My Catholic Roots are showing -

New York The Ciriza Way

June 5, 2017 5 Comments

Mike’s view from the Empire State Building

Our first trip to the Big Apple was in the early 80’s. As soon as we exited the taxi, there in broad daylight was a dead body in front of the entrance to our hotel. The police had just arrived and were investigating the matter. Before the man’s body was completely covered with a white sheet, I could not take my eyes off deceased person. To the New Yorkers, this was just another day and business as usual; no one seemed to really be overly concerned. This left a hard impression on me and it was difficult to shake off.

Mike and I settled in our room and could not wait to explore the sights. Not 10 minutes in our walk did we witness a crime. An attractive, well- dressed black woman grabbed a handbag from an innocent bystander and ran away with the purse in tow. Mike just looked at me and we both changed our direction. It was not that we did not want to get involved, it was that we were afraid. It did not take long to pick up the spirit of the detached New Yorkers.

We walked for miles until we finally reached Bloomingdale’s . This store is the original iconic heart of shopping in Manhattan, and all I wanted was to be carrying a small, medium or large brown bag from Bloomingdale’s. Mike gave me a time to shop and told me to meet him at trendy restaurant called “Yellowfinger.” He pointed to the eatery, but I was too caught up in the overwhelming sights and sounds of my newly discovered best friend Bloomingdale’s, so I was not paying attention. I wanted to experience every inch of Bloomingdale’s. I was about ready to try on some clothes when an older sophisticated sales clerk looked at me and said, “Honey, do you want to get mugged?” “No,” I quickly answered. Then she took my handbag and gave me a tutorial on how to carry my purse. “Keep it in front of you at all times and whatever you do, not look up.” I still carry my handbag like this today.

It was time for me to meet Mike, but I came out another door on another avenue. No cell phones yet, so I reverted to panic. There are way too many exits to Bloomingdales and I was lost. I did not serve the Lord the with such fervor, so prayer was not even an afterthought. I did what came natural, cried and got really upset with Mike. After about an hour I finally made it to Yellowfingers. Poor Mike was so worried about my whereabouts, but I still have him and earful. I suffered from PMS back then (premenstrual symdome) but Mike referred to it as (pissed-off-at-Mike syndrome).

It was in 1985 when we took Mikos and Sonja to New York for the first time. It was summertime. Mikos was about to enter junior high and Sonja was 9 years-old. Mikos was going through braces and in the stage of too cool to be seen with his parents. I made an appointment for him to have his braces tightened the day before the trip. For the first few days it was as if I had intentionally asked the orthodontist to make the braces extra tight, and Mikos held me accountable because he could not eat due the brackets being too constricting. I’d look at him and just roll my eyes; through most of his adolescence that was my reaction, my voice being mostly in a screaming mode during these formative year but this helped with Mikos be becoming a fine young man.

I heard of this boutique “Belle France” on the chic side of town that I wanted to visit. The front door were kept locked so you needed to be buzzed in. This was a stuffy store with sales people trained in snobbery. We walked in and my eyes gravitated toward the sale rack. Mike was helping me pick out dresses, then I picked a dress with a white collar that was two sizes too small. Why? I still don’t know, perhaps I was trying to impress my husband. I had a handful of dresses to try on, the dressing room was an ample size, and the full-length antique mirror added to the charm of the store, so I was happy. I tried on the white collared dress and something went terribly wrong. I got stuck. I was hyperventilating and did my best to free my arms, but the dress was more like a straitjacket. My arms were contricted and any move would cause the dress to rip. In the meantime the sales lady kept asking me to come out; Mike too was adding to this already stressful situation. I could not breathe and thought this was a terrible and embarrassing way to die. When I opened my eyes the white collar was all I could see, and I felt as if it was strangling me. This struggle had lasted several minutes when I finally called for Sonja to come into the dressing room. At first she laughed at the sight, but I explained that I could not breathe. In Sonja’s words, ” Mommy this happens to my Barbie Dolls all the time; you just need to put your arms straight up and I will pull it off.” Out of the mouth of babes, what wisdom, she was right and I was freed from the white-collared dress. By the time I was done, I looked more like I had a wrestling match, because my hair was a mess and my face was flushed red. I developed a phobia for any white-collared clothing, and I get claustrophobic in dressing rooms. I did purchase a dress that day, but not one with a white collar.

From Battery Park, we could see the beautiful Twin Towers proudly displaying their grandeur. Who would ever in a million years have thought that one day these beautiful skyscrapers would be so violently taken down? I had forgotten about this photograph; it is sad to think that my grandchildren will never experience this breathtaking view.

We did all the tourist stuff like a carriage ride through Central Park, a boat ride to the Statue of Liberty and a purchase of a Cabbage Patch Doll for Sonja, and we also attended a Mets game. Washington D.C. was our next stop.

Philippians 1:6 And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.

I’m still evolving; thank God for that!

Missionary Outreach, My Heart of the Matter

Brayden’s Miracle Healing

May 23, 2017 23 Comments

Brayden is a rambunctious 3-year-old that lives with his older brother Brian and parents Brian and Selena in South Orange County, California. Brayden has the reputation of being the tough kid around his cousins and friends. He has no idea of his strength, and already has the hands and body of a linebacker. At family functions, children come running and crying to their parents, the first word that comes out of their mouth is Brayden’s name. Brayden by all means is a normal loving little guy.

In December Brayden’s upper lip became infected. The journey of his healing as told to me by his mother Selena:

This infection has been referred to as staph by some doctors but to others it’s a bad case of eczema. Brayden was seeing an allergist when his lip started to get infected. From there Selena was referred to a pediatric dermatologist, the doctor put him on antitbiotics and took a culture. In frustration this doctor recommended that Brayden be taken to the ER at CHOC (Children’s Hospital of Orange County). The doctor also recommended Brayden to be put on an I.V. because he was resistant to antibiotics prescribed to persons his age.

At CHOC the doctors disagreed with the treatment. The CHOC doctors took two Q-tip swipes from Brayden’s upper lip to test for herpes. Two weeks and $2,000 later, no herpes and no treatment.

My friend Helen ( Brayden’s grandmother) shared this ongoing condition and concern for little Brayden.

As Helen was sharing the story, I remembered that I had purchased some anointing oil from The Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. This church houses the tomb of Jesus. Within the church is a tiny shop that sells holy souvenirs and also has the smallest inventory. Though the crowd was thick with pilgrims, the small shop that is normally closed was opened. As my friends and I walked in, we were greeted by Armenian priest. I picked up a bottle of oil and asked where the oil was from, and he stated that it was from the oils off the lanterns in Jesus’s tomb. We purchased several bottles and left.

After Helen showed me a picture of Brayden’s infected lip, I got a handkerchief and saturated it with the oil, placed in a baggie, and gave to Helen to give to Selena.

Braydon five days after the holy oil and steroid

Selena once again went to a new pediatrician; the doctor did not know how to treat Brayden and referred him to a new pediatric dematologist. This doctor told Selena to use topical steroid cream. Selena started the treatment but added the anointing oil on to Brayden’s forehead. Selena also asked the venerable Father Solanus Casey’s intervention. Father Casey was beatified by Pope Francis on May 4, 2017. One of his miracles was the healing of a woman with an incurable skin disease.

Within five days, 90% of little Brayden’s face was cleared! Selena attributes this healing to both the topical steroid and the anointing oil.

The prayers of a desperate mother make all the difference and after eight doctors she finally got results. We give God the Glory for Brayden’s miracle, as our greatest physician is our Lord Jesus Christ.

My Heart of the Matter

Honoring “My Mother”

May 13, 2017 3 Comments

My mother was a complex person who loved her family. We were seven, four girls and three boys. Each one of us called her “My Mother.” All of her grandchildren called her “Ma”; she adored them.

Myra, Jo, Ma, Mike, Norma, Lynda and George

By the time I was eight years old, our parent’s marriage unraveled. Once our father was out of the picture, our Mom became our rock. She used everything in her being to make sure we grew up to be good honorable Christians. I can remember coming home from school to homemade flour tortillas, which we would load up with butter and eat as many as four in one sitting.

Rocky, Gina, Ma, Frank, Nick, (back roll) Leah, Torie, Mikos, Alex, Robert, Nick, Steven, Maggie and Sonja (some of my moms grandchildren)

She loved to read and she always kept up with politics. It was later in life that she received her GED, which was a huge accomplishment because she had only completed 7th grade. She was a die-hard Democrat and loved the Kennedys. I once took her to a rally for Robert Kennedy and I watched her as countenance change to that of great joy. I remembered a photographer capturing what I witnessed and could not stop taking pictures of her enamored expression. A picture of President Kennedy was showcased on the main shelf of our living room.

Our Mother was funny (I got my sence of humor from her). We always got the giggles at funerals, especially when going up to the casket. This still happens to my sister and me, I realize how morbidly wrong this is but we can’t help it.

Once when my Dad was in the hospital, my Mother asked me to take her to see him. My father was comatose when we walked in. Suddenly I heard my Mom say, “I want to hit him!” I could not believe my ears but then she said it again. ” I just want to hit him!” I told her, “Go ahead, Mom; no one will know.” We started laughing and of course she never did hit him. As a matter of fact, she taught us to love our father. She never spoke an unkind word about him, and would not allow us to say anything mean-spirited about him. This was a powerful lesson of love for us and I never had ill feeling for my Dad.

Our mother made sure we received our Sacraments as Catholics. She never learned to drive and we lived out in out in the sticks, so going to church on a regular basis was a challenge.We took taxis everywhere, to visit our cousins, to go grocery shopping, and to doctor’s appointment. We were the original Uber family.

Our mother taught us to become strong Christians and emphasized the importance of family. We still are all very close because she made sure we got over our differences by calling us out when we were in the wrong.

My mother never got over the fact that I became a Republican, and that caused a lot of heated debates. I remained steadfast as she stood her ground, using our heritage to try to persuade me. It did not work.

When our mother became dependent on others, my sister Norma took over the role of her caregiver, Norma cared for her lovingly. A few weeks before she went home to be with the Lord, she had a heart- to-heart talk with me. “I don’t want to die in the house.” “Ok,” I said, and then she added, “I don’t want to die in the hospital either.” I gave her a puzzled look and asked her, “Well where do you want to die?” She answered, “Not in those two places.” My mother died in an ambulance on the way to the hospital.

Our mother buried two of her children: our oldest brother Robert, who died at age 33, and our sister Myra who died five months before my mother. She is survived by son George, his wife Mary, son Mike, daughters Jo and Lynda and Mike Lynda’s husband, and daughter Norma. She has left a legacy of 17 grandchildren and 25 great-grandchildren.

We love you Mom! Happy Mother’s Day!

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