Vanity

Vanity

June 5, 2017

“Vanity, vanity, all is vanity.” This is the lament of the ancient philosopher, Solomon, widely regarded as the wisest of the ancient kings. When we think of vanity today, images of celebrities may come to mind, but for Solomon vanity had a different meaning —useless. 

Late in his life, Solomon had pretty much had it all — wives, riches, and power. But it all seemed pretty empty to him. The root of the modern word “vanity” comes from the Latin word “Vanitas,” meaning empty. Solomon had discovered that his life, his riches, and his wisdom were all empty. He felt useless.

A lot of older people feel that way. We have outlived our usefulness. We have left our jobs. We have limited funds, failing health, and a shrinking influence on others. We may have wisdom but no one wants to listen. Like Solomon, we feel that our lives are empty.

A few years ago, we bought a new refrigerator. Our old one had lasted more than twenty-five years, but the salesman told us that the new one would probably last no more than ten. “Planned obsolescence,” he told us. Appliances are constructed to fail so that new ones are necessary. Sometimes life feels that way, older people wear out so that younger people can take their places. 

That is the cure for vanity — the filler for emptiness —looking past the mirror to the world beyond. The remedy for a feeling of uselessness is becoming useful. Older people, without the obligations of the young, can fill many needs in this world. Much valuable work is done by senior volunteers in schools, hospitals, communities, and beyond. Helping others fills empty time and spaces. 

Vain people are selfish. Their needs come first. Useful people are selfless. They give of themselves and become necessary and fulfilled. Solomon noted that only the good we do lasts. The good we do endures long after we are gone —the child we help, the hand we hold, the skills we share, the love we spread. 

No life shared is lived in vain. Even Solomon, while moaning about vanity, left behind poetry still read today. Giving of yourself replaces emptiness with purpose. A life lived with purpose — if the purpose is to give to others— will become poetry, filled with images of joy, compassion, and love. 

One of the most beautiful poems I know sits in a wheelchair in a nursing home. She greets everyone with a smile and a hug. She laughs and cries with her friends, welcomes strangers, holds a hand, pats a shoulder, radiates love. Her speech is unclear, but her meaning is crystal. There is no vanity about her. Her life is full. 

No one who shares a smile, a hug, a kind word, a laugh, will ever become obsolete. No life lived for others is lived in vain. No life is empty when filled with love.

Marie Aurora Scotto: Beloved Mother

Marie Aurora Scotto

Beloved Mother

July 21, 1930 - February 21, 2019

Marie Aurora Scotto, 88, passed peacefully into the arms of Jesus on February 21, 2019, at her home at Pennybryn at Maryfield in High Point, NC, surrounded by her family. Born in the family home (in the same bed as her mother Isabella had been), in the village of Sammichele di Bari, Italy, during a rare sighting of the Aurora Borealis, she was named Aurora Maria. The village priest reversed her name at her baptism, saying that Aurora was not a Christian name. 

Maria Aurora, at the age of 4 months, returned by ship with her mother and siblings, Ann, called Nina (2) and Peter (1) to her father, Nicholas in New York. During the journey, the ship nearly sank. Isabella got down on her knees with her children in her arms and prayed to St. Anthony. The ship and family were saved.

Growing up in the Bronx and Astoria, Queens, Marie (whose name had been Americanized by her teachers), was an outstanding student, skipping a grade in elementary school. Marie later attended Berkshire Hills School for Young Women, located in the former home of poet William Cullen Bryant, a “finishing school” in Great Barrington, MA, where she studied German and Music. Marie was a standout as a singer at many school performances. Marie then attended Hunter College for Woman in Manhattan near St. Patrick’s Cathedral, studying Art, Education, and Natural History. Marie also worked in her family’s restaurant, “Moonlight,” to pay for her schooling along with Nina and Peter, and her cousin Mary Torelli. 

On St. Patrick’s Day in 1951, she met a shy young man with a winning smile at a dance at the Brooklyn Polytechnic Institute. Initially reluctant to encourage Michael Joseph Scotto, Marie gave him a false name: Marie O’Dooley. The intrepid young man got her phone number and pursued the woman he knew would be the love of his life. Marie soon returned his affections and they became engaged in his ’51 Chevy Deluxe three months later in Patchogue, Long Island. That fall, while walking home, Marie and Mike were struck by a car driven by a drunk driver. Mike was knocked over and Marie was dragged for three blocks. Severely injured, Marie received last rites, and Mike, who hated hospitals, bravely visited her during her recovery.

Mike and Marie married on June 19, 1954, at St. Joseph Roman Catholic Church in Astoria, with large Italian reception at Hotel One-Fifth Ave. After an eventful wedding night at the Savoy-Plaza and a honeymoon in Maine (detailed in the book Don’t Call Me Mister by Michael J. Scotto), the newlyweds settled into their first home on Clinton St. and Third Place in Brooklyn, close to the Scotto family. Marie worked for Bell Telephone while Mike pursued his career as an electrical engineer. 

Their first child, Lisa Marie, was born in Brooklyn, NY, in April 1955, followed closely by Joseph Nicholas in 1956. After the family moved to Garden City, Long Island, Paul Michael was born in 1958. Mike’s career took him to Kittery, Maine, in 1960 and on to Mystic, Connecticut, in 1961, where Maria Louise was born. After an eventful sojourn to Biloxi, Mississippi, in 1962, the family returned to CT and then moved to Seattle, Washington, where Carla Beth was born in 1963. Mike was diagnosed with cancer while working there so he and Marie, sending the three oldest ahead for schooling, drove across country with the two youngest to seek treatment in New York. The family settled in Pennsylvania where Mike recovered. Michael Francis was born there in 1966. During these many moves and births, Marie devoted herself to the loving care of her children and her husband with grace and joy. 

While raising her large family, Marie volunteered at Epiphany of Our Lord Church and School where she sang in the choir. Marie also worked in administrative positions to help support her family including her six children, her mother Isabella, her father-in-law, Joseph, the family dog, Fuma, and the family cat, Kit-ten. Known for her hospitality, open heart, and welcoming arms, Marie made many friends and was beloved by the community.

In 1980, Mike accepted a new position in Greensboro, NC, and Marie moved with her mother, Carla, and Michael, to establish a new home once again. Marie took classes at UNCG for quilting, tap-dancing, Italian, and guitar and became a vital member of St. Paul’s Roman Catholic Church, again singing in the choir, often soloing at weddings and funerals. A member of the Newcomer’s Club, singing with the New Hummers, she reached out to new residents, welcoming them with open arms and a sympathetic ear. Marie ministered to the aging at Evergreens Nursing Center and Pennybryn at Maryfield bringing music, love, and joy into the lives of everyone she met. 

Marie loved being a grandmother to her 17 grandchildren, Robert Andrew, Jeffrey David, and Thera Marie (Lisa and Bob); Travis Joseph and Curtis David (Joseph and Donna); Nicholas Anthony and Angeline Nicole (Paul and Judy); Jeana Marie and Harry Valentine (Maria and Harry), Maria Isabella, Nina Francis, Michael Elijah, Joseph David (Carla and Michael); Brooklyn Hope, Moriah Joy, London Darby, and Boston Clay (Michael and April); and her six great-grandchildren.

Devoted to one another. Mike’s and Marie’s was a true love story, filled with music, which lasted almost 60 years. When Mike died in 2014, Marie remained in the family home until a fall and a broken hip led her back to Pennybryn at Maryfield as a resident. Her joyful spirit embraced everyone there and she was loved by staff and residents alike. She attended every activity and daily Mass, wearing one of her signature hats. While valiantly enduring the debilitations of Huntington’s Disease, Marie’s smile never wavered, her embracing arms never closed, and her love for her family, her friends, and her God shone about her. 

Marie’s grand-daughter Thera related one story that illustrates Marie’s great love for her Savior and for everyone she met. In a diary “Grammy” shared, Thera read prayers that Grammy had written. Grammy prayed that she could love and be kind to people who weren’t very nice, or people whom she didn’t naturally like very much. What surprised Thera was that, while Grammy’s love seemed as natural as breathing, she had to work at loving as much as everyone else. It was a humbling experience to find that Grammy worked at loving, prayed for love, and was given the grace to live love out.

Marie’s love for everyone who knew her was real! Even at the end of her life, when her health problems were slowly taking her away, her love for her Lord Jesus and for her “neighbors” shone through. Her love and joy were a blessing to her family who surrounded her, in person or by Skype, on the day she went to heaven.

Marie is survived by her six children, her 17 grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren, also by her sisters, Ann, in Grass Valley, CA, and Angela, in Middletown, NJ, and many cousins, nieces, and nephews. She was predeceased by her husband Michael Joseph and her brother Peter. 

A requiem Mass for Marie Aurora Scotto will be celebrated on Friday, March 15, 2019, at St. Paul’s Roman Catholic Church at 11:00 am in Greensboro, NC. A luncheon will follow. Donations in her memory can be made to Huntington’s Disease Society of America (www.hdsa.org) or Pennybryn at Maryfield (www.pennybrynliving.org). The family thanks all of you who extend support, love, and prayers at this difficult time. 

A Mother's Hands

A Mother’s Hands

Lately, I have noticed a change in my hands. More and more when I look at them, I see my mother’s hands. I wonder if I will be worthy of such hands.

I remember my mother’s hands. I see them changing my baby brother’s diapers as he wiggled. I see them tickling his elbows and knees. I see them washing a mountain of dishes after feeding six hungry children. I see those hands washing faces, scrubbing knees, and brushing hair. I see them folded in prayer.  

I feel my mother’s hands too. I feel them patting my back when I choked on the penny I had so foolishly swallowed. I feel them soothing my arms and legs with cool water as I burned with fever. I remember the pull as she smoothed my unmanageable hair into the ponytails I’d begged for.  

Those hands held me close. They soothed my feelings and healed my hurts. They lovingly corrected my errors, taught me life lessons, and washed my socks. A mother’s hands teach her children about the world and love is their primary lesson. I hope that my hands continue this legacy.

As I age, I wonder if I will see my Nonna’s hands. Her hands packed up meager belongings and immigrated to a new world. Her fingers embroidered beautiful tablecloths and handkerchiefs as she struggled to learn English and keep house for her brothers. Her hands made a home for her children in America. They worked long hours cooking in her husband’s restaurant and, when he became ill, those same hands worked in a chocolate factory, hour after hour, banging the frames to knock out the molded candy.  

I remember Nonna’s hands cutting up zucchini and garlic, chopping carrots and celery, kneading the pizza dough and throwing it joyfully into the air, then expertly catching it. I watched them rolling the pasta-stick shaping each delicate piece. Her hands folded mountains of clothes, crocheted mittens and slippers, massaged aching muscles, and pulled dandelions to cook for a special treat.  Once, when I lay very sick, those hands spent hours chopping ice with a hammer to cool my throbbing throat.  

Of course, I had two grandmothers. I see Nana's hands brushing the crumbs from the table, washing the greens in the sink, passing the pasta, weeding the garden, illustrating a story and lowering the hems of my dresses as I grew. My father’s mother sewed beautiful clothes with her hands. Nana dreamed of sewing my wedding dress but her hands fell still too soon.

When I think of these things, aging hands seem a blessing. I wonder if other parts of me will come to resemble my mother. Will I develop eyes that see only good in others? Will my ears strain to hear the joy in the hearts of my children? Will my feet hurry to help and my arms yearn to carry the hurts away and surround those hurting with love?  Will my heart grow more tender and full?

My mother’s hands held my children and my children’s children too. The memory of my mother’s hands still comforts and caresses. She holds us still. 

Getting the Sweet Out

Getting the Sweet Out

News Flash: Sugar is bad for you. Caught you with that one, didn’t I? Of course not. For many years, beginning with our parents warning us to cut out the candy to scientists telling us that sugar “feeds” cancer, we’ve been told to avoid sugar. But, oh that sweet tooth!

Human beings have a natural craving for “sweet.” In ancient times, people tested foods for safety with their taste buds. If it tasted bitter or foul, put it down. I bet that apple in the Garden of Eden was very sweet. Hmm, seems to be a clue in there somewhere.

Apples are good for you -- as are other fruits which contain the natural sugar fructose. But the processed foods we eat today include too much sugar. Sugar is composed of two types: fructose and glucose. Glucose is metabolized by every cell in your body, but fructose can only be metabolized in the liver. If you are an Olympic athlete, your liver has no problem with fructose. But if you are a couch potato or weekend warrior, fructose in your liver goes straight to fat. This fat affects your liver almost like alcohol. Your liver gets drunk on sugar.

Too much sugar has some other alarming effects. It raises your risk for obesity, diabetes, and heart disease. Sugar is addictive. Test rats will starve themselves drinking sugared water rather than eating readily available food pellets. Sugar contains no vitamins, minerals or other nutrients. To top it all off, sugar makes you hungry. It turns off the “enough” button in our brains and makes us overeat. 

We are “drunk” drivers in the supermarket lanes; chocolate cupcakes, the glazed donuts, sugary cereals, and super-sized candy bars beckon us to refill our sugar tanks. In the regular American’s diet, sugar is ubiquitous. How can we get the sweet out of our diets? We need to think AA – Aware and Avoid.

Be aware: Read EVERY label. If it says “added sugars,” such as high fructose corn syrup, put it down. Many packaged foods contain added sugars. Even those listed as natural or organic should be avoided. Most juices and bottled drinks contain loads of sugar. When buying foods or eating out, stick to foods that are as close to nature as possible. Eat the apple instead of the applesauce. 

Creamers have sugar. Sauces have sugar. Crackers have sugar. Condiments have sugar. Canned veggies and fruits have sugar. Foods labeled “healthy” have sugar. If you haven’t made it from scratch in your own kitchen, suspect that sugar has been added.

What about that sweet tooth? Save it for the occasional dessert, candy on holidays, and celebrations. Give your liver a break. It is hard to replace — in fact, impossible. Keep it lean and in top form. Be aware. Avoid sugar. Get the sweet out and the healthy life in.  

Better Than a Kiss

Better Than A Kiss 

On my right knee, a two-inch scar reminds me of a day, many years ago, when my grandparents were coming to visit. When their taxi pulled into the driveway, I raced across our brick patio to greet them. Crash! Blood flowed, cries followed. After calming me down, and bandaging my cut, my mother “made it all better” by giving my knee a healing kiss.

A mom’s healing kiss is magic. Children believe that their parents can heal all of their hurts. Parents teach us many good things. Their words and actions shape our lives — and our values and beliefs. Good parents are mindful of the influence they have on their children, but sometimes, even the best intentions, have unintended consequences.

In her book Mind Over Medicine, Dr. Lissa Rankin raises an interesting question: When we rush to “heal” our children, are we undermining their abilities to heal themselves? Dr. Rankin writes, “Many of us were programmed to have disempowering thoughts about our health at an early age.” We were unwittingly taught to rely on outside sources, doctors, medicines, and even a mother’s kiss, for healing causing children to believe that they “have little or no power to help themselves get well.” 

Rankin suggests an alternative approach. While never withholding medical treatment when really necessary and offering comfort and kisses, she recommends teaching children that their bodies are “self-repair mechanisms.” Instead of programming children to look to the outside for healing, teach them to reach for inner power first: “Imagine if parents programmed impressionable young subconscious minds to believe that we have self-healing superpowers to fight disease and activate health, instead of teaching us that illness must be treated by dosing us up with medication every time we get sick and hauling us off to the doctor’s office for a shot. Imagine how optimally healthy our subconscious minds would be.” 

Having a healthy outlook on life heals many hurts. Children who are raised to feel healthy, empowered, and able are more likely to be well, confident, and capable adults. A child who believes she can get up after falling down is more likely to do so. A child who experiences success after failure is more likely to try again. A child who is trusted to do it by themselves will be more likely to reach higher and work harder.

I loved my parent’s healing kisses and gave many kisses to my own children. Children need to know that their parents love and support them. We must also teach them that they have their own “superpowers” which will support them through whatever life brings their way.  

Kisses are healing. Believing that you have inner resources is healing too. Help your children find the “superpowers” they need to make life “all better.” 

Lights Out!

Lights Out!

“To bed, to bed, said sleepy-head. Good night, good night, turn off the light.” My father chanted this every evening when ushering his children to bed. We went to bed early. I remember many a summer evening lying in my darkened room listening to my friends still playing outside. 

My parents knew that children need a lot of sleep. So every evening, they drew the curtains early and tucked us in. Recent studies support my parents’ early-to-bed policy for young children. Young children need ten to twelve hours a night for optimal functioning. But many children resist going to bed.

In an article in The New York Times, Perry Klass, M.D.  reports on a sleep study conducted at the University of Colorado with children ages three to five. They found that children’s eyes are more sensitive to light and that exposure to bright light in the hour before bedtime causes children to resist sleep: “Just a short exposure of bright light may suppress melatonin and shut down [its] sleep-promoting effect.” In other words, exposing children’s eyes to bright light before bedtimes triggers wakefulness, not sleep.

Researchers found that bright lights wake up the eye and the brain. They suggest turning down the lights an hour before bedtime to trigger melatonin and sleepiness. Children often get out of bed to ask for water or a bathroom visit. Bright light at this time can trigger wakefulness too. So parents should limit light inside and outside of the bedroom at bedtimes to make sure that children get to bed and stay there. Nightlights should be kept low to the ground away from eye level. 

Screen-viewing also triggers wakefulness. Watching TV or playing video games can keep children from falling asleep.  A bedtime story read by a parent or soft music playing in the bedroom induce sleepiness. Regular bedtime routines are vital. Children should go to bed a “regular consistent bedtime, even on weekends… early enough so that they get all the sleep they need.” 

To promote sleep, calm them down, don’t rev them up. Have a regular bedtime routine to help your children prepare to rest.  Turn down all the lights. Clean up both bodies and rooms. Put on the pajamas. Snuggle up with a good book. Tuck them in and kiss them goodnight. Then exit with the intention of preparing for bed yourselves. Let children know that everyone needs to sleep. It is an important part of family life and vital for good health. Let the whole house be ready for “sleepy-time.”

My parents knew that “sleepy-heads” were not productive or pleasant so they made sure that we got the rest we needed. They also needed restful evenings (after all they had six children) to be a couple in love. Set your clocks and turn down the lights for consistent bedtimes for your children. 

Happy children and happy parents sleep long and well.  

Missing Cousins

Missing Cousins

Recently, I attended a memorial service for one of my cousins. Many spoke of his generosity, his commitment to helping others, and his love for his family. His cousins remembered adventures they had shared. Laughter mixed with our tears. Cousins share a special bond.

We spent a lot of time with our cousins when we were young — and we had lots of cousins! Since we moved often, my siblings and I lodged with cousins while our parents packed up old homes and unpacked in new ones. We ate together, played together, attended church and school together, and slept together. 

By age three, I was the oldest of three. One March, my mother’s sister was visiting with her three children (oldest aged four), when a blizzard struck. We hunkered down sleeping in playpens, on couches, and doubling up in cribs. I barely remember the storm but I will never forget holding my cousin’s hand as we drifted off to sleep.

Every summer, we created a village of cousins in our bungalow community near the Great South Bay. Often, strange children would knock on the door claiming to be cousins. We absorbed them quickly into our plans as we dug for buried treasure, wiggled our toes in the sand to find clams, fished for blowfish in the bay, gathered beach grass, sailed across the seas in beached boats, and sat around the fire as the sun set. We listened to grandparents, aunts, and uncles, and great-aunts and great-uncles tell family stories. Their shared memories became ours.

I spent time in each of my close cousins’ homes. I will never forget the epic nosebleed I suffered when spending a week with one set of cousins or the never-ending game of Monopoly played when staying with another set. One imaginative cousin created epic stories told in the early morning hours as the sun rose. I searched for rainbows and watched the sun go down with many others.

Children of my generation share many memories with cousins. As I said, we had lots of them. My children and their cousins share memories too. But I worry about the latest generation’s connections to their cousins. As families separate for jobs and opportunities, many children live far from cousins. How will they connect?

My own cousins live far from me now. We stay in touch through new technologies but our adventures are separate now. Nevertheless, we share a special bond. We share our joys and sorrows. Our tears mix with our laughter. I hope that this latest generation of cousins, though separated by miles, will find ways to make memories too. 

Memorial services are times for memories. Our shared memories shaped the people we became. Author Justin Cronin wrote: "As long as we remember a person, they're not really gone. Their thoughts, their feelings, their memories, they become a part of us.” 

Cousins never forget cousins. My cousins are a part of me. Our memories hold us close.