Remembering Kathy: Kathy Vermitsky, Ordinary Saint, Extraordinary Mothering

This post originally appeared last year as a guest post  in Ministry and Motherhood. I miss my friend, and hope you will enjoy reading about what Kathy brought to our lives.

baby Tayler

Soon after the birth of my first grandchild, Tayler, my daughter Katie searched for childcare for her newborn baby as she was about to return to her job. She searched and interviewed several people and places and seemed to find something lacking in every person and place. This was a brand new mom looking for someone to take care of her brand new baby.

On the day she found the right person, Kathy Vermitsky, Katie phoned and excitedly asked if I would come right away to meet Kathy, who ran an in-home daycare.

“She’s perfect! You’re going to love her! She reminds me of you!” Katie gushed. While I took that as flattery, I reminded Katie that this was her decision and not ours.

“I’m already going to sign up with her–I just want you to meet her and she wants to meet you.” And so I did. That very day was the serendipity of God’s blessed plan.

Kathy and her family were very active in our church. She was a Eucharistic minister, her husband John helped run the St. Vincent DePaul society, her son was the altar server at Katie’s wedding, and Kathy’s uncle was the founding pastor of our parish, St. Jude’s.

When I met Kathy I did find her to be much like me, plain spoken and forthright. I liked that. We both had little tolerance for conversational tap dance. 

At this first meeting it was obvious that she ran a “tight ship.”

Granddaughter Tayler began daycare with Kathy the following week. 

Over the next 15 years Kathy and I also built a friendship that was based on more than the fact that she was the daycare provider for my grandchildren. She and I shared a mutual philosophy on child rearing: “love ’em and feed ’em and leave ’em alone, but give them structure and rules.”

Mike and Tayler

When my infant grandson suffered a Traumatic Brain Injury, and required therapy and early intervention, I took a leave from my job. My daughter Chris found herself a single mom with a baby with special needs . . . so I stepped in so she could continue to work.

As I began to get my grandson’s therapies in place, Kathy insisted she take him in her care.“You need to go back to your job, and this is my job.”

Kathy took his therapist visits into her home and worked them into her daily routine with the other children in her care. While most children aged out of Kathy’s daycare,  she kept my grandson in her care for the next 13 years, arranging with his school bus to pick up and drop off at her home. She was essential in his progress and development.

Kathy mothered and nurtured every child who came into her care, even if she didn’t have immediate affection for the parent. When it was time to leave daycare and attend school, every child was fully prepared for kindergarten. They could read, write and recite the alphabet, print their name and recite their address and phone number. They were accustomed to structure and routine mixed with play and down time and afternoon hugs after nap time. The children had a singular love and respect for Kathy that was unique . . . different from their own Mommy, but not very different.

Kathy celebrated with us: birthday parties, christenings, communions, proms and graduations. She simply meshed in. Upon her arrival the kids would excitedly chant, “Kathy’s here, Kathy’s here!” Soon they would jockey for turns to sit on her lap or nestle under her arm. Although these events were supposed to be her day off, she would simply wave it off. “It’s fine,” she’d say and take another kid to her lap.

Kathy was a Mom’s Mom. She ran a tight ship from the comfort and security of a home where toy boxes and miniature toy kitchens lined the walls of her living room. Her back yard was peppered with trikes, bikes and wagons. Every child who passed through her loving and capable arms understood what was expected and what was accepted. 

Kathy at the Vatican

She not only mothered the children in her care, she mothered the Moms. It was more than her job. It was her vocation. When one of the young Moms would complain about some disagreement with Kathy, I reminded them, “She takes care of your children while you go to work. Do you know someone who can do it better?” And that would be the end of it. Kathy made our life easier.

Kathy’s sudden death, left a sudden vacuum that can never be filled. When she died, it was the first death and loss of a loved one that my older grandchildren actually grieved. At her funeral mass, the church of St. Jude was packed with folks she touched in her years of service to the young people she shepherded.

They are the legacy of Kathy’s unconditional love and extraordinary mothering.

Prime Stache

My husband and I found ourselves with some unexpected‘day date’ time on Thursday.  “Let’s get some lunch. I want you to try the food at Prime Stache,” he said.

Recently, his workplace held a celebratory employee luncheon with a Food Truck theme. Food Trucks in a suburban office setting are a rare treat.  

Their first selection was hoped to be a local would-be celebrity Food Network’s Food Truck Race runner-up, but they were unresponsive and as fortune would have it, Prime Stache promptly stepped in and put on a luncheon beyond expectations, so much so that I have been hearing from the Hubby for the last 3 weeks how great the food was. Who was I to pass up a Day-Date lunch in Olde City?

Except for the huge mustache hanging straight over the sidewalk I would have  walked right by the place.

Although it was noon and it felt as though we were walking into a dark Saloon that had just unlocked  it’s doors. The interior is dimly lit and comfortably rustic with lots of rough hewn dark wood and exposed brick.

We ordered the Chili Cheese Fries for an appetizer, along with a delicious IPA, Lancaster Hop Hog, suggested by Staches’s mixology guru , Sean Glines. This beer was a malty and hoppy blend complementing my meal nicely.

The fries were a toasty brown, thin cut with skin on, but not overdone. They are half baked and then fried, so there was the potatoey feel that I personally appreciate in good French Fries. The plate was presented with the fries sitting on a base of melted white cheese sauce, not provolone and not cheddar, so the blend was just right, mild by not bland. Topped with the Chili that was not too saucy, and more cheese drizzled over it and with a side of sliced pickled jalapeno peppers.

There was a lot of cheese on that plate, but we soon sopped it up with the fries that came with our sandwiches. Mine was the Salmon Burger, Hubby’s was the Cheesesteak wrap. The salmon burger was good, chunks of salmon mixed with egg and a little bit  of bread crumbs, but the spring mix and feta with an herby aioli was really the better part of this sandwich served on a brioche roll. The cheese steak wrap was apparently a Food Truck only menu item, but they graciously made one for the Hubby. It was a lot of Prime Rib thinly sliced and packed into a flour tortilla with a rough cut slaw. The portion was enormous, enough for two meals.

You can find plenty of positive reviews and info on thisfine establishment on the web. Check it out!

Repurposing Bitterness, Cutting Loose the Emotional Ball and Chain

What happens when in any given situation you’ve done all you possibly could or would and it still isn’t ‘enough’. How should you feel and should you do something more? 

With age, I have learned to more easily have a stoic perspective on letting go and not feeling an obligation to “step up”. The qualifier is, “with age”. I have muttered at least daily, “I’m too old for this crap.”

Lately I’ve experienced more than a few people who carry so much emotional baggage for things in the very distant past and relatively recent past, it feels as though I am surrounded by emotional vampires or adrenaline junkies and sometimes both. These are the times I am muttering, “I’m too old for this crap.” It can be soul sucking to listen to the drama of  displays of hurt feelings, emotional injustices, real or imagined as they suck away from a day that already feels shortened before doing it all over again the next day. 

My upbringing often leaves me with the feeling that I should continue to keep giving or trying or supporting. This is a misguided message that has been passed down to many women that by virtue of gender, we should be able to keep going on – supporting, doing, fixing, making things better, wiping others tears, regardless of how we feel, physically or emotionally about any given thing. I’m not talking about martyrdom or perennial self-sacrifice. I am too old for the self-sacrifice crap. I‘ve earned my entitlement to a little self-indulgence.

I am talking about letting things go and knowing when it is time to forgive and forget, whether it’s about yourself or others or events. Stuff happens. Life is filled with stuff, good and bad. To this I say, “Suck it up Cupcake. Put you big girl pants on and get on with it.”

You might have seen a Facebook post that makes the rounds, “If you want to fly, you gotta let go of the stuff that weighs you down.” I acknowledge this is easier said, than done.

Sometimes, not always, the stuff that weighs you down must be resolved before you can let it go. Whether you have to resolve it with another person or within yourself, depends on how much it weighs you down. Some stuff will never be resolved.

Another axiom that seems to make the rounds in social media is “ holding a grudge is like letting someone  (or something) live rent free in your head.” Sometimes that grudge is personally yours, with your own past or behaviors.

I once read a parable of sorts in 10 Tips to Let Go of the Past and Embrace theFuture

The story told of two monks that came upon a crying young woman, troubled by not being able to navigate her way across a deep river. The younger monk turned away because of a vow to not touch a woman. The older monk silently assisted the woman in need and went on his way, while the younger monk harangued the other about his charitable deed. Finally, at the end of the day the older monk turned to the younger one. "I only carried her across the river. You have been carrying her all day."

It’s a good example of letting go of the past, looking toward the future, but living in the present moment.

Taking from “10 Tips to Let Go of the Past, here follows five personal thoughts of a list of my own unsolicited 2 cents:

1.    Meditate: find some place or time to quiet your brain and slow your heart, whether it’s a brief prayer or silent mantra, learn the value and self-sustenance of being still.
2. Understand: look at yourself and acknowledge how you affect others in your life circle. Negative behaviors will attract negative responses. Take ownership for that but don’t let it define who you are as a person.
3. Accept: Acknowledge the past, good and bad, see the benefits, learn from the outcomes and free yourself from whatever feels like a mental ball and chain.
4. Empty your cup: declutter that emotional hoarding. It has an awful bitter aftertaste.
5. Flex: Be flexible in your thoughts and stretch your beliefs. Don’t be the young monk who would forsake the welfare of another human being and judge another because of an inflexible personal conviction.  He might need similar assistance for himself at another time.

When life gives you lemons, don’t just make the lemonade, add extra sugar. Enjoy the refreshing sweetness of a repurposed bitter fruit.

Make enough of that sweet lemonade to share with others, especially those in your life circle.

Wayward Pines, A Place to Die...

I found it difficult to get interested in the initial installment of The “Wayward Pines”.

It was a little too dark visually and I had trouble keeping up with the characters and their spidery networks of relationships. But when my husband seemed to become engrossed in something that appeared to be not much more than a mid-season filler with a cult-like following, I was intrigued. His cultish television viewing habits are more like “top 40” shows. The DVR is his second best friend. I digress.

After learning that M. Night Shyamalan was heavily involved in the production, I felt like I really couldn’t commit to “Wayward Pines”. Critical comparisons to Shyamalan’s “The Village” really left me cold. I found that movie disappointing in its predictability. A clever story, but not as cleverly veiled as “The Sixth Sense”. I am a Twin Peaks fan and it did not even come close!

Fast forward to the mid-way point of “Wayward Pines” and there is an irresistible buzz about how ‘good’ this show is and so, I became interested, but not really hooked. I made lunches while watching the show and did not miss anything.

Based on an apocalyptic horror trilogy by Blake Couch, it appears the entire television series covers all three books of “The Wayward Pines Series” in ten episodes. Although I admit I did not read the books, I admire the economy in trimming down three books into a ten episode television series. I also think that was a shortcoming which made it difficult to follow. If you’ve read the books, watching the series might be like a ‘Cliff’s Notes” version. Huge chunks of information are omitted, the general story is applied but not enough to make you care.

Recently, we accepted an invitation from the Philadelphia Film Society to attend the series finale to be screened in the Prince theater and a follow-up Q&A with Mr. Shyamalan. I thought it might interesting but soon felt like a trip to Center City after 8’oclock, on a ‘work night’  for a less than one hour television view and a brief fan based Q&A might not be worth the time. I was correct.

The ending was flat and disappointing. If it was supposed to be a cliff-hanger, it fell with a thud. If the FOX network has any designs on a second season, I hope the actors option for advance payment in the event of series cancellation. Maybe the big name actors that were killed off reckoned a revelation that the apocalyptic series was really an end of days saga.

Shyamalan’s next movie opening in September , “The Visit”, received noticeable commercial air time, and the most memorable commercial spot was a tease for the “X Files”, set to air after the NFL Championship game in January.

Fans of the book series might pine for more Wayward Pines, but I’m saving my heart for resurrecting Mulder and Scully. The truth is out there. I want to believe. I do.

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