(shared by Rose Pacatte, Diane De Ava, April 20, 2010)

Ain't it the truth!

Walking can add minutes to your life. This enables you at 85 years old to spend an additional 5 months in a nursing home at $7,000 per month.

My grandpa started walking five miles a day when he was 60. Now he’s 97 years old and we don’t know where the hell he is.

I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me.

The only reason I would take up walking is so that I could hear heavy breathing again.

I have to walk early in the morning before my brain figures out what I’m doing.

I joined a health club last year, spent about 400 bucks. Haven’t lost a pound. Apparently you have to go there.

Every time I hear the dirty word ‘exercise’, I wash my mouth out with chocolate.

Ah, Maxine exemplifies how I feel about my scarred experiences climbing the steps, and why some leaders are born.

I do have flabby thighs, but fortunately my stomach covers them.

The advantage of exercising every day is so when you die, they’ll say, ‘Well, she looks good doesn’t she.’

If you are going to try cross-country skiing, start with a small country.

I know I got a lot of exercise the last few years … just getting over the hill.

Every time I start thinking too much about how I look, I just find a Happy Hour and by the time I leave, I look just fine.

We all get heavier as we get older, because there’s a lot more information in our heads. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

You could walk this over to your friends but heck, just e-mail it to them!

I remember being toted by my blue (or violet) haired granma Mimi to the Indian River Shrine “The World’s Tallest Crucifix” . It was HUGE, and there were 28 steps leading to the top of the hill. Each step contained a relic of a particular saint. Trouble was, the spiritually inclined would take the stairs on their knees, bowing, kissing the relic and saying a prayer, then pop up and struggle for the next step.

Picture me, say 5 years old, following a long line of granma behinds, 28 ahead of me, climbing, bowing, kissing, praying. It’s a memory I will never forget. Being mooned by those 1954 ladies in dresses, rolled down socks, girdle and corset ablaze, burnt into my mind. I think that’s when I decided the only safe place was to be at the 28th step. Year after year. ‘Be first and thou shalt moon all others behind you.” The motto helps me a lot today.

To learn more about The Cross in the Woods, Indian River, MI see their website www.CrossInTheWoods.org It really is lovely – of course I’m viewing it from the 28th step. ;o)

Papa, lead us through our fears and tears, to laughter. Aging is only for the brave, but living with those aging or with terminal illness, makes saints. “Life is too important to take seriously” has been attributed to Oscar Wilde and John Lennon. But they are words of wisdom.

Love, Vicki

From below the crucifix it is a dizzying sight. Not to take away from it's startling dimensions, a number of years ago we visited the Shrine with staff from St. Mary's, Grayling. Anne Dole had her 3 yr. old boy with her, who at this position looking up, excitedly shouted "Look, Mom, I can see his penis!!" Blushing Anne tried to shoosh him. But he kept pointing and saying "Look, look right there!!" So, awkwardly we looked up under Jesus' skirt and lo and behold there was 'something' up there. As we examined it more closely it was a giant wasp nest perfectly positioned. We hurriedly ran down the steps and exited to the gift shop. We reported the wasp issue to the friars, so they could fix it. Still hear their laughter ...

Certainly there is a reason, besides the ever changing seasons, we Michiganders like to call our state "God's Country". While you cannot see the stairs the are to the left of the image, and it is a long, long trip for the old shins.

The wood was seasoned during the winter of 1954. It was then sanded, polished and fitted with an iron jacket or base. The base would be fastened to bolts in the concrete and steel foundation that had been buried in Calvary Hill. When the two redwood pieces arrived at the Shrine, it took two days to assemble the Cross. On August 5, 1954, hundreds of people saw McCready and Sons of Gaylord and William A. Porter, contractor, of East Jordan use their cranes to lift and place the Cross on its foundation. The larger crane had a 70 foot boom. Lifting and placing of the Cross took only one-half hour. A crew of workers tightened the nuts to secure the Cross on Calvary Hill. Wood was taken from a 2,000 year old Redwood tree in western Oregon. For information on Marshall Fredericks, the sculpture, see www.MarshallFredericks.com

http://www.svsu.edu/mfsm/biography.html Marshall Fredericks, noted sculptor, has his museum at Saginaw Valley State University. He was noted not only for the crucifix at Indian River Shrine, but for the Spirit of Detroit, for the Viking in us a number of Norsemen projects, and many more.

Del Shannon .. The Beatles ... Joan Baez and Peter, Paul and Mary, the wind trying to defy my frozen stiff with hairspray and Dep laden coiffure, wrapped in a chartreuse chiffon scarf. Nothing could stop me, no one was gonna let me down ...

It was 1967. Dad had the biggest, baddest 68 Mustang Convertible WITH 8 track! Copper finish, cream leather interior. it was raw with sexiness. Not unnoticed by the football team, mind you. After work, on Saturday’s at the Grayling Restaurant, sometime my dad would come, switch cars with me (he got the green Opal from God knows when) and when I turned off the lights, and locked the door, there would be my dream car. I’d quickly put in my 8 tracks of choice, often something from Bobby Darin (oooh Mack the Knife), Bobby Vee, Ricky Nelson, the Turtles (Turn, Turn, Turn), and “Run, run, runaway” by Del Shannon. In the passenger seat were my cool clothes, capris, tank top, matching pointy shoes and chiffon scarf.

Quickly running back in, I became my teenaged self. Hopping back in the car, alive and feeling fresh even with 10 hrs waiting tables, the beat from the stereo began my feet moving, fingers tapping and the rhythm flowed from my toes to my head.

A couple quick turns on Main Street (‘draggin’ the Main’), honking and laughing with classmates in all sorts of vehicles. I’d usually snag a gal friend and then after driving all 6 blocks, headed for Spike’s Keg o’Nails on ‘special Saturdays’ or on to Curley’s or Days’ Drive-in. And if it was a Spike’s night it would a burger and a vanilla coke, thowing dill pickles at one another, pretending to ignore the boys.

Jivin', doing the Twist, the Hustle and Mashed Potatoes. It was a time when anyone could dance! I had the first Mary Quant mini-skirt, my Vidal Sasson hair cut, but some great penny loafers and cords. "and a 1-2-3 twist, a 1-2-3 jump ..."

Then some brave couple of gals would sink some nickels in the juke box, and soon the tiny dance floor was beckoning other gals. Eventually, a sheepish boy friend would grab his ‘steady’ and more nickels fed the box. Bliss.

Fast forward to 2010, and you will find me vegetating. But tonite, with the air crisp, and the stars like diamonds, I decided at 11:00 pm that I was hungry and needed something to eat that wasn’t a cold ham & cheese sandwich. Brace on, rangy hair in a pony tail, requisite magazine for lone diners, I grabbed my cane, and slid into my Mazda. Again, I made the whole 2 blocks in minutes with the Shandells blasting, windows down.

As I parked in the handicap spot, I heard the music from the sidewalk. Entering the redwood tavern, I was greeted with a blast of jazz played on the electric guitar. And singing. The smoke had calmed down at this late time, and there were maybe 10 folks there. Within minutes, we began a rapport with the musician, cat calls, bad jokes and one-liners. After keeping up with them with my bawdy sense of humor, I was still dubbed “the Nun”.

For 60 minutes I was unaware of my bustier or sitting on my cane. I was Miss Grayling, swaying to the music. It was 1967, with an amazingly full life to be discovered. Whatever was left of brain was having a great time. I had recovered the Pony, the Boogaloo and the Hitch Hiker, and the clean wood floors for awhile were covered in sawdust and peanut shells.

It’s good to be alive. Thanks, Papa.

Love, Vicki

Everything about my youth was interwined by the AuSable River. Here is my first boy-girl dance party, with handsome Jack Mason, whose family helped define what making love to the Goddess AuSable was all about. May he RIP, but I kinda thought I saw him tonight.

A darned good year!! College at Moo U was coming up, got a full 'ride' at their experimental Justin Morrel's College, to study humanities and speak Russion while we studied abroad for 2 years. Life threw some curves, but good ones, and now I'm trying to figure out how to play this final one.

Anyone on a board hosting a convention knows they will muck something up at some time. But not ME!! I was on the board, helping to bring break food in, since they hadn’t a large allowance. The meetings were to begin one day earlier … But I got totally lost at the airport. Was there 8 hours looking for where I was supposed to be, finally rebooked. I fibbed that my flight was canceled. It was the 4th time this had happened. So frustrating. How could this happen to ME??!!

And when I finally arrived, a board member said in front of my boss, “Well, Vicki, if you are sincere about being president you should probably have been here.” My boss looked at me. And before I could say anything, the other party said “And lying about a canceled flight won’t help.” And then I wanted to crawl in a hole as my boss, stunned, looked at me for a long time.

I was up for election as president of Catholic Academy, something I had dreamed of for 8 years. But why stop there?? I had a booth I needed to be at when I wasn’t in a meeting. Not a problem, juggled multi-tasking all my life.

Then my good friend came by – as the aisles and booths were filled to overflowing – and said “Vicki, will you do the invocation for today’s luncheon?” “Not a problem, if you have it written out,” I responded. She flung over her shoulder, “I don’t have anything. You can wing it!”

Omg. I could not wing it. My brain just closed down. I had 5 minutes to prepare. Our booth was, luckily, on the route to the Ladies Room. Not a lot of eye contact, but the traffic was good. For 3 days I’d escorted ladies – with no obligation to my product – into the Ladies Room and showed them the quiet back exit.

Something happened when I was told to extemporaneously do the ‘invocation’. My favorite author, Mary Higgins Clark was there to honor those attending. But she couldn’t make it, but her lovely daughter took her place. We were honoring Cardinal Foley and the best Editor/Writer, Fr. Jeremy, from St. Anthony Messenger Press. A BIG luncheon, to say the least. The MC and his counterpart had rehearsed. When I heard there was no script for me, I just shut down.

Since my booth was the entrance to the ladies room, I ran to my comfort zone for 5 minutes. However, as I rested on the red lounge, 3 men suggested I might like the Ladies Room better. ???? I looked around and sure enough, men were at urinals and I had fled to the wrong restroom.

I fled, with one note scrawled large “God, help me!!”

Friends said I was funny, but I don’t remember. All I remember was an out of body experience, looking down at someone I loved, floundering, grasping for any words to fill the silence. I remember thanking the men in the men’s room … and near the end, promoting Mary Higgins Clark to a saint.

To this day I am very vulnerable about what people say I said to Cardinal Foley, Fr. Jeremy OFM, and everyone assembled there. I have no recollection of what happened. But after this embarrassing 15 (!!) minutes of infamy, I can recite what everyone said: “Say Amen, Vicki, next time just say Amen.”

That was the first time (after getting lost for a full day in the airport) and blabbing about why I should be Catholic Academy’s president, that I knew something was wrong.

I had never heard of FTD/Picks as an early onset dementia (I was in my 50s) with the shortest lifespan, no medication, no cure, the fastest killer of adults between 20 – 50. I only knew I was ashamed of what I presented to Catholic Academy and as the awful world’s longest invocation …

Humility has become my angel’s wings, wrapping herself around me. I have days I cannot speak at all (where was FTD/Picks when I needed it???!!). But most days I can write. And my long term memory brings out times of crushing embarrassment.

I had such simple, humble plans for CA … but now I have the same ideas about how long I will live and make sense when I write for others who have lost their voice and their words.

I pray that the Catholic Media Conference bears great fruit. How I would love to join you, but likely, I would probably forget the words, or the voice to speak with you, were I there amongst you.

Love to you all. Don’t stop being open to new ideas. The worst you can do is have dementia …

xo Vicki