The Great Misunderstanding

My second goddaughter wanted to go as Saint Kateri Tekakwitha for the All Saints Day Festival.  Her mother asked me to help her get her costume together.  Indian looking dress- check! Headpiece- check! Feathers- check! Lily- this is where all the trouble began.

Saint Kateri Tekakwitha was a young Algonquin/Mokawk woman who was recently proclaimed a Saint in the Roman Catholic Church.  Dying a virgin she was converted by her Mother who was converted by French Missionaries.  She was shunned by her Father's people because of her Christian beliefs and because of her deep love of Christ she died a virgin so as to be His spouse.  She was informally known as the Lily of the Mohawks.  Frequently she is pictured with a Lily. 

When I went to the craft store to acquire various pieces to various costumes ranging from Saint Cyril and Saint Methodius to the Crocodile from Peter Pan I found (with some difficulty) a range of fake flowers.  There were lots of flowers but no lilies.  After some searching I managed to find a lily, picked out one that I liked, and brought it home.

Tia went through my stuff and we set to work finishing costumes.  Several hours later she pulled out the lily and asked, "So, why did you get this?"  I gawked.  "It is a lily," I said, and then tried to explain,  "for Saint Kateri; you know, the lily of the Mohawks."  She frowned, "This is a calla lily."  "So?" I asked.  "I meant an Easter Lilly," she shook her head, "not a calla lily."  I tilted my head to one side as I frequently do when I am confused, "There is a difference?" "Yes, did not you know?" she said with a deadpan expression.  "Apparently not," I sighed, "what should I do?"  "Nothing, we will manage." Oh," I replied.

Unfortunately there was not really time to go and replace it so our "Lily of the Mohawks" had a calla lily instead of an Easter lily, thus making this god mommy feel like even more of a schmuck.  Oh well, there is always NEXT year.  On the other hand, I'll never forget that there is a difference between a calla lily and an Easter lily.  You may count on that. 

Blue toes

I'm sure you are wondering what in the world I am talking about.  I mean who wouldn't with a title like that.  You must be thinking, "Blue toes?  Really, Gabbie, we don't want to hear about your new nail polish color."  And as much as I'd love to tell you about my new nail polish, I won't.  At least not this morning.  

I like to think that everything in my life is worthy of a really cheesy sitcom.  Of course I think this- after all I have a blog.  I like to say that all the world is a stage and I'm just God's comic relief.  Today was no exception.  

This morning I was awoken (at an ungodly hour) by my computer (who finally loaded the video I was trying to watch before bed) who was playing mens voices... in my room. (Yes, I said "who."  My laptop has a name.)  I harrumphed, opened the computer, closed the computer, shoved my computer back under the bed (the safest place for it in the event of the invading child apocalypse) and then proceeded to pull several warm blankets back over me, grumbling something about the evilness of Aloysius and never naming my computer after a teddy bear from a book ever again.  

Two hours later I was awoken by a couple smalls who were thrown off by the time change and could not figure out why everyone wasn't already awake.  Then I tried to go back to sleep.  That didn't work.  I look at my clock and sighed.  6.20 am.  Well, I told myself with a sigh as I sat up in bed, throwing off the covers, Might as well go vote.  Immediately I plunged after my blankets and wrapped myself in them until I managed to get dressed; it was cold this morning- even the Texans agreed with me.  

Approximately fifteen minutes later I got to the polling location, a local elementary school, and sighed.  This was SOOOO the wrong morning to wear flip flops but thank God I didn't wear a skirt as I was originally planning to do.  At 6.45 in the morning the line to exercise our constitutional rights was wrapped three quarters around the building and extended halfway to the street.  It was 54 degrees outside.  "Well hooray for voting" I mumbled to myself as I buttoned the buttons on the sweater I was thanking my Guardian Angel for leaving in my car and sending prayers to my Mother for giving it to me before I moved here.  There was no sun.  There was lots of wind.  There was no coffee.  I decided I was not going to have a good morning.  

The line was eerily quiet, almost as if all the Williamson County Citizens were waiting to enter a funeral to pay their respects to an unfamiliar but greatly endeared civic leader, an analogy that struck me as amusing considering the dire predicaments of just about everyone in my Facebook feed.  Scratch that.  The line was eerily quiet, with the one small exception of anyone who was within ear shot of me.  Like I said, I was cold.  And we all know that I currently lack a filter... particularly before coffee and especially when I'm in great discomfort.  So I started whining.  I'd like to say there was a reason for it.  There really wasn't.  

I found a kindred spirit in the middle aged gentleman who stood behind me in line.  I named him Bob in my head.  I politely informed him that the more I lived in Texas the more I understood why people moved to California.  He laughed.  I looked at the line as it stretched out farther to the street and commented that it shouldn't be so complicated to exercise our representation rights but perhaps this was the country's way of weeding out the really stupid people, like Darwinism.  He laughed again.  I considered how cold I was and reassessed the cold turn of the weather and dwelled upon my bed.  Two more people in line laughed.  I noted all the signs directing those unfamiliar with the area where to vote and noted that there were still people who were asking for directions- I could see them clearly from where I stood in the cold.  They laughed louder.  I pointed out the great American spirit of a woman who was waving a sign just outside of the 100 feet required.  That was commitment.  No one laughed at that one.  I suggested that the weather was God turning a cold shoulder on Texas as well.  Everyone laughed again.  I looked down at my toes that were steadily turning blue and sighed. 

The sun started to shine down upon us just in time for the line to move and for me to be stuck behind the shadow of a building.  Still I had about two minutes of blissful sunshine.  A couple people gave me odd looks as I entered the building but I decided that maybe I should spend more time on my appearance before I went out in public.  Later I looked in a mirror and decided that I truly have awesome hair.  

Then I voted.  Then I went home, handed off my shiny new sticker to the first child I saw and continued exercising my other rights- like the right of free will.  And then we prayed.  We all prayed.  We'll be praying all day.  I can't wait for tonight.  We'll be praying then too... but my toes won't be unnaturally blue... and there will be alcohol.  Amen.

So are you going to vote?

It seemed like such a strange question after a long discussion about the upcoming presidential election between President Obama and Romney among my coworkers. Of course I'm going to vote.  I just may be pulling teeth when I do it.

Early voting has been going on for the past week here in Texas and for whatever reason everyone wants to talk about it- at home, on facebook, and in my work place.  Elections may happen every year but this year seems to be more... I don't know... violent than previous years.  

At work I had to read "Faithful Citizenship" and from it I deduced that I am very cynical.  The one thing I did get from it when I read it the second time (yes, I read it before when I went to a talk a few months ago) was this single line. 

Liberty isn't freedom to do whatever you want.  Liberty is the freedom to do what is right. 

I may not agree with anything else that is being said in the media, on facebook, or in any other form of discussion, but I stand by this.  I will vote because anything else would be shirking my responsibility of my stewardship given to me by God.  No one else can make the decision of who I vote for without me.  No amount of media coverage, harassment, or cutesy little signs will alter that.  And I will be held accountable for my decision.  

In a few months when the elections are over I'm sure that much of the drama now will blow over.  I pray that when that happens everyone can accept the decision of the country.  This is not to say go quietly into the night about the issues that seem to make and break friendships.  Rather I would hope that this will spur them on to a greater fight for what is good.  At the same time I hope that people will accept the President whoever he is as he is- human.  Pray for him.  Pray for him as a leader of the people.  Pray that he is guided by God and has the wisdom to accept God's guidance.  I would expect nothing less from the people of the United States.  God bless America. 

The Continued Adventures of the Gabbie Lady Part the Second

Lately I have taken up my second love of swing dancing again.  I found a club in Austin and I have been trying to go a couple times a month.  It really is a great group because the dancers there range from beginners to far more advanced than me.  This means I can mix my time in teaching as well as learning.  This makes me happy.  

I was asked out twice in one week in October (a feet that has not happened since I was graduating from college) and even more surprising is I gave one a chance.  I took him swing dancing with me and he did not really listen to my instructions.  He ended up pulling my arm in a direction God never intended it to go and... let us just say I will not be seeing him again.  (This paragraph is more for the benefit of my parents and grandparents who are no doubt still wondering when I will be supplying them with an endless supply of grandchildren to spoil.)

An opossum got into the garage and was happily sitting in the cat food bin, eating his heart out.   (This is the correct spelling of the word.  Most Americans spell it wrong but the only "possums" live in Australia.)  Steven cleverly closed the case (after carefully sliding the opossums tale into the bin) and then I carried it out.  It took us a minute to get the airtight seal open again and I was beginning to worry that the opossum might perish from asphyxiation.  Luckily for him (and unluckily for us) when we opened the bin he was still quite alive and not "playing possum."  He was not too happy with us but he still did not want to leave.  Some gentle "nudging" convinced him otherwise and we have not seen him since.  Tia cracked some jokes about "how many people does it take to get an opossum out of a cat food box"?  Tio pointed out that she was little help standing on the front porch and taking pictures.  I enjoyed the event thoroughly.  I know.  This makes me weird.  One of these days I am going to introduce myself, "Hi, I'm Gabrielle "I kill my own spiders" Tempest" and wait for the reactions to follow.

I had a birthday.  Captain Lindbergh has been asking me ever since how old I am and what age I would prefer to be.  I have been nice and have not answered.  The day itself was very pleasant but I will probably be celebrating it more next month. 

Halloween recently passed and with it came our annual week of insanity as we tried to get all costumes ready for the All Saints Day Festival as well as entirely different costumes for Halloween itself.  I think part of hell has frozen over because I had the opportunity to wear my sword and did not.  Or maybe this is a sign of personal growth.  I also dressed up as Saint (and not one pre-conversion as I have threatened, Jilana) on the day of Halloween.  Several people warranted a guess as to who I was with guesses ranging from "Joan of Arc" (really?) to a "Flower child" (I glared.)  My favorite incorrect guess was the Princess Bride from the movie.  I think I like that priest more because of his guess.  For the record I was Saint Brigid of Ireland... and no, I did not wear a habit. 

Queen Victoria has taken to repeating her favorite Gabbie quote whenever we are baking or cooking or making something edible.  The line is as follows, "Look, Gabbie!  It is your favorite! Food!"  Sadly, she is remarkably accurate.  I like food... but really I just like good cooking.  My Godmommy is a great cook. 

Looking back over the last few months I realize that I have been dwelling on the past.  I cannot say that this will change in the future but I hope to be better about dealing with it.  Maybe some day I will get to the point where I may laugh about this as well.  Is there more change in my future?  Probably.  Do I know what it is?  Not so much.  All I know for sure is that whatever the future holds for me... will be an adventure. 

The Continued Adventures of The Gabbie Lady Part the First

I really hate remembering to remember things.  I am always forgetting where I left my phone, my shoes, my purse, my mind... but for once I think it is necessary that I update the world on the last few months.

Everyone always tells me that you are not really healed until it does not hurt anymore but I do not think that is true.  If it does not hurt any more it was never really broken.  When I fell off my bike in high school I did not do anything worse than bruise up my left leg and it still hurts when it gets cold.  My toes tingle from where my eldest brother ran a sofa over it my freshman year of college and they still hurt before it rains.  Due to this my definition of "healing" is different than others.  It may never be the same as before but at least I can laugh about it now.

Last summer when I went to Texas many of my family members set me up, with varying degrees of hilarity ensuing.  When I returned to Texas I was still happily (and without regret) single.  Then I ran into an old college friend from Ave and, well, we... talked.  Anyone who has seen me through any relationship knows that I do not rush into things.  I do not take chances and I spend the first few weeks trying to scare him off.  I discuss everything at length before I allow my heart to get involved.  I let him in... and he broke my heart.  I was so upset that I called my Father, a situation I would normally avoid because neither of us enjoy lengthy phone calls.  Anyways, his advice was to let the brigand go (okay, he did not say it that way but I really should not repeat it as he said it).  Maybe this is why I have not been writing as much as I did earlier in the year?  Anyways, I have not spoken to him since and I really believe that if our paths cross ever again it would be the act of an unfeeling God.

Shortly after that I started working at a broker company called 360 Partners.  I worked there just over a month when I was offered a better position closer to home and with better hours.  The broker company and I parted on amicable terms and life continued.  The only real difference was that I was now working at a Church Office.  I jokingly say I run the lives of three priests but really, I spend my days running a parish, and I must say that it agrees with me.  

I have been learning Spanish again.  I admit that this is something that I have missed but I laugh at the setup in the office.  Everyone who is learning English is not allowed to speak in Spanish.  And everyone who is learning Spanish (i.e. me) are not allowed to speak English.  This some times sets the day for very laughable circumstances as we scramble through our Spanish English Dictionaries and more than once I have replied in the wrong language including Russian, French, Italian, and on one occasion Chinese.  I think my brain is wired wrong.

I'll come back and finish this later.