Re: Leonardo…
I'm not necessarily endorsing the Hypatia Institute as a whole. They seem to be cut from another corner of the wacky fabric that spawned Michael Gelb's book. But the How Not to Think… page was helpful

And the I'm No Archimedes Award goes to me… for sustained painful hand spasms caused by using a tiny screwdriver to construct my new modular craft cubes. I'd like to thank the Academy… what can I say?… the tip of the screwdriver fit the screws…what do I know about leverage, torque, ergonomics? Some of us need to learn the hard way...

William F. Buckley Jr., R.I.P.
"polysyllabic exuberance"
(My big junior high crush.
While my friends emoted over Davy Jones and other assorted Monkees, I was watching Firing Line.)

Found what I'm looking for…
I could have save $10.88 by utilizing the Search Inside feature at amazon.com. But I went ahead and ordered How to Think Like Leonardo da Vinci when what I was really looking for was
How Not to Think Like Leonardo da Vinci. You know, as a little inspiration for the little (and not so little) Leonardos living under my roof. I just don't think How to Think Like Leonardo is going to be all that helpful for our unit study. In fact, some things (e.g. Make Smells a Theme for a Day) are puerile joke minefield when teaching teenaged boys.

"OK boys, open your Leonardo notebooks. What do you smell right now? Describe what you smell right now . . . as vividly as you can."

Do I regret the purchase of The Encyclopedia of Immaturity? No, not at all.

Au Contraire, Ms. Jacobs...
"The thing is, I don’t hear that many adults these days drop references to Job, or McCarthyism, or even Orwell."

Job. Especially Job. In a whiny self-pitying, "Our car has a gas line leak, we just paid $260 to ComEd and the little dog pooped in the bathroom while I was working out and I stepped in it on my way to the shower," sort of way. I don't think scripture should necessarily be treated as just literature....but if you're gonna feed it to public high school freshman, Job is a good place to start.

lowercase L...
poses a question - exists for the very question - that I had never thought of. Now it's going to bother me. Probably the rest of my lIFE!

From the red carpet…
I'm wearing vintage GAP on top with my trademark khakis. The shoes? Why thank you. L.L. Bean Pink Lobsters….
'Baby Bump?' Whadya mean 'baby bump? The due date? December 9, 1993. OK, whatever, yes, the baby is almost old enough to drive…
Check out Jessa Crispin on the eternal allure of the fashion manual. She could easily find the smart girl at my house. Or office…

"Quick: How do you tell if a woman in a movie is supposed to be intelligent? First off, she’d probably be brunette, but past that. Glasses, yes. Little to no makeup. Her hair is probably in a ponytail. Clothes she probably bought at the Gap in a size too big. You know she’s the smart one because she thinks about more important things than her appearance."

…with a nod to the more civilized 10:02am Bill White.

Oscar Party!
One of the two nights a year that I find sleep absolutely irresistible. This year I'll try staying full dressed, discalced with chilly toes and sitting in an uncomfortable chair.

I rallied during my sick day on Thursday and finally joined Netflix. I never get around to going to the video store - when the family named isn't in disgrace - and the library doesn't quite meet my needs. (Total digression - dear 'bot, Is the Westchester Public Library missing a copy of Back to Black and some assorted Christmas albums? Hmmm.) So by yesterday afternoon I was in business...watching La Vie en Rose. So I now I totally think Marion Cotillard should be Best Actress. Totally. (I'm sure the movie will win for Best Make-Up, considering the competition is (gag) Norbitt and Pirates of the Caribbean. Not that Davy Jones wasn't a masterpiece of some sort of creepiness. But Edith Piaf aging none too well and exquisitely believably is a triumph beyond tentacle and barnicle faces.

So, let's make dinner. Put the quiche in the oven. Get suitably uncomfortable and see what else I've missed at ShowPlace 8 over the past year.

...and dance by the light of the moon.
In an unprecedented move, I've called in sick for the second time in a week and a half. (If I were eligible for paid sick leave, I would say my employer owes me big time...but since I'm not, well, whatever. It's a little embarrassing, though, since a new secretary joined us last week and I'm thinking that she'll think I'm a professional malingerer who takes off one day out of every 5. Time will tell...things being what they are, I may not take a day off for another year.)

I know cold air can't make you sick. But I don't want to tell anyone that I've been shivering since standing in the driveway last night to watch the lunar eclipse. I certainly don't want to confess that I was so caught up in the moment that I had wandered out in flip-flops and no coat. 2010 is the next full eclipse...so I should have acquired the maturity to bundle up by that time.

Martha may not be in a rush to return home from work since I told her we would be recreating the eclipse when I'm feeling better. I meant with our solar system model, not by dancing around the living room. Though that could be fun!

No one remembers the time we went to the beach to watch a lunar eclipse. I don't remember the year, but someone was a baby because we had that lovely trek across the sand with a stroller. I thought it was quite a night...the whole neighborhood was there. If I had known that the girls wouldn't remember, would I have done it? I guess. I have my memories. And the Fisher-Price telescope clogged with sand.

A shimmering essay from a so-so English student, for example, clashes like "red stilettos and sweats…
That far I would not stoop. And not just because I would have trouble staying in the first-person.

Martha's personal essay for U of I is so personal she didn't even ask me to read it.
Hmmm. Let's hope she's not trying to pass her self off as some sort of spunky orphan.
Or perhaps she just left some big, justifiable gaps. Like "My mother and father don’t care…enough to write my essay or hire an editor/coach to help me."

For nearly 40 years, Ted Neeley has been Jesus.*
I thought it would be difficult for anyone to admit having owned "Jesus Christ, Superstar," let alone embrace a lifetime career in its production. Although I would think that certain roles leave a mark on a career despite an actor's efforts to the contrary. I mean, whenever I see Victor Garber
in a villainous role, I still think, "Hey, you're Jesus. The nice, mime Jesus. What happened to you?" (Funny, I'm still in sort of a President's Day Lincolnesque vein here…having seen Godspell on stage at Ford's Theatre back in 1973.)

* - A news commentator pointed out that he has been playing Jesus longer than the real Jesus lived. Hadn't thought of it that way...kinda makes it more pathetic.

The Night the Bed Fell
A teachable moment.
Dear, unassuming Chuck, old enough to vote in this year's Presidential election, finally has moved into a bed that does not remind his mother of Abe Lincoln every time she sees his feet dangling over the end. When asked about his first night in a decent, full length bed, he said it was great – "until the bed fell."

The repair of the bed was left up to the fellows, while I ran to the bookshelf to use this as the perfect moment to introduce a little more Thurber into their lives. What? You guys never read, "The Night the Bed Fell?"

Here we had the perfect tie-in…

He wonders how Americans would feel if the bodies were unclaimed victims of Katrina.
The answer is obvious: There would be hell to pay.
An interesting article with another reason why the plastinizationated Bodies display is wrong.

Don't look back. Something might be gaining on you.
TSO takes the "blogume" to a new level.

And leads me to wonder, if he can get a reference from his dog, can I get a letter of reference from long time First Things subscriber, Mr. Charles R.S. von Huben. (Yes, people, I am not only so dubious as to have written papers for other people, but I also took out my first First Things subscription in Chas's name so as to qualify for the student rate. Now that I am slightly more prosperous, I pay the full grown-up amount but the subscription is still in the kid's name. There, I feel better having admitted that. Even though I did take the matter to confession some years back and the priest said what I did was probably not a sin as long as Chuck had first dibs on the magazine and I had some sort of hope that he would read a little. The only other thing I can say in my defense is that the subscription went to a real person at my address who was old enough to read.)

I'm Not Sick but I'm Not Well
Or the inverse. Or converse. Or something
I hate to take sick days, as much as I disapprove of "presentee-ism." But I just couldn't pull it together this morning.

It's a shame that a sick day should be wasted on the sick. I went back to bed and slept until noon.
I tried to take advantage of the free time to do some extra school stuff with the boys, but the results were not inspiring. (Since I don't get paid for sick days I tend to look at them in terms of, "would I pay X number of dollars for the privilege of sleeping, schlepping around the house in my nightgown, watching videos en francais, etc?" And the answer is usually no. And there are the times when the answer may be yes, but time sensitive duties at work preclude convalesence.)
I think we would have been better off if I had remained curled up and watched the DVD of Across the Universe (again!) instead of trying to draw the boys into some sort of rational discussion. A discussion which devolved into, "If Leonardo da Vinci were alive today, would he be diagnosed with ADD?," "That's what she said." "Oink, oink, oink." "Put the sword down before someone looses an eye..."

So I don't feel good enough to be effective here, but I'm not sick enough to not care. I don't feel like doing much reading, but I'm not sufficiently sleepy to ignore the idiots who are doing donuts out in the cul-de-sac. Those idiots are competing for right of way with a few snowmobilers. (This is suburban Chicago, not the wild west!?!) I think it's time to pop Across the Universe back into the DVD player...

'Tis better to apply and be rejected…
than spend a subzero Sunday afternoon watching trash TV.
And how delightful to take a goof off 'continuing education' break and have my name jump off the screen at First Things Blog. Nice change of pace from the usual Monday morning paper shuffling.

As to the mention of plagiarism, I looked at the door sign on my way to wind the clock and saw that it read: please…make sure to pull the door closed behind you. A bit out of the realm of plagiarism, though strictly dull and derivative. (I was writing the application in bed, from memory – which isn't what it used to be.)

Mr. Sacramone's description of it being "both frightening and entertaining, just like lunch at TGI Friday’s," makes me wish I had included a photo of my home decorating projects, to shore up his opinion. That phrase is so apt I hope to use it (with permission and proper attribution, of course) on my annual Christmas letter. Should the day come when I get around to writing Christmas letters.

*And apologies to Mr. Bottum – I must have been obsessing between AMidsummer Night's Dream vs. Titus Andronicus for Shakespeare month.

Is it just me...
or did anyone else think it whimsical that today's Old Testament reading (esp. "Then the eyes of both of them were opened,
and they realized that they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves.") coincides with Fashion Week in New York. Not that I follow fashion...

My Sunday Afternoon Reverie

To: Mr. Anthony Sacramone,
Managing Editor, First Things
156 Fifth Ave., Suite 400
New York, NY 10010



Dear Mr. Sacramone,

It has come to my attention that your publication is looking for young writers interested in religion and public life to pursue your First Things junior fellowships. While the initial impression is that you are looking for young people who write, perhaps the description could be expanded to encompass those who are young in the enterprise of writing.

Having spent the years from 1979 to the present exercising my feminine option to bear and raise children, I am essentially a literary Austin Powers (well, except that I would not say that women want me nor do men want to be me). I am interested in picking up where I left off at college commencement in May 1978.

Not that the the ensuing years have been totally fallow. The rigors of bearing, raising and educating a family have certainly educated me. Years passed with much reading but little writing beyond school excuses and tardy notes. With time I did manage to branch out into writing letters to the editor (usually of the ‘high dudgeon’ variety) of various august publications. Including First Things, which published one of my letters just last fall. Seeing my name on the same page as Fr. Neuhaus, Joseph Bottom, George Weigel, you and other fine minds, was a heady experience that I wouldn’t mind
repeating.

I understand that there are younger, more talented writers out there that you may well desire as Junior Fellows. Not to mention that a publication dedicated to “a religiously informed public philosophy for the ordering of society” might have qualms about aiding and abetting a mother with a devoted husband, one child of ‘tender years, a young man finishing 12th grade homeschool plus other devotees in what would be essentially running away to join the (Religion and Public Life) circus. But I do so appreciate the opportunity to contemplate “what if?”

Sincerely,
Ellyn von Huben

---

RESUME

Ellyn S. von Huben
Lake Bluff,Illinois

Employment History:

2001 - present
Administrative Assistant in my local parish rectory
Responsibilities include basic clerical (that’s office clerical; not Church clerical) duties, phone contact with public; sacramental record keeping and assorted creative tasks as the need arises.

1979 - present
mother of six children

1978 -79
clerical temp work (steel mill, clothing factory, insurance office.)

Education:
1973 graduate, Cedarburg High School Cedarburg, Wisconsin (National Merit Commended Student, yearbook photographer, avid tennis player. No arrests. No detentions. No National Honor Society or Honor Roll)

1978 - B.A. in art history, Barat College, Lake Forest, Illinois (with a heavy emphasis on religious studies, including an exposure to the creme de la creme of 1970’s far-out spirituality)

---

REFERENCES
1) from Mr. R. von Huben of Lake Bluff, Illinois.

Take my wife....please

2) from my current employer

Ellyn has been a priceless addition to our staff. Besides a gift for multi-tasking (e.g. - answering 6 phone lines, ordering office and church supplies, haranguing clergy to keep the wheels of parish life turning, desktop publishing, copier unjamming, cut-paper crafts and blogging on office time) she has a flair for the written word.

I am pleased to attach several copies of some of Ellyn’s best work. A Message from the Toilet exemplifies her witty and honest style, Please Don’t Close Soap Door when Running Dishwasher draws upon her vast experiences with technology and demonstrates her skill in putting the most obtuse concept in language that any lay person can understand, while Please Close Door Firmly Behind You (not to be confused with All Rectory Visitors Should Use Front Door - aka Ring Back Door Bell only if Absolutely Necessary - pure, nascent early Ellyn, written, at the beginning of her rectory career) is a masterpiece of concise communication and artful presentation in its original daringly bold type on a dissonant nonecclesial neon orange card stock.

We would miss her (especially when the hall clock needs to be wound on Monday and Friday or if our ancient plumbing should act up and require signage) but our loss could certainly be your gain.

3) from an anonymous retired Lutheran Pastor - Cedarburg, Wisconsin

Ellyn left us of her own volition. We had no clue that the Parish Council youth representative, Christmas pageant director cum summer bulletin editor would turn on us with such a vengeance. And, after that inflammatory letter of resignation that she wrote us back in 1975, I can vouch for her writing skills. (Thank God for the postal service and the fact that our church has glass doors...)

From what I hear, Ellyn has sloughed off the bad effects of her studies under Fr. Matthew Fox and Rosemary Radford-Ruether but made good on her childhood desire to become Catholic. More power to you all.

---

WRITING SAMPLES

This is where it gets sticky.
Hmmm, writing of an academic nature. I wrote a bang-up senior paper in college. Got an A. It’s somewhere in my house. Unfortunately, I am not a grade A housekeeper.

To be honest, I haven’t needed to do much writing of an academic nature. Except for helping my children and their friends punch up their work, which proves that I can still hang in there with the college kids. Or that standards have deteriorated abysmally in the past 28 years. To be extra super-honest, I did have a recent moment of moral flexibility, in which I essentially wrote a paper for one of my children. Just this once. She has been a relatively low-need scholar and since I didn’t have to sit by her side through years of homework*, I allowed myself to slip one time. Just for fun. Just because I like to write.

(*Except for the ordeal of reading “Evangeline” back when she was a homeschooler. Less of a meeting of minds than a locking of horns.)

Of course I'm working...
...this is a test.

Edited at LunaPic.com

Ouch!

Which Character From The Office Are You?

Created by BuddyTV

And Fr. Erik was disappointed to be Dwight?
I think of myself as sort of the best of Dwight and Jim with a touch of Pam. But then when I read the results I found the real me. Double ouch.

Oh, Mom, they tagged you good...You don't have a forehead, it's a fivehead
or
Why Ash Wednesday is one of the best days of the year!
In the almost twenty years that we have been Catholic, I have reveled in the physical manifestation placed on my forehead every Ash Wednesday. So my spiritual challenge for this year was the possibility of having to offer up not making it to church for the distribution of ashes. The snow yesterday was...a lot. It took us a long time to make what should be the 8 minute drive to church. And on the way, my mind wandered. What if we were late? What if there were no ashes for latecomers? What if I couldn't duck out of work for the 9:00 or NOON Masses? What if...

One of the other reasons I was hell-bent (is that correct for a moderately pious church secretary?) on getting up to church was that Ash Wednesday is a major phone ringing off the wall day. And our parishioners are accustomed to live customer service voices helping them: no recorded messages for us! During the ride to church/work I found my mind morphing into one of the phone voices. Totally concerned about the ashes. ("No, I just want to know what time during Mass they're giving out ashes? Can I stop by the rectory?) I knew when the ashes would be distributed and it wasn't looking good for us. Rick dropped us at the front of the church and went to park the car. We came in just as the people we queueing up. I gave Chuck one last admonition to hold his fabulous locks back and not make Fr. go spelunking for his forehead. Rick missed the ashes, but Fr. did take care of latecomers after Mass.

When I walked in to work, my co-workers shrieked and pointed at my forehead. Which I thought was sort of strange, given that we work for the Church. I didn't even look at myself until later in the day. I am ashamed that I was so pleased with the splendid cross - no tiny smudge. Bridget came in to fetch me at quitting time...and screamed, "They tagged you good!"

(The boys, who were behind me in line were not marked as boldly...and there crosses were 50% worn off by the time I got home. But me... I am ashamed that I was so pleased. And as always, ladies, it helps if you exfoliate, lightly moisture and dust your visage with Physicians' Formula Pearls of Perfection to create the perfect foundation for a cross that lasts all day long!()

Just my technical opinion...
...that auto-format business on Microsoft Word is the tool of the devil.
I cannot make it stop doing what it wants.

(e.g., I starting to type the 'script' for Palm Sunday and if I type V. for voice, it wants to give me VI for the next line. N. for Narrator is followed by O. I could have the whole thing keyboarded by now if I didn't have to keep undoing it and tweak the the indents. Ive clicked on every option etc. and it still wants to auto-format me.)

Maybe having learned to type on a manual typewriter, followed by some tough lessons in early phototypesetting, I really want a machine that does what I tell it to do - not the other way around. That's why I love my Dyson. I turn it on and it vacuums the dirt. It doesn't argue with me about what needs vacuuming.

Secretum Meum Mihi.
Ashes. Check.
Mission posters. Check.
Lenten brochures. Check.
Penance booklets. Check.
Liturgy binders. Check.
Altar servers. Check.
Huge snow mega-storm on its way. Check.

I've done all I can do. And the snow . . . well, we'll see what happens.
Ready or not, Fat Tuesday is almost over.

The kvetching is not out of my system. Maybe I won't give up kvetching. Maybe I will.
But I know I don't want to spend my breaks at work loitering in the kitchen kvetching about what I'm not doing. Life has not evolved much since junior high - it still seems that the only thing women like more than talking about what they are eating is talking about what they aren't eating. So my penances are mine. My penance. My offering. My secret.
(Not my snack time schtick.)