Sunday, March 31, 2013

April Not Fools- A quest

If you had told me yesterday that today I would be writing a blog post close to midnight about the quest that I just had I would laugh.  Then I would say some great line about life being either one grand adventure... or something.  Have I mentioned that I like adventures.  

So I have had a rough couple weeks.  With back to back family visits, a few new sacraments, a gluten free trial, lent, lent at a church office, and ultra passive aggressive battles, I was really looking forward to a quiet- er... quieter weekend.  Even though I knew that the Triduum (the three main Holy Days during Holy Week; Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter) would be far from quiet, I wasn't expecting this much... excitement. Then Easter happened. I promise never to complain about a boring family party ever again. 

I was really looking forward to a night in with the girls.  Then I found myself swept off on an adventure in search of a magical herb that could save the fair princess from a horrible spell, the root of which involved the horrible and deplorable ingredient of incense (who needs a dragon when there is such a vile thing as incense about?) Many had tried to heal her but none had succeeded.  Accompanying me on my quest was the lovely maiden fair, Koshka, and the dwarf healer, Lorelai. Our quest took us to a place that I loathe at an ungodly hour, but we finally succeeded. 

And so I went to WalMart to get Benadryl.  And Koshka looked and felt much better.  And then we all slept.  Until we were woken up by Snowflake at another ungodly hour.

The End.
*I really did write this after midnight but the computer doesn't believe me and it keeps on saying that it is March.  Apparently even blogger is playing an April Fools joke on me."

Saturday, March 30, 2013

Last post of March

I have given a great deal of thought to what should be my closing statement for March before April comes.  This is the conclusion that I have come to.
It is the people that you love the most that hurt you the worst.

Friday, March 29, 2013

Why I Am the Way I Am

My Father is many things.

He is methodical- my Father believes that everything has a system and everything should be done by the system.  (My Mother's mission in life is be the opposite)  When ever we went on our family vacations (or our Wandering Spirit quests as I called them) he would pack the car.  My Mother wasn't allowed near the car until it was done.  Everything had it's place and Lord help us if we moved something.  The tent went there, the sleeping bags here, the tool chest (yes because we had to be prepared for anything) went right in the front.  Perhaps this is why my car is weighed down with emergency supplies that I might need some day.  I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have anything else in the car if he had his way- kids included. *snicker*

He is precise- my Father likes to everyone to do things the right way- usually his way.  There is no glass half full with my Father.  Either you did it right or you didn't.  C's and B's were not tolerated in my Father's house if there was the slightest belief that one could have earned an A.  You did every bit of your homework without being asked twice and you did your chores to the letter or Lord help you if Father found out.

He is focused- when my Father speaks it is after much thought and he is always clear and precise.  It is sometimes overwhelming how very much he thinks before he speaks.  It also makes me wonder where I get my ability to just spit out whatever is in my head without thinking.

He is a good cook- when my Father cooks everything is a master piece and nothing is over cooked, under cooked, or bland.  On Thanksgiving every year all the women are kicked out of the kitchen and the men and the boys (namely my Father) cook all of the meal.  This might be considered an act of charity to the women but I suspect this is to keep my Mother's cooking talent (or lack there of) out of the kitchen.

He is a good artist- I have seen my Father free hand anything from a manatee that you could just imagine leaping out of the water, to a castle from my dreams, to the Imperial Star Fleet from Star Wars.  He can draw, sketch, paint, and color anything.  Every time I needed help for one of my book reports (you know the kind that every teacher assigns in Elementary School that really is graded on your parent's artistic talent and organization) I wouldn't even bother with Mama (no offense, Mama... but you understand) and go sit at my Father's desk until he came home, crocodile tears ready, blue eyes begging for assistance.  I would like to point out that he is also colorblind so his aid on my homework was a fair trade off for the hours I would spend sitting with him while he colored in order to tell him what color marker/crayon/pencil he was using to color in the sky, the ocean, the star fleet, or whatever.

He likes to fix things himself- this is really one of my favorite qualities about my Father excepting the sprinkler system.  It was very frustrating when I had to sit outside while he held up various wires and asked, "which one is red."  It wasn't so bad in the fact that I got "alone time" with my Father (my brothers were not interested in this aspect of the house... and what's more is at least one of them turned out to be colorblind as well) but it was very frustrating to my conscience.  I kept on wanting to tell him the blue or green one was red... this was only exacerbated by the fact that some times... there wasn't a red one.

He loves to see new things- my Father once convinced my Mother to drive from our home near Disneyland (in Southern California) to Mobile, Alabama to see the U.S.S. Alabama, under the guise of a field trip.  (I learned lots of things.  Among the greater points on the list were "I don't like Alabama", "I can't figure out if this is a destroyer or a battle ship", "Men in uniform are really cute."  My Father did not appreciate this last learned fact.)

He can turn anything into an educational experience- my Father has been a teacher for quite some time (my entire life and then some) and has this, shall we say, challenging ability to take even the blandest of trips into a lengthy discussion of philosophy, mythology, geology, history, biology, and theology.  Please note, I never liked any of those subjects until I moved out, but his love for teaching got me out of a tough spot a few times in college when I forgot to do the reading.  Now I wonder why he never lectured us on Algebra.

He is rarely surprised- I say this with amusement because he suspects everything.  That being said my Mother spends at least some of her time trying to shock him.  It does not happen frequently... but oh when it does.  My Mother wanted to go to the zoo in Santa Barbara and spent a few days trying to convince him.  He finally grumbled that there was nothing at the Santa Barbara zoo but an old bear and a toothless tiger.  She opened her mouth to speak and he imagined her suggesting that they hadn't been there in a while and perhaps the zoo had changed and maybe they had gotten more animals.  He had a response for anything she could say... except what she said.  With an enthusiastic smile that only my Mother could get away with she said in the most delighted voice, "Dear, maybe the bear died!" and for the first time in my memory, my Father was speechless.  

He is an incurable pessimist- my Father believes that the worst will always happen.  He is always certain that my Mother will get lost in some foreign town (I don't tell him about my continued adventures with the Texas Highway system), that I will die alone, and that I will become a nun.

He is a hopeless romantic- I always thought that women were required to be the romantics in a relationship but my Dad cried at his wedding, at every anniversary party, when I moved away, and at the end of every sappy movie. Every spring he writes a letter to my sister and if he reads it to us he loses it.  

He is stubborn- when he is right he is right and there is no point in arguing with him because he will NEVER change his mind.  I found this out when I tried to introduce him to a guy I was dating.  He didn't want to meet him, which is just as well because the guy didn't want to meet my Father either.  Needless to say, that boyfriend didn't last.  

He is reserved- on numerous occasions my friends have taken me aside and asked if my Father disliked them because he does not talk unnecessarily.  This very well might be true as I have only heard him say that he liked three of my friends in my life- Nancy, a very quiet, kindhearted girl I met in High School, Bernie, who conveniently lived a million states away, and Katrina, who he has said reminds him of my Mother when they first met.  Katrina also lives a million miles away from him.  

In oh so many ways he is imperfect but isn't it our human qualities that make us perfect?  I may sit and wonder  if he likes what I'm doing with my life.  I sometimes think, "What would Daddy do?" Some of his passive comments in my childhood still haunt me- but I never have to question that he loves me.  I am methodical- there is a mind to my madness. I am precise- things should always be done the right way. I am a good artist- this is a fact so it needs no repetition.  I like to fix things that are broken but won't fix things that are just fine.  I like to see new things although the U.S.S. Alabama was NOT one of them.  I turn everything into an education experience much to my godchildren's chagrin.  I am a pessimist... but I am a romantic pessimist   I believe the worst will happen even while I will the best to come. I am every bit as stubborn as he is but in a good way.

I am not focused- I am decidedly easily distracted. I'm not a terrible cook, but I am getting better. I am ALWAYS surprised. People are always sneaking up on me and I never notice.  I am reserved.  It takes me a while to trust someone and let them love me.  The more I look at myself the more I realize why I am the way I am.  I am my Father's daughter.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Epiphany Moments

There is nothing that makes me more happy than knowing that it is okay for me to be sad.

Monday, March 25, 2013

When I was in college I had this bad habit of writing down funny things my professors said  instead of what they were actually lecturing about.  In the long run this has helped me retell stories and remember college with fondness. 

From Theology I learned...

How can all these things exist, having been, are, and will be?

*My classmate said this while writing in Hebrew* "And God said let there be light... Ah dangit!"

From Philosophy I learned...

No matter what path you choose, there will be suffering.

Seeming to be right and actually being right are two very different things.

Politicians are trained in the art of sweet-talking to get things done.

Death could be a blessing.

Life is suffering; you cannot avoid it.

They might be able to say things about you, even kill you, but they can’t hurt your true self, your spirit.

From Irish History I learned....

The truth is very unpopular.

I don’t know, it’s nice to have these long standing records of futility.

It’s not good form to maul your Juniors for form.

At one point do you stop researching other peoples lives… and start living your own?

“How do I know what I think until I see what I say?” –E. M. Forster

Who's been living in an Ethiopean Refugee Camp to like the food here?

From European History I learned....

Blowing stuff up is bad for business.

Yes, there should be freedom of religion because it becomes a big bloody war otherwise.

Early puritans are genuine radicals. So virtuous.

Whoever is for you is a genius; whoever is against you is deeply misled.

There’s nothing like a common enemy to unite the colonists with the home country.

Gratitude is not a political virtue.

Castro is the last of the dinosaurs; the last communist dictator.

Everybody gets together to bash the English. Increasing numbers of discontented people.

Pragmatism means that reason isn’t everything.

Kooks with Nukes worry me.

From American History I learned....

Different ways of viewing the same thing with varying sensibility causes revolutions.

If you want to save your soul, go to a monastery. If you want to save the world you have to go to Washington.

People are just awful. *misquoting St. Augustine*

What usually prevents mob rule is tyranny.

Malicious people are pretty rare. Stupid people are everywhere. –historical poetry

Factor in a very large amount of human stupidity in history.

There is nothing in politics that can’t be abused.

We have bad governments and worse governments. The best we can do with politics is limit the evil.

The power to tax is the power to destroy.

Virtue is a mean between two vices.

Fake it till you make it is how it works in Politics.

Mercy is a good thing sometimes. *about Shay’s rebellion*

When you don’t have an external looming threat it is impossible to get American politicians to unite and behave.

There’s no way to avoid the cause of public interest. Whoever wins says they have it.

Journalists are jackals. They exist to ruin people’s reputations. They make their living on blood in the water; if there isn't any blood they put some blood in the water.

From my Classmates I learned...

Please forgive me and insult Boston in retaliation.

I interrupted a very profound thing with a very obvious thought.

I don't believe you; your snickering tears don't fool me!

He would’ve grooved on the fact that the virtuous yeomen farmers beat up the Englishmen. *About Thomas Jefferson*

He dies?” *about Don Quixote*

WHY did the Greeks and Romans need to learn to write!?!

Yes, but if you blow them up you'll probably kill more people.l

While bobbing head up and down with entire body movement "I'm really, really, I don't know..."

"This is lipbalm not chapstick."
"What's the difference?"
"One makes your lips nice and shiney?"

There is happy medium between 'nun' and 'skank'.

That could've just made a mark on the wall.
That could've just made a mark on me.

Day of Palms

As I child I loved Palm Sunday.  I was allowed to carry plants into Church, encouraged to wave them around, and was doused with water that was flung through the air by the priest!  What fun is this! And the best part was... my parents couldn't say ANYTHING!!!! And all under the guise of Mass.  I could whack my brothers with my palm.  Tickle my brothers with my palm.  Make funny, green mustache faces with my palm.  What was there not to love!?!?!

Then I grew up.

This past weekend I took five children to Mass with me.  It was Palm Sunday.  Let me just say, karma... not so cool.

Come Back to the Cross

Every year since I was eighteen I have written a Lenten song during Lent.  It is a way for me to focus and to share my love of music and more importantly, my love of God.  I've played several of them on retreat and given rights away for bands to play.  This is my latest one.  It's not quite finished.  But it will be soon. 

Verse1
You carry such a heavy burden
And the fear that you will never be enough
You think that someday everyone will leave you
And that you can never truly be loved

Chorus
But I'm not going to leave you
I will never abandon you
You have always been safe in my arms
Come back to the Cross
Here you'll find what you thought lost
Springs of mercy abound here
And drive away all fear
Here real grace can be found
And true love is all around
You can always find me here
Just come back to my Cross

Verse2
You think that everyone just wants to use you
That everyone will hurt you if you learn to trust
You think that everyone will disappoint you
But no one disappoints you more than yourself

Bridge
You think that you drove me away
And You could never make me stay
But love has always been here
Why can't you see it
I've placed my love within you
Why can't you have faith in Me too?
I have loved you always
Why can't you feel it?
I knew you before you were in the womb
A father's love is always true
To eternity
You must know this

Friday, March 22, 2013

Funny College Stories

When I was a freshman in college I was the unfortunate victim of circumstance and got involved in a play and then was a shanghaied as the stage manager.  This basically meant that I got no sleep and bad grades for three months.  It was... special.  But a lot of funny stories resulted from this period of my life.  This is one of them.  

My brother, the Giant's, best friend in college, was a guy who made him look small.  This young gentleman, who I can only describe as the Recluse, had many talents.  He could play piano very well, write papers in a day, and starred in almost every production the school ever put on.  He just didn't like being the center of attention.    

In the play that I was stage manager of (Harvey), Recluse decided that he needed fresh flowers as his prop, and gave them to all the ladies during the play.  There were only a half dozen ladies and the show only had two showings over the course of two days so he got a dozen roses and split them up.

The morning of the second performance, Recluse gave me a call asking about flowers.  Well, I am a girl and I do possess some small amount of knowledge concerning flowers so I offered him my wealth of knowledge.  

"Hey, so you know the flowers I got yesterday?"

"Yeah."

"Well they don't look right."

"Did you put them in water after the play last night?"

"No... I sort of forgot."  

"Did you try putting them in water now?"

"Yeah... they sort of fizzled."

"Fizzled?"

"Yeah..."

"That's not normal.... You could try putting them in slightly warm water with sugar in it.  It may help them to perk up a little but it will take a bit of time."

"Yeah... I put Vaseline on them because they looked pruny."

*I paused trying to figure out why the flowers had fizzled and what had possessed him to put vaseline on roses.*

"That wasn't a good idea."

"I also put them in the microwave.... Do you think that will hurt them?"

*Here I had to put the phone down to keep from laughing.*

"I'm sorry, Recluse.  You're flowers are no more and you really are better off just buying some new ones."

"Oh.  Okay.... Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

And that was how the Recluse got the nickname of the destroyer of flowers.  

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Why I Don't Tell People That I Am Catholic

When I was asked to be a godmother the first time I decided that I had reached a crossroads. I could continue on with my questions and indecision on my own but if I was going to stand up before the Christian community and swear to be Catholic and raise this little girl Catholic, being both an example and a teacher, I had damn well better be bloody  sure of Who God was and what He wanted of me in order to obtain eternal life.  I could continue on forever with my questions about God and if He was really there on my own but I could never drag a child into my indecision- not as my baptismal godparents had done to me. Fortunately and unfortunately from the time that I was asked to be her godmother and the time that I stood up and made that promise a year and a half elapsed.  By the time of her baptism I felt confident standing up and renewing the baptismal promises made for me in my infancy.  I had no doubt.  A year later I was confirmed and renewed that promise again. Since then I have been blessed with two more goddaughters and two godsons.  I have no doubt today that I made the right decision.  

Since that time I have continued to make friends that do not share religion with me.  I have lots of friends- Protestants, Wickans, Agnostics, Atheists, Hindus, Muslims, Episcopalians, and a select few Catholics.  This is not me bragging. At one point or another I considered most of these religions on my self imposed search for the truth.  That was not such a long time ago.

Due to my choice in friends I frequently find myself explaining such Catholic practices as confirmation, lent, reconciliation, the Eucharist, advent, heterosexuality vs. homosexuality (really, the Church just wants us to be celibate until marriage), abstinence, and faith.  I have been accused of being simple minded- of blindly following what a man in Rome claims is morality rather than thinking for myself- of just following the crowd.  Usually this causes me to laugh because of my long road to Catholicism, but trying to explain that is difficult at best.

Some people hear my name or where I went to school and accuse me of making all my decisions because of my religion.  I frequently choose to not bring religion into my discussions because people cease to listen when I do. At the same time people will hear where I work and just stop arguing because they see me as a lost cause.

I remember a day at my last job where a friend of mine was openly accused of being a terrorist because of his race.  I don't think I've ever been so angry in my life.  I would be just as offended if I were described as a Nazi- and I told the offending party that.  He listened- until he found out my religion.

Several years ago I was working with a girl who had a pregnancy scare while being on the pill.  I tried to be sympathetic at first but one day I told her that celibacy simplifies life and she listened.  She said she couldn't live that lifestyle because she lived with her boyfriend... and she wasn't even old enough to drink.  A few months later she found out my religion and openly asked if that's why I was celibate.  I don't think she appreciated when I laughed.

Not so long ago I made a friend who asked me if I still had my "V Card".  After I figured out what that meant I just rolled my eyes.  Needless to say, we had a long conversation after that as well. 

As embarrassing as those moments were, I've also encountered people who, upon hearing me speak of my religion say, "That makes so much sense," or "I always thought you were Christian."  These moments carry me. 

I chose to be Catholic and I choose this again every day.  I feel like it is a copout to say "Well I do this because I am Catholic."  I could just as easily say, "I do this because it is right" or "I choose this because I am a human being."  I think that being Christian should be so obvious that I don't need to say it.  I think being a good person should be every persons goal.  I think like St. Francis...
"Preach the Gospel at all times.  When necessary use words." 


Friday, March 08, 2013

Lost in Thought

Every person who attains the age of adulthood and some level of maturity has felt it.  Every man or woman who has a life's ambition has answered it.  Every Saint has risen to it.  Many have tried to avoid it.  Whether an individual recognizes it as God's will or not, every person has felt it, the pull towards his or her life's mission. 

Many years ago my Mother felt the call to work with learning disabled, Mexican children.  She thought this meant she was supposed to become a nun and move to Mexico.  Instead she married my Dad and had my brothers, my sisters, and me.

I had a friend in High School who thought his destiny was united with a woman.  He proposed to her and she informed him she had to leave him for a convent because that's where she felt God wanted her.  He became a priest. 

Moses of biblical fame thought he was supposed to be a prince of Egypt, never to rule or lead, always being the second born.  Instead he was called to lead his people from slavery and into the desert, and after his death, to the promised land.

I've never been quite sure of the details of what my calling is.  Sure, I've tried to figure it out, but the more I try the less sense I seem to make of it.  When I was three I decided I wanted to be a ballet teacher.  When I was four I dropped the "ballet" part.  When I was eight I decided on second grade.  When I was eleven I decided fifth grade was where I wanted to teach.  When I was thirteen I decided I wanted to teach High School.  When I was nineteen I decided I wanted to teach History.  When I was twenty-one I decided I liked small kids.  When I was twenty-two I decided I like tutoring home schoolers... and when I was twenty-three I decided that I didn't like teaching.

When I was five I decided I never wanted to leave California.  When I was ten I couldn't get away fast enough.  When I was eleven I decided on Texas.  When I was thirteen I decided on Ohio.  When I was fifteen I decided on Florida.  When I was seventeen I moved to Florida.  When I was twenty I moved to Texas.  When I was twenty-one I stayed in Texas. When I was twenty-two I decided on Virginia.

When I was three I decided that feminine beauty was being shorter than most people, having curly dark, auburn hair, being very curvy, and having clear dark skin.  Now that I am old, I agree with all those things but my idea of beauty is not limited to what people look like, but more importantly what is in their heads.  Nothing stays the same and yet nothing has changed. 

Maybe I'm just getting all preachy but the only thing that I have learned is that the more people make up there mind about something the more they change it.  Maybe the secret to happiness is not searching but being happy with what you have?  Maybe happiness is being who you are meant to be and letting God show you the way in His own time?  Maybe.

Tuesday, March 05, 2013

Mary Magdalene

Mary, an unimportant daughter of Joachim and Anne, had an Angel come down to her in the middle of the night from heaven to tell her that as a virgin she would conceive and give birth to a son and she should name him Jesus, and instead of spazzing out or being grumpy like any normal person, she just sorta shrugged her shoulders and said, "Okay.  Thy will be done."Pay no mind to the fact that she could have been publicly stoned for becoming pregnant outside of marriage.  

Saint Joan of Arc heard voices of Angels and Saints and instead of thinking she was going absolutely, stark raving mad, decided to do what they told her, go to the Dauphin, got him off his royal posterior, and then she went on to  LEAD HER FREAKING COUNTRY into battle against the British.  And then she was martyred at stake.

Saint Therese of Lisieux (or the Little Flower), wanted nothing more out of life than to become a nun. She wanted to this so much that she went to the Pope who told her to wait until she was sixteen.  Then she became a nun.  And she didn't do anything but pray for the missions.  And she didn't go anywhere except to heaven. 

All of these saintly women heard ethereal voices and did great things.  The only road before them was clearly marked event though it would be hard to follow.  I say it was easy because they had spent their lives already doing the RIGHT thing.  I find it hard to compare my life to theirs. 

I make a lot of mistakes... some public, like tripping in the parking lot this afternoon during rush hour at the grocery store, dropping my groceries, my purse, my keys, and running into my parked car. Some of my mistakes are private, such as having keys made for one of the rental houses only to discover that I had three keys made of the OLD key. Equally embarrassing .. particularly since I had to go back to Lowe's to have new keys made.  Some are public like when I misspell someone's name in the bulletin that I now write.  That's why I find the life of saintly women so very... annoying. And then I look at Mary Magdalene and for some strange reason I feel like I can face the world again.  

Every time that I have a bad day, I don't want to try again, or things don't go my way- I think of her.  She was the literal black sheep of an ultra conservative community.  Meek was chic and she was bold.  Cleanliness was like Godliness and she was unclean. Women were stoned to death for impropriety and she was as unproper as they came.  People would cross the road to get away from her... unless they were trading in her wares.  For the record, this is not why she makes me feel better.
When she heard of Christ's saving love she burst into the room he was staying at, broke a very expensive bottle of perfumed oil over his head, and washed his feet with her tears and her lovely hair.  And she did it out of love.  

And when He looked at her with love. And He looked in her with true love.  And He loved her as she was, for everything she was, and everything she would never- could be.  And He loved her.  She had just as many scars within her as He did when He was crucified.  And He still loved her.  In spite of her scars.  Perhaps because of her scars. 

And she was saved.  

The Bible does not tell us much about her life after her conversion.  In fact the Bible never actually says her name in connection with the whore who fell at Christ's feet.  Some sources suggest that she was actually a wealthy patroness of Christ.  In reality we go on tradition in assuming that the two women were one in the same.  

Some days I try to imagine what that might have been like- to go from being in the market of loving men to loving one man, in celibacy.  Most likely people did not see her differently at all.  In fact they probably saw her exactly the same and never let her forget it.  Can you imagine being a repentant sinner and trying to turn your life around but being dragged back by temptation- by surroundings- by necessity- and by society- and overcoming that?  

We know that Mary Magdalene is a Saint which means that she made it to heaven.  I believe that she was saved the day that she fell at Christ's feet.  She had to go on living without Him and trust and have faith amidst the pain of loss.  Probably amidst the pain of hunger and loneliness. And we know that she prevailed.  

That is why, when I have a bad day, when things don't go my way and I want to give up, I think of her.  And I feel better.  She made mistakes and God loved her anyway.  And she prevailed. 

Monday, March 04, 2013

Waiting

As a Catholic Lent is a time of penance, prayer, and alms giving. It is a time of reflection. It is a lot of overtime and extra stress at the Church office. It is a time of waiting. Always waiting. In the words of The Princess Bride's Indigo Montoya, "I hate to wait."

This past week my youngest goddaughter celebrated her first confession. This is both wonderful and terrifying. Napoleon is growing up so fast. This occurrence prompted her younger sister, Attila to be very unhappy. Tia, her mother, took her in her lap and tried to relate. "It must be very frustrating when we all are doing something and you cannot do it yet." With this Attila got indignant and informed her, "No, you all get to get clean but I'm still dirty." Needless to say, Attila has a better grasp of the Sacrament of Reconciliation than most adults I know.

Now I am thinking about my soul and wondering when was the last time I really had it cleaned? I change my socks every day and my jeans every other day. I've cleaned out my car, my purse, and my room in the last month, but when was the last time I went to Reconciliation. It is with thought in mind that I have made up my mind to go and reconcile myself with God again. As a Lenten reminder I invite everyone else to do the same. After all, we get to "get clean" and that isn't something that should ever wait.