Sunday, September 02, 2007

Mount Washington


This is what we did yesterday.
We didn't get to stay at the hotel.
We left the house at about 6:45am, arrived at the mountain about 9am, after Dunkin Donut and directions stop. (Munchkins are the perfect pre and post hiking snack).


The going was tough, especially the part that looks like a giant's staircase, and probably goes that way for about a mile.


We heard a landslide, that was a bit scary.




Luckily, I had my mountain runners on.

They were a tremendous help in gripping the rocks. They probably prevented a few landslides.


These are the same shoes that I wore in our 500mile walk across Spain. H/T to Gore Tex, I've never been so happy with a pair of shoes.


The weather was sort of cooperative. It wasn't raining - a little cold... windy, we walked along a cascading river for most of it... so got a little wet. But by the time that we stopped at the Hut at the Lake among the Clouds, the wind cover was gone, and visibility was slight, to say the least. We had lunch with our dog, and a golden doodle whose owners left him outside.

With about an hour to the top, things got a little rough. You walk among pile of rocks, and can easily get off trail. The wind was ripping right through us, and we couldn't see the top of the mountain. It was freezing cold, and we were wearing all the clothes that we brought with us. Most people were wearing winter gear. The wind chill was 30 degrees.


Ah, but we made it to the top. The dog decided that she wanted to go home about 20feet from the top... so we had to coax her the rest of the way.


An excellent trip - we survived the trail, the weather, the other hikers and the cold.


Wicked awesome.

Friday, August 31, 2007

A Diamond is Forever


and love only lasts until Death do us part... so the piece of, ahem, "art" shown at the left is really quite curious. This little beauty just sold for $100,000,000. That's right, 100 million dollars.
This makes me wonder if someone actually thinks that they will recover their money, or if they just have way too much money to begin with.
I'm sure a deeper and more thoughtful person could muse about how blatant a display this is of our love affair with the culture of death... but I thought I'd just show you the picture, since indeed, it is worth a thousand words... maybe not $100,000,000.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

You're 8, and I'm 8!

The following is written by a professor of mine from graduate school. Its beautiful. The blog that I'm stealing it from is here.

I bear the special privilege of sharing a birthday with Julia - July 10th. I was 18 and she was 8 when we discovered this coincidence, but she proudly exclaimed "I'm 8 and you're 8!"


Ending Down syndrome pregnancies bears all the marks of a pogrom

09:06 AM CDT on Sunday, July 8, 2007

The year Julia was born in New Hampshire, 1987, I was the only geriatric pregnancy in the state issuing in a Down syndrome child. When I recovered from the pediatrician's insult – I was 37 – I learned from him that the other nine mothers in the state to deliver Down syndrome babies were still in their 20s. I asked him why this was the case; conventional wisdom had led me to believe that the likelihood of giving birth to a Down syndrome child increased with maturity. When he told me that most woman over 34 usually had amniocentesis done to avoid giving birth to a Down syndrome child, I was stunned. After first being dismayed by – what to call it? – my demographic solitude, I soon turned my attention to what Down syndrome meant practically for my new infant.

The books we quickly read, and the instruction from excellent social services helped us. Operating outside the realm of reason and structure were other powerful supports – call them graces.

At the end of Julia's first week, I learned that a publisher friend of ours had lost his wife to colon cancer. We had known them since graduate school, and the widower came over to tell us that his wife gathered their eight children around her bed to pray for Julia and us every night of that first week. Even as she said goodbye to her own children and to the infant she had given birth to – an operation might have saved her and killed the baby inside of her – Susan was thinking about our challenge.

I felt a liberating happiness over Julia, as did our little girls and their dad, for reasons too deeply private to explain. Julia's life soon began to bring out the excellences of others. She brought our little college community even closer together, a joy to the students and a prize to anyone who held her. Early Intervention trained us to stimulate areas of her brain by waking up facial muscles, working to get her to sit up or to crawl – a task she never mastered, scooting instead with her two hands and bottom.

I would go from teaching the Declaration of Independence and the Federalist Papers, to a large room uptown with five other mothers propping up their floppy babies. Nothing else has ever quite brought home the meaning of "all men are created equal endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights and among them are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." We were all working for that fullest expression of life and happiness for our babies. I thought about the "prudent" mothers who had aborted their own children with Down syndrome. I grieved for those who, exercising their reproductive rights – a new appropriation of the older notion of liberty, which was rooted in duty – would never know the profound satisfaction of raising such a child.

I will never forget Julia's first birthday with all her sisters around her. When we finished singing happy birthday, Julia put her hands together and clapped for the first time. Of course, we all cried on cue. Things that were so ordinary for the others became accomplishments – triumphs. Julia slowed us down, and, instead of waiting for each stage of development to naturally emerge, we would coax it along, beckoning it with intentionality and art. She taught each child an intelligence of the heart, and she began to teach me patience. Each member in our family could give a personalized account of his or her relation to Julia.

Every daughter, for instance, has a perspective on her own vanity because of her. Julia expected to be 3 inches taller when she turned 16; I solved that problem by buying her 3-inch platform wedges. But often it's not that simple. For instance, on the way to school she will pull down the visor mirror, look at herself, and say, "When I get to heaven, my eyes are going to be like my sisters', and I am going to be 5-foot-11, and my voice is going to sound like Kelly Clarkson's." I tell her that God made her the way she is, that she wouldn't be Julia any other way, that we love her just as she is, and that she is beautiful. Of course, not everyone thinks that way.

Some told me I should not make the same mistake twice – to have my tubes tied. I'm glad I didn't. Our one son was born after Julia, when I was 40, and our seventh daughter – now a sophomore at Ursuline – two years later. Our son just graduated from Cistercian Preparatory School.

Over the past few years, he and his classmates have helped to organize the bi-annual Down syndrome Dance. Will's friends love Julia, and she shamelessly loves them back. They'll all be here at her 20th birthday party Tuesday. She will probably sing "Desperado," as she did at the recent graduation of two of her sisters, belting it out on key and bringing the house down.

I understand that the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists is offering women a safer method than amniocentesis to determine whether a child has Down syndrome. The College makes the argument that it is more responsible to inform parents of their options beforehand so that they can decide whether or not to let the baby live. This argument shakes me to the core, for it bears all the marks of a pogrom – the license to be aggressive against the most benign population conceivable.

Until now I have never been an advocate of special needs' issues. I have quietly reared my daughter and her brother and six sisters. But I can remain silent no longer. Twenty years ago, many of Julia's potential friends who are like her were intentionally eliminated, perhaps out of fear or perhaps out of a desire for a regular family with regular children. I think of those thousands of children who will never change those families for the better. They will never be at a Down syndrome dance, never hug their grandmothers, unafraid of their wrinkles or of people's imperfections. Who will love us as well, as simply, with such undesigning candor if we invent a world protected from our difficult blessings?

Ironically, scientific work on turning off the additional action of the genes that cause cognitive impairment in Trisomy 21 now offers more hope than ever before, especially at Stanford School of Medicine's Center for Research and Treatment for Down Syndrome (dsresearch.stanford .edu). More research dollars are going into killing these children before they are born than into this noble project of helping them. And why? Because citizens value their freedom? Are my husband and I less free because we might have Julia with us our whole lives? Hardly. We would probably be enslaved to many more false notions of reality.

In any case, we must trust that there will be a meaningful work and life for Julia. Maybe one of her sisters will take her in. Maybe she'll live in a group home. These are all decisions we will have to make as a couple, as a family and with Julia. These will not be easy decisions. One thing is sure, though: She is our defining blessing. How could we have known that in advance? To accept her full humanity is to accept our real selves in all our imperfections.

My son put it well in describing how Julia likes to personalize her lead pencils, tapping them on the table top as they become characters in her daily life – at school or at home. We will sometimes hear ourselves oddly repeated in her animated version of our loss of temper or other foibles. In describing this game Julia plays, our son wrote that as she taps her pencil people, she taps into us.

Virginia Arbery teaches in the Master of Humanities Program at The University of Dallas and is the mother of eight children. Her e-mail address is varbery@sbcglobal.net.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

In Memoriam: Ross Alameddine

This was sent to my by a long-time friend of mine. Please pray for him, and his family.


IN MEMORIAM: Ross Alameddine

It is with exceptional grief and disbelief that we mourn the loss of a long-time family friend's son. Ross Alameddine died this past week at Virginia Tech. While in his early Monday morning French class, he became a victim of a horrendous act of senseless violence. He was a 20 year old young gentleman who had the world by a string and boundless opportunities ahead of him.

I remember Ross when he was just a little, wide-eyed toddler. He was an exemplary son and very close to his family.

Ross grew up to be an exceptionally bright student. A graduate of Catholic elementary school and Austin Prep Catholic High School in Reading, Massachusetts, he excelled at everything he did. His interests included computers, politics, religion, speaking fluent French, music, travel, poetry, literature, roller blading and maintaining his brand new car he won at a raffle. (His family had a knack for games of chance as his mother once won a baby grand piano in a contest!) He had a wide circle of friends where he was known for his serious scholarship and humor-filled good times. He was full of life and possessed a deep love of learning and academia.

Ross had his heart set on attending Virginia Tech since he first visited the campus during High School. Every time his mother talked about him she beamed with pride and happiness. Not long ago, I saw Ross' mother at my sister's home in Melrose, Massachusetts where she frequently stops in. I asked her about Ross. After smiling broadly, she told me how well he's doing at VT and how much he enjoys it there.Please pray for Ross' mother, father and sister as they are experiencing sorrow beyond comprehension. In this season of His Divine Mercy, may our loving Lord enfold Ross' family, and the families of all the departed, into His countless rays of everlasting love and peace.

Rest in peace, Ross. You will be dearly missed by all who had the privilege of knowing you for too short a time.
______________________________________________

Hon. Maureen C. Mooney
Assistant Republican Leader
N.H. State Representative, Hills. Co.
District 19
P.O. Box 1676Merrimack, NH 03054-1676

Maureen.Mooney@leg.state.nh.us

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Wednesday's Hero - SFC Lloyd A. Heinrichs Jr



This Weeks Hero Was Suggested By LeAnn

On May 9th 2004, SFC Lloyd A. Heinrichs Jr was down at the Ocean front in Virginia Beach when a ‘Swimmer in Distress’ call came in
to the Emergency Medical Services (EMS) Dispatch office about noon. Myself (Gary Couch, Dive 8), SFC Heinrichs and Petty Officer First Class Scott Weil of the U.S Navy, volunteered to respond the call. There were
a total of 3 people in the water that were being pulled out to sea by the current. The temperature of the water was only around 65 degrees Fahrenheit with the air temperature at 78 degrees Fahrenheit. The undertow was very extreme that day with the beach already “Red Flagged” due to the strong currents and excessive waves.

Upon arrival to the scene, SFC Heinrichs and PO1 Weil identified the victims. Without hesitation and with total disregard for their own safety each grabbed a torpedo buoy and entered the water. SFC Heinrichs went for the first victim to the South of 36th Street while PO1 Weil went for the second and third victims, which were hanging on to each other to
the North of 36th Street. As I observed SFC Heinrichs and PO1 Weil, once they were waist deep, the current rapidly pulled them out. SFC Heinrichs made his way to the first victim and started fighting his way back to shore. Once SFC Heinrichs reached his victim, he calmed her down, making the attempt to head back to shore. Several times SFC Heinrichs and
his victim were rolled under by the enormous waves and undertow. His victim was completely exhausted from the ordeal. Once he reached shallow water, he assisted his victim to shore. The victim was an older heavy-set lady, early forties. The Virginia Beach Fire Department Paramedics placed the victim on a stretcher and the Virginia Beach Volunteer Rescue Squad took her to Virginia Beach General Hospital.

SFC Heinrichs was extremely exhausted and fatigued from the rescue. He turned to check on PO1 Weil and notice that PO1 Weil had reached the other two victims, a male in his late twenties and a female in her early forties. PO1 Weil was struggling with his two victims giving a hand and arm signal for ‘Help’. The female was almost passive from near drowning, and the male who had initially swum out to help her was becoming a victim himself. Without hesitation, SFC Heinrichs picked himself up and ran back into the water to assist PO1 Weil while PO1 Weil did what he could to keep them calm and afloat until help arrived.

Once SFC Heinrichs reached PO1 Weil and the other two victims, they were all rolled by several consecutive waves, pinning SFC Heinrichs under the two victims. A few moments later, SFC Heinrichs emerged between the victims with both lanyards of the torpedo buoys wrapped around his neck, gasping for air. As the situation went from bad to worse, PO1 Weil
tried his best to help SFC Heinrichs with untangling the lanyards from his neck while trying to hold his passive victim’s head out of the water. SFC Heinrichs took a deep breath and submerged himself in the attempt yo free his neck. As each wave came over the top of PO1 Weil and the victims, we kept waiting for him to resurface in bated breath not knowing
that the lanyards kept tightening around SFC Heinrichs’ neck. While continuous waves were tossing PO1 Weil and the victims, SFC Heinrichs reemerged on the side of the victims. He had been under for over thirty seconds trying to get loose. We began to worry weather or not he was going to come back up. You could hear the heavy sigh of relief from all the EMS personnel on the beach once he resurfaced. He grabbed a hold of the male victim and started for shore. The victims once, on shore, were taken away for medical attention. PO1 Weil and SFC Heinrichs were taken to an ambulance and checked for possible hypothermia and released.

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that
others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am
proud to call them Hero.
It Is Foolish And Wrong To Mourn The Men
Who Died. Rather We Should Thank God That Such Men Lived


This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. If you would like
to participate in honoring the brave men and women who serve this great
country, you can find out how by clicking here.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

If it wasn't so disgusting...


Well, it is that disgusting.


So, Clinton was an absolute embarrasment as a President, and then there's this guy - who is flaunting his THIRD WIFE, and SHE talks him up like he's a poster boy for one of those disgusting ads even BEFORE he's a candidate for Presidency.


There really is no decency left in the political world.
Read the article here if you so wish, but don't do it during breakfast. You won't be able to keep your waffles down - if you know what I mean.

Sunday, February 04, 2007

WORLD CHAMPIONS!

It was a brilliant game, and no commentary is needed.

THE COLTS ARE AWESOME.

In the words of the owner, "while this is a glorious team, we give all the glory to God"

And in the words of the coach, "I'm proud to be representing the African-American coaches and the first African-American coach to win this, but more important, Lovie Smith and I are Christian coaches, and God was watching over us."

There's a quote that you won't find in many news sources.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Wednesday's Hero

This Weeks Hero Was Submitted By
Mark Bell


LCpl. Nicholas J.  Manoukian
LCpl. Nicholas J. Manoukian
22 years old from Lathrup, Michigan
1st Marines 6th Batallion 2nd Marine Division
Oct 21, 2006


Here
is a website that LCpl. Manoukian's mother set up for her son
after he lost his life in Ramadi.


These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that
others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am
proud to call them Hero.
It Is Foolish And Wrong To Mourn The Men
Who Died. Rather We Should Thank God That Such Men Lived


This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. If you would like
to participate in honoring the brave men and women who serve this great
country, you can find out how by clicking href="http://rightwingrightminded.blogspot.com"

Sunday, January 28, 2007

So, a man is doing his Saturday morning errands, drives to the Post Office and purchases a book of stamps. As he's placing the stamps on his many bills, and he's pondering the dwindling of his paycheck with the mailing of these checks, he notices something strange. His $.23 stamp looks funny. The 3 is backward.

'Ah, I bet they screwed up when they were making this batch.' He purchases another book, and immediately checks to see if the 3 is printed correctly. It is.

He carefully removes all of the misprinted stamps from his bills and replaces them with the stamps printed properly. He takes the other book of stamps home, and spends the next four hours on the internet researching these mis-printed stamps. He joins a few e-mail lists dedicated to stamp collecting, and waits. Everyday he searches the discussion threads to see if anyone else comes up with the same stamps.

A month later, he sees it. The title read 'misprinted stamps are recalled'. He opens the thread to learn that his precious book of stamps have been recalled, and the lucky few who may have received the stamps hold something priceless in their hands. The post office was able to recall all but 10 books of stamps. He also notices that there are collectors scrambling to find and purchase these stamps. They are offering upwards of $25,000 for these rare and precious stamps that very few people possess.

This scenario made me think of those hundreds of parents who find out that their precious child is going to be differnet. He or she isn't going to have exactly the same things as other children. Perhaps they won't ever learn how to read, learn how to run, ride a bike, walk on their own. Those children who God has decided to will into being are one in a million. In every other scenario in life, we accept these circumstances as indications of a particular blessing. Yet, when it comes to children, we want them to be like clones, like so many postage stamps that are printed out in uniformity. Yet, it is the particularity of every child that really makes the world beautiful, that brings to each family something that isn't exactly like other families.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

SWF Seeking...


Reason #243 that I have never found someone to marry. I've never read the London Review of Books Personal Ads.


Here is just a sampling:


I'm just a girl who can't say "no" (or "anaesthetist"). Lisping Rodgers and Hammerstein fan, femaile lecturer in politics (37) would like to meet a man to age 40 for thome enthanted eveningth. Box 2498


Employed in publishing? Me too. Stay the hell away. Man on teh inside seeks woman on teh outside who likes milling around hospitals guessing the illnesses of outpatients. 30-35. box 3287.


Male LRB readers. Drawing little faces on your thumbs, getting them to order meals, then shouting at them for not being able to pay is no way to win a woman. You know who you are. Men to 40 wtih working credit cards, reply to once-bitten, twice-bitten, three-strikes-and-you're-all-out F, 35. Box no. 1379


Don't reply to this ad - its a fake. Just like the man who place it. Deny nothing, regret all, but live to fight another day with phoenoenologically ahamed, melanin-deprived, scion of the patriarchal ruling class. (32, Worcester). Box 7590.


Loaded tax exile Channel Islands resident seeks attractive well preserved soul mate. No objection to modest gold digger age around 25 below 40 a definite advantage. If you smoke it’s the garage. Tel 01481238667


My psychotherapist suggested I place this ad. Woman, 43. Not mental, despite whatever a fear of open spaces, the colour red, the sound of rain, plastic containers, beards, percussionists, birdsong and cornflakes may suggest Box no. 01/03


courtesy of Smithsonian Magazine February 2007.



Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Wednesday's Hero

Lt. Col. Michael E.  McLaughlin
Lt. Col. Michael E. McLaughlin
44 years old from Mercer, Pennsylvania
2nd Brigade Combat Team, 28th Infantry Division, Pennsylvania Army
National Guard
January 4, 2006


Sitting in the car with Lt. Col. Michael E. McLaughlin's 18-year-old
daughter, her father's friend of 21 years had just broken the news of his
death.

During years of friendship and service in the Pennsylvania Army
National Guard, Lt. Col. McLauglin and retired Capt. Brad Mifsud had a bond so
close that they promised each other if something were ever to happen to
either one of them, they would be there for the other's family.

Lt. Col. McLaughlin died when a suicide bomber rushed through a crowd
of Iraqi police recruits in Ramadi and detonated a bomb that also killed
a Marine and nearly 80 Iraqis. The day before the attack, Lt. Col.
McLaughlin said he was fully confident that Ramadi had finally turned a
corner in the insurgency. As hundreds of local men streamed into the
Ramadi Glass Factory on Wednesday to join the city’s long-defunct police
force, a wide grin spread over a pinch of tobacco stuffed into the
44-year-old’s lower lip.

"This may not look like much, but it's history," McLaughlin told a
reporter. "We're making history right here."

With a significant wound to the back of his head, Lt. Col. McLaughlin
turned to his injured personal security detail officers and inquired
about their well-being. Waving off medical attention, he asked them to
check on the soldiers under his command.

"In an act of extreme selflessness, he stated that he was OK, but to
concentrate on saving the lives of his men," said Col. Grey Berrier, a
close friend of Lt. Col. McLaughlin.

Lt. Col. McLaughlin died shortly after giving that instruction,
according to the Guard.

A long-time artillery officer in the Pennsylvania Army National Guard,
McLaughlin was assigned to Task Force 2-222 Field Artillery and was the
primary liaison between the 2-28 Brigade Combat Team and local tribal
and government leaders in Ramadi. His efforts were instrumental in
getting local sheikhs to support the recruitment drive and encourage more
than 1,000 area men to volunteer for the force, commanders said.

"Mike is a true hero in every sense of the word, and he died while
doing his job the only way he knew how - out front and with great
enthusiasm and courage," said Col. John L. Gronski, commander of the 2-28 BCT.
"This loss only strengthens our resolve to carry on and complete the
mission in order to honor his memory."

A gregarious wisecracker, McLaughlin said his hope was to one day
return to a peaceful Iraq, where he planned to walk the streets of Ramadi in
a traditional Arab "man dress," or dishdasha, and sip coffee and chai
with those sheikhs he had met during the war. McLaughlin said that one
particular tribal leader he had developed a close relationship with
dubbed him "The Sheikh of Sheikhs" - a nickname that was soon picked up by
fellow officers in the brigade.


These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that
others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am
proud to call them Hero.
It Is Foolish And Wrong To Mourn The Men
Who Died. Rather We Should Thank God That Such Men Lived


This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. If you would like
to participate in honoring the brave men and women who serve this great
country, you can find out how by clicking here.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

Why Does This Stuff Stick?


I had to bring the grill over to my parents house for a play0ff game barbecue. As I rolled the grilled through the dog yard, I noticed that only one kind of, ahem, "mud" was being picked up in the wheel. And I thought - after the week of rain that we've had, why do the wheels ONLY pick up dog dirt, and not the nice clean dirt that cleans easily.


Then, it reminded me of sin and immorality. Why does that seem to stick so much easier than virtue?

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Remember when this was a novelty?


One of my favorite childhood memories was going to the Mall. It was almost an hour away, and there was only one within driving distance from us. We'd walk around all the shops, and get those few things that we really needed, and had waited to get until we could make the trip.

On the way home, we'd stop at McDonald's - which was always a huge treat. Then, Mom would take a different route home by the bay and we could see all the boats in the water. Sometimes we'd even see windsurfers out on the lake.

Its funny that McDonald's isn't considered a treat anymore. Its the thing you substitute for food when you're too busy for a real meal. I remember saving the fries for last, and wanting to be the last one who would finish so that it seems like I had more. AND, if you were lucky enough to get the ones at the bottom of the bag you had really made it.

I wish Mickey D's was more rare.

Friday, December 29, 2006

*GRAPHIC* Long, Disgusting... and Important

Murdered to Order
Opponents of stem cell research see their worst fears realized in the
Ukraine.
by Ryan T. Anderson
12/28/2006 12:00:00 AM


The Drudge Report recently highlighted a shocking story from the BBC
that centered on "disturbing video footage" of
"dismembered tiny bodies." "Healthy new-born babies" in the Ukraine,
"the self-styled stem cell capital of the world," have
allegedly been killed "to feed a flourishing international trade in
stem cells."

Apparently this isn't an isolated problem. The Council of Europe
"describes a general culture of trafficking of children snatched
at birth, and a wall of silence from hospital staff upwards over their
fate." Imagine the horror of young mothers who "gave
birth to healthy babies, only to have them taken by maternity staff."
What happened to these newborns was anybody's guess,
but recent footage obtained by the BBC may provide insight into their
fate: "The pictures show organs, including brains, have
been stripped--and some bodies dismembered."

The BBC report comes as a complete shock to most readers. But to those
steeped in biotech news and bioethical literature, the
latest out of the Ukraine is only a partial shock. While no one
expected baby-snatching in maternity wards, it seemed inevitable
that the business of stem cell research would, at some point, produce
an abomination of this kind.

At least publicly, supporters of various embryo-, fetus-, or
infant-killing programs have always argued that these options were
reluctantly chosen, out of dire necessity, and only on the least-human
of subjects--so-called "spare" embryos, "unwanted"
pregnancies, and gravely disabled newborns.

And so at first the abortion lobby argued that fetuses aren't human.
Then, as embryology and developmental biology decisively
demonstrated that an unborn child is most definitely a complete, though
immature, human being, the rhetoric shifted to
discussions of competing rights and interests between the mother and
her unborn child, along with appeals to the right to
privacy. It was conceded that the decision for abortion is tragic, and,
though it entails the ending of a life, sometimes it is an
absolutely necessary result of the conflicting needs between the mother
and child. And it was insisted that it is best if doctors
and women are allowed to adjudicate these situations, in private, for
themselves.

Intellectual defenders of abortion painted a picture of simply ceasing
a pregnancy: The unborn child has no inalienable right to
inhabit the mother's womb. A woman doesn't make a choice to kill,
simply a choice to end pregnancy--to remove the unwanted
baby from her body. Her body, her choice.

Yet this didn't prove to be satisfactory. The further claim was made
that the "right" to an abortion consisted in the right to an
"effective abortion." And an effective abortion entails not the ending
of a pregnancy, but the death of a child. Witness the
phenomena of partial-birth abortion and born-alive abortion.

But the issue of stem cell research can not appeal to any of these
claims of women's welfare, privacy, or "the right to choose."
Though the case of embryonic stem cells doesn't pose a direct
competition of rights or interests--unborn embryos do not pose a
threat to anyone--public arguments were made about competing interests
of patients: "You pro-lifers are favoring embryos over
Parkinson's victims." When these arguments prove ineffective, defenders
of embryo-destructive research turn to a utilitarian
one: embryos can be put to better use as raw material for biomedical
research.

Even here, however, the public arguments are always made that human
embryos merit a certain amount of respect and
dignity--even if killing is still acceptable--and that the choice to
destroy embryonic human beings is always made reluctantly,
with the hope that new technologies will soon be developed that make
their destruction unnecessary.

Now, however, we are seeing more and more clearly that this is all a
hoax. Sure, people like Princeton's Peter Singer have
argued for a long time in defense of infanticide. But no one ever
considered infanticide a real possibility; Singer's arguments
always seemed to be an eccentric intellectual exercise. Recent
developments abroad and at home, however, force us to
reconsider. Sadly, the BBC report out of the Ukraine is just the latest
in a long line of startling developments in this trend.

In July of 2005, the Slate magazine science reporter William Saletan
argued in a five-part series titled "Organ Factory: the
Case for Harvesting Older Human Embryos" that given the current
acceptance of embryo destruction there is no reason to limit
it to the early embryo. He pointed to studies from around the world
arguing that seven-week old embryos are what researchers
really want. And Saletan made the case that they should have them:
"Don't be scared. We don't have to grow a whole new
you. . . . an embryo cloned from one of your cells would need just six
or seven weeks to grow many of the tissues you need.
We already condone harvesting of cells from cloned human embryos for
the first two weeks. Why stop there?"

And in the startling conclusion to part five, Saletan made clear that
nothing should stand in the way of science: "But if all you
want is tissue, who cares? You can tell yourself what we already tell
ourselves about unwanted in vitro embryos: They're
doomed anyway. Patients' lives are at stake. We can't let personal
morality get in the way of science. We can't wait."

The Princeton philosopher Robert P. George, arguing the other side of
the issue, picked up on Saletan's article and noticed a
frightening development right in his own backyard. Under the title
"Fetal Attraction: What the Stem Cell Scientists Really Want"
in the pages of THE WEEKLY STANDARD, George rang the alarm bell warning
that embryonic stem cell research was leading to
the macabre practice of "fetal farming." He noted that blastocyst-stage
embryonic stem cells are therapeutically unusable
because of their tendency to produce tumors when injected into
subjects. Claims that they will cure people are pure hype.
Nature herself, however, stabilizes stem cells in the normal
gestational process, eliminating the tumor-formation problem by
what appears to be an extraordinarily complex system of intercellular
signaling; a complex system scientist were having trouble
replicating.

George warned that this would lead some scientists to demand the right
to create human clones and gestate them in female
volunteers or artificial wombs to the late embryonic or even the fetal
or infant stages before killing them to harvest non-tumor-
forming stem cells:

"My suspicions and sense of urgency have been heightened by the fact
that my home state of New Jersey has passed a bill that
specifically authorizes and encourages human cloning for, among other
purposes, the harvesting of 'cadaveric fetal tissue.' A
'cadaver,' of course, is a dead body. The bodies in question are those
of fetuses created by cloning specifically to be gestated
and killed as sources of tissues and organs. What the bill envisages
and promotes, in other words, is fetus farming."
That was last year in New Jersey. This year in Missouri a provision was
passed that created a constitutional right to human
embryo cloning--provided the cloned embryo isn't transferred into a
woman's womb--while also creating a constitutional
mandate to destroy human embryos. More startling, however, was the
window intentionally left open for fetus farming. If the
technology of artificial wombs is perfected, cloned embryos can be
developed in artificial wombs and then harvested not only
for stem cells, but for developed cells and even organs. This, it
appears, is what the doctors in the Ukraine are after. What
guarantee do we have that they aren't after the same thing here?

Ryan T. Anderson is a junior fellow at First Things. He is also the
assistant director of the Program on Bioethics and Human
Dignity at the Witherspoon Institute of Princeton, NJ.

© Copyright 2006, News Corporation, Weekly Standard, All Rights
Reserved.

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

Wednesday's Hero

Every once and awhile I'll do a Wednesday Hero that doesn't profile a single soldier. Sometimes it's been two or three from the same unit, sometimes it's been an entire group of soldiers like the Navajo Code Talkers. I even did an organization once, Operation Iraqi Children. This weeks Wednesday Hero is one of those sometimes. This weeks Wednesday Heroes are the parents of soldiers.

These people sacrifice just as much, if not more, than the soldiers themselves. They, in many cases, are having their babies leave home for the first time in their lives. While most parents only have to adjust to them moving a few miles away or going off to college, these Blue Star Parents have to watch their children go off to a very dangerous situation and can only hope and pray that everything will turn out okay. I don't have children of my own, so I can't even imagine what that is like. We have a few Blue Star Parents in the blogroll, so to them, and every parent of a Hero, I tell you we all stand with and support you and your family.
There's a site that everyone should check out if they haven't already. Blue Star Mothers Of America.

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.
We Have Every Right To Dream Heroic Dreams.
Those Who Say That We're In A Time When There Are No Heroes, They Just Don't Know Where To Look


This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. If you would like to participate in honoring the brave men and women who serve this great country, you can find out how by clicking here.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Wednesday's Hero

Sgt. Roy A. Wood
Sgt. Roy A. Wood
47 years old from Alva, Florida
ODA 2092, Company C, 3rd Battalion, 20th Special Forces Group
(Airborne)
January 26, 2005



Sgt. Roy A. Wood, a Special Forces medical sergeant, was fatally
injured when the vehicle he was riding in was involved in a traffic accident
near Kabul, Afghanistan, during a return convoy from Qalat to Bagram
Air Base.

His 24-year military career with the Army Reserve and Army National
Guard was distinguished and unique. After receiving a commission as a
second lieutenant in 1979, he was first assigned to the Army Reserve’s
421st Quartermaster Company (Light Airdrop Supply).

While assigned to the 421st, he received training as a quartermaster
officer, a parachute rigger, and participated in both basic airborne and
jumpmaster courses.

In January 1982, he left the 421st to begin an association with U.S.
Army Special Forces that would last until, and beyond, his death.

His first SF assignment was to the Army Reserve's 11th Special Forces
Group (Airborne) at Fort Meade, Md., where he served in the 3rd
Battalion’s Company A as the detachment executive officer for Operational
Detachment-A 1175.

In May 1983, he became Detachment Commander for ODA 1175 after
returning from the Special Forces Detachment Officer Qualification Course.

In October 1984, he left ODA 1175 to become the Company Logistics
Officer.

He served in a variety of positions at the 11th SFG over the next 11
years, including operations officer and support company commander.

After four years at USSOCOM, he served a year with the Army Reserve’s
73rd Field Hospital in St. Petersburg, Fla., before switching from the
Reserve to the Army National Guard and renewing his association with
Special Forces.

He was assigned to 3rd Bn., 20th SFG in December 2001, where he served
for a year as the Battalion Surgeon, supervising medical coverage of
three Special Forces companies and one support company.

In December 2002, he resigned his commission to become a Special Forces
medical sergeant on Operational Detachment-A 2092, Co. C, 3rd Bn., 20th
SFG.

He, with ODA 2092, was mobilized in July 2003 in support of Operation
Enduring Freedom.

At the time of his death, he was pending appointment as a Special
Forces warrant officer, a position in which he would have served his team as
an assistant detachment commander.

During his service, he received the Army Commendation Medal, the Army
Achievement Medal, the Army Reserve Achievement Medal with Silver
Hourglass device, the National Defense Service Medal, the Army Service
Ribbon, the Basic Parachutist badge, the Parachute Rigger badge, the Ranger
tab and the Special Forces tab.

Sgt. Roy Wood leaves behind a wife and two children.


These brave men and women have given their lives so that others may
enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call
them Hero.
We Have Every Right To Dream Heroic
Dreams.
Those Who Say That We're In A Time When There Are No Heroes, They Just
Don't Know Where To Look


This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. If you would like
to participate in honoring the brave men and women who serve this great
country, you can find out how by clicking here.


Blogs Partcipating In Wednesday Hero


Monday, December 18, 2006

Stripes or Solids???

While I try to take seriously the trials and tribulations of my teenage students, I just had no sympathy today.

The high school students are headed out tomorrow on a field trip. They will go to the state house, a chinese-american-french fusion cheap buffet for lunch, and then to see the movie, The Nativity. Since its a field trip, we're allowing the kids to NOT wear their uniforms, but have set a reasonable standard of no immodest clothing, and no blatant logos or advertising.

"So, what can we wear? Just plain colors?"

"Well, no... you can wear stripes or anything other clothing that doesn't have a picture or a logo on it."

"Stripes? You want me to wear stripes?? Fine, I'll wear stripes."

Okay... I tend to think this child perhaps had a traumatic experience with a prison uniform... but who can say.

I'm taking pictures tomorrow :)

Sunday, December 17, 2006

It's Beginning to Look alot Like Christmas

While working on our school's Christmas program, I found this quote from Pope Benedict XVI and thought I should pass it on:

God’s everlasting "today" has come down into the fleeting today of the world and lifted our momentary today into God’s eternal today. God is so great that he can become small. God is so powerful that he can make himself vulnerable and come to us as a defenceless child, so that we can love him. God is so good that he can give up his divine splendour and come down to a stable, so that we might find him, so that his goodness might touch us, give itself to us and continue to work through us. This is Christmas: "You are my son, this day I have begotten you". God has become one of us, so that we can be with him and become like him. As a sign, he chose the Child lying in the manger: this is how God is. This is how we come to know him. And on every child shines something of the splendour of that "today", of that closeness of God which we ought to love and to which we must yield – it shines on every child, even on those still unborn.

To read the whole homily, its here.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

My Sister's Dog

I'm sitting at the computer, asking for blog post suggestions... in honor of my sister who is just returning from the jungles of Nepal... this post is in honor of her "dog" Bonnie. The reason that "dog" is in quotes is that she's not really a dog. Well, she is in the accident of nature sort of way. However, her intelligence and manner indicate that she is more like a queen.

She disdains the lowly nature that usually indicates the K9 type. Despite the fact that she too, is fuzzy and walks on four legs, she is among that breed that doesn't have a tail - by nature. She hates those furry barking things with tails.

She doesn't bark, she speaks. And if you're not listening, she keep on barking until you do.

She can tell time. I know this to be true because if the four dog dishes that we have are not completely full every night at 8:00pm sharp, she "barks" for lack of a better word until you fill them. And, she adjusts for daylight savings time.

She's an excellent travelling companion. She likes to ride shotgun in order to look out the window and stay on the lookout for any unsavory characters... like a good shotgun should.
Her favorite part of riding in the car is going to the Dunkin Donuts drive-through. She always gets a treat... usually a plain doughnut, but sometimes Boston Creme.
She also loves the ocean, and knows that its near when she about 10 minutes away. She likes to watch dog shows on TV, and gets especially excited when there are Olde English Sheep"dogs" featured.
She hates baths, lightening storms and people who promise walks but don't give them. She also hates packing since she knows that someone will be away for long periods of time.
She's the queen of this house, that's "fer sure".

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Silent Crusade


Check out Against All Heresies for an article on the recent sale of a Roman Catholic Church to be used as a mosque... for the handsome sum of $150,000. (Who can buy anything for that these days?) After reading her post, I tried to find a Church in Turkey that Islamist say Mohammed turned around with his thumb to make it into a mosque. I couldn't find any information on that... but I did find the historical precedent for changing churches into mosques. It usually happened right after a battle that the Christian Crusaders lost:

Umayyad Mosque in Damascus, one of the first churches converted into mosques
According to the early Muslim historians, the towns that surrendered without resistance and made treaties with the Muslims received permission to retain their
churches and synagogues, while in the towns taken by conquest Jewish and Christian places of worship were seized by the Muslims. Modern historians do not consider the process of transformation of churches into mosques to be as regular as the Muslim historians describe it, but in the course of time, the Muslims appropriated many churches to themselves.[1] From the beginning of the Muslim conquests, the Christians had ceded (sounds so innocent, and unbloody) to the Muslims half of their churches, which were turned into mosques.[4] One of the earliest examples of this kind was in Damascus, where in 705 Umayyad caliph Abd al-Malik took the church of St. John from the Christians and had it rebuilt as a mosque, which is now known as Umayyad Mosque; overall, Abd al-Malik is said to have transformed ten churches in Damascus into mosques. The process of turning churches into mosques was especially intensive (you mean, like the villagers were whipped and beaten into submission to do it?) in the villages, with the gradual conversion (that's nice) of the people to Islam. During his persecution of the Copts, Abbasid caliph al-Ma'mun turned many churches into mosques, both in Cairo and in Egyptian villages, which had no mosques in the earlier generations of Islam. Fatimid caliph al-Hakim converted numerous churches and synagogues into mosques. During the Reconquista christian warriors would just as often appropiate and convert mosques to churches as the Muslims would convert them to their capture.[5] The chief mosque in Palermo was previously a church. After the Crusades, several churches were turned into mosques in Palestine.[1] Ottoman Turks converted into mosques nearly all churches, monasteries, and chapels in Constantinople, including the famous St. Sophia cathedral, immediately after capturing the city in 1453.


Since we are following tradition here, I wonder how they'll ceremonially accomplish the following:


To make the buildings fit for the mosques, the Turks destroyed the icons, plundering their precious plating in the process, and defaced the frescoes.[6] The Ottoman sultan Mehmet II was the first to perform a Muslim prayer in what had previously been the St. Sophia cathedral.[7]

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Superbowl Halftime Show


I just read the attached article that indicates Superbowl fans this year will be "treated" to a performance by Prince.

Hasn't the NFL figured out that football fans don't want a rock star - we want a good ol' Country Music performer. Preferably Lee Greenwood singing Proud to be an American. We don't want Prince, Janet Jackson, geriatric Stones or any of the other crazy washed up performers that they've been billing for the last 20 years.

I remember the year that they said it was going to be in 3-D and you had to get special glasses. Of course, we didn't have special glasses and it was basically a guy riding around the field on a motorcycle. Totally lame-O.

I love football. It represents America. Its the perfect symmetry of brute physical strength, intimidating mind games, and clever plays. Its like a ballet with 300 lb. linebackers. Grace, beauty, intelligence.

Why sully it with the likes of Prince??

Saturday, December 09, 2006

There's No Place Like Home



So, my parents have moved to the "States" from Ireland and are with us while they buy their new house. So, yesterday we took them on a tour of "small town" America (the names have been changed to protect the innocent).





You can drive through this town, blink twice and you've missed the whole thing. We have one blinking light, a four-way stop and a factory. We have 6 police officers, three cop cars and a cop SUV. We also have a McDonald's and a Dunkin Donuts... but the old-timers prefer the cafe, and the pub. This town is so far from modern America that you almost need a passport to get here.






So, we started the day with a lunch at the local diner. Its a brick building one end, and a stainless steel car on the other. No credit cards are accepted... just cash or a local check. You can see everyone from teenagers to older folks and everyone in between. We even saw Santa Claus come in with his wife and enjoy a nice meal. AND SO CHEAP!! It cost lest than $40 for four of us to have a filling, excellent meal.




At our next stop, we entered a store to be greeted by both owners. They are a husband and wife team who travel around the world, collecting jewelry, clothing and other items to sell in this small town shop. We purchased some Christmas gifts, chatted with the proprietors and viewed items from England, Russia, Poland, Nepal, India and South America.


We then went to German John's bakery where we chatted with the owner who learned all she knows from her own father. We saw traditional German cakes, bread and an 11 foot long bread crocodile!! My sister had an epiphay regarding a Christmas present, and gathered everything she could find in the store. The proprieter welcomed us to the village, and sent us on our merry way to the CHOCOLATE FACTORY!!!!

In this little store there are chocolate geese, sports equipment, truffles, chocolate molds, firemen, and every conceivable chocolate object you can imagine. Cherry codials for Mom, sugar-free chocolates for Dad and a giant chocolate Noel for me and Kathy.

The last stop of the day was Gibson's Pewter Shop. Mr. Gibson learned the trade from his father and makes early American replica's of Pewter bowls, goblets, plates and other pewter items. Again, the proprietor meets you in the shop, greets you and chats about the products, the weather and the skills that goes into each product.
There's very few towns like this left in America.


Wednesday, December 06, 2006

HAPPY ST. NICHOLAS DAY!!!

I hope that there will be candy in my shoes!!!

Here's a great site on St. Nick: origins, relation to Santa Claus, etc.

"For indeed, St. Nicholas, lover of the poor and patron saint of children, is a model of how Christians are meant to live. A bishop, Nicholas put Jesus Christ at the center of his life, his ministry, his entire existence. Families, churches, and schools are embracing true St Nicholas traditions as one way to claim the true center of Christmas—the birth of Jesus. Such a focus helps restore balance to increasingly materialistic and stress-filled Advent and Christmas seasons."

Monday, December 04, 2006

Flying Muslims

Yeah, but not on a red carpet. This article is entitled "Muslims Seek Prayer Room in Airport."

What bothers me the most about this headline is that anyone who has searched out the chapels in airport knows that they are used by Muslims. How do we know this? There's a huge arrow pointing East in the guestbooks. I have been to the airport chapels in Chicago (O'Hare, not Midway), Philadelphia, Dallas, Newark and others.

To find the chapel is usually a hassle. You have to find a comprehensive map of the entire airport. Its usually in a Mezzanine somewhere that is impossible to drag your thousand pounds of luggage to. Sometimes - notably in Dallas - it's outside security. So, if you have a layover, you might exit to use the chapel, and then wait in the security line for an hour, possibly missing your flight.

I once had to go to Mass in an airport to fulfill my Sunday obligation just before jumping on a plane to go to Ireland. Afterwards, the priest had snacks and drinks laid out for the travellers while he chatted with us. It was very nice, and I got the impression that not too many people attend Mass here.

Oftentimes, the Blessed Sacrament is reserved in these airports as well, so its always a good idea to go pay a visit to a tabernacle that is little-visited.

Back to the Muslims - this story is just another example of a marketing campaign to draw the Muslims in a sympathetic light and painting them as victims.

Sunday, December 03, 2006


It hurts when someone that you love lets you down. It hurts even worse when you're in love with an entire football team, and they let you down.


The NY Giants, sporting their fiery red "away" uniforms were tied with Dallas 20-20 with 1 minute left in the game. After the kick, Dallas gained 41 yards with a pass to Terrel Owens. The field kick wasn't much of a challenge to their newly signed Grammatico, Grammatica, whatever the heck his name is - he didn't live up to his poor reputation anyway.

I like the new uniforms... but the defense is disappointing.

I think I'm wearing... Communism!?!?


A recent conversation was related to me that went something like this:


"Women should not wear pants ever. Women who do wear pants are supporting..., they're supporting... Well, supporting communism! Don't you think so?"


"Well, I think I'm wearing communism."


Is it any wonder that I'm too wild for the traditionalist? Yes, I too wear communism.

Thursday, November 30, 2006

Take Back the Rainbow

I love color. All color, all shades. I am blessed to live in a part of the country where the lakes look like liquid sapphires in the summer, snow crystals form millions of prisms in the winter, leaves look like crisp fire in the autumn and every sunrise reveals colors only nature can produce. Its no wonder that I love the rainbow. I've seen beautiful rainbows in Rome, Venice, Ireland, and right over my own back yard. It irks me to no end that this has become a symbol to glorify sodomy and licentiousness.

You know those bumper stickers that people put on the back of their cars? I'm tempted to start putting them on my car simply because it's wrong that we allow a group of deviants to use it for their symbol. For them, it has nothing to do with the promise to Noah from God to never destroy the earth by flood again. For them, it has nothing of the hope and the promise of eternal salvation.
Why have we let others take our symbols like the rainbow, the name "Madonna", the unicorn, the peacock, the pelican and desecrate them at the worst, or completely secularize them at the least?

I don't care what people think, I'm heading out to my nearest 'peace and justice' store and taking back the rainbow.

Uh..., well, I would if I wasn't boycotting the 'peace and justice' store. *sigh*

Friday, November 24, 2006

Want Coffee - Will Travel

So, while most of America is up at 5am this morning rushing to buy cheap plastic Chinese-made gifts that will inevitably be returned, regifted, "lost" or broken - I got up intending to go to daily Mass. Denied. I snuck into the church through the basement where a nice lady was preparing for a Meals on Wheels Luncheon, went upstairs and read the bulletin announcing No Mass on Friday. Bummer.

As an aside, why would they be doing Meals on Wheels in a Church Basement? Where's the Wheels part? Anyway, I didn't ask.

So, knowing that our favorite cafe for muffins and Chai's was closed today I decided to head to the next town to try the Sunshine Cafe. Isn't that a lovely name? It gives you the impression that you can actually buy sunshine in a cup. While dreams of espresso beans danced in my head, I headed out. I rolled into town, where the early-risers were walking down the street with their papers tucked under their arms, hunters were coming in from the woods for a break, and policemen patrolled the quiet streets. I park on the street, look over my shoulder, and the sunshine cafe is not shining. Denied. Closed for Thanksgiving. Bummer.

So, then I had to settle. And settle I did for Dunkin Donuts. Ahh... cappucinno, two sugars and an old fashioned for man's best friend.

Monday, November 13, 2006

This is What Happens...

when a Church first defies the authority of Holy Mother Church. After that, nothing is sacred.

The Church of England has come out in favor of infanticide. We're not really surprised.

Accent - Thanks Mom - I Don't Have One!!

What American accent do you have?
Your Result: The Midland

"You have a Midland accent" is just another way of saying "you don't have an accent." You probably are from the Midland (Pennsylvania, southern Ohio, southern Indiana, southern Illinois, and Missouri) but then for all we know you could be from Florida or Charleston or one of those big southern cities like Atlanta or Dallas. You have a good voice for TV and radio.

Philadelphia
North Central
The Inland North
Boston
The Northeast
The West
The South
What American accent do you have?
Take More Quizzes

Here's a fun quiz... and just goes to show that homeschoolers have good diction!

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

We Lost AND We're Losers


So, we lost the House and the Senate today. And yes, I do mean we.

This post is for thsoe who say that we cannot vote if someone, like President Bush, isn't conservative enough.

Remember this Bible Verse "Be wily as serpants and innocent as doves"? No one is saying that anyone on the Hill would ever be up for canonization, but lets look at one important fact.

Right now the Supreme Court, with two new justices on it, are deciding whether or not to uphold the Ban on the Partial-Birth Baby Killing method.

The truth is, that we never would have gotten this law passed without the likes of the not-conservative-enough Senate, House and President. Further, we would never have a chance in Hades of upholding it if Roberts and Alito were not on the bench, confirmed by the not-conservative-enough House and Senate. If this ban is upheld, and babies are saved because of it, then those votes "wasted" on lukewarm conservatives will have been well wasted.




Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Voice Crying Out

DEEP THOUGHTS

Sometimes when you hear a voice crying out in the wilderness, you think of John the Baptist. And you assume that they have something profound to say.



But most of the time, when men are crying out in the wilderness, they're saying "I'm LOST!!"

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Ahhh... Sunday Mornings

So, I meant to go to 8am Mass this morning, but lost my keys, lost my purse, missed my not-being-late-window and now I'm waiting for 10am Mass to roll around.

So, time for a little blogging.

My day today will consist of Mass (of course) and then out to Starbucks and Borders to grade papers, prepare classes, and determine grades for report cards. The funny thing is, 20 or maybe even 10 years ago, the natural impulse would have been to head to the library. But instead, it seems that the coffee shop is the place to go for quiet concentration. At most coffee shops, people talk in hushed voices, students study diligently with their Venti Chai, or Grande Caramel Macchiato. In all appearances, the coffee shop is something akin to a temple for reflection, rather than the billion dollar money-maker that it is. The more serene and focused the setting, the longer people lounge buying coffee after sweet cake, after coffee, after sweetcake. People are willing to pay $5.00 for a $.75 cent coffee as long as it comes with the privilege of sitting in this hallowed space for just few hours, or even minutes.

With the rise of Starbucks, it seems that we have transferred our loyalties from the temple to reading & learning that the library once was, to the shrine of caffeinated drinks and little pastries.

I guess this signals another notch in the belt of consumerism... but I sure do like my Starbucks!

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

The First Romance



My religion students are reading the Old Testament this year, and they were very intrigued by the story of Isaac and Rebekah. It is as pure and beautiful as any love story, and the customs shown are truly remarkable.

As you may remember from reading the story, Isaac was coming of age to marry (about 4o) when Abraham decided to send his servant back to his kinsfolk to find a suitable wife for his son. The servant, after a long journey and much prayer, decides that he will wait by the well for the women to come and get water. The first with the generosity to give water to him and water his camels is the girl for his master's son, Isaac. So far, its interesting to note that the servant does not first seek out those with good connections, good families or with a hefty dowry. His first test is one of generosity, hospitality and - of course, beauty.

So, the servant waits and along comes Rebekah who readily offers to water the camels after serving the servant. The servant, in exchange, gives her a NOSE-RING (oh yes. Genesis 24:22 maybe he was worried that he couldn't get a ring size correct) and bangles and asks to stay with her family. When the family hears the tale, and the request for Rebekah to marry their kinsman's daughter (Rebekah was actually Sarah's niece) their response is: "This thing that comes from the Lord; we can say nothing to you either for or against it. Here is Rebekah, ready
for you."

This story gets even better. Of course, the servant gives abundant gifts of gold and silver to Rebekah, as well as to her mother and brother (interesting, no dowry from her side...) and they return to Abraham's house.

Here's the best part. Not only has God allowed the servant to find a generous woman for Isaac, but when the camel train approaches, Rebekah sees Isaac from afar - inquires about him, and immediately covers herself with her veil as a show of modesty. Isaac falls in love with her at first sight, and they live happily ever after. Someone pointed out to me once that this is the only marriage of the great patriarchs that is completely monogomous.

Strangely, Rebekah was working outside the home when she met with the servant. She needed to provide no dowry. And these two facts never detracted from her virtue.

Things that make you go "hmmm..."

Monday, October 23, 2006

Remember These?



Remember going to the library, and checking out a book?

First, you'd go to the card catalogue system, and thumb through thousands of index cards that were either handwritten, or typed with the title, author and other pertinent information. Then, you'd wander the stacks of musty smelling books until you found the one you were looking for - or the section that held your favorite author.

My favorite part of the old library system though, was the cards inside the book where you wrote your name and the librarian used a stamp to sternly imprint the date that this book was returned to the library.

I loved getting the older books that contained tons of names and different signatures. I'd try to imagine what the other people who had checked out the book were like. Sometimes I'd study the dates to see if I could tell if someone had NOT returned a book on time... or perhaps they returned it early because they hadn't like it. In this case, "Mamie" liked the book so much that she checked it out twice!

I just finished reading a book that contained an old receipt like this picture. The person I borrowed it from has but their name on the list.

The previous reader had borrowed it 31 years ago.

Monday, October 16, 2006

In Search of...

Catholic Culture.

Don't worry. This isn't a whiney, 'there's no culture anywhere' post. I'm actually looking for interesting Catholic traditions that might include semi-regional customs for Catholic feast days. For instance, see my earlier blog on the invention of croissants, and the introduction of coffee into the Western world.

I recently learned of a custom related to All Souls Day that involves children going from door to door offering to pray for the souls of departed members of the household in exchange for food. They were given pieces of bread made of water and floor that were called "dry bones" because they were baked in the shape of bones, signifying the dead, and because of their "lack" of tasty ingredients.

I'm particularly looking for All Saints Day and Advent customs. The more the merrier!!

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

No Cussin

Here's a good post about not 'cussing.'

I'd like to add my own thoughts to the matter.

1) Cursing does not make you a better baseball player. I'm sure that there was no cursing on this team!! (I know that this picture doesn't really go with the theme, but it was so neat that I wanted to post it and had to tie it in somehow.

2) There's nothing worse than hearing a woman or a child curse or swear. It totally strips the woman of any dignity and represents her to have an utter lack of decorum and grace. Its like watching a girl try to spit just so that she can 'fit in with the guys'. What I never understood - guys won't date other guys, so acting like one doesn't get you brownie points... or a date.

3) NOT cursing definitely sets you apart, and decreases the amount of swearing that goes on around you. I've never told any of my coworkers NOT to swear, but they try not to around me, and apologize when they do. Ahhh... the power of suggestion.

4) Cursing makes you sound like a broken record... as if there are no original thoughts in your head and you keep playing the same tune over and over again. Give it a break already!!

5) St. James said that if you can control your tongue then you have conquered the man. With that said, control of speech beginning with cursing and ending with gossip and detraction certainly are the basis for living a holy life.

6) People say that if they curse less, people pay more attention to them when they do curse. While that may be true... isn't it true that in times of anger, frustration or pain those words wouldn't even be on the tip of your tongue if you're not already in the habit of cursing???

7) My personal favorite: Do you kiss your mother with that mouth??

Just wondering...

Sunday, October 08, 2006

There are Riches, and Then There's Money.


Simply put, I'm wondering if keeping a substantial savings account, with no particular purpose in mind, might be considered harmful as it lead one to rely more on their own power of providing than on God's providence.

Jesus makes it quite clear in the Gospels of Luke and Matthew that this life is fleeting . Further, since this life is simply a preparation for the grand finale, we need to spend our resources on preparing for that, and not spending our time on the dress rehearsal.

It made me think about my savings account. Usually, the number is around zero-ish but despite that fact I've had some great opportunities including travel to 7 European countries and a few areas in the United States. I had stayed at home, and not taken any of those trips, its hard to figure out how much richer I'd be...

On a limited income, these trips certainly made me frugal. When I had to buy my own lunch in Rome during my college semester, most lunches consisted of leftover rolls from dinner the night before (which were from breakfast the morning before), peanut butter brought from the States, and fruit - again, from dinner the night before. On feast days or for a treat, we might purchase cheese and nutella from the local market. There was also a trip in Spain where we ate a roll and coffee for breakfast, skipped lunch, and found an inexpensive dinner. Again, we had bread and peanut butter in case there were any real emergencies.

Of course, I don't think its really a sin to have a savings account, especially if one is saving for their family, future family or future plans. Yet, Jesus does point out that there is a virtue in living as if we may be taken from this world at any moment, and we should spend our resources, time and talent in becoming holier and closer to Our Lord.

I do remember a certain pride as I came home from my semester in Rome with a credit card small balance, and one US dollar in my purse. I had spent three months in Rome, and visited Florence, Subiaco, Venice, Florence, Assisi, Orvieto, Pamplona, Avila, Toledo, Madrid and southwest Ireland. I was able to attend daily Mass at St. Peter's, attend the station churches during Lent and celebrated Easter Week with the Holy Father.

All in all, you might say that I'd be richer if I hadn't spent the semester in Rome - but you could only say that if you were counting richness in dollars.

Friday, October 06, 2006

Why Some Women Don't Sew


There's a funny story about why the women in my family don't sew, and it goes like this:

My grandmother was darning socks one day as she sat in her rocking chair. She dropped the spool of thread, and she leaned over the chair to catch the thread which was rolling out of her reach. As she leaned, she tipped the chair over, catching her foot under the weight of the chair - and her own weight - breaking her ankle. She declared that she would never darn another sock again. Consequently, my mother doesn't sew.

It makes me wonder what other fine arts & family traditions have been lost due to similar tragedies...