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.