Close Encounters with God and Other Unbelieveable Things 1

Several months since the events that caused Austinites to turn out en masse for a non-music-related event, I think I can finally talk about it.

Several months ago the Texas Senate called an emergency session to finish discussion of the House Bill 2 that Senator Wendy Davis successfully filibustered.  The only item on the agenda was to pass the bill that would limit abortions in the State of Texas after twenty weeks (the point when they can reasonably feel pain), as well as raise the health standards of all clinics that offered abortions, while requiring that a doctor with local hospital privileges be on the premises during all abortions.

And the world turned it's eyes to Texas.  Living through the events I didn't realize how much people noticed.  In fact, I was surprised so many Texans noticed.  Along with a one friend, I went down to the Capital in my car, Bennie, to "protest" with my old purple rosary, the only clean blue shirt I could find, and greeting everyone I passed with a smile or a "good morning!"  There was no way anyone would have noticed me except for the fact that I was wearing an outlawed color on an outlawed day. 

Koishka, who drove down with me and aided me through the terror of finding a parking garage in Downtown Austin, laughed with me as we walked a few blocks to the Capital.  We passed one other person who was wearing blue and we waved a greeting.  She stopped us long enough to let us know that she had worn blue by mistake.  Koishka and I tried very hard not to laugh at the hilarity of her situation.  Imagine, how very embarrassing to show up in the enemy camp's color on a protest day!  Imagine if someone believed you.

Jovialities aside, I was really scared.  Koishka and I wandered around for probably half an hour before we found an older, retired couple, who were heading to the Cathedral to join a rosary walk to the Capital.  There we ran into more of our friends and at least in a group I felt a little more secure.  Once we got TO the Capital it was a different story.

Police and Texas Rangers carefully arranged for none of the opposing parties to interact.  Just the same I found out after the fact that the orange shirts (or those that opposed the Bill) were constantly being reprimanded for violence or threat of violence.  One news report stated that at least one had a jar of urine in her bag.

Blue shirts paraded quietly to the Capital while praying the rosary.  After that we joined together to sing Amazing Grace, the first verse, over and over and over again.  Then we calmly entered the Capital (and I was grateful I had left my purse) and then we continued singing in the big oval dome.  At several points I looked up to see video cameras inches from my face.  I tried my best not to change my expression but that was a bit unnerving.

Once we were in the dome I found another friend of mine who had brought her three small children, the oldest of whom was four and the youngest of whom was only a few months old.  Up until this point I hadn't been within twenty yards of the actual orange protest, but after we had been singing peacefully for several minutes, the orange shirts came up and began running around (and I do mean running and pushing and shoving) while screaming... something.  Someone pushed past and bumped into the four-year-old and Koishka and I positioned ourselves in front of the children, holding up signs with bluebonnets that someone had given us.  They kept pushing to the railing and Koishka and I traded off being in the front holding up the giant flower sign in order to keep anyone from running into the children.

Normally I would have been terrified, but not that morning.  For some strange reason, I had peace.  Around noon, Koishka and I departed from the rally and made our way back to Bennie.  Along the way, no one bothered us.  And all I thought was God is at work here.  

When I went into to work that day several people told me that they had seen me on the news and I cringed as I realized my Mother might find out.  So I went to the local news websites to see what they were reporting.  Several stations stated that the orange shirts outnumbered the blue shirts a hundred to one.  No one would believe that there were 2/3's orange and 1/3 blue shirts out there.  I was annoyed at the lack of accurate representation.  I was annoyed by the Bill itself because really, the Bill could have enveloped one or two of the points instead of all of them, and that would have been better than this endless circus.  I was annoyed that the orange shirts were being bused in but that the blue shirts were just coming on their spare mornings.  I was annoyed.

So my point today (and I swear it's coming shortly) is that it's voting day.  Get out and vote.  I'm not telling you who to vote for but pick a side and vote for it.  You can't backseat drive your life and then blame everyone else when you're going in circles.

The Gabbie Lady is the Apple Lady

One of the best parts of living in Texas is Apple Season.  Sure, apples are available almost all year but in the real part of Fall, in the deep part of Apple Season, we make Apple Sauce.

I know what you're thinking, apple sauce?  Really?  You can buy it at the store; it's not that expensive.  And you'd be right, but it's not our apple sauce.

At Sprouts, our local mostly organic, ultra crunchy grocery store, most of the employees know me and once fall rolls around they start asking when is apple week going to be.  This fall I discovered that they call me the apple lady because of all the times I've bought fifty pounds of apples and promised they'd be gone by Monday.  I don't think they believed me... the first time.

Then apple week happened this year and all was wonderful.  I bought fifty pounds of apples to make apples sauce and I bought twenty pounds of apples to distract all the small people away from the apple sauce.  It was a great plan, and for the most part it worked (there were probably forty pounds of apples after all was said and done).

And then it was slice em, dice, em, peel em- and then we discovered that Tia's new mixer will pull out all the parts that don't go well in apple sauce (seeds, stems, leaves, etc.) and there was much rejoicing.

And now that it's all done except for canning, I don't think I ever want to eat apple sauce again.

Adventures in ESL Class: History lessons and humility lessons

My students didn't know what they were walking into today.  Of course, every time that I lead my English as a Second Language Class, my students have an unusual day.  The lesson was the usual reading and understanding, but today it was about history- American history.  

I love history.  Once upon a time I majored in history.  I still love to talk and talk and TALK about history. Then God gave me a captive audience of around ten people, stuck in a classroom with me, and fifteen pages of a lesson on major points in the United States in the last hundred years.  *cue the malicious laugh*

Unfortunately, my laughter was short lived as I was reminded that although they were all familiar with the major events we were covering, not one of them was familiar with the proper pronunciation of the words. Factor into the situation that my students had also planned and impromptu Halloween party at the end of class and suddenly the Gabbie Lady had a group of adults (many of whom had grandchildren older than me), tired from the repetition of subject matter, frustrated by the new pronunciation, and salivating from the smell of all the delicious food that they had brought.  

Nonetheless, I trudged through the lesson, because if I showed enough enthusiasm maybe it would rub off? (This is usually how my lessons go and this theory usually pays off.) Finally, I was writing vocabulary on the board when I hear one of my students turn to her neighbor and whisper, "I don't like American history."  

And that is why I don't teach history anymore.  

Lost in Austin

I feel like I write this post once every season and then never publish it, so here's hoping I do this time.  Yesterday I drove into Austin.  I do this a couple times a month because it's not THAT far but it does feel like driving into LA and I would just as soon not relive that period of my life.  I hate driving in traffic.  

Anyways, yesterday's trip was a short quest to buy local honey in bulk.  Every other year I drive down and buy a gallon or two at around 35 bucks a pop from Good Flow Honey- which really isn't bad.  And given that it's honey, it's really quite good.  

Thanks to my trusty GPS (Gabbie is not Pleased... Seriously) I found the place with limited scenic routes and in an unprecedented half hour.  A quick trip in and two minutes later I walked out with two gallons of honey, still warm, and smelling DELICIOUS!  At least my car doesn't smell like dog food anymore.  Then I was headed home.

I was pondering on the joy of my GPS (a present from my favorite uncle and my godmother) when I got lost in thought on the name of my GPS.  I used to call him Jason (after the Red Power Ranger) but on a recent trip my old college roommates dubbed her "Jazzy" and the name has stuck.  I decided that since I had gotten myself there I could get myself back and therefore didn't need to use the GPS.  Big mistake. 

It was not long after I got lost in thought that I got physically lost in Austin.  Never was there a more convoluted, badly named, intertwining, and never unwinding group of roads.  Gabbie was not pleased. 

After wandering around in figure eights for forty-five minutes I gave up, pulled over to the side of the road, popped a pop, turned Jazzy back on, and had a long conversation with God on my hour ride home.  And it wasn't that bad. 

It wasn't until I managed to get home that I realized, if I hadn't gotten lost and gone in circles, I wouldn't have spent an hour talking to God.  Sure, I started out complaining about Texas roads and Texas drivers, but then I was laughing and smiling and enjoying the morning, cause after all, my car smelled like honey.  Maybe God puts us in situations that we have to turn to Him in order to remind us that we CAN turn to Him?  Maybe this is His way of bringing us closer to Him?  Maybe everything does happen for a reason, and the reason is Him?  Or maybe I just got lost in Austin?  Yeah, sure, maybe.  But not likely.

Letters to God

Dear God,
Today was a bad day. Bennie wouldn't start, Alloysius wouldn't start, my phone turned off, my txtag account locked me out, and then Bennie wouldn't work again; did You have to send that flying cockroach? And did You have to make me slip on it when I stomped on it?
Sincerely, Gabrielle

Rejoice in the Lord Always

Lately I've been thinking a lot about joy.

Last night I was blessed to be able to attend Mass with the Legion of Mary of the Diocese of Austin.  This Mass might be in my top five favorite Masses ever- the music was great, the homily was short (and bilingual), the readings were relevant, and every thing was about Mary.  Mary has been a big part of my life but the most important thing I have learned from Mary was to be joyful in the Lord.  You always hear about Mary being joyful... except during the Crucifixion of Christ.  

King David showed his joy by dancing before the Lord.  Saint Cecilia showed her joy by singing.  My best friend shows her joy by dancing and my other best friend shows her joy by making cheesy jokes.  My youngest goddaughter shows her joy by smiling her less than toothy grin while trying to hand me a lizard I didn't know she was carrying.  Joy has so many different faces, but the one similarity I have found is that true joy comes with love of God.  

That is why I think I have a new life goal- to make myself as small as possible so that the Holy Spirit can shine through me and be God's joy in the world.  

And that is Gabbie's thought for the week.

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.