In My Own Horrifying Words

In my parents' move from their home to "The Home" (an apartment in a senior living community, really, not a HOME. But that's what they call it, affectionately). I was given boxes of my stuff that had languished in their basement for years.
We have no room in our house now for anything. Seriously, we are full-up. The process of claiming or reclaiming things from their home was fraught and difficult, with worries about hurting feelings, and actual hurting of feelings, and JUST TRYING TO GET THE DAMNED HOUSE CLEANED OUT FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, I'LL TAKE IT AND THROW IT AWAY AT A REST AREA ON THE WAY HOME IF WE CAN JUST KEEP MOVING... that kind of thing. Anyway, now it's done and everyone has a few (or, many many) extra boxes of things in their houses.
I was given a passel of my old diaries from high school and college, and this Summer I've read through them. Some of it is so fun to revisit, and some of it is so horrifying. It's a funny thing to see how dramatic I was, how typical-teen I was, how... (how to say this? I'll just say it) ...randy I was. I hope to God my mother and father never read these journals, for their sake. As for me, as an adult and as someone who has worked with kids for so long, some of it was horrifying to read, and it was about me! Ay.
I was telling a friend about how alarming my relationships back then were to me, reading them now. I want to go find my former self and give her a shake, tell her she can do better, tell her to play it COOL every once in a while for crying out loud. I want to tell her she's better than waiting for a boy to call, and that the boy is just messing with her head and probably could use a good therapist! (I'm not even being specific to a boy now, they all messed with my head and all could have used a good therapist, and I could have used that shake for letting them mess with my head.)
I told my friend that I wished someone had told me this stuff. My friend (who always asks me great questions!) asked, "who should have said that to you? Who would you have heard it from?" and that is a (see?) great question. It wouldn't have been my mother... in my reading I saw with 20/20 hindsight  some of the opportunities that my parents missed, to help me. I'm not sure my Mother could have done much right in my opinion by then, but I do think she blew some chances to be supportive and uplifting. 
I don't know if my siblings could have helped, either. The me writing those journals felt very much in control of the situation. The thing about being in a bad relationship (I remember well) is that you work so hard to make the world think you're doing just fine, and you convince yourself, in order to convince them. These relationships weren't abusive, I should clearly state here. They just weren't healthy, and didn't honor who I was. It was a pattern I lived over and over again, until I met my husband. By the time I met him, I was sick and tired of bad boyfriends, and was rewarded for my new strength with a prince. (cue: Awww.)
Anyway, I think that if I could have heard the advice, taken the shaking, it might have been from adult leaders in youth ministry. I had some great relationships with people through YM, and they really honored who I was. I think it was this genuine respect for me, in these wonderful God-loving people, that gave them the kind of credibility that I respected, that I might have listened to. 
We can't re-write our youth, and as it turned out I learned a whole heck of a lot from all those bad relationships and here I am alive and a-love to blog about it. I hope all those boys have found great therapists and mates who don't let them mess with their heads. I am at peace with the fact that my parents did the best they could, and I am so thankful to my YM leaders for showing me what was valuable in me, so long ago. All this makes me want to be a better minister to young women, and to be bold in reminding them that things can be different. They don't have to live like they've lived. And they are worthy of good boys.

Summer Peeves

I love Summer. I'm a Summer girl! I love it so much I always capitalize it! Heck, I'm a Leo, so, you know... Summer Summer Summer.
But I have some pet-peeves. I mean, no love is pure, right? Here are my pet peeves. Just two, really!
I hate the humming sound that is everywhere in the Summer. I don't particularly like silence- in fact, it has a similar affect on me. Both silence and a humming sound (like that of a fan or an air-conditioner, or our damned broken refrigerator, which has been humming like mad for over a year now, since the refrigerator repairman told our landlord that it would need to be replaced, and she said to let her know when it really does die, which it hasn't. It just hums, super-loud. But that is not a summ... Summer-related thing. Let's go back) drive me to distraction.
Air conditioners and fans and other humming things, and silence, they make me tense up. My neck and shoulder muscles cringe until I can't take it anymore, and I need a break. When the humming sound stops, I feel instant relief. So, there's a thing that I don't like about my otherwise beloved Summer.
Another thing is being COLD. I'm talking about how people crank up their Air Conditioners until the room is icy. I don't want to be cold in the Summer any more than I do in the winter. I am looking for a comfy medium! I want to be cool, is all! In the winter, do we turn the heat up to 90? No. Of course we don't! We don't want to sweat, we just want to be warm. Why doesn't the world get that concept, in the Summer? Come on, people. If it were 60 outside, you'd want a sweater. Your house should not be 60 degrees. And there's nothing worse than walking into a store in the Summer and wishing you had a sweatshirt. Because, and I mean this, COME ON.
Summer has other annoyances, I'm sure. OH mosquitos! Mosquito bites, ugh! Someday I'll blog about how much I loathe, hate and abominate itching. Stay tuned, friends!!
Otherwise, I LOVE SUMMER!!
PS: Earwigs. Bleah.

7 Quick Takes Friday, on a Friday! I so have my life together!!

1) take a look at this summerchini!

Look how massive it is! It totally dwarfs that tomato!!
Okay that's a very small tomato. But it's still a really big... something. It came from a cucumber plant, and when it appeared I thought it was a zucchini, but it never turned green. My (actual gardener) neighbor said she's never seen anything like it, and that it might be a hybrid. But seriously, it's big. Here it is with an actual remote control! Cable, even!!

 

 I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it, but I am in the midst of a passionate love affair with zucchini, so I have lots of recipes cued up. I'll let you know how it tastes. 

2) we have two new kittens! When our oldest cat went to "kitty heaven" we tried to adjust to living in a catless house. It was a surprising hard thing to get used to. I didn't enjoy the freedom like I might have expected to. We started to hear from our scouts (Scott's family) that there were two adorable kittens in the lobby of a nearby cat hospital. On a whim and with nothing ready, we drove over to take a look adopt them. They're littermates, about 16 weeks old, gangly and silly. It's been so fun having them, so far, despite all the scratch marks on Scott's ankles and the broken items around the house. Scott is absolutely besotted. Well, here, have a look: 

We're still a little hard-pressed for good pics so far, they are awfully wiggly. Stay tuned. 

3) I'm a little bit trapped in my living room, as Scott and some of his youth group kids are out in our yard. Somehow he suckered invited them to come up and paint our deck for us. I love his kids but have kept my distance from the group today, because it's my day off and I'm home and in my garden clothes (unattractive!). But I've been listening in on their conversations and checking in on them. I do miss hanging out with a group of kids. 

4) My dream job is open in my home diocese. Oh, how awful! And what's worse, I'm qualified for it!! I moved out of Maine in 1992... good Lord can that be true? I've lived here longer than I lived there. I've forgotten where things are in Maine, and lost track of the situation up there...  but when I moved to Massachusetts, I never dreamed I'd stay. Now I'm without a country, in a way, not willing to claim Massachusettianism and not willing to give up my Mainer-ness, but really, I'm pretty settled in down here. I can't very well pick up and leave here now, I have a wonderful job and a big social life, and pretty much the best place to live that we could possibly hope for. But oooooh that job looks cool.

5) Maybe this is my alternate timeline, coming around even though I left that path. My plan was always to come here for a while, get some experience in parish youth ministry, then go back to my beloved Diocese of Portland and work in the Youth Ministry Office. This dream job is not in the YM office, but it's still a diocesan position and would be, as I imagine it, awesome. I'm teasing myself with it, thinking about this alternate universe of my potential life, and I'm 8% worried that I'll let it go by and then find myself without a job in the new reconfiguration plans here in Boston. Well. We'll see, I guess. 

6) I can't tell you how many times in the past few minutes I've had to remove a kitten from my keyboard and then delete "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeokj." Kittens are very different from old cats. Wow. 

7) I've got nothing for 7. So, you know, go read this instead! HOW ABOUT THAT??

My Three Masses

I went to Mass in three different churches today. I'm not bragging. I only took Communion in one, and only really sat through one whole Mass. But the differences in the three were so fascinating to me.
At our own parish, I was there for the end of the 9. Maybe I'm too in love with this parish to be objective, but I could feel the joy at that Mass. People were nice, I was surprised to see how diverse the crowd was culturally, and the kids' choir was fun and happy and praise-y. The church is bright and wide open, and the feeling that I get there is overall joyful.
A friend and I then went to the 11 at another parish in town. Mass was in the lower (air-conditioned) church, and we were greeted by the staff (I knew them, and they recognized me, but we were by no means the only ones they greeted. The lower church is darker and smaller, but the feeling was friendly. The crowd was mostly late for Mass, and really very diverse. The priest saying Mass today was African, and we wondered if the crowd was mostly African too. But it didn't feel like an ethnic Mass. In fact, after the priest would start the prayers, the music minister would lead the response, and make it as white-sounding as humanly possible. I say this as one of the whitest people you'll ever meet. Anyway, my point is, if the people there were African, they weren't there because it would be an African-style Mass.
(Should I mention here that after Mass, the priest and the pastor were shaking people's hands, and my friend swore she saw him wipe his nose with his hand before shaking hers? Ew. We went directly to the car to douse ourselves in hand sanitizer.)
Finally, I met Scott (who is on vacation and so attending Mass in an exotic foreign location) for the last half of Mass. I just asked Scott how the homily was, now five hours later, and he said "it was fine." But he can't remember what the guy said. What was memorable was that there was no AC in this church, and that the priest was wearing a fiddle back. A frickin' fiddleback!! I've never seen one in real life. He told us after Mass that it was cooler. I don't know. Also, the altar was crowded with candles and a giant crucifix, gold and ostentatious. I can't help but wonder at a priest who is standing at table, with the honest-to-goodness body and blood of Christ in front of him,  but needs to look at a golden crucifix. Talk about missing the point. But hey, maybe that's just me.
All I do know is that I looked around that hot church and was amazed that so many people would come in there, on a hot Sunday evening, to sit through a less-than-memorable Mass. It gave me hope. People want to meet Christ, they want to worship, they want to pray. What if we made it just a little bit more pleasant, more meaningful, more inspiring? Just a little bit! Imagine!!

Let's Not Get Together

It's reunion time again. This year marks 25 years since I graduated from high school. I'm always a little iffy about reunioning, which would have come as such a shock to my 18 year old graduating self. I wailed at graduation, scanning the faces of my beloved friends, and swearing never to forget any of them.
Five years later, I went to our first reunion, and it was pretty fun, I guess. I saw people who I'd only just lost touch with, and they were pretty much the same as they'd been in high school. I got a little tipsy and went to a party at someone's house after the reunion. It was fun enough.
When the 10th year reunion came around, I didn't want to go at all. I was single and working at a job that I didn't like much (social work) and I remember thinking "I don't have a story to tell these people." I wasn't proud of my life, hadn't made anything impressive of myself, and didn't have a thing to brag about. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't a derelict, and wasn't living a miserable or debauched life, I just wasn't living what I considered to be an impressive one.
At our 20th, things had changed. I was married, and pregnant, and so felt like I had an excuse for being as overweight as I was. The internet had come into play enough that I had been in touch with some of my old classmates, and had found pictures of most of the others online, so I knew that a lot of them had put on weight too, and lost hair, and started to sag, in spots. I was doing a job I loved (ministry) and had a husband I was proud to show off, so I went. I was nauseous the whole time from the pregnancy, and couldn't have a beer, either- there was a DJ who played music really loud, so we had to shout to each other. I saw some dear old friends and it was nice.
This year, 25, I'm not as overweight as I was 5 years ago, still in a wonderful job, still married to a wonderful husband, but... I just don't feel like I have much to talk about with my classmates. I don't want to go and dance or drink with them, and those whose stories I want to keep up on, I already do. I can see all their faces on Facebook anytime, and even chat with them. It suits my introverted self much better than dressing up and hollering at each other over the DJ's tunes. I'm going to skip it.

7 Quick Takes: Vacation Edition

1) I've got myself a new Ipad, and it's pretty awesome. My learning curve with it has been a little slow, but I'm figuring out why I wanted it, and why it will prob. become a big part of my everydays. I still have the rookie cover on it, and no keyboard, and I'm still figuring out which apps are helpful- but I'm coming to see that with it, I can do a whole heck of a lot of stuff that I love to do.
2) I downloaded my first book on the Ipad (I have the kindle app, but can't figure out how to get books into it... ) and it's Seven Storey Mountain, by Thos. Merton. It's one of those spiritual books that all the most holy people have read, and I never have. It's LONG! It's an autobiography, full of typos (is that an ipad books thing?) and I guess either Merton wrote it before honing his writing skills or it'll turn out to be awesome enough that the... (well, amateurish?) quality of his writing won't be a big deal, ultimately. He is a funny kind of guy, sort of curmudgeonly and at turns super-critical of anyone who disagrees with him philosophically, including his own younger self. And he includes weird tangential stories from his childhood that don't seem to have much to do with the greater narrative of the thing. But still, I'm hanging in there, despite the lovely and tempting books that keep popping up in my periphery.
3) Next, for instance, on my wish-list is... well, several books are tempting me. I still haven't read Bossypants, and want to- it seems like a much better suited-to-vacation kind of book than SSM. But also I'm wanting to read The Goal and Ideas. I think it's a new sense of liberation that my mind is feeling from being sprung from grad school. I love books and reading and hate being told what to do/read. Now that I can read whatever the heck I want, Amazon is my oyster.
4) But, shouldn't I be hiking? Or, walking, or something active? I've been thinking about the difference between being lazy and being sedentary. My Mom always called me lazy, and maybe I've had my lazy stretches, but I don't mind hard work or activity really. I work hard in my garden, and do my chores, and I used to love hiking when I lived by the woods and hills in my first apartment, and/or when I had a dog to hike with. But I also really love reading, I love watching tv, I love using the internet. My mind is, I reckon, much more active than my body is, by nature. I worry about time lost to sitting around, mostly because I see how my Mom's body seems to have withered from (in my estimation) lack of movement over the past several years. Like me, Mom prefers to sit. But I saw her struggle this weekend to get into a car, and worried about my own fate.
5) This week though, it's been raining and thundering every day, which means I'm stuck close to home, and as another convenient excuse, my foot hurts!  A few weeks back I was gardening and felt my big toe snap, and then a shooting stab of pain. I tried to take it easy on my right foot for the next couple of weeks, and was starting to feel good again, but now suddenly I feel like I have a bruise on the bottom of my foot- in the pad behind that big toe. What can you do but rest it, right? So maybe next week, I'll start that walking routine.
6) So here's the apps I have on my ipad, because I know you're dying to know: Slate, IMDB, Inkflow, NPR/WBUR/CBC apps, Pandora, Google Translate, a stunning Weather Channel app, Amazon, and Dropbox. Oh, and Bejeweled Blitz.
7) So in sum: I'm spending these few days off from work reading, sitting around, worrying about how much I'm sitting around, thinking about books I'd rather/should be reading, and trying not to eat carbs. I've got some other plans (something every day! I'm so active!)so my social skills won't completely whither away before I get back to work.

And Now We Are Catless

It's a strange feeling to take a cat to the vet, and then come home without her. Of course, we did bring her home, but not really her. Of course, she hadn't been herself for a while. But still, just like we did three months ago, we loved her and cried on her, loaded her into the crate, and took her, tearily, to the vet- the lovely vet who helped us help her. Since Pip's trip to the vet was so recent,  it was a familiar process- we knew what decisions we had to make, and how to make them. We pre-knew our preferences. Blessedly, it was smooth and peaceful, and we brought Zarley home and buried her next to Pip, under the rhododendron bush.
When we were finished, we ritually started to strip and clean the house. We threw away the litter box, gathered up all the random water bowls that were scattered around the house. We disassembled the steps that our old girls had needed to get up on the bed in their later years, and pulled out the scratching post and bed and various other things. It felt cathartic, to me- not because I wanted all traces of Zarley to be gone, but because it felt right to address the truth that the cats were here, and now things have changed- now they are not here.
But the weirdest thing of it all is not... I don't know. Considering? Taking care? Worrying? Scott vacuumed and I didn't have to worry about the cat being afraid of the machine. I mixed up some tuna and didn't have to worry about cats circling my feet and crying for the juice. We went in and out of the house without having to worry about Zarley slipping out. Zarley was a little "special" and was the neediest, loviest cat ever. She followed me constantly, would pace back and forth while I puttered in the kitchen, begging to be held like a baby. She would pounce onto me if I took too long to pick her up. Now I can walk and putter unfettered.
You know me and my heretical faith, refusing to see a divinely-intended point in suffering. But I do think that if we are paying attention, we can develop empathy from our relatively small suffering, for all those who are suffering greatly. Putting Zarley's things away and facing a catless future makes me ache for people who pack up a child's things, or a husband's. It pricks at my undercurrent of fear of the day when I come home without Scott, or he comes home without me. I can't can't can't imagine.
For now we clean up and carry on and feel this sorrow, and hope never to feel any sorrow worse.

Prayers of the Faithful

When our office manager took sick last year, I took over the preparing of the Prayers of the Faithful for our parish's weekend Masses. I had been toying with the thought of taking it on for a while, anyway, so when she was getting sicker and couldn't keep up with her work, I volunteered to take them off her hands.
I don't really write them, for the most part- I use a couple of books from a publisher, but adapt them and borrow from other places if they don't sound right. I don't want to add my own agenda to the prayers, but I do always go by the rule that the prayers of the faithful should represent the prayers of all the faithful- they should be prayers that everyone can agree with. I also change things like this: "for all who teach about the love of Christ...may they something something..." I make that "they" a "we" because I want to remind everyone that WE are all supposed to be teaching the love of Christ. That kinda thing.
Every week as I listen to someone read the prayers I've put together, I worry that they'll sound ridiculous, or that the lector will stop and the middle and say "wait... no, um, that doesn't make sense. Whatttt?" or something like that. I want them to sound sincere, applicable, and personal for our community. This weekend it dawned on me- we should be praying for the babies who are baptized each month! Of course!!! So, long story long, the Prayers are always a work in progress.
Monday, my pastor said "Oh I need to talk to you about the Prayers of the Faithful after the meeting." I wondered,  had my almost-all Father-theme prayers that weekend pushed the limits? (There had been one for the fatherless, men who long to be fathers, and those who have lost children... I thought it was so beautiful and thoughtful- reaching out to the very people who might feel alienated by Father's Day.) But he didn't have a comment on the content, or even the writing- he wanted me to make a change to the closing prayer.
This is the prayer that the priest says after the lector has finished the other intercessions. It's something like "Oh Lord, Oooh you are so big, so absolutely huge..." and it brings the POTF's to a conclusion, whereupon we all say "amen." But my pastor said that people didn't seem to know, lately, when to say "amen" because the conclusions didn't end with the pavlovian Catholic cue, "forever and ever" or "through Christ our Lord..." so he asked me to be sure one of those phrases will be in there to end the closing prayer.
I find this interesting- we're so used to just saying our lines on cue that it's not enough to listen to the prayer to know when to say "amen." And there are people who would land on both sides of the argument: that A) we need to stretch people to listen more intently (prayerfully?) to the Prayers, or that B) we should encourage people to develop the reflex of saying "amen" whenever they hear the phrase "forever and ever." Maybe both. Either way, next week, I'll be making that change in the Prayers.

Oh Death

Today I attended a funeral for my first Hospice patient. I only saw her twice, but I was so impressed by her positive nature and great spirit that I really felt like I wanted to go and honor her at the funeral. (Not impressed like, hey, great work Champ, but impressed as in she made an impression on me. You got that.) I wasn't exactly sad when I heard she had died, and I guess that's because 1) I knew it was coming. I mean, Hospice. 2) I think she was tired and ready for relief from her body and 3) I have faith in an eternal life with God, and she did too. (Today the minister read these words: "For if we are united to Jesus in a death like his, then surely we are also united to him in a resurrection like his." And there is the hope, in a nutshell.)
But as I sat in the church (a tiny, but lovely, friendly but COLD Lutheran church that I'd never noticed before, even though it is in the same town where I work) I thought to myself "uh oh."
I realized with a bit of a start that I had invited death to be a reality in my life, by starting to volunteer with Hospice. This will be the repeating pattern from now on- meet someone new, journey with them briefly toward their death, and say goodbye. No pretending that death doesn't happen, or doesn't happen much, or doesn't happen to good people.
I've been in a pretty good place with death for a long time now. Recently a friend at church pulled me aside and told me that, that week, she'd realized that she is okay about dying. She had discovered that she was in a place where her faith made death less scary, and it was a real lightning-bolt kind of moment. Lightbulb moment? Well, you know what I mean. And I knew what she meant, because I had that revelation at some point- and I feel overall okay about death. You know, in theory, at least. But it seems I've marched into a situation where I'm bound to have that okay-ness tested.

Random rainy day thoughts

Here's some follow-up for ya. Rose wine? Gross. At least the one I bought. I wanted it to be like red wine, but lighter, and refreshing. But it was... I don't even know how to describe it. Blech.

Why do movie ads have to be so obnoxious? Take, for example, the recent ad for Promethius. That movie, it's targeted at a specific kind of viewer, right? The horror/sci fi kind of viewer? Then why are they advertising during Cougar Town? And why do they have to play that annoying sound over and over? I can't wait for that movie to come out, but not because I want to see it.

Speaking of ads, that John Malkovich one for the iphone... it does not make me want to get a phone with Siri. That joke's not funny, and I don't buy that he's entertained by it. And while we're at it, I hope Samuel L. Jackson knows that just removing a golf game from your calendar isn't the same as canceling it. Was it a game with no partners? Did he have a tee time?

Lastly, we had a party to celebrate my graduation. I had no idea how big a deal it seems to be, to graduate from grad school. I'm always glad for a reason to throw a party, but my overall attitude toward grad school is more that of bearing it, rather than... I don't know, triumphing. I certainly wasn't expecting gifts, but I got great ones! And I was really honored and touched that people would come and celebrate. As my parents were leaving, my Dad hugged me and said "you have really great friends" and he's right. I remember my parents having big groups of friends who would have pool parties and cookouts together, and I love having that big bunch of people to gather with. Did I mention a bagpiper played on our lawn, in the pouring rain? That's the kind of friends I have. I'm a fortunate, lucky, blessed girl, and very thankful.

7 Quick Takes, on the Wrong Day. So.

1) I know this  is a Friday thing, but I feel like Monday holidays are much like Fridays, right? I mean really I have Fridays off so Thursdays are MY Fridays, and once you start thinking like that, you can write a Friday blog post any old day of the week. It's a slippery slope.

2) So, I graduated from grad school. It felt great! I did wonder if maybe I'd done the whole thing wrong when hardly any of my professors seemed to recognize me on graduation day, and I had to introduce myself to the three other people in my program as we lined up. To be fair, they didn't know each other either, and the class sizes were big, so it's not completely unthinkable that I didn't become a star in the professor's estimation. But a friend (I did make one friend) introduced me to a faculty member (the dean of students, I think?) who said "how did I never meet you all this time?" and I said "well I haven't spoken to anyone during my whole time here." Which is, a little bit, true. Around me, people were misty-eyed at leaving this time in their lives behind, and everyone understood the inside jokes in the dean's homily, but not me. I found out that my Dad had had the same experience in grad school. He said "I just drove in, took my classes, and drove home." Still, everyone's been congratulating me and there's a big party planned, and I'm trying to give myself credit for having achieved something not everyone does and having worked hard and whatnot. But the truth is, I feel mostly proud of having slogged through it. More like a veteran than a victor.

3) after graduation we went to lunch, a lovely place near my parish, where the waitress almost immediately dumped an entire tray of drinks down my back. I still giggle just thinking about it, it was sangria mostly, and a bloody mary ended up mostly in my purse. It happened in slow motion, I swear, and I remember looking down at a stick of olives sitting on top of my iphone in my purse. I laughed, because, you know, what can you do? People are... dying... somewhere. You know? And the poor waitress cried. Cried! The dress came clean, and I got a free lunch and a funny memory from graduation day. And I think I'm the first child in our family to be responsible for wine stains on my dad's pants. So!

Come on, that's funny!

4) On Saturday Scott was away on retreat and I had a whole lot of weekending to cram into one, beautiful day. I was super productive; weeding the garden, putting my new compost bin together, fixing the damned bird feeder (again), cleaning up some of the yard, grocery shopping, snacking, napping, etc. etc... by about 3:30 my back was OUT. I have come to the conclusion (late, as usual for me) that I have a bad back. It occurs to me that it's been bad for a pretty long time. In fact, the first time I came to understand what the word "out" meant in this context, I finally went to the doctor, who asked me how long I'd been in pain. I reviewed my life, and said "I guess... about three years now?" Turns out I have "high pain tolerance" and can stand more than the average wimp, pain-wise. That's a pretty cool thing to learn about myself, like a newly-discovered super power. I don't complain much, I don't think, pain-wise, so when I do you can know I'm in deep. I've never seen a chiropractor, and I suppose I should. Maybe that's something I can do with all my extra time and money now that I'm all graduated and stuff.

5) I've had to stop myself from watching the Red Sox this season. It seems like every time I tuned in, they'd start to tank, so I'm taking one from the team. I love watching/listening to Sox games so it is an actual sacrifice. I'm giddy with excitement for the Olympics though, and I probably would have lost track of the Sox once they start anyway, so I will still have lots of stuff to watch over the summer. I think the Olympics and the Tour de France start the same week, so I may have to take some vacation days.

6) I picked up an Anne Tyler book the other day, and already I'm starting to think/talk like she writes. Maybe it's really that she writes like I think/talk, but whenever I read her books I find myself feeling a little weird, and more myself at the same time. I don't know how to describe what happens, it's just that her use of language is a lot like mine, at least in my head. Here's a sample sentence:

Well. So. Here he was.

I know, right? There's something about using "So" as a sentence that just gives me a thrill. Anyway, that's where I'll be today,  on the porch reading something not at all about God or moral theology or any such stuff.

7) ... and drinking rose wine (I bought some the other day, it's NOT THE SAME THING AS WHITE ZINFANDEL, it's much more classy and adult, I hear. I haven't tried it yet but it looks lovely and so summery. I'll let you know.)... and dreaming of strawberry desserts. I have a whole bank of strawberry plants with green berries just waiting to turn red. From there it'll be a full-on battle, racing the bunnies and squirrels (I blame the squirrels) for the just-ripe berries. I have a cage for some of the plants that saves me a few, and embarrasses Scott. But mmmmmm strawberries, you know? Mmmmm.

Who Do I Say That I Am?

When I was in High School, I received My Calling... to you Youth Ministry. Of course, I had no idea what I was getting myself into, answering that call. My life now does not match my vision back then, of where I'd be and what I'd be doing. But I'm still answering that call, in new ways and new directions all the time. My call has evolved and so have I.
I never dreamed I'd NOT be a Youth Ministry coordinator, but here I am, the Chief Evangelization Officer at a parish that does Total Community Catechesis and working with people through the lifespan- really now from birth to death. I've fallen in tortured love with faith formation, found my spot, at least for now. I have (as of next Monday) a freakin' MASTERS DEGREE in religious education! Really, Go figure.
Last week at the conference I attended (seriously, go join NCCL right now), I decided to join a committee, and had my choice of many, including a Youth Ministry subcommittee, an adult faith formation committee, a "practical and theoretical foundations" committee, among others. I found myself wondering where I fit in. It was like one of those youth group "forced choice" activities. Pick one and defend it. You can't stand in the middle of the room pointing at all the corners, you just have to GO. Choose. But for me, it was about identity, in a real way. Who am I now, in this Church? A faith formation person, yes. But, still a Youth Minister? An Adult Faith Formation person? An academic?
I joined the Evangelization committee, and found my people. These are faith formation professionals with an eye trained on the horizon of evangelization. I think it was a good choice. Meanwhile, at home, we're being encouraged to be certified as Pastoral Associates, that nebulous title that means... whatever the hiring pastor wants it to mean. Should I add this title to my list? I'm not sure.
I never would have guessed that accepting a call really meant accepting a life of accepting calls.

The End of the Beginning

Zarley and her Lion friend, surveying the yard

When we got home from California, it was after 2:00AM. Zarley was fast asleep and when we woke her to greet her, she was stunned and groggy, and didn't really warm up to us for a while, which is unusual for her. We brought her to our bedroom, put her on the bed and she didn't move, just sort of hovered there not standing, not sitting, blinking. Finally, I put her back on the couch in the living room, where she'd been found, and went to bed. She looks skinnier than she did (to my memory anyway) a week ago. We weighed her this morning and she's a wee 5 pounds. At some point, she rejoined us in her usual spot in bed, and today she's a bit more back in the usual swing of things. Last night, after putting her back to reset herself, I lay in bed and suddenly had tears in my eyes, remembering how little time we have with her, remembering how deeply sad it was to lose Pip and how much I miss her, and mourning this soon-to-be-totally-over part of my life, the part with two cats in the yard. I felt guilty about leaving her for this week, but she was visited by loving friends and family, who all reported her to be purring and eating and drinking, so that was a relief. I guess now we just wait, and watch, and snuggle as much as time will let us.

I get it

This week I can say I truly understand the Paschal Mystery in a real and serious way. Let me start at the beginning of our trip, on Sunday. We were scheduled to leave Boston at 1:30 or thereabouts, and we boarded on time, but spent the next three hours either at the gate, sitting on the tarmac, or idling somewhere in wait, due to a storm in Chicago, where we were due to meet our connecting flight. So, three hours of sitting before we ever got out of town. When we got into Chicago, finally, we launched out of our plane, ran through the terminal, down the escalator, through the tunnel to the other terminal, up the escalator, and to the end of that terminal. When we got there, we found out that A) our gate had been changed, and B) that the flight had left already anyway. So we went back through the terminal, down the escalator, across the tunnel, up the escalator, and went to find the line for United Airlines customer service. It was, and I kid you not, at least a quarter mile long. Someone told us there were 500 people ahead of us. Walking along that line, looking for the end of it, was one of the soul-crushingest experiences I can remember. Finally, a CS person came along and advised us to check the kiosk rather than waiting to see a real person, and so we found that we'd (fortunately!) already been rebooked by the airline for another flight, due to leave in about 2.5 hours. Guess where the new flight would be leaving from? Yep, that other terminal... in fact the one we'd gone to first.
So back we went, at least knowing we'd have time for dinner while we waited. UNfortunately, the plane at our gate (the one before ours) had a serious hold up (as in, 4 hours of waiting for their flight, and they still hadn't left by the time we did.) Since they weren't leaving, we had to change gates AGAIN, but only to one nearby. Once we got on the plane, we had to wait a while, because since our flight was SO late, one of the crew was now "illegal" and they had to wait for someone to replace her. As in, come to the airport from home.
Now here's where the Paschal Mystery comes in. I had the center seat all this time, and Scott, who I love, had an aisle seat. When we got on in Chicago, about to ride through the night to California, I had the aisle seat, and Scott had the center. He was miserable, but we had had such a rough day, and I was tired of being all cooped up, and I thought to myself "enjoy the aisle seat! He'll survive the middle, after all, I did! Why should I have to sit in the middle? After all, I was assigned this seat!"
But at one point, I heard Scott moan. Just a little mewling kind of sound, and he didn't ask for the aisle seat, but what could I do? When he got up to go to the bathroom, I took his seat.
When Scott came back to sit down, I very un-Jesus-like told him that he was a lucky man, and I was super-nice, and that he should never forget it. Ah, what can I say? I'm only human!

Apple doesn't know the words Catechetical OR Evangelization.

So here we are in California for the NCCL conference. It's one of the best organizations/conferences I've worked with over these years. NCCL is academic, wholistic, cutting edge, evolutionary and open-minded. The topics they are interested are the same things I'm interested in. I'm so among my people here, even in a way that's beyond being at school among my academic peers. This organization is made up of people who know whereof they speak. Lots of the people I've met here have the word "evangelization" in their titles, and they mean it. I love being in this world of like-minded, dedicated people, and it gives me hope.
It also makes my mind race, lots of new ideas and great tips and tricks to apply right away. I'm inspired to take on huge projects this coming year, huger than I should probably. I can't wait to get back (well, I can wait, I mean... we are in California after all!) and try things out.
We've been rubbing elbows with catechetical and evangelization rockstars. Everyone is approachable and supportive and helpful. Someday I hope to be one of those rock stars, receiving awards while bored people who have barely heard my name eat their free lunch and plan to steal my ideas.
Many years ago now, we attended the NCCYM in, as it turned out, the apex of the sexual abuse crisis. While we were there that week (Denver, was it?), we'd be pulled into Boston meetings to hear about which of our pastors had been removed that day, due to accusations that were either founded or un-founded. We would watch our friends' faces flicker with worry when they were told their own pastor was already gone, and we'd wait in fear to hear our own pastor's names be read. Outside of those meetings, we'd introduce ourselves to other conventioneers and when we said "from Boston" they would sympathetically frown and offer prayers. It was a weird feeling that week, a feeling of being marked as doomed, yet still walking around amongst the living.
Now, many years later, we are starting to get that sympathetic reaction from people again. The people here know about what's going on in the American Church, what dioceses are in trouble, etc. Cleveland people get that sympathetic cluck too, now. We sympathize with them.
Still we soldier on, and wish everyone from poor old Boston could come to a week like this and be bolstered with hope for the future, even while we hang in limbo and wait to see what will become of us. We'll breathe in as much of the sunshine as we can while we are here and hope to carry it home in our hearts. 

Get Your Business Done

I graduated from my first round of training with Hospice last week, and I've learned a lot. From here, I will be a "direct care volunteer" for 6 months, and then can go on to have specialized training to be a vigil volunteer. Vigil volunteers wait with patients at their last moments, or hours, especially if they have no one to be with them at that time.
Our training covered a lot about the philosophy and history of the Hospice movement. Each patient who enters hospice is given access to services of a doctor, a nurse, a social worker, a bereavement counselor, a chaplain, and a volunteer. The team works together to offer a comprehensive treatment for each patient and their family, communicating between each member and serving the patient in a really wholistic way. On top of that, Hospice has a true respect for the dying process that I think most medical systems don't. They acknowledge that death happens, and is part of life. They say things like "our bodies know how to die" and "the patient is doing the hard work of dying." They don't see death as a failure of treatment or a tragic ending to be avoided. Just part of the deal, and something important and defining in a person's life and in the family's life.
What's also impressive to me is that unlike most social service systems, they don't have to deny the existence of spirituality. They take all comers, religion-wise, as they should, and work with people to understand the... (not their word) mystical part of the process of dying. It's really impressive.
All through the training, I kept thinking "people need to know more about this." Everyone I know considers Hospice to be a very-last-minute effort to keep pain away when there's no more hope. But I want everyone to know that Hospice is more like a team of tour guides who will help you get ready- they'll help you think about what you want and let your family know, they'll help you "get your business done" with your family and friends, help you get your house in order and figure out who'll take your cats when you're gone, help you come to a comfortable place with what you are going through. Medicare will fund Hospice, as I understand it, to those who have 6 months or less to live (with a chance to re-register if you live beyond your prognosis). Private insurance companies, I'm told, sometimes cover a year! Imagine having a kind and attentive team to help you and your family prepare for your fate, for a whole year. Honestly, I'd like that now, even though I'm not dying, that I know of.
So if/when someday you find yourself (or someone you love) facing the inevitable hard work of dying, think about Hospice for yourself and for your family. Don't wait.

Aim High, Shoot Low

We are in the midst of the beginning of lots of change in our Archdiocese. I have no idea where I'll be, or what our parish will look like, five years from now. But at least, we're trying to be proactive and do some planning, be transparent and honest, and think big about the possibilities. I'm reading up on pastoral planning and trying to fill my toolbox. In all the leadership books I read, they talk about successful organizations being willing to try new things, to think "outside the box," to be willing to fail and learn and change courses when things aren't working.
I'm cool with that. I want to try new things at the parish, and I'm pretty comfortable with re-do's. I think it's a matter of attitudes, a matter of looking differently at same-old situations. Maybe it's because I'm the youngest kid in my family that I quickly get annoyed at hearing that my ideas won't work, couldn't work, before we get to even give things a try. I've been hearing it since I was little. But hey, maybe that's the life of an innovator.
A couple of years back I started urging the staff at our parish to stop assuming the worst of our parishioners. I wanted us all to stop saying things like "they won't understand" or "no one will come to that" or "that's too serious/deep/traditional/etc. for our people." I wanted us to start saying things like "let's try it, and see who comes" and assuming that our people were faith-filled, wanted to know God and grow in their faith. It was a HARD habit to break, and lately we've begun to fall back into old habits of assuming our people are shallow and half-hearted.
But I'm starting to realize I'm as guilty as my co-workers. As a youth minister, my default position with teenagers was that they didn't know much about the faith, that they were doubters- seekers, but doubters- and that they needed convincing. It's a much more comfortable position to be in as a teacher, where you know more and are more secure than your students. Working with adults, I'm afraid I've kept starting from that default position, assuming the groups I work with are illiterate about the faith. But the fact is, most of the parents in my GOF group are very faithful people, with a real dedication to the Church and to their family's faith. I'm just starting to realize that I need to teach to those people in my groups, rather than shooting for the lowest levels and trying to convince. What does that kind of teaching look like? I'm not so sure... but it's something I want to think about more.
As we begin this scary pastoral planning process, I want us all to go in assuming the best of our people- not to say "this won't work" or "they won't want to do this" but instead, thinking about how this church of people can become better evangelizers, more faithful, grow stronger and go deeper.

And Now, Something Deliciously Different

You should make this tonight. You know why? Because... because Lent is over and Easter's here. Alleluia! Because life is short, and precious, and one day you won't be able to eat anymore. Not even steamed broccoli! It's going to happen, sooner or later. Plus, this is so easy and gratifying and impressive-looking, despite it's simplicity. It's win-win-win. Do it, and eat it lustfully, gratefully, in your favorite, happiest place.

PS: Sorry about the blurry pic, I was quivering.
PSS: Mine came out even more puddingy than the picture at the recipe's page. So. There's that to look forward to.

time to waste is wasted on me

I can't get out of my own way today. It's not that I don't want to do anything, I do. I want to do everything. I'm battling contrary urges to go to work, to stay home, to do some writing, to read that book I bought about writing, to cook something, to clean the kitchen- I do want to clean the kitchen, it looks like we're having an estate sale in there...
I want to plant my garden, which would involve trucking four big bags of soil across the lawn in the wheelbarrow, which is full of lawn clippings, which I'd have to empty, but don't have any of those yard waste bags. I want to rebuild the mesh frame over the garden bed, which will be like wrestling with spider webs. I should be picking the thousands of maple seedlings that are covering my side hill like grass. It hurts my back to think about it all (and yet I want it done so bad and want to be doing it) that I think I ought to do some yoga. I should make massage appointments for us, and one for a perm for me, so I'll have cute curls poking out from under my graduation cap next month, but it's Sunday and tomorrow's a holiday, so I'll have to wait, and when Tuesday comes around I'll be too distracted to make any appointments.
I wish I could do that thing that Samantha did on Bewitched. Not wiggle my nose- I mean, that would be cool, but in reality (?) she couldn't do it either- she mostly just wiggled her pursed lips, and we just went with it, because we knew what she meant to do. I mean the fast-forwarding, the instant-doing. I want to go to work but the picking out the clothes and the showering and the drying and the dealing with my hair and face pre-exhaust me.
So here I am, using my time up until I have to go, have to do something, and the running-out time will direct me to pick what has to be done and ignore what can't be, yet. Okay, here I go.

Standing Room is the FenWay To Go

Way back in time, long before the season opener, I got an email announcing that the Fenway ticket sales had started. I took a wild leap and bought two Standing Room tickets for today, for a birthday present for Scotty. We went in today and it was perfect, start to finish. A gorgeous day, free parking (thanks to a friend with connections!), and a great lunch beforehand at a new place right down the street from the park. Lots of yum!!

We found our standing room area, which has spaces for leaning and such, but that space was taken by the time we got there. Scott eagle-eyed some seats on the third base line, and we headed down. We ended up being able to sit in that (awesome!) section for the entire game, which we WON, with the help of lots of great home runs and heroic plays. Great stuff. It was warm, people were SO cool with us sitting in their 100-dollar-a-seat section with them, and we had a blast. Happy Spring everyone!

To Life!

I am feeling super celebratory. I can feel the Easter spirit, and the fact that Holy Week is over and Easter is here and my feet are just starting to stop hurting and I have almost no meetings this week... I'm gleeful. I'm also feeling like I want to live my life to the fullest this week, mindful of how fleeting life can be. At Hospice training last night our lovely volunteer coordinator reminded us that we should do the things we love, and I know that's true. So tonight we had onion rings and blueberry beer with dinner, and we're about to polish off the pudding cake I made for Easter.
TO LIFE!
On a completely different note, although I hate, loathe, despise and abominate litter, someone dumped a videotape near the on-ramp I take to get to work every day. It has spread along the side of the road and the other side too, and is stuck to the weeds and bridge rails. It sparkles and shines, waves in the wind, and every day when I drive through it, I pretend it's a ticker-tape parade for me. Sometimes I take it as encouragement for what I'm to face that day, sometimes as congratulations for making it to another day, sometimes just cheering me for being me. I wave at it, smile winningly, and head on to work. Everyone should get a ticker-tape parade on their way to work every morning. I don't condone litter, but thanks, VHS litterer, whoever you are!

Holy Week!

I am freaking out. In a good way. It's Holy Week! I can't believe it's actually here, Lent went on for. ever. this year and I failed in almost every way, except actual spiritual growth (thank you silent retreat and spiritual director). In that way, I kicked Lent's butt!! But I failed pretty spectacularly and consistently at everything I attempted to sacrifice. Ah well, we'll get 'em next year.
Soon begins the marathon that is Holy Week at the parish. It's constant movement for three or four days, lots of details to cover and pictures to take and prayers to pray and people to see. Last night we presented a reading of the entire Gospel of Mark, my favorite, to a small but appreciative crowd. It was really cool to hear it all at one sitting, in different voices (one lector per chapter). And it was especially fun to listen to it after having studied it this Lent. I wanted to trade knowing smiles with my fellow BS-ers at the fig tree story, when Peter heard that first cock crow... just a little bit of background on this Gospel gives a much deeper, more nuanced understanding of the story, the writer, and Jesus Himself. Very cool.
I'm not directly in charge of much this year, and with our pastor away, I think there will be lots of indian chiefs on duty, so I will be happy to do the behind-the-scenes work; making sure the Magnifikids are out and the lilies that get delivered to the rectory are all brought over to the church, and to be present to the people in ways that our priests can't be, while they're busy getting ready to try not to get the new translation wrong.
It's supposed to be pretty gloomy at church this week, but it's hard to focus on the bad news while behind the sanctuary, the flowers are being gathered, the decorations are being readied, the preparations for our Easter baptism are being made, and I'm planning the Easter Sunday menu for our day of rest and recovery. We'll be ready to collapse by Saturday night at 10, after having worked all day but hanging in there to clean the church one more time after the Vigil.
I love this week- Scott says it's the Super Bowl of the Church. But this week, we know how the story ends, we know the Good News, and we can't help but get ready to celebrate.

Pen Envy

Today to celebrate my finishing of my graduate project (and with it, graduate school!) I bought myself some snazzy black pens. I love a good pen. When I was in college, if I was blue, I'd buy myself some chocolate and a nice black pen. Over the years I've had favorite pens that I used from start to finish- from brand-new to the last drop of ink. I am not a big fan of ball points with their blobs every couple of lines, and I prefer my pen not to be so inky that it leaks through the paper, but I love a good, dark, smooth line. I still have a few ball points that I bought when my college went out of business, with the name of the school screen-printed on them, and I treasure them.
When I was a kid, I asked for fountain pens on more than one birthday list, and got a few over the years. They weren't as exciting as I'd expected, because I found that you don't have to dip them in wells anymore, and they don't come with feathers. Still, it felt cool to own and write with them.
Every time I need to write something down, there's a conscious decision as to the right pen for the job, even if it's just writing a post-it-note. I loooooove a good pen.
Photo credit to another pen-obsessed blogger!

Silent Reading Time

I just came back from a silent, directed retreat! It was my first time. Outside of dinner on Friday night and two meetings with my director (who, have I mentioned, is an angel) I was silent and loved it. At first it was hard not to be friendly, but then it was so lovely to not have to think of small talk, or to be able to sit and stare out the window without anyone wanting to know what's wrong. SO lovely. I hung out in my room a lot, which no one said was un-sociable, because no one cared, and if they did, they couldn't say so. An introvert's dreeeeeam.
I read three books, which I could almost have imagined that the authors met across time and space to write for me, for this weekend. Here's what I read:

Still: Notes on a Mid-Faith Crisis, by Lauren Winner, of Girl Meets God (another great book). She talks about the middle time of faith, after the rosy glow of conversion wears off. She lost touch with God after a divorce and her mother's death, and while my crisis was of a different nature, I could relate to a lot of what she said. And, she writes like I write, or at least like I think, so she's fun and comforting to read. She's nerdy about faith in the same way I am. I really enjoyed it and did a lot of underlining.


The Personal Vocation: Transformation in Depth Through the Spiritual Exercises by Herbert Alphonso. I have never done the Spiritual Exercises, but heck, I might someday, and now I'm ahead of the game. He talks about defining God's revelation to you personally, and knowing your purpose through what you know about God. He's kind of folksy, but really got to the heart of what I was seeking this weekend.




Life of the Beloved by Henri Nouwen. My first Nouwen book. He wrote it specifically for someone, but it was so for me. He talks about reclaiming our role as the beloved that was ours even before we were born. He talks about being taken (chosen), blessed, broken, and given. Beautiful and moving. I found this one in the library at the retreat center, and considered stealing it. Instead I read it in one big gulp.




And,
Before we even started I found this magazine in the library and read the article called "Feeling with God: Participation in Incarnation" by Allan Schnarr, Ph.D. and as boring as that sounds, it was life-changing. I want Allan Schnarr, Ph.D. to be my therapist. Wowsers.





If you ever get a chance to take a silent retreat, I recommend it. I'm feeling great peace and confidence that I was sorrily lacking before, and a renewed understanding of who I am to God, and what that means for my life. I don't know what will happen for you, but you'll never know until you try. I showed up there at 3:01, anxious to start, and today I wanted to run back to my life. I feel great and strong again. S'good.

Only a Cat

When I opened my eyes this morning, I was already sad. I couldn't decide if I should stay in bed and delay the day's start, or just get it over with. I'd checked on Pip during the night, at about 3:30, and finding her the same as she'd been earlier I put a blanket over her and cried myself back to sleep.
She's not been herself only for about two weeks now- when we took her to the vet they said she had bad numbers which meant very little kidney function. We took her home with an IV bag and Scott heroically administered subcutaneous fluids every couple of days. Pip didn't like it but was a good and patient soldier. Today she was more draggy than usual- I found her in the corner of the dining room, silently hiding but not out of sight. At her worst, she hides in the very back corner, almost out of reach, but this morning she was where we could find her, and throughout the morning Scott and I took turns sitting with her and telling her we love her.


















We made an appointment for 1:30, as we were due at a meeting at work at 11, but since we couldn't stop crying anyway we called out from work and made the appointment earlier. I read up on what happens when you put a cat to sleep, so I could feel more prepared, and after a lovey time together on the dining room floor, we put her in the carrier and took her to the vet.
Her mother, Zarley, is an odd duck- a little bit crazy and also in renal failure, but a little too "special" to feel the effects, I guess. Zarley isn't the empathic type, like Pip was. This morning I came around the corner just in time to see that Pip had gotten to her feet, walked over to where Zarley lay nearby, and put her head down near her. I snapped a fuzzy picture of their last moment together.



















At the vet, we were those people you watch in the lobby, crying and clutching their carrier and trying to make reassuring sounds to their cat. The hospital staff knew we were coming, took us in sweetly and treated us with kindness and compassion. Pip went to sleep in my arms, a sweet honor she paid me, letting me hold her in her last moment. She had never liked to be held.
We agonized over what to do with her. We had options, but we chose to bring her home and bury her ourselves. The process was strangely comforting- I was afraid it would be so awful- but it felt honorable, and it feels better to have her near us in some way, rather than the alternative. We can see the spot where we buried her from our windows. Zarley seems a bit confused (but then, she always seems a little bit confused) and Scott and I have wandered around the house sniffling and crying and trying to distract ourselves.
This is St. Joseph's feast day- our own patron saint, who we have always asked to look after our little family. Our tradition is to go to Mass on St. Joe's day, but we missed it today, for the first time in our marriage. We visited a St. Joseph Parish nearby and prayed at the St. Joseph statue, where suddenly I was crying not just for Pip but for our little lost babies- none of whom we met or got to know like we had our Pipper. We cried for all the losses we have felt in our little family, and we prayed for St. Joseph to keep us in his prayerful care.
Now we're back home and trying to stop crying, reminding ourselves that she was only a cat, but holding each other close because sadness is sadness. And we are sad.

addicted/obsessed

I have spent the last week cycling back and forth between these two songs on my iphone, I don't know what they have in common but I can't stop listening to them. Join me.
NOTE: weirdly, blogger cuts off the right side of the videos, so do go to Youtube to see them in their full awesomeness, mm?

7 Quick Takes, Long and Random Edition.

What? So it's not Friday. Let's agree to overlook this detail.

1) So, I passed my defense and I'm officially done with grad school! As of graduation day, I'll have a Masters of Education in Religious Education with a Concentration in Total Community Catechesis. Or, an MEd in RE with TCC, for short. I'm pretty psyched to be done, and yes, proud that I did this. No one at my high school graduation would ever have imagined I'd end up with this many letters, including myself. I only went to college by the hair on my chinny chin chin. Still, I did a pretty decent job there and here I am today, all mastered up.
2) I'm in a dark night of the soul, and deep. I don't think the word "night" quite covers it, it's been a while and something I've suffered through in varying degrees at different times. At the end of this month I'm heading off on a silent retreat (directed, blessedly, by my own spiritual director, who is both a saint AND an angel) and I have to tell you, the impending silence is a little scary. I imagine I'll have to do a lot of listening for God's voice, and that'll be a change, considering my prayer life with God is more like this, with Dr. Evil as me, and Scott as God:

Still, I know it's time to face up to God and what the heck God wants for and of me. As nervous as I am about the retreat, I also feel like it's an island I'm swimming toward.
3) Meanwhile, our cats are dying. Our oldest, Zarley, is 18 and in renal failure but rebounding nicely, for some unknown reason- my best guess is that she is too... "special..." to die. Zarley's always had issues, but she's a love. Pip, who's 16 or 17 now, is sicker, more suddenly, with renal failure. We know we're in our last months with them, and it's so weirdly shocking to think of life without them. We've been together nearly half my life now, and they've seen me through a lifetime roller coaster of emotions. We want to be good to them and responsible, and we're hoping it'll be a peaceful process and that when the time comes, we'll know what to do. In the meantime, we have an IV bag hanging from the pot rack in our kitchen and a baggy full of needles so that Scott can heroically give Pip fluids subcutaneously every few days. He is my hero and a wonderful kitty-daddy. I know, I know.
4) And meanwhile, I've started training to be a Hospice vigil volunteer. We'll eventually be on call to sit with people in their last hours/minutes, if they don't have anyone to sit with them as they die, or to be there if the family can't be. I'm honored and intrigued to be part of this organization and process. The first week, we heard about the dying process and Hospice's philosophy and mission, and the second week, we heard from a nurse about infectious diseases we might catch. I learned that you should never put your pocketbook down on a soft surface in someone's home, and that you can catch Hepatitis from sushi. Still, I'd rather die from a sushi-related disease than go without it for the rest of my life.
5) In order to be a vigil volunteer, we first have to be direct care volunteers for six months, regularly visiting with people who have less than 6 months to live. Honestly this sounds much more foreboding than being with an actively dying person. How's that for introversion???
6) So now I am on the other side of the volunteering process, and I'm learning a lot about what it's like to be the one volunteering instead of the one looking for volunteers. I really feel called to this volunteer work, for whatever reason. At the first information meeting, they let us know we'd need 9 weeks of training, plus six months of volunteering, plus some more training, and TB testing, and would have to fill out an application and have an interview. There was a minute when I thought "bait and switch!!!" and there have been many minutes when I have thought "I'll see how tonight goes and then decide if I'll go on" but now there's this momentum that is part my wanting to serve, and part my wanting to finish where I started, and partly my wondering what God is calling me to through this.
7) Again, my Lent is a bit of a wash. I had given up rolling my eyes, and have found that as it turns out, I don't roll them all that much. So far, I've not stopped myself from doing it, but I am more aware. I had also given up Bejeweled Blitz, which I'm finding surprisingly hard, and had decided to start walking to daily Mass in the mornings, as I've done in Lents past. But Mass on that first Thursday was too hard for me spiritually, being all DNOTS-ing and all, and my schedule has been crazy. I think the other problem is I'm leading (and reading) a Gospel of Mark BS (that's Bible Study! Come on!) and Mark is all, "the sabbath is for humans, not the other way around" and love over law and all that. Mark always derails my Lents. In all seriousness, I'm doing some serious exploration of the idea of suffering, and what it's about, and that makes it tricky to volunteer for it.

See, now that I'm not in school anymore I can't write enough. Thanks for your patience and good wishes (on Facebook) and all that. And no, I'm pretty sure I won't be going for a PhD. Wouldn't that be a hoot though? Ha!

Famous Last Words (or, Plumb Unlucky)

Last weekend, I glibly wrote this for my column in our bulletin:
This weekend, as I was resting up and trying to shake off a new Spring cold, I heard Scott start to yell from the kitchen. He kept saying “OH NO!!! The ceiling!!! There’s a leak!!” I ran in to see that indeed, there was not just a leak – it was raining in our kitchen! Some work had been done in the upstairs bathroom that week, and that meant water that was supposed to be upstairs, ended up downstairs.
It was a complete mess. We grabbed every piece of Tupperware we have and placed them on the floor to catch the drips, and waited for the landlord to come. In preparation for the workers who will replace the ceiling this week, we moved everything out that we could, and covered the rest with plastic or sheets, in hopes to keep the dust from the construction controlled. But for me, the hardest
part of it all was that I had to take down the many pictures we have on our “wall of love.” The wall of love started with a few pictures, but each year it has grown to cover a whole wall in the corner of our kitchen. All the Christmas card photos of our friends end up on that wall, and I often stand there with a cup of coffee in my hand, looking at the faces of the people that I love and feeling thankful for their presence
on my wall and in my life. So I mourned a little, pulling down all those
pictures before the water could ruin them. I could put them back once everything is dry and fixed, but it'll never be the same.
The more I think about it, the more I like the idea of starting over. The wall is totally blank, just empty space, but I know that by the time Christmas cards start coming again, I’ll have plenty of loving faces to look at over my coffee.
I feel this way about Lent. I give up things that I love every year – not because I want to force myself to mourn, but because I know God will fill my empty places. Feeling the absence makes me appreciate the blessings that come to fill my blank slate. Stripping away some good things reminds me that so many others are without love, and I appreciate the love that I have in my life even more intensely. It’s good for me to return to baseline every year, and build up again from there. I grow deeper in trust from the loss, and deeper in gratitude for the luxury of having something so good to give up.
How’s your Lent going so far? What have you stripped away, so that God can fill in? Even if you still haven’t started yet, it’s not too late. This week, watch as God returns to you what you offer up to Him.

Well I did take all the pictures down, but I saved out four that I decided to keep up. The carpenters came during the week and rebuilt the ceiling, and we put everything back into place, and wouldn't you know it, the ceiling busted open again. I am, as I type, listening to a combination of dripping and plumbing work going on. Our whole house is disrupted, and my day is off to a dry (read: no shower, no toilet!) start. And those four pictures? They were just barely saved from this latest rainstorm.
And that reminded me of Lent too. It made me think that I choose my sacrifices pretty carefully; I'll give up this but I'm definitely keeping that. I don't feel called to give up on that this year. Haven't I sacrificed enough?
Now, I should say that while I get the idea of sacrifice (I really do, you don't have to comment and teach me) and I'm all for it, I also remember that Jesus said the Sabbath is made for us, not the other way around... I don't think sacrificing should be just for the sake of sacrificing. I don't think God rained... rain down upon my four treasured pictures just to prove an ascetic point to me.
It's just that it reminded me that I don't have all the answers, that I can't control my life experience nor my faith experience. And it reminded me that my faith and my beliefs will always be tested- so if I'm going to go off teaching about God through my experience, I'd better be prepared to re-write my lesson plans now and again.
I do have a propensity to try to see challenges as spiritual exercises (although not so much lately as my spiritual muscles have been pretty taxed) and this is no different. Today I'll have to wait to get to work to poop, and I'll hope my hair doesn't look to awful and that no one will be able to smell... ahem, tell, that I've not showered today. And when I feel uncomfortable, I'm going to try to remind myself about those people who haven't showered in a while, who don't know when or where they'll be able to poop next, people who are turned away because they smell... and I'll remind myself to be thankful for all I have.

Simple Woman's Daybook

FOR TODAY 2/25/12
Outside My Window... the wind is blowing like crazy. Scott has taken the curtains down from the living room windows to wash them, so I have a great view of the bare branches bobbing around in this crazy wind. New neighbors are moving in upstairs, so I can hear them chatting and bumping things around. Under the leaves that cover our little gardens, I know there are green shoots coming up- and there are some nice buds on our lilac tree. Spring is battling it out with Winter, and my vote is with Spring. Go Spring!
I am thinking... about the Church- Today John Moe tweeted this: "I know I love public radio: I often find it infuriating, I'm often deeply fond, I always want to change it. I'm never indifferent." I can relate! I find this Church so frustrating and discouraging, and full of hope. I love it and I hate it, and want to stay and want to go. It's a tortured love affair.
I am thankful for... my spiritual director! This woman, who I found through a dear friend, has helped me hang in there for several years now. She points me back to prayer, to conversation with God. She has great insights into my spiritual nature that can pull me back from the brink of real despair. She is a cheerleader and comforter, and I can't help but wonder where my faith would be without her after all this time.
From the kitchen... I'm simmering chili in the crockpot! Yum!
I am wearing... pa-jamas. Natch. But to be fair, I'm fighting off a little cold, so you know what they say: swaddle a cold.
I am creating... not much. I'm between drafts of my grad project, and in the meantime, I'm journaling a lot, after a long time of not writing about things that were going on, since I couldn't blog about it all. But last night I worked with the rest of our staff to create some delicious soup and a good night of fellowship at the parish. We started Soup and Stations as a way to bring people together during Lent, and encourage participation in the stations of the cross, and to help parish ministry groups promote their work. Each year since we've started, the staff has kicked off the first night, and it's always fun. This year we were without our dear friend Anna, who used to bring the "pickies" (snacks) that we'd eat while we cook, along with some good wine. And our pastor, who usually stirs and entertains us, is away on sabbatical. I love this program, and our staff, and the people who came to eat and pray. And the soup we made (Scott and me, that is) was the best. Here's the recipe.
I am going... ton a silent retreat. I've never been on one before (silent, that is) and I'm both looking forward to it, and dreading it. I've been doing a pretty strong job at not listening to God very closely, so I'm a little worried about a whole weekend of silence. At the same time, I feel a lot like it's an island I'm swimming to. I imagine that as soon as I get there, I'll sit down and take a deep breath, and really revel in the solitude (all the while missing Scotty). It's hard to know how it will be, but I'm game.
I am reading... I'm between books! I just finished the Hunger Games series, and that last book is a tough one- really brutal. I actually put it down for a few weeks, but wanted to finish it and get it over with. I am looking forward to the movie, but am wondering if/how they'll portray the third. Wow. I'm ready for some lighter reading. I did just buy Still by Lauren Winner. Might be good retreat reading...
I am hoping... this cold wears off quickly. Maybe I should do another dose of emergen-c. I slept about 12 hours last night, was in bed at 9:30. This is very unusual for me, but I needed it, bad. And I could use a nap.
I am hearing... wind. Lots and lots of wind.
Around the house... Scott is preparing to paint the living room. He has self-diagnosed cabin fever. I'll be sequestered to the bedroom once he starts, which is okay, because... I need a nap.
One of my favorite things... is the pair of slippers I'm wearing right now. Scott and I bought them for each other, matching pairs in different colors, the year we got married. They have our initials on them! And the bottoms are so worn that they're shiny. I've gone to and through new pairs of slippers since these came into my life, (including a yummy warm fleecy pair my sisters gave me and I wore out) but I love these slippers.
A Few Plans For The Rest Of The Week: archdiocesan pastoral planning stuff, meetings, and lots of lenten stuff. Tis the season.
Here is picture thought I am sharing:
the aforementioned shoots! Hooray for Spring!

Let's go!

Well, here I am crying at my desk. It has been a stressful time, but I just ran across this video of Mike Yaconelli, and it's given me goosebumps. Remember this stuff? Remember this feeling? When I started in youth ministry, we were all so brave, and full of excitement. We were on fire for kids, and for God and for the Church and we were so ready to make things happen. At that time, we hadn't even imagined anything like the sex abuse scandal, and the time of paranoia that has followed. We hadn't tasted the kind of fear we know today, and we were able to say "I love teenagers!!!" without some tiny percent of ourselves whispering "oh, does that sound wrong? Creepy? Can I say that? What will people think?"

I wonder what Mike would say about the state we find ourselves in today, suddenly facing a time when we'll be competing with the far to few of us that there are for the jobs in this archdiocese that only ever paid enough for someone to live very simply, or be married to someone with a "real job" anyway. We're looking ahead at a time of taking on the difficult task of trying to hang on to people, forget reaching out to people. We're starting to see a future of traveling between three or four church buildings to try and bring unity among three or four communities, even while realizing that we left our laptop at the other church. Our pensions may be gone, and that matters. Our diocesan offices are decimated, and limping. There is competitiveness and suspicion between the employees of this organization. We are in survival mode.

So when I stumbled across this video today it stirred something inside my too afraid, too academic, too safe, too lazy soul. I want this energy again. I want to say the things Mike says here, I want to go full tilt bore into brave, courageous ministry that begets brave, courageous future ministers. Who's with me?