FYI...to my family:
Your mother is not suffering from andouille.
But it was nice of you to ask.

A Monday Exercise
via The Summa Mamas.

Outside My Window... our church

I am thinking... yes. Yes I am.

I am thankful for... too much to enumerate!

From the kitchen... anything Dad wants to cook.

I am wearing... Khakis, cotton top, work appropriate shoes. No more flip flops. My toes are sad. Not in pain. Just sad.

I am creating... more decorative boxes.

I am going...home to ‘do’ school with Eddie. With a stop at the post office to mail a package to my sister and then to the stationers to order a dozen emergency generic USHER badges. We was robbed. Literally. All of the usher badges. How’s that for strange?

I am reading...Eucharist: Catholic Spirituality for Adults by Fr. Robert Barron., a backlog of magazines and, with Eddie, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

I am hoping.... for the best.

I am hearing... wind. And some sort of electrical humming from the boiler room below my office. Time for iTunes.

Around the house... dust, dog hair, Halloween decorations.

One of my favorite things... craft stores.

A Few Plans For The Rest Of The Week: work, writing, cleaning, schooling. And my ‘stories’ on Thursday night TV.

Here is a picture thought I am sharing...

Butter Wouldn’t Melt in her Mouth.
A phrase meant to convey insouciance but often expanded in my family’s jargon to mean patent insincerity. And this phrase resurfaces in my mind as the time before election day dwindles and the onslaught of TV advertising ramps up. There are some distinct voices I hear over and over in a multitude of ads. These voices are not as gifted as someone like Don LaFontaine, of blessed memory, but in a world driven insane with election mania they do get the job done.

Where do these voices go when election time is over? Are the people, their mouths slick with something, who can do “so and so is wrong for the people of Illinois etc.” and “but so and so is the right choice” capable of doing any other voice over work? Can they turn it down a few notches? Can they salivate over DQ sundaes or bring their terror to household insect infestations? Or do they just coast until the next round?

Dripping voices. Oozing. Overweening admiration. Terror and disdain.
Butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths.
(But I think I threw up in mine.)

Wisconsin Death Trip
No, we’re not going up to see my sister.
Just wanted to pass along that my favorite plotless book is also my favorite plotless movie. Another piece of evidence that Wisconsin is the "south of the north." (And remember kids, it's Death Trip, not Death Trap.)

This director’s commentary is worth a listen. And not just from the standpoint of the fascinating details of making an exquisite movie on a very tight budget.

Director James Marsh talks about being perplexed with the Christian concept of the Eucharist. He does not reveal what his religious background is but he seems rather unclear on this concept; what understanding he does have is of the basic Lutheran consubstantiation variety. Being Wisconsin, of course, the present day communion scene shows the tidy Lutheran distribution of communion in pristine glass thimbles. Marsh could not resist the opportunity to segue from communion to shots in the local tavern. (I’d like to call that a cheap shot, but then, having once upon a time participated in the preparation and subsequent washing of those thimbles…)

5,922 Pieces...no problem!
Who needs to purchase the kit?
As long as we don't mind a multi-colorTaj Mahal.

Welcome to the Family!
Yes, this is the actual pig via email introduction.
Once weaned, this delightful little porker will be joining my sister's household. Her family recently moved into a dilapidated charming fixer-upper farmhouse on 20 acres in the North Woods. So she's not exactly doing a Mrs. Walgreen, though they do have every intention of allowing "Cletus" to roam about the house*. Karen has it on the best authority that this pig is 'trainable.' We can hope. Scrappy, our twelve pound hound has occasional lapses in training. I shudder to imagine the consequences if were ten times the weight.

* Perfectly lovely to have in the home, these potbellies necessitate the securing of cabinets etc. to prevent out of control feeding. This led me to the crass suggestion of Prader-Willi as a potential last name for Cletus.

My Lost Week-End
I'm remembering the trained chicken when I saw at the Wisconsin Dells when I was about five years old. For a minimal but obviously significant reward the chicken would perform some sort of repetitive task. For the past few days, I have become the chicken.

After reading via Melanie Bettinelli, that the Free Rice website now had a famous paintings review... well, it was all down hill from there. Between that and the introduction of the insidious Flood-It, well, shame on me.

We did get our Etsy site underway, but Fran did the mental heavy lifting and picture taking. And I finally vacuumed the cobbies and dust bunnies away from the furnace area in the laundry room. That was a job so mentally taxing that it sent me running back to refresh my art memory. And I pulled myself away long enough to finally winnow out the huge basket of socks without mates*. While watching the most vile and pointless movie; which I watched all the way to the end in hopes of finding some moment of redemption or at least explanation.

So, yeah, except for that sanctified hour yesterday morning it was pretty much a blank. If you don't count the chance to bask in the glow of remembering Thomas Cole...

* - Martha: Any interesting socks are now in your room in hopes that their mates might still appear as I continue my purge of the laundry room.

What would Christmas be without a new cotton flannel nightgown by Lanz of Salzburg?
I'm just sayin'.

Nunc dimittis servum tuum...before the flags arrive
Reeling from the realization that there really are parishes with active Clown Ministries, I didn't think I could be any more amazed. And then someone at work (a reader here, in fact - with a charitable donation for my grist mill of perpetual annoyance) left a catalog in my mailbox. The plethora of banners was mildly amusing. Then I came to the page for "Flag Ministry."

A horrifying melding of liturgical dance, rhythmic gymnastics and marching color guard performance. A quick Google showed me that this random catalog was not a fluke. I am almost speechless. Almost. "How to Start a Flag Ministry in Your Church" cries out for fisking.

Those flags are beautiful, but can I really do that in my church?

(No. Fireworks are beautiful, too. But church isn't the place for them)

Here are some simple steps to beginning a flag ministry in your church.
Pray, pray, pray!

(Please, Lord, no flags. No, no, no)

Speak with your pastor. If there has been no teaching on flags, then ask about what the pastor's vision is for flags. The pastor of the church must have a vision for flags.

(I do not presume to speak for my pastor, but I have an idea what his vision for flags would be. It wouldn't include ministry.)

And so on.

No, dear friends, I am not speaking strictly as an uptight woman d'un certain age who has had more than one close call near a novice altar server in difficulty with the processional cross. This screams crazy. Crazy, irreverent, obnoxious, dangerous. And antithetical to what we Catholics regard as worship. As a Catholic this really shouldn't concern me, right? Well, I would hope so. But like the almost* ubiquitous Unity Candle that has insinuated itself into our marriage rites, 'cross contamination' happens. (Praise God, I haven't yet heard any brides asking for a Unity Sand Ceremony...)


*I had a Unity candle. Cheesy as it seemed, I went along with it, thinking it was a required part of the wedding. It was the seventies. I was young.
Twenty-seven years later, our Emily had the presence of mind to not do it.

This is sooo wrong. In so many ways.
But I feel compelled to present this if only to amuse and horrify my family*.

Your Karaoke Theme Song is "Baby Got Back"

You're a total show off who is willing to risk looking like a fool to get a few laughs. In fact, you'll go for the cheap laugh if you need to... because it's better than no reaction! Your friends can count on you to get a party started, and you'll party hard until you can't remember their names. You're charismatic, charming, and a total character. With or without a few drinks in you. You might also sing: "I Touch Myself," "Oops I Did it Again," or "My Humps" Stay away from people who sing: "Candle in the Wind"

What's Your Karaoke Theme Song?

*For instance, I was, at one time, convinced that Baby Got Back meant Baby Has Returned.

I was mayo this morning...

You Are Hot Sauce

You are the life of any party, because you're so good at bringing people out of their shell. You have a knack for helping people happily embrace their true selves. You are ambitious, driven, and fearless. You love taking risks. Your taste in food is 100% adventurous. You're up for sampling any exotic cuisine or someone's kitchen experiments. You live for trying new things, and you get sick of eating the same food (even if it's very delicious).

What Condiment Are You?

I reconsidered my options and tried again.
(As a wayward Wisconsinite, I must say that any quiz that asks a "what do you bring to a barbecue" question and does not offer 'brats' as an answer is intrinsically flawed.)

Thanks to the SummaMamas.

Apropos of the day...

A favorite saint.
A favorite painting. (Francois Gerard! Yes, he studied with David...)
The cover of our parish's calendar for 2009.

Vanitas
My birthday tiara turned up yesterday.
And I couldn't resist the photo op.
Should I wonder why I'm not put in charge of Christmas card photos?

Today
in the annals of colonialism thru anthropomorphism...
Somebody is turning 50.

Helloooo...
It is time for my sister's annual Halloween party. Which I will probably have to pass on. It's just too difficult to get away. And, if I were superstitious, I would be thinking of the fact that last year's party ended (at least for Bridget and me!) in the emergency room awaiting an appendectomy. And our July visit was overshadowed by Bridget's beau being maimed in a fireworks accident in another part of the north woods.
But I would so like to see Karen...and her new house in the country.

Our recent conversations have been restricted to early afternoons. She calls me at work on her way to work in the Twin Cities. That's about the only time we're both available. Or near the proper phone. The 'dream' farm house is quite the dead zone, with cellular service only avaible to those who stand out near the silo. I think a lacy peignoir set would be a tasteful housewarming gift. And while she's waiting for the real chickens, we may spin off one of our fake hens to a new home up north.

Three Hard Sell Movies…
NetFlix keeps ‘em coming.
Who was I kidding thinking I could convince the boys to watch Therese? I think I prefer that old black and white French biopic that EWTN shows from time to time. Therese meant well, but something just didn’t click. I liked the poster, but the movie didn’t live up to it. (Some things bothered me a lot…there were outdoor scenes that struck me as way too derivative of Little House on the Prairie. I almost expected Michael Landon as Louis Martin. And there was a blanket the Martin family picnicked on that looked way too ‘American quilty.’)

Then there was Into Great Silence; exquisite, but best viewed as a sort of meditation. That I wanted to watch alone. Certain family members wouldn’t have lasted 5 minutes before the torrent of tics.

But the lives of the Trappists made Helvetica look like an action movie. A movie about a typeface? You bet. More fun than one might expect.

Home Ec
And perhaps I should start marketing the "VIOLATION" stickers.
It might be a good idea to try them a while longer before I declare them a success. Rather than nagging, misplaced objects receive a violation. Three violations and the object goes to the trash.
Though this morning it looked as though a couple "VIOLATIONS" had moved...as in, the misplaced objects remain the same, stickers have moved to new homes.

Queen of the Holy Rosary

by Margaret Mary Nealis, RSCJ

How low can we go...
A “respected” news agency has an online post about new prenatal screening methods for Down’s Syndrome. Accompanied by a picture of a child with Down’s Syndrome.

Not only is the new test safer, but researchers suggest it will be able to spot genetic problems earlier in gestation than other methods.
Safer? Not for children like the one in the picture.

At first I am appalled. But, then, maybe they have inadvertently put a human face on the attrocity. Maybe people who see this will think twice about what prenatal screening hopes to do.

The initial premise: What picture do you think would be on your Holy Card if you were to be canonized, and of what would you be the Patron Saint?


Patroness of overwrought homeschoolers, perplexed church secretaries and well-meaning but ineffectual homemakers.

With thanks to TS. I’d like to tag a few people but my fingers are numb from making the holy card. So, whoever wants to...

This Might Work...
I would say our family is pretty much the same longitude. The only difference is latitude. So my tat wouldn't be nearly as intricate.
Maybe I'll try it in Sharpie first...just to see how it works.

Fr. Barron on Bill Maher's "Movie"

Fr.'s well explained critique brought an interesting demographic out of the woodwork.
A crude, angry group not possessed of good grammar or spelling skills. (And I'm trying to give them some latitude because even a stickler such as I can have trouble keyboarding a comment directly in a YouTube com box. But, really...)

And I sure enjoyed taking part in a dispute that wasn't happening in my house.

Spirits in the Night -
With All Due Thanks to Our Guardian Angels...
October 2, 1975. I was a (temporary) college drop-out and my sister was sixteen. I think the tickets for our night in music history were a paltry ten dollars - to see the future of rock and roll. And then some.

Of course Mom was dismayed when we called home about the "bomb threat." This was one of those "wait 'til you have children of your own - then you'll understand" moments. And now I do. But I'm also thankful that the folks didn't make us come home right away.

It was more lack of preparedness than goodness that kept us from going to the bars with most of the other concertgoers. If we had expected a protracted delay, there would certainly been some sort of ID for Karen. Really.

Instead, we had root beer at the Red Barn and returned early to loiter with other devotees. Were we loose? No. But we were lucky. Able to trade good seats (in this small venue they were all good) for excellent seats.

Best concert ever.

Seem like the whole world walking pretty
And you can't find the room to move
Well everybody better move over, that's all
I'm running on the bad side
And I got my back to the wall...
The night is dark but the sidewalk's bright
And lined with the light of the living...

Aw, C'mon Bruce...
You might actually get me to watch the Superbowl (half-time show). But that Obama fund raiser? You've lost me there, baby.