Christmas 2012

Having once again survived Advent and the beginning of the Christmas season, Mary decided to post something fairly normal on her blog. :)

It was unfortunately necessary for the family to split up this year; Husband and three children went to his mom's house in order to take her to Christmas eve Mass. Eldest Daughter--registrational assistant, page turner, and merry-maker--stayed with me to assist at the Christmas eve services at The Job.

After playing for the first service, Daughter and I got a bite to eat then checked in at our hotel, where we received a coupon for the restaurant where we had just eaten.  (#Fail) We returned to the church where everything happened pretty much as it ought.  (Well, except for all the mistakes on that postlude. Really it's amazing it went as well as it did, since this brain-dead-after-11p.m.-organist was playing it at about 12:45 a.m.)  The choir members gave me lovely card with a very generous gift inside.  Several of them told me, with tears in their eyes, how much they appreciate me.  This is how you can tell it's a non-Catholic church. /sarcasm

Daughter and I arrived safely at the hotel, and attempted to sleep about an hour later.  Daughter managed to do so, but I got to listen to the 3 a.m. phone conversation on the other side of my wall.  No, he wasn't being loud; the walls were just that thin.

Daughter and I attended the 10 a.m. Mass at the local beautiful and reliably (for the most part) Catholic church. Mass was very nice; the priest delivered the best short-and-sweet Christmas sermon I'd ever heard.  I'd expected the Mass to last 1 1/2 hours, but it was over in 50 minutes.  The lowlight of the experience was that a little boy sitting in front of me, who was pushed into the communion line by his dad and who was obviously unchurched, received a host and had no idea what to do with it.  He held it cupped in his hands and took it back to the pew (yes, I was watching.)  When I returned to my seat, I leaned forward and told him he must consume it immediately or give it back to the priest. His dad told him to eat it, and the boy was very displeased.  Finally after much effort, the host was consumed.  I'm not convinced I did the right thing, but the boy was not to blame; his father was.  And I surely didn't want the host pocketed and taken home.

After stopping and saying hello to my parents, we continued on to the in-law's house where we enjoyed a delicious Christmas dinner with extended family.  This was the first Christmas without my beloved father-in-law, and that made the whole experience more poignant.  He was sorely missed.

Husband announced that the previous weather watch had turned into a Winter Storm Warning, which put Mary on alert.  I could not stay for an extended time, and I could not return home in the middle of a storm driving a tiny car with tiny tires. The decision was made to return home that evening. So Daughter and I retrieved our bags and started the drive back. I was so tired, not having slept the night before, but we arrived home safely nearly three hours later, just in time for the Doctor Who Christmas Special.

Winter precipitation at home was minimal, but the rest of the family got enough snow to enjoy some Extreme Sledding.

And now, as in every year, we must recover from the Christmas flu. The vacation plans that I made will have to wait.

Hodie Christus Natus Est!

O magnum mysteriumet admirabile sacramentum,ut animalia viderent Dominum natumjacentem in praesepio.

O beata Virgo, cujus viscera meruerunt

portare Dominum Jesum Christum.

Ave Maria, gratia plena: Dominus tecum.

O beata Virgo, cujus viscera meruerunt

portare Dominum Jesum Christum.

Alleluia!

O great mystery
and wonderful sacrament,
that animals should see the new-born Lord
lying in a manger!

O blessed is the Virgin, whose womb

was worthy to bear Christ the Lord.

Hail Mary, full of grace: the Lord is with you.

Blessed is the Virgin whose womb

was worthy to bear Christ the Lord.

Alleluia!

Anima Christi

This is my favorite prayer, which perfectly expresses my gratitude for receiving Our Lord's Body and Blood in Holy Communion and my awe at the Gift that has been given to us as Life for our souls.

Soul of Christ, sanctify me.
Body of Christ, save me.
Blood of Christ, inebriate me.
Water from the side of Christ, wash me.
Passion of Christ, strengthen me.
O Good Jesus, hear me.
Within your wounds hide me.
Permit me not to be separated from you.
From the wicked foe, defend me.
At the hour of my death, call me
and bid me come to you
That with your saints I may praise you
For ever and ever. Amen.

Thank you, Jesus.

A Special Short Story

“One Special Please,” she asked the buggy owner clearly, being careful to inflect just the right tone, at just the right volume. Then she couldn't be accused of flirtacious or overly-American behavior.

“One dollar.” The buggy owner did not look at her as he requested his payment, and she was grateful for that. She dug deep into her pocket and pulled out a single dollar. All she had.

She and her friends hadn't been out that long that wintery Saturday evening, although calling them “friends” required quite the stretch of definition. They were merely acquaintances, and she didn't even like them. “No matter,” she thought. She was glad there were people who didn't mind being around her. They'd all played pool, and she was pretty good at it. Holding the stick and lining up shots was a fairly safe activity, because it was easy to not meet anyone's eyes while doing it. As long as she looked and spoke only to women, everything would be fine.

She'd had a Special once before. She'd never tried anything else because the Special was the cheapest thing they had, and she had not much to spare. She waited while the bagel was grilled in the freezing air, slowly moving her feet up and down, and hugging her arms tight around her body. Her jacket was just that—a jacket, not a coat—but she didn't know this. She'd always been cold, unable to afford an actual winter coat that could defend the girl in sub-zero weather. Being cold was normal, and she hated it.

She didn't wear a hat. This would destroy her curls, and therefore, some of her looks. She wasn't beautiful, but had been called “pretty” a few times, and “beautiful” a few years back by a boy who was in love with her. He'd moved away, but had written letters and had come back to see her a few times. Once, he wanted to know what she would do with herself; would she marry the boy she was now dating? “Yes,” she lied. She was angry with him for dating another girl, yet she knew this lie would only hurt her. He'd clearly stated that if she answered “yes” he would never come back and never contact her. He'd been a handsome Italian-looking boy, with black curly hair, black eyes, and olive skin. His twin brother had pale skin, though, and their older brother had blond curly hair with blue eyes. Even though they'd talked for hours on the phone over a period of years, she never thought to ask him about his heritage. And true to his word, she never saw nor heard from him again.

The bagel owner hand her the Special. It was so hot it nearly burned her freezing hands, but she was thankful for the heat. She walked with a few of her friends across the street to a large steam grate that would help warm her body. After peeling back the foil from the bagel, she bit into the creamy goodness of the treat, with the copious cream cheese and strawberry jam dripping out between the two layers of bread. She tried to not think about the beating that would later happen at the hands of her current very-handsome boyfriend. Even though she'd been careful to not look up, he would have surely seen a slip where she was making eyes with another man. It happened a lot. Some day, he would see that she was a good person and deserved better treatment; she was sure of it. She was happy that he wanted to be around her.

But for now, as she took another bite of the Special, life was good, warm, and delicious.

Miscellaneous Catholic thoughts (because this is a Catholic blog)

So I said to myself, "I wonder what will happen if I try to write a blog post early in the morning after a really lousy night with not much sleep?" This is pretty much an effort doomed to failure, and what you'll read is the result, although it might improve over the course of the post as I start to drink the coffee that's setting in front of me untouched.  Speaking of that, my Nicaraguan Matagalpa should be arriving today, but first I have to finish this bag of not-nearly-as-good Tim Horton's fine blend. Being a coffee snob really stinks.

So the elections are over and my guy lost.  I'm really ticked off about it because I'm convinced he deserved to win; all the evidence--voter motivation, rally attendance, polls, pointed to it. Only God knows what happened, and He's not telling.  Yet.  But I thought I'd clear something up in case there were questions lingering from a previous post where I said Romney was equipped to do something about the economy.

In that post, I didn't mention that fact that I am indeed a ONE-ISSUE VOTER.  (This is where I get to show that this is indeed a Catholic blog, like it says in the title. *takes first sip of coffee*) Although my candidates "allowance" for abortion in some cases really irked me, it was better than the socialist bastard Obama's position, which consists of total disrespect for humanity, beginning in the womb and never ending.  We all know that he voted against the Born Alive Protection Act (one of the few times he actually voted as a member of congress.) This is a position even more radical than held by NARAL.

I've seen repeatedly that people who have no problem with abortion are disrespectful and inconsiderate to others, and why not, if you don't believe that humans have a right to life? So any person who considers him/herself "pro-choice"will never get my vote.  Ever.

Speaking of Obama, I've decided to adopt a verbal tic, as used above: "socialist bastard Obama".  I'm going to try it out at the Farmer's Market this weekend.  This isn't as funny as I intend it unless you know that I live in Berkeley-in-the-Midwest, where the farmer's market is filled with Birkenstocks and patchouli oil, and there has been for months a voter registration booth staffed by a very "natural-looking" woman who has a huge hand-embroidered brightly-colored hippie banner that says "OBAMA".  Oh yeah?  Well, Obama sucks, Hippie Woman with Floppy Hat.

Oh yeah -- the USCCB is meeting now, and Twitter is all abuzz with the happy news about results of meetings and speeches.  Everyone is so excited that mandatory Friday abstinence may again be imposed. Although I abstain on Friday's already, I scoff at this.  Why? Because catechesis is already so awful that 50% of Catholics (or a little more) voted for the socialist bastard Obama, who believes that chopping up babies or sucking out their brains is just hunky-dory. People have no idea that they're REALLY receiving Jesus in Holy Communion.  They think it's a piece of bread. Fun times! Let's get our bread!  So maybe the bishops could start with something BASIC and ESSENTIAL to our Faith, instead of impressing us all with their pious and holy proclamations.  Oh yeah, like Cardinal Dolan's much-extolled speech (well, extolled for at least the past 12 hours) where he tells us we must be on our knees, and I'm wondering how much time the bishops have spent on their knees as they issue milquetoast proclamations (although I can't recall any) and worthless voter guides (wait--did they even do that this year?)

Second cup of coffee poured.

So I guess I'm a little skeptical of anything issued forth from that venerable institution known as the USCCB, but I'm so happy that they have cheerleaders. Go team!

What.....else......

Nothing else.  Be happy that I deleted the stuff that came after this. :) Now I need to finish this second cup.

Strange Homily (probably the first in a series)

The priest at the church we usually attend is a very knowledgeable and personable priest, and he can give some killer great homilies.  Several times I wish I'd recorded his homily just to be able to revel in it once more.  Other times, like last weekend, it's a real head-scratcher.  Allow me to paraphrase:

"We have a new bishop.  I haven't met him but I hear he's a great guy.  People ask me if I'd like to be a bishop.  I say, "No way!" Being a bishop is a terrible job.  Everyone is always mad at you.  But a bishop can do whatever he wants.  He doesn't answer to anyone but the Pope. He owns everything in the diocese: the churches, land, rectory, schools...he even owns me. 

As a priest, my job is the spiritual welfare of the people, but the only person I answer to is the bishop.  I'm in charge here, and I can do anything I want. 

God bless you."  

There must be a problem or issue in the parish that led to this sermon.  We thought that he was going to tie it in somehow to the elections, but....no.

How odd.

(n.b. He really does talk in short sentences as written above.)

Romney/Ryan 2012 Rallies

Mary has become more politically involved to help avoid another four years of the narcissist socialist BO, and to that end, she decided to drag the family to political rallies. Actually, they went along quite willingly, especially Elder Son who is fascinated by the political machine.

The first rally featured both Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan.  Because we weren't able to arrive early, we were stuck in traffic until the motorcade arrived.  The event didn't start for at least an hour after that, so we were able to move around a little to try to find a good standing spot.

These two Secret Service men gave me permission to snap their pic. They just looked so cool.

There was no good standing spot.  I don't really mind that for myself, but some of my children are shorter than me, and I didn't want them to be looking at a lot of backs and butts.  We walked back from whence we came, which took us up the hill from the staging area which was in the middle of a medium-sized town intersection.  We were able to see a little better, but then a campaign worker offered us free t-shirts if we would go sit in the bleachers at the END of the venue.  Scored two t-shirts, but then we were in what would be the nosebleed section if we were in an arena. At least it got us away from the loudspeakers blasting country music (with the notable exception of Boston's "More Than a Feeling".)

Later that evening, I found out that the next day, Mitt Romney would be in another town not too far from us.  I quickly got more tickets and decided to leave early enough to get there soon after the gates opened.

We got there about 30 minutes after the gate opened, scoring a close parking space, but unfortunately we weren't as close up as we'd hoped.

As we came up to this spot, where'd we need to stand for another two hours or so, a worker asked us to go up on those steps and cheer loudly when necessary.  I told her, though, that we'd prefer to be close to Mitt when he spoke.

After denying a reporter the chance to interview us (he was so disappointed!) we stood for a few minutes when another campaign worker asked if we'd stand on the steps.  I explained that we'd seen both Romney and Ryan the night before, but we were so far away and I wanted the kids to at least be able to see his face.  He said he'd been at the same place and knew I'd done a lot of driving.  "Tell you what; come with me," he said.  He led us to the VIP section and gave us each a VIP bracelet.  We ended up here.  This time we got to listen to live music, which was pretty good.  This rally appeared to be much better organized (or maybe it appeared that way simply because we were closer to the action.)

Mitt Romney finally came to the stage after numerous other candidates running for office, and a few local personalities.  After he finished speaking, he started shaking hands.  He shook a few, including mine, and then reached down to Younger Son and waited for him to raise his hand.  The little guy was thrilled (it was the first he'd smiled in a few hours) and then Older Son managed to also get a handshake.  The girls were unfortunately unable to bully their small bodies forward far enough. Maybe next rally! (DH wasn't feeling well and didn't attend.)

Four days later, Obarfa came into our town (oh darn I had to work in another city) and I snapped this wonderful sign that would greet His Majesty's royal subjects.

I fully realize that Romney isn't perfect; in fact, Santorum was my first choice.  But he at least has the knowledge and experience to pull this country out of the economic mess it's in.

For My Single Lady Friends

She carries the water from the well in the morning
While the sand burns her feet the sun only stares
And the loneliness lingers with slow grasping fingers
As the afternoon withers the flowers in her hair

Then night fills the sky as she sits on the hillside
And memories drift by like clouds past the stars
Recalling romances and all the bright chances
But none of them lasted. they passed through her heart

And she says -
Where is a man who can build a good fire
With a passion as wide as the sky at high noon
A man whose hand is strong as his longing
Where is the man who can lasso the moon

She falls asleep and her dreams are her blanket
And she shares with the moon the secret she knows
As the dawn leaves its tears to wash the dry valley
The tears of a woman can wash a man’s soul

And she says -
Where is a man who can build a good fire
With a passion as wide as the sky at high noon
A man whose hand is strong as his longing
Where is the man who can lasso the moon

And she says -
Where is a man who can build a good fire
With a passion as wide as the sky at high noon
A man whose hand is strong as his longing
Where is the man who can lasso the moon

And I say -
I am a man who can build a good fire
And my passion’s as wide as the sky at high noon
Come take my hand, it’s as strong as your longing
Just say the word and I’ll lasso the moon

Genesis -- The Lady Lies

The lyrics to this song remind me of a situation I've been discussing with a friend.  Pray for the parties involved.

Musically speaking, this is a terrific song with some pretty amazing progressions. Hard to believe it's from 1978.

The man steps out in the moonlight

At the sound of a scream from below.

He thinks he is a warrior

So he picks up his sword and goes.

From the mouth of the monster

He rescues the maiden fair.

But we know she's a demon

Come to lure him to demon's lair.

Through restless foliage and tall trees he leads

To a house in a clearing, a place in her fear she calls home.

"Come with me, I need you,

I fear the dark and I live all alone.

I'll give you wine and food too

And something special after if you like."

And though his body bids him

To enter in with her,

There was something in her manner

That his mind could not ignore.

Also it is whispered

In the kingdom far and wide,

To beware a little cottage

In the forest in a glade.

For who knows what magic takes place in his world?

So he just thanks her kindly preparing to go on his way.

"Come with me, I need you,

I fear the dark and I live all alone.

I'll give you wine and food too

And something special after if you like.

Come to my garden,

Taste the fruits and the spices of love.

You can't resist me,

I'm the kind that your dreams tell you of."

"So glad you could make it

We had everything arranged.

So glad you saw fit to pay a call."

Some men never listen,

And others never learn,

But why this man did as he did

Only he will ever know.

He knew he was walking

Into a waiting trap,

Neatly set up for him

With a bait so richly wrapped.

So he went inside there to take on what he found

But he never escaped them, for who can escape what he desires?

"Come with me, I need you,

I fear the dark and I live all alone.

I'll give you wine and food too

And something special after if you like."

Workshops, driving, gardens, and near-death experiences

Last week, Eldest Daughter attended a writing workshop in Eastern Pennsylvania.  Because of situations and circumstances, it became clear that I would drive her there, and the other children would come along too.  I was filled with trepidation because I tend to get quite tired while driving, three hours being pretty much the max I'd ever attempt, and I'd be doing the drive unaided.  All eight hours of it.

There was no use fretting since worrying would change nothing, and we set out Friday morning.  The drive was fairly uneventful, save for beautiful scenery and an unexpected early trip into Pennsylvania because I didn't print out the directions that I really wanted.

We arrived at the hotel and after settling in, decided that we desperately needed pizza from Anthony's Coal Fired Pizza.  We'd eaten at this chain in Pittsburgh, and it was truly the best I'd had in my life, albeit a little charred (as advertised.)  We finally found the restaurant in Wilmington, Delaware, no thanks to Apple's SIRI, and headed back to the hotel.  What a disappointment; it wasn't anything like Pittsburgh's Food of the Gods. But at least the salad was good. And we got to see a Tesla Roadster on the way.

Next morning we delivered Nervous Eldest Daughter to the workshop and the rest of us set off for Longwood Gardens. I figured any property that was over 1000 acres would keep us busy for a while.  Even though I'd seen pictures online, I wasn't prepared for the beauty of it all.  Youngest Son (nine years old) even asked how he could get a job there, and we were planning the next visit almost as soon as we arrived.  The place was so serene and peaceful, but probably only because it was still morning.  We found out later that evening is when the place starts looking like a city, because that's when lights illuminate everything, various shows (water and lights) are scheduled, and musical concerts take place.

The biggest surprise at Longwood Gardens is that it houses the world's largest home pipe organ which is used for a famous concert series, and there's also a pipe organ museum inside the conservatory.  What a coincidence!  Unfortunately, maintenance was being performed that day, so we didn't get to hear it. Sad face.

After retrieving Elated Eldest Daughter from the workshop, we attended Mass then returned to the gardens because I couldn't imagine her not seeing this place.  Aching feet and legs, and sheer exhaustion led us to leave earlier than we wanted, but c'est la vie.

Tree House.  One of the many ways to keep the kiddos entertained.

A note about the church where we attended Mass; the exterior looked like a ski lodge:

Or does it look like the West Virginia Welcome Center?

You be the judge.

I planned to return home by a different route that I thought would prove more scenic than the Pennsylvania Toll Road.  And in my naiveté I thought that Sunday morning traffic around the Baltimore beltway would be fairly light because, ya know, it's Sunday morning.

I was wrong.

The traffic was nearly nightmarish, not only being very busy but at high rates of speed. When we got the heck out of there, I figured we could stop in another city in Maryland for lunch, since I think we all agreed that the salami in the cooler was gross.  Unfortunately, lunch traffic there was out of control, so I reluctantly returned to the highway.

Things are a little sparse in those parts, so I drove for a while longer, and the time got later and later, but the kids weren't complaining about starving.  Mary, however, does not operate well when she lacks food, so I kept looking.  SIRI informed us there was a place to eat in a tiny town coming up.  I found the place; no one was parked there, and it just didn't "feel right."  Back on the highway.

Morgantown, West Virginia.  Middle of the afternoon. I see the sign for a Bob Evans.  We pull off, and sign informs us it's .6 miles away.  Over a mile later, it's clear that there's no Bob Evans and I realize it must have been at the shopping center at the exit.  I turn around, and...

What's that sound?

It's a disturbing racket coming from the front of the car on the right side.  I decide that I'm going to drive to the shopping center, and then will deal with it there.  No one is honking at me because something looks disturbing, and the car isn't driving like there's a flat tire.  We still hear the sound as we drive to the shopping center and we find the Bob Evans.  I believe the car is unsafe to drive, and send the kids inside to get something to eat while I call AAA.  (I would like the gentle reader to be assured that I've switched to present tense on purpose.)

After failing in my attempt to find a rental van, the tow truck shows up to inspect the crippled vehicle.  He drives it around the lot, parks, and tells me that a garage is going to charge me a whole lot of money to diagnose the problem, because this, this, and this could be a problem, but none of those things would make the car unsafe to drive.  However, before he leaves, he's going to check the lug nuts.  As he said that, Eldest Son (who'd finished eating and had come outside) and I looked down and noticed that a few of the lug nuts were positioned further out than the others.

As the tow truck driver guardian angel went to take the right front tire off, he wiggled it first.  THAT WAS THE SOUND.  Three of the lug nuts were loose, so the tire was rather floppy.  He cleaned up some dirt on the inside of the wheel, and repositioned the tire. He checked the other tires.  Four loose.  Two loose. Three loose. He tightened everything up, and we were on our way.

Thank God we'd not found a place to eat earlier; if we had, we would have been on the road as the wheel got looser and looser.  And I may not have heard the sound it was making, as we traveled at speeds up to 80 mph.  On mountain roads.  In heavy traffic.

This week I returned to the shop where the tires had been rotated earlier this month.  I told them what happened.  They were extremely apologetic, of course, and agreed to my demand of removing all charges for the "work."  The vehicle should be inspected for damage that may have occurred as a result of their negligence, but I haven't had time to do it yet.

We're just glad to be alive, because it could've turned out differently.

And there's much more that's happened this week, perhaps better left for another blog post.

Meanwhile, we're still planning the next trip to Longwood Gardens.

Brain Dump v.1

*deleted*

....and life goes on.

Those of you who know me in "real life" are aware that I enjoy certain automobiles.  OK -- the truth is that I'm a car nut.  Some of my children share my appreciation for the loud beasts that boast hundreds of horsepower, and to that end, we scheduled a trip to the Corvette Museum in Kentucky for another  look-see.

Most of you who read this blog are also aware that my father-in-law has been seriously ill for the last year, and I know that you've prayed fervently for our intentions and for his bodily healing.  Things were going very well for him until about the last six weeks.

When we realized things had taken a turn for the worse, we canceled our trip to the museum and instead went to my in-laws' house.  From there, some of the kids and I made a couple of day-trips to Pittsburgh while my husband stayed at home with his parents, just visiting and performing necessarily-neglected maintenance around the house.

One of our stops in Pittsburgh was St. Anthony's Chapel in the Troy Hill district, which boasts the largest collection of relics outside the Vatican.  We prayed in the presence of the Saints for the physical and spiritual healing of our loved ones.  Afterwards, we visited the Strip District and attended Mass at St. Stanislaus Kostka church.  (I won't do a Mass review, but will summarize charitably by saying that the church is terrific for picture-taking.)

Through the weekend, my father-in-law was feeling ill, but managed to chat and joke around with us, demand pictures of the churches in Pittsburgh, and enjoy the kids playing the Wii.

We left the house on Sunday afternoon after the usual lengthy good-byes, see-you-next-times, and love-yous.  I hugged my father-in-law, who was sitting in his bed, and held his head against my shoulder.  I felt his thin frame and wondered how he had the strength to hug me so tight.

My mother-in-law called very early the next morning and said that he was was having difficulty breathing and couldn't be awakened.  Although he was conscious later when my husband got there, he was barely able to communicate.  He died a few hours later after receiving the last rites of the Church.

My father-in-law was a very fine and good man and a true gentleman.  He was a man of honor who worked hard, loved his family and made many sacrifices in life for their good.  (He even drove to work two hours EACH WAY for six years so that he could provide for his family.)  He was smart, very funny, and could strike up an interesting conversation with anyone.

Although I'd like to wax poetic about the glories of heaven and the eternal reward of those who die in a state of grace, the truth is that his passing hurts like hell and we miss him terribly.

Requiescat in pace, Dad.

Mass Review #6

The family went to visit the in-laws this past weekend, and because of circumstances we would not be attending our usual Maronite parish. Instead we would be attending the parish of my husband's youth, and where his parents still attend.  I really like these non-typical chandeliers.

The old confessionals are still in place and are actually used.

The church is quite large and very beautiful. Large marble columns line both sides of the church, and the original gorgeous high altar still stands, as does the marble altar rail with stone inlay. Some very questionable remodeling and repainting has be done, but could be easily fixed.

Old tabernacles still lay underneath the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph at their respective side altars.

More photos of the Communion rail:

There's really just one problem with this church:

The music.

There is no organ in this church, even though some pipes from what was surely a glorious instrument lay wasting in the back.  But there *is* an electronic keyboard! Yippee!

(At this time I must confess that this is one of the very few churches where I had to STOP myself from walking out during Mass, due to the carelessness of the former priest, and the horrible awful terrible music.)

Before Mass, our ears were assaulted with a keyboard (!with underlying string sounds!) playing a medley of Glory and Praise tunes.  I didn't realize that he was just warming up for the big show.

Indeed, we got to hear those same songs through the Mass, except at an obscene volume.  Additionally, he served as cantor and "song leader".  He was SO LOUD that I think I heard some hearing aids howling with feedback.  I whispered to Oldest Daughter that if I had a gun I'd shoot out the speakers, may God forgive me. The worst part of it all is that he seems to have *no clue* how to choose music for Mass, as evidenced by his selection for Communion.

However, this parish got a new priest about two years ago.  He is a very holy young man who not only performs the liturgy by the books, but also is an excellent homilist.  In fact, he chanted nearly every part of the Mass (except the Our Father), including the Kyrie Eleison in Greek. Now maybe you'll yawn at that, but this is almost unheard of in our diocese. My family loves him as I'm sure do all the parishioners.  What's not to love? I just wish they had the music that they (and the church) deserve and are entitled to.

I suppose the priest's gentle manner is what prevents him from trying to replace the music guy.

In summary, the Mass sans music gets 10/10 stars, and the music gets -10/10 stars.

Oh -- I almost forgot to tell you about the Communion Song: "Suddenly There's a Valley"

When you've climbed the highest mountain
When a cloud holds the sunshine in
Suddenly there's a valley
Where the earth knows peace with man

When a storm hides the distant rainbow
And you think you can't find a friend
Suddenly there's a valley
Where friendships never end

Touched only by the seasons
Swept clean by the waving grain
Surveyed by a happy bluebird
And kissed by the falling rain

When you think there's no bright tomorrow
And you feel you can't try again
Suddenly there's a valley
Where hope and love begin

Suddenly there's a valley
Where hope and love begin

Mass Review #5

Playing for a Saturday evening wedding meant I had no other option than to attend the noon Mass at a very large church in a nearby city.  Worse things could happen, though, because visiting this house of God named after the BVM is always a visual treat. I've been here a number of times and usually enjoy my time with the Lord very much. The organist is very good, and the musical selections are almost always excellent.

So when Mass started, I was surprised to see that the celebrant was an unfamiliar face. Although elderly, he chanted parts of the Mass in a beautiful, clear voice with just the right amount of vibrato.  Lovely!  His sermon, all twenty-five minutes of it (!), was very enjoyable and full of clear Catholic teaching.  How refreshing and wonderful! Just to clarify, though, the regular priests at this church always perform the liturgy with great care.

Although the church has a very good reputation for its music, the cantor was less than adequate.  Even disregarding her very bizarre pronunciation, her pitch was not accurate, shall we say.  It was really a shame, and it was the first time I'd encountered this problem at the church.  Their cantors would sound even better if they'd ditch the microphones.  For the uninformed, microphones are usually highly detrimental for a vocalist's sound.

Pickiness aside, I really enjoyed my time at this Mass.

Why Musicians Hate Weddings Part 2

A few weeks ago, I got a call to play for a wedding that would be held in a whopping 10 days. I actually like this kind of call, because the bride/groom realize that at this late time, the choice of music is pretty much my own.  And, they have to pay whatever I ask. (There's not exactly a proliferation of organists in the area, and that church's regular organist was planning to be out of town that day.)

I quoted my normal price, however, just because I'm nice that way.  Additionally, I agreed to accompany a soloist for the Schubert "Ave Maria" at no extra charge as long as she came to practice well before the ceremony was to begin.

On the day of the wedding, the soloist eventually showed up (late), and announced that she'd brought a tape recording of the Ave Maria to accompany her, "but it'll probably sound better with organ, right?" she asked.  I agreed that yes, in fact it would sound better with organ.  I asked if she had music with her (I'd brought an extra copy *just in case*) or if she had it memorized, and she stated that she'd sung it "probably 400 times".

She did in fact have it memorized, and her voice was decent though untrained.  However, there really is no good way to make "Aaaaave Mareeeeeeee" *BIG BREATH HERE* "eeeeeeeheeeuh" sound good.

Oh, and a nota bene for all the gals out there who might someday be a bride, or a bridesmaid, or who may wear a tank top, or......whatever; please don't ruin yours or anyone else's bridal photos.

PLEASE EXERCISE GOOD JUDGMENT AND TASTE WHEN OBTAINING TATOOS.

Summer Field Trip #1

A huge tourist attraction is located not too far from our residential monastery, but as you may have observed, popular sites are rarely visited by the locals.  Why is that?

Driving along, we saw the sign for a cave with waterfall.  We followed the sign knowing we'd see no waterfall since we're in a drought, but nevertheless it was beautiful.

This is Little Guy leading the way:

Our part of the country was deeply affected by the June 29 derecho, so some of the hiking paths were a little messy.

The temperature was about 95 degrees F, but it was quite comfortable under the tree canopy.

And none of us got mosquito bites, despite the standing water.  Yes, this should be a flowing creek.

This was really incredibly beautiful in the late afternoon.

More dry creek bed.  I can hardly wait to go back when there's water.  Perhaps in the Autumn.

And finally, we reached the falls area. 

I didn't notice the wet rocks when we were there. There are multiple signs that say "no wading" which are ignored by nearly all.

The children probably got tired of me saying "this is so beautiful" constantly.

After a perilous trip out of the area that I'd rather not discuss *heart races* we headed to our original destination:

There was an actual concrete walkway to this site, making it handicapped accessible.

*cue triumphant orchestral music*

This cave was massive.

I regret that we've not visited this place with the progeny, because it's truly breathtaking. Our visits will be more frequent now that we've experienced some of it.

Why Musicians Hate Weddings, Part 1

I played for a wedding this weekend that caused me much grief for weeks; I learned several new pieces for the occasion, but wasn't really able to work on them until after I graduated. (You can do the math to see how little time I gave myself. *blush*)

Oldest daughter and I dropped off Oldest Son so that he could be the Altar Boy at another wedding in this town, then we headed south to the other church, where we would attend Mass.

I had only a half-hour between the end of Mass and when the music would begin for the wedding.  I quickly checked some registrations, practiced a little of the most pesky piece, then went over a few pieces with the soloist.  The time for prelude music quickly arrived so I started right away, being the punctual type that I am.

Everything proceeded fine, except I was running late!  How did this happen?  Must've taken too much time between pieces.  Okay - fine.  Bridal parties are usually late anyway.  The soloist and I prepared to perform the last prelude piece, during which the mothers would be escorted to their places.  As I was playing, a member of the family suddenly appeared beside the organ.  He whispered to me, "You're a half-hour early."

(It's fun to have a conversation while playing a piece.  Not.)

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?" I responded.

He stated, "The music wasn't supposed to start until 6:00. The wedding starts at 6:30."

Dear lord.  When we were finished, I informed the soloist of what had transpired, and told her we'd have to do some of her pieces again to round out the time left.

I was so confused.  The program said 6:00 p.m.  I had in my memory that the wedding was at 6:00 p.m.  What had gone wrong?  I'm happy to admit that I'm wrong about things, but I was very disturbed at this turn of events.

Everything else went off without a hitch.  The bride and groom were cross-examined by the judge priest, and that was a little weird. But whatever.

When I arrived home, I dug last week's church bulletin out of the bottom (yuck) of my trash can.  Yep -- wedding at 6:00 p.m.

Fortnight for Freedom

The Bishops of the United States have asked that we spend two weeks (at least!) promoting religious freedom in our country. The two week period started yesterday, June 21, and will conclude on July 4.

The USCCB also has a page devoted to activities in the dioceses of the United States, but BIG SURPRISE my own diocese is not in the list.

The initial activities listed in our church bulletin are:

June 21 -- Start off the Fortnight by praying for religious freedom.  A rosary takes about 14 minutes to pray. 

June 22 -- On the feast of St. Thomas More, spend some time reading about the patron saint of religious freedom who was martyred, by the King of England, for being true to his faith. 

June 23 -- Saturdays are always a time to remember our Blessed Mother.  Ask her to intercede with her Son to protect our freedoms. 

June 24 -- See the movie "For Greater Glory" playing at ____.

 The following prayer is taken from the USCCB website:

Prayer for the Protection of Religious Liberty
O God our Creator,
Through the power and working of your Holy Spirit,
you call us to live out our faith in the midst of the world,
bringing the light and the saving truth of the Gospel
to every corner of society.
We ask you to bless us
in our vigilance for the gift of religious liberty.
Give us the strength of mind and heart
to readily defend our freedoms when they are threatened;
give us courage in making our voices heard
on behalf of the rights of your Church
and the freedom of conscience of all people of faith.
Grant, we pray, O heavenly Father,
a clear and united voice to all your sons and daughters
gathered in your Church
in this decisive hour in the history of our nation,
so that, with every trial withstood
and every danger overcome—
for the sake of our children, our grandchildren,
and all who come after us—
this great land will always be "one nation, under God,
indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."
We ask this through Christ our Lord.

Amen.

This is a obviously deadly serious subject, but still we must end with a bit of fun. Let's watch Senator Trey Gowdy (SC) grill Secretary of Health and Human Services Kathleen Sebelius on the HHS Mandate! 

Mary is officially a teacher

During the Christmas Midnight Mass last year, a gentleman approached me after the postlude and stated, "When you start giving lessons, I want to be your first student."

I replied, "Get back with me in June."

And he did.  He's really the best type of student one could ask for -- extensive keyboard skills, very motivated, wants a church job.  He just needs a teacher.

When I was a young whippersnapper, everyone thought I would pursue piano studies in college.  I was only interested in performance however, and certainly did not ever want to be teacher.  So now the joke is on me.

Also, I can kill you with my brain...

...now that I've officially completed my second edumakation.  Yes, that's right kids; I am now "bemused."  That is, my degree title is Bachelor of Music. I'm reveling in the fact that I don't have to go to class anymore, and it still really hasn't sunk in.  Not all is well, though.  Even though my GPA (since coming back to school) is over 3.96, I haven't received my rightful Summa Cum Laude because all of my previous engineering courses (from younger stupider days) are being combined with the current grades.  That was almost 30 years ago; can't we just forget about it?  Not being one to just roll over and 'take it', I'm contacting the powers-that-be (if I can figure out who they are) to see if they'll, ya know, "forget" about all those classes listed as "electives" on my transcript.

A few highlights from the last week of school:  when I went to get my French oral exam evaluation sheet from the teacher, she told me she had never given anyone the grade she awarded me: a perfect 100%.  It didn't hurt, of course, that I acted out the script I'd written, and happened to crack up both her and my oral exam partner.  It also doesn't hurt that I can actually pronounce French words pretty well. Does that sound self-congratulatory? Well, it should.

Aaand I had the privilege of singing in a presentation of Johann Sebastian Bach's Mass in B Minor.  What a fantastic masterpiece -- perhaps the greatest choral work ever.

Also, as I waited with my fellow grads before the commencement ceremony, my counterpoint professor told me that I'd written "a fine fugue" which was the final project.  It's HARD to get compliments out of faculty members, so I was quite pleased.  Turns out I have a knack for that composition stuff.  Who knew?

So, school=done.  And that's the equation for happiness.  Or relief.

Backing things up a little bit, I played for the Best Wedding Ever in May.  Although I was quite nervous about it, the bride was one of my best and dearest friends ever, and I was thrilled to be a part of her and her sweet husband's Nuptial Mass.  The two of them glowed so much that we could feel the reflection of the Almighty Father's love in them.  In fact, one had to almost look away from them or risk being seriously choked up.  What a beautiful couple.  They're also both musicians, and the music selections made the event feel like a royal wedding.  Only better.

Now's the time for the greater question: why did God ask me to get this degree? He still hasn't revealed this, and I'm more than a little frustrated by my current situation.  I have however learned some important things.  The first behavior I've noted that it's demanded by this non-Catholic church is that everyone must bow at the altar. And everyone DOES, even the teenagers.  So why does the Catholic church not demand that parishioners genuflect in front of the tabernacle, let alone bow to the altar?  Based on previous conversations with too many people, it seems that our clergy is afraid of "offending" people and "driving them away" with all the "pious crap."  Geez.  For crying out loud, give the people something beautiful and transcendent and they will respond positively (for the most part, anyway.  You'll always have the freaks.)  I am quite sure that God has a place for me providing music for the Catholic church.  I just wish it would happen sometime soon in, ya know, my time. :)

Mass Review #4

Last weekend we decided to travel north and visit a little country church that we'd passed many times, but hadn't realized that it was Catholic.  It looks rather Methodist to me, at least from the outside.  Although the church doesn't have a "real" website, they do have a page that describes their music director as "Director of Sacred Music" so of course I got my hopes up.

Although we could see the church from the highway, there was a curious circuitous (say that fast three times) route to the building.  The church was even smaller than it appeared from the highway.  As we made our way to the pew, I noticed that this place was obviously painted by the same company that painted my "former" parish interior.  The interior always bothered me, because the selection of colors seemed random, the designs were random, and the quality of the job appeared inferior. Note to all people hoping to get into the church decorating business: every part of a church should have a theological meaning.  Churches are not decorated to "look pretty." Those ivy designs that you stenciled on the walls? Meaningless. 

This paint scheme should look terribly familiar to some local folks. 

Not shown: the yellow and "liturgical blue" stripes.

There was a hymn board so naturally I looked up each number to see what we'd be subjected to: 1st hymn: standard Easter hymn.  Check. Preparation: crap. Communion: crap. Recessional: crap. Well, one out of four ain't bad.....except that the Gather hymnal had changed the words to the standard Easter hymn.  Crap.

Next came the Gloria.  Whaaat?  Syncopated chromatic garbage.  Who sings this stuff anyway? Not the congregation.  (Nota bene: syncopated chromatic pieces are just fine outside of Mass.)

Fast forward to the homily.  The celebrant was the full-time vocations director of the diocese.  I had a feeling it would be good, so I started recording; we were not disappointed.  The homily was quite excellent and inspiring, and I hope to transcribe it someday soon.

As far as church interiors go, I've already discussed the paint.  The Stations and statues were quite small, but nice.  The tabernacle was in the center as they all should normally be, but the entire thing was veiled.  I'd like to see at least a little bit of gold, you know, just to make sure that the box isn't made of cardboard or graham crackers or something (no offense intended to Our Lord, but these days, one can take nothing for granted.)

The church gets an A+ for having a Vatican City flag.  I think all Catholic churches should be required to have one.  For some folks, this might be the equivalent of having hot coffee thrown in one's face, but Mary is not sympathetic.

No offense to these dear people, but I'm scratching this one off the list.  If we travel just a few more minutes north, we can enjoy a liturgically excellent church with mostly good music and an excellent organist.