Hi everyone--just a quickie to let you know I am still here but with absolutely no time (well, only 15 minutes) to blog. Things I would love to write about but can't:
1. Tom's recent hospital stay of 5 days... UPSHOT: We finally got some answers.
2. My grandfather died WITH sacraments... UPSHOT: I am happy for him!
3. My (divorced) dad and mom's weird situation where he's living in an RV behind her house and he's kind of taking advantage of it but she's telling him everything is A-OK with her, meanwhile she tells me she is going to call the cops...UPSHOT: Could you guys try to be a LITTLE LESS DYSFUNCTIONAL???? Please?? I mean, it's only been 25 years!
4. This recent run of high temperatures on my NFP chart and my body's sudden refusal to have a period... UPSHOT: PANIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Blogging may never return to normal, whatever that is. May the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all...I sure wish it was with me!
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Monday, April 09, 2007
My Preschool Dilemma
Dear friends,
I need your help. I know you are all faithful Catholics, and many of you homeschool. I need to know whether I should send my 3-year old to preschool or if I can get by at home, supplemented with some "social" activities. Briefly I'll list the pros and cons as I see them...however I am not locked into one or another mindset just yet:
PRESCHOOL
Pros:
1. We have a really good, orthodox Catholic preschool program we can send him to.
2. The program is raved about by all the young moms at our parish whose children attend.
3. Preschool seems to offer children an "edge"--they're ready to sit, to listen, and to behave by the time they go to full-day school.
Cons:
1. The school is across town--two days a week I'd have to drive an hour and a half with my littlest one and not much turnaround in between.
2. The program, while affordable for us, is not cheap (volunteer time required, and no child care for my littlest one).
3. It seems terribly regimented--uniforms required. I worry that schools (even Catholic ones) are focused more on turning out cookie-cutter citizens who won't disrupt the class, rather than developing each child's talents.
HOMESCHOOL
Pros:
1. Saves time--I can fit activities for him around my schedule...no drive, no volunteer hours.
2. Good trial run for "real" homeschooling. I mean, if I screw up preschool, I'll know I'm in trouble.
3. Activities are available as "socialization" situations--library and recreation center are close by and inexpensive.
Cons:
1. My son loves being around other children and seems to need structure.
2. I can't duplicate the outstanding religious formation available at the school.
3. I don't feel that teaching comes naturally to me.
I need to make a decision on this, because the classes are small and they are enrolling now. If I don't jump for it in the next week or so, we could miss the boat. Is it worth it?
I need your help. I know you are all faithful Catholics, and many of you homeschool. I need to know whether I should send my 3-year old to preschool or if I can get by at home, supplemented with some "social" activities. Briefly I'll list the pros and cons as I see them...however I am not locked into one or another mindset just yet:
PRESCHOOL
Pros:
1. We have a really good, orthodox Catholic preschool program we can send him to.
2. The program is raved about by all the young moms at our parish whose children attend.
3. Preschool seems to offer children an "edge"--they're ready to sit, to listen, and to behave by the time they go to full-day school.
Cons:
1. The school is across town--two days a week I'd have to drive an hour and a half with my littlest one and not much turnaround in between.
2. The program, while affordable for us, is not cheap (volunteer time required, and no child care for my littlest one).
3. It seems terribly regimented--uniforms required. I worry that schools (even Catholic ones) are focused more on turning out cookie-cutter citizens who won't disrupt the class, rather than developing each child's talents.
HOMESCHOOL
Pros:
1. Saves time--I can fit activities for him around my schedule...no drive, no volunteer hours.
2. Good trial run for "real" homeschooling. I mean, if I screw up preschool, I'll know I'm in trouble.
3. Activities are available as "socialization" situations--library and recreation center are close by and inexpensive.
Cons:
1. My son loves being around other children and seems to need structure.
2. I can't duplicate the outstanding religious formation available at the school.
3. I don't feel that teaching comes naturally to me.
I need to make a decision on this, because the classes are small and they are enrolling now. If I don't jump for it in the next week or so, we could miss the boat. Is it worth it?
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Progressive #25614 Road Test
Trying to boil down a vacuum's performance to its essentials is hard--you want to praise the thing for what it does well, while realizing that no machine--even a three-hundred dollar one praised by Consumer Reports--is perfect. My first vacuuming experience with the Kenmore Progressive Canister Vac had me resolved on returning it to the store. It skittered and wandered over a large wool area rug, picking up some stuff after several tries but leaving a lot behind. Strike one.
Then I turned the agitator brush off (simple slide-and-click thumb switch on the handle) and just used the vacuum's suction to vacuum the hardwood floors. Performance (on XLO setting) was better, but I still felt like I was driving around nothing more than a very expensive broom. Performance on area rugs was OK...I felt it was better with the old upright. Plus, the machine's ergonomic features--everything swivelling and turning and whirling with each movement--were hard to get used to. I was used to muscling the machine wherever I wanted to go, even kicking it to give it a sort of "boost." This new machine required much less pressure from the wrist--the wand was very light and I liked the telescoping feature (although it was far less rigid than I would have preferred--the vacuum "head" wiggles a little bit and the telescoping wand wiggles, too). I had expected a Kenmore product to be more tank-like, so the delicacy of this vacuum's movements and controls surprised me.
It was a little difficult to get used to dragging the canister behind me. It always seemed on an inconvenient side, forcing me to hold the hose in front of me, which is harder on the back. You have to get used to working your way around a room, not starting in the center, doing one bit, pulling back and moving to the next. All these things I thought I could get used to in time, but the carpet-cleaning capability seemed to be lacking.
Then I tried out the attachments. Whoa! This thing really can suck. The PowerMate Jr. is a diminutive version of the full-sized carpet cleaning head, complete with powered agitator. When I tried this thing on the stairs, it pulled up the carpet with each stroke. The suction appeared to be greater when I relaxed my arm pressure and let the machine do the work. The way that the handle is shaped makes this a very comfortable task--not like using the attachments on an upright, where you're just grasping the hose with the attachment stuck onto the end of it. Everything is engineered to rest at the angle you'd be most likely to want it to lie. And the canister itself has a little rubber grippie that lets you move it up the stairs with you and it just hangs out there and doesn't slip off. That was sheer genius--no need for 17-foot hoses or machines tipping over or having to muscle the whole machine across each step!
I used all the other attachments with roaring good success. So what was wrong with the actual carpet attachment, the big PowerMate? I took the thing upstairs and re-attached the PowerMate. This time I lowered the height setting from medium to low. I guess I had been babying the thing a little too much, because this time the PowerMate grabbed the pile and gave a good resistance, showing it was actually sucking. And the machine was easier to handle on wall-to-wall carpet than it was on hardwood floors or area rugs. The ergonomics weren't so wiggly with the added resistance. Encouraged, I took it back downstairs and used the low setting on my wool rug. While still a little missish on the forward stroke, the PowerMate grabbed that ground-down wool pile and actually lifted it on the return stroke, sucking up any debris and dust in its wake. Problem solved.
I love this machine, now that I actually understand it a bit better. I think I might actually like it more for wall-to-wall carpet than for hardwoods (which I'd just as soon sweep) but having the dirt go up into the vacuum rather than into the air is a plus for people with allergies. I can't wait to try this thing on the vans. This machine has imperfections...the little plastic doors on the canister look like they could break if treated roughly. The "floor" attachment (different than the PowerMate or PowerMate Jr.) seems a little flimsy and wiggles a bit. The wheels on the PowerMate are a little hard to push and the wheels on the vacuum itself seem kind of cheap (the retractable cord is a great feature, tho). The machine uses a rather small bag which can get expensive if you insist on using the true HEPA cloth bags (which are $8 for 2) and there are also two filters you have to keep an eye on. But for the price point, I'd argue that Sears didn't skimp on the things that count--solid overall components, strong motor, ease of use and true HEPA filtration. I didn't sneeze once, and that's a bloody miracle.
Then I turned the agitator brush off (simple slide-and-click thumb switch on the handle) and just used the vacuum's suction to vacuum the hardwood floors. Performance (on XLO setting) was better, but I still felt like I was driving around nothing more than a very expensive broom. Performance on area rugs was OK...I felt it was better with the old upright. Plus, the machine's ergonomic features--everything swivelling and turning and whirling with each movement--were hard to get used to. I was used to muscling the machine wherever I wanted to go, even kicking it to give it a sort of "boost." This new machine required much less pressure from the wrist--the wand was very light and I liked the telescoping feature (although it was far less rigid than I would have preferred--the vacuum "head" wiggles a little bit and the telescoping wand wiggles, too). I had expected a Kenmore product to be more tank-like, so the delicacy of this vacuum's movements and controls surprised me.
It was a little difficult to get used to dragging the canister behind me. It always seemed on an inconvenient side, forcing me to hold the hose in front of me, which is harder on the back. You have to get used to working your way around a room, not starting in the center, doing one bit, pulling back and moving to the next. All these things I thought I could get used to in time, but the carpet-cleaning capability seemed to be lacking.
Then I tried out the attachments. Whoa! This thing really can suck. The PowerMate Jr. is a diminutive version of the full-sized carpet cleaning head, complete with powered agitator. When I tried this thing on the stairs, it pulled up the carpet with each stroke. The suction appeared to be greater when I relaxed my arm pressure and let the machine do the work. The way that the handle is shaped makes this a very comfortable task--not like using the attachments on an upright, where you're just grasping the hose with the attachment stuck onto the end of it. Everything is engineered to rest at the angle you'd be most likely to want it to lie. And the canister itself has a little rubber grippie that lets you move it up the stairs with you and it just hangs out there and doesn't slip off. That was sheer genius--no need for 17-foot hoses or machines tipping over or having to muscle the whole machine across each step!
I used all the other attachments with roaring good success. So what was wrong with the actual carpet attachment, the big PowerMate? I took the thing upstairs and re-attached the PowerMate. This time I lowered the height setting from medium to low. I guess I had been babying the thing a little too much, because this time the PowerMate grabbed the pile and gave a good resistance, showing it was actually sucking. And the machine was easier to handle on wall-to-wall carpet than it was on hardwood floors or area rugs. The ergonomics weren't so wiggly with the added resistance. Encouraged, I took it back downstairs and used the low setting on my wool rug. While still a little missish on the forward stroke, the PowerMate grabbed that ground-down wool pile and actually lifted it on the return stroke, sucking up any debris and dust in its wake. Problem solved.
I love this machine, now that I actually understand it a bit better. I think I might actually like it more for wall-to-wall carpet than for hardwoods (which I'd just as soon sweep) but having the dirt go up into the vacuum rather than into the air is a plus for people with allergies. I can't wait to try this thing on the vans. This machine has imperfections...the little plastic doors on the canister look like they could break if treated roughly. The "floor" attachment (different than the PowerMate or PowerMate Jr.) seems a little flimsy and wiggles a bit. The wheels on the PowerMate are a little hard to push and the wheels on the vacuum itself seem kind of cheap (the retractable cord is a great feature, tho). The machine uses a rather small bag which can get expensive if you insist on using the true HEPA cloth bags (which are $8 for 2) and there are also two filters you have to keep an eye on. But for the price point, I'd argue that Sears didn't skimp on the things that count--solid overall components, strong motor, ease of use and true HEPA filtration. I didn't sneeze once, and that's a bloody miracle.
Toilet Tip
This may fall under the category of Too Obvious to Mention, but I've finally found THE WAY to clean a toilet without having to do something disgusting twice.
Typically, you find lurking behind the average toilet a flimsy plastic wand with flattened bristles. This is what you are supposed to use to restore a be-ringed and be-pooped and be-smattered toilet to its pristine porcelain...er, pristineness (hey, it's late). But what really happens is that you take this thing in your bare hand and gingerly swirl it around the bowl to knock down the grossest stuff (while dodging germy splash-back), and end up leaving not only a ring, but a hard yellow crust in the crevices and this black stuff up under the rim. Then you are forced to find some other way to clean the toilet and thus end up engaging in a chore far more often than you should really have to.
Now despite the enormous amount of effort put into discovering new and less-repugnant ways to do this chore using ever-more noxious chemicals and ever-more expensive supplies (disposable toilet scrubbing wands?), I've found that the simplest and best method is the old-fashioned one. Put on a pair of rubber gloves, get down and personal with that toilet, and scrub the heck out of it. Rubber gloves help enormously in doing your housecleaning--they add an element of objectivity and reduce the gross-out factor, as well as saving your hands.
You must use a heavy-duty scrubbing pad to get the scale off, and my favorite is the grey 3M floor stripper pad you can find at your home improvement store. We used these in the military both to scrub black gunky grease off the grill and to strip the floors of old wax (not at the same time). The first few times will require more elbow grease, but as you begin to see those crevices turn white and shiny again, you will experience house-cleaning nirvana, knowing that you have the cleanest toilets on the block (maybe in the city). Follow up with a frequent antibacterial wipedown and you have toilets that a toddler could eat from.
Well, OK, they don't eat from them--but I have caught them chewing on the edges.
Typically, you find lurking behind the average toilet a flimsy plastic wand with flattened bristles. This is what you are supposed to use to restore a be-ringed and be-pooped and be-smattered toilet to its pristine porcelain...er, pristineness (hey, it's late). But what really happens is that you take this thing in your bare hand and gingerly swirl it around the bowl to knock down the grossest stuff (while dodging germy splash-back), and end up leaving not only a ring, but a hard yellow crust in the crevices and this black stuff up under the rim. Then you are forced to find some other way to clean the toilet and thus end up engaging in a chore far more often than you should really have to.
Now despite the enormous amount of effort put into discovering new and less-repugnant ways to do this chore using ever-more noxious chemicals and ever-more expensive supplies (disposable toilet scrubbing wands?), I've found that the simplest and best method is the old-fashioned one. Put on a pair of rubber gloves, get down and personal with that toilet, and scrub the heck out of it. Rubber gloves help enormously in doing your housecleaning--they add an element of objectivity and reduce the gross-out factor, as well as saving your hands.
You must use a heavy-duty scrubbing pad to get the scale off, and my favorite is the grey 3M floor stripper pad you can find at your home improvement store. We used these in the military both to scrub black gunky grease off the grill and to strip the floors of old wax (not at the same time). The first few times will require more elbow grease, but as you begin to see those crevices turn white and shiny again, you will experience house-cleaning nirvana, knowing that you have the cleanest toilets on the block (maybe in the city). Follow up with a frequent antibacterial wipedown and you have toilets that a toddler could eat from.
Well, OK, they don't eat from them--but I have caught them chewing on the edges.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
More About Vacuums
In a world of vomit, diarrhea, and endless loads of laundry...how does one relax? I ask because, after two hectic days during which my husband was home (and I was not exactly on my best behavior), while driving him to the airport, I asked him if there was anything I could do for him while he was gone. "Try to relax," he said. Humph, I thought. Here was a man who could probably hit the couch for a snooze during the onset of Armageddon, and he wants me to relax? OK. So what are the two things I haven't done for awhile? Oh yeah, pray and blog. Who knew?
So that's why I'm here to share with you some info from the vacuum-research front. This is big business, folks. My vacuum background is pretty scarce: you inherit some decrepit old thing from an old roommate or boyfriend or grandmother, ride it hard and put it away wet--no user's manual, no spare parts, and you don't even know what type of bag it uses since you never change it. But then one day it quits. And then you realize how much gunk is building up on the floor, so you hit Amazon and look for the vacuum that everybody seems to like.
Trouble is, human nature is subjective. My first instinct was to go for the Dyson. That's when sticker shock hit me. $500 for a vacuum! There seems to be a couple schools of thought on vacuum buying: the first school goes to Wal-Mart or Freddy's and buys what looks cool and is on sale--this kind of demand is what has been fueling soaring upright bagless sales. Day-Glo colors, space-age plastics, and look--! No bag. That must make things easier, right? Plus, these machines are cheap, cheap, cheap. Comparatively speaking.
The second school of thought ponders deeply and, checking the balance in their bank account (reasoning that you get what you pay for), splurges on a Dyson or a Miele or even--a Kirby (though I am convinced that people who buy Kirby vacuums just haven't done that much shopping around). However, after reading at least half of the 302 reviews of the Dyson DC07 on Amazon, one quickly sees a pattern: three or four satisfied customers followed by one or two with busted parts and spotty, expensive service options. I learned that it is not only what you buy--half the battle is who you buy it from and under what service agreement/return policy. I don't care if it is the best vacuum in the world...it is eventually going to need service, and you are not going to like throwing a two- or three- hundred dollar piece of plastic on the junk pile. While there are many wonderful shopping options online, and deep discounts to be had, I became convinced that to buy a vacuum from an online vendor was a mistake.
Then I pulled back from the individual model search (which quickly became confusing) and looked for some general articles about vacuums. Why are bagless vacuums so popular when they seem to break so often? Is there any reason to go with a bagged model anymore? What's best for allergy sufferers? Why do I keep seeing references to canister vacuums (people still use those?)?
It didn't take long to realize that bagged was better for allergies than bagless (why would you want to look at and handle the gunk when the bag was a cleaner, more hygienic way to trap it in the first place?). Canister-type vacuums are better for people who want to vacuum their hardwood and tile floors without eating their area rugs. And a brick-and-mortar store with an iron-clad extended service agreement, that you could find in any sizable town, was a definite plus. This narrowed the options considerably.
Finally, I did the one thing I should have done at the outset: I typed "#1 rated canister vacuum" into the search engine, and guess what came up: the Kenmore Progressive Canister Vacuum, model #25614, rated #1 by Consumer Reports (as of last summer). The model is currently on internet special for $279.99. The 5-year extended service warranty is seventy bucks, which brings the price back to retail. And the cool thing was that I could buy it online, then drive down to my local Sears the next day and pick up my vacuum.
So now that my new vacuum is sitting here beside me in its box (wonder of wonders, I've just been too busy to use it!), I wondered what to do with the old one, which didn't really break like in the hypothetical example, it's just Dean's 10+ year old Hoover Futura from the Navy Exchange which still sucks and hasn't croaked yet. I think I'll hang on to it, and just have it serviced. "It's lasted pretty well," Dean said when I commented on this venerable vacuum. "But then," I mused. "It probably hasn't seen much use." Forget what happened after that.
So that's why I'm here to share with you some info from the vacuum-research front. This is big business, folks. My vacuum background is pretty scarce: you inherit some decrepit old thing from an old roommate or boyfriend or grandmother, ride it hard and put it away wet--no user's manual, no spare parts, and you don't even know what type of bag it uses since you never change it. But then one day it quits. And then you realize how much gunk is building up on the floor, so you hit Amazon and look for the vacuum that everybody seems to like.
Trouble is, human nature is subjective. My first instinct was to go for the Dyson. That's when sticker shock hit me. $500 for a vacuum! There seems to be a couple schools of thought on vacuum buying: the first school goes to Wal-Mart or Freddy's and buys what looks cool and is on sale--this kind of demand is what has been fueling soaring upright bagless sales. Day-Glo colors, space-age plastics, and look--! No bag. That must make things easier, right? Plus, these machines are cheap, cheap, cheap. Comparatively speaking.
The second school of thought ponders deeply and, checking the balance in their bank account (reasoning that you get what you pay for), splurges on a Dyson or a Miele or even--a Kirby (though I am convinced that people who buy Kirby vacuums just haven't done that much shopping around). However, after reading at least half of the 302 reviews of the Dyson DC07 on Amazon, one quickly sees a pattern: three or four satisfied customers followed by one or two with busted parts and spotty, expensive service options. I learned that it is not only what you buy--half the battle is who you buy it from and under what service agreement/return policy. I don't care if it is the best vacuum in the world...it is eventually going to need service, and you are not going to like throwing a two- or three- hundred dollar piece of plastic on the junk pile. While there are many wonderful shopping options online, and deep discounts to be had, I became convinced that to buy a vacuum from an online vendor was a mistake.
Then I pulled back from the individual model search (which quickly became confusing) and looked for some general articles about vacuums. Why are bagless vacuums so popular when they seem to break so often? Is there any reason to go with a bagged model anymore? What's best for allergy sufferers? Why do I keep seeing references to canister vacuums (people still use those?)?
It didn't take long to realize that bagged was better for allergies than bagless (why would you want to look at and handle the gunk when the bag was a cleaner, more hygienic way to trap it in the first place?). Canister-type vacuums are better for people who want to vacuum their hardwood and tile floors without eating their area rugs. And a brick-and-mortar store with an iron-clad extended service agreement, that you could find in any sizable town, was a definite plus. This narrowed the options considerably.
Finally, I did the one thing I should have done at the outset: I typed "#1 rated canister vacuum" into the search engine, and guess what came up: the Kenmore Progressive Canister Vacuum, model #25614, rated #1 by Consumer Reports (as of last summer). The model is currently on internet special for $279.99. The 5-year extended service warranty is seventy bucks, which brings the price back to retail. And the cool thing was that I could buy it online, then drive down to my local Sears the next day and pick up my vacuum.
So now that my new vacuum is sitting here beside me in its box (wonder of wonders, I've just been too busy to use it!), I wondered what to do with the old one, which didn't really break like in the hypothetical example, it's just Dean's 10+ year old Hoover Futura from the Navy Exchange which still sucks and hasn't croaked yet. I think I'll hang on to it, and just have it serviced. "It's lasted pretty well," Dean said when I commented on this venerable vacuum. "But then," I mused. "It probably hasn't seen much use." Forget what happened after that.
Monday, March 19, 2007
The Dirt on Kirby
Continuing my series (as it seems to be morphing into) on door-to-door salesmen and telemarketers...my latest encounter has been with the Kirby guys. Now you know my heart, gang. I don't want to slam the door in these people's faces--I want to be the best Christian and Catholic I can be to them. We even had a celtic cross on our front doorstep ($10 at Lowe's) until Carl broke it.
This was our second round with Kirby salespeople. The first time, we took the bait and sat patiently through a 1 1/2 hour demo, and were very impressed with the machine--until they showed us a payment plan for $2,000!! Trying to get these people out of your house once they turn on the hard sell is hard! Why did I let them in this time? Well...to tell you the truth, my uncle has fallen on some hard times and his latest crummy job is being a window "demonstrator" in K-mart, trying to get people to sign up for their "contest" which is really an invitation to a sales pitch for...you guessed it--windows. I'm sorta feeling sorry for anybody who has to resort to sales to make money for their family.
So when the guy hears my reasons for turning him away, he turns on the sympathy mode..."Ah, c'mon, I've got these new kids that just need some training...couldn't sell chocolate cake to a fat kid...and my supervisor'll give me $50 if I can just clean your stairs." AARRGGHH!! Why do I always fall for that one? So I give in, and they go away. Meanwhile, I'm thinking about Tom's allergies and my own interminable research process on buying a new vacuum. "Maybe I'll hear them out and check out their product for allergies." But I wanted to see what the internet had to say, and so jumped online and checked out this article from Wikipedia (which continues to impress me as a general source of unbiased information).
The bottom line, I learned after reading the article, is that while Kirby makes a good product, it's way overpriced, their sales tactics are questionable at best and unscrupulous at worst, and they all do it THE SAME WAY. The article gave a devastating blow-by-blow rundown on the typical Kirby sales demonstration that, while effective, seems rather smarmy when you've reading about it dispassionately and you're not the one involved. They appeal to scare and smear tactics and ultimately try to close the deal at the highest possible purchase price, or get you to sign up for an outrageously expensive payment plan. I hit the print button just as the knock came at my door.
They were practicall pushing the box into the house when I said, "Hold on a minute, guys. I want you to have this information and know why it is that I can't do business with a company that uses tactics like this."
KIRBY GUY: What do you mean?
ME (turning back to the printer): You should really read it because a lot of it concerns the sales force.
KIRBY GUY (confers with young saleskid):.......
ME (I kept turning away to check progress on the print job): There's also some interesting history...of complaints.
KIRBY GUY:........
ME (handing them the printout): Plus, there's no way I'm going to spend $1200 bucks on something that only comes with a 3-year limited warranty.
KIRBY GUY (looking hurt): It's a lifetime warranty.
ME (closing door): Goodbye.
As I returned to the dishes, I was tempted to feel proud of myself, but then I thought about my uncle again. That guy was probably trying to feed a family. And it's a hard life for many out there, these days. So I'm not proud about the way I behaved. But I do think it's justified to refuse to deal with an organization if you have a reason to believe that they are dishonest, use unscrupulous tactics, or support immoral organizations (like Planned Parenthood). So good luck out there and I'm sure I'll have another doorknocker update soon.
P.S. I did finally purchase the Kenmore Progressive Canister Vacuum from the Sears web site. It is rated #1 by Consumer Reports for best value and performance for the price. See consumersearch.com for details.
This was our second round with Kirby salespeople. The first time, we took the bait and sat patiently through a 1 1/2 hour demo, and were very impressed with the machine--until they showed us a payment plan for $2,000!! Trying to get these people out of your house once they turn on the hard sell is hard! Why did I let them in this time? Well...to tell you the truth, my uncle has fallen on some hard times and his latest crummy job is being a window "demonstrator" in K-mart, trying to get people to sign up for their "contest" which is really an invitation to a sales pitch for...you guessed it--windows. I'm sorta feeling sorry for anybody who has to resort to sales to make money for their family.
So when the guy hears my reasons for turning him away, he turns on the sympathy mode..."Ah, c'mon, I've got these new kids that just need some training...couldn't sell chocolate cake to a fat kid...and my supervisor'll give me $50 if I can just clean your stairs." AARRGGHH!! Why do I always fall for that one? So I give in, and they go away. Meanwhile, I'm thinking about Tom's allergies and my own interminable research process on buying a new vacuum. "Maybe I'll hear them out and check out their product for allergies." But I wanted to see what the internet had to say, and so jumped online and checked out this article from Wikipedia (which continues to impress me as a general source of unbiased information).
The bottom line, I learned after reading the article, is that while Kirby makes a good product, it's way overpriced, their sales tactics are questionable at best and unscrupulous at worst, and they all do it THE SAME WAY. The article gave a devastating blow-by-blow rundown on the typical Kirby sales demonstration that, while effective, seems rather smarmy when you've reading about it dispassionately and you're not the one involved. They appeal to scare and smear tactics and ultimately try to close the deal at the highest possible purchase price, or get you to sign up for an outrageously expensive payment plan. I hit the print button just as the knock came at my door.
They were practicall pushing the box into the house when I said, "Hold on a minute, guys. I want you to have this information and know why it is that I can't do business with a company that uses tactics like this."
KIRBY GUY: What do you mean?
ME (turning back to the printer): You should really read it because a lot of it concerns the sales force.
KIRBY GUY (confers with young saleskid):.......
ME (I kept turning away to check progress on the print job): There's also some interesting history...of complaints.
KIRBY GUY:........
ME (handing them the printout): Plus, there's no way I'm going to spend $1200 bucks on something that only comes with a 3-year limited warranty.
KIRBY GUY (looking hurt): It's a lifetime warranty.
ME (closing door): Goodbye.
As I returned to the dishes, I was tempted to feel proud of myself, but then I thought about my uncle again. That guy was probably trying to feed a family. And it's a hard life for many out there, these days. So I'm not proud about the way I behaved. But I do think it's justified to refuse to deal with an organization if you have a reason to believe that they are dishonest, use unscrupulous tactics, or support immoral organizations (like Planned Parenthood). So good luck out there and I'm sure I'll have another doorknocker update soon.
P.S. I did finally purchase the Kenmore Progressive Canister Vacuum from the Sears web site. It is rated #1 by Consumer Reports for best value and performance for the price. See consumersearch.com for details.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
And now...time for something...fun.
"You are most like Frodo. You're very friendly, and you have a great personality. Although you like to have fun, you can also be pretty serious at times. It's pretty hard to get you mad, but once you're mad...everybody better look out! Keep that temper under control and realize that you're better off than you may think."
OK...I fail to see how liking the color blue and being a nerd in high school translates to this. But then maybe it's because I didn't pay much attention in Psych 101. The funny thing is, this personality description is pretty much on target.
Around here we have been having a LOTR geek-fest every weekend because there's not much else worth watching and the kids don't think my Jane Austen movies are that interesting. Carl is really into it. He says, "Wanna watch bad monkey? Wanna watch man-with-the-sword?" (Gollum is the bad monkey). He also said "Trees are made out of wood" today. Who says these kids don't learn anything from PBS?
I think I enjoy these movies so much because now that I am a Catholic, I can perceive Tolkien's metaphor more fully. When we find ourselves in the trenches, slogging away at some task or trial, we are like Frodo and Sam, carrying the bane of self, while trying not to use it, for the purpose of destroying it. And when we offer our sufferings for souls, we ride to their rescue--as it were--like the Rohirrim. The elves, like the saints, help us with their gifts and their prayers, but it is we who must go into battle with the hordes of deceived, weak, and ignorant souls...not to destroy them but to save. To win back the land for the king.
There. Who says you can't learn anything from watching TV?
Monday, March 12, 2007
All I want for Christmas is my new knitting needle set, honey...
OK, so I'm jumping the gun a little. But if I ever went back to work, I'd love to be working for Knit Picks. They got started up a few years ago--local outfit, based right here in Vancouver, Washington--offering premium quality yarn at pretty much rock-bottom prices. This is because the owner, Kelley Petkun, goes wherever the animals are and buys direct. They must keep their overhead pretty low, because the office I saw today was small and tucked into the back of a larger building...but you'd never know it from their catalogue, web site, and product line.
Part of what makes this company unique is that they're not just a middleman--selling a plethora of yarns, needles, and supplies culled from all over and taking their cut. I would call them the "Trader Joe's" of knitting. Kelley searches out the yarns herself and specifies how each is to be made up. Then they get the Knit Picks name.
The most exciting product they've come out with in the last year is a set of interchangeable needles. But unlike the interchangeable sets out on the market, Knit Picks' set is quality stuff. These needles aren't plastic--they're the smooth metallic nickel needles that you see AddiTurbo selling for $12 a pair. And they come with 2 different lengths of cable, complete with end caps (meaning that you can use them circular or straight). AND they give you, like, nine sizes. And a case. Get out your calculator and start multiplying and you get dozens of variations of needles, all in one set. What would you expect to pay for this set in a retail knitting store? $100? $120? HA!! Thanks to their low overhead and direct-to-the-buyer concept, this set comes in for the very housewife-friendly price of SIXTY BUCKS. Those other interchangeable (plastic) sets sell for at least fifty. And they don't have the quality, or utility, of Knit Picks Options needles.
Oh, great, now I sound like an ad. I'm sure Tina Birch, the VP that I talked to today, was fortified by my enthusiasm. I couldn't stop praising their product. We sat in her office (with the kids in their double stroller parked alongside) and she asked me questions about the current Options set and some design changes they were considering. Seeing as how I don't actually own the set, I was working off the memory of the set that I sent to my mother last Christmas (that I couldn't help, um, peeking at). They are going to improve it (like that was possible) and keep it AT THE SAME PRICE.
Then she showed me some of the new products. O-ooh. I won't tell you exactly...but for a little higher price, they are taking the Options set way upscale. I am totally hanging on to my gift certificate until this new set comes out next fall! Then she showed me some double-pointed needles that had been given the same treatment. This is the perfect example of what sets this company apart from the rest. They are selling these double-points in SETS OF SIX so the customer isn't TOTALLY SCREWED if one of the needles gets sat upon or chewed by the cat. They might be a couple bucks more, but compared with the plain jane bamboo needles in the store (where you only get four), this shows quality, innovation, and care for the customer that you just don't see in the knitting world.
She did ask me if I read any knitting blogs. It occurred to me that I had not, so here's my bleg--those of you knitters charitable enough to take the time to read me, please leave your favorite knitting blogs and books in the combox so I know where to get started.
In conclusion, I just have to say that in a knitting industry that is become more boutique-y and out of reach of the "average" knitter, Knit Picks saves the day, offering you quality AND quantity--and excellent customer relations, I might add.
Part of what makes this company unique is that they're not just a middleman--selling a plethora of yarns, needles, and supplies culled from all over and taking their cut. I would call them the "Trader Joe's" of knitting. Kelley searches out the yarns herself and specifies how each is to be made up. Then they get the Knit Picks name.
The most exciting product they've come out with in the last year is a set of interchangeable needles. But unlike the interchangeable sets out on the market, Knit Picks' set is quality stuff. These needles aren't plastic--they're the smooth metallic nickel needles that you see AddiTurbo selling for $12 a pair. And they come with 2 different lengths of cable, complete with end caps (meaning that you can use them circular or straight). AND they give you, like, nine sizes. And a case. Get out your calculator and start multiplying and you get dozens of variations of needles, all in one set. What would you expect to pay for this set in a retail knitting store? $100? $120? HA!! Thanks to their low overhead and direct-to-the-buyer concept, this set comes in for the very housewife-friendly price of SIXTY BUCKS. Those other interchangeable (plastic) sets sell for at least fifty. And they don't have the quality, or utility, of Knit Picks Options needles.
Oh, great, now I sound like an ad. I'm sure Tina Birch, the VP that I talked to today, was fortified by my enthusiasm. I couldn't stop praising their product. We sat in her office (with the kids in their double stroller parked alongside) and she asked me questions about the current Options set and some design changes they were considering. Seeing as how I don't actually own the set, I was working off the memory of the set that I sent to my mother last Christmas (that I couldn't help, um, peeking at). They are going to improve it (like that was possible) and keep it AT THE SAME PRICE.
Then she showed me some of the new products. O-ooh. I won't tell you exactly...but for a little higher price, they are taking the Options set way upscale. I am totally hanging on to my gift certificate until this new set comes out next fall! Then she showed me some double-pointed needles that had been given the same treatment. This is the perfect example of what sets this company apart from the rest. They are selling these double-points in SETS OF SIX so the customer isn't TOTALLY SCREWED if one of the needles gets sat upon or chewed by the cat. They might be a couple bucks more, but compared with the plain jane bamboo needles in the store (where you only get four), this shows quality, innovation, and care for the customer that you just don't see in the knitting world.
She did ask me if I read any knitting blogs. It occurred to me that I had not, so here's my bleg--those of you knitters charitable enough to take the time to read me, please leave your favorite knitting blogs and books in the combox so I know where to get started.
In conclusion, I just have to say that in a knitting industry that is become more boutique-y and out of reach of the "average" knitter, Knit Picks saves the day, offering you quality AND quantity--and excellent customer relations, I might add.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
I get to be in a focus group!
Not to make anyone, er, jealous or anything, but I am excited...I've been invited to be part of a focus group for my favorite knitting people, Knit Picks. The company is based here in Vancouver, WA--so lucky me gets to trot on down to their office (which is, like, 1.5 miles away from my house) to check out new products and give my opinion. Don't ask me how I got invited. I probably only got their first catalogue because we're in the city limits. But I feel like one of the privileged few who gets to go to a movie premiere or something (shows you how much I get out now)!
Of course I'll have to bring (or wear) my knitting "credentials"--the one sweater I have actually completed using Knit Picks wool and my work-in-progress 16th century knitted wool stockings, also using their stuff. The excitement probably lies in seeing their latest products, which are always rather innovative, quality stuff--and at prices that tightwad knitters don't have to feel guilty about. The $25 gift credit doesn't hurt either.
I'm supposed to go on Monday, so I'll blog about it and let everyone know how it went!
Of course I'll have to bring (or wear) my knitting "credentials"--the one sweater I have actually completed using Knit Picks wool and my work-in-progress 16th century knitted wool stockings, also using their stuff. The excitement probably lies in seeing their latest products, which are always rather innovative, quality stuff--and at prices that tightwad knitters don't have to feel guilty about. The $25 gift credit doesn't hurt either.
I'm supposed to go on Monday, so I'll blog about it and let everyone know how it went!
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Late Night Lenten Meditation
First, let's get one thing straight. I should be sleeping. I should be praying. I should be doing pushups. But here we are. I confess I am so confused now about writing, and especially about writing about spiritual things, that I asked the Lord to interrupt me if He does not want me to write this.
The spiritual reading du jour is Story of a Soul, which we are reading at our ladies' study group at the church. St. Therese, while famous for her "little way," nonetheless admits to "immense desires," including the desire for martyrdom--even all the torments of the saints put together.
Here's where she starts to lose me. She tells us that she is so little and weak all the time, so how could she wish for things that even the strongest constitution would recoil at? I wondered at this while I was in the shower, with hot water cascading all about me (while reminding myself how much Therese herself suffered from the cold and damp at the convent)--at how spiritually bankrupt I must be that I could not even force myself to take a cold shower, let alone endure any torture or persecution voluntarily. How many luxuries have we grown used to in our daily lives, from having hot water on demand to warm sheets to plenty of interesting food to eat and the freedom to shut the world out in our own warm homes? I do not mean this to be a simple lookie-what-we-take-for-granted homilette, however. Bear with me.
From this I moved to thinking about the good things Therese had in her life that I do not have. She called the desire for martyrdom a "consolation" that was sometimes given to little souls like hers, but if a soul were not to receive this consolation she called it an even greater grace. I concluded that I definitely have not received this grace. Score 1 for Therese. Next, I considered her home life, the devout faith of her father and mother, and the support and encouragement she received from her sisters. I definitely do not have that. In fact, after considering all her spiritual insights and the great advancement in holiness she achieved at Carmel, the realization hit me that, even if I offered to change places with little Therese--to offer her my flannel sheets, wool sweaters,and cups of hot chocolate--she would not do it. In fact, in her magnanimity, she would probably call my attention to the several martyrdoms I am experiencing right now--which, while not martyrdoms of the flesh, are nonetheless sources of very great suffering not only to me but to many people who live in this modern age and this materialistic society. These martyrdoms have the great advantage of being all but invisible.
1. Living in a society that does not care about religion. This martyrdom manifests itself in a myriad of frustrations for the good Catholic who must suffer attacks against the Church, marginalization in politics, and having to pay extra to educate his children, among other things.
2. Estrangement from family. The scourge of divorce has robbed millions of the stability and emotional security of having intact families as the basis for society. As citizens in a society becoming ever more individualized, it is common to feel only indifference at the plight of even family members struggling to survive. "I did it, why can't they?" we ask, not realizing that God created families to help do for those who cannot do for themselves. Without families, the individual is subject to the tender mercies of the state.
And, more personally:
3. Isolation. Being that my husband must travel long distances to work, I find myself alone with the children almost constantly.
4. Having a sick child. Caring for him and anxiety about his condition. Doctor visits, hospital bills, special diets.
5. Temptations to discouragement and despair. It's all around us, the little voices that tell us that we're no good, we're worth nothing, all our faith and our good efforts to change society are in vain, the resurrection is a hoax, the Church is power trippin.'
6. Temptations to immorality, impurity, and pride. Don't ask me how Peter Pan can tempt one to thoughts of impurity. Just don't ask. I threw the book in the trash. Our culture is sick, sick, sick.
Look around at your life, and I'm sure you'll find a few of your own. I actually rejoiced when I realized that God had given me my own sufferings, tailor-made for me, and that so long as I handed them all back to Him in joy and love and gratitude, I could profit from them just as much as from any physical austerity. Indeed, we can rejoice to let God choose the martyrdoms, since the heavenly Surgeon knows just where to put the lance, where the infection is deepest. He does not do so out of anger (even though we have no cause to refuse His just chastisements), but out of love, since out of our sufferings comes the love that He thirsts for, the love that only we can give.
Jesus thirsts for your love. He has given you the crosses that you must bear, knowing that He stands beside you to shoulder the balance of the burden for you...because He loves you, because He so greatly desires the love that only you can give Him. "Love and cause to be loved the Love that is not loved."
Now I can go to bed.
The spiritual reading du jour is Story of a Soul, which we are reading at our ladies' study group at the church. St. Therese, while famous for her "little way," nonetheless admits to "immense desires," including the desire for martyrdom--even all the torments of the saints put together.
Here's where she starts to lose me. She tells us that she is so little and weak all the time, so how could she wish for things that even the strongest constitution would recoil at? I wondered at this while I was in the shower, with hot water cascading all about me (while reminding myself how much Therese herself suffered from the cold and damp at the convent)--at how spiritually bankrupt I must be that I could not even force myself to take a cold shower, let alone endure any torture or persecution voluntarily. How many luxuries have we grown used to in our daily lives, from having hot water on demand to warm sheets to plenty of interesting food to eat and the freedom to shut the world out in our own warm homes? I do not mean this to be a simple lookie-what-we-take-for-granted homilette, however. Bear with me.
From this I moved to thinking about the good things Therese had in her life that I do not have. She called the desire for martyrdom a "consolation" that was sometimes given to little souls like hers, but if a soul were not to receive this consolation she called it an even greater grace. I concluded that I definitely have not received this grace. Score 1 for Therese. Next, I considered her home life, the devout faith of her father and mother, and the support and encouragement she received from her sisters. I definitely do not have that. In fact, after considering all her spiritual insights and the great advancement in holiness she achieved at Carmel, the realization hit me that, even if I offered to change places with little Therese--to offer her my flannel sheets, wool sweaters,and cups of hot chocolate--she would not do it. In fact, in her magnanimity, she would probably call my attention to the several martyrdoms I am experiencing right now--which, while not martyrdoms of the flesh, are nonetheless sources of very great suffering not only to me but to many people who live in this modern age and this materialistic society. These martyrdoms have the great advantage of being all but invisible.
1. Living in a society that does not care about religion. This martyrdom manifests itself in a myriad of frustrations for the good Catholic who must suffer attacks against the Church, marginalization in politics, and having to pay extra to educate his children, among other things.
2. Estrangement from family. The scourge of divorce has robbed millions of the stability and emotional security of having intact families as the basis for society. As citizens in a society becoming ever more individualized, it is common to feel only indifference at the plight of even family members struggling to survive. "I did it, why can't they?" we ask, not realizing that God created families to help do for those who cannot do for themselves. Without families, the individual is subject to the tender mercies of the state.
And, more personally:
3. Isolation. Being that my husband must travel long distances to work, I find myself alone with the children almost constantly.
4. Having a sick child. Caring for him and anxiety about his condition. Doctor visits, hospital bills, special diets.
5. Temptations to discouragement and despair. It's all around us, the little voices that tell us that we're no good, we're worth nothing, all our faith and our good efforts to change society are in vain, the resurrection is a hoax, the Church is power trippin.'
6. Temptations to immorality, impurity, and pride. Don't ask me how Peter Pan can tempt one to thoughts of impurity. Just don't ask. I threw the book in the trash. Our culture is sick, sick, sick.
Look around at your life, and I'm sure you'll find a few of your own. I actually rejoiced when I realized that God had given me my own sufferings, tailor-made for me, and that so long as I handed them all back to Him in joy and love and gratitude, I could profit from them just as much as from any physical austerity. Indeed, we can rejoice to let God choose the martyrdoms, since the heavenly Surgeon knows just where to put the lance, where the infection is deepest. He does not do so out of anger (even though we have no cause to refuse His just chastisements), but out of love, since out of our sufferings comes the love that He thirsts for, the love that only we can give.
Jesus thirsts for your love. He has given you the crosses that you must bear, knowing that He stands beside you to shoulder the balance of the burden for you...because He loves you, because He so greatly desires the love that only you can give Him. "Love and cause to be loved the Love that is not loved."
Now I can go to bed.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Re-Inspiration
Thanks to Amy Caroline for continuing to blog! I love your new blog and posts, and am glad to see you decided to keep blogging. I guess I am too, for now. And your homemaking meme was the perfect opportunity to stoppa me foot-draggin' and get something up. So here goes.
Aprons: Yes! I finally made one after I kept soiling my nice new Ross skirts day after day. I made it out of a tan jumper I got from the Goodwill--just slice a chunk out of the back, make ties, and hem (easy enough even for a sewing moron like me). Pockets a must.
Favorite thing to bake: Bread. Yes, it's a little fussy (like the other day when dh preheated the oven--with the dishcloth-covered dough in it--without looking and almost set the house afire!) It's the most satisfying product when everything goes right and we practically live on it. Try white. It's amazing.
Clothesline: No. We have a wooden drying rack I sometimes use, but usually we just use the dryer.
Donuts (have I ever made them): Yeah, but they never seem to be as good as the yummy goo-covered fat pills at the grocery store. Recipes welcome.
One homemaking thing you do every day: Dishes. I have made my peace with dishes. Oddly enough, the dishwasher had to break before I could really learn to enjoy this task. Now it's like my morning meditation. And I want to get prettier dishes, because they turn out so nice and clean and never chip.
Freezer--separate deep freeze? I wish. Right now I am making do with a rather capacious side-by-side. I never thought the freezer part was that big, then we shopped for a new fridge and they just don't make the freezers big enough.
Garbage disposal: Yes. Although I have learned to live without one. Basically whatever doesn't go down the grate you pick out. Simple, cheap, and nothing to break!
Favorite homemaking resource: HOOO-boy. Homeliving Helper is my most recent discovery. Also an honorable mention to the Hillbilly Housewife.
Ironing: Love it. If I have the time to iron a couple of Dean's or my shirts and especially my apron, that's a sign that my homemaking is a success and things are getting done. BTW, ironing a couple of shirts is no big deal. In the military, they make you iron everything, so to me it's nostalgic (well, kinda).
Junk drawer: Work-in-progress. Tightwads must be careful to never toss a piece of junk. Each time I do it, I conceive a use for it later that day. My newest favorite location for junk is The Junk Tower, a plastic thingy full of drawers that rolls around and only takes up one square foot. Each drawer has a different type of junk. And boy it helps getting that stuff organized.
Kitchen, design and decorating. Ah, the joy of remodeling. Our kitchen is almost finished, after having spent an obscene amount of money on new countertops, sink, faucet, floor, paint. Didn't have to redo cabinets, hubby put up a couple of shelves, on which my shiny new set of cookware is displayed. Too bad we're selling the house. I am finally enjoying myself in there.
Love: My favorite part of homemaking. Hmmm. I love having the freedom to manage my time and space for the sake of my family's peace and comfort. There is no peace out in the world. And if I had a job, there would be no peace in the house. The world would come right in with schedules, stress, endless outside obligations. My head would be a mess, and that would rub right off on my family. We do not live to work; we work to live. We have to work to earn enough for our needs, but beyond that we sacrifice our peace. If a woman stays home she has the chance to make the house a home--a place of refuge, an oasis of contentment, a space in which her family can feel that they can just breathe and be.
Mop: Yes, occasionally, with a well-rung out sponge mop. With a hardwood floor instead of carpet, I see way more dirt than I did before. Mostly I can just sweep it up, but eventually it gets greasy.
Nylons: Hand or machine wash: N/A (I hate nylons. I usually can't wear them to the point of dirtiness without tearing a hole in them, so I just trash 'em. Bloomers and knee socks in the winter.)
Oven, how do you check it? Open the door. The window, I am sorry to say, is too dirty. I have a phobia about cleaning fridges and ovens from being a military cook.
Pizza, what do you put on it? I try to use up leftovers, but I also have a store of pepperoni and salami in the freezer. So it's either Hawaiian or BBQ chicken or spicy Italian. Hubby likes artichokes and lotsa garlic.
Quiet: What do I do in my quiet moments during the day. I make a cup of tea and read the semi-interesting stuff that comes in the week's mail. If I'm really fried I sleep. Oh, and pray!
Recipe card box: Hardly ever use it. I keep my Mom's recipes in there, but I never use the ones I clip from newspapers or jot down from the TV.
Style of house: 2-story contemporary. Not very evocative--or convenient. The place was designed like an apartment, with almost no utility areas. No porches, no entry, no mudroom, no pantry, no broom closet, no linen closet, no storage shed, no access to the garage from the back yard, no basement, no attic. You need these things in a house if you're going to live in it for the long haul.
Tablecloths and napkins? Neither. With little people tottering around grabbing everything they see, our house lacks this little hallmark of civilization. And our table is so ugly. BUT it is always scrupulously clean.
Dang this is a long meme.
Under the sink-what's it like? Totally cleaned and organized. I know, surprised even myself (fruit of recent homemaking inspiration--little people helped).
Vacuuming, times per week. At least once. It was way less before Tom got sick with the whole allergy/lung thing. We are saving up hubby's hotel points to get a Dyson. I heard that thing sucks.
Laundry, how many loads per week. It's probably kinda tame. I do one or two loads a day but I don't have to do it every day of the week. If I keep on it, it eventually gets down to less than one load a day worth of buildup. Then the baby'll throw up and the diapers pile up and hubby comes home and I'm buried.
Daily to-do list: I have a monthly calendar that I write things down on that I Must Not Forget. Then I check them off. If I'm feeling pretty disorganized, I write down things like, DISHES. MAIL. LAUNDRY. If I'm feeling really organized, I only write down appointments and things like PLANT BULBS. SORT OLD PHOTOGRAPHS. But those things never get done anyway. If I'm at a loss for things to do, I scan the calendar for any unchecked items. If I'm too busy, I ignore the calendar.
Yard-who does what? Sigh. Basically, I do everything. With Dean gone all the time, it goes with the territory. Plus, he's terrible at mowing. He doesn't really care how things look, so he leaves tall pieces sticking up everywhere. But I guess it's OK. If he did all that, I would probably never go outside.
ZZZZ. Last thing I do before I go to bed. Make bottles. Make soy milk if I have to. Lock up. Clear and wipe counters. Straighten living room and sometimes pick up stray toys. Put out food and water and/or kick out the cats.
Tag: I haven't seen laurathecrazymama do this one yet. You're it!
Suggested New Category: Grossest shortcut you've ever made in your homemaking life:
Putting the dirty sheets back on the bed because I failed to wash them earlier!
PS Changing to new Blogger was a breeze...glad I dragged my feet a little.
Aprons: Yes! I finally made one after I kept soiling my nice new Ross skirts day after day. I made it out of a tan jumper I got from the Goodwill--just slice a chunk out of the back, make ties, and hem (easy enough even for a sewing moron like me). Pockets a must.
Favorite thing to bake: Bread. Yes, it's a little fussy (like the other day when dh preheated the oven--with the dishcloth-covered dough in it--without looking and almost set the house afire!) It's the most satisfying product when everything goes right and we practically live on it. Try white. It's amazing.
Clothesline: No. We have a wooden drying rack I sometimes use, but usually we just use the dryer.
Donuts (have I ever made them): Yeah, but they never seem to be as good as the yummy goo-covered fat pills at the grocery store. Recipes welcome.
One homemaking thing you do every day: Dishes. I have made my peace with dishes. Oddly enough, the dishwasher had to break before I could really learn to enjoy this task. Now it's like my morning meditation. And I want to get prettier dishes, because they turn out so nice and clean and never chip.
Freezer--separate deep freeze? I wish. Right now I am making do with a rather capacious side-by-side. I never thought the freezer part was that big, then we shopped for a new fridge and they just don't make the freezers big enough.
Garbage disposal: Yes. Although I have learned to live without one. Basically whatever doesn't go down the grate you pick out. Simple, cheap, and nothing to break!
Favorite homemaking resource: HOOO-boy. Homeliving Helper is my most recent discovery. Also an honorable mention to the Hillbilly Housewife.
Ironing: Love it. If I have the time to iron a couple of Dean's or my shirts and especially my apron, that's a sign that my homemaking is a success and things are getting done. BTW, ironing a couple of shirts is no big deal. In the military, they make you iron everything, so to me it's nostalgic (well, kinda).
Junk drawer: Work-in-progress. Tightwads must be careful to never toss a piece of junk. Each time I do it, I conceive a use for it later that day. My newest favorite location for junk is The Junk Tower, a plastic thingy full of drawers that rolls around and only takes up one square foot. Each drawer has a different type of junk. And boy it helps getting that stuff organized.
Kitchen, design and decorating. Ah, the joy of remodeling. Our kitchen is almost finished, after having spent an obscene amount of money on new countertops, sink, faucet, floor, paint. Didn't have to redo cabinets, hubby put up a couple of shelves, on which my shiny new set of cookware is displayed. Too bad we're selling the house. I am finally enjoying myself in there.
Love: My favorite part of homemaking. Hmmm. I love having the freedom to manage my time and space for the sake of my family's peace and comfort. There is no peace out in the world. And if I had a job, there would be no peace in the house. The world would come right in with schedules, stress, endless outside obligations. My head would be a mess, and that would rub right off on my family. We do not live to work; we work to live. We have to work to earn enough for our needs, but beyond that we sacrifice our peace. If a woman stays home she has the chance to make the house a home--a place of refuge, an oasis of contentment, a space in which her family can feel that they can just breathe and be.
Mop: Yes, occasionally, with a well-rung out sponge mop. With a hardwood floor instead of carpet, I see way more dirt than I did before. Mostly I can just sweep it up, but eventually it gets greasy.
Nylons: Hand or machine wash: N/A (I hate nylons. I usually can't wear them to the point of dirtiness without tearing a hole in them, so I just trash 'em. Bloomers and knee socks in the winter.)
Oven, how do you check it? Open the door. The window, I am sorry to say, is too dirty. I have a phobia about cleaning fridges and ovens from being a military cook.
Pizza, what do you put on it? I try to use up leftovers, but I also have a store of pepperoni and salami in the freezer. So it's either Hawaiian or BBQ chicken or spicy Italian. Hubby likes artichokes and lotsa garlic.
Quiet: What do I do in my quiet moments during the day. I make a cup of tea and read the semi-interesting stuff that comes in the week's mail. If I'm really fried I sleep. Oh, and pray!
Recipe card box: Hardly ever use it. I keep my Mom's recipes in there, but I never use the ones I clip from newspapers or jot down from the TV.
Style of house: 2-story contemporary. Not very evocative--or convenient. The place was designed like an apartment, with almost no utility areas. No porches, no entry, no mudroom, no pantry, no broom closet, no linen closet, no storage shed, no access to the garage from the back yard, no basement, no attic. You need these things in a house if you're going to live in it for the long haul.
Tablecloths and napkins? Neither. With little people tottering around grabbing everything they see, our house lacks this little hallmark of civilization. And our table is so ugly. BUT it is always scrupulously clean.
Dang this is a long meme.
Under the sink-what's it like? Totally cleaned and organized. I know, surprised even myself (fruit of recent homemaking inspiration--little people helped).
Vacuuming, times per week. At least once. It was way less before Tom got sick with the whole allergy/lung thing. We are saving up hubby's hotel points to get a Dyson. I heard that thing sucks.
Laundry, how many loads per week. It's probably kinda tame. I do one or two loads a day but I don't have to do it every day of the week. If I keep on it, it eventually gets down to less than one load a day worth of buildup. Then the baby'll throw up and the diapers pile up and hubby comes home and I'm buried.
Daily to-do list: I have a monthly calendar that I write things down on that I Must Not Forget. Then I check them off. If I'm feeling pretty disorganized, I write down things like, DISHES. MAIL. LAUNDRY. If I'm feeling really organized, I only write down appointments and things like PLANT BULBS. SORT OLD PHOTOGRAPHS. But those things never get done anyway. If I'm at a loss for things to do, I scan the calendar for any unchecked items. If I'm too busy, I ignore the calendar.
Yard-who does what? Sigh. Basically, I do everything. With Dean gone all the time, it goes with the territory. Plus, he's terrible at mowing. He doesn't really care how things look, so he leaves tall pieces sticking up everywhere. But I guess it's OK. If he did all that, I would probably never go outside.
ZZZZ. Last thing I do before I go to bed. Make bottles. Make soy milk if I have to. Lock up. Clear and wipe counters. Straighten living room and sometimes pick up stray toys. Put out food and water and/or kick out the cats.
Tag: I haven't seen laurathecrazymama do this one yet. You're it!
Suggested New Category: Grossest shortcut you've ever made in your homemaking life:
Putting the dirty sheets back on the bed because I failed to wash them earlier!
PS Changing to new Blogger was a breeze...glad I dragged my feet a little.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Try a Little Tenderness
I'm sure you've all heard the reading about the Pharisee and the publican. The Pharisee sits there in church and thinks about all the good things he's done, and how glad he is that he's not like "those people." And then there's the publican ("those people") who sits there and says, "God, have mercy on me, a sinner."
Well I have to admit that, while I never actually believed that I fit the publican's role in the story better than the Pharisee, I never thought I was the Pharisee. Nobody does, right? I just wasn't conscious of having done a whole lot wrong. This is otherwise known as "confession amnesia." If you wait to do your Examination until you're sitting there waiting for the confessional, you're sunk, because you suddenly become the most holy person in the world and you can't remember anything you did wrong.
Now I know I'm the Pharisee. And you can all witness to the proof. If you scroll down, you can find a post called Be Nice to Knockers, in which I piously relate an incident about somebody who came to my house, and how I actually listened to him and treated him like a human being. I said that the proof of how you're living the Gospel is in how you treat these unexpected (often intrusive) interludes with people you don't know who badly want you to do something you have absolutely no desire to do.
Like answering a telephone survey. This, my friends, is my Achilles heel. Since they're not actually standing on my property, I can treat them like garbage. Just yesterday I kept getting these calls, which I was trying to dodge with caller ID, anwering machine, voice mail, you name it. They called at least 6 times. Each time, as I realized it was Them, I got more and more incensed. I fumed about my privacy, my time, my rights--until I finally picked up the phone and really gave it to the unfortunate person on the other end with both barrels. I complained that this was harrassment, and I insisted that they take my number off their list this minute. "I know you're a real person and I know it's a sucky job, but I have absolutely no desire to participate, and I can't take any more interruptions!!" The person, whose name was Valerie, accepted my request and promised to do so. The calls ceased.
Now, to my mind a few months ago, there would have been no moral problem with this. But now, there is. How can it be? Because this wasn't the only time. A few weeks ago, my husband was cooking breakfast on a Saturday morning. The phone rang, and my husband began chatting with the caller in his usual friendly way, but I could tell from his half of the conversation that it was one of these survey calls. I thought about how, out of the few days of the month my husband is actually home, my time with him was being stolen away by one of these heartless corporations who sucked people's time out the window for no more exalted a purpose than to advance consumerism. I grabbed the phone out of his hand, told the person on the other end that this was wasting our limited time together, that we were not interested, and never to call us again. I never listened--I did not hear the caller even say one word.
Then I actually took some of my own advice and began to read the diary of St. Faustina, Divine Mercy in my Soul. Now she's a nun, so there's not much that she can do wrong, right? I mean, why is she so miserable? Because God showed her the depth of the sin in her soul, and how even the slightest imperfection separates us from God. This is divine knowledge, the opposite of confession amnesia. It really made me think. If this nun can be miserable about the state of her own soul, and she's dedicated her life completely to God, what state is my soul in? Have I ever really thought about it? Had I ever considered asking God to show me? Suddenly, there was no question of blowing off these insights. Yes, she received them as personal revelation (which is not dogma, and therefore not technically binding), but by reading her diary I receive them too. Jesus told her that that was what her diary was designed to do.
There is a real danger to reading about the saints. I have heard it said that we are only responsible to God for what we know, but once you open yourself to learning more about faith and spirituality, you have to act on what you've learned. You can either accept it or reject it. And if you reject it, you could be rejecting the truths of God, things that He wants you to see. Now, if you honestly read something and ponder it and can then put it away with an absolutely clear conscience, you are probably OK. That's what happened to me with the headcoverings-all-the-time idea. I couldn't reject headcovering in church with a completely clear conscience, however. So I had to act on it. That's the "danger"--that you might have to change something about your life based on what you have learned.
That's why blowing off these callers the way I did was wrong. I hid behind anonymity, and used my anger to sin. I spoke words of wrath--words that could seriously hurt somebody. When I think about how I would feel if I had to do that job all day--and be treated in such a way as I treated these callers, I thought that if somebody would just be decent to me and give me the dignity of being able to do my job--then that would be a kindness. And one act of kindness does more to spread the Gospel than thousands of words shouted from a soapbox. That's what the lives of the saints are about. Showing tenderness to people that are treated like they're less than human. Is this easy for me to accept? No, I am still thinking this one through. But the answer is staring me in the face. Who did Jesus spend time with? The upper class? The middle class? The respectable people? No, he hung out with the people that no one else wanted to have anything to do with.
Today I guess that group would include telemarketers, too.
NOTE: Dear readers, I have really enjoyed this blog but consider it to be on probation status. Thanks to all who may have comented on the post A Gentle Metaphorphosis--but I have not checked for comments on that post and will not be reading them. It was just too personal. But thank you for your thoughts. I just don't know if God wants me to use this online "soapbox." So posts may be sporadic for awhile.
Well I have to admit that, while I never actually believed that I fit the publican's role in the story better than the Pharisee, I never thought I was the Pharisee. Nobody does, right? I just wasn't conscious of having done a whole lot wrong. This is otherwise known as "confession amnesia." If you wait to do your Examination until you're sitting there waiting for the confessional, you're sunk, because you suddenly become the most holy person in the world and you can't remember anything you did wrong.
Now I know I'm the Pharisee. And you can all witness to the proof. If you scroll down, you can find a post called Be Nice to Knockers, in which I piously relate an incident about somebody who came to my house, and how I actually listened to him and treated him like a human being. I said that the proof of how you're living the Gospel is in how you treat these unexpected (often intrusive) interludes with people you don't know who badly want you to do something you have absolutely no desire to do.
Like answering a telephone survey. This, my friends, is my Achilles heel. Since they're not actually standing on my property, I can treat them like garbage. Just yesterday I kept getting these calls, which I was trying to dodge with caller ID, anwering machine, voice mail, you name it. They called at least 6 times. Each time, as I realized it was Them, I got more and more incensed. I fumed about my privacy, my time, my rights--until I finally picked up the phone and really gave it to the unfortunate person on the other end with both barrels. I complained that this was harrassment, and I insisted that they take my number off their list this minute. "I know you're a real person and I know it's a sucky job, but I have absolutely no desire to participate, and I can't take any more interruptions!!" The person, whose name was Valerie, accepted my request and promised to do so. The calls ceased.
Now, to my mind a few months ago, there would have been no moral problem with this. But now, there is. How can it be? Because this wasn't the only time. A few weeks ago, my husband was cooking breakfast on a Saturday morning. The phone rang, and my husband began chatting with the caller in his usual friendly way, but I could tell from his half of the conversation that it was one of these survey calls. I thought about how, out of the few days of the month my husband is actually home, my time with him was being stolen away by one of these heartless corporations who sucked people's time out the window for no more exalted a purpose than to advance consumerism. I grabbed the phone out of his hand, told the person on the other end that this was wasting our limited time together, that we were not interested, and never to call us again. I never listened--I did not hear the caller even say one word.
Then I actually took some of my own advice and began to read the diary of St. Faustina, Divine Mercy in my Soul. Now she's a nun, so there's not much that she can do wrong, right? I mean, why is she so miserable? Because God showed her the depth of the sin in her soul, and how even the slightest imperfection separates us from God. This is divine knowledge, the opposite of confession amnesia. It really made me think. If this nun can be miserable about the state of her own soul, and she's dedicated her life completely to God, what state is my soul in? Have I ever really thought about it? Had I ever considered asking God to show me? Suddenly, there was no question of blowing off these insights. Yes, she received them as personal revelation (which is not dogma, and therefore not technically binding), but by reading her diary I receive them too. Jesus told her that that was what her diary was designed to do.
There is a real danger to reading about the saints. I have heard it said that we are only responsible to God for what we know, but once you open yourself to learning more about faith and spirituality, you have to act on what you've learned. You can either accept it or reject it. And if you reject it, you could be rejecting the truths of God, things that He wants you to see. Now, if you honestly read something and ponder it and can then put it away with an absolutely clear conscience, you are probably OK. That's what happened to me with the headcoverings-all-the-time idea. I couldn't reject headcovering in church with a completely clear conscience, however. So I had to act on it. That's the "danger"--that you might have to change something about your life based on what you have learned.
That's why blowing off these callers the way I did was wrong. I hid behind anonymity, and used my anger to sin. I spoke words of wrath--words that could seriously hurt somebody. When I think about how I would feel if I had to do that job all day--and be treated in such a way as I treated these callers, I thought that if somebody would just be decent to me and give me the dignity of being able to do my job--then that would be a kindness. And one act of kindness does more to spread the Gospel than thousands of words shouted from a soapbox. That's what the lives of the saints are about. Showing tenderness to people that are treated like they're less than human. Is this easy for me to accept? No, I am still thinking this one through. But the answer is staring me in the face. Who did Jesus spend time with? The upper class? The middle class? The respectable people? No, he hung out with the people that no one else wanted to have anything to do with.
Today I guess that group would include telemarketers, too.
NOTE: Dear readers, I have really enjoyed this blog but consider it to be on probation status. Thanks to all who may have comented on the post A Gentle Metaphorphosis--but I have not checked for comments on that post and will not be reading them. It was just too personal. But thank you for your thoughts. I just don't know if God wants me to use this online "soapbox." So posts may be sporadic for awhile.
Friday, January 05, 2007
A Gentle Metamorphosis
A quiet revolution has been going on inside me ever since I began the whole veil/modesty project. It has become clear to me that it is not proper to try and make what I am doing sound more effective and desirable than what other people may feel God calls them to do. Please hear my heart. It started with externals, yes, but it has become so much more--something that, without too much analysis, I will try to present so that others may discern the mysterious call particular to themselves.
I knew that we are all called to grow closer to God--I had, in fact, begun working up a piece on how God calls everyone to be saints, that there must be a path to sainthood waiting for each of us ordinary people if we will only persevere in prayer to ask God to show it to us. Granted, this kind of sainthood is not the kind that comes in a flash, or that leaves us in transports of ecstasy. It is an ordinary sainthood--a vision of a long life, well-lived squarely within the arms of the Church, depending chiefly on the life of the sacraments and of prayer. It all ends with a confessor by our deathbeds and a final plea to God's mercy. No canonization, no holy cards, no public recognition of any kind. Simply to be breathed into God's presence and to be spared any separation from Him, however temporary, was my wish.
There is a part of me that fights this. It says, "Don't tell God that you want to trust Him entirely! What if He takes your husband away? What if He burns down your house? What if he gives you the kind of disease where you can't do anything useful, but people don't think you're sick enough to help you?" and on and on and on. The upshot was, if you give God a blank check, He's just going to make you miserable. This part doesn't like prayer, either. "Just take a break," it says. "Not like you're doing anything for anybody, anyway." It's poisonous, this satanic sinful selfish voice. And it's always with me. It reminds me of everything I've ever done wrong, every indecent image I've ever seen, every horrible news story I've ever heard, and at the same time pumps up my sense of myself as a very strong, capable, intelligent person. It wants me to depend on me.
Then a wonderful thing happened. I found a blog called Homeliving Helper. I began to read the archives, first attracted by the plentiful images of beautiful homes and ladies in old-time costumes. But I began to absorb the message that being a mom and a wife--my vocation--was something of beauty, worth, and dignity. Up until now, I was still operating under the Old Paradigm--that being a stay-at-home-mom was just something some women did when they didn't have anything else better to do. And it was a good thing as far as it went, but when that last kid goes off to kindergarten...Mom should be scanning the classifieds.
I've called this blog the Catholic Housewife, but the truth is, I felt myself as more of a great-writer-in-the-rough, honing my craft in obscurity until The Great Day when all my kids are gone and I can hit the big time. Fulfill my potential. In the meantime, I let my toilets get grimy and my yard fill with leaves, because, "I'm above all this, right? You don't mean that some women actually clean their bathrooms every day? Are they insane?" That's why I fill my blog posts with analytical exercises and mystical maunderings, not housewife-y stuff.
Inspired by this blog, I did two things. One, I started putting my hair up every day. And I made myself an apron. I started putting things back when I was done using them, and I began looking around for ways I could make my home appear more comfortable, beautiful, and restful to the spirit. The vocation of being a housewife, homemaker, or "keeper at home" is about making the home a place worth coming home to: a place to eat and sleep, of course, but also a place to have tea, to crochet, to curl up with a book, to paint a picture, or to host a group--in short, a place to LIVE.
The home is your own apostolate, and you run it the way that you like. You can make it as ugly and stressful as you want, or as beautiful and serene as you want. Hint: things are much easier to clean when you can rest your eyes on something beautiful when you're all done, not something just sterile and impersonal. So, suddenly--my toilets are clean (OK, cleaner). My dishes are caught up and--wonder of wonders--even the laundry doesn't even fill one basket.
But there's a catch.
This will not work if you are putting your priorities in the wrong order. If I get compliments on my kids' behavior (no they're not perfect, so I'm not bragging...but it does happen), there's really no secret to how I manage them. I never forget who's in charge of them. And I never forget who's in charge of me. Women are under obedience; first of all to God, of course, but also to husbands or fathers--the representatives of God's authority. This is the unpopular angle of the blog. Yes, it is a Christian woman who mostly writes it. A minister's wife, in fact, from Oregon. She is fearless in her critique of the so-called "women's movement," and advances firmly the Biblical view that a woman must be the complement of the man. She--the woman--has her own role, her own gifts and dignity, but she and he are not the same. She tries to fill up what is lacking in him--she doesn't try to do his work, and she doesn't insist on him doing her duties. Like dishes.
It used to eat me up inside that when Dean was home, he'd be sitting on his rear while I labored over a sink full of steamy dishwater. "Why should I have to do this [Old Paradigm thinking] while he gets to just sit there? He should be helping me and then we can both rest!" went the refrain in my head. Now when I'm doing dishes I think, "I wonder if I can bring him anything." I never saw anything intrinsically important in domestic duties before. Now I see that I am ministering to my family when I go around, picking up socks and straightening towels. Not that I want to be a slave to anyone. I will certainly teach my children to pick up after themselves. But when my husband comes home after being on the road for ten or more days, I gladly pick up his socks, rub his shoulders, and bring him coffee. He's done his job--now here's my chance to do mine. Even our marriage bed has benefited.
Why am I telling you all this? I can hear it now: "Just because you've got the perfect life doesn't mean you have to brag about it and make everybody else feel bad." Granted, my way of embracing my vocation may not be your way. And my life is certainly not perfect. But Lady Lydia has many posts with insights into divorce, and what makes relationships go bad in today's society (I mean ordinary people, not people who are married to drunks or people with mental problems). How do ordinary marriages that start out OK go bad?
It usually has something to do with the woman trying to be the same as the man. She goes to work and pulls down a paycheck, so she doesn't feel like she should be doing all the housework when she gets home. She gets no pleasure from homemaking, since she never has the time or the energy. When the kids come, all they can do is fight about money. She is eaten up with resentment every day from some perceived fault of his that he refuses to take seriously. Then one day when their marriage is good and strained--she catches an interested glance from her boss, or he begins to confide in a sympathetic female. One may get caught up in a vice, like pornography, alcohol, gambling.
One day, it all blows up in their faces, and one partner angrily demands a divorce. I'm not saying it was all her fault. As women begin to disdain and deny their God-given roles, men begin to disdain and deny their own. Hence the complaint, "Where have all the good men gone?" But there's so much she could have done differently had she tried to live according to the role ordained to women by God. Being the heart of the home. The help-meet of the man. Maybe she takes a job if they need it, but her heart is not in competition with his. They are a team, but a team with a captain.
Why should this be so difficult to understand? Because everything around us tells women that YOU are top priority. You've got to take time for YOURSELF. How are YOU doing? Are you fulfilling YOUR potential? When people enter a marriage with this mindset, it's a prescription for ruin. I know how easily my husband and I could have gone down this road. And I'm sorry if it disappoints some, but it is really the woman's duty to back down first if there is some disagreement. That is biblical, and it's also practical.
In fact, as I've begun practicing this, sometimes swallowing my pride with a giant gulp--I've found that it's for the best. And my husband is SO GRATEFUL. He stumbles over himself to make it up to me. He tells me over and over again how I am the best wife in the world, and he's so lucky to have me. He is grateful for having been given back his manhood. Women, we can take our men's manhood, but we can't be surprised if he then becomes a creature that we despise. I may disagree with my husband, but now I glory in the fact that he's my man, and I'm his woman. Even if he screws up royally, it's not technically my fault. God knows that I am under obedience.
This obedience thing has been underscored by some spiritual reading I've done lately. I've been reading the diary of St. Maria Faustina Kowalska, Divine Mercy in my Soul. It's a very thick book, but an irresistable read (I mean, who wouldn't be curious to "listen in" on somebody's conversation with Jesus??). He tells her over and over again that she must be perfectly obedient to her superiors and to her confessors, even when it appears to thwart her efforts to accomplish what Jesus has been telling her to do. Even when she appears to disobey Jesus, He praises her, because it is out of obedience. Reading this, I had to ask myself, "Just who am I in obedience to? I know I am bound to obey God and the Church, and if my confessor told me to do something, I would certainly do it, but I'm not a religious." In the book, Jesus makes it abundantly clear to her that he is immensely pleased with the virtue of obedience, and I couldn't help but want a share in the graces He promises.
Then great inspiration struck. I can obtain all the graces of obedience by treating my husband as my "superior" (in the sense of St. Faustina's "Mother Superior"). This may sound crazy to some people, but I wanted to obey. I even started asking my husband for his opinion on many more matters than I ever have, because 1) it makes decision making easier; and (2 if it doesn't work out, I don't have to feel humilated that I make a wrong choice. Besides this, Jesus loves a humble and obedient soul. Now it is true that most of us have heard preaching on humility, but not many know how to apply it. The secret is obedience. Jesus loves to rest in an obedient heart, He told St. Faustina.
This is not a prescription for servility, by the way. My husband trusts me to run 99.99% of our lives. I basically run everything, because he is gone so much, but I can't strip away his God-given role of leadership in our home and our lives. I have to find some way to give it back to him, or risk wrenching the reins out of his hands out of sheer habit.
So now that I'm coming across as a religious fruitcake with nuts on top, you get the general drift of where I've been going. Don't bother to leave long screeds in the combox objecting to what I've presented here. It's for me; it's my path, the path God has shown me. I asked Him for it, and I'm happy. That's the miracle. By placing God first, my husband and then my kids second, my home third, and myself last, I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life. Whenever I've tried any other order of priority than this, I've been miserable.
I know that was long, and a little disjointed. Sorry for that. I question even if this blog is a good use of my time. But I'm grateful for you. Let me encourage you to take a little step closer to Jesus, however you understand Him. He is so close. He breathes on us. He sustains that little bug crawling across the floor. Do you think he doesn't care about you? He does...more than you can imagine.
I knew that we are all called to grow closer to God--I had, in fact, begun working up a piece on how God calls everyone to be saints, that there must be a path to sainthood waiting for each of us ordinary people if we will only persevere in prayer to ask God to show it to us. Granted, this kind of sainthood is not the kind that comes in a flash, or that leaves us in transports of ecstasy. It is an ordinary sainthood--a vision of a long life, well-lived squarely within the arms of the Church, depending chiefly on the life of the sacraments and of prayer. It all ends with a confessor by our deathbeds and a final plea to God's mercy. No canonization, no holy cards, no public recognition of any kind. Simply to be breathed into God's presence and to be spared any separation from Him, however temporary, was my wish.
There is a part of me that fights this. It says, "Don't tell God that you want to trust Him entirely! What if He takes your husband away? What if He burns down your house? What if he gives you the kind of disease where you can't do anything useful, but people don't think you're sick enough to help you?" and on and on and on. The upshot was, if you give God a blank check, He's just going to make you miserable. This part doesn't like prayer, either. "Just take a break," it says. "Not like you're doing anything for anybody, anyway." It's poisonous, this satanic sinful selfish voice. And it's always with me. It reminds me of everything I've ever done wrong, every indecent image I've ever seen, every horrible news story I've ever heard, and at the same time pumps up my sense of myself as a very strong, capable, intelligent person. It wants me to depend on me.
Then a wonderful thing happened. I found a blog called Homeliving Helper. I began to read the archives, first attracted by the plentiful images of beautiful homes and ladies in old-time costumes. But I began to absorb the message that being a mom and a wife--my vocation--was something of beauty, worth, and dignity. Up until now, I was still operating under the Old Paradigm--that being a stay-at-home-mom was just something some women did when they didn't have anything else better to do. And it was a good thing as far as it went, but when that last kid goes off to kindergarten...Mom should be scanning the classifieds.
I've called this blog the Catholic Housewife, but the truth is, I felt myself as more of a great-writer-in-the-rough, honing my craft in obscurity until The Great Day when all my kids are gone and I can hit the big time. Fulfill my potential. In the meantime, I let my toilets get grimy and my yard fill with leaves, because, "I'm above all this, right? You don't mean that some women actually clean their bathrooms every day? Are they insane?" That's why I fill my blog posts with analytical exercises and mystical maunderings, not housewife-y stuff.
Inspired by this blog, I did two things. One, I started putting my hair up every day. And I made myself an apron. I started putting things back when I was done using them, and I began looking around for ways I could make my home appear more comfortable, beautiful, and restful to the spirit. The vocation of being a housewife, homemaker, or "keeper at home" is about making the home a place worth coming home to: a place to eat and sleep, of course, but also a place to have tea, to crochet, to curl up with a book, to paint a picture, or to host a group--in short, a place to LIVE.
The home is your own apostolate, and you run it the way that you like. You can make it as ugly and stressful as you want, or as beautiful and serene as you want. Hint: things are much easier to clean when you can rest your eyes on something beautiful when you're all done, not something just sterile and impersonal. So, suddenly--my toilets are clean (OK, cleaner). My dishes are caught up and--wonder of wonders--even the laundry doesn't even fill one basket.
But there's a catch.
This will not work if you are putting your priorities in the wrong order. If I get compliments on my kids' behavior (no they're not perfect, so I'm not bragging...but it does happen), there's really no secret to how I manage them. I never forget who's in charge of them. And I never forget who's in charge of me. Women are under obedience; first of all to God, of course, but also to husbands or fathers--the representatives of God's authority. This is the unpopular angle of the blog. Yes, it is a Christian woman who mostly writes it. A minister's wife, in fact, from Oregon. She is fearless in her critique of the so-called "women's movement," and advances firmly the Biblical view that a woman must be the complement of the man. She--the woman--has her own role, her own gifts and dignity, but she and he are not the same. She tries to fill up what is lacking in him--she doesn't try to do his work, and she doesn't insist on him doing her duties. Like dishes.
It used to eat me up inside that when Dean was home, he'd be sitting on his rear while I labored over a sink full of steamy dishwater. "Why should I have to do this [Old Paradigm thinking] while he gets to just sit there? He should be helping me and then we can both rest!" went the refrain in my head. Now when I'm doing dishes I think, "I wonder if I can bring him anything." I never saw anything intrinsically important in domestic duties before. Now I see that I am ministering to my family when I go around, picking up socks and straightening towels. Not that I want to be a slave to anyone. I will certainly teach my children to pick up after themselves. But when my husband comes home after being on the road for ten or more days, I gladly pick up his socks, rub his shoulders, and bring him coffee. He's done his job--now here's my chance to do mine. Even our marriage bed has benefited.
Why am I telling you all this? I can hear it now: "Just because you've got the perfect life doesn't mean you have to brag about it and make everybody else feel bad." Granted, my way of embracing my vocation may not be your way. And my life is certainly not perfect. But Lady Lydia has many posts with insights into divorce, and what makes relationships go bad in today's society (I mean ordinary people, not people who are married to drunks or people with mental problems). How do ordinary marriages that start out OK go bad?
It usually has something to do with the woman trying to be the same as the man. She goes to work and pulls down a paycheck, so she doesn't feel like she should be doing all the housework when she gets home. She gets no pleasure from homemaking, since she never has the time or the energy. When the kids come, all they can do is fight about money. She is eaten up with resentment every day from some perceived fault of his that he refuses to take seriously. Then one day when their marriage is good and strained--she catches an interested glance from her boss, or he begins to confide in a sympathetic female. One may get caught up in a vice, like pornography, alcohol, gambling.
One day, it all blows up in their faces, and one partner angrily demands a divorce. I'm not saying it was all her fault. As women begin to disdain and deny their God-given roles, men begin to disdain and deny their own. Hence the complaint, "Where have all the good men gone?" But there's so much she could have done differently had she tried to live according to the role ordained to women by God. Being the heart of the home. The help-meet of the man. Maybe she takes a job if they need it, but her heart is not in competition with his. They are a team, but a team with a captain.
Why should this be so difficult to understand? Because everything around us tells women that YOU are top priority. You've got to take time for YOURSELF. How are YOU doing? Are you fulfilling YOUR potential? When people enter a marriage with this mindset, it's a prescription for ruin. I know how easily my husband and I could have gone down this road. And I'm sorry if it disappoints some, but it is really the woman's duty to back down first if there is some disagreement. That is biblical, and it's also practical.
In fact, as I've begun practicing this, sometimes swallowing my pride with a giant gulp--I've found that it's for the best. And my husband is SO GRATEFUL. He stumbles over himself to make it up to me. He tells me over and over again how I am the best wife in the world, and he's so lucky to have me. He is grateful for having been given back his manhood. Women, we can take our men's manhood, but we can't be surprised if he then becomes a creature that we despise. I may disagree with my husband, but now I glory in the fact that he's my man, and I'm his woman. Even if he screws up royally, it's not technically my fault. God knows that I am under obedience.
This obedience thing has been underscored by some spiritual reading I've done lately. I've been reading the diary of St. Maria Faustina Kowalska, Divine Mercy in my Soul. It's a very thick book, but an irresistable read (I mean, who wouldn't be curious to "listen in" on somebody's conversation with Jesus??). He tells her over and over again that she must be perfectly obedient to her superiors and to her confessors, even when it appears to thwart her efforts to accomplish what Jesus has been telling her to do. Even when she appears to disobey Jesus, He praises her, because it is out of obedience. Reading this, I had to ask myself, "Just who am I in obedience to? I know I am bound to obey God and the Church, and if my confessor told me to do something, I would certainly do it, but I'm not a religious." In the book, Jesus makes it abundantly clear to her that he is immensely pleased with the virtue of obedience, and I couldn't help but want a share in the graces He promises.
Then great inspiration struck. I can obtain all the graces of obedience by treating my husband as my "superior" (in the sense of St. Faustina's "Mother Superior"). This may sound crazy to some people, but I wanted to obey. I even started asking my husband for his opinion on many more matters than I ever have, because 1) it makes decision making easier; and (2 if it doesn't work out, I don't have to feel humilated that I make a wrong choice. Besides this, Jesus loves a humble and obedient soul. Now it is true that most of us have heard preaching on humility, but not many know how to apply it. The secret is obedience. Jesus loves to rest in an obedient heart, He told St. Faustina.
This is not a prescription for servility, by the way. My husband trusts me to run 99.99% of our lives. I basically run everything, because he is gone so much, but I can't strip away his God-given role of leadership in our home and our lives. I have to find some way to give it back to him, or risk wrenching the reins out of his hands out of sheer habit.
So now that I'm coming across as a religious fruitcake with nuts on top, you get the general drift of where I've been going. Don't bother to leave long screeds in the combox objecting to what I've presented here. It's for me; it's my path, the path God has shown me. I asked Him for it, and I'm happy. That's the miracle. By placing God first, my husband and then my kids second, my home third, and myself last, I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life. Whenever I've tried any other order of priority than this, I've been miserable.
I know that was long, and a little disjointed. Sorry for that. I question even if this blog is a good use of my time. But I'm grateful for you. Let me encourage you to take a little step closer to Jesus, however you understand Him. He is so close. He breathes on us. He sustains that little bug crawling across the floor. Do you think he doesn't care about you? He does...more than you can imagine.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Have Yourself a Secular Little Christmas
It just occurred to me, after talking with some secular neighbors, that many people are not Christians, yet desire to celebrate Christmas anyway. How do they do it? One friend of mine (who is ostensibly Christian) is having what I call The Movie Christmas. On Christmas day she is driving to a Scandinavian-themed town to have Belgian waffles, and then will go see a horror movie with her friend. This stirred up a feeling of vague unease within me, hence the topic of this post.
I've been so wrapped up in my religious musings that I forgot to take non-religious people into account. They have weak faith or no faith at all in Christ. And yet, rather than be militantly anti-Christmas, they feel entitled to take part in whatever secular offerings our culture (yech! I hate that phrase, yet it fits so often...) serves up for the holiday. Visiting with friends and family, shopping, eating, recreating, movie-going, or just simply sleeping is, for them, the best way to spend the day.
You can't try and tell these people that they're wrong. Deep inside, they must know. That's why they have to do SOMETHING. But the trouble is, the something they end up doing isn't for God, or other people. It's ultimately for themselves. If we're not confessing Christ, we must try to actively avoid Him. If we de-throne God, we end up placing ourselves in His place. We must hurry and scurry to gather up nuts to try and fill up the hole in our hearts He has left behind. We must salve the wound by some means--
1) The Big Money Blow-Out Christmas
Surely, these people are out there. They are the ones who watch the ads, because they've been saving up all their wants for "big stuff" all year, and now they're determined...they're finally going to buy the new BMW, the huge flat-screen TV, the mondo stereo system, or the 15' tree. Folks of more modest means end up spending way too much money--especially to impress jaded kids--because that's what they've been led to expect. The trend of Protestants cancelling Christmas day services merely feeds this tendency--we pay lip service to Jesus, but it's really all about fun, family, food, and new stuff.
2) The Vintage Christmas
Nostalgia, not faith, gets these people going. They long for Christmases past, watch old holiday films--like Miracle on 34th Street or It's a Wonderful Life--with religious intensity. They scan magazines to create the perfect traditional Christmas decor for their homes, without any images of the Nativity or mentions of Christianity. They may have kept lists for months and shopped for days so as to have just the perfect gift on hand for everyone. They want the frosting without the cookie, light without heat, and the egg-nog without the calories. They often have huge parties or place great emphasis on "family time" as the reason for the season.
3) The Football / Shop-til-you-drop Christmas
This kind of celebration often happens concurrently, with the men holed up in the house roaring over bad referee calls while the women escape to the mall for deep Christmas-day discounts. What's sad about this kind of Christmas is that it divides families and keeps them focused on other stuff. Unfortunately, we have probably all had one of these, because it keeps people at large family gatherings from killing each other.
5) The Bah Humbug Christmas
This is the kind of Christmas that old people have after the kids have left the house, and with them, any kind of religiosity on the part of the parents. "Oh, we used to put on such a production for the kids," they chuckle. "But this year we didn't even put up a tree. Harold is asleep on the couch, and I'm due over at Barb's for Bunco." Pretending that Christmas is not happening is the magic bullet for them.
So what do we do? I don't want to judge these people, I want to evangelize them. In a block full of blow-up santas and light-up deer, I really wanted to have a nativity scene, but I couldn't find one. My cookies have fallen flat (I made them with margarine--DOH!). I would like to distribute some small token gift to my neighbors, but don't want to offend. So, I invite suggestions. How do you deal with this problem? What other kinds of secular Christmas revelry have I missed?
I've been so wrapped up in my religious musings that I forgot to take non-religious people into account. They have weak faith or no faith at all in Christ. And yet, rather than be militantly anti-Christmas, they feel entitled to take part in whatever secular offerings our culture (yech! I hate that phrase, yet it fits so often...) serves up for the holiday. Visiting with friends and family, shopping, eating, recreating, movie-going, or just simply sleeping is, for them, the best way to spend the day.
You can't try and tell these people that they're wrong. Deep inside, they must know. That's why they have to do SOMETHING. But the trouble is, the something they end up doing isn't for God, or other people. It's ultimately for themselves. If we're not confessing Christ, we must try to actively avoid Him. If we de-throne God, we end up placing ourselves in His place. We must hurry and scurry to gather up nuts to try and fill up the hole in our hearts He has left behind. We must salve the wound by some means--
1) The Big Money Blow-Out Christmas
Surely, these people are out there. They are the ones who watch the ads, because they've been saving up all their wants for "big stuff" all year, and now they're determined...they're finally going to buy the new BMW, the huge flat-screen TV, the mondo stereo system, or the 15' tree. Folks of more modest means end up spending way too much money--especially to impress jaded kids--because that's what they've been led to expect. The trend of Protestants cancelling Christmas day services merely feeds this tendency--we pay lip service to Jesus, but it's really all about fun, family, food, and new stuff.
2) The Vintage Christmas
Nostalgia, not faith, gets these people going. They long for Christmases past, watch old holiday films--like Miracle on 34th Street or It's a Wonderful Life--with religious intensity. They scan magazines to create the perfect traditional Christmas decor for their homes, without any images of the Nativity or mentions of Christianity. They may have kept lists for months and shopped for days so as to have just the perfect gift on hand for everyone. They want the frosting without the cookie, light without heat, and the egg-nog without the calories. They often have huge parties or place great emphasis on "family time" as the reason for the season.
3) The Football / Shop-til-you-drop Christmas
This kind of celebration often happens concurrently, with the men holed up in the house roaring over bad referee calls while the women escape to the mall for deep Christmas-day discounts. What's sad about this kind of Christmas is that it divides families and keeps them focused on other stuff. Unfortunately, we have probably all had one of these, because it keeps people at large family gatherings from killing each other.
5) The Bah Humbug Christmas
This is the kind of Christmas that old people have after the kids have left the house, and with them, any kind of religiosity on the part of the parents. "Oh, we used to put on such a production for the kids," they chuckle. "But this year we didn't even put up a tree. Harold is asleep on the couch, and I'm due over at Barb's for Bunco." Pretending that Christmas is not happening is the magic bullet for them.
So what do we do? I don't want to judge these people, I want to evangelize them. In a block full of blow-up santas and light-up deer, I really wanted to have a nativity scene, but I couldn't find one. My cookies have fallen flat (I made them with margarine--DOH!). I would like to distribute some small token gift to my neighbors, but don't want to offend. So, I invite suggestions. How do you deal with this problem? What other kinds of secular Christmas revelry have I missed?
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
The thinning of the veil
As I write this, my grandfather is dying. They have "sent him home to die"--said he had six to twelve months left, depending on how his diet and medications are balanced. If even ONE little thing gets out of whack, he's dead. They argue over whether he can have another piece of bread, and my mom says he's hungry all the time. He sneaks candy when no one's looking. My black-sheep uncle is staying with them and overseeing everything, but he hasn't got the greatest bedside manner, says my mom.
When I asked if he had received the Anointing of the Sick, my mom and grandma seemed nonplussed. "He'll never accept that," said my Mom. "He thinks it's Last Rites, and he can't face his own mortality. He never even made a will." My grandma said, "He's had a good run, and it's in God's hands now." Meanwhile, I am struggling with my own frustration...yeah, but we can help him to accept his birth into eternity with grace--I tried to say in the gentlest way possible.
In 1999, I was in Hong Kong with the boat for a quick liberty stop. But it happened to be the Chinese New Year--and you could read microfilm by the skyscrapers set ablaze with electricity. In contrast, our Christian New Year begins with a hush and an old song with a somber lilt. O Come, Emmanuel! The Office readings all have as their refrain, Come, Lord Jesus! Come save us from our sins, from the darkness. Be our light. What happens in the beginning of a wedding, when the bride reaches the altar? He raises her veil, so that all can look upon her beauty. Your light will come, Jerusalem. The Lord will dawn on you in radiant beauty.
Seems like people shut into themselves in winter, when trees drop their leaves and people finally start to put on some clothes. But what we should be doing is baring our souls. Our liturgical readings blend Christ's Second Coming with his first, to remind us of death, last things, judgment. Recently, two people I know have died. When I pray at night, I try to wrap my mind around the sum and span of their lives--the mere 40 or 50 years these two have known on this earth (taken by surprise), with no hint of an ending--compared with eternity. For eternity they are either for or against Jesus, spending the deathless ages in unspeakable joy or remorseless misery. Makes you think.
One of the things it makes me think is that our real work is not in this life. Think of the great saints who have died declaiming completely the worth of all their heroic works. "Now we begin," St. Francis is reported to have said at death. "For from before until now we have done nothing." St. Thomas Aquinas claimed all his great theological works were merely "straw." St. Therese of Liseiux wrote that, while she would have preferred to have become a missioner, even to suffer martyrdom--she was, rather, only a little plaything of the Child Jesus. Jesus told St. Faustina Kowalska that she was to be the Secretary of His Divine Mercy for her life on Earth. Any guesses as to what she's doing up in Heaven?
Flip on a television and watch the commericals for five minutes, and you'll get a completely opposite view. "Your future is now!" the ads scream. "Life is only worth all the pleasure and enjoyment you can get out of it...pursue health, wealth, beauty, and fame, and you've got it made. Live for the moment, because that's all there is, folks!" But what a bare, poor life that is compared with even the flashes of joy we experience in this life, the fullness of which can only be achieved in Heaven. And yet the thick, suffocating veil of materiality seems impenetrable. How can we deepen our sense of the endless? How can we apprehend immortality?
1. Advent is a great time to start praying. If you don't already have some kind of daily devotion, start one now. Since last year I have been praying Morning and Evening Prayer, with the super-abbreviated breviary, and it's mostly worked out. I love being steeped in the liturgical year instead of the secular year. It's a great way to meditate and memorize Scripture. Plus, it's cool to sign your correspondence with "The Feast of the..." just like bishops and cardinals do.
2. Start singing. Remember any hymns from church? Christmas carols? I'm having to re-learn them because they've been weeded out of radio and TV and the grocery store. I copy down hymns after Mass while my husband is dragging the toddler to the van, then sing from my scraps of paper when I'm alone with the kids.
3. Turn off the voices. It's hard to cultivate an inner dialogue with the Lord when you've got the TV blaring in the background. I limit TV time to Sesame Street and Bob, but after that it's off. Sometimes I listen to Catholic radio. But not always.
4. Take a mind trip. The imagination is a transcendent thing. It's no accident that every human being walking around this planet has an entire galaxy between their ears. Try imagining that when you're driving down the street. Whoa...if they only knew. When you lay down at night and your back/knees/feet/head is hurting, say to yourself, I've got a brand new one in Heaven. If you've had a bad day...I'm one day closer to being home with you, Jesus. Then try and imagine Jesus holding you, comforting you, welcoming you. Try to imagine what would happen if you died tonight. What if you woke up to...Him?? How would you live your day differently?
Don't accept the morbidity that surrounds death in our culture. Surrender to your own mortality. Accept the blinding fact that Jesus waits just beyond the curtain, and what he holds in trust for you is beyond your imagination. And you can't wait to get there! But if you just try to imagine it, using what faculties he gave you--he might grant to you a glimpse through the veil. I hope He gives something like that to my grandpa.
Please pray for him, his name is Harry.
When I asked if he had received the Anointing of the Sick, my mom and grandma seemed nonplussed. "He'll never accept that," said my Mom. "He thinks it's Last Rites, and he can't face his own mortality. He never even made a will." My grandma said, "He's had a good run, and it's in God's hands now." Meanwhile, I am struggling with my own frustration...yeah, but we can help him to accept his birth into eternity with grace--I tried to say in the gentlest way possible.
In 1999, I was in Hong Kong with the boat for a quick liberty stop. But it happened to be the Chinese New Year--and you could read microfilm by the skyscrapers set ablaze with electricity. In contrast, our Christian New Year begins with a hush and an old song with a somber lilt. O Come, Emmanuel! The Office readings all have as their refrain, Come, Lord Jesus! Come save us from our sins, from the darkness. Be our light. What happens in the beginning of a wedding, when the bride reaches the altar? He raises her veil, so that all can look upon her beauty. Your light will come, Jerusalem. The Lord will dawn on you in radiant beauty.
Seems like people shut into themselves in winter, when trees drop their leaves and people finally start to put on some clothes. But what we should be doing is baring our souls. Our liturgical readings blend Christ's Second Coming with his first, to remind us of death, last things, judgment. Recently, two people I know have died. When I pray at night, I try to wrap my mind around the sum and span of their lives--the mere 40 or 50 years these two have known on this earth (taken by surprise), with no hint of an ending--compared with eternity. For eternity they are either for or against Jesus, spending the deathless ages in unspeakable joy or remorseless misery. Makes you think.
One of the things it makes me think is that our real work is not in this life. Think of the great saints who have died declaiming completely the worth of all their heroic works. "Now we begin," St. Francis is reported to have said at death. "For from before until now we have done nothing." St. Thomas Aquinas claimed all his great theological works were merely "straw." St. Therese of Liseiux wrote that, while she would have preferred to have become a missioner, even to suffer martyrdom--she was, rather, only a little plaything of the Child Jesus. Jesus told St. Faustina Kowalska that she was to be the Secretary of His Divine Mercy for her life on Earth. Any guesses as to what she's doing up in Heaven?
Flip on a television and watch the commericals for five minutes, and you'll get a completely opposite view. "Your future is now!" the ads scream. "Life is only worth all the pleasure and enjoyment you can get out of it...pursue health, wealth, beauty, and fame, and you've got it made. Live for the moment, because that's all there is, folks!" But what a bare, poor life that is compared with even the flashes of joy we experience in this life, the fullness of which can only be achieved in Heaven. And yet the thick, suffocating veil of materiality seems impenetrable. How can we deepen our sense of the endless? How can we apprehend immortality?
1. Advent is a great time to start praying. If you don't already have some kind of daily devotion, start one now. Since last year I have been praying Morning and Evening Prayer, with the super-abbreviated breviary, and it's mostly worked out. I love being steeped in the liturgical year instead of the secular year. It's a great way to meditate and memorize Scripture. Plus, it's cool to sign your correspondence with "The Feast of the..." just like bishops and cardinals do.
2. Start singing. Remember any hymns from church? Christmas carols? I'm having to re-learn them because they've been weeded out of radio and TV and the grocery store. I copy down hymns after Mass while my husband is dragging the toddler to the van, then sing from my scraps of paper when I'm alone with the kids.
3. Turn off the voices. It's hard to cultivate an inner dialogue with the Lord when you've got the TV blaring in the background. I limit TV time to Sesame Street and Bob, but after that it's off. Sometimes I listen to Catholic radio. But not always.
4. Take a mind trip. The imagination is a transcendent thing. It's no accident that every human being walking around this planet has an entire galaxy between their ears. Try imagining that when you're driving down the street. Whoa...if they only knew. When you lay down at night and your back/knees/feet/head is hurting, say to yourself, I've got a brand new one in Heaven. If you've had a bad day...I'm one day closer to being home with you, Jesus. Then try and imagine Jesus holding you, comforting you, welcoming you. Try to imagine what would happen if you died tonight. What if you woke up to...Him?? How would you live your day differently?
Don't accept the morbidity that surrounds death in our culture. Surrender to your own mortality. Accept the blinding fact that Jesus waits just beyond the curtain, and what he holds in trust for you is beyond your imagination. And you can't wait to get there! But if you just try to imagine it, using what faculties he gave you--he might grant to you a glimpse through the veil. I hope He gives something like that to my grandpa.
Please pray for him, his name is Harry.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Starving for Beauty
NO, this is not a post on anorexia--just a little epiphany I had today while wrapping presents. I got this mega-huge bag of old ribbon spools at Goodwill a few months ago, everything from red and white gingham to chartreuse polka dots, with a lot of good Christmas colors, but other crazy stuff too. And I had to wrap a big pile of presents so I used a good bit of the crazy stuff in there too. I got more and more elaborate with the wrapping, meditatively matching (and mis-matching) colors and patterns on top of the already-printed wrapping paper. I reminisced about past Christmases and thought about what made them special. All the time I thought, "I'm stupid for wasting time doing up these packages that are going to be shredded in no time flat."
But I wanted everyone who happens to be in our house to "feel special." I mean, when you're over 30 and you know that what's under the paper is no more exciting than socks and butter cookies, I thought that maybe we can squeeze just a bit more enjoyment out of the packages themselves. Maybe it will help the adults feel like kids again, just for a moment. Maybe it will help visitors feel especially loved and welcomed, just for a moment. Maybe it will stick in the kids' memories 20 years from now when they look around their college dorms and think, "Man, I wish I could be home for Christmas." Since we are moms, we can do that. We can take the time and make the cookies, use a little extra ribbon on the gifts, put a little extra flair into our decorating. Now I'm no Martha Stewart, mind you. I've got a downright scary toilet that needs cleaning, so I am neglecting things in order to wrap these presents, that I should perhaps be doing. But I couldn't tear myself away!
I got to my presents and started to feel sorry for myself because I had to wrap my own presents. How stupid, I thought. It's so much work, and it's not like I'm going to be surprised! I was tempted to skimp on ribbon and put less effort into my own packages. I mean, the baby is crying as it is! Then--WHAMMO--the realization hit me. We never think we are worth a little extra effort. A little extra attention. A little spot of sheer gratuitous beauty in our lives that sometimes seem as dull as...well, dishwater.
BUT...
God thinks we are worth it. God loves me! God loves me and wants to shower down presents on me. God thinks I'm worth a little pretty packaging, just because I'm me. Somewhere I had fallen into the trap of thinking that God loves what I do. But it's not true. A little tiny voice was trying to tell me, God loves you. He loves you as joyfully and abundantly and dearly and unconditionally as you love your kids, the little voice said. Even more. And when you exert yourself to add just a little bit of beauty to your life and the lives of others, you are doing His work. Those packages may go unremarked, but the likelihood is that the recipients will feel the love that you put into them, and they will treasure the love, not necessarily the wrapping paper or the socks. So I wrapped those packages and added plenty of frills.
That's what makes the home. It's the love that the mother can put into it, and any little touches of beauty that she can bring. That's what's missing in the culture "out there." There is pragmatism and commercialism and cold charity and cost. But not love. Yes, we have to scrape greasy dishes and clean up all the grimy stuff--life as real as it gets. But I think that we need beauty even more as an antidote. To remind ourselves that it's not just by changing diapers and fixing food that we show our love. This post goes into it a little bit better than I can think right now. But I am thinking, let's pursue an apostolate of beauty along with our wifehood.
But I wanted everyone who happens to be in our house to "feel special." I mean, when you're over 30 and you know that what's under the paper is no more exciting than socks and butter cookies, I thought that maybe we can squeeze just a bit more enjoyment out of the packages themselves. Maybe it will help the adults feel like kids again, just for a moment. Maybe it will help visitors feel especially loved and welcomed, just for a moment. Maybe it will stick in the kids' memories 20 years from now when they look around their college dorms and think, "Man, I wish I could be home for Christmas." Since we are moms, we can do that. We can take the time and make the cookies, use a little extra ribbon on the gifts, put a little extra flair into our decorating. Now I'm no Martha Stewart, mind you. I've got a downright scary toilet that needs cleaning, so I am neglecting things in order to wrap these presents, that I should perhaps be doing. But I couldn't tear myself away!
I got to my presents and started to feel sorry for myself because I had to wrap my own presents. How stupid, I thought. It's so much work, and it's not like I'm going to be surprised! I was tempted to skimp on ribbon and put less effort into my own packages. I mean, the baby is crying as it is! Then--WHAMMO--the realization hit me. We never think we are worth a little extra effort. A little extra attention. A little spot of sheer gratuitous beauty in our lives that sometimes seem as dull as...well, dishwater.
BUT...
God thinks we are worth it. God loves me! God loves me and wants to shower down presents on me. God thinks I'm worth a little pretty packaging, just because I'm me. Somewhere I had fallen into the trap of thinking that God loves what I do. But it's not true. A little tiny voice was trying to tell me, God loves you. He loves you as joyfully and abundantly and dearly and unconditionally as you love your kids, the little voice said. Even more. And when you exert yourself to add just a little bit of beauty to your life and the lives of others, you are doing His work. Those packages may go unremarked, but the likelihood is that the recipients will feel the love that you put into them, and they will treasure the love, not necessarily the wrapping paper or the socks. So I wrapped those packages and added plenty of frills.
That's what makes the home. It's the love that the mother can put into it, and any little touches of beauty that she can bring. That's what's missing in the culture "out there." There is pragmatism and commercialism and cold charity and cost. But not love. Yes, we have to scrape greasy dishes and clean up all the grimy stuff--life as real as it gets. But I think that we need beauty even more as an antidote. To remind ourselves that it's not just by changing diapers and fixing food that we show our love. This post goes into it a little bit better than I can think right now. But I am thinking, let's pursue an apostolate of beauty along with our wifehood.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
An attempt at using my degree...
So can I, like, start a meme? What's the worst book you ever read, that just had really bad writing? I don't mean it wasn't a page-turner, or even a bestseller, but that the writing just made you wince.
I just finished a two-book series called Cordelia's Honor, the first book of which is called Shards of Honor, and the second Barrayar. My husband had it sitting on his shelf and I noticed it had a woman on the front and she was actually dressed. Might be interesting, I thought. Since it was a science-fiction novel, I thought it must have lots of space battles, or lots to do with space, or with technology. Wrong. This book was mostly about reproduction. That confused me, because I had misread the author's name, Lois McMaster Bujold, to mean Louis. I thought, "Why's this man writing what seems to me to be a really weird romance novel?" Talk about feeling stupid.
Now, I don't have time to give a full synopsis of the series, but it will suffice to say that this is mostly a romance told with a military backdrop. Both the man and the woman come from different planets, with totally alien social structures.
Cordelia comes from Beta Colony, where all buildings are underground to shield people from the desert sun. This is an appropriate setting for Beta Colony's sterile society, which relies on comconsoles (Article 1 of the Constitution: No one shall be deprived of information), psychotherapy and drugs to solve any social "problems," and whiz-bang technology to control the birth rate. Nobody gets "married" on Beta Colony. If two people decide that they want a baby, they have to meet certain physical, emotional, and economic tests, take classes, pass boards, and purchase a "child permit." The child is then grown in a "uterine replicator" while the co-parents go their merry ways.
In contrast, Aral Vorkosigan is heir to his father's fortune, estates, and political problems. His planet is locked in a perpetual cycle of wars and political intrigue that makes 14th century Germany look tame. He has to tread the treacherous waters of the Barrayaran military, while holding his familial and political loyalties in tension--all of which blow up in his and Cordelia's faces, once they are together on Barrayar. Their son, Miles, is disabled because of a poison gas attack and, preserved in a liberated uterine replicator, becomes the football in a deadly game of power politics.
On the face of it, this should not be a bad book. After all, it didn't start out bad--Aral takes Cordelia as a hostage after foiling a mutiny, and they gradually fall in love while tramping through the bush and trying to stay alive. The trouble is that once they get back to society, there is some kind of attempt by the author to set up a culture clash which she doesn't quite bring off. Despite Cordelia's constant little observations about how "savage" Barrayaran culture is, her society is shown to have all the bad tendencies of any super-centralized, "Big Brother"-style civilization. So after they try to force her to give in to their drugs and "therapy" (because she must, of course, be some kind of spy after her experience with Aral), she runs away and uses all her military skills to make it to Barrayar, where she comes upon the unsuspecting Vorkosigan, who had left his marriage proposal lying inert in her lap and was now drinking himself to death. Then there is about two lines' worth of white space on the page and the narrative begins again...guess when...several weeks AFTER their wedding.
Huh??
Any romance reader worth her salt knows that after the big leadup and falling-in-love section of the book, the "climax"--as it were--of any romance is The Wedding, and of course, The Wedding Night...or at least, The Clinch (for this is where we seem to be going these days). This is the only real motivating force behind the genre. And the author just skips it.
There she lost my trust, as a reader. I think it was a boneheaded thing to do. She did not have to give it explicit, gratuitous detail...but seeing as how she'd used the genre thus far, and made us care about these characters and want to see them happy...she needed to at least sketch in the rest of the structure before she left it behind and switched over to another genre. Which she does, then, with bone-jarring force. End book one.
Book two starts with a full-blown political crisis. The emperor is dead and the heir is only five years old. Vorkosigan is the only qualified Regent to be had, and Cordelia, as his wife, finds herself in a curious position. She's a commoner, a "galactic," a feminist in a male-dominated world, and something of a close-order tactician. She doesn't care about clothes, courts, or counts, but she does care about Aral and her friends. So when political tensions on Barrayar explode into an attempted coup, she must first regain her old sense of herself (while fleeing through the mountains) in enough time to foil the bad 'uns plot, save her son, and cut off the head of the pretender. Whoops, that was a spoiler. Not that you were really going to read the book.
I could write a ten-page paper on all the flaws in this novel(s), but thankfully John C. Wright has summed it up for me:
"We can see a pattern in...realistic fiction: the scenery is mundane and unimaginative. The props and events are ordinary rather than extraordinary, and hence unimaginative. The events also must lack the one thing the human imagination always reads into events, that is, a moral purpose or providential meaning. The way a dull and unimaginative mind sees life, as a flux of events in which no pattern can be found, is the viewpoint of modernism. No extraordinary characters, no men of sterling virtue or villains of blackest vice, can exist in modernism, because there is nothing extraordinary in their world. It takes an act of imagination to picture the personality and behavior of a saint or a serial murderer."
http://johncwright.livejournal.com/57689.html#cutid1
Why does this criticism apply to Cordelia's Honor? In fairness, I must say that the author admits in an afterword that these books, while the first to be written, were the last to be sold and amount to a prequel to the main series, which concerns Miles and his exploits. And in all frankness, it is a triumph of conceit to sit back and, not having written a novel oneself, proceed to take apart somebody else's literary labor of love. But that is what English Majors do.
THE HERO
Aral Vorkosigan would have been a great hero if he hadn't been castrated in the first book. Feminist sensibilities might make for good press, but they make abysmally bad storytelling. It's not enough for Cordelia to just be herself. She has to be a scientist and a soldier before she can be Aral's love interest. When he proposes to her, she is so formidable that he acts like he's negotiating a treaty. She escapes from his ship out from under his nose when her loyal troops (all men) come to rescue their Commander, yet before she leaves, she single-handedly saves his hide from another bunch of would-be mutineers.
THE LADY
Cordelia bears no relation to her namesake of King Lear. She'd rather wear her old tan Survey fatigues than a dress, prefers watching a fight over a ball, and keeps a running internal dialogue on how backward Barrayar is and how she wonders if Beta Colony would have her back. Incomprehensibly, the author keeps putting vague religious references into her mouth without anchoring them in anything stemming from her culture, upbringing, or even her own personal beliefs (which we never find out). She's not exactly a crack fighter, but all the action-oriented plot points hinge on her ability to snatch victory from defeat. She becomes pregnant in the second book, and although she muses impartially on the various advantages and disadvantages of reproducing "in vivo" rather than "in vitro," she becomes fixated on her son only when it seems certain he will die.
THE BABY-IN-A-CAN
This is the weirdest plot point yet. I don't have a problem with science fiction writers thinking through the likely technological developments of the future, but they need to think through the probable moral and social consequences as well. Wright's criticism of modernism comes into play here as we see more and more tales cranked out, especially in the science fiction genre, in which technology that revolutionizes some aspect of life is dropped onto the stage like a sandbag, and left there with no moral consequences. Ms. Bujold does a good job of thinking through the political in-fighting that is the meat of the plot, so one wonders why her treatment of these (surely) much more personal and contemporary concerns is so clumsy, especially since they are so germane to the main characters and to the baby who will become the main character of a lengthy series.
In fairness, Ms. Bujold's overarching theme could be considered pro-life--the whole point of Miles' story arc is that he is "disabled" and yet goes on to lead a life of adventure and significance. So when he is in the uterine replicator, there is some dialogue on whether or not "opening up the stopcocks" may or may not be the best thing to do in his situation. However, the theme is still problematic because when Cordelia and Aral discuss it, they admit that both their worlds practice eugenics in some form, and while it's not clear whether they endorse these practices, they seem to be resigned to their necessity.
There is not only NOT clear moral direction here, but there is no attempt to even draw distinctions, i.e. contraception is OK, but not infantacide, for instance. This makes no sense--in our times, such statements are hardly ever made, not because they don't matter, but because people argue endlessly about them. Ms. Bujold picks these topics up as one would a snowglobe, shaking it and watching the snow fall for a moment, then walking away.
THE WEIRD SEXUAL STUFF
Another hallmark of modernism that I've found is its treatment of the physical body and the sexual nature of man as just another biological function that can and should be manipulated, with no especial moral complications. We have stories and novels now in which characters no longer have sex--they are merely rutting like two farm animals might, and the rutting process is described in indelicate and painful detail. Sexual abuse figures largely in Cordelia's Honor, and I am still trying to figure out why.
After eschewing the Wedding Night scene in the first novel, I thought maybe Ms. Bujold just didn't want to be caught focusing on sex. This notion was blown out of the water by the second novel's opening gambit, a military maneuver that results in Cordelia's being taken as a prisoner of war, and chained to the bed of some sadistic Vice-Admiral for what promises to be a long, drawn out rape scene. The room is described in vivid detail, as well as all the Vice-Admirals "plans" for her. During this, Cordelia lies stoically on the bed, refusing to acknowledge pain or fear. She is a soldier, after all--at least in this scene. She does have a miraculous escape, but my question is why. Why the detailed rape scene that ultimately has no more than a footnote's significance to the overall story, while the consummation of the love the two main characters have in their marriage is conspicuously left out? Why must there be a scene in which a 9 1/2 months pregnant woman is sexually degraded? The answer is because modernism allows for brutality, but not love. Love points to a higher plane of being.
CONCLUSION
Without making any direct attacks on Ms. Bujold--who I assume does not have the gift of faith, and who had the guts to write, and keep on writing...even when the first couple of books didn't pan out--I reject this style of writing categorically. I thought one of the great advantages of science fiction was that you could address topics that weren't compatible with "realistic" (modernist) literature. You could address spirituality, love, the conflict of the human heart...even controversial topics that are almost impossible to show on TV or in film without an uproar. Cordelia's Honor makes an attempt at this...but falls far too short of success, and shows the bad tendencies of the modernist influence and how it ultimately fails the story, the characters, and the reader. One hopes that Ms. Bujold was able to work out these issues and capture some transcendent themes that, sadly, were only dimly reflected in these first books.
***
On a personal note, I stopped trying to write fiction after college because I felt it was no longer worth it. Unless you were writing for a specific genre and followed all their rules (which I felt was too restrictive), the only model you had to go on if you aspired to write literature was this modernistic garbage: where characters' relationships were like car crashes, and the blood and guts were described with obsessive detail...while the whole point of storytelling--what makes this life matter--was missing.
Oh, I almost forgot...I tag Amy Caroline, mary poppins not, and laurathecrazymama!
I just finished a two-book series called Cordelia's Honor, the first book of which is called Shards of Honor, and the second Barrayar. My husband had it sitting on his shelf and I noticed it had a woman on the front and she was actually dressed. Might be interesting, I thought. Since it was a science-fiction novel, I thought it must have lots of space battles, or lots to do with space, or with technology. Wrong. This book was mostly about reproduction. That confused me, because I had misread the author's name, Lois McMaster Bujold, to mean Louis. I thought, "Why's this man writing what seems to me to be a really weird romance novel?" Talk about feeling stupid.
Now, I don't have time to give a full synopsis of the series, but it will suffice to say that this is mostly a romance told with a military backdrop. Both the man and the woman come from different planets, with totally alien social structures.
Cordelia comes from Beta Colony, where all buildings are underground to shield people from the desert sun. This is an appropriate setting for Beta Colony's sterile society, which relies on comconsoles (Article 1 of the Constitution: No one shall be deprived of information), psychotherapy and drugs to solve any social "problems," and whiz-bang technology to control the birth rate. Nobody gets "married" on Beta Colony. If two people decide that they want a baby, they have to meet certain physical, emotional, and economic tests, take classes, pass boards, and purchase a "child permit." The child is then grown in a "uterine replicator" while the co-parents go their merry ways.
In contrast, Aral Vorkosigan is heir to his father's fortune, estates, and political problems. His planet is locked in a perpetual cycle of wars and political intrigue that makes 14th century Germany look tame. He has to tread the treacherous waters of the Barrayaran military, while holding his familial and political loyalties in tension--all of which blow up in his and Cordelia's faces, once they are together on Barrayar. Their son, Miles, is disabled because of a poison gas attack and, preserved in a liberated uterine replicator, becomes the football in a deadly game of power politics.
On the face of it, this should not be a bad book. After all, it didn't start out bad--Aral takes Cordelia as a hostage after foiling a mutiny, and they gradually fall in love while tramping through the bush and trying to stay alive. The trouble is that once they get back to society, there is some kind of attempt by the author to set up a culture clash which she doesn't quite bring off. Despite Cordelia's constant little observations about how "savage" Barrayaran culture is, her society is shown to have all the bad tendencies of any super-centralized, "Big Brother"-style civilization. So after they try to force her to give in to their drugs and "therapy" (because she must, of course, be some kind of spy after her experience with Aral), she runs away and uses all her military skills to make it to Barrayar, where she comes upon the unsuspecting Vorkosigan, who had left his marriage proposal lying inert in her lap and was now drinking himself to death. Then there is about two lines' worth of white space on the page and the narrative begins again...guess when...several weeks AFTER their wedding.
Huh??
Any romance reader worth her salt knows that after the big leadup and falling-in-love section of the book, the "climax"--as it were--of any romance is The Wedding, and of course, The Wedding Night...or at least, The Clinch (for this is where we seem to be going these days). This is the only real motivating force behind the genre. And the author just skips it.
There she lost my trust, as a reader. I think it was a boneheaded thing to do. She did not have to give it explicit, gratuitous detail...but seeing as how she'd used the genre thus far, and made us care about these characters and want to see them happy...she needed to at least sketch in the rest of the structure before she left it behind and switched over to another genre. Which she does, then, with bone-jarring force. End book one.
Book two starts with a full-blown political crisis. The emperor is dead and the heir is only five years old. Vorkosigan is the only qualified Regent to be had, and Cordelia, as his wife, finds herself in a curious position. She's a commoner, a "galactic," a feminist in a male-dominated world, and something of a close-order tactician. She doesn't care about clothes, courts, or counts, but she does care about Aral and her friends. So when political tensions on Barrayar explode into an attempted coup, she must first regain her old sense of herself (while fleeing through the mountains) in enough time to foil the bad 'uns plot, save her son, and cut off the head of the pretender. Whoops, that was a spoiler. Not that you were really going to read the book.
I could write a ten-page paper on all the flaws in this novel(s), but thankfully John C. Wright has summed it up for me:
"We can see a pattern in...realistic fiction: the scenery is mundane and unimaginative. The props and events are ordinary rather than extraordinary, and hence unimaginative. The events also must lack the one thing the human imagination always reads into events, that is, a moral purpose or providential meaning. The way a dull and unimaginative mind sees life, as a flux of events in which no pattern can be found, is the viewpoint of modernism. No extraordinary characters, no men of sterling virtue or villains of blackest vice, can exist in modernism, because there is nothing extraordinary in their world. It takes an act of imagination to picture the personality and behavior of a saint or a serial murderer."
http://johncwright.livejournal.com/57689.html#cutid1
Why does this criticism apply to Cordelia's Honor? In fairness, I must say that the author admits in an afterword that these books, while the first to be written, were the last to be sold and amount to a prequel to the main series, which concerns Miles and his exploits. And in all frankness, it is a triumph of conceit to sit back and, not having written a novel oneself, proceed to take apart somebody else's literary labor of love. But that is what English Majors do.
THE HERO
Aral Vorkosigan would have been a great hero if he hadn't been castrated in the first book. Feminist sensibilities might make for good press, but they make abysmally bad storytelling. It's not enough for Cordelia to just be herself. She has to be a scientist and a soldier before she can be Aral's love interest. When he proposes to her, she is so formidable that he acts like he's negotiating a treaty. She escapes from his ship out from under his nose when her loyal troops (all men) come to rescue their Commander, yet before she leaves, she single-handedly saves his hide from another bunch of would-be mutineers.
THE LADY
Cordelia bears no relation to her namesake of King Lear. She'd rather wear her old tan Survey fatigues than a dress, prefers watching a fight over a ball, and keeps a running internal dialogue on how backward Barrayar is and how she wonders if Beta Colony would have her back. Incomprehensibly, the author keeps putting vague religious references into her mouth without anchoring them in anything stemming from her culture, upbringing, or even her own personal beliefs (which we never find out). She's not exactly a crack fighter, but all the action-oriented plot points hinge on her ability to snatch victory from defeat. She becomes pregnant in the second book, and although she muses impartially on the various advantages and disadvantages of reproducing "in vivo" rather than "in vitro," she becomes fixated on her son only when it seems certain he will die.
THE BABY-IN-A-CAN
This is the weirdest plot point yet. I don't have a problem with science fiction writers thinking through the likely technological developments of the future, but they need to think through the probable moral and social consequences as well. Wright's criticism of modernism comes into play here as we see more and more tales cranked out, especially in the science fiction genre, in which technology that revolutionizes some aspect of life is dropped onto the stage like a sandbag, and left there with no moral consequences. Ms. Bujold does a good job of thinking through the political in-fighting that is the meat of the plot, so one wonders why her treatment of these (surely) much more personal and contemporary concerns is so clumsy, especially since they are so germane to the main characters and to the baby who will become the main character of a lengthy series.
In fairness, Ms. Bujold's overarching theme could be considered pro-life--the whole point of Miles' story arc is that he is "disabled" and yet goes on to lead a life of adventure and significance. So when he is in the uterine replicator, there is some dialogue on whether or not "opening up the stopcocks" may or may not be the best thing to do in his situation. However, the theme is still problematic because when Cordelia and Aral discuss it, they admit that both their worlds practice eugenics in some form, and while it's not clear whether they endorse these practices, they seem to be resigned to their necessity.
There is not only NOT clear moral direction here, but there is no attempt to even draw distinctions, i.e. contraception is OK, but not infantacide, for instance. This makes no sense--in our times, such statements are hardly ever made, not because they don't matter, but because people argue endlessly about them. Ms. Bujold picks these topics up as one would a snowglobe, shaking it and watching the snow fall for a moment, then walking away.
THE WEIRD SEXUAL STUFF
Another hallmark of modernism that I've found is its treatment of the physical body and the sexual nature of man as just another biological function that can and should be manipulated, with no especial moral complications. We have stories and novels now in which characters no longer have sex--they are merely rutting like two farm animals might, and the rutting process is described in indelicate and painful detail. Sexual abuse figures largely in Cordelia's Honor, and I am still trying to figure out why.
After eschewing the Wedding Night scene in the first novel, I thought maybe Ms. Bujold just didn't want to be caught focusing on sex. This notion was blown out of the water by the second novel's opening gambit, a military maneuver that results in Cordelia's being taken as a prisoner of war, and chained to the bed of some sadistic Vice-Admiral for what promises to be a long, drawn out rape scene. The room is described in vivid detail, as well as all the Vice-Admirals "plans" for her. During this, Cordelia lies stoically on the bed, refusing to acknowledge pain or fear. She is a soldier, after all--at least in this scene. She does have a miraculous escape, but my question is why. Why the detailed rape scene that ultimately has no more than a footnote's significance to the overall story, while the consummation of the love the two main characters have in their marriage is conspicuously left out? Why must there be a scene in which a 9 1/2 months pregnant woman is sexually degraded? The answer is because modernism allows for brutality, but not love. Love points to a higher plane of being.
CONCLUSION
Without making any direct attacks on Ms. Bujold--who I assume does not have the gift of faith, and who had the guts to write, and keep on writing...even when the first couple of books didn't pan out--I reject this style of writing categorically. I thought one of the great advantages of science fiction was that you could address topics that weren't compatible with "realistic" (modernist) literature. You could address spirituality, love, the conflict of the human heart...even controversial topics that are almost impossible to show on TV or in film without an uproar. Cordelia's Honor makes an attempt at this...but falls far too short of success, and shows the bad tendencies of the modernist influence and how it ultimately fails the story, the characters, and the reader. One hopes that Ms. Bujold was able to work out these issues and capture some transcendent themes that, sadly, were only dimly reflected in these first books.
***
On a personal note, I stopped trying to write fiction after college because I felt it was no longer worth it. Unless you were writing for a specific genre and followed all their rules (which I felt was too restrictive), the only model you had to go on if you aspired to write literature was this modernistic garbage: where characters' relationships were like car crashes, and the blood and guts were described with obsessive detail...while the whole point of storytelling--what makes this life matter--was missing.
Oh, I almost forgot...I tag Amy Caroline, mary poppins not, and laurathecrazymama!
Saturday, December 02, 2006
My Progenitor is Literary
So with all due respect to my dad, I'd never thought I'd say this...my dad is a great writer! And he needs to get published! Sure, it's taken him a good fifty years an' what-all to gettin' it sorted all out down below, but now-a see hyar what kind-a yarn tellin' this ol' fox is 'capable uv:
"Well sir, Ah was jest 'bout ta creep outa there in low-range when Ah got to thinkin. This hyar'd be a good spot to check the underside a ol' Gramps's fer any dee-regularities, what with the extra standin room under thar. So Ah grabbed mah flashlight an reached fer the door handle but it weren't there. So Ah looked 'round an found Ah was sittin on it. So Ah figgered that mehbe it wadn't such a good idea ta open that door at this partic'lar angle. Ah mean thar's prob'ly a ten foot drop a waitin out thar. An hyar Ah am an older gent, alone in the dark a sittin in a truk that's perched pre-carius a half mile up a steep an ragged gulley from a possible rocky water landin an no help fer fifty miles. Ah ain't even got no dawg ta whine over me. So discretion being the better part a valor, Ah'll just have ta go out t'other door."
And that's before anything really happens!
I guess t'other part-a this that really tickles mah hide is that the ol' feller asked me, his weak an' sickly girl-child, fer help with his hyar, what they call it, creatin' process that all writers and such-like do, and hyar ah am, jes' a mean and lowly housewife an' all. So ah'm a mite tickled by the ol' gent ya see, an' ah'm right grateful to have my o-pinyuns asked fer.
"Well sir, Ah was jest 'bout ta creep outa there in low-range when Ah got to thinkin. This hyar'd be a good spot to check the underside a ol' Gramps's fer any dee-regularities, what with the extra standin room under thar. So Ah grabbed mah flashlight an reached fer the door handle but it weren't there. So Ah looked 'round an found Ah was sittin on it. So Ah figgered that mehbe it wadn't such a good idea ta open that door at this partic'lar angle. Ah mean thar's prob'ly a ten foot drop a waitin out thar. An hyar Ah am an older gent, alone in the dark a sittin in a truk that's perched pre-carius a half mile up a steep an ragged gulley from a possible rocky water landin an no help fer fifty miles. Ah ain't even got no dawg ta whine over me. So discretion being the better part a valor, Ah'll just have ta go out t'other door."
And that's before anything really happens!
I guess t'other part-a this that really tickles mah hide is that the ol' feller asked me, his weak an' sickly girl-child, fer help with his hyar, what they call it, creatin' process that all writers and such-like do, and hyar ah am, jes' a mean and lowly housewife an' all. So ah'm a mite tickled by the ol' gent ya see, an' ah'm right grateful to have my o-pinyuns asked fer.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Our Papa Celebrates Mass in Ephesus
Just saw this video on JimmyAkin.org and thought I'd share it with ya'll. I don't know how to put YouTube vids on my blog, so if you click on the link below it will take you to Jimmy's blog and you can watch it there.
Several things struck me about this video. Every time an image of the Pope appears, whether it's on the TV or in a magazine--like this week's cover of Time, the atmosphere around him is electric. I mean, if spiritual graces were visibly manifested as something like...lightning bolts, for instance, he'd be a mass of trailing arcs and sparks. In contrast, I'd be something like that static-y thing that happens when you open your dryer.
Next, watch how the people treat him. I mean, no matter how much you disagree with Catholicism, you cannot argue that this is the one person on Earth who could actually "confront Islam," like it said on the magazine cover. Then watch how he treats the consecrated Host. There is no doubt in my mind that he thinks of himself as the lowliest servant of Christ. And yet, what does it do to a man to consecrate, handle, and consume the Body and Blood of Christ over a lifetime? You can see the love in his hands and face. He does not wear the regalia of a king for his own glory. He does it for the glory of his King.
BTW, there's a good close-up of a woman wearing a headcovering in the vid, although most of the women are not wearing one.
CHECK IT OUT.
Several things struck me about this video. Every time an image of the Pope appears, whether it's on the TV or in a magazine--like this week's cover of Time, the atmosphere around him is electric. I mean, if spiritual graces were visibly manifested as something like...lightning bolts, for instance, he'd be a mass of trailing arcs and sparks. In contrast, I'd be something like that static-y thing that happens when you open your dryer.
Next, watch how the people treat him. I mean, no matter how much you disagree with Catholicism, you cannot argue that this is the one person on Earth who could actually "confront Islam," like it said on the magazine cover. Then watch how he treats the consecrated Host. There is no doubt in my mind that he thinks of himself as the lowliest servant of Christ. And yet, what does it do to a man to consecrate, handle, and consume the Body and Blood of Christ over a lifetime? You can see the love in his hands and face. He does not wear the regalia of a king for his own glory. He does it for the glory of his King.
BTW, there's a good close-up of a woman wearing a headcovering in the vid, although most of the women are not wearing one.
CHECK IT OUT.
Monday, November 13, 2006
If this is pride, it's a funny way to go about it
Today I had to go to Lowe's, even though the kids and I are still sick, and the last thing I want is for them to get their gooey little hands all over a germy shopping cart. But my special order stain was in, and since this door job we're trying to do is more than three months overdue, I had to stuff everybody in the van and just go do it.
BUT before I could leave the house, I had to find a top/skirt/shoe/coat combo that would work with the weather and with my own ego. As I struggled with my closet on this, I had to ask myself (again) just why I am going through this. What is so wrong with just throwing on some jeans? It's not like there's anybody at Lowe's who gives a darn about what they're wearing (Lowe's is a lot like Wal-Mart in that respect). And I don't want to look like I'm headed to church. But it's hard to go casual in a skirt, especially in November. I wanted to look modest (thus the skirt) but also sporty and Northwest-y enough to "pass muster" with the fashion critics lodged in my head.
Was I falling victim to pride? I thought about it...and concluded that while my own desire to achieve a certain "look" was probably prideful, it would have been just as prideful to throw on the jeans and then smirk at everybody in the store who didn't look as "put together" as I did, or whose butts looked bigger in their pants, or whatever. I discovered that there's always pride, no matter what we're wearing. If anything, wearing the skirt humbles me because I can't be all that my ego wants, being constrained by the modesty standards.
But it made me think again about this whole issue of pride, and whether dressing according to modesty principles is "prideful" because dressing differently tends to attract attention.
This is, perhaps, the biggest reason why Christians don't adopt more conservative dress. Some do, and I'm not trying to exclude them. But for many people in the pews, the last thing they want to do is stick out in the crowd. Part of it is human nature. Heck, even animals try to blend in with their environment--it's a form of self-defense for them, and for us, too. However much we proclaim that we have a "free" country and that people can do whatever they want to do, it's the rare person that swims upstream in the way they dress. For some, this may be a source of pride, particularly if done in a rebellious spirit...like the first hippies who wore their hair long, or when women burned their bras. Their flinging off of social mores in dress was done to attract attention, to make a statement, and to send out a big Boston raspberry to the establishment.
But now our society is full of "hippies" who think they are swimming upstream by their way-out modes of dress, so the image has become rather commonplace. And I would say that the last thing this new hippie generation is doing by their dress is making a statement, political or otherwise. They are just trying to fit in with a particular group that they feel best represents their beliefs and opinions. And there's really nothing wrong with that. I wouldn't accuse them of pride at all, even if they felt "proud" of their particular group. It's OK to have pride in who you are. Some people, like Erykah Badu--who often wears a very large and very distinctive African headdress--wear garments that remind themselves (and others) of their roots, and there's no sin in that. Many Americans, out of political correctness, would fall all over themselves to welcome such people and make them feel comfortable, because we've been told that they have a right to express themselves.
What then, are we to think about those among us who adopt a distinctive dress because of religion? Are they way-out? Are they motivated by rebelliousness, or pride? On the contrary, whenever I see a Muslim man in a turban or a woman in a hijab, the last thing I think they are doing is being prideful. In some countries where certain religions are persecuted, people may not even be able to wear distinctive religious garments. We should be glad that Muslims are free to wear what they want.
Some Orthodox Jewish women practice a form of modesty called tznius, which is very strict and regulated. They delineate which areas of the woman's actual bone structure are to be covered or uncovered. Granted, it may not exactly be popular in this country, but is there a big outcry over it? No, the woman's beliefs are simply accepted, because she has a right to express her culture and her religion, and the last thing anybody wants to be accused of is anti-Semitism. Even the babushka ladies at the grocery store remind us that there are many eastern cultures that are making their home here in the United States, and we have a duty to be hospitable and welcoming to these new immigrants.
So now we come to that great silent religion, Christianity. We are the only religion that cannot express ourselves through dress without some form of persecution. But, oddly enough, the persecution tends to come from fellow Christians. Early on in the Reformation, "clerical" garb was quickly discarded by the reformers, because it smacked of Catholicism. Priests and religious have always made easy targets because of the way they dress. Even today, laws that punish religious garb--especially that of Catholics--are in effect or on the table in France and India. And do you think that, left to themselves, they would have wanted it that way? Probably not. There may be nothing harder to bear in the life of a priest than the constant stares, comments, and inevitable questions that arise because of his Roman collar.
Obviously there is a great good in the distinctive dress of priests and religious, as there is in celibacy, or the Church would not have decreed it. For some, the sight of a man or woman of God gives them great comfort and hope, even if they are not Christian. At least there is a person who stands up for what he or she believes and is available to others' needs, as it says in the Gospel. While Blessed Mother Theresa may have adopted her plain white sari because it was common, and poor, it has become the uniform of an army--her Missionaries of Charity. When a poor person looks up out of a gutter and sees that white sari, he sees Mother--and when he sees her, he sees the hand of God.
And I don't think that a laywoman of the Church who gradually transitions her wardrobe over to skirts, jumpers, and dresses is going to incite a lot of turmoil in other people's hearts. Despite Gospel ideals, human nature drives people to be far more concerned about themselves than they ever would be about somebody else's minute details of dress. If guys in the NFL can have dreadlocks cascading out of their helmets, it should not be a violation of anybody else's sensibilities if I put on a wool plaid skirt and go out into the rain.
Is dressing "differently," then, a prideful act? As I hope I have already proved, it can be if done in an in-your-face way, or for specious reasons. Or it can be one of the most humbling things you can do. I don't think anybody who wears offbeat dress for a well-thought-out reason is acting out of deadly sin-type pride. It can be just as dangerous to your soul to "blend in." You could make the argument that those who run to keep up with the latest fashion are falling victim to pride. You could say that aging women who dye their hair and teeth and wear lots of makeup are falling prey to pride. What about people who go to such great lengths to achieve and keep a perfect body? What about people who drive Hummers? Once you start pointing that finger, there is no end to it. The truth is that we are all battling pride in some form or another. And there is no telling, just by looking, who it is. I think the most dangerous thing we can do is second-guess people's motives for how they dress or act. We just don't know.
And when it comes to various stripes of Christian who are struggling to bring back more conservative and graceful modes of dress, in line with their own cultures and religious heritage--they should be encouraged rather than criticized. We may be a small minority, and our form of dress may not be everybody's cup of tea, but we are within our rights in this country, and we should use them while we have them, lest even what we have be taken away.
BUT before I could leave the house, I had to find a top/skirt/shoe/coat combo that would work with the weather and with my own ego. As I struggled with my closet on this, I had to ask myself (again) just why I am going through this. What is so wrong with just throwing on some jeans? It's not like there's anybody at Lowe's who gives a darn about what they're wearing (Lowe's is a lot like Wal-Mart in that respect). And I don't want to look like I'm headed to church. But it's hard to go casual in a skirt, especially in November. I wanted to look modest (thus the skirt) but also sporty and Northwest-y enough to "pass muster" with the fashion critics lodged in my head.
Was I falling victim to pride? I thought about it...and concluded that while my own desire to achieve a certain "look" was probably prideful, it would have been just as prideful to throw on the jeans and then smirk at everybody in the store who didn't look as "put together" as I did, or whose butts looked bigger in their pants, or whatever. I discovered that there's always pride, no matter what we're wearing. If anything, wearing the skirt humbles me because I can't be all that my ego wants, being constrained by the modesty standards.
But it made me think again about this whole issue of pride, and whether dressing according to modesty principles is "prideful" because dressing differently tends to attract attention.
This is, perhaps, the biggest reason why Christians don't adopt more conservative dress. Some do, and I'm not trying to exclude them. But for many people in the pews, the last thing they want to do is stick out in the crowd. Part of it is human nature. Heck, even animals try to blend in with their environment--it's a form of self-defense for them, and for us, too. However much we proclaim that we have a "free" country and that people can do whatever they want to do, it's the rare person that swims upstream in the way they dress. For some, this may be a source of pride, particularly if done in a rebellious spirit...like the first hippies who wore their hair long, or when women burned their bras. Their flinging off of social mores in dress was done to attract attention, to make a statement, and to send out a big Boston raspberry to the establishment.
But now our society is full of "hippies" who think they are swimming upstream by their way-out modes of dress, so the image has become rather commonplace. And I would say that the last thing this new hippie generation is doing by their dress is making a statement, political or otherwise. They are just trying to fit in with a particular group that they feel best represents their beliefs and opinions. And there's really nothing wrong with that. I wouldn't accuse them of pride at all, even if they felt "proud" of their particular group. It's OK to have pride in who you are. Some people, like Erykah Badu--who often wears a very large and very distinctive African headdress--wear garments that remind themselves (and others) of their roots, and there's no sin in that. Many Americans, out of political correctness, would fall all over themselves to welcome such people and make them feel comfortable, because we've been told that they have a right to express themselves.
What then, are we to think about those among us who adopt a distinctive dress because of religion? Are they way-out? Are they motivated by rebelliousness, or pride? On the contrary, whenever I see a Muslim man in a turban or a woman in a hijab, the last thing I think they are doing is being prideful. In some countries where certain religions are persecuted, people may not even be able to wear distinctive religious garments. We should be glad that Muslims are free to wear what they want.
Some Orthodox Jewish women practice a form of modesty called tznius, which is very strict and regulated. They delineate which areas of the woman's actual bone structure are to be covered or uncovered. Granted, it may not exactly be popular in this country, but is there a big outcry over it? No, the woman's beliefs are simply accepted, because she has a right to express her culture and her religion, and the last thing anybody wants to be accused of is anti-Semitism. Even the babushka ladies at the grocery store remind us that there are many eastern cultures that are making their home here in the United States, and we have a duty to be hospitable and welcoming to these new immigrants.
So now we come to that great silent religion, Christianity. We are the only religion that cannot express ourselves through dress without some form of persecution. But, oddly enough, the persecution tends to come from fellow Christians. Early on in the Reformation, "clerical" garb was quickly discarded by the reformers, because it smacked of Catholicism. Priests and religious have always made easy targets because of the way they dress. Even today, laws that punish religious garb--especially that of Catholics--are in effect or on the table in France and India. And do you think that, left to themselves, they would have wanted it that way? Probably not. There may be nothing harder to bear in the life of a priest than the constant stares, comments, and inevitable questions that arise because of his Roman collar.
Obviously there is a great good in the distinctive dress of priests and religious, as there is in celibacy, or the Church would not have decreed it. For some, the sight of a man or woman of God gives them great comfort and hope, even if they are not Christian. At least there is a person who stands up for what he or she believes and is available to others' needs, as it says in the Gospel. While Blessed Mother Theresa may have adopted her plain white sari because it was common, and poor, it has become the uniform of an army--her Missionaries of Charity. When a poor person looks up out of a gutter and sees that white sari, he sees Mother--and when he sees her, he sees the hand of God.
And I don't think that a laywoman of the Church who gradually transitions her wardrobe over to skirts, jumpers, and dresses is going to incite a lot of turmoil in other people's hearts. Despite Gospel ideals, human nature drives people to be far more concerned about themselves than they ever would be about somebody else's minute details of dress. If guys in the NFL can have dreadlocks cascading out of their helmets, it should not be a violation of anybody else's sensibilities if I put on a wool plaid skirt and go out into the rain.
Is dressing "differently," then, a prideful act? As I hope I have already proved, it can be if done in an in-your-face way, or for specious reasons. Or it can be one of the most humbling things you can do. I don't think anybody who wears offbeat dress for a well-thought-out reason is acting out of deadly sin-type pride. It can be just as dangerous to your soul to "blend in." You could make the argument that those who run to keep up with the latest fashion are falling victim to pride. You could say that aging women who dye their hair and teeth and wear lots of makeup are falling prey to pride. What about people who go to such great lengths to achieve and keep a perfect body? What about people who drive Hummers? Once you start pointing that finger, there is no end to it. The truth is that we are all battling pride in some form or another. And there is no telling, just by looking, who it is. I think the most dangerous thing we can do is second-guess people's motives for how they dress or act. We just don't know.
And when it comes to various stripes of Christian who are struggling to bring back more conservative and graceful modes of dress, in line with their own cultures and religious heritage--they should be encouraged rather than criticized. We may be a small minority, and our form of dress may not be everybody's cup of tea, but we are within our rights in this country, and we should use them while we have them, lest even what we have be taken away.
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