Good news:
My heart beat isn't normal, but it likes itself just the way it is.
Seriously, my doctor read my EKG today, and she says that as long as I'm not experiencing symptoms (fainting, dizziness, that sort of thing) then there's no immediate danger, and it's probably best not to investigate.
So, the cause remains unknown. I could have been born with it (that seems unlikely,) or a "stress event" could have triggered it. Anyway, lots of people my age live years and years, very productively, with an irregular bee-bop.
Bad news:
My digestive system isn't normal, and it wants the responsible parites (i.e. me) to pay for the playground beatings it received in middle school.
I have gastrointestinitis. Doctor put me on an all-liquid diet and told me that if things didn't clear up over the weekend, I am doomed to undergo a number of uncomfortable procedures.
Colour me perfectly annoyed (but free of life-threatening disease!) Thanks for your prayers, y'all.
March 31, 2006
March 30, 2006
March 28, 2006
Diamonds Are Forever
No they're not! On the last day, they'll turn to dust along with everything else. The only thing that lasts forever is love.
Time for some gentle silliness.
My flatmates and I were walking home from work yesterday evening (I think.) It's a fairly long stroll, and deep things occassionally come up. So, last night, my dear Dani asked me, "why do you want to do this?" This, being, religious life.
I gave her the pat, "It's a calling," response that everyone and their sister's second cousin by marriage can identify with. Then, after some initial prodding, she got me to give the "I'm in love with Jesus," reply, which is, of course, the truer, more complete one.
I always hesitate to give that one out, especially to folks who aren't Christians. Because its such a precious thing, so close to my heart, and I hate the idea that someone would trample on it with rolled eyes and heavy sighs. My dear Dani isn't Christian, but she is a real sweetie, so I shouldn't have been so reticent with her. But anyway, I told her, and felt plenty squishy doing it.
Five seconds after I finished the "I'm in love with Jesus," explaination, Dani stopped in her tracks, bent over, and picked something up from the pavement of the darkened parking lot. It was a diamond engagement ring!
Now, I know this is silly. (Someone obviously misplaced it, and will be putting up "Lost" signs shortly.) But I sort of felt like, after I publicly professed my love, the Lord Jesus was proposing to me! Allthough that doesn't make complete sense, since it wasn't me who found it, the girl standing beside me did.
Anyhow, I thought it was a pretty cute idea. And I smiled all the way to our apartment!
Time for some gentle silliness.
My flatmates and I were walking home from work yesterday evening (I think.) It's a fairly long stroll, and deep things occassionally come up. So, last night, my dear Dani asked me, "why do you want to do this?" This, being, religious life.
I gave her the pat, "It's a calling," response that everyone and their sister's second cousin by marriage can identify with. Then, after some initial prodding, she got me to give the "I'm in love with Jesus," reply, which is, of course, the truer, more complete one.
I always hesitate to give that one out, especially to folks who aren't Christians. Because its such a precious thing, so close to my heart, and I hate the idea that someone would trample on it with rolled eyes and heavy sighs. My dear Dani isn't Christian, but she is a real sweetie, so I shouldn't have been so reticent with her. But anyway, I told her, and felt plenty squishy doing it.
Five seconds after I finished the "I'm in love with Jesus," explaination, Dani stopped in her tracks, bent over, and picked something up from the pavement of the darkened parking lot. It was a diamond engagement ring!
Now, I know this is silly. (Someone obviously misplaced it, and will be putting up "Lost" signs shortly.) But I sort of felt like, after I publicly professed my love, the Lord Jesus was proposing to me! Allthough that doesn't make complete sense, since it wasn't me who found it, the girl standing beside me did.
Anyhow, I thought it was a pretty cute idea. And I smiled all the way to our apartment!
March 27, 2006
Bad News
I went to the doctor.
I told her what my symptoms are and she made a face. Good grief, she said. She proscribed me some Cipro (the famous anti-anthrax stuff) and told me to hop on the exam table.
She wrapped that squeezy thing around my arm, looked at me quizzically, and asked me: "Ever had any trouble with high blood pressure?"
No.
"Let me take your pulse." So she did.
"I have to listen to your chest." So she did. Twice.
"Wait here."
She left, and I assumed she was going to get my Cipro medication. But when she returned, she had this other doctor with her.
Then she listened to my chest, and took my pulse. "Have vou ever had trouble vit your heart? Do you feel like vour heart east bee-ting vierdly?" She had a thick German accent.
They sent me to this ambulance place, and made me strip naked and take this EKG test. Apparently I have "sinus rhythms with frequent premature ventricular complexes." I don't know what that is, but I have to go back again on Friday.
I don't think it's extremely serious, and I'm not too upset, but my parents are. Prayers please.
I told her what my symptoms are and she made a face. Good grief, she said. She proscribed me some Cipro (the famous anti-anthrax stuff) and told me to hop on the exam table.
She wrapped that squeezy thing around my arm, looked at me quizzically, and asked me: "Ever had any trouble with high blood pressure?"
No.
"Let me take your pulse." So she did.
"I have to listen to your chest." So she did. Twice.
"Wait here."
She left, and I assumed she was going to get my Cipro medication. But when she returned, she had this other doctor with her.
Then she listened to my chest, and took my pulse. "Have vou ever had trouble vit your heart? Do you feel like vour heart east bee-ting vierdly?" She had a thick German accent.
They sent me to this ambulance place, and made me strip naked and take this EKG test. Apparently I have "sinus rhythms with frequent premature ventricular complexes." I don't know what that is, but I have to go back again on Friday.
I don't think it's extremely serious, and I'm not too upset, but my parents are. Prayers please.
March 25, 2006
Love Songs
One of my favourite pastimes is to listen to pop music and then assign extremely generous Christian interpretations to the lyrics.
So now I'm convinced that all the classy love songs are not, actually, about romantic affairs, but about God. But come on. Read these lyrics from house-wife hunk Josh Groban's popular CD, Closer, and tell me I'm crazy:
I have been blind
Unwilling
To see the true love
You're giving
I have ignored every blessing
I'm on my knees
Confessing...
That I feel myself surrender
Each time I see your face
I am staggered by your beauty
Your unassuming grace
And I feel my heart is turning
Falling into place
I can't hide
Now hear my confession
I have been wrong about you
I thought I was strong without you
For so long
Nothing could move me
For so long
Nothing could move me
You are the air that I breathe
You're the ground beneath my feet
When did I stop believing?
So now I'm convinced that all the classy love songs are not, actually, about romantic affairs, but about God. But come on. Read these lyrics from house-wife hunk Josh Groban's popular CD, Closer, and tell me I'm crazy:
I have been blind
Unwilling
To see the true love
You're giving
I have ignored every blessing
I'm on my knees
Confessing...
That I feel myself surrender
Each time I see your face
I am staggered by your beauty
Your unassuming grace
And I feel my heart is turning
Falling into place
I can't hide
Now hear my confession
I have been wrong about you
I thought I was strong without you
For so long
Nothing could move me
For so long
Nothing could move me
You are the air that I breathe
You're the ground beneath my feet
When did I stop believing?
March 23, 2006
Things ... are looking up!
Okay. My stomach still hurts. But I'm happy today! I called the mother of Baby 3 weeks ago, asking her to write a recommendation for my convent application. And as the days dripped away, I was beginning to despair of her ever responding.
But this evening, whilst I was bumping along on the dreaded Bus 92, she called me back! And she said yes!
That's great news itself. But now for the icing:
She says Baby 3 remembers me! This happened a couple days ago, right out of the blue:
Baby 3: Where's Baht-sy?
His Mom: Betsy's at school (sort of true.)
Baby 3: I want Baht-sy.
His Mom: Well, Betsy's not here. She's at school.
... Silence ...
Baby 3: I miss Baht-sy.
Soooooooooo cute!
But this evening, whilst I was bumping along on the dreaded Bus 92, she called me back! And she said yes!
That's great news itself. But now for the icing:
She says Baby 3 remembers me! This happened a couple days ago, right out of the blue:
Baby 3: Where's Baht-sy?
His Mom: Betsy's at school (sort of true.)
Baby 3: I want Baht-sy.
His Mom: Well, Betsy's not here. She's at school.
... Silence ...
Baby 3: I miss Baht-sy.
Soooooooooo cute!
March 22, 2006
I Don't Like Doctors
Well, it's not that I don't like them. But I don't like going to them. Being reared among the vast unwashed, un-insured hordes, I was ingrained with the idea that modern medicine is a last resort. In my family, there was no need seen for medicine per se. If a person gets sick, there are two eventualities: the body will either fight off the attack on its own. Or it will die. 99% of the time, there is no need for expensive prescriptions or time consuming appointments. Nature will take its course, and you'll get better.
When I wrote "ouchie," I was fully convinced that I was publishing what might be my final journal entry. Perhaps I was being over-dramatic, but I really felt that way. Because the aching just below my stomach had been going on for more than a week. And the "ouch, this hurts" had turned into a rip-roaring "O-dear-Lord-have-mercy-why-is-there-so-much-blood." (I realize that many of you will consider this information an over-share. Oh well.)
So I, (yes, this is me we're talking about,) was finally going to call a doctor. An ambulance, to be specific. My mother, The Registered Nurse (note all caps,) talked me out of it over the phone.
She had some advice, but I was loathe to follow it. All that kept rushing through my mind was the story of Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, recounted in his little book, As I Lay Dying. (I own it and recommend it.) Struck with stomach pains, he called his doctor and was proscribed a powerful laxative. He took it and nearly killed himself. Turns out he had a tumor in his colon.
Well friends, I doubt I am suffering anything as important as a colon tumor.
A couple days ago, I opened up the fridge, took out my favourite yogurt smoothie, and casually glanced at the expiration date: February 9, 2006. It turns out I've been poisoning myself, daily, with a month-expired dairy product. I'm not very shocked, since the grocery store I shop at is in a poor neighborhood, and is infamous for stocking crummy, cheap, expired food.
I ought to sue that grocery store. But Fr. Neuhaus did not sue the physician who prescribed him that death-dealing laxative.
Of course I chucked the yogurt. If my intestines don't start behaving themselves pretty soon, I will indeed be going to a D-O-C-T-O-R.
When I wrote "ouchie," I was fully convinced that I was publishing what might be my final journal entry. Perhaps I was being over-dramatic, but I really felt that way. Because the aching just below my stomach had been going on for more than a week. And the "ouch, this hurts" had turned into a rip-roaring "O-dear-Lord-have-mercy-why-is-there-so-much-blood." (I realize that many of you will consider this information an over-share. Oh well.)
So I, (yes, this is me we're talking about,) was finally going to call a doctor. An ambulance, to be specific. My mother, The Registered Nurse (note all caps,) talked me out of it over the phone.
She had some advice, but I was loathe to follow it. All that kept rushing through my mind was the story of Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, recounted in his little book, As I Lay Dying. (I own it and recommend it.) Struck with stomach pains, he called his doctor and was proscribed a powerful laxative. He took it and nearly killed himself. Turns out he had a tumor in his colon.
Well friends, I doubt I am suffering anything as important as a colon tumor.
A couple days ago, I opened up the fridge, took out my favourite yogurt smoothie, and casually glanced at the expiration date: February 9, 2006. It turns out I've been poisoning myself, daily, with a month-expired dairy product. I'm not very shocked, since the grocery store I shop at is in a poor neighborhood, and is infamous for stocking crummy, cheap, expired food.
I ought to sue that grocery store. But Fr. Neuhaus did not sue the physician who prescribed him that death-dealing laxative.
Of course I chucked the yogurt. If my intestines don't start behaving themselves pretty soon, I will indeed be going to a D-O-C-T-O-R.
March 19, 2006
The Difference Between the Quran and the Bible
"No one believes purely on his own. We always believe in and with the Church. […] We must, in a manner of speaking, let ourselves fall into the communion of the faith, of the Church. Believing is, in itself, a Catholic act: it is a participation on this great certitude that is present in the living subject of the Church. [...] We know that the Qur’an, according to the Islamic faith, is a word literally given by God, without human mediation. The Prophet had no hand in it; he simply wrote it down and communicated it. It is the pure word of God. But for us, God enters into communication with us, he lets us cooperate with him; he creates this subject, and it is within this subject that his word grows and is developed. […] He who lives by the Word of God can live by it only because it is alive and vital within the living Church."
~ Benedict XVI
It's been a long time
We haven't had any Papa-kissin-babies pictures for quite awhile. To rectify that sorry state of affairs, here are two more recent additions to the family album:
As long as there is breath in their lungs ...
... there's hope.
Blessed Bartholomew Longo
A son of a physician, Longo was born financially well off, and received a good education, both secular and Christian. Raised in a pious family, they prayed the Rosary together each night ... He studied law at the University of Naples where received his degree in 1864, but where he fell into a dissolute and worldly life.
Following a philosophy class taught by a fallen-away priest, Longo moved from indifference to the Church to ridicule, to open hostility. He participated in street demonstrations against the Pope, then dabbled in occult nonsense like magnetism and spiritism, tipping tables and contacting the spirit world through mediums. Burning his bridges, he finally became a Satanist, and with some further study, a Satanist priest.
Bartholomew's family and friends refused to give up on the young man, praying for his return to the faith, ... Longo finally recovered his senses and his faith, and became a Dominican tertiary on 25 March 1871, taking the name Fratel Rosario (Brother Rosary)...
Young Longo was now anxious to do anything he could to repair the great scandal he had caused. A priest helpfully introduced him to Countess Mariana di Fusco, a widow who owned much property. Since he was a lawyer, she asked Bartolo to collect the rent from her 300 very poor tenant farmers. Bartolo's visit to this impoverished valley opened his eyes to the grinding poverty in body and soul of its residents. At that moment, he recalled the words of Our Lady quoted by Friar Albert, "One who propagates my Rosary shall be saved." Falling to his knees, he promised, "Mary, I shall not leave this earth without propagating your Rosary."
He began as a Rosary leader by establishing a shrine of Our Lady of the Rosary in the little neighborhood church. Here he set up a discarded painting of Mary under that title. Pilgrims began to venerate it; favors and miracles performed there increased the crowds so at the recommendation of the local bishop, he undertook construction of a magnificent church. Begun in 1876, it was dedicated in 1887. In 1901 Pope Leo XIII designated this church as a basilica.
Because the attorney and the Countess worked so closely together, tongues eventually began to wag. Pope Leo XIII suggested that they consider marriage. Bartolo had considered taking a wife before, but had eventually made a private vow of celibacy. Now Mariana and Bartolo followed the Pope's recommendation, but although joined in matrimony, they lived as brother and sister.
Bartolo Longo died, aged 85, on October 5, 1926. He and his wife were buried in the crypt of their Rosary Basilica. The Queen of the Holy Rosary had kept her promise. On October 20, 1980, Pope John Paul II beatified Bartholomew. The former priest of Satan had been redeemed. That was because, as John Paul declared, he had become a "Man of Mary".
More on the beatified ex-Satanic priest here.
Blessed Bartholomew Longo
A son of a physician, Longo was born financially well off, and received a good education, both secular and Christian. Raised in a pious family, they prayed the Rosary together each night ... He studied law at the University of Naples where received his degree in 1864, but where he fell into a dissolute and worldly life.
Following a philosophy class taught by a fallen-away priest, Longo moved from indifference to the Church to ridicule, to open hostility. He participated in street demonstrations against the Pope, then dabbled in occult nonsense like magnetism and spiritism, tipping tables and contacting the spirit world through mediums. Burning his bridges, he finally became a Satanist, and with some further study, a Satanist priest.
Bartholomew's family and friends refused to give up on the young man, praying for his return to the faith, ... Longo finally recovered his senses and his faith, and became a Dominican tertiary on 25 March 1871, taking the name Fratel Rosario (Brother Rosary)...
Young Longo was now anxious to do anything he could to repair the great scandal he had caused. A priest helpfully introduced him to Countess Mariana di Fusco, a widow who owned much property. Since he was a lawyer, she asked Bartolo to collect the rent from her 300 very poor tenant farmers. Bartolo's visit to this impoverished valley opened his eyes to the grinding poverty in body and soul of its residents. At that moment, he recalled the words of Our Lady quoted by Friar Albert, "One who propagates my Rosary shall be saved." Falling to his knees, he promised, "Mary, I shall not leave this earth without propagating your Rosary."
He began as a Rosary leader by establishing a shrine of Our Lady of the Rosary in the little neighborhood church. Here he set up a discarded painting of Mary under that title. Pilgrims began to venerate it; favors and miracles performed there increased the crowds so at the recommendation of the local bishop, he undertook construction of a magnificent church. Begun in 1876, it was dedicated in 1887. In 1901 Pope Leo XIII designated this church as a basilica.
Because the attorney and the Countess worked so closely together, tongues eventually began to wag. Pope Leo XIII suggested that they consider marriage. Bartolo had considered taking a wife before, but had eventually made a private vow of celibacy. Now Mariana and Bartolo followed the Pope's recommendation, but although joined in matrimony, they lived as brother and sister.
Bartolo Longo died, aged 85, on October 5, 1926. He and his wife were buried in the crypt of their Rosary Basilica. The Queen of the Holy Rosary had kept her promise. On October 20, 1980, Pope John Paul II beatified Bartholomew. The former priest of Satan had been redeemed. That was because, as John Paul declared, he had become a "Man of Mary".
More on the beatified ex-Satanic priest here.
March 17, 2006
I almost forgot ...
HAPPY SAINT PATRICK'S DAY!
(Unless you're one of them who used a dispensation to eat corned beef today. Then you're an un-Irish wimp.)
(Unless you're one of them who used a dispensation to eat corned beef today. Then you're an un-Irish wimp.)
Ouchie
My stomache hurts, my friends. A lot. I've decided to offer it up for my dear, sweet Indian priest.
I love being Catholic. Our theology of suffering is the best. Thank you Lord Jesus!
I love being Catholic. Our theology of suffering is the best. Thank you Lord Jesus!
March 15, 2006
Yay, Indeed.
I just told my boss about the Sisters, and asked her for a recommendation.
Gulp.
Thank you, Jesus, it seemed to go over pretty well. I still haven't broken the news to all my co-workers yet. I think I'll wait until I've been accepted to do that.
Gulp.
Thank you, Jesus, it seemed to go over pretty well. I still haven't broken the news to all my co-workers yet. I think I'll wait until I've been accepted to do that.
March 12, 2006
Love is Astounding
I went to Confession at the Basilica this morning. It's a big pilgrimmage place, and they very often have all four Confessionals working for many hours during the day. Anyway, after I'd done my part, Father asked me to come around the curtain. Kneeling on one side is as good as the other, so of course I went.
Once I'm facing him, Father says that he's so happy I'm applying to enter the convent, (I told him I was when I mentioned my state in life,) that I am choosing the better portion, that he has been finally professed in his community since 1992, and has treasured every moment of it.
And then he tells me that he remembers me from a Confession I made to him a long time ago, and that since then he's been praying for me every day, and he will always. And will I pray for him, since he's going back to his native India, to be a missionary? He gives me some advice particular to my Confession, I say the Act of Contrition and receive absolution. Then he makes the Sign of the Cross on my forehead, asks me my name, and sends me on my way.
I was so astonished, I was almost breathless. Just the idea that a priest of God would remember me, after a single Confession, and pray for me every day. That's love, my friends. Thank you Jesus, for letting Your Love shine through your beloved priest!
Once I'm facing him, Father says that he's so happy I'm applying to enter the convent, (I told him I was when I mentioned my state in life,) that I am choosing the better portion, that he has been finally professed in his community since 1992, and has treasured every moment of it.
And then he tells me that he remembers me from a Confession I made to him a long time ago, and that since then he's been praying for me every day, and he will always. And will I pray for him, since he's going back to his native India, to be a missionary? He gives me some advice particular to my Confession, I say the Act of Contrition and receive absolution. Then he makes the Sign of the Cross on my forehead, asks me my name, and sends me on my way.
I was so astonished, I was almost breathless. Just the idea that a priest of God would remember me, after a single Confession, and pray for me every day. That's love, my friends. Thank you Jesus, for letting Your Love shine through your beloved priest!
March 11, 2006
:Smile:
Well, friends, I received my application papers from the Sister Servants! The clothing list, friends, is gargantuan. Not gargantuan as in extravagant, because it really contains very simple, practical things. But some stuff I hadn't thought of. Six dozen white hankerchiefs, for example. Pray please, because my parents are probably not going to be helping me out. I do have a very tiny bit of money saved, but I don't exactly have a "paying" job right now.
In other news, one of my friends from work is getting married! And at the tender age of 19, too! Poor Mr. Joseph has had to endure my constant interrogations over whether his wedding cake is going to be fondant or butter cream. Next Friday he flies to California to don a purple/black suit and wed his lovely Bride (who will be wearing a very light purple dress.)
Mr. Joseph is one of my favourites. He's a devout Baptist, and he enjoys nettling me. e.g. If I tell him I feel cold, he'll say it's "because of your Catholicism." Or, "you disappoint me, Betsy. It's just your Catholicism coming to the surface, I suppose," or to the kids: "Don't mind about Ms. Betsy being mean. It's her Catholicism." I respond by calling him a Fundamentalist bigot. But it's all just friendly joshing, because we are in fact, usually the only two people on the religious side of any issue.
Anyways, a big group from work went out to celebrate last night. I felt a little badly to be celebrating, it being a Friday in Lent and all. But I ordered fish, and I fasted during the other part of the day so... So yesterday I got to spend some happy time with friends and see Chinatown all lit up and brimming with people. It reminded me of why I love DC so much.
In other news, one of my friends from work is getting married! And at the tender age of 19, too! Poor Mr. Joseph has had to endure my constant interrogations over whether his wedding cake is going to be fondant or butter cream. Next Friday he flies to California to don a purple/black suit and wed his lovely Bride (who will be wearing a very light purple dress.)
Mr. Joseph is one of my favourites. He's a devout Baptist, and he enjoys nettling me. e.g. If I tell him I feel cold, he'll say it's "because of your Catholicism." Or, "you disappoint me, Betsy. It's just your Catholicism coming to the surface, I suppose," or to the kids: "Don't mind about Ms. Betsy being mean. It's her Catholicism." I respond by calling him a Fundamentalist bigot. But it's all just friendly joshing, because we are in fact, usually the only two people on the religious side of any issue.
Anyways, a big group from work went out to celebrate last night. I felt a little badly to be celebrating, it being a Friday in Lent and all. But I ordered fish, and I fasted during the other part of the day so... So yesterday I got to spend some happy time with friends and see Chinatown all lit up and brimming with people. It reminded me of why I love DC so much.
March 7, 2006
T= teacher S= student
T: So, we know all mammals have backbones.
S: Backbones!
T: All mammals also have mammary glands.
S: Mammary glands.
T: Who can tell me what mammary glands are for?
S: They help your memory!
T: (Pause.) No. Mammary glands help mommy mammals nurse their young.
S: They feed their babies.
T: Yes. All mammals nurse their young. Like elephants.
S: Elephants are mammals.
T: Yes. There are two kinds. Where are elephants from?
S: Asia!
T: Yes, some elephants are from Asia. What other kind of elephant is there?
S: African-American!
S: Backbones!
T: All mammals also have mammary glands.
S: Mammary glands.
T: Who can tell me what mammary glands are for?
S: They help your memory!
T: (Pause.) No. Mammary glands help mommy mammals nurse their young.
S: They feed their babies.
T: Yes. All mammals nurse their young. Like elephants.
S: Elephants are mammals.
T: Yes. There are two kinds. Where are elephants from?
S: Asia!
T: Yes, some elephants are from Asia. What other kind of elephant is there?
S: African-American!
March 6, 2006
The Jaws Treatment
This morning one of my little four year olds came to me with a long face.
"Miss Betsy! Miss Betsy! I lost my trains," he said. "There was a blue one. And a gold one. There was a bad one that ran in a square. I lost my trains."
"Oh," I replied. "I'm sorry. What happend to them?"
"They're gone!"
The poor baby was so upset, I had to give him the Jaws Treatment. That is, take my fingers for a walk up his arm to the theme from Jaws. Each "duh-duh" is a step. Duh Duh. Duh Duh. Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh ... all the way up, walking faster and faster, finishing with a super tickle. All bambini love it, I find. The next time they see me, they all rush forward with their arms extended, shouting "Duh-Duh! Duh-Duh!"
I wonder if Steven Speilberg ever considered that his horror movie's soundtrack would one day be used to comfort anxious preschoolers. Probably not. It is very unexpected and unusual, afterall. Life is beautiful!
"Miss Betsy! Miss Betsy! I lost my trains," he said. "There was a blue one. And a gold one. There was a bad one that ran in a square. I lost my trains."
"Oh," I replied. "I'm sorry. What happend to them?"
"They're gone!"
The poor baby was so upset, I had to give him the Jaws Treatment. That is, take my fingers for a walk up his arm to the theme from Jaws. Each "duh-duh" is a step. Duh Duh. Duh Duh. Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh ... all the way up, walking faster and faster, finishing with a super tickle. All bambini love it, I find. The next time they see me, they all rush forward with their arms extended, shouting "Duh-Duh! Duh-Duh!"
I wonder if Steven Speilberg ever considered that his horror movie's soundtrack would one day be used to comfort anxious preschoolers. Probably not. It is very unexpected and unusual, afterall. Life is beautiful!
March 4, 2006
Oy Vey
I had a big plan for today. Get up at six. Leave for the grocery at eight. Mass and Stations of the Cross shortly after noon.
Instead I woke up an hour late and discovered I'd put my cell phone through the washer. So I've just spent the last twenty-odd minutes standing astride the bathroom sink, attempting to air the thing out with my hair blow dryer. My angel is sitting behind me, smacking herself in the forehead. What will she do with me?
Today's lesson: Detachment. But I really do need my cell phone. No you don't.
Well, the show must go forth. The important parts, anyways. Mass and Stations are still on, but the grocery store will have to wait.
Instead I woke up an hour late and discovered I'd put my cell phone through the washer. So I've just spent the last twenty-odd minutes standing astride the bathroom sink, attempting to air the thing out with my hair blow dryer. My angel is sitting behind me, smacking herself in the forehead. What will she do with me?
Today's lesson: Detachment. But I really do need my cell phone. No you don't.
Well, the show must go forth. The important parts, anyways. Mass and Stations are still on, but the grocery store will have to wait.
March 3, 2006
Dog Person? Or Cat Person?
The Dog's Diary:
7 am - Oh boy! A walk! My favorite!
8 am- Oh boy! Dog food! My favorite!
9 am- Oh boy! The kids! My favorite!
Noon- Oh boy! The yard! My favorite!
2 pm- Oh boy! A car ride! My favorite!
3 pm- Oh boy! The kids! My favorite!
4 pm- Oh boy! Playing ball! My favorite!
6 pm- Oh boy! Welcome home Mom! My favorite!
7 pm- Oh boy! Welcome home Dad! My favorite!
8 pm- Oh boy! Dog food! My favorite!
9 pm- Oh boy! Tummy rubs on the couch! My favorite!
11 pm- Oh boy! Sleeping in my people's bed! My favorite!
The Cat's Diary:
Day 183 of my captivity: My captors continued to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal.
The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from clawing the furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another house plant.
Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded. Must try this at the top of the stairs.
In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair. Must try this on their bed.
Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body in an attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear in their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was. Hmmm, not working according to plan.
There was some sort of a gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell the food. More important, I overheard that my confinement was due to my powers of inducing "allergies." Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.
I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit.
The bird, on the other hand, has got to be an informant because it speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room, his safety is assured.
But I can wait. It's only a matter of time.
Post Script: When in a witty mood, then I play cat. But I am, overall, more canine than feline. And yourselves?
7 am - Oh boy! A walk! My favorite!
8 am- Oh boy! Dog food! My favorite!
9 am- Oh boy! The kids! My favorite!
Noon- Oh boy! The yard! My favorite!
2 pm- Oh boy! A car ride! My favorite!
3 pm- Oh boy! The kids! My favorite!
4 pm- Oh boy! Playing ball! My favorite!
6 pm- Oh boy! Welcome home Mom! My favorite!
7 pm- Oh boy! Welcome home Dad! My favorite!
8 pm- Oh boy! Dog food! My favorite!
9 pm- Oh boy! Tummy rubs on the couch! My favorite!
11 pm- Oh boy! Sleeping in my people's bed! My favorite!
The Cat's Diary:
Day 183 of my captivity: My captors continued to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal.
The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from clawing the furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another house plant.
Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded. Must try this at the top of the stairs.
In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair. Must try this on their bed.
Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body in an attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear in their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was. Hmmm, not working according to plan.
There was some sort of a gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell the food. More important, I overheard that my confinement was due to my powers of inducing "allergies." Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.
I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit.
The bird, on the other hand, has got to be an informant because it speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room, his safety is assured.
But I can wait. It's only a matter of time.
Post Script: When in a witty mood, then I play cat. But I am, overall, more canine than feline. And yourselves?
March 1, 2006
Lent ... and assorted bits
Lent is my favourite part of the liturgical year. Everybody gets serious and hunkers down. (Most people do anyway.) Anyways ... a blessed Ash Wednesday to one and all. There are various ways I've heard of doing the obligatory fast. My sister does the bread and water thing. I prefer the Jewish method: sun up to sun down, niente. What am I giving up? Meat, chocolate, and orange cream-sicles. That last one is going to be a killer.
I was sick when I woke up today. Sick as a d-o-g. I've decided I don't really mind though. When I recited the line from the morning offering that goes "offer up all my prayers, works, joys and sufferings of this day," I got to say it with extra sincerity.
I also got to discipline my body a little bit more. If you've ever seen me sick, you know I'm not a good patient. I am in fact, a big baby. So I toughened up and became a dualist-for-the-day. That means I can have little conversations with and about my body. It is an excellent coping mechanism. These horrible sensations of pain, nausea and fatigue are not happening to me. They're happening to my body:
"Oh, you're queasy. I'm sorry about that, but that's no reason to sit yourself down."
"It wants a drink."
"When I get home, I'm going to give it a shower. That'll make it feel better."
When people questioned my sanity, I was able to stare back, and at the height of my coolness, explain: "I'm a dualist today."
Of course, I know that dualism is a fundamental element in a number of systematic heresies. So, I'm not going to be a dualist for more than one day. Far too risky.
In other news, a random guy tried to pick me up on the subway today. Thing is, this time I saw it coming a mile away. It figures, because this guy used basically the same technique as the others:
1. Sidle up, but try to make it look natural. Benches are great for this. Open with a gripe, about trains delays or gas prices. Something the intended target will join in on.
2. Now that your conversation is started, mention something about the area e.g. you go to this church/supermarket/neighborhood, where I worship/shop/live? This is used to establish familiarity and get the target to let down her guard.
3. Introduce yourself. Say "nice to meet you." Ask for the target's name. Try to shake her hand.
I don't know what comes after #3, because I've always managed to get away by then. It lacks creativity I think.
Silly pick-er-uppers.
I was sick when I woke up today. Sick as a d-o-g. I've decided I don't really mind though. When I recited the line from the morning offering that goes "offer up all my prayers, works, joys and sufferings of this day," I got to say it with extra sincerity.
I also got to discipline my body a little bit more. If you've ever seen me sick, you know I'm not a good patient. I am in fact, a big baby. So I toughened up and became a dualist-for-the-day. That means I can have little conversations with and about my body. It is an excellent coping mechanism. These horrible sensations of pain, nausea and fatigue are not happening to me. They're happening to my body:
"Oh, you're queasy. I'm sorry about that, but that's no reason to sit yourself down."
"It wants a drink."
"When I get home, I'm going to give it a shower. That'll make it feel better."
When people questioned my sanity, I was able to stare back, and at the height of my coolness, explain: "I'm a dualist today."
Of course, I know that dualism is a fundamental element in a number of systematic heresies. So, I'm not going to be a dualist for more than one day. Far too risky.
In other news, a random guy tried to pick me up on the subway today. Thing is, this time I saw it coming a mile away. It figures, because this guy used basically the same technique as the others:
1. Sidle up, but try to make it look natural. Benches are great for this. Open with a gripe, about trains delays or gas prices. Something the intended target will join in on.
2. Now that your conversation is started, mention something about the area e.g. you go to this church/supermarket/neighborhood, where I worship/shop/live? This is used to establish familiarity and get the target to let down her guard.
3. Introduce yourself. Say "nice to meet you." Ask for the target's name. Try to shake her hand.
I don't know what comes after #3, because I've always managed to get away by then. It lacks creativity I think.
Silly pick-er-uppers.
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