Saints Peter and Paul

As the weekend approaches, other Catholic bloggers seem to be going on and on about the fact that Sunday's Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul marks the beginning of a Pauline Year. As for me? This is what immediately comes to mind:

In my toolkit...

I've already mentioned SugarSync which I'm now using on my laptop computer to circumvent an Adobe Acrobat glitch on my desktop computer. Here are some more tools I love:

Aardvark is a Firefox extension I use to delete unwanted content from web pages before printing them out. Yes, I print out web pages. Want to make something of it?

I'm a visual-kinesthetic learner whose comprehension is enhanced by seeing and touching. This explains why I must doodle during live meetings and have been known to clean my kitchen during conference calls. Aardvark also reveals source codes and how pages have been constructed.

While I think jump/thumb/flash drives are just so cute, I prefer backing everything up with Mozy, which offers a 2 GB for free option for its automatic, secure online services. Several months ago I used Mozy to find something I thought I'd deleted and found it safely intact, thus sparing me hours of panic-induced vomiting.

I don't know what I was thinking when I thought I could write without outlining first. I think I thought outlining was for wimps and that real writers just let it flow. I was delusional. And the next writing-related delusion to be decimated? Using writing software.

Over the years, I've tried and rejected a slew of software programs before stumbling upon Writer's Blocks3. I futzed around with the free trial and didn't even wait for the 30 days to run out before ordering my own copy.

It works for me because it works the way my mind works. It also allows me to import content from other sources, shove it all around on the screen, and have that activity reflected in manuscript output without having to open a pile of programs and scores of screens. So far it seems to work well for articles and I hope it makes writing the next book easier.

The next book? Like I noted in an earlier post, thank God for the human capacity to forget pain.







-->

Finding a Place to Belong (II)

I love that people feel comfortable enough to talk with me about switching parishes. I don't love hearing about what has motivated their desire to move, especially stories about soul-wounding injuries that could've been healed by heartfelt outreach and authentic amends.

And it grieves me no end to encounter good Catholics who would rather stop attending Mass altogether than get permission to switch parishes from the priest who prompted their exodus to begin with. Do laity need a permission slip to change parishes? I decided to check this out because I remember when switching to another parish was considered a criminal offense that could not be mitigated by praying the Rosary.

One of my deacon pals told me that while parishes and dioceses have specific boundaries which folks are canonically required to honor, "pastorally, the Church doesn't enforce these boundaries on people making choices as to where they worship."

He then reminded me about how the Tribunal actually whipped out a map to check my county of residence before proceeding with my annulment petitions. I happen to live in one of the few zip codes coveted by New Jersey residents and reside almost exactly equidistant between two parishes that were once part of the same diocese.

As a matter of fact, I switched parishes this past year after a protracted painful period of discernment. On the bright side, I believe this explains why I've had so many conversations on this topic by phone, via email, and in the salty crunchy snack aisle of the local World Class ShopRite.

For the record, please note that I do not offer one-size-fits-all counsel. In some instances, I'm able stick to my "grow where you're planted" position. In others, I say it's easier to switch than fight. When the move involves kids, I talk about what is the message being delivered. In nearly all instances, I'm reminded of this adage heard in the rooms of twelve step recovery: "The Church is the only army that shoots its own wounded." How sad is that?

An Author's Life: Copyedits Continue (III)

As it turns out, the copy editing error I was flipping out about last week will probably be corrected in blue lines, not that blue lines are really blue any more, although (we) diehards still use this term for the near-final part of the printing process.

Changes are such a hassle at this point that fees are loaded onto what are termed "AAs." Although this is the industry abbreviation for "Author's Alterations," I tend think of these as "Author's Altercations" because someone (i.e., the author) has to pitch a fit to get changes made at this juncture.

For the record, I did not have to pitch a fit to anyone at Morehouse. I did, however, casually mention puking.

Father's Day

I was raised to dismiss Father's Day as a faux holiday; a conspiracy between haberdashers and Hallmark; something to be derided if not ignored.

This did not spare Bernie F.X. Gould of blessed memory from receiving a new necktie every year throughout the '50s and '60s. Now, I realize he would probably have much preferred a new ribbon for his circa 1935 Royal typewriter and a carton of Camel unfiltered cigarettes.

We stopped bestowing unwanted neckties and viyella shirts upon him during the '80s. By then, my father had upgraded beyond an IBM Selectric to a personal computer. It was huge and absolutely not portable. For any Father's Day we capitulated to noting, Daddy would probably have wanted floppy disks and a carton of Benson & Hedges cigarettes, the brand he started smoking as a health gesture.

My father died in 1998 at age 86 of -- no surprise -- emphysema and congestive heart failure. I inherited the Royal typewriter and tossed out the many cartons of cigarettes he had stashed throughout his home office.

This morning, I watched fathers of all ages stand up to receive a special benediction at the end of Mass and then make their way up the nave to receive a carnation. I experienced this as a sweet corrective to my family's view of Father's Day. Still, I could easily imagine how my father, if he were alive today, would probably have wanted to make a hasty exit so he could futz with his Blackberry and smoke.

Words to Live By

Micah 6:8

Jonathan Feinberg is the clever soul who created Wordle which he explains, "...is a toy for generating 'word clouds' from text that you provide." Very fun; right up there with Magnetic Poetry which still, after all these years, has the power to keep me transfixed in front of my refrigerator for hours. Not that there's much worth contemplating inside my refrigerator...just a boring assortment of condiments.

If u cn rd ths...

This morning, Ironic Catholic claimed she's "officially horrified" that her blog weighed in at a genius readability level. I think she should be happy and proud to be smart and hilarious. Me? I'm officially relieved that, at least according to this online readability assessment, my blog doesn't weigh in as sophomoric.

Give me Jesus

Sixty-one (61) folks voted in my Peeps Poll and only twenty (20) registered their opinion about Jesus on the hand (9) v. Jesus on the tongue (11). What does this reveal? Not much.

An Author's Life: Book Production (II)

In my previous post titled, "An Author's Life," I revealed the sorry truth about what authors must commit to doing if they want their books to receive any recognition. In that post, I wrote about making the necessary transition from author to marketing pro.

This post is about maintaining one's psycho-spiritual stability throughout the publishing process, having descended into madness circa 4:00 this morning. The trigger? Finding a major blooper hiding in plain sight, an error that escaped the notice of an editor, a copy editor, a proofreader, a book designer, and an author with OCD. The book has already gone to the printer, so who knows if this morning's frantic fax to Morehouse will lead to correction?

"Well, at least it's not obscene," said Ruth when I carped to her about the situation. To that I not-so-silently added, "for a change."

The first (hardcover) edition of The Catholic Home has a typo that manages to render a passage stunningly and somewhat hilariously obscene. I'm not thrilled this happened, but I have derived some sick satisfaction from the fact that it went undetected by all the Super Sanctimonious Catholics who smacked me around for screwing up some liturgical color designations.

So how do I maintain my psycho-spiritual stability? I make every effort to return to my spiritual practices whenever this stuff starts making me psycho. Today's prayer: Dear Heavenly Father thanks, I guess, for providing so many Kiss It All Up to You opportunities. Please help me to receive them with grace and good humor. I ask this in the name you said you would never refuse, Jesus who is Lord forever and ever. Amen.

The God is Good Department

I always mean to follow as much of the Office as is humanly possible and have, to my own self-shock and awe, become someone who packs her prayer journal and copy of Magnificat in her purse or briefcase.

Sometimes I'm able to read silently while someone, somewhere is reading aloud. More often than I'd like to admit, these spiritual aids never get hauled out during the course of my busier days. Yesterday was one of those days, so I was very much looking forward to choir practice where I'd get the dual benefit of what St. Augustine once characterized as praying twice. I also desperately needed oxygenation after spending the entire day in either a conference room or car.

I arrived ten minutes early and settled into one of my favorite pews where I opted for some lectio divina. So enthralled was I with the luxury of being alone in a silent church, that I lost track of time. When I finally realized no one else was showing up for choir, I sat a bit longer and then left. Thirty minutes had elapsed, which has got to be some kind of record for me sitting still without adult supervision.

Having received exactly what I needed, I drove home thinking, "God is good!" Allelujah, amen.