Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, who, I am sorry to learn, does not like leftovers for breakfast. Read the whole tragic childhood tale by clicking the photo:
The Fulwilinator is on leave . . . will Larry finally seize power, or will SuperGirl Hallie Lord keep him at bay?
1.
You’ll never guess where I saw the words Sursum Corda last Friday, when I was busy not getting my seven takes up on time for that other person.
Which means: I gave somebody a little bit of wrong information. Nuts. But I also gave a lot of correct information. For example, you would have found it in this book – p. xxvii. And others like it.
2.
But you know, if you google the words Sursum Corda + Pope Benedict, you get a lot of hits. Is it my fault I spend too much time on the Internet reading this stuff until it becomes one giant jumble of confused trivia? Wait, don’t answer that.
3.
You may have noticed that adolescent boys don’t necessarily google these same topics. Which is why I have begun a massive print propaganda campaign, in which I subscribe to the publications I think my child should read, then leave them on the bathroom counter for him to discover when he’s hiding from his math homework.
Might I add that Catholic Answers, Envoy, OSV and The Register run some seriously good articles? It is as if all the stuff you read for free online is not the very best of contemporary Catholic writing, and that there is value to be had in paying writers for their work. I never guessed.
Funnix is running the free-download program again. I don’t see the deadline, but I’m going to guess it is only during February. (They did this last year. Thank you kind phonics people. Also thank you to my internet acquaintance Cynthia for pointing me and other moms to the link.) I have no particularly opinion on the program other than that some people like it and, look! free!
2.
I’ve entered this new special time in my life as an internet person, when I receive not just spam, but Catholic Spam. It’s sorta weird. But here’s the unsettling part: Sometimes I really cannot tell if I’ve gotten a Catholic-Spam Troll Form Letter, or if there’s a human who knows me (if only via a blog) and is trying to communicate useful information, but has accidentally written an e-mail that has the look-n-feel of Spamalot.
So anyway, the PSA is this: If you are a real live person who wanted to share a link or tell me about your great works, and the first time you e-mailed me it got lost in cyberspace and you never ever heard anything . . . just e-mail me again? Okay? With some extra words this time that maybe tell me how you know me (this blog, or the CWG, or you’re a friend of my friend’s cousin’s uncle-in-law, or whatever) and anything else that would help establish yourself as a sentient creature who knows my name.
Thanks!
4.
What kind of dog is this?
A stray dog. Possibly a lucky dog. Well, lucky whether he ends up here or moves to the local no-kill, where I’m sure he’ll find a home because he is both cute and nice. If energetic. My facebook friends are voting Jack Russell, with maybe some Fox Terrier or Bull Terrier. Any other votes?
5.
A few months ago I subscribed to the Jimmy Akin Secret Info Club. Yes, yes, of course it exists to help the man sell books. He writes good books. And no, the information is not truly secret . . . in the sense that comes from sources that people treat as classified documents but actually you are allowed to read them, such as the Bible, or the Catechism, or the writings of the Church fathers.
But hey, it’s a handy little newsletter. About once a month I get a short e-mail that is a refresher on some topic related to the faith — for example this month’s was on private vs. public revelation. Nothing earth-shattering, but sort of a continuing-ed workshop delivered straight your inbox. Worth checking out.
6.
It’s that time again. Allie Hathaway. Pray.
7.
If you like to write, go register for the Catholic Writers Conference Online. No, really. Even if you aren’t Catholic*. It is free, open to the public, and you can participate as much or as little as you like. Which means if you discover you hate it or you’d rather be learning something else that week, nothing lost. Because remember, free?
Registration closes . . . I’m not sure when. I thought March 1, but I don’t see the date, so I can’t be 100% sure. But look if you obey your local blogger and just sign up right now, it won’t matter when registration closes.
So what’s the catch?
You would be, in your own small way, cooperating with the mission of the Catholic Writers Guild. Which is to fill the world with more better writers.
*It is like attending any Catholic school, you have to be polite and not say mean things in class. But whereas the specific mission of the CWG is to promote Catholic writing and publishing, the online conference includes topics of interest to any writer. If you read here, you totally have what it takes to attend the online conference and enjoy it.
Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy. It was time for a new theme picture, and I thought it should fit the reality of Larry’s attempts at Internet Conquest:
There is no escaping the girl power, Larry.
1.
St. Barbara:
This is a close-up of my friend Sandra’s Icon of St. Barbara that she painted for a fundraising auction. You can see the whole thing at her art page. FYI, this is a pic of the almost-completed icon, I think she still had some details to work on when this was shot.
Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, who is proof dark lords must have many skills.
It's still the New Year. I know because I keep writing the wrong date on my checks.
1.
There’s a short list of things I can only do with 100% concentration:
Clean my desk.
Order a new toner cartridge.
Read Pope Benedict.
I’m sure there are others, but those are the one’s I’ve noticed.
2.
Which is why it is taking me 10,000 years to get my review done for this book:
So I’ll just tell you it’s a good book. At least, the first half is.
–> But last week, St. Alphonsus Liguori was our saint for the chapter for religious ed, and of course I knew he was going to rock, but I secretly thought he might be a boring saint, but look, he’s a Doctor of the Church, and hey I have this partly-read book and maybe he’s in it. Sure enough, yes, Liguori rocks. Seriously cool saint. Definite patron-to-catechists action going on.
Funny story though: I always research our saints because usually kids prefer a good re-telling with lots of dramatic (but censored) details, and I didn’t want to show up at class and just read from the textbook. But I told the kids to flip to the page in their book with the big picture so they’d have something to look at . . . and they just wanted to read aloud. So I let them.
3.
Today I discovered one thing I can do with a steady flow of distraction and interruption: Work on the homeschooling book. Indeed, sitting on the couch staring at the backs of two children who have to be watched constantly in order to get their homework done? It practically inspires.
I think I can knock out a 1,000 words a day just between 11am and noon, after littles have been sent to recess, and I’m sitting there playing overseer to the big people.
3.5
The other thing I do to keep from going barking mad while kids are doing school homework and can’t really be left alone but also don’t need help the whole time? Mindless cleaning jobs.
Which is how I finally got around to asking what I’d started to ask last time I attempted to clean the porch: “Why do we have a bread bag full of dirt stuffed in a pillowcase?”
Dark pleasures of homeschooling parents: Listening from the other room as your spouse valiantly tries to help a child with his homework . . . and noting that your spouse, too, is on the verge of breaking into swear words.
2.
Who took the dry-erase marker off my refrigerator? I need it because . . .
3.
Middle of the dark I wake up with busy-brain. I hear the neighbor’s truck outside. Must be getting near dawn. Which means: Stay still. Do not go to living room and read The Doctors of the Church for a bit to settle down. DO NOT GET A DRINK OF WATER.
Because: I need an undisturbed waking temp. Need.
Need.
***
I lay there a while. I wonder if the truck I heard was not my neighbor but the people who go around breaking into cars. I wonder if those people ever did read the Teacher’s Manual they stole last time. I wonder if the SuperHusband set his car alarm so that we’ll know when the car-breakers are opening his minivan whose side doors only open when the vehicle is locked and the alarms are set. I wonder what the car-breakers will think of the giant load of junk filling the back of my truck. Do they want old children’s games with missing pieces?
No, it is not the car-breakers, because the neighbor starts his truck up again and begins moving it around the yard. He does this. He loves backing up. Precisely. He has to back up many times.
And then he drives off, and it is silent. And still very dark. I worry: Is it actually close to waking-up time? Or is it the middle of the night and my neighbor is doing his late-night things that he sometimes does? Nuts if I’ve been laying here all quiet and still with no drink of water and no prospect of sleep, and it’s actually 1 am and not 6 am. I wonder why I have no clock on my side of the bed. About three times a year, I want one.
***
I give up. Grab thermometer, head to living room. Yay: 6:45. Double-Yay: 99.0.
One of these years my kids will understand why they sometimes find summer-weather temperatures written on the door of the fridge in the middle of January.
At least it isn't Saturday. I could have done worse.
1.
The bookshelves are in! People say my library method makes sense! Or at least haven’t complained! The countertops still need to be finished. Photo coming sometime after that.
2.
If you have an e-mail sitting in my inbox, yes I will reply soon. I’ve been sidetracked by regular life.
3.
Cleaning my house. Yes, really. That’s what I’ve been doing all week.
4.
Because Lent is only 40 days away. And this year for Lent, our family is going to Clean Up After Ourselves.
5.
It’s not that we’re slobs. It’s that I can write a sentence beginning with, “It’s not that we’re slobs,” and no one senses any kind of irony or sarcasm there. They await some other explanation, thinking skeptically, “This better be good.”
But let’s just clarify right now: I could never ever qualify for one of those slovenliness reality shows. We do like order and cleanliness. We do. Almost obsessively, in some pursuits. But housekeeping? There’s always another project that’s just a little bit more pressing.
You know all those movies where they tell you to slow down and enjoy life? Or spend more time with your family? Or focus on __________ that really counts? We should be banned from those movies. We need the movie where the family-centered protagonists have an amazing revelation about their misplaced priorities, and learn it might be okay to put dishes straight into the dishwasher after dinner.
6.
But you can wait just a second before you put away that glass, and say a quick prayer for Allie Hathaway.
7.
So we’re having a Carnival of Cleanliness, in an effort to make Lent less penitential than it otherwise would be. You remember that line in A Mother’s Rule of Life, where she mentions in passing that before you begin, make sure there’s A Place For Everything, and Everything In It’s Place? Yeah, we’ve been working on that sentence for half a decade now. And we’re close. So close.
Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, who is just going to have to shut his eyes, or else pretend he’s a mom-blogger. Why isn’t there a vast network of dad-bloggers? Because what exactly is the guy equivalent of these topics below?
We're still cleaning up after the party here. Click for links to the responsible people.
1.
The in-laws called to find out why I’d posted a link to the Baby Name Wizard in Facebook. Was there something they should know? Yes. My nine-year-old had to write a piece of historical fiction as part of her Caddie Woodlawn literature study. She picked depression-era. I pointed her to the name wizard because I had this sneaking feeling “Kaitlyn” wasn’t such a period name. She’s found her new tool. Those graphs. They are addictive.
2.
Take, read.Betty Beguiles has a free e-booklet out: Dressing with Intention. I completely 100% recommend it. Excellent advice for building a workable wardrobe that you can afford. Accountant-approved. Short, readable, encouraging, spot-on absolutely right. You cannot get better than that. Stop now and click the link, then come back later to finish here.
3.
My friend Sandra sent me these pics:
She’s thinking of sewing her wedding dress along these lines. Is that not seriously cool? I told her to do it. No question. She has serious Jane-power going on, so it will be fabulous.
(Do you understand how relieved I am when I learn that someone I really like is also a Jane Austen fan? I mean, yes, I have a couple very dear friends who don’t get the Jane-thing, and we adapt and focus on our common ground. But see, this is why there are more mom-bloggers. Because we can talk not just about Jane Austen, but about dressing like Jane Austen, and how our friendships are affected by Jane Austen . . . you begin to see. Football is not the same. Not.)
3.5
Not always, but sometimes, when your daughter is in the Pit of Oppression over things that she can’t control and really are upsetting, even though no one else seems to understand that, but being nine is Not As Easy As People Say, the best thing is to put the littles to bed, pop a giant pot of popcorn, fire up the DVD player and watch
The bookshelves in the living room are halfway installed. (The “during” picture is too depressing. Sorry no photo.) SuperHusband complains that my method for organizing books is incomprehensible. I was determined to load these new shelves in some orderly way that even an engineer could understand. I’m already having trouble. Hrmph.
2.
We found a long lost library book! Someone had helpfully shelved Changes for Kit in the magazine file for Invention and Technology. I don’t know why I didn’t think to look there.
3.
Do you know what I hate about submitting work to editors I don’t know? Wondering if they even received it. New experience for me this year. In the past I’ve always written for people who had already hired me to do the writing. People you could just e-mail or pop into their office and ask, “Did you get my thing? Let me know when you’ve had a chance to look at it.” And it’s not pestering, because those people know you and wanted your work and told you exactly what they wanted. They aren’t dreading looking to see what you’ve sent.
(Strangers rightly dread. With people you don’t know? You just don’t know.)
So of course the solution to the wait-a-thon is to move on to the next project, which is easy enough when you are too busy anyway. And then it’s helpful to already have a back-up plan for “What will I do if this editor isn’t interested?”. Again, pretty easy.
But at 5AM when you wake up with a busy brain, and you feel bad about always using The Doctors of the Church as your insomnia remedy, because you know it’s going to influence your book review unfairly? That’s when the weird fears kick in: “What if my submission got lost in the spam filter?” “What if I accidentally did something that causes me to look like a completely different kind of idiot than the one I actually am? Because the one I am, an editor can work with, but maybe I came across like a different, less-manageable kind?”
The solution to that is to think up more likely and less ominous reasons, such as, “The editor has a lot of other work to do.”
But I also think up other things, like, “Maybe his farm was hit by a tornado,” or, “Maybe she’s come down with a pox and won’t be able to work for a month.” Which leads to a weird prayer life revolving around things like, “If my editor’s house has fallen into a sinkhole, please let everyone be okay, and console him with Your peace, and let my file be safely stored at the office where he’ll eventually get to it sometime this spring.”
UPDATE: But it is so lovely when you get an e-mail back saying, “My house did not fall into a sinkhole.” (Actually it said, “Thanks, got it, we’ll get back to you.” )
4.
My typoese is getting weirder than ever. I begin to suspect a rogue “auto-correct” function.
5.
Mr. Boy’s been having a hard time waking up lately. Winter + Night Owl + Early Adolescence + School Is Not Fun = Low Motivation. SuperHusband has started rousing him from bed to take the dog for a brisk walk as soon as it’s fully light out. The first day he went straight back to bed after and slept two more hours. Second day I cleared a work area for him in front of a window that gets direct sun all morning. He hates it. But it works.
Also I am working on dimming the lights after dinner so it isn’t so bright inside at a night. Jon bought the house in the mid-90’s. Early this century he managed to diagram most of the wiring. I am still being surprised by which switch does what.
6.
Good news! Allie Hathaway’s gotten 2nd and 3rd opinions that offer a much better prognosis. (And they agree with each other and seem to be the real thing. Yay.) Alleluia. Thank you for praying. Don’t stop.
7.
Why is it that we act as if we’re omniscient, when we know that we are not? We kick ourselves for guessing wrong about this investment or that career choice, or the new outfit or the right haircut. Even when we had honestly made the effort to make a good decision. Even when we cannot know the outcome of our decision, because it involves events beyond our control, or variables that can only be known with time.
And then we are mortified by the ignorance and immaturity our younger selves — selves who had no way of knowing what can only be learned by time and experience. And note: Those of us still breathing are, still, younger selves.
It’s nonsense. Bad habit. Rooted in bad theology no less. I wonder if it’s easier to quit than the complaining thing?
Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, who is willing to count me among his minions, even though I’m also one The Jen F.’s minions, even if I did forget my 7 takes last Friday because I didn’t remember it was Friday. Nice thing about Fridays is you get a new one every week.
1.
The people I’m trying to be nicer to are not helping me. You who chew with your mouths closed? I have no difficulty being nice to you. It is the people who pick fights at the breakfast table. Those people. I’ve had to switch acts of contrition, not just because I blank out in the confessional so I need something short and easy, but also because, well, I can’t exactly avoid “whatever leads me to sin”. No sense pretending. I think my pastor gets it. He can’t avoid me all the time either.
2.
Speaking of bad influences: I was having some trouble with the new Mass translation at first, not because it isn’t beautiful and everything, but because the first time I heard “like the dewfall” during the consecration, I giggled. Not out loud. But my lips sort of twitched. I hope everyone else was looking at the altar. My trouble is the people I spend my days with. They are so . . . juvenile. It rubs off.
3.
This morning I read the wrong day’s Mass readings. The page marked in my missal had both January 3 and January 4 on it, and did I know what day it was? No. I didn’t even wonder. I just read. But hey, you have good stuff to look forward to tomorrow.
–> First let’s just admit it, 1st John can be a little overwhelming, hmmn? Even if it does fit right in with that whole “resolutions” theme we’re all talking about. But I like this bit here, I think makes a good hinge for the could-be scrupler:
It was to undo all that the devil has done, that the Son of God appeared.
So that’s my consolation when I read in Psalm 97, “Let the rivers clap their hands,” and my brain goes all middle-school on me, not in a good way. But look, here’s a nice river picture to clean the imagination:
The funny thing about poetry and photography, is that they aren’t like the real world. Rivers don’t have hands that clap. If you stand in the Narrows of Zion Canyon, this picture is not what you see. The water isn’t all pearly and shiny. It’s wet and icy cold, and you aren’t thinking about how it looks (normal old water), you are thinking: Snowmelt. And the walls of the canyon are not so flat and washed out; they surround you, and make you forget the entire rest of the world, and you can touch them, and you would never have believed in them if you had not seen them yourself.
But people like the photo. I think because the shiny-pearly water makes it feel like fairlyand. Like rivers with hands that clap. Like the world as we know it is supposed to be, if only the wreckage were undone. Which is how you feel standing there in the canyon. You know that whoever made this is so much bigger than you. And entirely able to undo the madness. And that you were meant to be a part of that.
3.5
. . . sidewalks.
Please. Cut it out with the weird car ideas. Just build a sidewalk. A good one. Wide. With proper curb cuts. That goes all the way to store. Just like roads — we don’t build roads that stop abruptly because one of the neighbors didn’t want to cede a right of way, but hey, just drive over the grass and through the ditch, road picks up again in half a block. Real sidewalks. Don’t call yourself an environmentalist, or a fuel-security guru, and then make it impossible for people to walk places.
Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, who has me so well trained I had this ready to go before even finding out if he means to continue. Updated to report: Yes! And check out the stylish Christmas theme:
Click to find out if Larry D. received his underground Lair from Santa this year.
1.
This week we are Bunny-sitting. Cinnamon and Jenny-Bunny look delicious, but they are not for eating. We are working hard to avoid bunny-tragedy. The dog sits at the glass door looking out on the screen porch and whimpers. The cat sneaked in from outside when someone left the screen door open, and there was much bunny-scurrying in the cages. But bunnies remain both safe and entertained, because also on my screen porch is . . .
2.
Ping Pong! I felt un-American, having no ping-pong table all these years. I still don’t, but I talked the 5-year-old into buying a package of balls for her brother for Christmas. (She bought her sisters scented hand lotion; I didn’t think He Who Is Doubtful About Bathing would want the lotion.) I sprung for two paddles. Christmas afternoon we set up my 2×5 folding table on the screen porch — true Table Tennis. Perfect size for children, and for adults who want to sit while they play, plus it is more compact than a regular table. And you don’t feel bad about eating on it. The balls don’t bounce well on the plastic table, so SuperHusband loaned us a sheet of luan plywood to place over top, and that both improved the bounce and gave us the happy ping-ponging sound.
The family is divided between the bitter minority that thinks we must have a net, and the large, superior-reasoning majority who observe that we’d just have 10,000 net balls. Screened porches are the ideal place for ping-pong, because the balls can’t get far. Plus, covered. No rain. But still outside. Children + Balls = Outside.
NEWSBRIEF: LIVE FROM BOY’S BEDROOM: DOGS EAT PING PONG BALLS. Don’t store them in the house. That’s the other reason dog sits whimpering at glass door. All those balls, bouncing back and forth, and that horrid glass between. It is the week of Dog Torment.
3.
Also seen from the living room is this view, which I included in the homeschool photo-fest this past fall not because it had to do with homeschooling, but because I was so excited about my invention.
Taken in warmer months. It is not this green in December.
Here’s what happened:
Our dryer attempted death.
My dryer-repair guy was going to be preoccupied with gainful employment for a while.
No problem. Neglected laundry tree out in the back yard.
Wait. Rain.
Plus mosquitoes.
I’m not complaining just observing.
Did I mention dryer-guy not home to fix dryer?
Meanwhile, we had a patio table out front on the, er, patio. (Actually the driveway, but we don’t drive on that part so we call it The Patio. Pretend with us.) I pulled the umbrella out and stuffed it in the shed, then dragged the table into the screen porch. Placed the umbrella stand in position under the table.
I used tools we don’t want to talk about to dig the laundry tree out by its roots where it was determined to be permanently affixed in the yard. [If I have one superpower, it is furniture-moving. Laundry Tree you met your match.] Put old socks from the cloth bin on the pokey edges of the laundry tree, and very very carefully, with would-have-been-horrified-and-cringing spouse safely away in a neighboring state, erected the laundry tree in the hole in the center of the table where the umbrella used to live.
It works great! The mesh top of the patio-table is perfect for laying things flat to dry. Only caveat is that since the laundry tree is not in the ground, it stands taller than normal. I’m 5’7″ in a pair of sneakers and can reach fine, but it doesn’t work for shorter people. So now I’m commissioning child-height under-eaves laundry lines for the small people, because they seriously need a feedback loop about how much laundry they are generating. Plus, see “Decrepitude”, “Plague”, etc., I would get a much more reliable flow of smug superiority if my ability to hang laundry didn’t depend on standing* quite so much.
I think SuperHusband is willing to take the job, because now the dryer is getting serious about its death threats (it wails pitifully), and it pains the man to spend money on something you technically don’t need, plus costs more money to operate, when all that cash could be spent, on, say, camera lenses. He thinks that if we are serious about hanging out laundry all the time, maybe he can nurse the dryer along a few more years with urgent-case-use only.
3.5
So. Smug superiority. Hanging out your laundry, if you are the grumpy, complaining type, can make you downright peevish towards so-called environmental groups that are advocating for this and that alternative fuel, but can’t be bothered to push a serious campaign to cut American energy usage in very simple ways. Laundry lines being #1. And #2 on the list is
***
Something I’ll rant about next week. Hope your 12 Days are fantabulous — is anyone else having a Chocolate Year of Christmas? I’ve been getting the stuff from everybody. Let me just say: Best gift ever. Okay and single-malt scotch is right up there, but not everyone is the SuperHusband, and plus you don’t have to be so moderate on the chocolate.
.
.
.
.
*If you’ve been sitting on the edge of your chair wondering when on oh when I’ll post the next decrepitude-watch post, the short version is: All is way better than a year ago, not so good as two years ago. Reliably walking maybe 2 miles? And then I can fit in another hour or so of other house-yard-etc activity. Depending on your perspective, that either seems like an extravagant plenty or a laughable pittance. I agree. Anyhow, it is enough to hang laundry, plague not withstanding. I happen to love hanging laundry, so long as I can get the other people to leave me alone while I do it. Silence. It’s all about the silence.
