"Is it good to be home?"
My friend, Rosa, asked me this question yesterday after our Sunday dinner at her mother's house. She immediately caught her mistake and said, "Well, I guess this isn't really home for you...but you know what I mean."
"I loved being at home this summer," I explained to Rosa. "It was really difficult to leave. But now that I'm here, it's good to be back. And when it's time to go again, it will be difficult to leave."
But I did know what she meant. In fact, eating the traditional "Ragu" with Italian-speaking friends after a beautiful High Mass at St. John's was, in its own way, like coming home. I told her mother, Maria, that tasting her Sunday sauce was like "tasting" home--the home that's been made for me here in Connecticut.
"I knew that's how it would be," Maria nodded. "That's why, when I saw you at Mass, I thought, if you're not doing anything, you should come join us."
Her son Frank (who is married to my dear friend Sharon) says that even just the smell of the Ragu is a comforting thing for him. It carries with it both memories and promises of family time together on Sunday afternoons, time to take a break from work and enjoy one another's company.
Alex, still in high school, excused himself from the table immediately after the meal.
"Where are you going?" his father, Tony, asked.
"I have to finish my Chemistry," he explained.
"You're getting to be just like Shannon," said Maria, referring to my computer-toting, study-between-activities habits of last year's Sundays.
"No, no,"I shook my head. "I'm taking Sundays off this year. They are really going to be my days of rest."
"Yeah, right," Alex challenged.
"I'm serious!" I exclaimed, trying to convince him.
"How long is that going to last?" he retorted.
"All year," I said. "I promise. You can call me on it."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," he continued to tease me.
"I'll keep it. You wait."
I have been appropriately challenged by friends to honor the Lord's Day in all practicality, with all the sacrifices which that might entail.
"It's like tithing," my friend Erin explained to me a few weeks ago. "What makes people think, if they 'cannot' tithe when they're making a few dollars a week, that they're all of a sudden going to be able to tithe when they make a decent paycheck?"
What she was telling me is true. What makes me think that I'm ever going to wake up and say, "Now my life is not as busy; I can start honoring the Sabbath."?
There will always be responsibilities; there will always be more to accomplish. Even when the day comes that I work "normal" hours, I will have to find time to clean house, buy groceries, do laundry, shop for birthday presents, etc. But Sunday is an open day reserved by God for rest, in His honor. What a temptation!
People have done it. It takes time management and determination.
And, of course, plenty of prayer.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Home - (sniff?) - Home...
I made it across the entire country! There were even fireworks in Indianapolis to celebrate my one-night stay there with my former clinical instructor and some of her family. (well, maybe that wasn't the only reason for the fireworks...)
Sunday morning at around 8:30am, after passing a sign in Ohio pronouncing "Columbus 25," I asked my mother at home in Colorado to go online and find me a 9am Mass there. Please realize that this was 6:30am her time! After some searching, she adeptly located a church and gave me precise directions from the highway. As we were saying goodbye, I was exiting I-70. I arrived in front of the church about three minutes later with plenty of time to spare! Definitely a recommended adventure. It turns out that this parish is the oldest one in Ohio, established in 1848, and it is still rather beautiful. Stained glass windows, a beautiful altar, murals behind the altar, and only 250 members in the parish! When I heard that (the priest was giving the annual "Sermon on the Amount" report, as he called it, after Mass!) I realized that everyone in attendance must be certain of my visitor status! They were all very welcoming and friendly later over in the church hall for (free!) coffee and donuts. =)
Saw friends in D.C.--some of whom I haven't seen for almost a year. That was great. I overslept on Labor Day, so I did not leave for Connecticut as early as I had planned. But it gave Katie, Erica, and me some "girl time" on the back porch of their house that morning--complete with cups of coffee and plenty of laughter!
Our new place is live-able. Three of my classmates and I have the upstairs 4 bedrooms of a 7-bedroom house, and then there are people living downstairs. It's not exactly two separate apartments, but we do have our own kitchen upstairs, and we will just hang out in each others' bed
rooms for socializing! We each have at least a full-sized bed provided, and we've been settling in as quickly as possible, since classes have already started.
The living room downstairs pretty much belongs to the two guys living down there, and now also to the girl who just moved into the other bedroom down there. The downstairs contigent keeps to themselves for the most part, but their very rich-smelling living room "social smoke" drifts upstairs almost every evening. The first few nights I had what I now call a secondary grass headache, which I never before experienced. In fact, one of the first nights here, I started to smell it while I was on the phone. I asked my friend on the other line, "Hey, can you tell me what weed smells like?"
"Given my limited experience with the odor," he began, involuntarily reassuring me by his uncertainty, "and my dull sense of smell, ...I would describe it to be what burning crab-apples might smell like."
I thought it a thoughtful, perceptive analysis. But being that I have never even tried to imagine what burning crab-apples might smell like, I was still unsure.
So later, after my roommate Marisa had arrived home, and when I was walked through a cloud of nasal ambush at the top of the stairs, I asked her, "Is that what it smells like?" Her emphatic reply in the positive only served to increase my headache that had begun a few hours before. Yes, it is unpleasant, to say the least. If our housemates continue to pollute the entire house with it, despite our gentle protests, we'll have to get the landlord to intervene. Which might be interesting, considering he's about our age, if not a little younger. Who knows whether he cares that it's going on.
As you may guess, there are definite advantages to only living here for the next 3 and 1/2 months. On the other hand, it is also very exciting to be living with classmates again--and such clean, responsible, fun, and studious girls altogether! The "clean" characteristic, in particular, is good, since we do not have a dishwasher--everyone likes to keep the sink empty, so there's no foreseeable conflict there.
Classes are going to be fine this semester. No exams, just projects, which is great. And they are all relevant projects, as well: we'll be working with actual clinical sites to help install programs or solve problems. Class time this semester is really reduced, since we don't have labs, so that gives ample time for projects, career planning, and part-time work!
We also need a lot of money as a program and as a class to fund activities surrounding graduation next May--in particular, the annual Dinner Dance. So I'm going out (as in, on the town!) tonight--something I do more in graduate school than undergrad, as it turns out. As a fundraising tradition, the Student Physical Therapy Association is always bargaining with places to collect their cover charges! And guess who--just today--was semi-appointed, and actually semi-volunteered, as a result of being present at the semi-opportune moment, to spearhead the rest of the fundraising for the semester? Yep, yours truly, the one whom everyone is always surprised and excited to see out at a bar. I guess I don't quite fit the "type."
So, you ask, will I be negotiating with bars and other places of drinking and debauchery? No way; the revenue from such has not been very beneficial, as far as percentage. Not worth it, in my opinion--although it's a good excuse for the entire program to get together and hang out, so I'm sure someone will continue organizing those nights. But as for fundraisers, my first official idea for implementation is a class-wide yard sale, so we can get rid of all of our junk accumulated over the past 2 years. After all, we'll all be leaving in December for our last clinical internships--who wants to deal with all this stuff? Two weeks from tomorrow, then, our backyard will be converted into Tag Sale City--100% of the proceeds going to the SPTA fund. In this case, our junk will also be our treasure!
This weekend being the first in the final semester--not very busy yet, in other words--I am heading down to New York to see the relatives on Saturday.
Then next week, the projects start in full-swing, and although I will attempt to be semi-regular in blogging, I make no promises!
Prayers are appreciated, as always....
Sunday morning at around 8:30am, after passing a sign in Ohio pronouncing "Columbus 25," I asked my mother at home in Colorado to go online and find me a 9am Mass there. Please realize that this was 6:30am her time! After some searching, she adeptly located a church and gave me precise directions from the highway. As we were saying goodbye, I was exiting I-70. I arrived in front of the church about three minutes later with plenty of time to spare! Definitely a recommended adventure. It turns out that this parish is the oldest one in Ohio, established in 1848, and it is still rather beautiful. Stained glass windows, a beautiful altar, murals behind the altar, and only 250 members in the parish! When I heard that (the priest was giving the annual "Sermon on the Amount" report, as he called it, after Mass!) I realized that everyone in attendance must be certain of my visitor status! They were all very welcoming and friendly later over in the church hall for (free!) coffee and donuts. =)
Saw friends in D.C.--some of whom I haven't seen for almost a year. That was great. I overslept on Labor Day, so I did not leave for Connecticut as early as I had planned. But it gave Katie, Erica, and me some "girl time" on the back porch of their house that morning--complete with cups of coffee and plenty of laughter!
Our new place is live-able. Three of my classmates and I have the upstairs 4 bedrooms of a 7-bedroom house, and then there are people living downstairs. It's not exactly two separate apartments, but we do have our own kitchen upstairs, and we will just hang out in each others' bed
rooms for socializing! We each have at least a full-sized bed provided, and we've been settling in as quickly as possible, since classes have already started.The living room downstairs pretty much belongs to the two guys living down there, and now also to the girl who just moved into the other bedroom down there. The downstairs contigent keeps to themselves for the most part, but their very rich-smelling living room "social smoke" drifts upstairs almost every evening. The first few nights I had what I now call a secondary grass headache, which I never before experienced. In fact, one of the first nights here, I started to smell it while I was on the phone. I asked my friend on the other line, "Hey, can you tell me what weed smells like?"
"Given my limited experience with the odor," he began, involuntarily reassuring me by his uncertainty, "and my dull sense of smell, ...I would describe it to be what burning crab-apples might smell like."
I thought it a thoughtful, perceptive analysis. But being that I have never even tried to imagine what burning crab-apples might smell like, I was still unsure.
So later, after my roommate Marisa had arrived home, and when I was walked through a cloud of nasal ambush at the top of the stairs, I asked her, "Is that what it smells like?" Her emphatic reply in the positive only served to increase my headache that had begun a few hours before. Yes, it is unpleasant, to say the least. If our housemates continue to pollute the entire house with it, despite our gentle protests, we'll have to get the landlord to intervene. Which might be interesting, considering he's about our age, if not a little younger. Who knows whether he cares that it's going on.
As you may guess, there are definite advantages to only living here for the next 3 and 1/2 months. On the other hand, it is also very exciting to be living with classmates again--and such clean, responsible, fun, and studious girls altogether! The "clean" characteristic, in particular, is good, since we do not have a dishwasher--everyone likes to keep the sink empty, so there's no foreseeable conflict there.
Classes are going to be fine this semester. No exams, just projects, which is great. And they are all relevant projects, as well: we'll be working with actual clinical sites to help install programs or solve problems. Class time this semester is really reduced, since we don't have labs, so that gives ample time for projects, career planning, and part-time work!
We also need a lot of money as a program and as a class to fund activities surrounding graduation next May--in particular, the annual Dinner Dance. So I'm going out (as in, on the town!) tonight--something I do more in graduate school than undergrad, as it turns out. As a fundraising tradition, the Student Physical Therapy Association is always bargaining with places to collect their cover charges! And guess who--just today--was semi-appointed, and actually semi-volunteered, as a result of being present at the semi-opportune moment, to spearhead the rest of the fundraising for the semester? Yep, yours truly, the one whom everyone is always surprised and excited to see out at a bar. I guess I don't quite fit the "type."
So, you ask, will I be negotiating with bars and other places of drinking and debauchery? No way; the revenue from such has not been very beneficial, as far as percentage. Not worth it, in my opinion--although it's a good excuse for the entire program to get together and hang out, so I'm sure someone will continue organizing those nights. But as for fundraisers, my first official idea for implementation is a class-wide yard sale, so we can get rid of all of our junk accumulated over the past 2 years. After all, we'll all be leaving in December for our last clinical internships--who wants to deal with all this stuff? Two weeks from tomorrow, then, our backyard will be converted into Tag Sale City--100% of the proceeds going to the SPTA fund. In this case, our junk will also be our treasure!
This weekend being the first in the final semester--not very busy yet, in other words--I am heading down to New York to see the relatives on Saturday.
Then next week, the projects start in full-swing, and although I will attempt to be semi-regular in blogging, I make no promises!
Prayers are appreciated, as always....
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Saying Good-bye
It's difficult to say good-bye to friends, but even more so when there are small children involved. Three and a half months is not a long time in the span of a lifetime, but when it's the difference of six months old and ten months old, that means missing out on a lot of goings-on!
Here is the son of my dear friends, Sarah and Mike: little Alex, whom I have had the honor of spending time with at least once a week this summer. I wish I could take everyone with me whenever I leave.
I'm always leaving, it seems.
The funny thing is that there are babies where I am going, as well. I miss home already and do not want to begin the drive tomorrow, but I know it will be difficult to leave Connecticut again when that time comes. I will miss the children that I babysit and play with and spend family dinners with. It happens that I tend to build my nest wherever I land, but soon it's time to fly again.
Over farewell dinners this past week with friends, I realized how transient this time of life is. I'm mobile; I can visit people on my way across country. There is nothing necessary or definite about where I will be living at this time next year. But right now, I have the privelege of being with close friends for extended periods of time. I should be grateful for my flexibility, because when you combine that with a motorized vehicle, great things happen.
Christ was 30 years old when He began His public ministry, and I'm sure He was not complaining before that time about His situation. He was not concerned about whether the Father was calling Him, or how He would know for sure what He was supposed to do. Even in this way, He is an example for us. Do not worry about what the future holds, for we know Who holds the future.
And on that note, I'm off again: Connecticut-bound!
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Another Summit
Here I am, surrounded by members of Erin's family, at the top of another mountain in Colorado!
The summit shot for Grays Peak (14,270 feet) displays the sky behind as deceptively clear. During the course of our hike, everything from rain to snow to hail fell, and fog continually drifted around us. We learned to be quick on the draw with our cameras, since minutes after a photo-op sighting, views would be engulfed in white clouds (see below).
Although freezing cold--literally!--we had a great time together, and completed the ascent and descent in less than 6 hours.
I was able to make it back home for a shower before work at the coffee shop last night, which was definitely a plus.
I've discovered that slightly overcast days for hiking are my favorite, since I tend to squint a lot in the sun, and end up giving myself a headache. It's also nice not to be dripping with sweat while enjoying the cool breezes at the top of a mountain!
So out of 54 fourteeners in the state of Colorado, I've now climbed five. Woopie. No plans to conquer them all, mind you. But it's fun to keep a check-list!
This is my last weekend in Colorado for the summer, and I'm convinced that climbing a mountain was the perfect activity for a final hurrah.
The good news is that Erin's family will be renting a condo in that area again over Christmas break, when it will be ski season! So of course, the hope is that I will be back there again in just about 4 months =) ....
The summit shot for Grays Peak (14,270 feet) displays the sky behind as deceptively clear. During the course of our hike, everything from rain to snow to hail fell, and fog continually drifted around us. We learned to be quick on the draw with our cameras, since minutes after a photo-op sighting, views would be engulfed in white clouds (see below).
Although freezing cold--literally!--we had a great time together, and completed the ascent and descent in less than 6 hours.
I was able to make it back home for a shower before work at the coffee shop last night, which was definitely a plus.
I've discovered that slightly overcast days for hiking are my favorite, since I tend to squint a lot in the sun, and end up giving myself a headache. It's also nice not to be dripping with sweat while enjoying the cool breezes at the top of a mountain!
So out of 54 fourteeners in the state of Colorado, I've now climbed five. Woopie. No plans to conquer them all, mind you. But it's fun to keep a check-list!
This is my last weekend in Colorado for the summer, and I'm convinced that climbing a mountain was the perfect activity for a final hurrah.
The good news is that Erin's family will be renting a condo in that area again over Christmas break, when it will be ski season! So of course, the hope is that I will be back there again in just about 4 months =) ....
Monday, August 21, 2006
Bear Peak
This one was only eight thousand - something in elevation, but it was described as one of the most "prominent peaks" in Boulder, Colorado.
I hiked this one with my latest "married friends" couple, Erin and Bryce.
We hiked there Saturday because the weather deterred us from tackling a fourteener.
There were signs all along the trail warning that the area was popular among black bears, but unfortunately, we saw none.
Come weather or will, we are climbing a fourteener this coming weekend, called Grays Peak. And it will be quite a crowd on the expedition: 7 of us in all. So I hope we summit, and then I can have an even 5 bagged before my return to Connecticut in a few weeks!
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Site of the week:
Go here for a quick but humbling read, as well as a request for any assistance you can give. The letter at this site is from a college friend who is hoping to enter a fantastic religious order this fall.
Please take a moment and pray for continued grace for him during his discernment at the novitiate.
Please take a moment and pray for continued grace for him during his discernment at the novitiate.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Playing with Babies...
Besides clinical work, that's what I'm doing these days... Alissa's little Johnny is definitely happy here (he's smiling on the inside!).
I've been able to see this handsome boy several times this summer, driving up for Sunday Mass in Denver when I'm able.
Pictures of other friends' little ones definitely will appear throughout the rest of the summer!
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Weekend Fourteener
This adventure occurred a few weekends ago--July 22nd, to be exact--but I just finished the write-up now. Enjoy!
fourteener (fore TEEN er) - in mountaineering, a mountain that exceeds 14,000 feet above mean sea level
It looks fake, but honestly, this is one of the views from atop Mount Sneffels in western Colorado. Dear Friend and I are pictured here after an arduous climb!
fourteener (fore TEEN er) - in mountaineering, a mountain that exceeds 14,000 feet above mean sea level
It looks fake, but honestly, this is one of the views from atop Mount Sneffels in western Colorado. Dear Friend and I are pictured here after an arduous climb!
But let me begin at the beginning:
Chapter 1: The Springs to Montrose
We left Friday afternoon, after my Dear Friend's husband finally arrived home from work, later than expected. We packed up the car, complete with the three of ourselves and their little 4 month-old son, and began the 4-hour drive to Montrose, Colorado, at about 7pm.
About an hour away from Montrose (where lives Dear Friend's mother) we stopped for gas. The attendants were closing up shop, but graciously let us use their restrooms for much-needed restroom usage, including diaper change! However, after filling up the tank, the car refused to start. Dear friend's husband tried to push-start it by popping the clutch--with all of us, and the luggage, inside--after a full day's work of landscaping with an already-sore back. We were not sure what he was doing until after he tried, but by then, he had really twisted his back and was hurting. Unsure if a push-start would help the situation, anyway, my dear friend called the towing company.
While we waited, Dear Friend's husband leaned over the trunk of the car while I stood on the bumper and tried to manipulate his thoracic spine. (must've looked quite professional, I say!)
The gentleman that came to assist us helped get the car push-started (which we should have tried again, but oh well) and then charged a $35 service fee! We actually had to follow him to his office so that he could run the credit card! Grrrh.
Finally on the road to Montrose again, we got pulled over by a policeman. Since dear husband's friend was not sure of the speed limit, he was going a little over 60mph. Apparently, the limit was 55mph. Fortunately, Dear Friend herself had just replaced Baby Boy into the carseat in the back right before we were pulled over. The officer was very kind and only gave a warning--after asking how our trip was going so far!
We arrived in Montrose around midnight Friday night / Saturday morning, mindful of our original plan to leave the house at 4am to start hiking up the mountain.
I prepared myself for bed, and on emerging from the bathroom, noticed Dear Friend walking up her husband's spine! It worked--she was able to crack it--but he still had a huge knot from the rotatory strain he gave himself trying to push the car from the driver's side door. I worked on it for a while before bed, but it still was not completely gone after thirty minutes.
We modified our plan, deciding to leave at 5am instead of 4am, and wished each other a happy few hours of sleep.
Chapter 2: Montrose Morning
I awoke at 4am to hear quiet murmurings from the next room. Dear friend and her husband were talking. I was soon informed by Dear Friend that his back was still killing him, and did not feel up to climbing a mountain that day. We, however, were to go without him. After making sure she wanted to go without him, I dragged myself out of bed. I began to wonder if God was trying to protect us from hiking the mountain at this time. Saying a prayer that he would make it clear if we were not to proceed, I toasted some bagels and organized my water supply. Unfortunately, I discovered at that time that I had left my sunglasses in my car back home. I dismissed the memory of sunburnt eyes while doing another "fourteener," reminding myself that that one had had snow on it, which was reflecting the sun into our eyes. This one would not.
Dear Friend and I gathered our things and loaded everything into her mother's Suburu Sport, which we were allowed to borrow for the day. We began the hour and a half drive to the trailhead a little later than expected: 6am we were on the road.
Chapter 3: Finding the Trailhead
Oh yes, we had a guidebook, and it warned us of the dirt road. It describes one stretch of it as "spectacular shelf road." There was more than that one stretch, however, that I would call shelf-y. Our guardian angels must have summoned a certain white passenger car with Oklahoma license plates that guided us up the winding path, picking the trail over every rise and fall so that we would see where to maneuver. When it got to be too rocky, soft, and pot-hole strewn for even the Sport, I jumped out of the car and directed Dear Friend as she performed a most-impressive 23-point turn amidst rocky terrain in the manual stick-shift vehicle. We found a place to park off of a side road further down, and gathered up our gear.
This was when I realized that my 2.5 liter water bladder was leaking--all over my backpack! I had noticed minor leakage while going on short runs and hikes at home, but this was serious. The bladder was only 2/3 full, and I had filled it all the way that morning. Clearly, something had happened where the leak had grown bigger, and the bladder was not usable on the hike.
However, Dear Friend and I had talked and decided that the final mishap that would keep us from hiking was if we did not find the trailhead until 8:30am. It was only 7:25am now, and we were parked and ready to hike. So I took her Nalgene, filled it up with what remained of my bladder, and put it in my backpack. Then we started the trek up the road.
Chapter 4: The First 2.5 miles
The trip was described as 7 miles, round-trip. So we deduced that the distance to the summit was 3.5 miles. We actually parked at around 10,300 feet, so there was only about 4,000 feet of elevation gain. After a quick stop at the wooden outhouse and picture of a roaring waterfall, we started the steady uphill trail hike. It was beautiful--flowers everywhere, streams flowing across the trail because of all the recent rain, and blue skies all around. We talked and joked, and also took time to walk in silence. There were several people on the trail all around us. We had assumed that we were getting a relatively late start, but everyone else was doing the same mountain that we were. Our spirits were high, and we soon removed our jackets as the sunlight and exercise warmed us.
The guidebook that we used had commentary on the back which praised it for being so descriptive and minimizing detours. However, neither Dear Friend nor myself are very confident when it comes to topographical maps, not descriptions of distances when hiking, nor what "leaving the trail" is supposed to mean. The book told us to leave the trail at a certain point. We later realized that we leave what is called the "Blue Lake Pass Trail," which we were only half-aware we had been following in the first place! There was actually a sign with arrows, clearing marking "Mount Sneffels, this way" at the point where we were supposed to "leave the trail," according to the guidebook. We vowed after that point not to consult the guidebook again on the journey, and just hike what we saw as the trail.
Chapter 5: The Rocky Mile
At last, we came upon the sign that proclaimed we were 0.9 miles from the summit. Ahh, cake! Right? Wrong!! That last mile took just as long as the 2.5 miles preceding it. We climbed up and up over rocks because we did not want to traverse straight up the scree. And it was steep--the kind of steep where you're careful not to dislodge any loose stones, because they'll fall and hit someone below you (such as your Dear Friend).
There was a point of "exposure" near the top that we had been warned about, where we had to climb up through a V-shaped portal next to a hundred-foot drop-off. However, that "crack," as we called it, was nothing after the tedious climbing that we had to do to arrive there. It had plenty of footholds and handholds. It was like steps after the pile of rocks-on-a-hill. But like I told my Dear Friend, this was really "climbing a mountain!"
Chapter 6: The Summit
It took us 4 hours to hike 3.5 miles. Every 14-er I "conquer" gives a sense of accomplishment, but also a renewed respect for altitude and the power of terrain. And how ironic: two young ladies up 14,150 feet in an area of about 15 square feet with 15 other hikers. Both are terrified of heights. We planted ourselves against some rocks and pulled out lunch, but Dear Friend started feeling nauseous from the height we were lounging at. I was nervous about the weather, since it was close to noon and some dark clouds were starting to gather. So after a few pictures and a few bites of sandwich, we decided to hold off on hunger and start eh descent.
Chapter 7: The Long Descent
If the way up took 4 hours, the hike back down to the car took 5. We walked in silence. Dear Friend felt queasy from the height-plus-hunger phenomenon, and I had a pounding headache from being dehydrated--not having the full 2.5 liters of water that I usually carry. We picked our way down some of the big rocks, then let ourselves slide, bit by bit, down scree and more rocks, catching ourselves when we could.
Right before we hit tree-line again, we were temporarily hailed upone. It lasted but 5 minutes, and was gentle enough--nothing major, no lightening or thunder. By the time the trail widened to a semi-accessible 4-wheel-drive road, our knees were weary of the downhill slope, and the air was becoming warmer with the descending altitude. Rocks along the road were small compared to what we had encountered that morning, but each step reminded us of our tired legs.
We saw rodent-like animals that Sarah called "pichu"s, but I'm not sure what they really are. They look like something between squirrels and mice--like oversized hamsters. They're really fast, and successfully avoided being captured by my camera. One ran across the path with dried flowers in his mouth. We joked that he was bringing them home to the "Mrs." It looked so funny when we thought of it that way. He was probably building his nest and had no use for our exhausted, hilarious notions. But it amused us.
When we came upon a fork in the road, we deliberated for a full two minutes, not wanting to make a wrong turn and have to backtrack on our tired limbs. We chose the path that made more logical sense (to two young women without much sense of direction at all!). Fortunately, a few fourwheelers came up the road and we asked if we were on the road to Ouray--the town at the base of the route. The lead driver told us yes, and filled us with relief. He neglected to inform us, however, of the creek overflow they had driven through around a curve about 150 feet ahead of us. When we rounded the corner, we both started laughing at the stream, which only rose about 5 inches at the deepest part, but was flowing quite hurriedly across our path. "Um, sir," Dear Friend said out loud to no one in particular as we approached the water, "didgya forget about the river that you just four-wheeled yourself on through? Or were you merely thinking we'd fly across?" She had her water-proof hiking boots on, and my trail-runners found most of the small rocks that were sticking up out of the water. However, we decided that the other part of the fork would have been the one to take in order to bypass the crossing!
At the bottom of the trail, there was an outhouse and volunteers. We availed ourselves of the one, and conversed with the others--older gentlemen and ladies whose primary job, they told me, was to keep people from picking the flowers. I was grateful then that Dear Friend had resisted my urging to pick "just one" and press it into our guidebook as a momento.
After the rest stop, our car was still about a half-mile down the road. That last half-mile was the home of mosquitoes and buzzing flies. They were attracted to us even more because at this point of the journey, Dear Friend changed her mind and decided that a small bouquet of wildflowers would be a great idea to bring back to her mother. I told her what the ladies had said to me, which only resulted in my "hiding" the bundle of blossoms under my jacket with every jeep and four-wheeler that passed. Boy, did those mosquitoes like my arms!
Chapter 8: The Way Out
Point being, we did make it out alive. I told Sarah at one point that yes, she had plenty of room to get past a jeep coming up the other way--he had graciously pulled over a little to let us by between him and the cliff. Once she began pulling aside to go around him, however, I started screeching, "But don't go that much around him! Omigoodness, omigoodness, ahhhhh!!!" I was laughing hysterically in my panic, leaning away from the cliff on my side of the car, practically hanging on the back of Sarah's seat. I must say, even better than manuevering the car, was her skill dealing with my temporary insanity on the edge of a cliff!
When we arrived back at the house, I was completely dehydrated with a pounding headache. But Sarah's mother had made this amazing sausage soup that hit the spot.
Then it was an early bedtime for all, and a drive back across Colorado the next morning.
Next mountain?
We're hoping to do one in a few weeks--maybe the last weekend of August.
Any joiners? :)
Sunday, July 09, 2006
This Week's Spotlight:
I shall now direct you to one of the best blogs around--one of my "imaginary friends" along the sidebar--Assimilatio Dei. Although I know who the writer is, and exchanged brief "hello"s with him at odd points during college, we were never what I consider to be "friends." Hence, the Imaginary category. However, his writing is both personal and profound--a thing of beauty when you have a few minutes to stop and allow yourself to reflect.
He has written several posts, both recently and throughout his archives, about St. Thomas Aquinas, one of the best and holiest thinkers of our time. Here, A.D. describes a mental exercise he performs, which our tutors actually encouraged us to practice during college. I am sure all of us who have tried this particular game have experienced the same feeling of, "oh, yeah--not quite." It is an exercise that re-acquaints us with the intellectual and spiritual void that looms between ourselves and the mind of the great saint.
With every post about St. Thomas Aquinas, A.D. calls to mind that not only was the man one of the most intelligent thinkers in the history of philosophy, but he was also a very humble, childlike person. He writes a beautiful reflection summarizing St. Thomas' intellectual achievements and spiritual greatness--accompanied by his humility, confirmed by his confessor on the occasion of his death: "It was the confession of a five year-old boy." Although I cannot locate the post now, it is my favorite of his.
I like to read what he has to say, because I have encountered the assumption (more than once) that if you use your intellect to understand Truth --specifically, Truths about the Catholic Faith-- then you are automatically conceited and uncharitable. Not only was this not so of the greatest apologist that ever lived, but it is also untrue of many who study and follow his philosophy. This week's spotlight blogger, for example.
Most who delve into the study of philosophy and theology quickly become aware of their littleness in the company of giants. However, they also become very excited about what can be known through reason--and the fact they are allowed to understand things alongside the giants. For some, this excitement leads to pride. For others, it leads to awe and humility. But those who fall into pride make it difficult for the rest to share their love of Truth.
We learned in college to listen to the truth of an argument, regardless of who was speaking it. This is more difficult than it sounds. But those who were most successful at it were able to recognize truth when it was presented and synthesize conclusions more quickly than the rest of us. It has become more and more clear to me that politics--whether in government or in the workplace--would benefit greatly from this lesson.
Someone said to me recently that all arguments are personal, because what you bring forward is your personal belief. This has echoed in my head for several months, and I still disagree with it. As A.D. pointed out in one of his recent posts, all arguments must start in agreement. And if it is assumed that both parties are truly searching for truth--and not to "win the argument"--then the attachment to personal opinion is only present insofar as it aids the journey to the rightful conclusion.
Read Assimilatio Dei's work. This man is truly searching for Truth, and will banter with the best and worst of us.
He has written several posts, both recently and throughout his archives, about St. Thomas Aquinas, one of the best and holiest thinkers of our time. Here, A.D. describes a mental exercise he performs, which our tutors actually encouraged us to practice during college. I am sure all of us who have tried this particular game have experienced the same feeling of, "oh, yeah--not quite." It is an exercise that re-acquaints us with the intellectual and spiritual void that looms between ourselves and the mind of the great saint.
With every post about St. Thomas Aquinas, A.D. calls to mind that not only was the man one of the most intelligent thinkers in the history of philosophy, but he was also a very humble, childlike person. He writes a beautiful reflection summarizing St. Thomas' intellectual achievements and spiritual greatness--accompanied by his humility, confirmed by his confessor on the occasion of his death: "It was the confession of a five year-old boy." Although I cannot locate the post now, it is my favorite of his.
I like to read what he has to say, because I have encountered the assumption (more than once) that if you use your intellect to understand Truth --specifically, Truths about the Catholic Faith-- then you are automatically conceited and uncharitable. Not only was this not so of the greatest apologist that ever lived, but it is also untrue of many who study and follow his philosophy. This week's spotlight blogger, for example.
Most who delve into the study of philosophy and theology quickly become aware of their littleness in the company of giants. However, they also become very excited about what can be known through reason--and the fact they are allowed to understand things alongside the giants. For some, this excitement leads to pride. For others, it leads to awe and humility. But those who fall into pride make it difficult for the rest to share their love of Truth.
We learned in college to listen to the truth of an argument, regardless of who was speaking it. This is more difficult than it sounds. But those who were most successful at it were able to recognize truth when it was presented and synthesize conclusions more quickly than the rest of us. It has become more and more clear to me that politics--whether in government or in the workplace--would benefit greatly from this lesson.
Someone said to me recently that all arguments are personal, because what you bring forward is your personal belief. This has echoed in my head for several months, and I still disagree with it. As A.D. pointed out in one of his recent posts, all arguments must start in agreement. And if it is assumed that both parties are truly searching for truth--and not to "win the argument"--then the attachment to personal opinion is only present insofar as it aids the journey to the rightful conclusion.
Read Assimilatio Dei's work. This man is truly searching for Truth, and will banter with the best and worst of us.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
10 Rounds of Applause...
1. Please join me in welcoming my most-recent blogging sibling to the sphere (note the updated sidebar). She happens to be gifted with a refreshingly enthusiastic perspective on life, and is also an entertaining writer, worthy of periodic pageloads and comments!
2. A Connecticut ex-roommate and her husband recently found out that she's pregnant!! Hurray for Kyla! And they even started a baby blog for updates! Please keep them in your prayers...
3. A very dear friend and Colorado ex-roommate was married to this new-"er" dear friend last weekend. They are now touring Ireland and the Netherlands before finishing up another year of graduate school and then saving what is left of the civilised world. Please take a moment to say a prayer for them, for a lifetime of blessings and love.
4. On Father's Day this year, another Colorado ex-roommate and her husband welcomed a little son into the world! Awesome name, Connor Patrick. Her mother arrived for a visit this week from missionary work in Singapore, so it looks to be a joyful July for that family!
5. Some disappointment for another Colorado ex-roommate (gosh there are a lot of them!), her husband, and their son, that moving to Scotland will not happen this year. However, that means I get to see them a lot this summer. Little baby Alex and I have such fun together. Hurray for friends' babies! There are so many around this year--wherever I go!
6. Starting today, smoking is officially illegal in all public places in the state of Colorado. Say what you will of constitutional rights and Big Brother nonsense--it's gross, smelly, and unhealthy--here's to cleaner air and more fun without the secondhand stuff in my face.
7. Finished a long, extensive email recently in reply to a request for explanation about the Brown Scapular I wear around my neck. With prayer to the Holy Spirit, Our Lady, and St. Simon Stock, and with the Catechism open next to me, I think it might have been writtten coherently for one who is not Catholic. We'll see. In the same email, I also tried to explain how it might be possible to build an ice sculpture to include fire--kudos to Portia for that one--and I actually expect to see it one day, when this person gets his engineering degree! That's not the craziest thing he's built....
8. This was my last week of consistent work as a bartender (translation: last week of getting paid for working!). My clinical rotation begins Monday. I am undecided as to whether I should send out email updates this summer. I am living at home, and besides a few dedicated souls who assured me of their patronage, I am unsure if many except my mother read through my entire emails last summer. ...we'll see.
9. Mom and Dad have the entire day of July 4th off, and I (as well as at least one other sibling) have the evening off. I am so excited to celebrate at home this year with a barbeque, rather than by myself in a Kentucky apartment or with co-workers at a restaurant somewhere downtown!
10. Happy 4th of July, everyone! Have a blessed and safe weekend.
2. A Connecticut ex-roommate and her husband recently found out that she's pregnant!! Hurray for Kyla! And they even started a baby blog for updates! Please keep them in your prayers...
3. A very dear friend and Colorado ex-roommate was married to this new-"er" dear friend last weekend. They are now touring Ireland and the Netherlands before finishing up another year of graduate school and then saving what is left of the civilised world. Please take a moment to say a prayer for them, for a lifetime of blessings and love.
4. On Father's Day this year, another Colorado ex-roommate and her husband welcomed a little son into the world! Awesome name, Connor Patrick. Her mother arrived for a visit this week from missionary work in Singapore, so it looks to be a joyful July for that family!
5. Some disappointment for another Colorado ex-roommate (gosh there are a lot of them!), her husband, and their son, that moving to Scotland will not happen this year. However, that means I get to see them a lot this summer. Little baby Alex and I have such fun together. Hurray for friends' babies! There are so many around this year--wherever I go!
6. Starting today, smoking is officially illegal in all public places in the state of Colorado. Say what you will of constitutional rights and Big Brother nonsense--it's gross, smelly, and unhealthy--here's to cleaner air and more fun without the secondhand stuff in my face.
7. Finished a long, extensive email recently in reply to a request for explanation about the Brown Scapular I wear around my neck. With prayer to the Holy Spirit, Our Lady, and St. Simon Stock, and with the Catechism open next to me, I think it might have been writtten coherently for one who is not Catholic. We'll see. In the same email, I also tried to explain how it might be possible to build an ice sculpture to include fire--kudos to Portia for that one--and I actually expect to see it one day, when this person gets his engineering degree! That's not the craziest thing he's built....
8. This was my last week of consistent work as a bartender (translation: last week of getting paid for working!). My clinical rotation begins Monday. I am undecided as to whether I should send out email updates this summer. I am living at home, and besides a few dedicated souls who assured me of their patronage, I am unsure if many except my mother read through my entire emails last summer. ...we'll see.
9. Mom and Dad have the entire day of July 4th off, and I (as well as at least one other sibling) have the evening off. I am so excited to celebrate at home this year with a barbeque, rather than by myself in a Kentucky apartment or with co-workers at a restaurant somewhere downtown!
10. Happy 4th of July, everyone! Have a blessed and safe weekend.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Motivation...
I've discovered that if I can just convince myself to put my running clothes on, I will actually get my run in for the day. The climax is when I put my running shoes on--because then I just want to GO!!
This morning, I was running up the hill-from-a-high-mountain-in-Dante's-Purgatorio. I don't know what the actual grade of the hill is, but here are some judges of steepness:
1. It starts at an altitude of about 7500 feet and goes to about 8200 feet
2. I've clocked it at about 1/3 of a mile
3. There is a sign about 2/3 of the way up that warns vehicles not to go any higher during winter weather
4. It takes me a solid decade of the rosary to run from bottom to top
As I plowed up this morning, I wondered about a theory that's been developing in my head. I don't know what to name it. Maybe the Graduated Fitness theory. It seems that every time I return to this hill, whether I've been running regularly or not, it takes me less time to "conquer" it. In other words, I am able to run up the whole thing sooner upon my return. This last time, when I came back from Connecticut, I ran up the hill the first time I went out (which was the morning after my arrival). Is there something like muscle memory that increases the body's ability to adjust to workouts, even after some dormancy?
Something to support this theory might be the way we "can tell" that someone used to be an athlete. No, they probably cannot run a 4:30 mile now, but there's something about the way they move that clues us into their athletic tendencies.
If there is any truth to this theory, then it brings with it hope for those of us that have sporadic lapses in workout determination. This extends to pregnancies and other situations of life that come up.
Thoughts, anyone?
This morning, I was running up the hill-from-a-high-mountain-in-Dante's-Purgatorio. I don't know what the actual grade of the hill is, but here are some judges of steepness:
1. It starts at an altitude of about 7500 feet and goes to about 8200 feet
2. I've clocked it at about 1/3 of a mile
3. There is a sign about 2/3 of the way up that warns vehicles not to go any higher during winter weather
4. It takes me a solid decade of the rosary to run from bottom to top
As I plowed up this morning, I wondered about a theory that's been developing in my head. I don't know what to name it. Maybe the Graduated Fitness theory. It seems that every time I return to this hill, whether I've been running regularly or not, it takes me less time to "conquer" it. In other words, I am able to run up the whole thing sooner upon my return. This last time, when I came back from Connecticut, I ran up the hill the first time I went out (which was the morning after my arrival). Is there something like muscle memory that increases the body's ability to adjust to workouts, even after some dormancy?
Something to support this theory might be the way we "can tell" that someone used to be an athlete. No, they probably cannot run a 4:30 mile now, but there's something about the way they move that clues us into their athletic tendencies.
If there is any truth to this theory, then it brings with it hope for those of us that have sporadic lapses in workout determination. This extends to pregnancies and other situations of life that come up.
Thoughts, anyone?
Thursday, June 15, 2006
The high life
I have returned to the mountains. I felt like I could smile broadly at them early this morning (after a 7am dentist appointment!)
In other news, I found my "free wireless" hangout spot today--finally!
It is at large hotel downtown where my relatives stayed during my sister's wedding. I don't have to pay anything besides the parking meter, and even that is negotiable after 6pm, the time when I will be doing a lot of my school postings later on this summer.
The lobby is big, and people just come and sit; I do not anticipate any questions or disturbances about parking in an easy-chair with my laptop. There is a bar closeby if ever I need a refreshment, but it's not mandatory that I purchase a single thing. The hotel actually advertises their free wireless. Of course, because it is in the middle of the executive downtown neighborhood, the snatches of conversation around me are about collateral, company mergers, and is that really a good idea at this time, Fred. But I can make myself conspicuous. I'll just be "dressing up" a little this summer to go login--business casual!
Tonight, though, it's back into the grind, with a dress code of black, black, and black, with a black tie and black shoes. Although I'm not exactly looking forward to bartending again this weekend, I've had a refreshing vacation, and I'm ready for the rush!
In other news, I found my "free wireless" hangout spot today--finally!
It is at large hotel downtown where my relatives stayed during my sister's wedding. I don't have to pay anything besides the parking meter, and even that is negotiable after 6pm, the time when I will be doing a lot of my school postings later on this summer.
The lobby is big, and people just come and sit; I do not anticipate any questions or disturbances about parking in an easy-chair with my laptop. There is a bar closeby if ever I need a refreshment, but it's not mandatory that I purchase a single thing. The hotel actually advertises their free wireless. Of course, because it is in the middle of the executive downtown neighborhood, the snatches of conversation around me are about collateral, company mergers, and is that really a good idea at this time, Fred. But I can make myself conspicuous. I'll just be "dressing up" a little this summer to go login--business casual!
Tonight, though, it's back into the grind, with a dress code of black, black, and black, with a black tie and black shoes. Although I'm not exactly looking forward to bartending again this weekend, I've had a refreshing vacation, and I'm ready for the rush!
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
An American Game
Monday evening, my sister's entire family and I went to watch my cousin play baseball. It's about an hour's drive away. We took a friend with us who is very good with all of the children, and whom they all love to have around.
The game starts at 7:05pm. We arrive at about 7:30pm, at the beginning of the second inning. It's great. We are handed plastic seat cushions on the way into the park with the team's name and colors on it (which we get to keep!). The announcer calls out the name of each player and the school he is from as he goes up to bat. It's very exciting to hear my cousin's name (with my last name!) called out with pumping music to get us all cheering. The Mascot is a close presence for all of the kids, and it seems like there's a fun little spectacle planned between each inning. Still, my nieces and nephews become restless after they finish their slushies and are familiar with which baseball player is their cousin.
My sister took the two youngest "for a walk" almost as soon as we all sat down--they were eager to explore the place and climb what they could find!
In the middle of the 4th inning, the older boys ask their Papa if he'll play catch with them for a while.
Around the beginning of the 5th inning, my 5 year-old niece informs me that she needs to use the facilities. I excuse her and myself, and leave our dear friend to sit with 8 seats of water bottles, snacks, car keys, purses, and free seat cushions--"Enjoy the game!" I joke with him.
We pass by my sister walking the other way in the space underneath the bleachers. It seems like we haven't seen her in a while; her five year-old runs toward her, arms waving like the doggie paddle, shouting excitedly, "Mama, Mama! I have to go to the bathroom, and Auntie is taking me there!!!"
We receive directions from "Mama" and quickly find the door "with the girl on it." We push it open, and are soon successfully inside.
The bathroom is impressively clean, for a ball park. There are tile floors, shiny mirrors, working sinks, full soap dispensers, and latches that latch. The long corridor of open stall doors show that the place is, for the most part, empty. The larger, handicap-accessible stalls are immediately to our left as we enter, and these doors are closed over. My niece decides to check and see if these are empty, as well. She squats and bends her little body so that her rear is almost touching the floor on the back side and her head between her legs is almost touching the floor on the front side. "Is --uh-- there --anyone? --uh-- in this --one?"
I point out all of the other wide open doors, and tell her to just choose one of those. But by that time, she has discovered that the first stall is empty. She enters, closes the door over, and I hear the "click" of the metal latch. I strolled over to the sink and started washing my hands while I wait.
"Oh no!! I can't go to the bathroom in here!" I hear her shriek from the first stall. There's a rustling and bustling and little feet scurrying.
"Why not?" I ask, preparing for a complaint such as "no toilet paper" or "the toilet is clogged." I am immediately in front of the latched door.
"Because there is a Lith-al,..Dead,..Baby..Crock-Roach in here!!"
"A little what?" I stand waiting for her to unlatch the door.
She does, and as the door opens, my niece is standing there, pointing to a corner of the large stall. Sure enough, a tiny, dry cockroach is lying on its back, legs up and curled over, very still. Yup, definitely dead. It's very small, but my niece was unlucky enough to notice it, and I understand her not wanting to stare at it--especially when there are so many other open stalls.
So we move down a few doors to one of the narrower stalls. "How about this one?" I suggest, automatically scanning the toilet for cleanliness and the metal fixture for toilet paper."
"Okay!" she cheerfully marches in. She almost has the door closed over again when she pauses, "Uhp! Nope, not this one, either! There's another dead baby crockroach in here!"
And so there was. Some pesticide must have been working really well that day! On the next attempt, I went into the empty stall first--to do recon. When I am sure that there are no crockroaches, dead, baby, or otherwise, I back out and sent her in. Of course, she still has to confirm the choice of stall with her authoritative report: "Okay, there are no crockroaches in this one. {sigh}"
At this point, I decide to avail myself of the facilities.
"Sweetie," I call, "I'm in the stall right next to you."
"Whaaat?" she says.
"I'm going to the bathroom next to you."
"Next to me?"
"Well, I'm in the room next to you--the one with the baby cockroach in it."
"There's a crockroach in there?!!"
I can tell that she is concentrating on talking to me, and hasn't even touched her clothing yet.
"Honey, just go to the bathroom, okay? I'll wait for you."
"But where are you?"
"I'll wait for you by the sink."
"Um, okay."
The sink is another adventure. She does not quite understand the concept of sensors; I watch as she pushes the black dot on the faux marble to make the water shoot out. It's like magic when I hold my hand there and allow her a full rinse. "Oh!" she exclaims, delighted.
After soaping and a full rinse, my niece looks around for a towel.
"Come here. This is nifty," I lead her to the hand-sensor towel dispenser, having only figured out where the sensor is myself immediately before the first cockroach discovery.
"Put your hand in front of this black square here," I tell her.
She moves her index finger toward the indicated shape, as if to press it, but the towel dispenses before she makes contact. "Whoa!" she squeels, "Lemme get another one." She points again, looking comically like an amateur magician, commanding the box on the wall to obey.
Again, a paper towel rolls out. "Awwwe-some! That's so awwwe-some!" she breathes, yanking the seond towel down and rolling it into the first.
I follow her lead out of the restroom. The sun has set almost completely and the resulting dimness gives the huge ballfield lights an exciting importance. My niece sees the rest of her family on a patch of grass behind our cousin's dugout. She runs for them, calling her youngest sister's name. I return to the bleachers, where our dear friend still sits alone.
"Sorry," I feel bad that he gave up his evening to watch a college baseball game--and now by himself. "Are you ok?"
"Oh, yeah!" he says, unphased.
Then he points down toward the dugout entrance. There is my five year-old niece looking up, obviously scanning the seats--presumably for me. We start shouting her name and waving our arms, but it's getting darker. And she has her pink-rimmed sunglasses on. After a few more seconds, she turns around and rejoins her family below.
Soon the boys return and recruit our friend for a game of catch.
Now it's my turn to watch the seat cushions--er--I mean, the game.
The game starts at 7:05pm. We arrive at about 7:30pm, at the beginning of the second inning. It's great. We are handed plastic seat cushions on the way into the park with the team's name and colors on it (which we get to keep!). The announcer calls out the name of each player and the school he is from as he goes up to bat. It's very exciting to hear my cousin's name (with my last name!) called out with pumping music to get us all cheering. The Mascot is a close presence for all of the kids, and it seems like there's a fun little spectacle planned between each inning. Still, my nieces and nephews become restless after they finish their slushies and are familiar with which baseball player is their cousin.
My sister took the two youngest "for a walk" almost as soon as we all sat down--they were eager to explore the place and climb what they could find!
In the middle of the 4th inning, the older boys ask their Papa if he'll play catch with them for a while.
Around the beginning of the 5th inning, my 5 year-old niece informs me that she needs to use the facilities. I excuse her and myself, and leave our dear friend to sit with 8 seats of water bottles, snacks, car keys, purses, and free seat cushions--"Enjoy the game!" I joke with him.
We pass by my sister walking the other way in the space underneath the bleachers. It seems like we haven't seen her in a while; her five year-old runs toward her, arms waving like the doggie paddle, shouting excitedly, "Mama, Mama! I have to go to the bathroom, and Auntie is taking me there!!!"
We receive directions from "Mama" and quickly find the door "with the girl on it." We push it open, and are soon successfully inside.
The bathroom is impressively clean, for a ball park. There are tile floors, shiny mirrors, working sinks, full soap dispensers, and latches that latch. The long corridor of open stall doors show that the place is, for the most part, empty. The larger, handicap-accessible stalls are immediately to our left as we enter, and these doors are closed over. My niece decides to check and see if these are empty, as well. She squats and bends her little body so that her rear is almost touching the floor on the back side and her head between her legs is almost touching the floor on the front side. "Is --uh-- there --anyone? --uh-- in this --one?"
I point out all of the other wide open doors, and tell her to just choose one of those. But by that time, she has discovered that the first stall is empty. She enters, closes the door over, and I hear the "click" of the metal latch. I strolled over to the sink and started washing my hands while I wait.
"Oh no!! I can't go to the bathroom in here!" I hear her shriek from the first stall. There's a rustling and bustling and little feet scurrying.
"Why not?" I ask, preparing for a complaint such as "no toilet paper" or "the toilet is clogged." I am immediately in front of the latched door.
"Because there is a Lith-al,..Dead,..Baby..Crock-Roach in here!!"
"A little what?" I stand waiting for her to unlatch the door.
She does, and as the door opens, my niece is standing there, pointing to a corner of the large stall. Sure enough, a tiny, dry cockroach is lying on its back, legs up and curled over, very still. Yup, definitely dead. It's very small, but my niece was unlucky enough to notice it, and I understand her not wanting to stare at it--especially when there are so many other open stalls.
So we move down a few doors to one of the narrower stalls. "How about this one?" I suggest, automatically scanning the toilet for cleanliness and the metal fixture for toilet paper."
"Okay!" she cheerfully marches in. She almost has the door closed over again when she pauses, "Uhp! Nope, not this one, either! There's another dead baby crockroach in here!"
And so there was. Some pesticide must have been working really well that day! On the next attempt, I went into the empty stall first--to do recon. When I am sure that there are no crockroaches, dead, baby, or otherwise, I back out and sent her in. Of course, she still has to confirm the choice of stall with her authoritative report: "Okay, there are no crockroaches in this one. {sigh}"
At this point, I decide to avail myself of the facilities.
"Sweetie," I call, "I'm in the stall right next to you."
"Whaaat?" she says.
"I'm going to the bathroom next to you."
"Next to me?"
"Well, I'm in the room next to you--the one with the baby cockroach in it."
"There's a crockroach in there?!!"
I can tell that she is concentrating on talking to me, and hasn't even touched her clothing yet.
"Honey, just go to the bathroom, okay? I'll wait for you."
"But where are you?"
"I'll wait for you by the sink."
"Um, okay."
The sink is another adventure. She does not quite understand the concept of sensors; I watch as she pushes the black dot on the faux marble to make the water shoot out. It's like magic when I hold my hand there and allow her a full rinse. "Oh!" she exclaims, delighted.
After soaping and a full rinse, my niece looks around for a towel.
"Come here. This is nifty," I lead her to the hand-sensor towel dispenser, having only figured out where the sensor is myself immediately before the first cockroach discovery.
"Put your hand in front of this black square here," I tell her.
She moves her index finger toward the indicated shape, as if to press it, but the towel dispenses before she makes contact. "Whoa!" she squeels, "Lemme get another one." She points again, looking comically like an amateur magician, commanding the box on the wall to obey.
Again, a paper towel rolls out. "Awwwe-some! That's so awwwe-some!" she breathes, yanking the seond towel down and rolling it into the first.
I follow her lead out of the restroom. The sun has set almost completely and the resulting dimness gives the huge ballfield lights an exciting importance. My niece sees the rest of her family on a patch of grass behind our cousin's dugout. She runs for them, calling her youngest sister's name. I return to the bleachers, where our dear friend still sits alone.
"Sorry," I feel bad that he gave up his evening to watch a college baseball game--and now by himself. "Are you ok?"
"Oh, yeah!" he says, unphased.
Then he points down toward the dugout entrance. There is my five year-old niece looking up, obviously scanning the seats--presumably for me. We start shouting her name and waving our arms, but it's getting darker. And she has her pink-rimmed sunglasses on. After a few more seconds, she turns around and rejoins her family below.
Soon the boys return and recruit our friend for a game of catch.
Now it's my turn to watch the seat cushions--er--I mean, the game.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Flavor
"You are the salt of the earth ..."
I remember a few years ago when this passage came up in conversation in the apartment I shared with four other Christian girls. The discussion centered around what the analogy of "losing flavor" could refer to. (If salt loses its taste, how can it be made salty again?) Well, we know that we can be forgiven for our sins, so that cannot be precisely what it's referring to. And if we lose our direction or enthusiasm for evangelization, that can also be restored through prayer. We explored the use of salt in Jesus' time--how it took the place of refrigeration and had to be tossed out after a while because all of the flavor went into the meat or whatever food it was keeping. "So, ...the earth is like the meat or the food, and we are the salt... so we should not let our flavor out into the earth? But that’s the opposite of what being the salt of the earth means!!" So that did little to help us understand the analogy. Instead of looking it up in a commentary on the Scriptures, we eventually let the conversation trail off as each of us retreated into our own thoughts.
This morning, however, the passage was read again at Mass, and it fell on some fertile ground in my heart that was not there before. I understood that Jesus was referring to the responsibility we have to keep our hearts pure and innocent and holy for Him. There is a difference between 1.) giving of ourselves in the spirit of evangelization and 2.) letting the world suck what is good and holy out of us.
When I was younger, my parents and other adults in charge of my spiritual formation would warn us about something called “desensitization.” I knew they meant that we should avoid environments where swearing and violence were commonplace because eventually, we would cease to be scandalized by it and slip into it ourselves. I knew they meant that sex was not something to be watched in movies, because there was the grave danger that we would lose sight of its sanctity and true purpose within the bonds of marriage.
But this morning, I meditated on a different kind of desensitization. We live in this beautiful world that God created, and should be grateful for it and constantly in awe of His goodness. Unfortunately, there is also a lot of imperfection in the world, especially in dealing with humans—with ourselves and with those around us. It is so easy to let ourselves become disheartened and discouraged. Our frustrations tempt us to “give in,” to lose the flavor we have acquired through grace. They tempt us to harden ourselves, to desensitize our hearts, so that we are not vulnerable to hurt or the criticism.
To truly be salt of the earth, we have to leave our hearts open for the possibility of great love, no matter how discouraging or hurtful the apparent failures may be. Temptations to bitterness and resentment are temptations to let the world invade us. Instead, we are called to bravely invade the world with the love of Christ. This is the flavor we must maintain; without the capacity for love, we become bland disciples. And how difficult it is for the saltiness to be restored, if we have allowed ourselves to become desensitized to His love and holiness.
I remember a few years ago when this passage came up in conversation in the apartment I shared with four other Christian girls. The discussion centered around what the analogy of "losing flavor" could refer to. (If salt loses its taste, how can it be made salty again?) Well, we know that we can be forgiven for our sins, so that cannot be precisely what it's referring to. And if we lose our direction or enthusiasm for evangelization, that can also be restored through prayer. We explored the use of salt in Jesus' time--how it took the place of refrigeration and had to be tossed out after a while because all of the flavor went into the meat or whatever food it was keeping. "So, ...the earth is like the meat or the food, and we are the salt... so we should not let our flavor out into the earth? But that’s the opposite of what being the salt of the earth means!!" So that did little to help us understand the analogy. Instead of looking it up in a commentary on the Scriptures, we eventually let the conversation trail off as each of us retreated into our own thoughts.
This morning, however, the passage was read again at Mass, and it fell on some fertile ground in my heart that was not there before. I understood that Jesus was referring to the responsibility we have to keep our hearts pure and innocent and holy for Him. There is a difference between 1.) giving of ourselves in the spirit of evangelization and 2.) letting the world suck what is good and holy out of us.
When I was younger, my parents and other adults in charge of my spiritual formation would warn us about something called “desensitization.” I knew they meant that we should avoid environments where swearing and violence were commonplace because eventually, we would cease to be scandalized by it and slip into it ourselves. I knew they meant that sex was not something to be watched in movies, because there was the grave danger that we would lose sight of its sanctity and true purpose within the bonds of marriage.
But this morning, I meditated on a different kind of desensitization. We live in this beautiful world that God created, and should be grateful for it and constantly in awe of His goodness. Unfortunately, there is also a lot of imperfection in the world, especially in dealing with humans—with ourselves and with those around us. It is so easy to let ourselves become disheartened and discouraged. Our frustrations tempt us to “give in,” to lose the flavor we have acquired through grace. They tempt us to harden ourselves, to desensitize our hearts, so that we are not vulnerable to hurt or the criticism.
To truly be salt of the earth, we have to leave our hearts open for the possibility of great love, no matter how discouraging or hurtful the apparent failures may be. Temptations to bitterness and resentment are temptations to let the world invade us. Instead, we are called to bravely invade the world with the love of Christ. This is the flavor we must maintain; without the capacity for love, we become bland disciples. And how difficult it is for the saltiness to be restored, if we have allowed ourselves to become desensitized to His love and holiness.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Old Habits
I arrived "home" to my sister's house in the Republic close to 2am after a full night: some competitive frisbee and a rousing game of Marco Polo, immediately followed by basketball-watching and movie-watching with a home-brew in hand, with a bit of simultaneous "hands-on-a-friend" physical therapy practice.
I felt like I should call someone and tell them I got home safely.
But my cell phone's in Colorado, and nobody needs to know, anyway.
I felt like I should call someone and tell them I got home safely.
But my cell phone's in Colorado, and nobody needs to know, anyway.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Forced Vacation
I accidentally left my cell phone in Denver for the "whole seven days" that I'm in the Republic. This means the lack of a morning alarm clock, as well as the absence of a back-up to check what time it "really" is (I can never remember, is my watch set 2 minutes fast, or 4 minutes fast? or did I set it 15 minutes ahead when I switched to Central Time?)
Fortunately, my sister and brother-in-law do not need to wake up until 6:25am, and ideally, by that time, I am in the pew at the local monastery for Mass. So I've been in possession of their pager alarm until I get up in the morning, at which time I reset it and place it gently next to their bed. (Except, of course, for the day where I forgot to set the correct date on the pager alarm and was awakened by my guardian angel at 6:31am--quickly resetting the alarm for 6:35am and placing it gently,...etc)
The advantage of not having my phone is that I'm starting to memorize a few phone numbers again. It's nice to know I have not lost that ability.
Tonight, after a gathering at my sister's house of old and new friends, one of the girls asked me for my phone number so that she could contact me in the next few days. It was strange giving her my sister's home phone number, as if I'd known it for a long time. I actually just learned it last Wednesday, when I called my mother on my way to the airport to tell her I did not have my cell phone. (My home number is one of the few I still know by heart--lucky for them at 5:30 in the morning!)
The disadvantages to not having my phone? Well, I don't hear my ring, As Time Goes By, at random intervals throughout the day--although sometimes I still think I do! Other than that, ...no complaints. It's rather nice having a break from always needing to remember to bring it with me, always looking at it to see if somebody's trying to reach me.
I still take my sister's cell phone with me when I run out to the grocery store or go to visit friends. But somehow, it's not the same. It has the same temporary "borrowing" feeling as driving her car while I'm here: it's in my possession now, but it won't be for long, so I can't become attached.
One thing I've learned from this experience: I do not like my voicemail message. That will have to change when I get back to Denver!
Fortunately, my sister and brother-in-law do not need to wake up until 6:25am, and ideally, by that time, I am in the pew at the local monastery for Mass. So I've been in possession of their pager alarm until I get up in the morning, at which time I reset it and place it gently next to their bed. (Except, of course, for the day where I forgot to set the correct date on the pager alarm and was awakened by my guardian angel at 6:31am--quickly resetting the alarm for 6:35am and placing it gently,...etc)
The advantage of not having my phone is that I'm starting to memorize a few phone numbers again. It's nice to know I have not lost that ability.
Tonight, after a gathering at my sister's house of old and new friends, one of the girls asked me for my phone number so that she could contact me in the next few days. It was strange giving her my sister's home phone number, as if I'd known it for a long time. I actually just learned it last Wednesday, when I called my mother on my way to the airport to tell her I did not have my cell phone. (My home number is one of the few I still know by heart--lucky for them at 5:30 in the morning!)
The disadvantages to not having my phone? Well, I don't hear my ring, As Time Goes By, at random intervals throughout the day--although sometimes I still think I do! Other than that, ...no complaints. It's rather nice having a break from always needing to remember to bring it with me, always looking at it to see if somebody's trying to reach me.
I still take my sister's cell phone with me when I run out to the grocery store or go to visit friends. But somehow, it's not the same. It has the same temporary "borrowing" feeling as driving her car while I'm here: it's in my possession now, but it won't be for long, so I can't become attached.
One thing I've learned from this experience: I do not like my voicemail message. That will have to change when I get back to Denver!
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Update(s)?
I have posted plenty in my head, but I guess that doesn’t really count!
I shall now give a quick summary of “life since April.”
Highlights from April:
One spontaneous road trip with my boyfriend down to Dallas for Easter. I not only spent time with my sister's young family of five children, but I also met some excellent people, and had fun hanging out with a few old friends.
One last large presentation of the semester successfully presented by myself and three faithful study-buddies to the rest of my classmates and professors.
I shall now give a quick summary of “life since April.”
Highlights from April:
One spontaneous road trip with my boyfriend down to Dallas for Easter. I not only spent time with my sister's young family of five children, but I also met some excellent people, and had fun hanging out with a few old friends.
One last large presentation of the semester successfully presented by myself and three faithful study-buddies to the rest of my classmates and professors.
Finally, the spinal cord rehab unit of the curriculum—what I’ve been waiting for all year long! It only lasted three weeks, but it was so much fun; I loved it. I also got the opportunity to join in on an informal wheelchair rugby pick-up game with members of the New York and Connecticut wheelchair rugby teams. “C’mon! Get in the chair! We’ll go easy on you—promise, you won’t get flipped out.” (I didn’t; they were very nice…)
One gorgeous wedding, the groom being a member of my Connecticut Italian family, and the bride a beautiful, creative, and holy young woman who has become a great friend of mine.
more Update(s)
Highlights from May:
END OF SCHOOL!! Hurray! And I passed everything (come to find out later). I was able to enjoy a few days of freedom and relaxation even while I was packing up all of my belongings to get ready to …
COME HOME!! Sweet, mountainous Colorado, home of the purple Columbines and expansive blue skies. Mom flew out, and she and I made a quick road trip of it, only taking two and a half days to travel more than 1800 miles. Neither rain nor heat delayed us. We arrived in time to catch the second half of my youngest sister’s last soccer game of the season. I immediately made it a point to connect with all my friends who have had babies since I was home at Christmas, and introduce myself to said babies as a potentially influential character in their future lives! =b
END OF SCHOOL!! Hurray! And I passed everything (come to find out later). I was able to enjoy a few days of freedom and relaxation even while I was packing up all of my belongings to get ready to …
COME HOME!! Sweet, mountainous Colorado, home of the purple Columbines and expansive blue skies. Mom flew out, and she and I made a quick road trip of it, only taking two and a half days to travel more than 1800 miles. Neither rain nor heat delayed us. We arrived in time to catch the second half of my youngest sister’s last soccer game of the season. I immediately made it a point to connect with all my friends who have had babies since I was home at Christmas, and introduce myself to said babies as a potentially influential character in their future lives! =b
I also made it a point to attend as many of my youngest sisters’ concerts and activities as possible before it was required of me to …
RESUME WORK at both of my old haunts: as a barista at the antique-furnished coffee shop, and as a bartender/waitress at the beautiful, historic Inn and Restaurant in the little hippy-town next to us. Before my schedule became too packed up, however, I took a few personal days and …
VISITED SOUTH DAKOTA to visit some college friends and see their beautiful, quickly-growing children. I could only spend about one day there, but it was worth it to connect with the family before they move to California this summer. My name to the adorable little girl on Mommy’s right was “Dish.” I think she was going for at least one phonetic sound she recognized. On my way back from South Dakota, I stopped in Denver to go for a run at least once with my one of my previous roommates in preparation for our Memorial Day …
10K RACE, which we ran with her fiancée. It was so much fun, after not doing it together for two years. Certain traditions die hard, and that includes the Bolder Boulder. We woke up early, toasted bagels, and gathered our running paraphernalia as if we’d never lived apart. Across the aisle from one another on the shuttle bus, we read each others’ thoughts as if we were speaking out loud (dramatically).
“We’ll be late for our start time, but it’s ok! We’re doing this for fun.”
“Yeah, but we paid money, we got up early enough to get here on time, and they start our individual times when our wave starts.”
“Our goal isn’t to make a certain time; we’re doing it together again. It’s just a great day to be together and running a race after so long. I’m not used to this altitude running yet, anyway.”
“I just don’t want anything to go wrong today, and it’s getting off to a sketchy start.”
“We can run to the start line when we get off the bus.”“I have to stop at the bathrooms.”
And a good time was had by all. In fact, when it was over, we decided to register together for a half marathon in the Black Hills of South Dakota in October—something to work for, something else to look forward to! On the last day of May, I …
HIT A VAN with my faithful little Count Von Count. The other driver decided to make a left turn in front of me from the opposite direction (while my light was green). Count took it bravely, only allowing one of his headlights to become completely smashed in (“one beautiful headlight, ah, ah, ah!). However, it was a pain and very upsetting, as I was on my way to a friend’s birthday party, and still very much out of luck on the financial side of things. Poor little Count is still being fixed by our trusty auto shop.
Recent Highlights:
On the first day of June, my true love sent to me: just kidding. But I did have a phone conversation with my boyfriend that ended with the addition of his name to my growing “ex-boyfriend” list. On the bright side, it is one of the most peaceful, friendly break-ups I’ve experienced. I look forward to resuming our friendship when I return to Connecticut.
On the second day of June, I received an email from a friend I haven’t heard from in several months, telling me he’ll be out of the Army in July and living back in Colorado by mid-August. Seeing him again is something to look forward to. It’s an interesting exchange; I’ll teach him swing dance moves and tell him more about my Catholic faith, he’ll teach me random Arabic words and tell me about the contraptions he’s built in his house. Aside from being extremely intelligent and funny, as well as musically, mathematically, and athletically talented, he’s one of the most humble individuals I’ve ever met. He is one of those people of natural virtue that makes you imagine with thrills where the sacraments might lead them, if ever they were to accept them. And I keep praying….
Now I’m in Dallas again, visiting my sister’s family “for seven whole days!!” my nieces and nephews keep reminding me. “Mama, has Auntie been here for seven days yet?” Today I tried to “help out” and sponge-paint the dining room walls of some friends’ apartment. Aside from their assurances and reassurances that the walls look fine, I must say that my first attempt at artistic interior design is doomed to look like polka-dots. Ah, well.
There is talk of having a general barbeque-like gathering of Dallas friends—old and new—this weekend at my sister and brother-in-law’s house. We’re also looking to take the kids and go see one of my cousins play collegiate league ball. He’s in Texas again this summer, and playing at a relatively nearby field tomorrow night.
Stay Tuned:
My dear friend and old roommate is getting married at the end of June. I cannot wait; she and her fiancée were definitely intended for one another from all eternity. I love it when you can see that in a couple. The reception will be wrought with Polish traditions—much of which involves breaking things, as far as I understand! It also involves polka, which will be a lot of fun!
My outpatient orthopedic clinical rotation begins July 3rd. I’m hopeful that it will be a great learning experience; I especially hope that I will put my heart into it, despite the fact that being home gives me plenty of opportunity for distraction, including practical family schedule considerations.
By September, it will be time to drive back to Connecticut again for my last year of graduate school…ever!!!
But … “give us this day, our daily bread,”…
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Friday, April 07, 2006
No tagging ...
Yay! A new contest from an obviously well-rounded friend. Here's the gyst:
The object is to stump the readership. To play, post a quote from a movie which you think others will not guess. It must be in some way peculiar to that movie (i.e., entries like "Hello." are not acceptable). To post your quote, you must first correctly guess the movie of the previous post. For example, if I post "Exits are here here here here here here here anywhere", you must first guess "Aladdin" before you can post your own quote. If you guess wrong you are eliminated. If no one guesses your post correctly for 24 hrs, you win. The reward is one dollar. The movie genera is live-action children's movies. Researching the quotes, whether on the internet or in any other way, is cheating.
We'll start with strawberry ice; and then some cake and tea.
The object is to stump the readership. To play, post a quote from a movie which you think others will not guess. It must be in some way peculiar to that movie (i.e., entries like "Hello." are not acceptable). To post your quote, you must first correctly guess the movie of the previous post. For example, if I post "Exits are here here here here here here here anywhere", you must first guess "Aladdin" before you can post your own quote. If you guess wrong you are eliminated. If no one guesses your post correctly for 24 hrs, you win. The reward is one dollar. The movie genera is live-action children's movies. Researching the quotes, whether on the internet or in any other way, is cheating.
We'll start with strawberry ice; and then some cake and tea.
Sprint!!!
Capstone is over. Capstone is the name of this program's research presentation that takes the place of a dissertation. We will have another one next semester, but it will be different, somehow. My group presented March 29th, and the weekend following was very enjoyable--with just enough stress to keep me wary of my time, but no tears!
Monday we will start the Spinal Cord unit, which will run for the rest of the semester; it's sort of the culmination of everything we've learned thus far, since doing rehabilitation for a spinal cord injury involves so many different systems. I've been looking forward to to this unit all year long!
This week, then, was our final week with some of the professors. Friday morning found donuts, fruit, muffins, juice, and coffee at the front of the classroom. Everyone was sad to say goodbye. Sure, we'll see them everyday for the remainder of our time there, but it's not the same as having them in class.
These professors are truly amazing, and their ability to raise students to a high level of professionalism with their expectations and demands is inspiring. They started treating us like professional colleagues when we first arrived, and although we've come to respect them more and more, we've also become closer and closer to them over the past two years.
One professor that I especially get along with offered to go over some things with me after class today.
"Let's sit down," he said.
"If you don't mind, I'll stand," I replied, "because I've been sitting all morning."
"Ok, that's fine. I'll sit, though," he answered. Then, "Oh, wait, you know what? I'm going to lie down, actually."
He then proceeded to lie down on a treatment table in our lab room, while I stood by another table, my books all spread out, open to different pages.
We began discussing anatomy and differential diagnosis of various shoulder pathologies, when I experienced a moment of perspective, realizing that it was not at all odd to me that my professor was lying on his back with his hands behind his head, looking at the ceiling, as he expounded on the significance of different tests at the shoulder joint.
After running through some material for an upcoming quiz on Monday, the topic naturally turned to the order of the curriculum and how things are managed. He bounced some of his thoughts off of me, and I gave him some feedback. It struck me later how it was not at all strange that our conversation then went from the need for a more structured anatomy class to how my boyfriend is doing and when we'll both be available to make mead with him before I leave for my summer clinical rotation.
As we said goodbye, he gave me some words of encouragement about not expecting all the gaps to be filled right now--about expecting to learn a lot from clinical experience and continued study. He also gave me an analogy to hang onto with regard to the rest of this semester.
"What do you do when you're on the last quarter-mile of a race ...and all that lactic acid is really starting to course through your body ...and all you want to do is stop and throw in the towel?"
The answer, of course, is to say a prayer, visualize the finish line, and find a deeper source of energy to draw from. Then, ...sprint!
So here we are, and here I go; about to embark on the final sprint of this semester.
Prayers are always appreciated.
Monday we will start the Spinal Cord unit, which will run for the rest of the semester; it's sort of the culmination of everything we've learned thus far, since doing rehabilitation for a spinal cord injury involves so many different systems. I've been looking forward to to this unit all year long!
This week, then, was our final week with some of the professors. Friday morning found donuts, fruit, muffins, juice, and coffee at the front of the classroom. Everyone was sad to say goodbye. Sure, we'll see them everyday for the remainder of our time there, but it's not the same as having them in class.
These professors are truly amazing, and their ability to raise students to a high level of professionalism with their expectations and demands is inspiring. They started treating us like professional colleagues when we first arrived, and although we've come to respect them more and more, we've also become closer and closer to them over the past two years.
One professor that I especially get along with offered to go over some things with me after class today.
"Let's sit down," he said.
"If you don't mind, I'll stand," I replied, "because I've been sitting all morning."
"Ok, that's fine. I'll sit, though," he answered. Then, "Oh, wait, you know what? I'm going to lie down, actually."
He then proceeded to lie down on a treatment table in our lab room, while I stood by another table, my books all spread out, open to different pages.
We began discussing anatomy and differential diagnosis of various shoulder pathologies, when I experienced a moment of perspective, realizing that it was not at all odd to me that my professor was lying on his back with his hands behind his head, looking at the ceiling, as he expounded on the significance of different tests at the shoulder joint.
After running through some material for an upcoming quiz on Monday, the topic naturally turned to the order of the curriculum and how things are managed. He bounced some of his thoughts off of me, and I gave him some feedback. It struck me later how it was not at all strange that our conversation then went from the need for a more structured anatomy class to how my boyfriend is doing and when we'll both be available to make mead with him before I leave for my summer clinical rotation.
As we said goodbye, he gave me some words of encouragement about not expecting all the gaps to be filled right now--about expecting to learn a lot from clinical experience and continued study. He also gave me an analogy to hang onto with regard to the rest of this semester.
"What do you do when you're on the last quarter-mile of a race ...and all that lactic acid is really starting to course through your body ...and all you want to do is stop and throw in the towel?"
The answer, of course, is to say a prayer, visualize the finish line, and find a deeper source of energy to draw from. Then, ...sprint!
So here we are, and here I go; about to embark on the final sprint of this semester.
Prayers are always appreciated.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Confession
The soul calls weight upon weight unto itself.
And in so little time
I am here again.
Barely able to lift my head after digging into its depths.
Wishing for bare feet as my echoing heels at once announce and condemn this sinner's presence.
Certainly, that old woman in her silent pew could see the guilt spilling over,
If only she lifted her head.
But she loudly whispers her beads and clicks her worn shoes against the kneeler behind,
Convincing the dark church of her non-judgement, while I seem to feel the halo pulsing under her black wool hat.
The heavy curtain retracts at my touch--or does it welcome me, ushering in the prodigal, not to lose another moment of grace?
"Bless me, Father, ..."
Contaminating the air, filling that small box with evil words, revolt upon revolt against Divine love.
They linger for a moment, then crumble.
How many words have crumbled against the panels of this stall, smashed to nothingness by the form of the sacrament, washed away by penitent tears?
At the name of Jesus, the devil runs away.
"Thunk!" The window of mercy has allowed its miracle.
The curtain is drawn and morning light falls in through colored glass.
Still the loud whispering, still the darkness, but a new stillness.
"Grace abounds all the more"* and I renew my promises.
My love returns to find His never changing.
An infinite distance spanned in the period of an old woman's prayer.
Soft footsteps hurry by and I lift my head to watch God's instrument of grace ascend the altar.
He gave his life to serve the Church:
To serve the Creator and the creature, the Redeemer and the sinner.
His alarm also calls at dawn, but it calls a battle-cry:
Contend with the evil in those you must also love!
Bring Christ to these broken hearts!
Must not his valiant heart hate my sins more than I?
Is he not burdened? Is he not weary?
Why does he not stoop?
The Lord calls sinner upon sinner unto Himself.
*Rom 5:20
And in so little time
I am here again.
Barely able to lift my head after digging into its depths.
Wishing for bare feet as my echoing heels at once announce and condemn this sinner's presence.
Certainly, that old woman in her silent pew could see the guilt spilling over,
If only she lifted her head.
But she loudly whispers her beads and clicks her worn shoes against the kneeler behind,
Convincing the dark church of her non-judgement, while I seem to feel the halo pulsing under her black wool hat.
The heavy curtain retracts at my touch--or does it welcome me, ushering in the prodigal, not to lose another moment of grace?
"Bless me, Father, ..."
Contaminating the air, filling that small box with evil words, revolt upon revolt against Divine love.
They linger for a moment, then crumble.
How many words have crumbled against the panels of this stall, smashed to nothingness by the form of the sacrament, washed away by penitent tears?
At the name of Jesus, the devil runs away.
"Thunk!" The window of mercy has allowed its miracle.
The curtain is drawn and morning light falls in through colored glass.
Still the loud whispering, still the darkness, but a new stillness.
"Grace abounds all the more"* and I renew my promises.
My love returns to find His never changing.
An infinite distance spanned in the period of an old woman's prayer.
Soft footsteps hurry by and I lift my head to watch God's instrument of grace ascend the altar.
He gave his life to serve the Church:
To serve the Creator and the creature, the Redeemer and the sinner.
His alarm also calls at dawn, but it calls a battle-cry:
Contend with the evil in those you must also love!
Bring Christ to these broken hearts!
Must not his valiant heart hate my sins more than I?
Is he not burdened? Is he not weary?
Why does he not stoop?
The Lord calls sinner upon sinner unto Himself.
*Rom 5:20
Monday, February 27, 2006
Fifteen!
You know the joke... three snotty young women--a brunette, a redhead, and a blonde--walk into a bar and order drinks from a new, inexperienced cocktail waitress.
Brunette: I'll have a G and T.
Waitress: Excuse me? What is that exactly?
Brunette: Duh-huh! It's "gin and tonic."
Redhead: I'll have a Smith and Kearns.
Waitress: I'm sorry, what is that?
Redhead: Duh-huh! It's "kahlua and cream."
Blonde: I'll have a 15.
Waitress: Umm, I'm not sure I--
Blonde: Duh-huh! It's a "seven and seven."
So the connection is, I would not be posting during this (very busy!) last week before spring break if I had not been tagged by Portia Bean.
I have time to read her blog, so I guess I have time to post the tag...!
So here we go: Forty-nine
(otherwise referred to as 7x7)
Seven things to do before I die:
1. Get married and have children.
2. Climb a mountain in South America.
3. Correspond with letters.
4. Visit Poland.
5. Compete in a triathlon.
6. Return to the Philippines.
7. Learn Portuguese.
Seven things I cannot do:
1. Pull-ups (my upper body strength has always been very limited).
2. Allow precision of vocabulary to slide when I'm engaged in an argument.
3. Conquer my pride (it's difficult for me to think of things I cannot do!)
4. Run on a treadmill (I need to be outside when I'm running)
5. Keep track of my belongings (i.e., leave an area with as many items as I came with)
6. Play volleyball (I'm afraid of the ball; it hurts my arms--#1 on this list might be related)
7. Make my brain work past 11pm.
Seven things that attract me to … my Other Half:
I am not yet married (see #1 of "Before I Die")
Seven things I say:
1. Holy cow! / Good heavens!
2. I don't kah-no (phonetic pronunciation of "know").
3. Oh, please...(as in, gimme a break)
4. Out loud, dramatically (specifically, when speaking of reading or reciting something)
5. Are you hungry? / Would you like some tea? (apparently, Chestnut says I always say these things to him...maybe because I always see him around mealtimes?)
6. What are you thinking about? (Chestnut says I always say this, too--but it might have to do with his tendency to become quiet and thoughtful)
7. God bless.
Seven books I love:
1. Late Have I Loved Thee Ethel Mannin
2. A Right to be Merry Mother Mary Francis, P.C.C.
3. On the Incarnation Saint Athanasius
4. Father Elijah Michael O'Brien
5. James and the Giant Peach Roald Dahl
6. Come Rack! Come Rope! Robert Hugh Benson
7. Kristin Lavransdatter Sigrid Undset
Seven movies that I’ve loved:
1. Return to Me
2. Princess Bride
3. Braveheart
4. Just Like Heaven
5. Pride and Prejudice (the 6-hr A&E version)
6. Life is Beautiful
7. Dave and the Giant Pickle
Seven people to meme:
1. Whiskey
2. Erin-Roommate (what the heck; let's keep trying!)
3. WindMillTilter
4. Anna-Not
...and that's enough for now because 15 minus 7 equals 8, and 4 is half of 8.
And this just in ...
Annoucing the birth of John Charles Remstad! He emerged today, February 27th, weighing in at 8lbs, 14-1/2 oz, after 32 long and hard hours of labor. Both mother and baby (as well as father!) are fine, and all are happy that it's over!
Little John has the distinct privelege of being born on the same day as the widely renowned (in smallish circles)"Big Vic" Vincent.
Welcome to this crazy world, John!
Brunette: I'll have a G and T.
Waitress: Excuse me? What is that exactly?
Brunette: Duh-huh! It's "gin and tonic."
Redhead: I'll have a Smith and Kearns.
Waitress: I'm sorry, what is that?
Redhead: Duh-huh! It's "kahlua and cream."
Blonde: I'll have a 15.
Waitress: Umm, I'm not sure I--
Blonde: Duh-huh! It's a "seven and seven."
So the connection is, I would not be posting during this (very busy!) last week before spring break if I had not been tagged by Portia Bean.
I have time to read her blog, so I guess I have time to post the tag...!
So here we go: Forty-nine
(otherwise referred to as 7x7)
Seven things to do before I die:
1. Get married and have children.
2. Climb a mountain in South America.
3. Correspond with letters.
4. Visit Poland.
5. Compete in a triathlon.
6. Return to the Philippines.
7. Learn Portuguese.
Seven things I cannot do:
1. Pull-ups (my upper body strength has always been very limited).
2. Allow precision of vocabulary to slide when I'm engaged in an argument.
3. Conquer my pride (it's difficult for me to think of things I cannot do!)
4. Run on a treadmill (I need to be outside when I'm running)
5. Keep track of my belongings (i.e., leave an area with as many items as I came with)
6. Play volleyball (I'm afraid of the ball; it hurts my arms--#1 on this list might be related)
7. Make my brain work past 11pm.
Seven things that attract me to … my Other Half:
I am not yet married (see #1 of "Before I Die")
Seven things I say:
1. Holy cow! / Good heavens!
2. I don't kah-no (phonetic pronunciation of "know").
3. Oh, please...(as in, gimme a break)
4. Out loud, dramatically (specifically, when speaking of reading or reciting something)
5. Are you hungry? / Would you like some tea? (apparently, Chestnut says I always say these things to him...maybe because I always see him around mealtimes?)
6. What are you thinking about? (Chestnut says I always say this, too--but it might have to do with his tendency to become quiet and thoughtful)
7. God bless.
Seven books I love:
1. Late Have I Loved Thee Ethel Mannin
2. A Right to be Merry Mother Mary Francis, P.C.C.
3. On the Incarnation Saint Athanasius
4. Father Elijah Michael O'Brien
5. James and the Giant Peach Roald Dahl
6. Come Rack! Come Rope! Robert Hugh Benson
7. Kristin Lavransdatter Sigrid Undset
Seven movies that I’ve loved:
1. Return to Me
2. Princess Bride
3. Braveheart
4. Just Like Heaven
5. Pride and Prejudice (the 6-hr A&E version)
6. Life is Beautiful
7. Dave and the Giant Pickle
Seven people to meme:
1. Whiskey
2. Erin-Roommate (what the heck; let's keep trying!)
3. WindMillTilter
4. Anna-Not
...and that's enough for now because 15 minus 7 equals 8, and 4 is half of 8.
And this just in ...
Annoucing the birth of John Charles Remstad! He emerged today, February 27th, weighing in at 8lbs, 14-1/2 oz, after 32 long and hard hours of labor. Both mother and baby (as well as father!) are fine, and all are happy that it's over!
Little John has the distinct privelege of being born on the same day as the widely renowned (in smallish circles)"Big Vic" Vincent.
Welcome to this crazy world, John!
Monday, February 13, 2006
Let it Snow
Weekend blizzard
We went for a walk after I felt like I had gotten a sufficient amount of schoolwork done on Sunday.
By that time, the plows had been through a few times; instead of getting our trousers snowy, we concerned ourselves with not slipping on the ice underneath the fine layer of fresh snow.
It was cold, but very still and very white and therefore, very pretty. Everywhere we walked, people were outside of their houses, digging vehicles out from underneath the snow drifts, anticipating Monday morning.
Sacred Heart University was open today--no cancellations, no delays.
Stamford school district, however, had the entire day off! Luckies....
And there's still snow on the ground, and it's still a bit chilly outside.
The storm conflicted with the original weekend plans, but it turned out to be a good time of balancing academic productivity with old-fashioned relaxation.
Prayers requested: first big exam of the semester this Wednesday, followed by a difficult meeting.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Could You Embrace That?
I said to God again,
“Beloved I need to love you – every aspect, every pore.”
And this time God said,
“There is a hideous blemish on my body,
though it is such an infinitesimal part of my Being-
could you kiss that if it were revealed?”
“I will try, Lord, I will try.”
And then God said,
“That blemish is all the hatred and
cruelty in this
world.”
“There is a hideous blemish on my body,
though it is such an infinitesimal part of my Being-
could you kiss that if it were revealed?”
“I will try, Lord, I will try.”
And then God said,
“That blemish is all the hatred and
cruelty in this
world.”
~St. Thomas Aquinas
I have come to love the three children in the family whom I help out during the week. They are like younger siblings to me. Different events have inspired this realization.
Once, when Andrew's physical therapist was on his honeymoon, a substitute came in to conduct the weekly aquatic therapy session. I knew that Andrew's regular PT, Scott, had informed this substitute about all of his patients, and that she was an experienced, competent therapist. But I was nervous for the entire hour, knowing that she did not know Andrew like I did, praying that she wouldn't push him too hard or expect too much, hoping that she would praise him sufficiently for how hard he was working under these altered conditions.
I marveled at how Andrew's super-capable and energetic mother, Kris, was able to send me off to the club pool with him a few days after I started working for the family.
When I arrived at their house today, Andrew's older brother Henry greeted me with the news that his mom and Andrew went to New York for a consult with an orthopedist. Henry and I sat side by side in the dining room doing our respective schoolwork, then we played a board game until the rest of the family came home. Henry is the oldest at 11, but is still so young and innocent. A few months ago, he was temporarily home alone. I was with his mother when he called her cell phone in a panic: there was a woman ringing the doorbell and he was afraid to open the door. Apparently, she kept would not go away, but kept ringing the doorbell. My heart ached for him as I listened to Kris' sympathetic but calm instructions to go into the master bedroom, close the door, and put the T.V. on for 10 minutes until she returned home. He'll be a teenager soon, but for now, his parents are his stronghold and he knows where to place his trust.
The youngest, Ellen, 6 years old, trudged in the door first this afternoon, leaving shoes and jacket in her path as she ambled farther into the house. When she heard my voice shouting "hello?" from the living room, she immediately switched gears, scurrying in to pounce on me, hug me, and hang off my elbows, begging that I play with her next. She can be a disciplinary disaster sometimes, but somehow, a bond has been formed. Although she squirmed away in the shower when I tried to scrub shampoo through her hair, five minutes later she was giggling as I wrapped the bath towel around her in a bear hug. I smiled later on this evening as she shouted repeatedly, "Can I have Oreos now? I ate the red part of my pizza. I did. Look. Can I? Can I please have some Oreos?"
And then things happen that makes me wonder why children have to lose their innocence. Henry, Andrew, Ellen, ...eventually they will face extreme ugliness, evil, hatred. Somehow, someday, they will be exposed to the cruelty of the world outside their loving home. Hopefully, they will be shocked and horrified; but also, I pray it will not cause them doubt or anxiety.
Their worries are so pure right now. Andrew became distressed on Sunday when he did not participate in the closing hymn at church. Henry ran across the street to the neighbors' house Saturday to report his parents were lost, because he did not see them resting on the living room couch. Ellen threw a mild tantrum last week when I could not stay to blow-dry her hair before bedtime.
I cannot imagine these beautiful, happy children having to fight on the harsh battlefields of high school pressures and college temptations.
I know I would go after anyone who tried to harm these kids. How difficult to raise children in this world!
But then, kissing the blemish that is "all the hatred and cruelty in the world" ... this is the greater challenge. God loves His creatures even when they pervert His creation. And I am a perverter just as much as the next sinner. I contribute to the world where children lose their innocence and build up barriers to love. Yet God continues to offer His grace and forgiveness "as we forgive those who trespass against us." The challenge is to go and do the same.
Could you embrace that?
Monday, January 30, 2006
Italian family
While in Connecticut, I've become an adjunct member of Frank's family. The problem with being so busy, though, is that there are spans of time where I am not able to see much of them.
I receive remarks such as, "What you don't like us anymore?" from Frank's brother John Paul, or "Hey, stranger! I'm so glad to see you're still alive," from Angela, his fiancee. Last weekend after Mass, Frank's mother came up to me in the vestibule with her eyebrows raised: "I miss you," she said, very sincerely, almost sternly.
So this past week, I found a half hour to stop by the house and say hello. It continually amazes me how welcoming the family is to me--my entrance was as joyous as a long-lost friend, and as comfortable as a daughter of the house. After greetings and hugs and expressions of gratitude that I came, I was immediately led down into the basement to inspect the rennovations being done on John Paul and Angela's future apartment.
And yesterday, for the first time since before Thanksgiving, I was able to attend Sunday dinner at Sharon's house. It was Tony's first invitation: Sharon said it was his baptism into the Marchetti Sunday dinners. :)
Not everyone was there--only about half of the family could make it--but the Marchetti grandchildren were all present, which makes up a lot of the bustling and noise and laughter that draws everyone together. And of course, the political theory and religious updates and critique of culture were all loudly put forth and thrown around the table.
Sometimes I put my two cents in when I feel the need (usually every possible viewpoint is already represented!) but generally, I like to sit back. Literally. I sit back in my chair, look around, smile, and thank God for these good people who have welcomed me into their hearts.
I am blessed with this special sort of familial support, even living so far from the stronghold of my parents' love and encouragement. They can never give me what I receive from my true family--not even close--but their generous love and concern surround me like armor and prepare me for another week.
And so the week begins...
I receive remarks such as, "What you don't like us anymore?" from Frank's brother John Paul, or "Hey, stranger! I'm so glad to see you're still alive," from Angela, his fiancee. Last weekend after Mass, Frank's mother came up to me in the vestibule with her eyebrows raised: "I miss you," she said, very sincerely, almost sternly.
So this past week, I found a half hour to stop by the house and say hello. It continually amazes me how welcoming the family is to me--my entrance was as joyous as a long-lost friend, and as comfortable as a daughter of the house. After greetings and hugs and expressions of gratitude that I came, I was immediately led down into the basement to inspect the rennovations being done on John Paul and Angela's future apartment.
And yesterday, for the first time since before Thanksgiving, I was able to attend Sunday dinner at Sharon's house. It was Tony's first invitation: Sharon said it was his baptism into the Marchetti Sunday dinners. :)
Not everyone was there--only about half of the family could make it--but the Marchetti grandchildren were all present, which makes up a lot of the bustling and noise and laughter that draws everyone together. And of course, the political theory and religious updates and critique of culture were all loudly put forth and thrown around the table.
Sometimes I put my two cents in when I feel the need (usually every possible viewpoint is already represented!) but generally, I like to sit back. Literally. I sit back in my chair, look around, smile, and thank God for these good people who have welcomed me into their hearts.
I am blessed with this special sort of familial support, even living so far from the stronghold of my parents' love and encouragement. They can never give me what I receive from my true family--not even close--but their generous love and concern surround me like armor and prepare me for another week.
And so the week begins...
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Angelic Painter
Went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art today to check out the Fra Angelico exhibit. It's only there until tomorrow, so we had to get down there!
It was beautiful. Not as good as seeing the actual cell walls at San Marco in Florence, but it was well worth the time, effort, and admission donation.
We took the train down from Stamford. There was short-lived apprehension while I located my ticket for the conductor in one of my many pockets on the way down. I then handed it over to Tony for safe-keeping. We are alike in many ways. Unfortunately, some of those ways are all too uncomplementary: first of all, both of us are lacking in sense of direction, although I seem to be able to muster it when I'm making an effort. Today, however, it was discovered that we share the inability to keep things from getting lost. Either that or it's contagious. Whichever way it works, he lost my ticket--although he did not lose his own, which was interesting. He ended up paying for my train ride (a second time) when we got back on the train this afternoon to go home ....
Memories of Paris with lovely friend, Alissa: Buying a ten-pack of subway passes ... half an hour later, looking in every pocket I own, frantically searching, but laughing with my friend at the irony of it all ... Alissa being in charge of "all important documents except the passport" from that point onward ...
I used to think it'd get better as I get older. Maybe not.
But as I mentioned, the exhibit was worth the trip. I told the family I babysit for on Saturdays all about it, and I think they're going to try to make it after Mass tomorrow.
Meanwhile, I shall plan another trip to Italy.
It was beautiful. Not as good as seeing the actual cell walls at San Marco in Florence, but it was well worth the time, effort, and admission donation.
We took the train down from Stamford. There was short-lived apprehension while I located my ticket for the conductor in one of my many pockets on the way down. I then handed it over to Tony for safe-keeping. We are alike in many ways. Unfortunately, some of those ways are all too uncomplementary: first of all, both of us are lacking in sense of direction, although I seem to be able to muster it when I'm making an effort. Today, however, it was discovered that we share the inability to keep things from getting lost. Either that or it's contagious. Whichever way it works, he lost my ticket--although he did not lose his own, which was interesting. He ended up paying for my train ride (a second time) when we got back on the train this afternoon to go home ....
Memories of Paris with lovely friend, Alissa: Buying a ten-pack of subway passes ... half an hour later, looking in every pocket I own, frantically searching, but laughing with my friend at the irony of it all ... Alissa being in charge of "all important documents except the passport" from that point onward ...
I used to think it'd get better as I get older. Maybe not.
But as I mentioned, the exhibit was worth the trip. I told the family I babysit for on Saturdays all about it, and I think they're going to try to make it after Mass tomorrow.
Meanwhile, I shall plan another trip to Italy.
Monday, January 23, 2006
How Can I Keep from Singing?
Back on a schedule and into a routine.
I am so excited about this semester. It's going to be so much work, but it's all relevant to the work that I'll be doing when I'm finally out in the field (funny that there's that distinction, even at this level of education!). And much of the difficult stuff is group work; my group consists of my three closest friends at school; so instead of being busy and not being able to see them, I'll be forced to see much of them over the next 5 months!
Two large breaks--spring break and Easter break--plus a few less credits scheduled in order to give us time for our projects ... all this contributes to my relief that this semester may not be dreadful.
Add to that the latest gift from St. Anthony: "...out of the blue clear sky."
I can't stop smiling.
How can I keep from singing?
I am so excited about this semester. It's going to be so much work, but it's all relevant to the work that I'll be doing when I'm finally out in the field (funny that there's that distinction, even at this level of education!). And much of the difficult stuff is group work; my group consists of my three closest friends at school; so instead of being busy and not being able to see them, I'll be forced to see much of them over the next 5 months!
Two large breaks--spring break and Easter break--plus a few less credits scheduled in order to give us time for our projects ... all this contributes to my relief that this semester may not be dreadful.
Add to that the latest gift from St. Anthony: "...out of the blue clear sky."
I can't stop smiling.
How can I keep from singing?
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Please define "weird"
Aaaack! I've been Memed! Which I would have assumed to mean, "attacked by a Portia bean." But it's not that. It means that I've been tagged by Nutmeg to participate in some strange form of self-revelation.
Rules: The first player of this game starts with the topic "five weird habits of yourself," and people who get tagged need to write an entry about their five weird habits as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next five people to be tagged and link to their web journals. Don't forget to leave a comment in their blog or journal that says "You are tagged" (assuming they take comments) and tell them to read yours.
5 weird habits, by Sephora
Disclaimer: I'm not sure what constitutes "weird." I am going to assume that "weird habits" include my habits that I doubt most others have. For example, the fact that I brush my teeth twice a day is not a "weird habit," since I assume that most people do as much. This, however, is not a proper definition, as one should never define something by what it is not. The use of a universal negative leaves us with the idea "weird habits" are merely the original pieces of individual self-expression. But whatever....
1. I tend to clean kitchens wherever I go. Yes, it's polite to help out in the kitchen when you are invited over, but at friends' houses, that's usually my first destination, where I immediately start doing dishes and wiping counters. At home, I cannot get any other work done if the kitchen is dirty.
2. When I really look forward to emailing someone in particular, I don't let myself do it until I've responded to all the emails in my Inbox. In some strange way, I feel bad that I enjoy writing some emails more than others, so I put my
preferences last.
3. I have much more fun cleaning house, cooking, and baking when I'm wearing a skirt or dress. So while some people save old pairs of jeans, I have a dress with bleach stains on it that I wear with an apron for housework.
4. Bedsheets and towels all must be folded with the right side out. If I fold them the other way by mistake, I have to shake them out and re-fold them.
5. When I'm driving, I don't listen to music until I've said my rosary that day. If I'm tired, I must say my rosary out loud to prevent myself from losing focus or getting sleepy. If I pray out loud, I put my headset on so that I don't appear to be talking to myself. (I suppose I care if people think that I'm talking to myself!)
This tagging business is going to turn into who will actually respond, like those silly questionnaires that people send to their friends. So here is my tag-team:
Most likely to respond: Austin, Texas, the most recent addition to my sidebar, from whom I anticipate continual greatness.
Least likely to respond: Erin-Roommate, who is more busy than I (Recipe: wedding planning, graduate school, independent Arabic study; Mix well.)
Most likely to respond with excuses describing why he won't respond to the actual post: Nevermore, who has more serious concerns and more pressing things to get out of his head and into writing.
Crap-shoots, but I'd be sooo interested to hear from them: Donzilla and Jedno
Rules: The first player of this game starts with the topic "five weird habits of yourself," and people who get tagged need to write an entry about their five weird habits as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next five people to be tagged and link to their web journals. Don't forget to leave a comment in their blog or journal that says "You are tagged" (assuming they take comments) and tell them to read yours.
5 weird habits, by Sephora
Disclaimer: I'm not sure what constitutes "weird." I am going to assume that "weird habits" include my habits that I doubt most others have. For example, the fact that I brush my teeth twice a day is not a "weird habit," since I assume that most people do as much. This, however, is not a proper definition, as one should never define something by what it is not. The use of a universal negative leaves us with the idea "weird habits" are merely the original pieces of individual self-expression. But whatever....
1. I tend to clean kitchens wherever I go. Yes, it's polite to help out in the kitchen when you are invited over, but at friends' houses, that's usually my first destination, where I immediately start doing dishes and wiping counters. At home, I cannot get any other work done if the kitchen is dirty.
2. When I really look forward to emailing someone in particular, I don't let myself do it until I've responded to all the emails in my Inbox. In some strange way, I feel bad that I enjoy writing some emails more than others, so I put my
preferences last.
3. I have much more fun cleaning house, cooking, and baking when I'm wearing a skirt or dress. So while some people save old pairs of jeans, I have a dress with bleach stains on it that I wear with an apron for housework.
4. Bedsheets and towels all must be folded with the right side out. If I fold them the other way by mistake, I have to shake them out and re-fold them.
5. When I'm driving, I don't listen to music until I've said my rosary that day. If I'm tired, I must say my rosary out loud to prevent myself from losing focus or getting sleepy. If I pray out loud, I put my headset on so that I don't appear to be talking to myself. (I suppose I care if people think that I'm talking to myself!)
This tagging business is going to turn into who will actually respond, like those silly questionnaires that people send to their friends. So here is my tag-team:
Most likely to respond: Austin, Texas, the most recent addition to my sidebar, from whom I anticipate continual greatness.
Least likely to respond: Erin-Roommate, who is more busy than I (Recipe: wedding planning, graduate school, independent Arabic study; Mix well.)
Most likely to respond with excuses describing why he won't respond to the actual post: Nevermore, who has more serious concerns and more pressing things to get out of his head and into writing.
Crap-shoots, but I'd be sooo interested to hear from them: Donzilla and Jedno
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Scccraape!
My flight was delayed, so instead of arriving in New York at 6:20am, I arrived at 7:45am. Oh, gooh-day.
And there was Tony at JetBlue's baggage claim, looking like 3-in-the-afternoon, as I wearily hugged him and thanked him for saving me from a hideous Metro North train ride. Although I got very little sleep on the plane, I was determined not to nap during the day, so that I could adjust to the 2-hour time loss more quickly.
"So that means you want to do something fun and exciting?" Tony chirped.
"Umm, sure," I replied.
After a lovely breakfast and noon Mass, he suggested ice-skating. I readily agreed.
I didn't realize how prices had risen since I was a child. I remember being able to skate for 4 hours for about $5, maybe an extra $1 or so if you needed rentals (which we never needed, of course!). Tony and I arrived at the rink about 30 minutes before the meager 2-hour public skate slot closed, and the guy charged us $10 each! That didn't even include the rental!
"We're right near Greenwich, remember," Tony reasoned with me. Oh, yes. Where you have to pay rent just to breathe. I forgot.
I was determined to make it worth the money. This was difficult to do when certain aspects of my presentation made me feel like I'd just woken up...all day long:
3 hours of sleep on an airplane
No make-up to hide the dark shadows
Eyeglasses that started making my head ache behind my ears
Same clothes for the last 12+ hours: a wrinkled khaki skirt and a turtleneck too stretched to stay close to my neck anymore
But we had fun. We took the advice of a woman teaching her young daughter how to figure skate, and "pushed through our heels." Still, there were a few close calls in that short half-hour period!
I enjoyed my first day back--no work, no GA work, no school work.
It was a good time spent with a friend who is usually up to ears in work and stress himself. Scraping the ice was a great way to ease into this next semester.
And there was Tony at JetBlue's baggage claim, looking like 3-in-the-afternoon, as I wearily hugged him and thanked him for saving me from a hideous Metro North train ride. Although I got very little sleep on the plane, I was determined not to nap during the day, so that I could adjust to the 2-hour time loss more quickly.
"So that means you want to do something fun and exciting?" Tony chirped.
"Umm, sure," I replied.
After a lovely breakfast and noon Mass, he suggested ice-skating. I readily agreed.
I didn't realize how prices had risen since I was a child. I remember being able to skate for 4 hours for about $5, maybe an extra $1 or so if you needed rentals (which we never needed, of course!). Tony and I arrived at the rink about 30 minutes before the meager 2-hour public skate slot closed, and the guy charged us $10 each! That didn't even include the rental!
"We're right near Greenwich, remember," Tony reasoned with me. Oh, yes. Where you have to pay rent just to breathe. I forgot.
I was determined to make it worth the money. This was difficult to do when certain aspects of my presentation made me feel like I'd just woken up...all day long:
3 hours of sleep on an airplane
No make-up to hide the dark shadows
Eyeglasses that started making my head ache behind my ears
Same clothes for the last 12+ hours: a wrinkled khaki skirt and a turtleneck too stretched to stay close to my neck anymore
But we had fun. We took the advice of a woman teaching her young daughter how to figure skate, and "pushed through our heels." Still, there were a few close calls in that short half-hour period!
I enjoyed my first day back--no work, no GA work, no school work.
It was a good time spent with a friend who is usually up to ears in work and stress himself. Scraping the ice was a great way to ease into this next semester.
Friday, December 30, 2005
'Tis the Season...
...to receive emails and cards from people I never hear from otherwise.
Thank God! I'm grateful we feel that special obligation during the Christmas season to "reconnect" with old friends who have fallen off our individually constructed glory trains.
The last I heard from one of my friends, she was married and expecting a child. This Christmas, after mouse-clicking on the most probable-looking Hungarian by-lines, I reached her holiday greeting, written in English:
"Marcel is one and a half year old, and I am expecting again."
This leads me to conclude that
1. Her first child was a little boy
2. She still knows how to communicate in English
3. It's been way too long since I was in touch with her
The other day, I settled into an antique chair with a pot of tea at my favorite coffee shop (after clocking out, of course!). I pulled out my address book to write some of my own Christmas cards. Wow--I couldn't get past "B" without a self-conscious feeling of guilt. When did it happen? I used to be the one to keep in touch with people. Letters were my main source of contact for several of my friends.
As I started writing one particular card, I wracked my brain, trying to remember when my last contact with this person was. I really had no idea where to start. And then I didn't know where to finish! I ended up digging in my purse for extra paper--the index card I found there was soon packed with extra verbage.
Sighing, I quickly scribbled holiday well-wishes on the next 4 cards, resistant to the idea of composing novels for each of my faraway friends. But it was sobering, realizing how much I could write... how remisce I have been in my correspondence with people in my life who have given me so much.
Which thoughts led me to the drafting of a New Years resolution. I have not yet perfected the actual statement, but it will have something to do with letter-writing and old friends.
Meanwhile, I have a few more Christmas cards to go....
Thank God! I'm grateful we feel that special obligation during the Christmas season to "reconnect" with old friends who have fallen off our individually constructed glory trains.
The last I heard from one of my friends, she was married and expecting a child. This Christmas, after mouse-clicking on the most probable-looking Hungarian by-lines, I reached her holiday greeting, written in English:
"Marcel is one and a half year old, and I am expecting again."
This leads me to conclude that
1. Her first child was a little boy
2. She still knows how to communicate in English
3. It's been way too long since I was in touch with her
The other day, I settled into an antique chair with a pot of tea at my favorite coffee shop (after clocking out, of course!). I pulled out my address book to write some of my own Christmas cards. Wow--I couldn't get past "B" without a self-conscious feeling of guilt. When did it happen? I used to be the one to keep in touch with people. Letters were my main source of contact for several of my friends.
As I started writing one particular card, I wracked my brain, trying to remember when my last contact with this person was. I really had no idea where to start. And then I didn't know where to finish! I ended up digging in my purse for extra paper--the index card I found there was soon packed with extra verbage.
Sighing, I quickly scribbled holiday well-wishes on the next 4 cards, resistant to the idea of composing novels for each of my faraway friends. But it was sobering, realizing how much I could write... how remisce I have been in my correspondence with people in my life who have given me so much.
Which thoughts led me to the drafting of a New Years resolution. I have not yet perfected the actual statement, but it will have something to do with letter-writing and old friends.
Meanwhile, I have a few more Christmas cards to go....
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Counting Pennies
Yep, it's that time of the semester again: the END of it.
...where inevitably, I end up sitting on my bed the night before my last exam, counting up all my loose change; then I go digging through every pocket of every article of clothing that I own in order to find more. This way, after my exam the following day, I can proceed to the bank with my Ziploc bag of checks, bills, and coins before I leave for home, plop it on the teller's counter, and declare with confidence, "I have [so many] dollars and [this much] cents to deposit today!"
I've figured out how many bills will be subtracted from my account without me here to replenish it.
I've exhausted every possibility of rebate and refund that I can think of.
Now it's time to take my test, and start my Christmas vacation!
...where inevitably, I end up sitting on my bed the night before my last exam, counting up all my loose change; then I go digging through every pocket of every article of clothing that I own in order to find more. This way, after my exam the following day, I can proceed to the bank with my Ziploc bag of checks, bills, and coins before I leave for home, plop it on the teller's counter, and declare with confidence, "I have [so many] dollars and [this much] cents to deposit today!"
I've figured out how many bills will be subtracted from my account without me here to replenish it.
I've exhausted every possibility of rebate and refund that I can think of.
Now it's time to take my test, and start my Christmas vacation!
Sunday, December 04, 2005
"Life is too short...
...not to celebrate birthdays."
That's what the napkins said at our large family birthday party last night.
Friday was Grandpa's 85th birthday. I called him on Thursday and got my birthday greetings in early.
"Oh, thank you , but you know," he told me, "we stopped counting birthdays after 55."
It didn't seem like it, though, at my Uncle Kevin and Aunt Kathleen's house last night! There were helium balloons wherever a flat surface stood empty. Food filled the kitchen table, drinks and snacks filled the breakfast bar, and everywhere, there were relatives: squeezing past one another in doorways, sidestepping around the affectionate golden retriever, carrying plates to and fro from the kitchen, chatting and laughing and teasing. Interestingly enough, while planning the desserts and setting out food, everyone kept saying that we were "not a big group." It was true. In comparison to most family gatherings, there were not too many present. Several people were not able to make it, for one reason or another. However, those who were there filled the house with conversation and laughter.
I met one cousin's fiance whom I've been waiting to meet for about a year, and two other cousins' girlfriends that I've heard about for what seems like forever.
Grandma and Grandpa sat on the sofa, happy to include in their conversations anyone who ventured into the living room. After dessert, Grandpa opened all of his cards and gifts. One family gave him (updated) framed pictures of each grandchild for their photo collection. As each one was displayed and passed around the room, Grandma got newly excited that the pictures were "theirs to keep."
"This is for us? We get to take this home? Oh, how nice!" she kept saying.
To which Grandpa replied at one point, "Well, that's the whole point of all this--to collect the loot!"
As she admired her granddaughter's picture, Grandma asked, "Now, did Grandma Tallon get one of these?"
After her Laura assured her--on a few separate occasions--that yes, her other grandmother had received one, Grandma asked yet again.
The eldest in that family, Michael, spoke up. "Now, now, Grandma. It's not a competition!"
Soon everything was opened and set aside. Aunt Kathleen told her eldest son to sign the card on the counter before Grandma and Grandpa left. Apparently, he had missed the opportunity beforehand. He's a recent college graduate, more recently real estate certified--complete with the business suit and briefcase--the kind of kid who looks like he's got it all together. He obediently grabbed the card he saw on the indicated counter and added his name to the bottom. His mother's sister was close to tears from laughing so hard as she returned to the living room and told the story. Of course, then we had to pass around the card, at the expense of the poor guy, who just looked on, grinning and shaking his head. For at the bottom of this particular card was scripted, "Love, Rich & Jim," and below that in a different pen, "Bobby."
I guess he didn't stop to wonder why it would make sense for him to sign this card instead of the one from his family--complete with all of his siblings' names on it.
"I just do what I'm told," he said, "Mom said 'sign the card,' so I signed the card!"
"At least you didn't write your name on top!" Uncle Richard ragged.
While we were having cake, Grandpa quieted everyone with his paternal declaration:
"Well, you can have all the food, you can have all the gifts, you can have all the decorations and all that ... but what means the most to me is looking around and seeing this beautiful gathering of all my people. Thank you. ...And there will be no further speeches."
A good time was had by all; everyone left between 10:30 and 11pm, and I went up to bed. I coughed, tossed, turned, repositioned, and popped cough drops for about an hour. Then Aunt Kathleen brought in a vaporizer. It had a miraculous effect: almost as soon as she plugged it in, I stopped coughing and got a good night's sleep!
When I awoke and looked out the window, I did a double-take: 3 inches of snow covered the ground, and more was falling. Although it was beautiful, I was worried about my drive home.
A firm grip on the wheel, a good deal of prayer, and some windshield washer fluid found me safe in Stamford for the 10am Mass.
What's that?
Finals this week?
...Oh, yeah!
But it was worth it.
"Without a family, man, alone in the world, trembles in the cold."
~ Andre Maurois
That's what the napkins said at our large family birthday party last night.
Friday was Grandpa's 85th birthday. I called him on Thursday and got my birthday greetings in early.
"Oh, thank you , but you know," he told me, "we stopped counting birthdays after 55."
It didn't seem like it, though, at my Uncle Kevin and Aunt Kathleen's house last night! There were helium balloons wherever a flat surface stood empty. Food filled the kitchen table, drinks and snacks filled the breakfast bar, and everywhere, there were relatives: squeezing past one another in doorways, sidestepping around the affectionate golden retriever, carrying plates to and fro from the kitchen, chatting and laughing and teasing. Interestingly enough, while planning the desserts and setting out food, everyone kept saying that we were "not a big group." It was true. In comparison to most family gatherings, there were not too many present. Several people were not able to make it, for one reason or another. However, those who were there filled the house with conversation and laughter.
I met one cousin's fiance whom I've been waiting to meet for about a year, and two other cousins' girlfriends that I've heard about for what seems like forever.
Grandma and Grandpa sat on the sofa, happy to include in their conversations anyone who ventured into the living room. After dessert, Grandpa opened all of his cards and gifts. One family gave him (updated) framed pictures of each grandchild for their photo collection. As each one was displayed and passed around the room, Grandma got newly excited that the pictures were "theirs to keep."
"This is for us? We get to take this home? Oh, how nice!" she kept saying.
To which Grandpa replied at one point, "Well, that's the whole point of all this--to collect the loot!"
As she admired her granddaughter's picture, Grandma asked, "Now, did Grandma Tallon get one of these?"
After her Laura assured her--on a few separate occasions--that yes, her other grandmother had received one, Grandma asked yet again.
The eldest in that family, Michael, spoke up. "Now, now, Grandma. It's not a competition!"
Soon everything was opened and set aside. Aunt Kathleen told her eldest son to sign the card on the counter before Grandma and Grandpa left. Apparently, he had missed the opportunity beforehand. He's a recent college graduate, more recently real estate certified--complete with the business suit and briefcase--the kind of kid who looks like he's got it all together. He obediently grabbed the card he saw on the indicated counter and added his name to the bottom. His mother's sister was close to tears from laughing so hard as she returned to the living room and told the story. Of course, then we had to pass around the card, at the expense of the poor guy, who just looked on, grinning and shaking his head. For at the bottom of this particular card was scripted, "Love, Rich & Jim," and below that in a different pen, "Bobby."
I guess he didn't stop to wonder why it would make sense for him to sign this card instead of the one from his family--complete with all of his siblings' names on it.
"I just do what I'm told," he said, "Mom said 'sign the card,' so I signed the card!"
"At least you didn't write your name on top!" Uncle Richard ragged.
While we were having cake, Grandpa quieted everyone with his paternal declaration:
"Well, you can have all the food, you can have all the gifts, you can have all the decorations and all that ... but what means the most to me is looking around and seeing this beautiful gathering of all my people. Thank you. ...And there will be no further speeches."
A good time was had by all; everyone left between 10:30 and 11pm, and I went up to bed. I coughed, tossed, turned, repositioned, and popped cough drops for about an hour. Then Aunt Kathleen brought in a vaporizer. It had a miraculous effect: almost as soon as she plugged it in, I stopped coughing and got a good night's sleep!
When I awoke and looked out the window, I did a double-take: 3 inches of snow covered the ground, and more was falling. Although it was beautiful, I was worried about my drive home.
A firm grip on the wheel, a good deal of prayer, and some windshield washer fluid found me safe in Stamford for the 10am Mass.
What's that?
Finals this week?
...Oh, yeah!
But it was worth it.
"Without a family, man, alone in the world, trembles in the cold."
~ Andre Maurois
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