Friday, December 31, 2004
Talking to your kids...about the tsunami must be extra special hard for parents with little or no spiritual framework in which to set this. Maybe I am just being callous, but I am saving the bulk of my concern and prayer for the people directly affected by this catastrophe. My children are old enough to understand the fundamentals of weather, geology etc. and I hope that we have given them the spiritual basis to come to grips with disaster. It must be hard for parents who try to create a perfect world for their children, only to have them find out that this is often horrifyingly not possible. And then the parents must look to the news media for hints on how to talk to their children. Rather sad.
Almost famous!
or
“Sort of makes you want to treat me with more respect, doesn't it?”
I never was a soccer mom, hippie, sorority girl or just about any other famous demographic. But ABC News (which shouldn’t have been on during dinner if I were part of the diligent mom sub-group) named me - and quite a few of you, too - as Persons of the Week.
You're an absolute mess! Just look at yourself!.....
......On the contraire. I didn't think I looked that good.
or
“Sort of makes you want to treat me with more respect, doesn't it?”
I never was a soccer mom, hippie, sorority girl or just about any other famous demographic. But ABC News (which shouldn’t have been on during dinner if I were part of the diligent mom sub-group) named me - and quite a few of you, too - as Persons of the Week.
You're an absolute mess! Just look at yourself!.....
......On the contraire. I didn't think I looked that good.
Thursday, December 30, 2004
To blog?
or not to blog? A ticklish question!
Am just so #*&@! irritable that I can’t find anything to write about. So.....do I write the truth? As if writing about it would help. (And let the rest of the world know what an ungrateful, hyper-sensitive piece of work I am) Or say nothing. In hopes that my mood will pass and I may also delude any readers into thinking that I am just a silent model of satisfied serenity.
Hmmm....
1) The fact that I enjoy my remunerative employment and that we really need the extra hours I am working right now should not have any bearing on the condition of the house when I return home in the evening. My leg hurts. I can’t get it fixed now. So you all will just have to bear with me and do some of the leg work. Just because I enjoy my job doesn’t mean I deserve to come home to a detailed recreation of the Phi Sigma Kappa house at the University of Minnesota circa 1976. You are all on double-secret probation.
2) So where’s my lanolin? I don’t mind sharing. Just leave the tube in my drawer. You all don’t know how lucky you were that I didn’t turn on all the lights at 5:30 this morning and go through the house (a la Joan Crawford with wire hangers) screaming, “Where’s my lanolin?” That was because my leg hurt. And I didn’t want to wake the dogs any earlier than necessary.
3) If I am asleep, leave me alone. I was asleep on the couch last evening because I was exhausted and your ailing sister was propped up in my bed watching TV and shedding viruses all over my room. Many thanks to Tommy G., the Princess’ beau, who said, “Bridget, leave your mom alone. I think she’s asleep.” Another good reason that Tom should marry Bridg - there will be at least one sane person at my wake who won’t try to get in a last word with me. Next year I must triple your oplatky!
4) Boys.....all you boys. Let’s get those garbage bags out of the basement. I don’t care who they belong to. Tonight is garbage night. None of this is heavy garbage......I am not worried about offending the fellows from Waste Management with an overload of lightweight, mostly paper, garbage. This is business, not personal. Rick, let’s stop with the profound empathy for the garbage men.
5) If Dad’s home, let’s not call the Church with problems he can manage. I certainly love you all, but if there is already a grown-up at home, don’t call me for things he can handle. Or look at it this way: Only call the rectory with things that you would call about if I weren’t there. That means no dog vomit, dictionary requests or menu complaints. If you wouldn’t leave it on Father’s voicemail reconsider why you have to take it up with his secretary.
6) I left $20 on the memo board. Somebody think about dinner. I'll do real marketing tomorrow. Just get us through tonight, OK? And because it's garbage night, this might be a good time to purge the fridge of suspect food. Did I mention the really, really old milk that I almost drank for breakfast?
Thanks for your patience. I feel so much better.
or not to blog? A ticklish question!
Am just so #*&@! irritable that I can’t find anything to write about. So.....do I write the truth? As if writing about it would help. (And let the rest of the world know what an ungrateful, hyper-sensitive piece of work I am) Or say nothing. In hopes that my mood will pass and I may also delude any readers into thinking that I am just a silent model of satisfied serenity.
Hmmm....
1) The fact that I enjoy my remunerative employment and that we really need the extra hours I am working right now should not have any bearing on the condition of the house when I return home in the evening. My leg hurts. I can’t get it fixed now. So you all will just have to bear with me and do some of the leg work. Just because I enjoy my job doesn’t mean I deserve to come home to a detailed recreation of the Phi Sigma Kappa house at the University of Minnesota circa 1976. You are all on double-secret probation.
2) So where’s my lanolin? I don’t mind sharing. Just leave the tube in my drawer. You all don’t know how lucky you were that I didn’t turn on all the lights at 5:30 this morning and go through the house (a la Joan Crawford with wire hangers) screaming, “Where’s my lanolin?” That was because my leg hurt. And I didn’t want to wake the dogs any earlier than necessary.
3) If I am asleep, leave me alone. I was asleep on the couch last evening because I was exhausted and your ailing sister was propped up in my bed watching TV and shedding viruses all over my room. Many thanks to Tommy G., the Princess’ beau, who said, “Bridget, leave your mom alone. I think she’s asleep.” Another good reason that Tom should marry Bridg - there will be at least one sane person at my wake who won’t try to get in a last word with me. Next year I must triple your oplatky!
4) Boys.....all you boys. Let’s get those garbage bags out of the basement. I don’t care who they belong to. Tonight is garbage night. None of this is heavy garbage......I am not worried about offending the fellows from Waste Management with an overload of lightweight, mostly paper, garbage. This is business, not personal. Rick, let’s stop with the profound empathy for the garbage men.
5) If Dad’s home, let’s not call the Church with problems he can manage. I certainly love you all, but if there is already a grown-up at home, don’t call me for things he can handle. Or look at it this way: Only call the rectory with things that you would call about if I weren’t there. That means no dog vomit, dictionary requests or menu complaints. If you wouldn’t leave it on Father’s voicemail reconsider why you have to take it up with his secretary.
6) I left $20 on the memo board. Somebody think about dinner. I'll do real marketing tomorrow. Just get us through tonight, OK? And because it's garbage night, this might be a good time to purge the fridge of suspect food. Did I mention the really, really old milk that I almost drank for breakfast?
Thanks for your patience. I feel so much better.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Not on Smith Ave.
Not this week.
Study charts expansion of human brain
The first study of genes that build and operate the brain shows that humans underwent a unique period of rapid brain expansion that endowed them with a special form of intelligence not shared by any other animal...
only to be fixed with the antidote of video games, cheese popcorn and lots of chocolates.
Not this week.
Study charts expansion of human brain
The first study of genes that build and operate the brain shows that humans underwent a unique period of rapid brain expansion that endowed them with a special form of intelligence not shared by any other animal...
only to be fixed with the antidote of video games, cheese popcorn and lots of chocolates.
I get no kick from champagne!
But I felt that cork graze me on its way to hitting the sign on the wall. So much for enjoying an after dinner drink with my older girls. They could have shot my eye out. Or worse.
But now they have some respect for the towel over the cork trick. It’s not just for show.
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Reggie White, R.I.P.
Get Religion on a sports personality who was not a “personality.”*
*”But if, from now on, I can put “personality” between quotation marks, and use it as an exact synonym of a seven-letter duosyllable starting with “a” and ending with “e” (and also featuring, in order of appearance, an “ss.” an “h,” an “o”, and and “l”)...” from Tennis Personalities by Martin Amis originally published in The New Yorker in 1994.
Get Religion on a sports personality who was not a “personality.”*
*”But if, from now on, I can put “personality” between quotation marks, and use it as an exact synonym of a seven-letter duosyllable starting with “a” and ending with “e” (and also featuring, in order of appearance, an “ss.” an “h,” an “o”, and and “l”)...” from Tennis Personalities by Martin Amis originally published in The New Yorker in 1994.
Every party has a pooper.
I think I'm being quite charitable here. The morning news has mentioned the search for an official Ilinois state reptile...and I'm not even mentioning any names.
I think I'm being quite charitable here. The morning news has mentioned the search for an official Ilinois state reptile...and I'm not even mentioning any names.
Monday, December 27, 2004
Dear Bessie Beagle
If a woman named Brenda calls while I’m out, please ‘talk’ with her. She is going to help facilitate some open communication on the subject of the occasional puddles on the oriental rug. And let you know how very proud Daddy and I are that you haven’t eaten any ornaments this Christmas. Just prop the phone on the couch and press the button on the left. Don’t forget to hang-up when you are done.
I believe that Communication is Key to our relationships with our animal friends and that every relationship can become more rewarding if all parties understand each other. If you are in need of an animal communicator, please call us.
Hilarious link via Fr. Sibley.
If a woman named Brenda calls while I’m out, please ‘talk’ with her. She is going to help facilitate some open communication on the subject of the occasional puddles on the oriental rug. And let you know how very proud Daddy and I are that you haven’t eaten any ornaments this Christmas. Just prop the phone on the couch and press the button on the left. Don’t forget to hang-up when you are done.
I believe that Communication is Key to our relationships with our animal friends and that every relationship can become more rewarding if all parties understand each other. If you are in need of an animal communicator, please call us.
Hilarious link via Fr. Sibley.
Friday, December 24, 2004
An epiphany...
...of sorts. I was driving to work yesterday, thinking about all the things I needed to accomplish by Christmas. How I haven’t baked anything special, I still haven’t finished tweaking the Christmas tree just right, and though I’m fortunate to have gifts to give, the time to wrap them still has not been found. So I’m thinking about how, just once, I would like to have a Christmas where I could pull of everything gracefully ...with Martha Stewart-ish aplomb. And then I thought that maybe that would not be in my best interest. Maybe it is the chaos, the missing tape while wrapping, the lost ingredient while baking at the 11th hour (and I mean, quite literally 2300 hours) and all the other little snafus that keep me focused on the ‘real meaning of Christmas.’ Perhaps I would be too quick to find false consolation in beautifully wrapped gifts and lovely gingerbread stars decorated with homemade butter cream icing topped with silver (yes, silver!) sugar from Williams-Sonoma.
And sitting in front of a (clean for once) and well decorated hearth, sipping mulled cider and listening to The Nutcracker , my heart and mind would be a million miles from the true consolation....Christus natus est
...of sorts. I was driving to work yesterday, thinking about all the things I needed to accomplish by Christmas. How I haven’t baked anything special, I still haven’t finished tweaking the Christmas tree just right, and though I’m fortunate to have gifts to give, the time to wrap them still has not been found. So I’m thinking about how, just once, I would like to have a Christmas where I could pull of everything gracefully ...with Martha Stewart-ish aplomb. And then I thought that maybe that would not be in my best interest. Maybe it is the chaos, the missing tape while wrapping, the lost ingredient while baking at the 11th hour (and I mean, quite literally 2300 hours) and all the other little snafus that keep me focused on the ‘real meaning of Christmas.’ Perhaps I would be too quick to find false consolation in beautifully wrapped gifts and lovely gingerbread stars decorated with homemade butter cream icing topped with silver (yes, silver!) sugar from Williams-Sonoma.
And sitting in front of a (clean for once) and well decorated hearth, sipping mulled cider and listening to The Nutcracker , my heart and mind would be a million miles from the true consolation....Christus natus est
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Just imagine - 24 timeless standards, including the classic "Carol Of Intimacy":
"Leave me alone! Please go away!
I'm doing fine! Just get away!
"Leave me alone! Please go away!
I'm doing fine! Just get away!
"Leave me alone! Please go away!
I'm doing fine! Just get away!"
"DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILY CHRISTMAS - $19.95 - 1-800-GET-HELP"
The Carol of the Bells is one of my favorites. But I find myself singing these words (albeit under my breath) around the 22nd of December. Life is marvelous...but I need a little more ‘wiggle’ time. And sleep time. I woke up at three in the morning and realized that I could smell the newly trimmed Christmas tree. This tree is the biggest, best, most beautiful ever. I say that every year. But this time it is true. The big part is objective; an actual fact. It looked big on the lot, but when the limbs relaxed in the house is got bigger. There is now room in the living room for any two family members and a dog or two.
Oh, well, time for work. Will finish decorating the tree tonight. (ran out of energy before we got to the hundred pieces of tinsel and the Victorian reproduction cardboard ornaments.) Today the challenge is to answer the phone at work (90% of the calls are Christmas Eve Mass time questions) cheerfully....with no hint of “Leave me alone! Please go away!”
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Hey, wait......I’m from Wisconsin.....
Weird WisconsinWhen you go looking for the Weird,
the Weird also comes looking for you.
However, beneath this mundane reality lies something more mysterious, sinister, macabre. The outright weird comports with everyday reality, yet because this weirdness is seldom collated or even mentioned in contemporary media outlets, few know the true extent of The Weirdness That Lurks All Around Us.
I never knew. OK, I may have suspected. But I never knew. But before we write off Wisconsin, may I interject that Venerable Solanus Casey was also from Wisconsin. Born in Hudson, in fact.
Weird WisconsinWhen you go looking for the Weird,
the Weird also comes looking for you.
However, beneath this mundane reality lies something more mysterious, sinister, macabre. The outright weird comports with everyday reality, yet because this weirdness is seldom collated or even mentioned in contemporary media outlets, few know the true extent of The Weirdness That Lurks All Around Us.
I never knew. OK, I may have suspected. But I never knew. But before we write off Wisconsin, may I interject that Venerable Solanus Casey was also from Wisconsin. Born in Hudson, in fact.
It’s a Small (Tragic, Puzzling) World
My mind does not usually go spinning off after every scandalous Church story. But.... when Amy Welborn referred to this , my interest was stirred. Having spent some time in Hudson, I remember the strange murders at the funeral home just a few blocks from my sister’s house. At the time the going lurid theory was that the victims were chosen by some bizarro anti-embalming cult which had been sending threatening letters to funeral homes throughout the mid-west.
As part of the local legal community, I am sure my sister will have plenty of scoops. Along with some snarky comments. This is not going to help my evangelization efforts.
My mind does not usually go spinning off after every scandalous Church story. But.... when Amy Welborn referred to this , my interest was stirred. Having spent some time in Hudson, I remember the strange murders at the funeral home just a few blocks from my sister’s house. At the time the going lurid theory was that the victims were chosen by some bizarro anti-embalming cult which had been sending threatening letters to funeral homes throughout the mid-west.
As part of the local legal community, I am sure my sister will have plenty of scoops. Along with some snarky comments. This is not going to help my evangelization efforts.
Monday, December 20, 2004
NOT THIS
One last quiz......before getting to work
Link via Fr. Tucker.
 | You scored as alternative. You're partially respected for being an individual in a conformist world yet others take you as a radical. You have no place in society because you choose not to belong there - you're the luckiest of them all, even if your parents are completely ashamed of you. Just don't take drugs ok?
What Social Status are you? created with QuizFarm.com |
Link via Fr. Tucker.
Sunday, December 19, 2004
IMAGINE...
No Imagine...?
Is it easy? Can I try?
Not as easy as I thought. Homeschooling frees us from the yearly ordeal of the “Winter” concert. Always with something heartwarming like a choral rendition of Dust in the Wind or sweet children’s voices raised to perform the nihilistic anthem ”Imagine.” So it was depressing the hear the heretofore seemingly sane DJ who hosts ‘Breakfast with the Beatles’ group “Imagine” with the Beatles’ songs that, though not Christmas songs per se, are beautiful enough to be included in the ‘Breakfast with the Beatles’ Christmas special. Helloooo......the tune is mediocre and the philosophy stinks.
What can the CDC do about those of us with congenital lack of willful suspension of disbelief?
Q: What is the risk of rabies from squirrels, mice, rats, and other rodents?
A: Small rodents (such as squirrels, rats, mice, hamsters, guinea pigs, gerbils, and chipmunks, ) and lagomorphs (such as rabbits and hares) are almost never found to be infected with rabies and have not been known to cause rabies among humans in the United States.
And that, my friends, is why I couldn’t enjoy tonight’s Malcolm in the Middle. Squirrels are just not a major risk for rabies. Of course, the priests I know don’t go around threatening people who under-cut fund raisers, either. Otherwise it was a funny show.
Q: What is the risk of rabies from squirrels, mice, rats, and other rodents?
A: Small rodents (such as squirrels, rats, mice, hamsters, guinea pigs, gerbils, and chipmunks, ) and lagomorphs (such as rabbits and hares) are almost never found to be infected with rabies and have not been known to cause rabies among humans in the United States.
And that, my friends, is why I couldn’t enjoy tonight’s Malcolm in the Middle. Squirrels are just not a major risk for rabies. Of course, the priests I know don’t go around threatening people who under-cut fund raisers, either. Otherwise it was a funny show.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
You are:
1) too tired to go Christmas shopping
2) just plain tired
3) averse to going out in blustery weather
4) irritable
5) fraught with working mother guilt
6) more interested in staying home and taking internet quizzes
7) all of the above
Link via Fructus Ventris.
1) too tired to go Christmas shopping
2) just plain tired
3) averse to going out in blustery weather
4) irritable
5) fraught with working mother guilt
6) more interested in staying home and taking internet quizzes
7) all of the above
|
Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence |
 You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well. An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly. You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view. A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary. You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator. |
Link via Fructus Ventris.
Just to mess with the Google searches...
It's time to mention "hand tooled reproduction Victorian tinsel."
Actually, it is also time to buy a tree and find the ornament boxes. And aforementioned tinsel. I believe all one hundred pieces were accounted for when we took the tree down last January. As if I couldn't find enough other things to kvetch about, I am a slave to decorating my tree with one hundred pieces of tinsel that must be hung one at a time. My mother used to be so annoyed by my childhood habit of applying tinsel by heaving big handfuls at the tree. Wish she could be here to see my reward.
It's time to mention "hand tooled reproduction Victorian tinsel."
Actually, it is also time to buy a tree and find the ornament boxes. And aforementioned tinsel. I believe all one hundred pieces were accounted for when we took the tree down last January. As if I couldn't find enough other things to kvetch about, I am a slave to decorating my tree with one hundred pieces of tinsel that must be hung one at a time. My mother used to be so annoyed by my childhood habit of applying tinsel by heaving big handfuls at the tree. Wish she could be here to see my reward.
I am NOT a sociopath.
Really.
Claim: A one-item psych test will reveal the psychopaths in your life.
Status: False.
So over lunch at work yesterday I was the only one to give the ‘sociopathic’ answer. I’m glad this is an urban myth. It was starting to bother me. (If I were a sociopath, would I be bothered? I don’t think so.) Next time one of the fathers tells a joke, I won’t be so quick to pipe up with the goofy, obvious answer. Really.
Really.
Claim: A one-item psych test will reveal the psychopaths in your life.
Status: False.
So over lunch at work yesterday I was the only one to give the ‘sociopathic’ answer. I’m glad this is an urban myth. It was starting to bother me. (If I were a sociopath, would I be bothered? I don’t think so.) Next time one of the fathers tells a joke, I won’t be so quick to pipe up with the goofy, obvious answer. Really.
Prickly.....very Prickly
You are the Christmas Holly.
What Christmas Ornament are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
You are the Christmas Holly.
What Christmas Ornament are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
| You are 53% geek | You are a geek. Good for you! Considering the endless complexity of the universe, as well as whatever discipline you happen to be most interested in, you'll never be bored as long as you have a good book store, a net connection, and thousands of dollars worth of expensive equipment. Assuming you're a technical geek, you'll be able to afford it, too. If you're not a technical geek, you're geek enough to mate with a technical geek and thereby get the needed dough. Dating tip: Don't date a geek of the same persuasion as you. You'll constantly try to out-geek the other. |
Take the Polygeek Quiz at Thudfactor.com
I got this link from one of my regular blog-stops. But I can't remember which....Sorry.
Everybody in America was supposed to grab whatever he could and hold onto it. Some Americans were very good at grabbing and holding, were fabulously well-to-do. Others couldn’t get their hands on doodley-squat.Amy Welborn has nice discussion going in her comments about the pros and cons of recommending Kurt Vonnegut to young readers. Not children, mind you. Young readers. Not all commenters agree with my estimation of Breakfast of Champions as a great book. OK, not a great book. Let’s call it an interesting book. I still like it after all these years.
Guess Who Came to Dinner
or
Some days you do get a head
I may have previously mentioned that I have a yearly nightmare (usually in late summer) in which I find myself on December 24 with no Christmas decorations, presents, cookies, etc. In this hideous dream I spend a whole day trying to do it all. This could explain why I found John Grisham’s Skipping Christmas to be a book in the genre that my late mother defined as ‘supposed to be funny but it makes me nervous.’ (My mother left the theatre after seeing the original Out of Towners with a bad headache and a sick stomach.) Yesterday found me inching closer to the reality of that dream as I pondered in (rare) quiet moments about all that is not done. My spiritual director asked me if I was ready for Christmas; I could answer a sincere, “spiritually, yes.” He was not especially concerned that I have not finished decorating, shopping, have baked nothing, have not yet purchased a tree or parchment paper for baking meringues or plotted Christmas Eve dinner. But those thoughts kept creeping back in. I noticed that I was often mumbling to myself that “I just can’t get ahead.”
By the time I got home from work - not ahead, but sort of current, if you don’t count the crisis in lining up altar servers - I was ready to plotz. It had been a crazy day at home, too. The usual plus Cody, the Austarlian Shepherd/Chow had two seizures and wound up on an IV at Fran’s work. Rough on Cody, the family and not particularly kind to the oriental rug, either. I brought home a box with a (backordered from August) statue of St. Nicholas. A week and a half late, but the price was right. When we unpacked it, taking great care not to let the remaining dogs eat the packing peanuts, I was surprised to see that the good bishop had no miter and appeared to be clutching the keys to the Kingdom. Yesirreee, the box was marked with the St. Nicholas code number but contained St. Peter. I'm too weak to send him back. What the heck, he only cost 2.99...the shipping charges to send him back would be more than that. Maybe I'll just try to re-order St. Nicholas for next year. But wait.....there were more surprises ahead.
Rick ran out for pizza and we had a fun dinner with most of the kids and Embot and Ed. When I saw Ed walk in carrying what appeared to be a small hat box, I knew we would be having an educational evening.
Some weeks ago, Em had mentioned that Ed was assigned a human skull as part of his dental studies. After some thought and prayer, I said it might be interesting for the boys to see it. As part of their anatomy study - not just as a novelty thing. When the moment came - which we handled as reverently as possible - Eddie was quite interested, yet Chuck demurred. I was not about to force the issue. (I can see that as fodder for future psychiatrist visits. “Yes, doctor, we were having a lovely dinner and then after the light dessert the table was cleared and my mother made me examine a human skull. Right there on the green damask table cloth with the holly leaf patter. A human skull.”) It was really quite an experience. I was caught between reminding them to treat it with respect due to human remains and to be careful not to break it. The cranial sutures were a little wobbly in places, being the skull of a man who died in his twenties....and has been the study aid to several decades of dental students.
After the gravitas of that event, I was not particularly disposed to go to the mall to complete my shopping. I put on my jammies, said a prayer for the repose of the soul of Mr. X - the man who came to dinner, and settled in for some needed sleep. Feeling refreshed today, I can honestly say I got a head and I’m getting ahead.
or
Some days you do get a head
I may have previously mentioned that I have a yearly nightmare (usually in late summer) in which I find myself on December 24 with no Christmas decorations, presents, cookies, etc. In this hideous dream I spend a whole day trying to do it all. This could explain why I found John Grisham’s Skipping Christmas to be a book in the genre that my late mother defined as ‘supposed to be funny but it makes me nervous.’ (My mother left the theatre after seeing the original Out of Towners with a bad headache and a sick stomach.) Yesterday found me inching closer to the reality of that dream as I pondered in (rare) quiet moments about all that is not done. My spiritual director asked me if I was ready for Christmas; I could answer a sincere, “spiritually, yes.” He was not especially concerned that I have not finished decorating, shopping, have baked nothing, have not yet purchased a tree or parchment paper for baking meringues or plotted Christmas Eve dinner. But those thoughts kept creeping back in. I noticed that I was often mumbling to myself that “I just can’t get ahead.”
By the time I got home from work - not ahead, but sort of current, if you don’t count the crisis in lining up altar servers - I was ready to plotz. It had been a crazy day at home, too. The usual plus Cody, the Austarlian Shepherd/Chow had two seizures and wound up on an IV at Fran’s work. Rough on Cody, the family and not particularly kind to the oriental rug, either. I brought home a box with a (backordered from August) statue of St. Nicholas. A week and a half late, but the price was right. When we unpacked it, taking great care not to let the remaining dogs eat the packing peanuts, I was surprised to see that the good bishop had no miter and appeared to be clutching the keys to the Kingdom. Yesirreee, the box was marked with the St. Nicholas code number but contained St. Peter. I'm too weak to send him back. What the heck, he only cost 2.99...the shipping charges to send him back would be more than that. Maybe I'll just try to re-order St. Nicholas for next year. But wait.....there were more surprises ahead.
Rick ran out for pizza and we had a fun dinner with most of the kids and Embot and Ed. When I saw Ed walk in carrying what appeared to be a small hat box, I knew we would be having an educational evening.
Some weeks ago, Em had mentioned that Ed was assigned a human skull as part of his dental studies. After some thought and prayer, I said it might be interesting for the boys to see it. As part of their anatomy study - not just as a novelty thing. When the moment came - which we handled as reverently as possible - Eddie was quite interested, yet Chuck demurred. I was not about to force the issue. (I can see that as fodder for future psychiatrist visits. “Yes, doctor, we were having a lovely dinner and then after the light dessert the table was cleared and my mother made me examine a human skull. Right there on the green damask table cloth with the holly leaf patter. A human skull.”) It was really quite an experience. I was caught between reminding them to treat it with respect due to human remains and to be careful not to break it. The cranial sutures were a little wobbly in places, being the skull of a man who died in his twenties....and has been the study aid to several decades of dental students.
After the gravitas of that event, I was not particularly disposed to go to the mall to complete my shopping. I put on my jammies, said a prayer for the repose of the soul of Mr. X - the man who came to dinner, and settled in for some needed sleep. Feeling refreshed today, I can honestly say I got a head and I’m getting ahead.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
An open letter...
to the parents of our altar servers.
(n.b. - I’m venting the ol’ spleen here because I can’t at work. There I am paid to be nice and tactful and after all, I am working for God. But here’s what I’m thinking... And if you have a vague feeling that I may have written something similar at Easter, you may be right!)
I’m sorry I have ruined your Christmas plans. There can only be so many servers scheduled per Mass. By asking your son to serve at the 4:00pm Christmas Eve Mass in the gym (really, I don’t like Mass in the gym either.....but if I’m told to be there as a lector, I go) when you all would rather be at the Mass in the church, I am just doing my job. I am not trying to balkanize your family. I know Mass together as a family is your long-standing tradtion, but if your son is a server he isn’t sitting with you anyway. So why not let him serve twenty yards away - across the parking lot. Being an altar server is a service to the Church. Service can mean sacrifice. Is this such a tremendous sacrifice? We’re trying to see that the Mass is celebrated reverently and beautifully, not create a picture Christmas memory for you. If sending your son to serve at an unconvenient time or place is so upsetting, how will you feel if he joins the military, seminary, Doctors without Borders, etc.? I suppose this isn’t a good time to tell you that we need lots of servers at 7:30 Christmas morning. And at 5 other Masses on December 26. Please don’t bite my head off.....I need it to finish my job. And my Christmas shopping...
Oh...and while I'm at it...a surprising number of your fellow parishioners have had children (age pre-born to adult) die during the past year. They are the ones that are in need of sympathy. I may understand your dilemma, but I don't feel particularly sorry for you, OK?
to the parents of our altar servers.
(n.b. - I’m venting the ol’ spleen here because I can’t at work. There I am paid to be nice and tactful and after all, I am working for God. But here’s what I’m thinking... And if you have a vague feeling that I may have written something similar at Easter, you may be right!)
I’m sorry I have ruined your Christmas plans. There can only be so many servers scheduled per Mass. By asking your son to serve at the 4:00pm Christmas Eve Mass in the gym (really, I don’t like Mass in the gym either.....but if I’m told to be there as a lector, I go) when you all would rather be at the Mass in the church, I am just doing my job. I am not trying to balkanize your family. I know Mass together as a family is your long-standing tradtion, but if your son is a server he isn’t sitting with you anyway. So why not let him serve twenty yards away - across the parking lot. Being an altar server is a service to the Church. Service can mean sacrifice. Is this such a tremendous sacrifice? We’re trying to see that the Mass is celebrated reverently and beautifully, not create a picture Christmas memory for you. If sending your son to serve at an unconvenient time or place is so upsetting, how will you feel if he joins the military, seminary, Doctors without Borders, etc.? I suppose this isn’t a good time to tell you that we need lots of servers at 7:30 Christmas morning. And at 5 other Masses on December 26. Please don’t bite my head off.....I need it to finish my job. And my Christmas shopping...
Oh...and while I'm at it...a surprising number of your fellow parishioners have had children (age pre-born to adult) die during the past year. They are the ones that are in need of sympathy. I may understand your dilemma, but I don't feel particularly sorry for you, OK?
They also serve who stand....
and stand and stand...
Martha went on a field trip to the Milwaukee Art Museum yesterday. It’s been a long time since I’ve been there. There are a few items from their collection that I remember clearly. Some great Winslow Homers and a Duane Hanson sculpture of a janitor. He really ‘surprised’ me the first time I saw him, some 30 years ago. I asked Marth if she saw the janitor and she let out a little scream. The fact that she was creeped out and asked why I didn’t warn her is good reason not to have mentioned it in advance.
and stand and stand...
Martha went on a field trip to the Milwaukee Art Museum yesterday. It’s been a long time since I’ve been there. There are a few items from their collection that I remember clearly. Some great Winslow Homers and a Duane Hanson sculpture of a janitor. He really ‘surprised’ me the first time I saw him, some 30 years ago. I asked Marth if she saw the janitor and she let out a little scream. The fact that she was creeped out and asked why I didn’t warn her is good reason not to have mentioned it in advance.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
A few tactical errors.
1. Going to Target for Christmas shopping at 5:00PM. It’s not their fault that they were dragged there by parents when their blood sugar and patience were low. It’s not their fault that I tend to want to answer anyone who yells, “Mom.” By the 80,000th MOM I was ready to be sedated. I’m trying not to think about the man with the malfunctioning cell phone who was walking around saying, “Hello, hello, hello...”
2. Wearing a red shirt and khaki pants. Though I think I was more helpful to the people who asked me for assistance than some of the employees. Specifically the three ‘sales associates’ blocking the aisle in toys while talking about someone’s arraigment. I don’t think the perp in question was one of the action figures.
3. Asking for a price check on a pair of khaki pants that were on the 50% off rack. Sorry lady, I just wanted to verify the price. I wasn’t trying to steal them. And I really don’t need my ego stroked while shopping....but your impromptu lecture on misplaced merchandise was a tad embarassing and it held up the line. If looks could kill, the eight shoppers behind me wanted the both of us dead. And out of the way.
1. Going to Target for Christmas shopping at 5:00PM. It’s not their fault that they were dragged there by parents when their blood sugar and patience were low. It’s not their fault that I tend to want to answer anyone who yells, “Mom.” By the 80,000th MOM I was ready to be sedated. I’m trying not to think about the man with the malfunctioning cell phone who was walking around saying, “Hello, hello, hello...”
2. Wearing a red shirt and khaki pants. Though I think I was more helpful to the people who asked me for assistance than some of the employees. Specifically the three ‘sales associates’ blocking the aisle in toys while talking about someone’s arraigment. I don’t think the perp in question was one of the action figures.
3. Asking for a price check on a pair of khaki pants that were on the 50% off rack. Sorry lady, I just wanted to verify the price. I wasn’t trying to steal them. And I really don’t need my ego stroked while shopping....but your impromptu lecture on misplaced merchandise was a tad embarassing and it held up the line. If looks could kill, the eight shoppers behind me wanted the both of us dead. And out of the way.
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Sure...if I look in a foggy mirror with one eye, squinting.
You have the Rossetti girl look. You are the kind
of girl pre-Raphaelite painters admired; tall,
slender, and fair as a lily flower. The
pre-Raphaelite girl had dramatic beauty; long
neck, large soulful eyes, full shapely mouth
and masses of wavy hair. The pre-Raphaelites
painted girls like this, they showed them in
dramatic situations dressed as famous
characters in legends, plays and poetry. The
favourite colours of the artists were russet,
green and gold. The following artists would
have loved to paint you; Holman Hunt, John
Everett Millais, Edward Burne-Jones, William
Morris and Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
'Pretty As A Picture' - Which Artist Would Paint You?
brought to you by Quizilla
You have the Rossetti girl look. You are the kind
of girl pre-Raphaelite painters admired; tall,
slender, and fair as a lily flower. The
pre-Raphaelite girl had dramatic beauty; long
neck, large soulful eyes, full shapely mouth
and masses of wavy hair. The pre-Raphaelites
painted girls like this, they showed them in
dramatic situations dressed as famous
characters in legends, plays and poetry. The
favourite colours of the artists were russet,
green and gold. The following artists would
have loved to paint you; Holman Hunt, John
Everett Millais, Edward Burne-Jones, William
Morris and Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
'Pretty As A Picture' - Which Artist Would Paint You?
brought to you by Quizilla
From The Ascent of Mount Carmel; Book Two Chapter 11 by St. John of the Cross 6. The reason is that if the corporeal vision or feeling in the senses has a divine origin it produces its effect in the spirit at the very moment of its perception, without allowing any deliberation about wanting or not wanting it. This is likewise so with the more interior communications. Since God grants these favors without the individual’s own ability and effort, he causes the desired effect of these favors without this ability and effort since he produce the effect passively in the spirit. The good effect accordingly, does not depend on one’s wanting or not wanting the communication.
So, I’m thinking, here’s the danger in becoming attached to and pursuing more of any visions or feelings.... An efficacious fluoride treatment provided by one’s dentist tastes pepperminty. The good effect of the treatment has nothing to do with the peppermint taste. The salutary effect is there, yet is not noticeable to the senses. So it would be foolish to be in search of peppermint. That minty fresh taste may come along at times, but that does not mean it is linked to dental benefits - it could in fact be linked with that which could be detrimental. Candy canes, Altoids, and schnapps may all taste just like the treatment your dentist gives you, but they are not what the doctor ordered.
Monday, December 13, 2004
Those harmful Christmas myths...
I’m not worried about kids growing with feelings of betrayal and confusion from Santa. I think a lot of damage is being done by TV ads that depict luxury cars showing up with big red bows and women ecstatic over the gift of diamonds. This is all rather goofy and amusing to me, but I wonder how many girls are growing up thinking that the measure of a good husband is his ability to produce a luxury car or a splooey piece of jewelry. Let’s not even talk about the toxic effects of the BMW ad with the woman bragging about what she is getting from ‘herself’ this year. Humbug!
I’m not worried about kids growing with feelings of betrayal and confusion from Santa. I think a lot of damage is being done by TV ads that depict luxury cars showing up with big red bows and women ecstatic over the gift of diamonds. This is all rather goofy and amusing to me, but I wonder how many girls are growing up thinking that the measure of a good husband is his ability to produce a luxury car or a splooey piece of jewelry. Let’s not even talk about the toxic effects of the BMW ad with the woman bragging about what she is getting from ‘herself’ this year. Humbug!
"It tastes like ... burning"Advent safety tip:
If you want to be sure the Advent wreath candles have been extinguished, do it yourself. Oh, well, Martha came home from work just in time to blow them out with enough left for minimal use next week. Minimal. With a laughable size gap between #4 and the rest.
Libera nos a mallows....
and double fudge brownies, chocolate covered cashews, cake, lots of cake. This is a dangerous time of year as loads of goodies descend upon the rectory. Self-control is in high demand. Or perhaps we could just post signs that say, “PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE HELP!”
...and treacly music.
The saccharin Little Drummer Boy is one of my least favorite Christmas songs. But I did hear a listenable version by Michael McDermott on the radio early this morning.
and double fudge brownies, chocolate covered cashews, cake, lots of cake. This is a dangerous time of year as loads of goodies descend upon the rectory. Self-control is in high demand. Or perhaps we could just post signs that say, “PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE HELP!”
...and treacly music.
The saccharin Little Drummer Boy is one of my least favorite Christmas songs. But I did hear a listenable version by Michael McDermott on the radio early this morning.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Intense, but easy-to-learn game play: heroes’ actions are governed by stats on army cards indicating movement, range, armor, attack powers and more.
Easy if you are an 11 year-old boy. Not so easy if you are close to 50 and have used all of your strategic powers on scheduling altar servers for the next three months. I’ll try again, Eddie. I’m sure I am educable.
Let's start with a quick image association. What company's hallmark is a robin's-egg-blue box?
Did Audrey Hepburn just flash through your mind?
What are some of the words you associate with the blue box? How about luxury, exclusivity, expensive, and desire?Unless your Mom works in a church. Then a blue box means something off the bargain rack (repackaged in a Barton-Cotton Mass card box).
Did Audrey Hepburn just flash through your mind?
What are some of the words you associate with the blue box? How about luxury, exclusivity, expensive, and desire?Unless your Mom works in a church. Then a blue box means something off the bargain rack (repackaged in a Barton-Cotton Mass card box).
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Frankly, I’m shocked.
"It wasn't really a prank. I was just walking around the city and bored. It wasn't premeditated.”
Not shocked that some jerk would walk off with a statue of the baby Jesus from the creche in Daley Plaza. (And what was the baby Jesus doing in the creche the second Sunday in Advent?) I am shocked that a student at The School of the Art Institute of Chicago couldn’t come up with a better excuse than, “I was bored.” He didn’t even try to pass his moronic prank as ‘performance art.’ Unless the bored stuff is part of the performance.
Perhaps we should send him hints of fun things to do when bored. For example...
#152 - mix vinegar and baking soda to make a kitchen sink volcano
#75 - ‘sew’ your fingers together by running a thread under the top layer of skin. Show parents and friends for maximum gross-out value
#92 - walk the dog
#2 - clean your room
#48 - do something kind for somebody
#5 - do something kind for somebody you don’t know
or......(and I’m quoting my late parents here...)
#1 - read a book - “you’ve got a house full of books, there is a library full of books downtown - how can you say you are bored?”
Central District Capt. James Knightly said he asked the Texas resident how he'd like it if "we came and messed with the Alamo." Capt. Knightly has more imagination than the young ‘artiste.’
"It wasn't really a prank. I was just walking around the city and bored. It wasn't premeditated.”
Not shocked that some jerk would walk off with a statue of the baby Jesus from the creche in Daley Plaza. (And what was the baby Jesus doing in the creche the second Sunday in Advent?) I am shocked that a student at The School of the Art Institute of Chicago couldn’t come up with a better excuse than, “I was bored.” He didn’t even try to pass his moronic prank as ‘performance art.’ Unless the bored stuff is part of the performance.
Perhaps we should send him hints of fun things to do when bored. For example...
#152 - mix vinegar and baking soda to make a kitchen sink volcano
#75 - ‘sew’ your fingers together by running a thread under the top layer of skin. Show parents and friends for maximum gross-out value
#92 - walk the dog
#2 - clean your room
#48 - do something kind for somebody
#5 - do something kind for somebody you don’t know
or......(and I’m quoting my late parents here...)
#1 - read a book - “you’ve got a house full of books, there is a library full of books downtown - how can you say you are bored?”
Central District Capt. James Knightly said he asked the Texas resident how he'd like it if "we came and messed with the Alamo." Capt. Knightly has more imagination than the young ‘artiste.’
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Another scathingly brilliant idea...
The Lady in the Pew’s post about ‘ministry’ came to mind several times in the past week. When a bunch of us were changing the missalettes, when volunteers show up on short notice to get out a mailing, when I see the devotion of a friend of the pastor’s who does a lot of secretarial work for him - gratis... So I think......these people need a ministry. The problem is that those lovely plastic badges that ‘ministers’ wear (at about $9 a piece - don’t even get me started) can accomodate a limited number of letters. That makes the official “St. -----’s Ministry of Sonofabitchin’ thankless jobs that have to get done and we do out of love” badge a bit of a stretch. If these people don’t get a badge, how will they continue in their ministry? How, I ask you?
The Lady in the Pew’s post about ‘ministry’ came to mind several times in the past week. When a bunch of us were changing the missalettes, when volunteers show up on short notice to get out a mailing, when I see the devotion of a friend of the pastor’s who does a lot of secretarial work for him - gratis... So I think......these people need a ministry. The problem is that those lovely plastic badges that ‘ministers’ wear (at about $9 a piece - don’t even get me started) can accomodate a limited number of letters. That makes the official “St. -----’s Ministry of Sonofabitchin’ thankless jobs that have to get done and we do out of love” badge a bit of a stretch. If these people don’t get a badge, how will they continue in their ministry? How, I ask you?
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
For once Chuck wasn’t kidding!
Anytime I miss Jeopardy, I ask Chuck for an update. He has been telling me “Ken Jennings lost,” since long before the rumors that his taped ‘demise’ was on the way. So, of course, when I asked Chuck yesterday, I didn’t believe him. Ken Jennings really did lose. Chuck said Ken burst into tears and then took a swing at Alex Trebek. What a kidder. I hope.
Anytime I miss Jeopardy, I ask Chuck for an update. He has been telling me “Ken Jennings lost,” since long before the rumors that his taped ‘demise’ was on the way. So, of course, when I asked Chuck yesterday, I didn’t believe him. Ken Jennings really did lose. Chuck said Ken burst into tears and then took a swing at Alex Trebek. What a kidder. I hope.
Monday, November 29, 2004
Mmmm-hmmmm...right...whatever
Psychic vampires are bound to act ethically, taking their energy only from willing donors.
I think I’ve known a few psychic vampires. They may not have known they were psychic vampires. But they sure could suck the ‘life energy’ out of a person. Sometimes out of a whole roomful of people.
Psychic vampires are bound to act ethically, taking their energy only from willing donors.
I think I’ve known a few psychic vampires. They may not have known they were psychic vampires. But they sure could suck the ‘life energy’ out of a person. Sometimes out of a whole roomful of people.
Gonosyphiherpelaids
Gonosyphiherpelaids is an all purpose term that some of my family members use as an umbrella term meaning “every possible communicable disease.” I used to cringe at this. It is rather gross. But the word comes to mind every time we are assaulted by a TV ad for the “pill” or “patch.” These ads show up at the most ridiculous moments - I mean, can’t I watch JEOPARDY with my children without being bludgeoned with this garbage? The beautiful aura of each commercial is disturbed by a calm voice reminding us that the pill does not protects against HIV or other sexually transmitted diseases. Why don’t they just say “Gonosyphiherpelaids?” Because that is what they mean.
Gonosyphiherpelaids is an all purpose term that some of my family members use as an umbrella term meaning “every possible communicable disease.” I used to cringe at this. It is rather gross. But the word comes to mind every time we are assaulted by a TV ad for the “pill” or “patch.” These ads show up at the most ridiculous moments - I mean, can’t I watch JEOPARDY with my children without being bludgeoned with this garbage? The beautiful aura of each commercial is disturbed by a calm voice reminding us that the pill does not protects against HIV or other sexually transmitted diseases. Why don’t they just say “Gonosyphiherpelaids?” Because that is what they mean.
Another Manic Monday
What a lovely Thanksgiving. The family did a wonderful job with dinner. (There was the incident with the burning cheesecloth.....but the smell is almost totally gone) A delightful time was had by all. I avoided the ‘black friday’ shopping thing. No bargain is worth battling with so many of my fellow citizens. Besides, I had work. I was under the impression that it would be a quiet day and I could get caught up on a lot of stuff. Not exactly.
On Saturday I was able to convince a few family members to accompany me to morning Mass while I supervised the thrice yearly missalette switch (the Advent drill includes the ‘Music Issue,’ too. What fun.) If we can catch the parishioners after Mass and prevail upon those availabe to work on a few pews it isn’t too bad a job. But just another reason that I use “OCP” as an alternative cuss-word.
The cranberry ice worked out splendidly. Here’s how to do it.
1) boil one quart water and two cups sugar for 5 minutes.
2) wash one quart (about a 12 oz. bag) of fresh cranberries and boil in 1 and one half cups of water until the skins pop.
3) press berries and water through a sieve (you should have very little left in the sieve after pressing.)
4) add the strained mixture to the syrup; cool and then freeze. (here I add my plug for the KitchenAid heavy duty mixer. You can freeze your ice in the mixing bowl and the mixer beats the frozen stuff with great ease.
5) when frozen, beat mixture and return to freezer. Beat at least one more time when re-frozen.
6) serve in sorbet dish or parfait glass. This also makes a delightful shrub with champagne or soda water.
What a lovely Thanksgiving. The family did a wonderful job with dinner. (There was the incident with the burning cheesecloth.....but the smell is almost totally gone) A delightful time was had by all. I avoided the ‘black friday’ shopping thing. No bargain is worth battling with so many of my fellow citizens. Besides, I had work. I was under the impression that it would be a quiet day and I could get caught up on a lot of stuff. Not exactly.
On Saturday I was able to convince a few family members to accompany me to morning Mass while I supervised the thrice yearly missalette switch (the Advent drill includes the ‘Music Issue,’ too. What fun.) If we can catch the parishioners after Mass and prevail upon those availabe to work on a few pews it isn’t too bad a job. But just another reason that I use “OCP” as an alternative cuss-word.
The cranberry ice worked out splendidly. Here’s how to do it.
1) boil one quart water and two cups sugar for 5 minutes.
2) wash one quart (about a 12 oz. bag) of fresh cranberries and boil in 1 and one half cups of water until the skins pop.
3) press berries and water through a sieve (you should have very little left in the sieve after pressing.)
4) add the strained mixture to the syrup; cool and then freeze. (here I add my plug for the KitchenAid heavy duty mixer. You can freeze your ice in the mixing bowl and the mixer beats the frozen stuff with great ease.
5) when frozen, beat mixture and return to freezer. Beat at least one more time when re-frozen.
6) serve in sorbet dish or parfait glass. This also makes a delightful shrub with champagne or soda water.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Wishing you all a blessed Thanksgiving....
More about my day later. It’s already off to a exciting start. And perhaps I shall share my cranberry ice recipe. So easy. So pretty and tasty. I think the secret to this year’s success was the extra whipping at 3:30am. What the heck.....I was up anyway - calling 911 about the drunken altercation in the street in front of my house. Now back to bed for a few extra Zzzzs.
More about my day later. It’s already off to a exciting start. And perhaps I shall share my cranberry ice recipe. So easy. So pretty and tasty. I think the secret to this year’s success was the extra whipping at 3:30am. What the heck.....I was up anyway - calling 911 about the drunken altercation in the street in front of my house. Now back to bed for a few extra Zzzzs.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Feeling a little old here...
Hearing the news about Dan Rather made me think back to Walter Cronkite’s last broadcast in March, 1981. We brought Franny home from the hospital that day and I was sitting in bed nursing, cuddling and weeping profusely at the end of an era. (What can I say? I think it was the hormones.) So I told Fran that we’ll celebrate the end of this era, too, next March. We can order a pizza and eat it in bed while watching Dan Rather’s last broadcast. I think any weeping will probably stem from the realization that my baby is 24.
Hearing the news about Dan Rather made me think back to Walter Cronkite’s last broadcast in March, 1981. We brought Franny home from the hospital that day and I was sitting in bed nursing, cuddling and weeping profusely at the end of an era. (What can I say? I think it was the hormones.) So I told Fran that we’ll celebrate the end of this era, too, next March. We can order a pizza and eat it in bed while watching Dan Rather’s last broadcast. I think any weeping will probably stem from the realization that my baby is 24.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
It appears that Amy is home and happy with the new baby. Haven’t read anything on her hubby’s blog. It comes up blank. For me. I should try my computer at work. It might work there.
Monday, November 22, 2004
Are you ready, kids?
Mom’s brought you out for an afternoon with your favorite animated sponge. She sprung for candy, popcorn, Coke. So why don’t you save up your pennies and get her a nice bottle of Chanel No. 5 for Christmas.
But seriously, I had been looking forward to seeing the new Chanel ad that would be in limited theatrical release. I always get a kick out of the Chanel ads that hit the TV during the pre-Christmas shopping time. They have a certain sophistacted je ne sais quoi that has no resemblance to my reality. (Except for bringing back memories of my mother, who actually wore Chanel No. 5. In fact, I may have given her a bottle or two. The price was within the reach of a child of limited means. No more. Thinking I was no mature enough for Chanel, I once wandered into Ulta - looking extremely out of place - to price this fine fragrance. $90 a bottle for eau de toilette!?! So I continued on to PetsMart to buy crickets for the frog. ) But do the children waiting for SpongeBob Squarepants really want to see a Nicole Kidman mini-movie? I think not. The audience was polite nonetheless.
Mom’s brought you out for an afternoon with your favorite animated sponge. She sprung for candy, popcorn, Coke. So why don’t you save up your pennies and get her a nice bottle of Chanel No. 5 for Christmas.
But seriously, I had been looking forward to seeing the new Chanel ad that would be in limited theatrical release. I always get a kick out of the Chanel ads that hit the TV during the pre-Christmas shopping time. They have a certain sophistacted je ne sais quoi that has no resemblance to my reality. (Except for bringing back memories of my mother, who actually wore Chanel No. 5. In fact, I may have given her a bottle or two. The price was within the reach of a child of limited means. No more. Thinking I was no mature enough for Chanel, I once wandered into Ulta - looking extremely out of place - to price this fine fragrance. $90 a bottle for eau de toilette!?! So I continued on to PetsMart to buy crickets for the frog. ) But do the children waiting for SpongeBob Squarepants really want to see a Nicole Kidman mini-movie? I think not. The audience was polite nonetheless.
Friday, November 19, 2004
Ouch....It only hurts when I laugh.
Fr. Sibley snaps me out of my rainy morning blues after a night fraught with funky and exhausting dreams. This story is so great - I can’t wait to get in to work to relate it. You all should go read it for yourselves.
Actually, things are good. Or should I say, they could be a whole lot worse. Our Irish Princess was in a car accident last night. But she’s OK. Shaken, stirred - but not physically harmed. We’re all a little tired after milling about in the wake of the initial adrenaline jolt. Dinner was late because Rick was cooking when Bridget called. He told Chuck to “keep an eye on the food.” Chuck, usually quite the cook himself, kept an eye on it but neglected to turn the heat down until I returned home late and asked what that burning smell was. Of course, I was so taken with the antique brass chandelier that Rick finally installed in the dining room that I didn’t notice that our paternal unit was missing. Until I asked, “So where is your father? I want to thank him for the chandelier.” Then Chuck broke it to me that Dad and Fran ran off to check out the accident. Once we knew that everything was OK we turned our attention back to dinner. Rick wanted to proceed with the meat sauce and spaghetti but I vetoed that on the grounds that a) meat is not supposed to be crunchy and b) my mouth still hurt from Wednesday’s root canal and I wasn’t about to press my luck with crunchy meat. So we ordered pizza from Martha’s place of work. She come home early. Business was slow and she checked out on the grounds of being rattled by her sister’s accident. The delivery man followed ten minutes later.
We didn’t get our girl out of the ER, debriefed and put to bed until almost eleven. (Her boyfriend drove through Culver’s on the way home from the hospital. In her shocked state she actually ate most of a ‘Butter Burger.’ She’s lucky to have such a sweet and attentive beau. And understanding, too. It was his car that she was driving. She had dropped him at his bowling league and was on her way back to our house. His mother was on her way to work as a pharmacist at the local hospital when she saw her son’s car and attendant emergency vehicles along the road. This was the first time Rick met Tom’s parents. Weird. Cordial, but weird.)
Eddie was still pretty wired, so I fell asleep watching the SpongeBob marathon with him. Between Squidward and the Italian panino that I ate at a late hour, it is little wonder that I had wacky dreams.
Fr. Sibley snaps me out of my rainy morning blues after a night fraught with funky and exhausting dreams. This story is so great - I can’t wait to get in to work to relate it. You all should go read it for yourselves.
Actually, things are good. Or should I say, they could be a whole lot worse. Our Irish Princess was in a car accident last night. But she’s OK. Shaken, stirred - but not physically harmed. We’re all a little tired after milling about in the wake of the initial adrenaline jolt. Dinner was late because Rick was cooking when Bridget called. He told Chuck to “keep an eye on the food.” Chuck, usually quite the cook himself, kept an eye on it but neglected to turn the heat down until I returned home late and asked what that burning smell was. Of course, I was so taken with the antique brass chandelier that Rick finally installed in the dining room that I didn’t notice that our paternal unit was missing. Until I asked, “So where is your father? I want to thank him for the chandelier.” Then Chuck broke it to me that Dad and Fran ran off to check out the accident. Once we knew that everything was OK we turned our attention back to dinner. Rick wanted to proceed with the meat sauce and spaghetti but I vetoed that on the grounds that a) meat is not supposed to be crunchy and b) my mouth still hurt from Wednesday’s root canal and I wasn’t about to press my luck with crunchy meat. So we ordered pizza from Martha’s place of work. She come home early. Business was slow and she checked out on the grounds of being rattled by her sister’s accident. The delivery man followed ten minutes later.
We didn’t get our girl out of the ER, debriefed and put to bed until almost eleven. (Her boyfriend drove through Culver’s on the way home from the hospital. In her shocked state she actually ate most of a ‘Butter Burger.’ She’s lucky to have such a sweet and attentive beau. And understanding, too. It was his car that she was driving. She had dropped him at his bowling league and was on her way back to our house. His mother was on her way to work as a pharmacist at the local hospital when she saw her son’s car and attendant emergency vehicles along the road. This was the first time Rick met Tom’s parents. Weird. Cordial, but weird.)
Eddie was still pretty wired, so I fell asleep watching the SpongeBob marathon with him. Between Squidward and the Italian panino that I ate at a late hour, it is little wonder that I had wacky dreams.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
So long as he's not your doctor, you've got to love this guy.
The bad news was no Judging Amy last night.
The good news was that House on Fox was pretty good. Made me think that is the kind of doctor I would have become. Not the kind of doctor that I wanted to be back in my “I want a career in medicine” days. Oh, well. Maybe I was better off going into art history. I think Fran kind of enjoyed the show, too. She always enjoys a good tape worm story.
Note to self: Put tape worms on short list of taboo table topics for Thanksgiving.
The bad news was no Judging Amy last night.
The good news was that House on Fox was pretty good. Made me think that is the kind of doctor I would have become. Not the kind of doctor that I wanted to be back in my “I want a career in medicine” days. Oh, well. Maybe I was better off going into art history. I think Fran kind of enjoyed the show, too. She always enjoys a good tape worm story.
Note to self: Put tape worms on short list of taboo table topics for Thanksgiving.
Calling My Inner Girl Scout
or
I’m really just trying to help the Missionary Sisters of St. Benedict
Just three years ago I had never heard of oplatky. This year I am coordinating our provision of said product to interested parishioners. So, of course, I’m trying to push a record amount of ‘product.’ Basically because the Sisters, who also provide our altar bread, are really sweet and live off of the income from this. But there is something of the ambitious, competitive Girl Scout cookie seller left in me. If only my Dad were still alive. He always came through for me at cookie time. I bet I could get him to commit to 50 packets.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Fr. Jim Tucker and Fr. Ethan weigh-in on the downside of rectory living. Having had occassional long term houseguests and assorted friends of the kids’ milling about the house I can imagine just a bit of the feeling of never having one’s home to one’s self. Likewise, my dad had his business in our home for much of my life and I learned from him how living ‘above the shop’ can start to make a person feel just a bit batty.
I was thinking about this last week, too, when a co-worker and I were having a bit of a disagreement. Besides having a certain personal standard of professional decorum, we must remember that we are working in the priests’ home. When we’re working we’re not just in the church office, but in somebody’s house. (I think it’s important to check my ego and problems at the door.....if only for the sake of those who can’t escape.)
I was thinking about this last week, too, when a co-worker and I were having a bit of a disagreement. Besides having a certain personal standard of professional decorum, we must remember that we are working in the priests’ home. When we’re working we’re not just in the church office, but in somebody’s house. (I think it’s important to check my ego and problems at the door.....if only for the sake of those who can’t escape.)
Monday, November 15, 2004
My sister...
once saw Garrison Keillor in a supermarket in Stillwater. She said he looked normal. I wonder if he’s been through one too many northern winters.
Speaking in the aftermath of the presidential election, Democrat radio host Garrison Keillor says he is on a quest to take away the right of born-again Christians to vote, saying their citizenship is actually in heaven, not the United States.
Yeah, I know it was meant as a joke. But one of those jokes that’s hiding a lot of hostility.
once saw Garrison Keillor in a supermarket in Stillwater. She said he looked normal. I wonder if he’s been through one too many northern winters.
Speaking in the aftermath of the presidential election, Democrat radio host Garrison Keillor says he is on a quest to take away the right of born-again Christians to vote, saying their citizenship is actually in heaven, not the United States.
Yeah, I know it was meant as a joke. But one of those jokes that’s hiding a lot of hostility.
The faster I go...
the behinder I get.
Am not ready for Monday. School stuff is not completely set up. Didn’t finish all the laundry I wanted to do over the week-end. (My bedding got bumped to the top of the queue when Scrappy vomited. In my bed. Under the comforter. On my feet.) Spent some time yacking on the phone with my sister. More gruesome details of the cathouse. Too gross.
Did just enought cleaning and dusting to have me sneezing and wheezing. So I don’t know if it’s allergies or illness. Not that I can afford to call in sick. Especially now. If you work in a church, this is the start of the ‘busy season.’ Of course, Lent/Easter is busy, too. Maybe in June. I’ll plan a sick day in June.
the behinder I get.
Am not ready for Monday. School stuff is not completely set up. Didn’t finish all the laundry I wanted to do over the week-end. (My bedding got bumped to the top of the queue when Scrappy vomited. In my bed. Under the comforter. On my feet.) Spent some time yacking on the phone with my sister. More gruesome details of the cathouse. Too gross.
Did just enought cleaning and dusting to have me sneezing and wheezing. So I don’t know if it’s allergies or illness. Not that I can afford to call in sick. Especially now. If you work in a church, this is the start of the ‘busy season.’ Of course, Lent/Easter is busy, too. Maybe in June. I’ll plan a sick day in June.
Odd-Buh?
Guess I’m not as young and in touch as I thought. Ran across Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s obit yesterday and tried to pronounce ODB as a name. Ooops. Not that I think the Trib couldn’t have done better and used his real name or spelled out one of his pseudonyms.
I once threw one of Mr. Jones’ CDs away. Not just based on content. But - as I lectured the family - his name was out of order. Dirty Ol’ Bastard would be the logical formula, right?
Guess I’m not as young and in touch as I thought. Ran across Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s obit yesterday and tried to pronounce ODB as a name. Ooops. Not that I think the Trib couldn’t have done better and used his real name or spelled out one of his pseudonyms.
I once threw one of Mr. Jones’ CDs away. Not just based on content. But - as I lectured the family - his name was out of order. Dirty Ol’ Bastard would be the logical formula, right?
Friday, November 12, 2004
Kangaroo Care is Good for Premies.
Should this just be filed under "deja vu all over again?" I thought this was news about 15 or 20 years ago. Or is it just news that it works in wealthy countries, too?
Should this just be filed under "deja vu all over again?" I thought this was news about 15 or 20 years ago. Or is it just news that it works in wealthy countries, too?
I should look so good...
Congratulations! You are Lynette Scavo, the
ex-career woman who traded the boardroom for
boredom, mixed with moments of sheer panic as
the mother of four unmanageable kids.
Which Desperate Housewife are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Congratulations! You are Lynette Scavo, the
ex-career woman who traded the boardroom for
boredom, mixed with moments of sheer panic as
the mother of four unmanageable kids.
Which Desperate Housewife are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Reading Recovery
A repressed memory via Joanne Jacobs. I can’t speak for the 50% of the kids for whom this works. All I can say is how could they take a boy for half an hour every day of the week and not teach him to read.
A repressed memory via Joanne Jacobs. I can’t speak for the 50% of the kids for whom this works. All I can say is how could they take a boy for half an hour every day of the week and not teach him to read.
The world continues to deteriorate
or
The dogs must be crazy
Forgot the Marine Corps Birthday, but I did remember Rick’s nine year pheochromocytoma anniversary. If I were more organized I would have baked a (kidney-shaped) cake.
The dogs that ran away on Tuesday when their run snapped were found yesterday. Wrapped around a tree. I didn’t want any broken hearts here, but I can’t say that I wasn’t enjoying 24 hours without them. I wouldn’t want them to be hurt, but I can’t say I wasn’t entertaining fantasies of them being taken in by a kindly millionaire. But reality meant standing outside in my nightgown with a leash in each hand at six fifteen. Scrappy ran out unleashed, but his aversion to cold kept him from wandering far.
I remembered to put the charitable contributions out on the porch yesterday morning. I forgot last week - in my fog after my trip to the ER. But now I can’t find my notebook that I need for my meeting with my spiritual director. I hope it didn’t go out with the charity stuff. Of course, there was a casual meeting of some Fran’s boyfriend’s bandmates in my living room before dinner. Hope the notebook wasn’t accidentally hijacked by some Norwegian symphonic death metal artists. I wandered through the house asking if anyone had seen a yellow notebook (maybe it would have helped if I had written DEEP THOUGHTS on the cover) and the most constructive information I received was a reiteration of my own advice, “If you’re stuff is that important, don’t leave it on the hutch in the living room.”
Rick’s planning some Veterans’ Day supplemental activities for the boys this morning. I’m thinking of declaring the afternoon a (cleaning) holiday. I meant to do more cleaning on Saturday, but then my sister called and I felt like a pretty good housekeeper compared to the lady with 450+ cats and all the feces etc. Then my pastor called to let me know about his reassignment. I was happy for him, but felt a little at loose ends, so I decided to wash the kitchen ceiling. With a Wet Swiffer thing. (I am sure this is ‘off label’ use, but it worked for me) The ceiling really needed help and I didn’t think the Swiffer would make it any worse. And it sure beats hopping up and down on a chair. The dry Swiffer things are pretty good for dusting the walls.....I just have to be careful not to knock down pictures and tchotchkes.
For several days there have been conflicting Internet reports on the death of Yasser Arrafat. So why did they have to interrupt the last 2 minutes of CSI:New York to announce his death. I mean, it was so close to ten, couldn’t it have waited? I rarely follow a detective show from beginning to end, so I felt like my efforts to follow the plot line last night were totally foiled.
or
The dogs must be crazy
Forgot the Marine Corps Birthday, but I did remember Rick’s nine year pheochromocytoma anniversary. If I were more organized I would have baked a (kidney-shaped) cake.
The dogs that ran away on Tuesday when their run snapped were found yesterday. Wrapped around a tree. I didn’t want any broken hearts here, but I can’t say that I wasn’t enjoying 24 hours without them. I wouldn’t want them to be hurt, but I can’t say I wasn’t entertaining fantasies of them being taken in by a kindly millionaire. But reality meant standing outside in my nightgown with a leash in each hand at six fifteen. Scrappy ran out unleashed, but his aversion to cold kept him from wandering far.
I remembered to put the charitable contributions out on the porch yesterday morning. I forgot last week - in my fog after my trip to the ER. But now I can’t find my notebook that I need for my meeting with my spiritual director. I hope it didn’t go out with the charity stuff. Of course, there was a casual meeting of some Fran’s boyfriend’s bandmates in my living room before dinner. Hope the notebook wasn’t accidentally hijacked by some Norwegian symphonic death metal artists. I wandered through the house asking if anyone had seen a yellow notebook (maybe it would have helped if I had written DEEP THOUGHTS on the cover) and the most constructive information I received was a reiteration of my own advice, “If you’re stuff is that important, don’t leave it on the hutch in the living room.”
Rick’s planning some Veterans’ Day supplemental activities for the boys this morning. I’m thinking of declaring the afternoon a (cleaning) holiday. I meant to do more cleaning on Saturday, but then my sister called and I felt like a pretty good housekeeper compared to the lady with 450+ cats and all the feces etc. Then my pastor called to let me know about his reassignment. I was happy for him, but felt a little at loose ends, so I decided to wash the kitchen ceiling. With a Wet Swiffer thing. (I am sure this is ‘off label’ use, but it worked for me) The ceiling really needed help and I didn’t think the Swiffer would make it any worse. And it sure beats hopping up and down on a chair. The dry Swiffer things are pretty good for dusting the walls.....I just have to be careful not to knock down pictures and tchotchkes.
For several days there have been conflicting Internet reports on the death of Yasser Arrafat. So why did they have to interrupt the last 2 minutes of CSI:New York to announce his death. I mean, it was so close to ten, couldn’t it have waited? I rarely follow a detective show from beginning to end, so I felt like my efforts to follow the plot line last night were totally foiled.
Heavens no....
Don’t listen to the ‘negativity.’ Even if it is right.
I just say if you have a dream, if you put your mind to it and don't listen to other people's negativity, you can really do incredible things."
Don’t listen to the ‘negativity.’ Even if it is right.
I just say if you have a dream, if you put your mind to it and don't listen to other people's negativity, you can really do incredible things."
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
....black Doggles lens inserts for blind dogs - perhaps to save their owners embarrassment when more glamorous, bespectacled pets pass by.
Great. Like it isn’t enough of a pain keeping pater united with his very necessary specs. And hiding a pair of magnifying specs for myself in every room. Now I have to help the dogs?
Great. Like it isn’t enough of a pain keeping pater united with his very necessary specs. And hiding a pair of magnifying specs for myself in every room. Now I have to help the dogs?
Monday, November 08, 2004
Um....yeah
You refer to Lake Michigan as "The Lake."
You refer to Chicago as "The City."
You know the difference between Richard J Daley and Richard M Daley.
You can use two or three Daleyisms in context.
You can imitate the Mayor's whine.
The "Living Room" is called the "front room."
and more convicting evidence.
You refer to Lake Michigan as "The Lake."
You refer to Chicago as "The City."
You know the difference between Richard J Daley and Richard M Daley.
You can use two or three Daleyisms in context.
You can imitate the Mayor's whine.
The "Living Room" is called the "front room."
and more convicting evidence.
Here’s a question...
for weather study time. Why does a person, let’s say someone like your mother, kids, act surprised to find frost on her windshield in November. When this is her 50th winter in the Great Lakes states. (Or is it 49th? Or fifty-first? Oh, what the heck...I think we have a math lesson here, too.)
for weather study time. Why does a person, let’s say someone like your mother, kids, act surprised to find frost on her windshield in November. When this is her 50th winter in the Great Lakes states. (Or is it 49th? Or fifty-first? Oh, what the heck...I think we have a math lesson here, too.)
More! about the cat house.
In answer to comments below, my sister was truly amazed at how the people had acclimated to the ammonia saturated environment. A cop had to wear a hazmat suit and breathing apparatus in order to enter the house. And the people showed up at a preliminary hearing looking quite meticulously well-groomed ; (to quote my sister, “The mother looked like Aunt Tommy all dolled up to go out to lunch.” And our Aunt Tommy sure knew how to dress.) not like the usual animal cases where the people look like they have lost touch with reality. Unfortunately, the people still had a certain odor about them. To the extent that the judge had to excuse herself from the bench - to vomit.
This is the second ‘big’ animal case in the county in the past couple of years. The last one was on Animal Planet’s Animal COPS show. I wonder if Animal Planet has its own CSI?
In answer to comments below, my sister was truly amazed at how the people had acclimated to the ammonia saturated environment. A cop had to wear a hazmat suit and breathing apparatus in order to enter the house. And the people showed up at a preliminary hearing looking quite meticulously well-groomed ; (to quote my sister, “The mother looked like Aunt Tommy all dolled up to go out to lunch.” And our Aunt Tommy sure knew how to dress.) not like the usual animal cases where the people look like they have lost touch with reality. Unfortunately, the people still had a certain odor about them. To the extent that the judge had to excuse herself from the bench - to vomit.
This is the second ‘big’ animal case in the county in the past couple of years. The last one was on Animal Planet’s Animal COPS show. I wonder if Animal Planet has its own CSI?
Sunday, November 07, 2004
And how was your week....
My newly re-elected sister shuts down a cat house You know, a feling cat house. (ps - the story far more gross than the Star Tribune reports. And we’re talking 400+ cats by last count. And while PETA folks and other assorted wacko cat fanciers harrassed her office, I’m thinking about the poor volunteer firefighters. I don’t think tons of feces and cat remains were what they were thinking about when they volunteered.)
My pastor/boss was appointed Vicar General of the Archdiocese of Chicago. I am happy for him. And the Arch. Sorry for myself. He’s been great to work for. I am bracing myself for an exciting week at work since the transition will be relatively quick. And we can only anticpate a slew of “Jesus has not left the building” phone calls. Some parishioners don’t handle these things well. If I thought I had to do a lot of consoling during the anticipated transfer of an associate pastor at the end of his five year assignment, well, this is going to be very interesting.
And me? I’m doin’ fine. Just have to remember not to chew too hard on that temporary filling. And watch the popcorn when I take the boys to the movies this afternoon.
My newly re-elected sister shuts down a cat house You know, a feling cat house. (ps - the story far more gross than the Star Tribune reports. And we’re talking 400+ cats by last count. And while PETA folks and other assorted wacko cat fanciers harrassed her office, I’m thinking about the poor volunteer firefighters. I don’t think tons of feces and cat remains were what they were thinking about when they volunteered.)
My pastor/boss was appointed Vicar General of the Archdiocese of Chicago. I am happy for him. And the Arch. Sorry for myself. He’s been great to work for. I am bracing myself for an exciting week at work since the transition will be relatively quick. And we can only anticpate a slew of “Jesus has not left the building” phone calls. Some parishioners don’t handle these things well. If I thought I had to do a lot of consoling during the anticipated transfer of an associate pastor at the end of his five year assignment, well, this is going to be very interesting.
And me? I’m doin’ fine. Just have to remember not to chew too hard on that temporary filling. And watch the popcorn when I take the boys to the movies this afternoon.
Friday, November 05, 2004
TGIF
Glad to say that this week is over. Every planned election night party goes awry - in ‘04 it was me with a an achy tooth who went to bed early. And woke up in so much pain at 3:00am that I actually went to the emergency room (How did I rank the pain? 8.5, with 9 being childbirth and 10 being a gall bladder attack.) They injected me, which helped immediately and restored my interest in the election and gave me some Vicodin to tide me over until I could get into the dentist. My dentist isn’t in on Wednesdays, but Embot referred me to her’s, who was kind enough to squeeze me in. (Small World, of course. He’s a parishioner and one of his sons was one of my second graders last year. I remembered the boy’s name but couldn’t quite remember the face, which means he was one of the sweet and well-behaved kids. It’s the unruly guys who I remember immediately when I run into them in church or the Jewel etc.) Yesterday I went into work prepared to undo any damage I did while working under the influence of the Vicodin. I figured as long as it wore off by the time I had to drive to the dentist I would be OK. Then on Wednesday night I was haunted by doubts about several fax orders I placed while ‘under the influence.’ Couldn’t wait to hustle into work yesterday and pull the files to make sure I didn’t do something crazy, like order 1700 or 710 oplatky instead of the 170 that I wanted. Or red staplers for everyone in the rectory. And I don’t think I said anything inappropriate on the phone. Of course, the ER injection didn’t wear off until about noon, so I wasn’t particularly articulate anyway. (CHURCH and SAINT are not easy to say with a numb lower lip.) Luckily, other people were very helpful about grabbing the phones. Or maybe they just didn’t want me talking to anyone.
So now I just have a sore jaw, but I can handle that with ibuprofen. But I don’t like to talk too much. I know that yesterday I wasn’t particularly chatty with the non-parishioner from the city (i.e. Chicago) who wanted to get married in our parish just because our town is so darned pretty and she’s having her reception up in our direction. I wish we had videophones so these people could see how unmoved I am by their aesthetic quandries. (And I’m not talking about you, Embot. You are still a parishioner...And so’s your mama!)
Oh, and my sister was re-elected. She, her husband and friends were bummed out about Kerry's loss. This is one of those times I'm glad we don't have video phones.......she didn't need to see the smug look on my face.
Glad to say that this week is over. Every planned election night party goes awry - in ‘04 it was me with a an achy tooth who went to bed early. And woke up in so much pain at 3:00am that I actually went to the emergency room (How did I rank the pain? 8.5, with 9 being childbirth and 10 being a gall bladder attack.) They injected me, which helped immediately and restored my interest in the election and gave me some Vicodin to tide me over until I could get into the dentist. My dentist isn’t in on Wednesdays, but Embot referred me to her’s, who was kind enough to squeeze me in. (Small World, of course. He’s a parishioner and one of his sons was one of my second graders last year. I remembered the boy’s name but couldn’t quite remember the face, which means he was one of the sweet and well-behaved kids. It’s the unruly guys who I remember immediately when I run into them in church or the Jewel etc.) Yesterday I went into work prepared to undo any damage I did while working under the influence of the Vicodin. I figured as long as it wore off by the time I had to drive to the dentist I would be OK. Then on Wednesday night I was haunted by doubts about several fax orders I placed while ‘under the influence.’ Couldn’t wait to hustle into work yesterday and pull the files to make sure I didn’t do something crazy, like order 1700 or 710 oplatky instead of the 170 that I wanted. Or red staplers for everyone in the rectory. And I don’t think I said anything inappropriate on the phone. Of course, the ER injection didn’t wear off until about noon, so I wasn’t particularly articulate anyway. (CHURCH and SAINT are not easy to say with a numb lower lip.) Luckily, other people were very helpful about grabbing the phones. Or maybe they just didn’t want me talking to anyone.
So now I just have a sore jaw, but I can handle that with ibuprofen. But I don’t like to talk too much. I know that yesterday I wasn’t particularly chatty with the non-parishioner from the city (i.e. Chicago) who wanted to get married in our parish just because our town is so darned pretty and she’s having her reception up in our direction. I wish we had videophones so these people could see how unmoved I am by their aesthetic quandries. (And I’m not talking about you, Embot. You are still a parishioner...And so’s your mama!)
Oh, and my sister was re-elected. She, her husband and friends were bummed out about Kerry's loss. This is one of those times I'm glad we don't have video phones.......she didn't need to see the smug look on my face.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Some new firsts....
- never voted so early. 6:20 am. Hair uncombed, ratty old clothes. Thought it best to do it early while I was out running the Princess to work. Wasn’t counting on running into people I knew. I figured as long as it wasn’t one of those polling places that had a camera crew outside that I was safe. Oh, well. At least I was dressed. I may have been wearing flip-flops, but I saw a woman with plaid pajama pants and fuzzy slippers.
- never had to put on glasses to read the ballot. And I don’t think the print is getting smaller.
Well, now I did my part to cancel out my sister’s vote. At least Presidentially....since we do live in separate states. And I did call her last night to wish her well in her uncontested run for District Attorney in her home county. And to needle her......just a little.
Holy Day of kinda-sorta-come-if-you-like-since-it-is-encouraged-obligation
Jeff Miller articulates my dismay.
I spent a lot of phone time at work yesterday explaining why there were no extra Masses besides our usual week-day A.M. schedule. The added fun was that I could also explain that for All Souls day our usual schedule was in place and that the special All Souls Mass would be on Wed. November 3. Some committee decided that there would be too much competition with the election. If all this was hard enough to explain to Catholic callers, it was no small task to leave reminders and explanations (starting on Friday) for our non-Catholic night phone people.
Jeff Miller articulates my dismay.
I spent a lot of phone time at work yesterday explaining why there were no extra Masses besides our usual week-day A.M. schedule. The added fun was that I could also explain that for All Souls day our usual schedule was in place and that the special All Souls Mass would be on Wed. November 3. Some committee decided that there would be too much competition with the election. If all this was hard enough to explain to Catholic callers, it was no small task to leave reminders and explanations (starting on Friday) for our non-Catholic night phone people.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Isn’t that special?
or
Just Another Manic Reformation Sunday
Went to Mass twice yesterday. Eddie and I have a regular ‘date’ on Sunday morning to attend Mass at 7:30. Less sensory overload for him and I he gets my undivided attention when we stop for a little breakfast on the way home. I didn’t want to deviate from our lovely arrangement, especially on a day when he was anticipating dressing up, scaring Grandma, scoring an appalling amount of candy (we had a good check-up at the dentist Friday, so what the heck, right? Aaargh.) I received a call from a fellow lector a few days ago. She needed to be home with her little children last night and would I be so kind as to swap with her. Naturally, I said yes. When people are calling from a list and they’ve hit the “V’s” they have pretty much hit bottom. So I got to go to Church twice yesterday, while leaving the Halloween festivities under the supervision of the 10:30am Mass crew. Of course, I did a little trick-or-treat duty. In costume, of course. I’m the Church Lady, n’est-ce pas?
So where am I going with this? Well, at 7:30 we got to hear a splendid homily by the same Fr. Barron as mentioned in the previous post. And the lector read an announcement after Mass inviting us to hear a talk on Nov. 10 given by a professor of systemic theology at Mundelein seminary. Made a mental note to check announcements at 6:00PM. Or ask around if systemic theology is something new that flew in under my radar.
The announcement said SYSTEMATIC.
It was hardly worth pumping myself full of (anti-inflammatory) drugs in order to participate at 6:00 since a deacon showed up at the last minute and relieved me half my duties. So at 6:00 I heard a homily that started off with a promise not to talk about the election and then veered off into several rambling minutes about how we all should vote so as to be good Americans. Basically it was like listening to the teacher talk in one of those Charlie Brown cartoons. When the deacon read the announcements, he said “systemic.”
At dinner I asked Rick what the lector read at 10:30. Was it systematic or systemic? He said he didn’t know. And is there a difference. Aaargh. Crawled off to bed with a handful of Eddie’s snack-size Butterfinger bars and some spiritual reading.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Good Book!
Bridging The Great Divide: Musings Of A Post-Liberal, Post-Conservative Evangelical Catholic by Fr. Robert Barron.
...though I can’t figure out why the hardcover edition retails for $65. The paperback is packed with plenty of intellectual property, so what’s with the hardcover? Pictures? A pop-up book? Musical sound chips? Oh, well. I don’t think you’re missing out if you just run out and get the paperback - as I did last week-end.
That made for a great week-end, despite a toothache, a bad hip and a phantom pain that turned up in my ‘good’ leg and hip. Reading this (alternated with watching The Omen on AMC) made for a good time.
Bridging The Great Divide: Musings Of A Post-Liberal, Post-Conservative Evangelical Catholic by Fr. Robert Barron.
...though I can’t figure out why the hardcover edition retails for $65. The paperback is packed with plenty of intellectual property, so what’s with the hardcover? Pictures? A pop-up book? Musical sound chips? Oh, well. I don’t think you’re missing out if you just run out and get the paperback - as I did last week-end.
That made for a great week-end, despite a toothache, a bad hip and a phantom pain that turned up in my ‘good’ leg and hip. Reading this (alternated with watching The Omen on AMC) made for a good time.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Allow me,
a woman with one genuine precitpitous labor ‘under her belt’, to suggest Fast Eddie instead.
a woman with one genuine precitpitous labor ‘under her belt’, to suggest Fast Eddie instead.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Causa mortis.
The death register that I work in has a very small space for ‘remarks’ for each entry. Remarks most always consist of cremation, were the ashes present for the Mass, final destination of the ashes is not immediately buried etc. I am just one career jump from being one of those people who can write the Getttysburg Address on the back of a postage stamp.
Yesterday I finally found time to look up some records for a woman who is doing research into her family history. My search was not particularly successful, but I did find reading the old death register to be quite fascinating. The old book format had a much larger remark section which called for, among other things, the cause of death. Despite the unremarkability of most and absolute pathos of a few, there were some that made me laugh out loud. May the late entrants, and the previous holders of my job, forgive me...
TOP FIVE FUNNY CAUSES OF DEATH (bear in mind that these pop up among long lists of normal causes of death...)
5.DOA I’m assuming they meant at the hospital, not the church.
4.Mass concelebrated by four priests I know four means death in Japanese, but I personally have never felt unwell while at a Mass concelebrated by four priests.
3.Sleep Economy of words. Many entries said ‘died in sleep.’ But a few had just ‘sleep.’ Would this be like ‘suffocated by wife because of snoring?’
2.Lived in Lake Bluff for most of life. Many people do have that feeling that they’ll just die if they don’t get out of the old home town.
and
1.Non-Catholic mother-in-law Having a Methodist mother-in-law, this gave me the biggest laugh. (Lest I laugh too hard, there may well be a Methodist document out there that lists “Catholic daughter-in-law” as a complicating factor in some poor woman’s life. ) I must remember to relate this at our next family dinner. My m-i-l is a dear lady with a great sense of humor, so I think she’ll enjoy it.
The death register that I work in has a very small space for ‘remarks’ for each entry. Remarks most always consist of cremation, were the ashes present for the Mass, final destination of the ashes is not immediately buried etc. I am just one career jump from being one of those people who can write the Getttysburg Address on the back of a postage stamp.
Yesterday I finally found time to look up some records for a woman who is doing research into her family history. My search was not particularly successful, but I did find reading the old death register to be quite fascinating. The old book format had a much larger remark section which called for, among other things, the cause of death. Despite the unremarkability of most and absolute pathos of a few, there were some that made me laugh out loud. May the late entrants, and the previous holders of my job, forgive me...
TOP FIVE FUNNY CAUSES OF DEATH (bear in mind that these pop up among long lists of normal causes of death...)
5.DOA I’m assuming they meant at the hospital, not the church.
4.Mass concelebrated by four priests I know four means death in Japanese, but I personally have never felt unwell while at a Mass concelebrated by four priests.
3.Sleep Economy of words. Many entries said ‘died in sleep.’ But a few had just ‘sleep.’ Would this be like ‘suffocated by wife because of snoring?’
2.Lived in Lake Bluff for most of life. Many people do have that feeling that they’ll just die if they don’t get out of the old home town.
and
1.Non-Catholic mother-in-law Having a Methodist mother-in-law, this gave me the biggest laugh. (Lest I laugh too hard, there may well be a Methodist document out there that lists “Catholic daughter-in-law” as a complicating factor in some poor woman’s life. ) I must remember to relate this at our next family dinner. My m-i-l is a dear lady with a great sense of humor, so I think she’ll enjoy it.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Real Desperate Housewives
What is the appeal of ABC’s Desperate Housewives? Could it be that it has nothing to do with real desperate housewives? They way I look at it, there are two groups of desperate housewives. A) Those who problems are so profoundly sad and/or dangerous they could in no way be incorporated into fluffy entertainment. B) Those whose desperation is already being touched on by sitcoms.
The wives on Wysteria Lane are so different, so unreal, so.....entertaining. (“Wysteria Lane” is the archetypal Hollywood neighborhood street. You can make a little game of naming all the shows and movies that you’ve seen it in. And I think there is a reason that they haven’t tried to disguise it. Oh, and I’m sure one of the houses was once lived in by Beaver Cleaver. So poetic....) Their desperation is very unlike mine. No one is wandering with the beginnings of a head cold that just won’t get on with it. None of these ladies has a head so stuffy that she thought the priest was speaking in Latin at Mass when he most certainly wasn’t; their angst isn’t symbolized by the loose and poorly laid kitchen tiles; their terror isn’t caused by hearing the strange scratchings of what may be a rodent moving in for the winter; their shock and disappointment with their children is not proven by a boy taking his coat off at church to reveal a “Sponge Bob Party Pants” T-shirt. I guess I’ll keep my desperation and bide my time until Arrested Development is back on. *
*This week also included some sort of swipe at homeschooling, but I didn’t catch if it was nasty, funny, nasty-funny. I dozed in and out of most of the show in a drug induced haze...just trying to clear my head for the week ahead. It didn’t help. And I was really off guard when a fight broke out between the boys during a spirited game of Riskopoly. Don’t ask how to play Riskopoly......it involves mixing the pieces of Risk and Monopoly. Rules? Who knows. But it appears to end with shouting, maternal palpitations and one child (winner? loser?) locking his bedroom door while the other pounds and yells, “It’s my room, too.”
What is the appeal of ABC’s Desperate Housewives? Could it be that it has nothing to do with real desperate housewives? They way I look at it, there are two groups of desperate housewives. A) Those who problems are so profoundly sad and/or dangerous they could in no way be incorporated into fluffy entertainment. B) Those whose desperation is already being touched on by sitcoms.
The wives on Wysteria Lane are so different, so unreal, so.....entertaining. (“Wysteria Lane” is the archetypal Hollywood neighborhood street. You can make a little game of naming all the shows and movies that you’ve seen it in. And I think there is a reason that they haven’t tried to disguise it. Oh, and I’m sure one of the houses was once lived in by Beaver Cleaver. So poetic....) Their desperation is very unlike mine. No one is wandering with the beginnings of a head cold that just won’t get on with it. None of these ladies has a head so stuffy that she thought the priest was speaking in Latin at Mass when he most certainly wasn’t; their angst isn’t symbolized by the loose and poorly laid kitchen tiles; their terror isn’t caused by hearing the strange scratchings of what may be a rodent moving in for the winter; their shock and disappointment with their children is not proven by a boy taking his coat off at church to reveal a “Sponge Bob Party Pants” T-shirt. I guess I’ll keep my desperation and bide my time until Arrested Development is back on. *
*This week also included some sort of swipe at homeschooling, but I didn’t catch if it was nasty, funny, nasty-funny. I dozed in and out of most of the show in a drug induced haze...just trying to clear my head for the week ahead. It didn’t help. And I was really off guard when a fight broke out between the boys during a spirited game of Riskopoly. Don’t ask how to play Riskopoly......it involves mixing the pieces of Risk and Monopoly. Rules? Who knows. But it appears to end with shouting, maternal palpitations and one child (winner? loser?) locking his bedroom door while the other pounds and yells, “It’s my room, too.”
Friday, October 15, 2004
It's Friday......let's hit the road!
Where are you on the highway of life?
From Go-Quiz.com
| ||||||||||||||
From Go-Quiz.com
Language Lesson...
that the kids were best off missing. (It made the beagle howl, so it must have been good!) Was trying to steal a few last winks in the rainy darkness. My sweet half-sleep was disturbed by a loud exchange coming from the apartments next door. It was a little early for the kids to queuing up for the 6:30am high school bus, so I suppose these were freelance adults talking. I could have sworn that the one fellow had been given the assignment to use F**K in every way possible - noun, verb, adverb, adjective. I was torn between throwing open the window and yelling, “you forgot will be f**king,” or using my active listening skills and cheerfully calling out, “I’m hearing a lot of anger here.”
Once the dogs were riled up there was no point in trying to wring some relaxation out of the 7 minutes left before the alarm went off. Can’t wait for the end of daylight saving time so we can be back to a lighter morn. Then these tirades won’t be quite so annoying. Or I’ll be annoyed, but the light will have me awake so I can brace myself.
that the kids were best off missing. (It made the beagle howl, so it must have been good!) Was trying to steal a few last winks in the rainy darkness. My sweet half-sleep was disturbed by a loud exchange coming from the apartments next door. It was a little early for the kids to queuing up for the 6:30am high school bus, so I suppose these were freelance adults talking. I could have sworn that the one fellow had been given the assignment to use F**K in every way possible - noun, verb, adverb, adjective. I was torn between throwing open the window and yelling, “you forgot will be f**king,” or using my active listening skills and cheerfully calling out, “I’m hearing a lot of anger here.”
Once the dogs were riled up there was no point in trying to wring some relaxation out of the 7 minutes left before the alarm went off. Can’t wait for the end of daylight saving time so we can be back to a lighter morn. Then these tirades won’t be quite so annoying. Or I’ll be annoyed, but the light will have me awake so I can brace myself.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Please select the topic that best describes your message.
INDIGNANT was not available. So I chose INFLUENZA.
Alicia links to the CDC’s misguided advice for nursing mothers with flu.
INDIGNANT was not available. So I chose INFLUENZA.
Alicia links to the CDC’s misguided advice for nursing mothers with flu.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Were those customers parents?
Customers who bought this item also bought these items: What Are YOU So Grumpy About?
When I was a second grade aide last year there was an incident in which a parent took extreme umbrage with a teacher’s decision to disallow the oral reporting upon Walter the Farting Dog. The teacher held her ground. Some words were just not to be said in a classroom situation.
I would not dispute that there is some whimsy in a dog’s flatulence problem. (Well, there was Sarge, my sister’s late bulldog who could clear a room without making a sound. Sort of funny. Bordering on painful. But I would not memorialize him in a children’s book.) And we all know what will happen if Scrappy or Bess con us out of some peas or broccoli.
But there are some words we don’t say in polite company. I was amazed to see Walter promoted in a full-page ad for Marshall Field’s Children’s Reading Event. Marshall Field’s, Chicago’s own august State Street institution. A store that in my not-so-distant childhood would rather use the phrase ‘special selling’ instead of the more pedestrian ‘sale.’ And now they use the word FART in their advertising.
Customers who bought this item also bought these items: What Are YOU So Grumpy About?
When I was a second grade aide last year there was an incident in which a parent took extreme umbrage with a teacher’s decision to disallow the oral reporting upon Walter the Farting Dog. The teacher held her ground. Some words were just not to be said in a classroom situation.
I would not dispute that there is some whimsy in a dog’s flatulence problem. (Well, there was Sarge, my sister’s late bulldog who could clear a room without making a sound. Sort of funny. Bordering on painful. But I would not memorialize him in a children’s book.) And we all know what will happen if Scrappy or Bess con us out of some peas or broccoli.
But there are some words we don’t say in polite company. I was amazed to see Walter promoted in a full-page ad for Marshall Field’s Children’s Reading Event. Marshall Field’s, Chicago’s own august State Street institution. A store that in my not-so-distant childhood would rather use the phrase ‘special selling’ instead of the more pedestrian ‘sale.’ And now they use the word FART in their advertising.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Ouch! This chafes...
Note to Embot: If you agree, feel free to call me. Just go directly into voicemail so I don't bite your head off, OK?
You are starch. You are rigid, opinionated,
hard-willed and not too friendly about it. You
keep people out of places, or you keep them in,
and without you a lot of things would collapse.
hopefully you'll never have the authority to
burn people at the stake. Sir. Ma'am.
Which Biological Molecule Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Link via Flos Carmeli.
Note to Embot: If you agree, feel free to call me. Just go directly into voicemail so I don't bite your head off, OK?
You are starch. You are rigid, opinionated,
hard-willed and not too friendly about it. You
keep people out of places, or you keep them in,
and without you a lot of things would collapse.
hopefully you'll never have the authority to
burn people at the stake. Sir. Ma'am.
Which Biological Molecule Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Link via Flos Carmeli.
Monday, October 11, 2004
While Martha is out....
it behooves the rest of us to keep up the flow of domesticity. My contribution? 1) Re-arrange your furniture for Christmas. Now. I moved the sofa to discourage the dogs from using it as a lookout perch/nap venue. I may not be able to stop those naps, but that’s the end of three wacky dogs standing on the sofa and howling at passersby, squirrels etc. Of course, one thing led to another and before I knew it I was taking down all the things on the wall and dusting and washing everything. With the exception of the hutch and secretary, which are too heavy to be moved - period - I rearranged and cleaned everything in the living room. The first few people to pass through the room (including the hapless and everhelpful Charles who wound up hefting furniture) were told that it was better that I do it now rather than under duress while the Christmas tree waits on the front porch. When Embot showed up to join us for dinner and asked if I was getting ready for Christmas, I wasn’t laughing. Coming from someone else, it sounded, well, demented.
2) When hosting a debate party, provide your guests with a big basket of Beanie Babies to toss at the tube. This one is from my sister, who had a bunch of friends over on Friday night, and decided that Beanie Babies would be a civilized outlet for their anti-Republican energies. I’m glad I don’t attend these functions. I’d be tossing alone and with my luck I’d get the Baby with some sort of hard plastic appendage that would actually fracture the TV screen, making me some sort of double-stinky cheese.
This could also be applicable to sporting events. I don’t like football at all, so I could toss Babies with all sides. Fun.
it behooves the rest of us to keep up the flow of domesticity. My contribution? 1) Re-arrange your furniture for Christmas. Now. I moved the sofa to discourage the dogs from using it as a lookout perch/nap venue. I may not be able to stop those naps, but that’s the end of three wacky dogs standing on the sofa and howling at passersby, squirrels etc. Of course, one thing led to another and before I knew it I was taking down all the things on the wall and dusting and washing everything. With the exception of the hutch and secretary, which are too heavy to be moved - period - I rearranged and cleaned everything in the living room. The first few people to pass through the room (including the hapless and everhelpful Charles who wound up hefting furniture) were told that it was better that I do it now rather than under duress while the Christmas tree waits on the front porch. When Embot showed up to join us for dinner and asked if I was getting ready for Christmas, I wasn’t laughing. Coming from someone else, it sounded, well, demented.
2) When hosting a debate party, provide your guests with a big basket of Beanie Babies to toss at the tube. This one is from my sister, who had a bunch of friends over on Friday night, and decided that Beanie Babies would be a civilized outlet for their anti-Republican energies. I’m glad I don’t attend these functions. I’d be tossing alone and with my luck I’d get the Baby with some sort of hard plastic appendage that would actually fracture the TV screen, making me some sort of double-stinky cheese.
This could also be applicable to sporting events. I don’t like football at all, so I could toss Babies with all sides. Fun.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Hello Kitty. Good-bye, money.
Joanne Jacobs on the Hello Kitty Debit Card.
Another sign of the end times.
Destiny’s Supersize Child
Here’s the really disturbing part....
”We believe this appeals to kids, and when kids are happy Mom is happy,"said Larry Light, the hamburger chain's global chief marketing officer, in an interview following a press conference to announce the endorsement. “
Kids? If you are young enough to want a Happy Meal, you shouldn’t be a Destiny’s Child fan. I don’t think there Destiny’s Child fans. But that’s just one lady’s aesthetic opinion.
Here’s the really disturbing part....
”We believe this appeals to kids, and when kids are happy Mom is happy,"said Larry Light, the hamburger chain's global chief marketing officer, in an interview following a press conference to announce the endorsement. “
Kids? If you are young enough to want a Happy Meal, you shouldn’t be a Destiny’s Child fan. I don’t think there Destiny’s Child fans. But that’s just one lady’s aesthetic opinion.
Who'll go first? Mt. St. Helen's or Mt. Mrs. Ellyn?
Just one of those weeks....Or maybe it's just allergies. One more good frost and the pounding in my head will stop. And the ornamental cabbages are looking marvelous.
From Go-Quiz.com
Just one of those weeks....Or maybe it's just allergies. One more good frost and the pounding in my head will stop. And the ornamental cabbages are looking marvelous.
| Ellyn may explode without warning |
| M EXPLOSIVE |
From Go-Quiz.com
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
|
Blogging Degree
From Go-Quiz.com
Link via Sleepy Mommy Peony.
I've reduced the size of the worm picture...
but another worm takes up residence.for the sake of the more delicate reader. It did not go over too well with the family, either. I must admit to a bit of passive-agressive behavior on my part. The family was grousing about an IMac undergoing work on the dining room table. The work - a charitable concern, pater reminded us - was not finished when our light supper was ready so we just ate around it. I was becoming increasingly annoyed with the complaining about the Mac's presence, since those complaining were not those who were intending to sup with the family.* And I became bored with the computer chatter among the males and their hope that I would be enthused at the ethernet connection of the ailing computer. So I said to Rick, "Now that you're wireless, maybe you'd want to take a look at my blog." I'm not sure if he did see it, since he asked me what was new with the blog and I did blurt out a preemptory discussion of heartworms as a metaphor for sin. Oh, well, one more worm for me to deal with.
*Thanks for the memories, kids. We were allowed to read, work crossword puzzles, etc. at breakfast and lunch. Books, magazines, refernce works would pile up. And then the person who felt outnumbered would make a comment along the lines of, "what is this, the Chrisitian Science Reading Room?"
but another worm takes up residence.for the sake of the more delicate reader. It did not go over too well with the family, either. I must admit to a bit of passive-agressive behavior on my part. The family was grousing about an IMac undergoing work on the dining room table. The work - a charitable concern, pater reminded us - was not finished when our light supper was ready so we just ate around it. I was becoming increasingly annoyed with the complaining about the Mac's presence, since those complaining were not those who were intending to sup with the family.* And I became bored with the computer chatter among the males and their hope that I would be enthused at the ethernet connection of the ailing computer. So I said to Rick, "Now that you're wireless, maybe you'd want to take a look at my blog." I'm not sure if he did see it, since he asked me what was new with the blog and I did blurt out a preemptory discussion of heartworms as a metaphor for sin. Oh, well, one more worm for me to deal with.
*Thanks for the memories, kids. We were allowed to read, work crossword puzzles, etc. at breakfast and lunch. Books, magazines, refernce works would pile up. And then the person who felt outnumbered would make a comment along the lines of, "what is this, the Chrisitian Science Reading Room?"
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
And neither do souls....
Arteries do not do well having worms living inside them.
When over 50 worms are present, the ventricle is full and the atrium, the chamber receiving blood from the rest of the body, begins to contain worms. When over 100 worms are present, the entire right side of the heart is filled with worms and there is very little room for any blood to be pumped. This drastic phenomenon is called "Caval Syndrome" and most dogs do not survive it. As they grow they restrict blood flow in the heart and can cause permanent heart damage.
The front office of the veterinary clinic where our Franny works has an assortment of educational pictures to inform us of the dangers of parasites. (As if I had forgotten the tape worms in jar from my high school bio days...) The image that grosses me out the most is the heart infested with heartworms. (Sorry I couldn’t figure out a way to link to the image so that viewing it is optional. Maybe I’ll remove it in a few days.)
The last time I went to confession I was searching for an apt description for the multitude of small sins that had built up and were hindering my spiritual health. So I blurted out that my soul was like the heart pictured above. (Lucky for my confessor, I didn’t have a HeartGard brochure to pull out of my pocket. Luckily for me, my confessor is very understanding of my use of metaphor.) I may look ok from the outside, but my soul was clogged with ‘worms.’ Unlike a poor puppy, all I needed to do to remove the worms was name them and ask forgiveness. Confession: HeartGard for the human soul!
Arteries do not do well having worms living inside them.
When over 50 worms are present, the ventricle is full and the atrium, the chamber receiving blood from the rest of the body, begins to contain worms. When over 100 worms are present, the entire right side of the heart is filled with worms and there is very little room for any blood to be pumped. This drastic phenomenon is called "Caval Syndrome" and most dogs do not survive it. As they grow they restrict blood flow in the heart and can cause permanent heart damage.
The front office of the veterinary clinic where our Franny works has an assortment of educational pictures to inform us of the dangers of parasites. (As if I had forgotten the tape worms in jar from my high school bio days...) The image that grosses me out the most is the heart infested with heartworms. (Sorry I couldn’t figure out a way to link to the image so that viewing it is optional. Maybe I’ll remove it in a few days.)
The last time I went to confession I was searching for an apt description for the multitude of small sins that had built up and were hindering my spiritual health. So I blurted out that my soul was like the heart pictured above. (Lucky for my confessor, I didn’t have a HeartGard brochure to pull out of my pocket. Luckily for me, my confessor is very understanding of my use of metaphor.) I may look ok from the outside, but my soul was clogged with ‘worms.’ Unlike a poor puppy, all I needed to do to remove the worms was name them and ask forgiveness. Confession: HeartGard for the human soul!
Monday, October 04, 2004
If I Were a Bride...
Another reason I wouldn’t have that maudlin Billy Joel Just the Way You Are as my first dance. (I think it should be banned altogether. But that’s just my opinion. I just think it is about as deep as that I Love You song that Barney sings. And at least Barney isn’t going through wives faster than we get new cars. Unless his agent is just keeping it all hush-hush.)
Another reason I wouldn’t have that maudlin Billy Joel Just the Way You Are as my first dance. (I think it should be banned altogether. But that’s just my opinion. I just think it is about as deep as that I Love You song that Barney sings. And at least Barney isn’t going through wives faster than we get new cars. Unless his agent is just keeping it all hush-hush.)
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