Why didn't I just stay in bed?

I ran into the triangle bell.
I slipped into the door.
I bumped into the step into the office.
I trip on the floor.
I fell in the hole in the backyard.
I caught myself on a log.
I thought I was doing much better
And then I stepped on the dog.

There are some days (in so many ways)
That I think I'm doing better than I said
And then there are times I wonder
Why didn't I just stay in bed?

The Rose

I prayed the rosary all the way home tonight. There is a wonderful storm going on outside; it is one of the worst storms I have encountered since moving to Texas.  In fact, it's worst than all but two other storms I've encountered, and one of them was Hurricane Katrina in 2005.  Under normal circumstances I would've been terrified, but then again, this has been hardly a normal two weeks.  

In my youth I was instructed to never pray the rosary while driving as such things have brought upon many an accident in female predecessors in my family.  If my people had been the first to discover America, I'm fairly certain they would have been so focused on their beads that they well might have missed the continent until they ran aground.  Until now, I have heeded this warning carefully, but I was afraid.  

I was afraid that if I didn't say my rosary in the car that I would forget and if I forgot I would miss the last day of my novena, and I really didn't want to miss the last day.  Nine days and half an hour ago (it's just after midnight), our side lost a beautiful soul to Paradise.  Her name was Rosie.  

It's not the first time I've lost someone who I think died too young, but I have come to know that this is something that never gets easier.  Since I know that I cannot travel to her funeral I resolved to pray for her for nine days, as a Mexican tradition I found in a book, in order to guide her soul through purgatory.  Yesterday was my last day and although I miss her I am at peace.

I suppose it is unfair to say that I was not at peace before either.  After all, I have known for almost two months that she was very ill and not long for this world.  They doctor's gave her two weeks in early August and I found out through facebook.  I met Rosie in our early teens; she changed my life.  I haven't seen her since those summers together but she has never been forgotten by me. 

When I found out she was ill I became very angry: angry with God, angry that someone so young- someone so good- should die.  I tried to make it to Mass so that I could gain understanding through God's presence, but I kept on pulling away from Him at the last moment.  One day I even made it to Church and left before Mass began.  

Five days after I found out I finally managed to attend daily Mass.  I was surprised to find out that it was the Feast of St. Rose of Lima.  St. Rose was a lay woman- known for her great Faith and her great beauty- an every day Saint.  I remember my Rosie loving this Saint, among many others and this hurt me more.  It was while I was sitting there, waiting for the sermon to end so that I could cry, that I heard the words I have frequently repeated.  

"Rosie will be okay- she may not live, but she will be okay.  There are worse things than death, such as not being close to Me."  It was then that I remembered that being drawn close to God was not a sadness at all- it was an endearment.  I cannot prove that I heard God speak but I will say that it brought me peace.  

Rosie was given two weeks to live.  She kept fighting for five weeks and when she died I was overwhelmed.  I felt like I was letting God down because I was sad.  I had been praying for a sign from God, to remind me that He was here and that He still cared.  That's when the thunder storms came to Texas, and they haven't really stopped.  A friend told me that God doesn't want us to blindly forget those that we loved when they die.  Another friend told me that now Rosie is at peace and with God and she is no longer suffering.  I was reminded that we do not cry for the dead; we cry for those left behind.

On my way home tonight, while praying my poor, beat up old rosary, I wondered why God took someone so good, who was saving souls, my own included?  Why not take a poor sinner like me?  And then I heard His voice again and I trembled.  He reminded me that we all have our purpose here and when our mission is complete we move on to rejoin Him in His kingdom forever.  Rosie's mission is done but mine is only beginning.  

Adventures in Spanish

My Spanish isn't so good.  In fact it is what I affectionately explain as, "me Español es muy malo."  Generally, this causes more laughter than I would wish, and an accompanying compliment or a great deal of patience.  

In recent months I have been given a great opportunity to practice Spanish, both in my work and in an ESL (English as a Second Language) class that I am co-teaching.  I am the only native English speaker in the class.  Fortunately all my students speak Spanish, so even when I do not understand what they are saying amongst themselves, I can at least follow along tolerably well.  At least for the most part.  I also try not to laugh at my students as they are learning and I am the teacher.  This is the story of one of those occasions where I couldn't stop the hilarity that ensued.

Mary is a great student.  (I have several of them in my class so I don't have to worry too much about anyone pinning this to one person.)  She studies hard before and after class and is an active participant, never misses a class, and always does her homework.

Last week we were going through some exercises of arranging a present tense verb into a past participle within a sentence.  What Mary said was, "Oh really?  Do I usually talk to you in your dreams?"  I turned about face and walked away before I started busting up laughing.  So did my co-teacher, Carlos, who prattled off something to her in Spanish.  Everyone in the class, including Mary, started laughing.  I was blushing terribly.

What she meant to say was, "Do you usually talk in your sleep?"

Reading the Catechism

A few months ago I began taking an adult education class on the United States Catechism of the Catholic Church for Adults.  I can honestly say that as a former CCD teacher, a four time godmother, one time confirmation sponsor, a graduate of a Catholic High School and a Catholic University, an employee of a Catholic Church, and the daughter of a ten year seminarian who married a woman who was living in a convent, it has been one of the most humbling experiences of my life.  Half the time when I am reading it I think that I need a study group for my study group.  It seems I can't go from one class to the next without learning some phenomenal new thing about the Catholic Faith that I have been utterly blind to... until now.  

Anyways, as a consequence of this I have taken to bringing my Catechism with me just about everywhere.  Including the airport.  

I went to Chicago a few weeks ago for my college roommate's wedding.  This is the part of the story that happened even before I left the Austin airport.  

I found my gate quickly but there was nowhere to sit.  Ah well, I've always been most comfortable sitting on the floor, legs crossed, book in lap- either watching the world go by or ignoring it completely   This  was no exception.  So there I was in the Austin airport, sitting on the floor, reading my Catechism, trying to focus while fixing my hair in some truly geeky knots.  

And then this guy walked in.  Since the age of three I have been vocally aware of how boy crazy I am, but for the most part I keep it in check.  Then I realized this very cute guy was wearing a giant crucifix around his neck.  For the record- protestants don't wear Crucifixes- only Catholics do.  I proceed to kick myself for leaving my gaudy cross at home.  

Then I realized I didn't need a cross- I had something better- my Catechism.  That's right, I used my USCCC to get a boy's attention.  Except it didn't work.  I thumbed through it, held it upright, flipped through pages, jotted down some notes, dropped it, opened it again, and just about threw it at his head.  Then I gave up.

I sighed, closed the book and was putting it back in my suitcase when I heard someone say, "Excuse me, are you reading the Catechism?"  
I looked up into his lovely blue eyes and preened, all the while thinking, *oh the cleverness of me* as I said, "Yes, yes I am."

And I proceeded to talk to him for the next twenty minutes until it was time to board our flight.  We talked about all kinds of things, my job, his school, Texas, AMU... and that he's a Seminarian in the Diocese of Austin.  It was a humbling experience.  This was particularly embarrassing until we realized that we knew lots of the same people.  

Oh well, next time I'll know, never flirt with a guy who carries his own altar server alb with him on a flight to Chicago.