Striking the Set of Summer

It's Labor Day weekend and I'm celebrating by striking the set of summer.

Truth be told, I started taking down and putting away most of the summer décor earlier this week. I yanked the seasonal display of silk flowers from my not-to-be-sullied-by-fire fireplace, swapped light green coasters for claret colored ones, and put away my cats' pink and white Hello Kitty bowls.

Today, I brought flowered summer skirts and light linen pants to the cleaners. On my drive home I noticed leaves starting to change color on one precocious tree. Tomorrow, I plan to scrub clean and pack away most (not all) of my flip flops. I'll carry armfuls of purple, orange, and yellow silk mums up from the basement to start setting the stage for autumn.

I'm so done with sun. Up with fall.

Life as a Personal Aide: Being Handy

Ruth says she doesn't like to bother me. As her personal aide, I don't quite follow her logic although I absolutely appreciate her consideration. It's my job to do the stuff she can't do and I've never felt exploited at any point during the past five years.

Usually when Ruth says she knows I'm very busy with other work, I'll respond with something brilliant like, "yeah...so?" Sometimes I'll sigh dramatically and chant the Kyrie. I've been known to accuse her of scabbing when, for example, she tries to open a can of something when I'm standing right there at the ready in my kitty apron.

We've recently instituted a (better) system for scheduling and organizing our time together. It's working well and I'm noticing that Ruth is becoming much more clear and direct with her requests for assistance.

I was pretty thrilled to read, "need your hands" in this morning's email; somewhat disappointed to discover that hand shadow puppetry was not on her list of things for me to do.

And for your Penance, go swallow the Rosary.

Very exciting days for U.S.-based Catholics, what with Joe Biden being named Barack Obama's running mate. Wafer Wars! Catechetical challenges!

And perhaps fresh new ideas for penance now that we've been reminded how Biden once said, "The next Republican that tells me I'm not religious, I'm going to shove my rosary beads down their throat."

"Tell no one..."

Had I been asked to "break open the Word" for today's Mass, I would've skipped right to the end of the gospel reading and focused on Matthew 16:20, "Then he strictly ordered his disciples to tell no one that he was the Christ."

Throughout the synoptic gospels, Jesus tells his disciples and other groupies to keep their yaps shut about who he is (the Christ) and what he has done (healed the sick and raised the dead). Do they? Doubtful. After all, they are human; forbidden fruit takes many forms. For all we know, Peter, James, and John raced down the mountain right back to Jesus Headquarters to blab about the Transfiguration.

So what was Jesus up to in these stories? Working a bit of reverse psychology? And if so, to what end? Was he being strategic? I think this is all worth pondering and plan to do so as I lay supine on the couch for the rest of my Sabbath afternoon.



Image snagged from: Jesus of the Week

Accused of Cheating

She made the accusation after I had finished scooping cat poop, bagging trash, and making dinner. I had not yet gotten around to making lunch. In fact, I think I was in the mid-tuna sandwich when Ruth accused me of cheating.

What you need to understand is that Ruth is a killer attorney. (Actually, as a public defender, she's an attorney for [alleged] killers but hey, we believe in constitutional rights.) Thus, our conversations occasionally resemble an episode of "People's Court." I'm used to this and even enjoy these colloquies. Reminds me of law school, which I punted shortly after losing the struggle to understand Pennoyer v. Neff. I digress.

It's the morning after, so I don't remember what precisely led up to this:

"Do you like LinkedIn more than blogging?"

I hesitated for maybe three seconds, but in my own defense I must point that I was dealing with mayonnaise. Since we're all on diets, I needed to pay attention to the tuna situation. (All = Ruth, me, and her cat, Buddy.)

"So you do like LinkedIn more than blogging."

"I wouldn't say that."

"More than blogging, you like spending time on LinkedIn."

Note her exquisite technique.

Let the jury and readers note, I do not "like" LinkedIn more than blogging. They're totally different arenas for highly productive slacking.

I am not cheating on More Meredith Gould with Meredith Gould. There are limits to my self-absorption.

Replacing the Living Goddess

This just in, thanks to the Religion News RSS feed from The Pew Forum:

Nepal's astrologers are reviewing horoscopes to find the replacement for the current goddess, who is 11. (reported in The Independent)

The 11-year old living goddess has to retire before she starts menstruating because menstruation is "inauspicious." I've never quite thought of menstruation that way; other characterizations come to mind but I didn't dwell on them. Instead, my mind leapt to the rights of post-menopausal goddesses who, if you ask me, would probably be more qualified for the position.

Oh dear G-d...

"Don't they have anything better to do?"

"What could they be thinking?"

Thanks to yesterday's announcement (as reported by CNS) from the U.S. bishops' Committee on Divine Worship, I received these questions and variations thereof all day. How would I know what they were thinking? I'm thinking, "thanks for the blog fodder."

But I'm also thinking about the Tetragrammaton and, as the statement points out, the opportunities for catechesis, not to mention vocabulary building. Because of the next book I'm writing, I'm also thinking about the timing of their statement. I'll have more to say about that soon.

I especially zoomed in on what the the rep from GIA publications had to say about their editorial policy against the using YHWH/Yahweh in their materials. They established their policy in 1986 because of "sensitivity to concerns among observant Jews about pronouncing the name of God."

"You know," I wrote to someone last evening, "if they want to honor and respect the tradition of observant Jews, they should be writing 'G-d' not God."

Her response was swift and to the point, "That will be hard to get people to do!!"

So was mine, "No s**t."

Missal Missiles

Until now, I haven't commented on proposed changes to the Roman Missal, the U.S. bishops' recent deliberations, or the USCCB announcement about what will go into effect circa 2011. Other commentators have done a great job. A Concord Pastor provided fine reportage in his post. I also liked David Gibson's Pontifications post.

Not that I'm devoid of opinion on the matter.

Am I ever without an opinion? Heck no, even my dreams are opinionated -- which might explain the bruxism. So here's what I'm thinking about the changes, at least half of which I plan to ignore by muttering sotto voce what I learned as an adult convert. I'm thinking two words: "Latin Mass" ...but without the priest celebrating Ad Orientem.

As a result of growing up with Hebrew prayers and chanting in Sanskrit during my yoga years, I'm all for worshiping in a foreign language. I can say with confidence that doing so provides access to a powerful experience beyond the rational mind. Plus, returning to Latin could end up being ironically democratizing. Let's level the praying field so that no one knows what's being said. Quod erat demonstradum.

Life as a Personal Aide: Survival of the Visible

Last week, Ruth and I finally added a jaunty orange flag to the back of her power wheelchair (aka, The Beast). Amazingly, it serves to inspire motorists to at least consider stopping when she enters a crosswalk.

Alas, the jaunty orange flag doesn't seem to be fool proof, so see these flame stickers? Earlier this evening, I decorated The Beast with them. If they don't bring drivers to a screeching halt, I'm going to add more decals.

Ruth says she's okay with anything but Tweety Bird toting a rifle. I'm torn between either images of the Sacred Heart or skulls.

ArmaDei.com

Monica McConkey arrived at the Catholic Writers Guild booth as I was packing up to leave last week's Catholic Marketing Network Conference.

Thanks to the concrete floor and brutal lighting of the convention center, I was a bit cranky and not at my loving Christian best when she suggested exchanging books. She, however, was so lovely and loving that I did stroll over to her booth for The Arma Dei Publishing Company. Wow! Double wow!!

Does anyone not know how fiercely I advocate high quality in content and design and print production, especially for self-published materials? After seeing way too much junk in the world of print-on-demand and self-publishing, I am fierce to the point of rude about the need for quality control.

Monica's materials? Impeccable on all levels. The visual posted here doesn't begin to do justice to the richness of her products which include a book, flash cards that double as playing cards, crafts projects, and more. The Cathletics Key cards are brilliant in every sense of the word.

Arma Dei materials are great for parish-based as well as home-based catechisis, also gifts -- think RCIA, for example. She says these products are primarily for kids and, gee, I guess so. Many if not all of these items would work for adult faith formation as well. Order direct and while you're at it, demand that your parish, your diocese, and your local Catholic bookstore keep Arma Dei stuff in stock.

I gave her a copy of my book, The Catholic Home in exchange for a deck of Reverence & Awe Collector Cards. I also wanted a set of the key cards but didn't want to descend into gluttony.

More Mass Adventures

Maybe not growing up with the Mass is what makes it an adventure just about every time I attend. Sometimes it's a completely Inward Ho! experience, other times it is not. Last night's Vigil Mass was mostly an Outward Bound adventure.

Having worked on a parish staff I know when something is seriously amiss. I've learned to recognize the stride of speedy reverence that deacons, lectors, and extraordinary ministers of the Eucharist use when entering or exiting the sanctuary because of some snafu. I've become conversant in the body language priests use when they're pleased, peeved, or bored. There's even more to observe if the choir is floor level. Very distracting. Occasionally amusing. Usually invisible to the masses at Mass.

And so it came to pass that a variety of cues captured my attention last night. Sure enough, from where I was sitting, I could see a deacon scurrying out the back way to roust whichever priest had forgotten to get up, wash up, and vest up. The deacon returned, so did a priest -- eventually.

Meanwhile, I noticed a couple of things. First, the parishioners seemed blissfully unaware. No rustling or obvious watch checking (even after 15 minutes) or yakking or looking around. I, of course, was looking around but noticing I was doing so led to my second revelation. "Wow," I thought, "this situation is not my fault and not my problem to fix." Transcendent bliss. Inward ho!

What I did literally and figuratively pick up as my problem was an interesting piece of parking lot trash. After watching parishioners walk over or around it and after nearly leaving the church property myself, I went back -- to pick up the empty flattened box of Trojan Ultra Pleasure premium latex condoms.

No, I did not place my thoughts elsewhere. I let them roam through the mind field all evening.

Feast of St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein)

1891-1942
Gassed to death at Auschwitz

My beloved saint
for reasons that should be obvious,
for reasons that are not, and
for reasons yet to emerge.

An Author's Life: Dedications (V)

Some women, upon first learning they're pregnant, will immediately conjure up names for the baby; others will wait until they're further along, at least past the vomiting and desperate need for sleep; others will hold off until the baby is actually born. I've heard mothers in this last category say, "I needed to meet my baby before I could name her."

For me, dedicating a book is like all the above. Looking back, I can see how every book I've gotten published has fallen into one of these three categories.

It was clear from the beginning that my first book about working productively from a home office would be dedicated to my parents who both "made me constitutionally incapable of working in anyone else's office." It was equally obvious that my book about Twelve Step recovery would be dedicated to "those who have the guts and grace to do the work of recovery."

After those first books, I'd need to get pretty far into the writing process, at least past the vomiting and desperate need for sleep before I knew whose book it was, but at some point I'd be able to name that person without equivocation. Sometimes that point in time was long after the manuscript had been sent to the copy editor.

All other guardian angels get mentioned by name in my book's acknowledgments. That cloud of witnesses seems to change from book-to-book, as do I, which I believe is part of the Almighty's grand plan for my corporeal existence.

Today in Jewish History

Today is 3 Av on the Jewish calendar and Aish.com notes how on this date in 1881, the first shipload of Russian Jewish immigrants arrived in New York City. Over the next 50 years, more than 2 million Jews would flee pogroms in Russia, my father's family among them. The folks at Aish.com didn't happen to mention that factoid and I didn't expect them to. I do, however, think they could have a bit more precise about noting:

"This influx indelibly altered the demographics of American Jewry; according to the U.S. census of 1940, 1.75 million Jews spoke Yiddish at home."

Spoke Yiddish at home? I've only heard it screamed and yelled.

Sabbath Slippage

The bad news: my Sabbath observance seems to have slipped away during the past few months. The good news: I've realized this is a problem. Recently, in a display case for kosher meat, I saw this handwritten reminder, "Hang on! Shabbat is coming!" A few weeks later, I got a call from Christopher Ringwald, author of a wonderful book about the Sabbath.

It has been maybe a year since I sent Chris a fan letter after reading, A Day Apart: How Jews, Christians, and Muslims Find Faith, Freedom and Joy on the Sabbath. Since then, we've become buddies, swapping stories about being mid-list authors in the faith/religion marketplace and how friends don't let friends quit day jobs to write this stuff. He, by the way, has a terrific new day job as editor of The Evangelist, published by the Roman Catholic Diocese of Albany (New York).

Last Friday night's call was to congratulate me on my new book. I, of course, was delighted to hear from Chris. We both had a good laugh when I said, "And you're calling on Shabbat to tell me this?"

Yep, I'm a laugh riot but my smarty pants riposte has haunted me all week. I used to be more rigorous about keeping at least one weekend day holy having discovered how in the absence of at least one full day of rest, life becomes entirely too nasty, brutish and long. Now it occurs to me that when Jesus said that it's good to save a life on the Sabbath, I might start by saving my own.

Morning Prayer

Every day, Google Reader grabs the LOTH from Universalis and plunks it onto my iGoogle home page. Did you follow that sentence? It was kind of odd to write but I'm leaving it. Moving right along.

Having the LOTH on my desktop increases the probability that I will actually pray the readings. Truth to tell, I usually skim them. This morning's passage from Ephesians 4:29–32 stopped me dead and not quite resurrected in my tracks:

Guard against foul talk; let your words be for the improvement of others, as occasion offers, and do good to your listeners, otherwise you will only be grieving the Holy Spirit of God who has marked you with his seal for you to be set free when the day comes. Never have grudges against others, or lose your temper, or raise your voice to anybody, or call each other names, or allow any sort of spitefulness. Be friends with one another, and kind, forgiving each other as readily as God forgave you in Christ.

Wow, I thought, I am so screwed.

Is lectio divina a powerful practice or what?