about the iPod, iPad, iPhone*, charger, laptop, Xbox, and all the other electronics we use daily? Whew. There are probably tens of thousands of items. So how do you decide what is most important?

U.S. Air Force photo by Maj. Jon Quinlan

I never embraced the 100-item challenge, but while I clean out my closets and cupboards I’ve diminished my belongings by half. As I watch the people of Moore, Okla., begin their recovery process after the devastating EF5 tornado ripped through their community, I am acutely aware how those residents did not have a choice in reducing their items to 100 or even 1,000. They stand in front of their demolished homes with contents strewn across the countryside and many have to start over from nothing by retrieving anything salvageable. Sometimes all that remains fits into a single laundry basket.

Please donate in any way you can – through donations to the Red Cross, to local relief efforts or even by prayer. And as you take a moment today to look at your surroundings, at all the items that may well total over 100 in just a single room, what can you live without?

* This is not an advertisement for Apple.

Sometimes You Just Gotta Twirl

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Bonz, creative, Hallmark, hide and go seek, laughter, life, twirl, twirling, XBox

I held the Hallmark card in front of me, opening and closing it to take in the black and white photo of the young dancing girl in the short lace dress. The text inside was a loopy script meant to convey fun and lightheartedness. I had been feeling a bit down lately and my friend Jake cared enough to send the very best.

Twirling.

I was enthralled by the notion. I couldn’t remember the last time I twirled. Probably when I was nine or ten and playing in the backyard of my childhood home. Who had time to twirl as an adult? Between work, kids, bills, the dog and every other conceivable priority, when was there time to just go out in the backyard and twirl?

What would the neighbor’s think? Would they think I had finally lost my lid? Would they remain silent until someone arrived home, then conspiratorially pull him aside and confide I had been twirling in the back yard and maybe needed a vacation? Would a daughter die of like absolute and like total embarrassment? Would a son dare to look up for two seconds from his XBox games to even notice?

I looked down at the dog, seated patiently at my feet. In his mind everything was edible and he assumed my card was a tasty Bonz treat I would accidentally drop to the floor where he could slurp it up in one gulp. Now the dog, he often twirled. He didn’t worry who saw him. Round and round he’d chasing his tail and we’d laugh at his silliness.

Obviously twirling made people laugh, so why didn’t we do it more? When did all those things we loved as children become taboo or too unimportant to us as adults? Playing hide and go seek and experiencing the thrill of near-discovery from inside the dirty clothes hamper. Or kick-the-can and rushing to free your friends from the jail on Mrs. Higgin’s porch before the streetlights came on and you had to go home. Or lying in the grass and identifying the ice cream cone, animals or angels floating by in the clouds.

I looked outside at the bright May morning with the clear blue sky and gentle breeze pushing at the lilac bushes. I looked down at the dog. He looked up at me and then at the card, licking his chops. I told him I had to do it. His ears perked. His language consisted only of treat, walk or car. I dropped the card on the counter, kicked off my slippers and opened the sliding door.

Sometimes you just gotta twirl.

The International Package – Part IV

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creative, creative writing, flight, germany, international, iPad, passport, sister, Tarot, tarot cards, writings

I clutched the boarding pass to my chest, watching the first class passengers assemble and board at the gate. They seemed so worldly and confident in their travels, managing documents and passing quickly down the jetbridge. My passport, applied for when Stephanie first moved overseas, was still stiff and unstamped, the photo barely resembling me any longer. It was safe in the travel belt around my waist, along with a few travelers’ cheques. I was told to exchange my money when I landed for better exchange rates. My pulse fluttered with anticipation.

For the twentieth time, I mentally reviewed the items I prepared for Bill. There was the list of dinners posted on the refrigerator that matched the containers in the freezer. The bills were set out on the kitchen counter with checks written and postage paid. The recycling and garbage collection days were circled in bright green on the calendar. Everything was done and I kissed him goodbye, telling him to enjoy his vacation.

Bill, of course, was not pleased I was leaving but after what I learned from my research, I didn’t have a choice. I called the travel agent, dipped into our savings and made the reservations. It was seven years too late to visit Stephanie, but someone somewhere was trying to get a message to me about her and I wanted to find out why.

I settled in my window seat in row 34, next to a college student already absorbed in a movie playing on his iPad. I slipped off my shoes and put on a pair of wool socks before gathering my travel guide, notebook and bottle of water. I settled in for the eight-hour flight where I would read travel information and plan the route for my mission.

When I met with the tarot card reader, she had lovingly examined the cards, cooing over them and declaring she had never seen such a beautiful deck. She said they were extremely unusual and most likely valuable so she handwrote a list of several contacts for me. The third name, an Elisabeth Wagner replied quickly to the email I sent her through her website.

– From the photographs provided, I can assess the renowned Spanish artisan, Francisco De La Rosa made the cards between 1927 and 1940, although this deck is most likely from his later period. De La Rosa was killed during the war, but his cards continue to pass through the hands of serious art collectors. Your set is one of a kind and appears to be in excellent condition, however to provide an appraisal, I will need to inspect and observe the cards directly.
With kind regards,
Elisabeth Wagner

I could have insured the cards and sent them to her, but there was something telling me I should go. The Airbus A330 pushed back from the gate and began to pick up speed on the runway.  I clutched at the armrests, watching the ground fall away. Frau Wagner owned an art gallery in Bad Sazluflen, a little town situated in western Germany. We were scheduled to meet in two days.

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Who’s the Dork in the Red Boots?

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boots, creative, dork, folk dancing, footwear, Krakow, Milwaukee, musings, Poland, Polish, Polish Fest, teens, writings

My mother encouraged me to join a Polish youth folk dance group when I was 12-years-old. I thought she was crazy. Polish folk dancing? What dork liked to folk dance? Certainly no one I knew. And not me.

Since I had recently given up ballet to play basketball, she thought I would have fun – even if it was Polish folk dancing. She was persistent and I was skeptical. I finally agreed to watch a rehearsal, and a few days later we sat side by side on aluminum folding chairs in a VFW hall. In front of us there were 25 teenagers skipping, hopping, dancing and having a great time while a woman played the accordion with great enthusiasm and gusto. I was simultaneously amazed, intrigued and intimidated. It was no longer a matter of gauging the level of dorkiness, but rather how could these kids have so much fun Polish folk dancing? One of the older girls brought me onto the floor and taught me a few steps. Then they put me in a dance and I felt like a feather caught in a tornado.

photo by Lisa Bettany

Mom was only wrong about me liking it. Wrong because soon I came to love Polish folk dancing and was an active member of the youth group for 15 years. We rehearsed weekly and performed several times monthly. At one point there were 40 of us – all who smiled, laughed and loved performing. Some of those “kids” are still my closest friends. I have great memories of performing and entertaining at nursing homes, V.A. hospitals and community events around the State of Wisconsin and even in Poland. What also stuck with me was a love of boots.

Who knew footwear could be so important to Polish dancing? My first pair of boots came from that Polish folk-dance group. They weren’t “authentic” Polish boots because we ordered them from JC Penney, but they were a good starter pair – red leather pull-ons cut to the knee with a flat heel and leather sole that was repaired many times. A few years later, I graduated to a “real” pair of red folk dance boots – made in Poland. They were to mid-calf and laced up the front with a two-inch heel. On our performance tour in Poland several years later, I was able to visit the small roadside costume shop in Krakow where the boots were handcrafted.

After I graduated to the authentic footwear, I sometimes wore my starter pair on regular days. This was the mid-80s, so red knee boots with a white t-shirt and long black skirt was totally acceptable. In eighth grade, I was rarely without my pair of low-calf black suede boots into which I would artfully tuck my jeans after first pinning them tightly around my ankle. For passing my driver’s license test, my dad treated me to a pair of beautiful, pale pink, calf-high, flat-soled boots with thick brown laces – reminiscent of wrestler’s footwear. Then I purchased boots as I could afford it. In college, I wore boots that were not only stylish, but could also survive the sloppiness of a Milwaukee winter as I travelled the county transit system.

Through the years, my boot purchases have been eclectic but they’re always made of leather as I prefer the quality and durability, as well as the look and feel. Stiletto-heeled and pointy-toes in black. Chunky-heeled grey suede. A hunting boot with steel buckles. Distressed brown with front laces and a side zipper. Brown plaid fabric with decorative gold buckles at the ankle. A biker motif with snaps and laces. At a recent writer’s conference, I wore a pair of stylized riding boots that combined black leather with a stretch material and someone thought they were “steam punk.” Without even knowing it – how trendy of me!

I wear boots as frequently as I can and choose pairs that are comfortable and stylish simply because I refuse to wear footwear that hurts. My boot count is nearly as high as my shoe count, and when I look at the assortment of browns, greys, blacks, patterns, heights and styles greeting me in my closet, I am giddy.

Every year at the Polish Fest in Milwaukee, I watch the folk dancers float, jump and prance across the stage in their red leather boots. I’m tempted to pull mine out of storage, lace them up and join in, but I remain in the audience, content to enjoy the memories. Those were my influential footwear. My red Polish dance boots that represent a wonderful transition from adolescence into adulthood, and the happy memories of good friends in a Polish folk dance group who weren’t afraid to be dorky or part of something different.