A World Incalculable

2008-08-13T17:18:00.000-07:00

When a group of kids who love photography and film, love to dress up, love to act, and love to share their creative skills get together, what happens?

In our case, we do photo shoots. A couple weeks ago I got together with my 'adopted sisters' for a lovely visit of singing, dancing, hiking, and dress-up.

We're all devoted fans of Jane Austen, as this picture evidences.

We can pretend to swoon over Byron, if necessary. The sweet little Miss M, however, seems to be just a wee bit amused and bemused.

Miss S not only makes a lovely Regency maiden, but a perfectly glamorous vintage gal as well.

Miss M was the one who initiated my adoption into their family. I met her when she was five years old, and seeing that I sadly lacked sisters decided to fix matters up. We're bound not only by the ties of adopted sisterhood, but also through the sacrament of Confirmation. When she was confirmed several years ago, she asked me to be her sponsor. Isn't she the sweetest, cutest little thing?

But if she has the right outfit and a mind to it, she can be the very definition of elegant. We'd never seen anything as elegant as that girl in her dress and hat. As the one who took the above picture, I speak from experience when I say that she is the easiest subject to work with. She's extremely photogenic, and always knows just the right attitude and pose to strike.

My brother Sean proves that the women-folk aren't the only ones who know how to dress snazzy. He can also be very photogenic, if he tries...

...but he has a dreadful time keeping a straight face. And when he laughs, he can't keep still. Most of the time he's a blur.

2008-07-05T18:53:00.000-07:00

Isn't homeschooling fun? I came downstairs to find Paddy browsing through this book with great interest.

He does say that he wants to go to TAC...

The Flying-Ins

2008-07-05T17:57:00.001-07:00

I don't believe I've yet mentioned the fact that I recently joined The Flying-Ins, previously known as the Chesterteens. I've been a reader for quite some time, but it wasn't until this past spring when Ria and I met at the TAC graduation that she and her mother convinced me to join them.

And I must say, I'm so glad I did! I've been having such a blast over there. I don't often have the opportunity to hang out with other young people who are conscious of the fact that they have minds, let alone young people that use them. Even rarer are the young people who know they have minds, use them, and know who our beloved G.K. is.

The next step is to actually make it out for the conference one day.

2008-06-29T15:34:00.001-07:00

When you see Dean Martin in the typical Martin & Lewis movie, you aren't seeing him as he really and extraordinarily is. His characters are generally obnoxious and arrogant, and whenever he sings a song he strikes one as a bit stiff and put-on.

In reality, he's one amazing singer. When he's up on stage he's natural, he has fun, and in short, he really and truly belongs to that practically extinct group: the performers.

This is one of my favorite videos. He makes it look so very easy. He's positively dazzling. (And is that Frank Sinatra teasing him in the background?)

2008-06-29T10:30:00.001-07:00

About a week ago I curled up in front of the TV to watch some show.

It was fascinating.

People dressed in strange and bright garb...

Girls in long flowing dresses dancing here and there...

Sappy songs about dreams and community...

Lots of talk about dreams and community...

More talk about community, particularly focusing on 'gathering for the meal...'

Even more talk about community, and 'oneness,' and other mystical things like that...

Guitars strumming and people here and there hitting tambourines...

Tears, laughter, and even more community...

"Oh!" thought I. "I see what it is. A show on 'The Catholic Liturgy in America.'"

The show ended, and as I stood up and stretched out I realized I had been mistaken as it was announced:

"You have been watching 'The American Experience: Summer of Love.'"

2008-06-27T20:30:00.000-07:00

I love Chesterton's poem Lepanto.

For the majority of my life, I couldn't connect with poetry. Generally I had a natural love and capability in the arts: writing, music, and such simply came to me. I loved them, and they were easy for me to pick up. Not so poetry, and not so drawing. I tried very hard to be a poet, and I tried very hard to be an artist, but while I could in the course of twenty-four hours go from the first tentative playing of a violin piece to have it fairly well down, poetry and drawing just would not come.

Maybe it was partly because I couldn't write poetry myself that I had a hard time reading and appreciating the poetry of others. I don't know exactly what the reason was, but though I was a very poetic person, poetry in itself was lost to me.

Until I read Lepanto! Chesterton always seem to be the one who makes me understand something that was previously a mystery to me, and poetry was no exception. I'm somewhat poetry-obsessive now (and I should add that Chesterton is undoubtedly my favorite of all the poets).

I decided that I'd start memorizing some of my favorite poems: on the blogging 'Poetry Friday' I'd choose a favorite poem and have it memorized by the next Friday. For this week I chose Chesterton's By the Babe Unborn, and I've run into an unexpected problem.

Whether the memorization of poems isn't as difficult as I thought it would be, or whether I've been aided by the experience I have in memorizing my parts in our family plays, it took me only half-an-hour to learn the poem by heart. I find myself with a blank week.

So I'm going to aim for Lepanto instead. By next Friday I hope to have that glorious poem memorized, so I can always treasure those lines, whether or not I have a hard copy with me.

2008-06-26T13:35:00.000-07:00

If I were to name one fault that I undoubtedly possess and wholeheartedly hate, it would be meanness, specifically that sort of meanness which takes the form of a nasty if cleverly-phrased joke at another's expense. Some people weep away their troubles, some people drive them off with anger, and others forget them in music. My tendency is to laugh at my troubles, and unfortunately my tendency is also to laugh at the people who are causing them.

I'm not talking about good-natured joking and teasing. I'm talking about those times when your mind suddenly flares up passionately and supplies your tongue with a witty remark calculated to sting. It makes you appear extraordinarily clever, and your opponent appear extraordinarily small. It makes all your friends laugh and clap you on the back while pitying the poor fool who was the subject of your attack... the poor fool, who, I might add, is rarely actually present, because this meanness is very cowardly at the same time.

This one particular fault, this lack of charity, is something I'm very intolerant of in other people, and I'm also very intolerant of it in myself. I don't know whether the intolerance of it in others came first, and so I realize that I have to hate in myself or be a hypocrite, or if I hated it in myself first and being young and idealistic insist on others living up to my standards. Either way, I can't stand it.

I don't like arrogance, stupidity, selfishness, and a multitude of other vices, but I can tolerate them. Not in myself, perhaps, but I'll put up with them in others. But lack of charity? It's been said that charity is the foundation of all other virtues, and I think that perhaps it's equally true that lack of charity is the foundation of all other vices. In a cruel comment constructed to hurt and pain another person, arrogance, stupidity, selfishness, and the multitude of other vices are all present.

Chesterton was also very intolerant of uncharitableness. However he didn't practice it regardless, the way I do. A sweeter, kinder, more compassionate man there never was. Definitely he loved to tease his friends, and to fake malice in good fun, but he was never mean.

I was pondering on why Chesterton so passionately hated this meanness in speech. And I think it's because it's a crime against what he held most precious: life.

For the same reason, I think, the Church despises these sins of speech. Reading the section on calumny, slander, detraction, and so forth in the Catechism, I was struck by how strongly-worded it was.

What do the mass murderers and abortionists have in common with the mean-tongued such as myself? We both display a disturbing lack of respect for the dignity of human beings, created in the image and likeness of God. These barbed jokes are not amusing; they are the first step on the road to destroying another man's body and one's own soul.

Didn't Father Brown once say something such as that grave sin was so horrifying and dreadful to him not so much because others had committed them, but because he knew how capable he was of committing them himself?

I agree with him entirely. When I look at those mass murderers and abortionists, and the horror of their sins, my abhorrence lies not in the fact that they did them so much as in my knowledge that I could do them. And I know that I'm capable of it, because I have committed all those dreadful sins in their lesser forms.

2008-06-24T19:10:00.000-07:00

Now that I've finished with my essay and application, I've been enjoying the peace and calm of these summer days. I undertook the monumental task of going through the boxes under my bed and sorting through them. I found several old school notebooks (which were quite helpful in putting together my transcript... apparently I was quite a meticulous record-keeper in 9th grade), and bits and pieces of old papers which were just taking up space.

I also found several old journals and stories, which were extraordinarily embarrassing to look at. I've burned my old writings in the past, and I was tempted to do so again, but I decided to be noble and think of my descendants. Those old journals and stories are tucked away in a chest, and now I'm wondering if I'll be grateful for it myself when I'm old and grey.

I had the time this afternoon to do some fiction writing, for the first time in several months. It was only a short story, hastily scribbled and not very good, but hopefully I'll get back into the swing of things eventually... Liam will be very happy if I have something to present for our next story meeting.

Reading-wise, I just finished Escape from Scepticism by Christopher Derrick. I wish I'd read it when I was a freshman in high school. I generally try to write up a decent review of a book when I finish it, but many of the thoughts I would present were part of my TAC application essay, and I'm still recovering from that process (I wonder if writing a book for publication is anything like it: proof-reading, writing and re-writing, re-writing once again, revising, editing, and polishing it until you feel fairly confident that it's right).

I'm currently reading Plato's Republic, and I'm not far enough along to comment, though I can say it isn't quite what I was expecting... but since I wasn't entirely positive of what to expect, that doesn't surprise me.

Also on the bedside table is Wisdom and Innocence by Joseph Pearce. I just finished the chapter dealing with Chesterton's courtship and marriage, and I was on the verge of tears. In a society where women are objectified and marriage is demeaned, reading about his pure and utter devotion to his wife was extraordinarily moving. Chesterton not only has a way of making a girl smile, making her see a truth, and teaching her about joy and wonder, but he also really makes her suddenly feel like a being of grace and dignity. God bless him, and all men like him.

Father's Day

2008-06-15T18:52:00.000-07:00

Setting the table for tea...

...getting dressed in the little Batman suit...

...making the little house as comfortable and cozy as it could be...

...extending the invitation...

I remember the routine, vaguely. I was very small at the time, but I have those little mixed and matched memories that you can patch together to come up with something semi-concrete. I remember the play-house, I remember the Batman suit (I wonder why I always had to wear the Batman suit?), I remember serving the tea.

What I didn't remember was what tight quarters that little play-house was for my poor dad. The pictures are a little painful to look at. What I do remember is that he always came anyway. Dad has never failed to be there.

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

Dear Mr. Aidan

2008-06-11T10:19:00.000-07:00

Your birthday was back on the 2nd of this month, so I'm a little late with this, but, here goes.

I don't think I've ever known a little fellow quite as awesome as you. I love...

...the cakes you make out of play-do. I love the way you roll them out, and put them in the 'oven,' or rather, the bottom corner cupboard. I love the way you watch the clock, and then hurry over excitedly to pull them out and serve them to us.

...that you recognize so many different music themes. You recognize TV themes such as Lost in Space, Murder She Wrote, Perry Mason, and The Twilight Zone. You recognize movie themes such as The Great Escape, The Magnificent Seven, Seven Samurai, Bridge on the River Kwai, and most recently East of Eden.

...the way you go limping about the house in the early hours of the morning. When I hear the uneven gait headed down the stairs, I know it must be five o'clock.

...how excited you get when you here we're going on a trip. You talk about it for days ahead of time, and days afterwards.

...the way you sing. Who wouldn't love the way you sing? You take tunes that are familiar to you and change the words so that the subject is one near and dear to your heart. You sing about kitties, about fuel filters, about coolers, about sewers, and about all those other things you're so fond of. (We'd go down to the sewer, and into the sewer we'd dive.)

...the way you stand rapturously at the CD player with your hands clasped in front of you when we have music playing. You particularly love the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem. You always have.

...the way you go puttering about in the front yard talking to yourself. In the winter you're out there stacking logs and shoveling the driveway, in the summer you water the flowers. You're always up to something.

...that you always know everything. You keep a long list in your head of contrived dentist appointments and contrived chores for us, and you never miss an opportunity to give us a serious talk about the pain we'll have when they knock our teeth out, or the exhaustion will suffer when we clean our rooms.

...the silly, silly faces you get. I don't know of a little boy who can make such silly faces as you.

...your laugh. When you really start laughing, it's absolutely hilarious. Nobody can resist laughing along with you.

...the way you give us the proper responses to your questions and statements. There's nothing quite like standing in a public place and having you tell us to tell you to 'be quiet, you little brat.'

...the way you curl up next to me on a chair when we're watching a movie. Most recently you and I sat out in the living room all alone watching Shadowlands. You watched very attentively, and at last drifted off to sleep. You look like such a sweet little angel when you're asleep.

...your smile. Your smile is the best part of you, because it's indicative of everything else about you. Your cheer, your humor, your brightness. Aidan-boy, you're one little bundle of joy, and you'll never know how grateful I am for such a sweet younger brother.

Happy Birthday!!

...

Always Dignity

2008-06-05T21:37:00.000-07:00

I've begun the college application process!

On Saturday I take my SATs. Prayers would be appreciated, as I am not the test type of person.

Sitting before me is a list of various questions which I'm to answer for an essay on, basically, myself, as part of the application to TAC.

It's so tricky to strike the right balance with an essay about your own life, character, and thoughts. You need to be honest and genuine without getting too wrapped up in the great epic of your life. I've always found that in any sort of essay or book, the opening sentences can be really key to setting the right tone for yourself. For that reason, I always struggle over the first paragraph of a paper, or of a book, or of whatever it is I'm writing.

But for an opening to the tale of your life, you can't do much better than this:

"I've had one motto which I've always lived by: Dignity... always dignity."

I wonder how many other applicants have been seriously tempted by that line?

More on the Great Books

2008-06-04T15:20:00.001-07:00

Not so very long ago I heard the line: "What's so great about the Great Books?" And perhaps it sounds witty, but a little phrase is easy enough to compose. Now, is there any substance behind it? If the Church, the popes, the saints, and even mere common sense have anything to say about it, the answer is no. Aquinas, for instance, found Aristotle important enough to write commentaries on.

The real question ought to be: "What's not great about the Great Books?" Some of the best thinkers, some of the most world-changing philosophies... in a sincere quest for truth, I consider the Great Books essential to an education. Otherwise we're shutting ourselves off from ideas which not only shaped society and the world, but to a certain extent shaped the Church as well. Aquinas followed in the tradition of many of the greats, and Church doctrine to a large extent follows in the tradition of Aquinas.

The college my eldest brother goes to, and which I intend to go to, uses a Great Books curriculum. Freshman read the likes of Plato, Aristotle, Herodotus, Homer, Sophocles, Aristophanes... Euclid, Pascal, Archimedes, and Aquinas. By the time they finish their senior year, they will be well-acquainted with the greatest of the greats. You can view the curriculum here.

Here's a snippet from their website:

The textbooks that most colleges and universities use are soon outdated; they quickly go out of fashion and are discarded. New ways to think about things unceasingly replace the old. Yet a consensus exists among generations of thinkers and writers that certain works have enduring relevance. They never go out of style. Why is this?

Lucretius was a Roman poet and philosopher who 2,000 years ago wrote a treatise called "On the Nature of Things." This title could well describe any of the Great Books. These works - whether philosophy or science, history or drama - describe things as they really are. They reveal the reality at the core of human experience, a reality that - regardless of time or place - does not change. A person hungry for wisdom can return to these books over and over again without exhausting their meaning. These are the books that have the power to shape human events and to change lives.

And more about the Great Books here.

The Great Books

2008-06-04T15:19:00.000-07:00

In a post at the Young Ladies Christian Fellowship today, Natalie mentioned the reading she's been doing recently... Plato, Virgil, Augustine, Dante... the very names send excited thrills through me!

I confess to being completely addicted to and obsessed with the Great Books. The world as we know it today was shaped by the thoughts of those towering figures. In the Great Books you find some of the profoundest, and craziest, ideas that you'll ever encounter. There's nothing else like them.

I've been reading Plutarch's Lives, and have become immersed in the histories of those ancient Greeks and Romans.

Next week my mother and I are going to start reading Plato's Republic, reading two books a week, discussing as we go, and finishing up in a little over a month. I can't tell you how excited I am!

If you're so inclined to answer... what are some of your particular favorite Great Books? How do you feel about them personally? How relevant do you think they are to the modern world? Any other thoughts?

The Great Escape

2008-05-28T09:30:00.000-07:00

The Great Escape
by Paul Brickhill

Those who know me know that I am at least slightly obsessed with the film The Great Escape. Though I know better than to call it 'the greatest film of all time,' I think I can honestly say that it's my absolute favorite. And being so in love with the film, I figured that it was about time I familiarized myself with the true story. It's going to be really tempting to write a book-to-film comparison, but if I find myself with the time to do that, it deserves a post of its own.

And I think the book deserves a post of its own, too.

I must say, first of all, that Brickhill is quite an engaging writer. He manages to strike a nice balance between the more personal stories and the technical details of the escape, and between the darker and lighter moments. The book is absolutely absorbing.

But the greatest feelings of amazement come from the realizing that it all, in fact, happened. The story suits the media of film so well. The planning, the tunneling, the setbacks, and all the little details seem so extraordinary, so perfectly designed for a tale of action and suspense. And yet, it is true (though I wonder... maybe every really great story is as great as it is only because it at least could be true).

We're introduced not only to the facts of the escape, but also to the many men who were involved. Undoubtedly the book centers a great deal on Roger Bushell, the "Big X." Brickhill refers often to his rather intimidating and brooding appearance, increased by a drooping eye from a skiing accident, but also relates of cheerful little practical jokes Bushell played, of his involvement in the camp theater company... and, too, the actual event which inspired one of the most memorable scenes in the film, in which the character Cavendish crashes through the top bunk after McQueen's character removes the bed-boards.

Bushell was flat-out extraordinary. I can't tell you how much I admire him. Though he was a bit given to deep anger and days of moodiness when problems arose, he always managed to snap back, collect himself and those around him, assess the situation and come up with a solution. When an argument in the escape planning came up, he was always the one to settle it, as he had one of those minds that can see quite clearly the consequences of an action, how it will effect everything else, and how everything else will effect it.

The book does not end on a happy note. Bushell, and forty-nine other escaped prisoners, were murdered after being recaptured. On a direct order from Hitler, these fifty were taken in small groups in various places and shot. In the Aftermath, Brickhill recounts how the murderers were tracked down and brought to justice.

It was truly a splendid book, and it was truly a splendid tale of resourceful and indomitable heroes. And, rightly so, it is dedicated, as was the film, to the fifty.

Out of the Silent Planet

2008-05-24T19:50:00.001-07:00

Out of the Silent Planet
by C.S. Lewis

I read the first of the Space Trilogy when I was about thirteen years old. And I was more than a little disturbed. A rather oafish hero who made a poor spectacle of himself when trying to rescue a half-witted boy, a strange kidnapping, a human sacrifice to a weird alien called a sorn, a planet that was far too vertical, a villain who used far too much rough language, a book that was far too strange and beyond my comprehension to grasp.

I think I finished the book, but I pretty much skimmed it. It was disturbing, and I wanted to be done with it as quickly as possible. And I never read it again.

Until yesterday... and how great a change there can be in the mind of person in the course of only five short years! How had I missed the magic and wonder of the planet Malacandra?

Dr. Ransom still wasn't quite the dashing hero that I'd been accustomed to as a young person. But this time around, I found it not off-putting, but extremely amusing. He plans some harsh words to the kidnappers, and they come out as only a feeble: "Here! I say..." And when one of the kidnappers uses the fully intimidating tone that he'd attempted, his humiliation is furthered.

He was going on a walking tour, and a slight fork in the road brought him to what we call Mars. And there he hears that he is going to be given to the sorns, for a human sacrifice. Unsurprisingly, he makes his escape as soon as possible, and heads out into the foreign landscapes alone.

There isn't precisely a 'plot' in this story, which is to say that there's no real action, no real villainous plotting, no real alien wars, and no terrifying insect-like creatures. The lack of them, in fact, is rather the point of the story. Ransom, well-versed in his science fiction, expects creatures of the most grotesque kind to take him and dissect him.

Instead, he meets beings like the hrossa, skillful at fishing and lovers of poetry. He learns to speak their language, and learns ever so much more than that. He realizes that he is not on a planet of strange and fearsome monsters, but on a planet of moral and rational beings. To see his terror in his first flight gradually change to a respect and kinship with the hrossa is truly magical.

He meets the sorn, tall, wise, and a bit remote; and my personal favorite, the pfifltrigg: a creature that bears a faint resemblance to a shrew, at least as far as the shape of its head is concerned, a bouncy, twittering little creature that chuckles and paints portraits.

It was a truly marvelous experience. Ransom's meetings with these strange beings, his discussions with them of love, memory, philosophy, morality... all these things are truly amazing. I've always loved Lewis' Narnia books; in this book, I found myself in a land that was just as magical, and in many ways even more so, and in many ways far more profound.

I'm not generally a big fan of the science fiction genre, but I'm hooked on this Trilogy. I'm delighted that there are two more to go, and very, very sorry that there are only two

The Robe

2008-05-24T19:47:00.000-07:00

The Robe
by Lloyd C. Douglas

I just half an hour ago finished this book, and am deliberating on how to right this review. I'm not going to be writing a passionately-worded review, designed to steer others away from reading the book... but I am going to be writing a critical review, which can be very difficult. Difficult to be fair, to be just, to not let my personal irritations get in the way.

I would like to point out, before beginning, that this review will contain definite spoilers.

My first real familiarity with The Robe came from reading the excellent book Norms for the Novel by Harold C. Gardiner. I was rather surprised to see that Fr. Gardiner took a very negative view of the book, faulting it for its lack of literary quality and for its historical inaccuracy. Naturally I had to pick up the book to see for myself.

I'll say little on the historical inaccuracy. Errors in actual historical personages, in ways of life, and so forth, can be tolerated up to a certain point in a work of fiction. And then again, they can't be. When I realized how many people based their knowledge of the early Christians and Ancient Rome on The Robe, and, in that case, based their knowledge on inaccuracies, it makes me re-think how far you can go with tweaking history for the purpose of a novel and still be legitimate (I guess that's another post in itself).

For the literary quality, I can definitely see where Fr. Gardiner is coming from.

Douglas has problems forming a consistent dialogue. At times the dialogue is almost overly archaic; at other times it takes a drastic turn and phrases such as "I think you're pretty dumb" and "He was terrific" come up. The language is occasionally Victorian, occasionally a rather strained Middle Ages, and occasionally a frankly 1940's American.

Douglas also seems to have some difficulty in regulating his pacing. A slow meandering pace will suddenly shift to some almost contrived event sending the characters scattering every which way. While these passionate moments, such as Demetrius' sudden attack on Quintus, can be envisioned to take place unexpectedly and quickly change the course of events, it's not so much the mere fact of them but the handling of them that I find problematic. Douglas has a tendency to appear on the sidelines of every such scene, by becoming too emotionally involved in what is occurring and hence getting a little too carried away in his description. What should have been dramatic starts tipping towards melodramatic.

The concept of a man, Marcellus, briefly encountering Christ face-to-face, and then coming to know Him more intimately not through direct association with Him, but through the words and testimonies of His followers, was an intriguing concept, one that I think had much potential. However, I also think Douglas executed it rather poorly. Marcellus' tour with Justus was sprinkled with discussions of a philosophical sort, which, rather than enlighten, seemed often to be a bit stiff and contrived, and lacked a logical progression from one point to another.

Justus retold many of the events that we are familiar with by the Gospels, but in a way that was frankly less inspiring and often gave us no more than Douglas' personal interpretation. For instance, the miracle of the loaves and fishes was presented in a way that makes the center of the occasion not Christ's miracle, not His power, but the rather sentimental 'sharing and caring' of the selfless little boy who shamed the others into also sharing. This, too, this diminishing of miracles, this loss of wonder, deserves a blog post all of it's own.

And it was rather contradictory in the context of the story. Marcellus' great struggle is in believing that Christ has the power to perform such miracles. He spends a great deal of time trying to find natural explanations for them, and when Justus helps provide them, it's outright confusing.

Marcellus' conversion to Christianity also left much to be desired. There was no real deep progression of his character from his former life to his life as a follower of Christ. We hear a great deal about how changed he is, how kind he is, how he inspires others to kindness and selflessness, but as for the own depths of his character... hardly anything. In outside accounts of him, we hear of a change; but in our personal encounters with him, there's nothing deeper than a tendency to smile more. And, when a man spoke harshly and insultingly to him, he lectured said man, warning him against such harshness and telling him that he was not going to tolerate it... rather than tolerate the roughness towards himself, and bear it patiently, he finds it necessary to state that he will not permit such tones to be used to him.

Towards the last pages of the book, when he is eventually martyred, there I can see a manifest change. But previously I saw nothing, except perhaps a misguided sense of what was right and Christian. In fact, I saw almost a self-righteousness in him. That he was willing to suffer the ultimate martyrdom in the end was what let me come to see him as having developed in his character; but his apparent lack of ability to suffer small martyrdoms early on left me wondering if I were confused, or if Douglas were.

I greatly enjoyed the first hundred or so pages of the books, where I felt that Douglas was setting up for a great story. I also greatly enjoyed the last hundred or so pages of the book, where I felt Douglas was adequately, if abruptly, wrapping up what should have been a great story.

What I did not enjoy was the lack of the great story, which seems to have got lost somewhere in the middle.

My main objection to the book is, I suppose, the always-present Douglas. I was too conscious of him throughout the book, as if he were standing in a dark corner of the stage... he's not quite in sight, but you can feel him. And in the passionate moments, his enthusiasm makes him step a little more into the light, and become a little more obviously present. I tried very hard to find a story in the book, and to find a picture of Christ, but it seemed that Douglas was always in the way.

Nevertheless, I'm not recommending anyone to avoid it. It's an enjoyable book, an adventurous book, and though it fell flat on me, I have no doubt that it can be a very inspiring book. I'm just very sorry that it couldn't be a grand experience for me.

More Sewing Pictures

2008-04-16T13:13:00.000-07:00

I finally got some good pictures of my Christmas dress! Unfortunately, I didn't actually get to wear it for Christmas, as I didn't finish it in time... but I did get to wear it to the Christmas dance at our church a couple weeks later. Liam and I had a blast swing dancing in our vintage styles.

The summer dress below was made from the same pattern as the Christmas dress.

I finally figured out what to do with all those bits of left-over fabric that are too small to use for a full-grown outfit, but too large to simply throw away... baby dresses! Below is the baby sundress I made this past Sunday, based off of the vintage styles. I love red rickrack on white fabric, and went wild with it on this one.

I have several baby dresses in the making from fabric scraps. Little boys seem to be the most popular in the family, but if ever any little girls start making an appearance, I'll have a lot of little dresses to hand out as presents! And, at the very least, I can save them for, God willing, my future daughters.

Not Central or Important to Catholic Worship

2008-04-02T19:40:00.001-07:00

While visiting Closed Cafeteria blog just a couple minutes ago, I was surprised and taken aback. This is news to me!

I've always known that I'm not a fan of Marty Haugen's music. I find that instead of making a profoundly spiritual impact, his music rather effects me with a temporary and superficial emotion, one full of the not-so-good kind of sentimentality. I've always known that his compositions are full of musical cliches.

But I had no idea that he isn't even a Catholic! Now I really wonder...

With all the rich, beautiful, deep Catholic music in our heritage, why do we constantly hear shallow, cheesy, non-Catholic music?

Well, no wonder I never felt like I was hearing Catholic music when the Haugen stuff came on.

As for me... I'll take the beautiful words of Aquinas, or the soaring compositions of Mozart, any day.

First of all, although I am not Roman Catholic, I have a deep love and respect for and faith in the worship tradition of the Roman Catholic Church. My own hesitancy about joining the Church is not about its eucharistic theology, but rather around the unwillingness of the Church to commission, ordain and welcome all humans as Jesus did–male and female, married and unmarried, saints and sinners. I believe that the Church, God’s people and all of creation have suffered from this omission.

I do not think of my own music as central or important to Roman Catholic worship, present or future. I began writing as a parish musician; I still keep the vision that to be “catholic” is to learn and love and embrace the best of the past tradition and to welcome the “best” of what is new, as Gods speaks through all cultures and expressions (see “Lumen Gentia”). I leave it to communities and to the Holy Spirit that will (more than us, thank God) guide the future choices that will last.

My New Vintage Dress!

2008-03-30T13:11:00.000-07:00

Those of you who visit my other blogs will have seen this already, I think... I'm so excited about my new dress and haircut that I'm posting it practically everywhere!

Practice makes perfect, and I'm learning more and more about how to achieve that proper vintage looks. Pearls, a good pair of shoes, a late night of sewing, and a haircut!

Could we possibly love him more?

2008-03-27T11:53:00.000-07:00

I realise that I haven't been posting here. I haven't really had the time. The last few months of the school year seem to be the busiest for me. Aside from that, most of my blogging time has gone into my Catholic girl's blog.

But, as a Catholic and a Green Bay fan, and as an obedient daughter whose mother recommended it, I had to stop by to share some exciting news.

Will anyone be surprised if I say that we love Brett Favre in this family? He's such a great guy! A skilled athlete and very classy. My beautiful Easter surprise was finding out that he's also a devout Catholic!!

Here's a link to an article.

Fans of quarterback Brett Favre relish counting the number of NFL records their hero has accrued over the years. As much as Favre and his wife, Deanna, take pride in those accomplishments, they no doubt are far more grateful that they overcame some personal hurdles of their private lives -- and Deanna's survival of breast cancer being the greatest and most cherished triumph of all.

For this, as for so many other blessings in their lives, the Favres thank God, the power of prayer, and their Catholic faith.

Excerpts from 'The Angels'

2008-02-26T13:18:00.000-08:00

The Angels: A History of the 11th Airborne Division by E.M. Flanagan

Even though these division teams were composed of fairly high-ranking officers, nonetheless they went next to Fort Holibird for four days of orientation on the operation and maintenance of various motor vehicles. This included, preposterously, requiring the generals and colonels to drive a 6 x 6 convoy through the streets of Baltimore, Maryland. Perhaps with some misgivings, and probably glad to get rid of their high-ranking charges, the NCO ordnance examiners duly awarded the generals and colonels their operators' permits. Colonel Farrell was the only member of the Division Headquarters who opted to try to qualify on a motorcycle. Unfortunately, he skidded out of control on the track and, as a result, for many years bore ingrained on his forehead a patch of Holibird dirt. The NCO in charge of motorcycles awarded Colonel Farrell and "A" for effort and an "E" for competence; he did not award him a motorcycle operator's permit.

The word "Geronimo" is in the lexicon of every paratrooper, even to the present day. Its use by the airborne goes back to the day when the test platoon made its third jump--its first mass jump. The night before the jump, three paratroopers of the test platoon went to a movie at the Fort Benning post theater. The movie was a western in which U.S. Calvary troops chased the renowned Apache chief Geronimo and a band of his Indian braves. After the movie and on their way back to their tents near Lawson, one of the moviegoers chided Pvt. Aubrey Eberhardt about the extent of his enthusiasm and willingness to make the mass jump the next morning. Eberhardt drew himself up to his full six-foot-eigh-inch height and declared that not only was he not afraid to make a mass jump but, to prove how relaxed he was, he would yell "Geronimo" when he exited the plane.

Word spread throughout the platoon about Eberhardt's claim. The next morning, the men in Eberhardt's plane and those who had already jumped and were on the ground waited for the yell. True to his word, when it came time for Eberhardt to leap out the door, he yelled a loud "Geronimo" and followed it with an equally resonant war hoop so loud that the men on the ground could hear it. Thus, without intending to or even knowing it, Eberhardt established one of the many traditions of the U.S. paratrooper.

I'm on the verge of finishing...

2008-02-22T17:52:00.000-08:00

...The Gathering Storm by Winston Churchill. And just in time, too! It needs to go back to the library tomorrow. I began back in January, and got a good deal of reading done to and from San Francisco, and during my visit to TAC. I admit, I didn't attend any classes my last day there, because I became so immersed in the book.

Churchill is just wonderful. I absolutely look up to him and adore him. On my to-read list is a biography of him, which I can't wait to get to.

But first, I'm going to read The Angels: A History of the 11th Airborne Division, by E.M. Flanagan. I've had this one sitting on the chest in my room for the longest time, and at last I'm getting around to reading it. While Churchill's memoirs are certainly very interesting, this book about the Angels has a family connection.

A nineteen-year-old boy who was killed in the Philippines on February the 12th, 1945.

Did Jesus know He was God?

2008-02-19T13:13:00.000-08:00

Continuing thoughts on the issue our priest raised in his homily...

"Before Abraham was, I am."

I think that statement of Christ's makes it fairly obvious that He knew Who He was.

Father's argument was based off of the fact of Christ's full humanity.. he said that Christ, being fully human, could not have known He was God, because as humans we're no all-knowing. To demonstrate his point, he held out a piece of paper to me and asked if I could tell him how many atoms comprised the paper. The answer was that I couldn't, but God, having created it, could.

I didn't say so, but the issue of atoms and paper are irrelevant to the discussion.

And I may not be able to say I know how many atoms are in that piece of paper, but I do know that I'm not God.

But the biggest thing to me is: can you even say that lack of knowledge is a trait of human nature? Particularly lack of knowledge of God?

I'm thinking that you'd say more of the opposite. That knowledge of God is more in line with the natural state, but the Fall kind of messed things up a little bit.

Christ became like us in all things except sin. He didn't suffer the effects of the Fall, and in that case He would enjoy the intimacy that man enjoyed with God prior to the Fall.

Wouldn't 'like us in all things except sin,' rather than be a basis for saying Christ as fully human could not have known He was God, be a basis for the exact opposite?

Does this sound reasonable?

I'm not entirely convinced that Father's views aren't in reality Nestorian. If you believe that Christ is fully God and fully man, and not two distinct person (a God-Jesus and a Man-Jesus), then how can you even begin to think that He could fail to realise that He was God?

I'm still a bit baffled about what exactly it is that Father believes. If we get another opportunity to talk, I hope to find out and have another good discussion. But, if not, I've had a marvelous time looking up quotes, thinking it out, and getting a good exercise in thought and theology in general.

Fully God and Fully Man

2008-02-16T18:05:00.001-08:00

Oooh... how weary I am.

I'm mostly hungry and ready for dinner, but I'm tired, too.

I hear a lot of ambiguous statements during homilies at our church, but today I heard one that was out-and-out wrong. "Jesus could not see the future, because Jesus did not know he was God."

I decided that I couldn't just let it pass. Perhaps I am an introvert, but I am capable of putting on an act and simply pretending I'm not, so after Mass I approached Father and inquired: "If Christ is fully man and fully God, and God is all-knowing, how could Christ, being fully God, and so being all-knowing, not know he was God?"

I didn't hurl out Catechism quotes... my first intention was to find out exactly what Father believed so I could counter it. Apparently his views are very similar to Nestorianism.

That's sounds so dreadful, but Father really is great. We didn't have the time to finish our discussion, but when I asked if he'd have any objections to my reading up on it and continuing the conversation at a later date, he was quite enthusiastic about it. Certainly not one of those priests that gets irritated at the impudence of questioning parishioners!

Brief as the conversation was, I really enjoyed it and can't wait for it's continuation.

Presently I have Catechism quotes and quotes from Mystici Corporis, and at least another week to fully arm myself. Any further sources of knowledge to recommend?

Yes, I Love Old Movies

2008-01-24T09:19:00.000-08:00

Tuesday was the end of a busy week. Last Thursday I went down to TAC to visit my oldest brother, and over the weekend I accompanied the students to San Francisco for the Walk for Life. I'd love to describe my personal experience of that event at some point, but I'm currently getting back on schedule with school and whatnot, and trying to relax after the multiple days of travelling.

Initially I thought my relaxing would consist of sitting by the fire warming my toes and finishing the last few chapters of The Gathering Storm by Churchill, but somehow I got sidetracked. It started with a conversation I had with the young lady at TAC who kindly shared her room with me for the duration of my visit. We discovered that we were both huge James Cagney fans, and she told me that her sister had pictures of him all around her mirror.

And I thought: "Brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?" But when it got to the practical application of the idea, I remembered that, though James Cagney has the first place in my devotion, I'm a fan of many different actors and of many different films, and the simple idea of a couple Cagney pictures developed and expanded (taking up nearly an entire wall!) into a great and ever-growing testimony of my devotion to old movies.

The magnificent John Wayne in the role of Rooster Cogburn:

The lovely Loretta Young:

The High Noon corner:

And, of course! James Cagney:

And a few more pictures:

At the beginning of the year

2008-01-01T11:21:00.000-08:00

I spent New Year's Eve in the most delightful fashion. I lent our copy of The Great Escape to some friends last month, but I found myself missing in desperately, and so checked it out of the library to watch with my eldest brother, who hasn't seen it in several years. I curled up with the five-year-old of the family, who shares my great love for the film, and listened to his various ramblings on... Danny this and Danny that.

The movie ended fifteen minutes after midnight, and I felt a thrill of excitement to think that it was 2008, and a little thrill of sorrow to think that 2007 was gone forever, and who knows what might have gone with it.

The new year has arrived, and traditionally one makes their resolutions. I'm afraid I don't really have any... I'm afraid I've never really had any. New Year's inspires me with ideas more than resolutions, but more than anything when a new year comes I think in terms of books. What will my reading list of 2008 look like?

I've been wandering about the house this morning going through the shelves, taking what looks interesting to hide away in my room for several weeks. I've been reading Churchill's History of the English-Speaking People, but now I can't seem to find the first volume. I have a nice little stack next to me consisting of Plutarch's Lives, On the Incarnation by St. Athanasius, Wallace's Ben-Hur which I suddenly realised I had never read, and a book by Scott.

Downstairs I have a little pile with some lovely old volumes of Dante, Chesterton's The Everlasting Man, and Belloc's Europe and the Faith, the last of which I never finished reading last year.

I've been referencing my mother's reading plan to make sure I don't secret away anything she was intending to read.

And I've been going over Love2Learn's reading list for further inspiration.

And now I've got to get back to the search for the History of the English-Speaking People.

St. Stephen

2007-12-26T10:43:00.000-08:00

Christmas is over in the minds of many, but we Catholics still have a little over a week to celebrate and rejoice.

I went out for a little walk in the woods with my camera in hand, with a great wish to see beautiful things and try to grow more accomplished at capturing them on film. And it was beautiful indeed.

There's something breathtaking about an evening walk in a snowy wood. My favourite moment in C.S. Lewis' Narnia books is when Lucy steps through the wardrobe into that other world, because she stepped into a forest of snow. For that moment of wonder, of clearness, and of magic, the snow-covered trees were perfect.

In the quiet of the evening it's very easy to appreciate the beauty of life, and to thank God for it. Even more so during the Christmas season, when we are thanking God for His other great gift... the gift of His Son, of a life after death.

It's not only very easy to appreciate life, but to fall passionately in love with it.

But today is the feast of St. Stephen, the first martyr of the Church. One day I will die; perhaps I will be blessed enough to die for Christ as St. Stephen did. However my death comes, the more I love life the more courageous I must be.... courageous in the way Chesterton described it: "Courage is almost a contradiction in terms. It means a strong desire to live taking the form of a readiness to die."

Life is beautiful, and though I do not wish to part with it, I mustn't mind when the time comes. If I serve God as best I may, after this life comes the gift of His Son... an eternity with Him.

O Holy Night

2007-12-22T16:55:00.000-08:00

Christmas is nearly here!

As I type I'm listening to one of my favourite renditions of O Holy Night. Don't expect beauty, but it's so very bad that's it's so very good.

The Past Few Weeks

2007-12-16T15:23:00.000-08:00

Much of November was spent visiting... always enjoyable, though tiring. But it's a delightful kind of tired, when you get home late at night, having just come from some wonderful friends back to your wonderful home. As you're drifting off to sleep you feel blissfully suspended between the two. It was a lovely visit. More singing and dancing than could be imagined; serious discussions over afternoon tea about books, politics, and religion; slightly stressful evenings spent going through several scripts and figuring out how to make everything work; and then staying up late to share movies with one another... we saw for the first time White Christmas, The Gazebo, Sabrina, and Gladiator, and we shared one of our all-time favourites, The Great Escape.

The first few weeks of November flew by, and when I returned home I spent the last couple getting a start on Patrick O'Brian's books. Those were very warm and happy days. What could be more cozy than sitting by the fire reading sea-faring tales and drinking caramel tea?

It was suddenly Advent. I pulled out all my Christmas music and began to sing Christmas hymns. That's certainly a strange feeling. In the past we've always made a clear distinction between Advent and Christmas. Christmas hymns are for Christmas, not for Advent. But when things shift a little bit and you find that you're singing at a Christmas Eve Mass, you have to start rehearsing a few weeks previous to the date.

And now it's Gaudete Sunday, just like that. I always hear that the older you get the faster time seems to go by. I'm not very old yet, only just shy of being an official adult, but sometimes I feel that there isn't such a thing as time, just a great big whirlwind bringing me from one delightful moment to the next. But I'm home again, and my older brother is home again, and the little ones are out in the snow laughing and playing, and I can truly rejoice this third Sunday of Advent, and thank God for all He's given us, especially for the great gift of His Son, whose birth we will soon be celebrating.

Poetry Friday

2007-10-19T12:26:00.000-07:00

The Wind that Shakes the Barley
by Robert Dwyer Joyce

I sat within the valley green, I sat me with my true love.
My sad heart strove the two between, the old love and the new love.
The old for her, the new that made me think on Ireland dearly,
While soft the wind blew down the glen and shook the golden barley.

'Twas hard the woeful words to frame to break the ties that bound us,
But harder still to bear the shame of foreign chains around us.
And so I said, "The mountain glen I'll seek at morning early
And join the bold united men," while soft winds shake the barley.

While sad I kissed away her tears, my fond arms round her flinging
A yeoman's shot burst on our ears from out the wildwood ringing.
A bullet pierced my true love's side in life's young spring so early,
And on my breast in blood she died while soft winds shook the barley.

I bore her to some mountain stream, and many's the summer blossom
I placed with branches soft and green about her gore-stained bosom.
I wept and kissed her clay-cold corpse then rushed o'er vale and valley
My vengeance on the foe to wreak while soft wind shook the barley.

But blood for blood without remorse I've taken at Oulart Hollow,
And laid my true love's clay cold corpse where I full soon may follow,
As round her grave I wander drear, noon, night and morning early
With breaking heart when e'er I hear the wind that shakes the barley.

Seminarians in the Third Millennium

2007-10-07T20:05:00.000-07:00

PP is Scared -- 40 Days for Life

2007-10-06T15:06:00.000-07:00

When you read the articles they have up on their websites, it's pretty obvious that Planned Parenthood is getting scared.

You know, I can't help but think of the saints. The devil saw that they were on their way to great holiness, and sent his minions out to try to frighten them and dissuade them from following God. The devil saw that he was in trouble, and fought like a cornered animal.

But he always lost.

Visit the 40 Days for Life blog for daily updates, and continue to pray.

St. Francis of Assisi

2007-10-04T12:46:00.000-07:00

Today is the feast of another of my patron saints... St. Francis of Assisi.

I've certainly had a time explaining to some people why I'm Francis-with-an-i and not Frances-with-an-e. They can't understand why, as a female, I don't have the feminine form of the name. I certainly wouldn't have had any objections to being Frances-with-an-e, but Francis-with-an-i made a lot of sense. In general, the Catholics seem to get it, when they consider for a moment. They consider my other name patron, and then they see where St. Francis of Assisi fits in.

I've been blessed to have such two special saints as patrons. In August, I wrote up a lengthier post on St. Clare, and made some mention of religious vocations in general. However, I'm afraid I have nothing to say about St. Francis. Last month I began to read St. Francis of Assisi by Chesterton, and I've had one passage going through my mind again and again ever since. Before I read it, I'm sure I could have prattled on endlessly about St. Francis, but at the present I find that nothing I could say could be more beautiful and richer in imagery than what Chesterton said:

While it was yet twilight a figure appeared silently and suddenly on a little hill above the city, dark against the fading darkness. For it was the end of a long and stern night, a night of vigil, not unvisited by stars. He stood with his hands lifted, as in so many statues and pictures, and about him was a burst of birds singing; and behind him was the break of day.

St. Francis of Assisi, pray for us!

100 Movies

2007-10-02T13:42:00.000-07:00

I picked up this meme from Studeo. I bolded the films which I've seen. The especially adored are in red.

A few of them I've been anxious to write reviews of.... maybe I'll find the time someday to get that done.

Of course, Citizen Kane wouldn't take much time. Every time I sit down to write something concrete about the film, I only ever end up with: "Wow."

And I've added a couple of mini-reviews, or, rather, thoughts, to a few of the films.

And, I ask... is there anything I'm missing out on? Anything I haven't seen that I simply must, and at the earliest opportunity?

1. Citizen Kane (1941)
2. Casablanca (1942)
3. The Godfather (1972)
Occasionally people are shocked that I haven't seen The Godfather; however, I can't resist asking, though many won't know what I'm talking about: Could I possibly love it more than The Foster-Father?
4. Gone With The Wind (1939)
5. Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
6. The Wizard of Oz (1939)
I don't think I could ever love a movie as much as this one. I've bumped into people who watched it and found it extremely silly; they couldn't have seen it as children. I grew up on it, and the mere thought of it still brings me to fairyland.
7. The Graduate (1967)
8. On The Waterfront (1954)
9. Schindler's List (1993)
10. Singin' In The Rain (1952)
11. It's A Wonderful Life (1946)
12. Sunset Boulevard (1950)
13. The Bridge On the River Kwai (1957)
Alec Guinness is superb. He's simply a superb actor, and the movie is worth seeing even if for him alone.
14. Some Like It Hot (1959)
15. Star Wars (1977)
Alec Guinness always regretted that people seemed to know him only as Ben Kenobi, when in reality he was an extremely accomplished actor who had performed in many great films. If you know him for only Star Wars, I recommend seeing some of his other movies. The three that spring to mind first are The Bridge on the River Kwai, The Dectective, and The Man in the White Suit.
16. All About Eve (1950)
17. The African Queen (1951)
We love Bogart in all his movies, but I don't know if he was ever so wonderful as he was in this film, character-wise. I'll never forget those leeches all over him, and likewise I'll never forget how he jumped back into the water and kept going.
18. Psycho (1960)
19. Chinatown (1974)
20. One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest (1975)
21. The Grapes of Wrath (1940)
22. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
23. The Maltese Falcon (1941)
24. Raging Bull (1980)
25. E. T. The Extra-Terrestrial (1982)
26. Dr. Strangelove (1964)
27. Bonnie and Clyde (1967)
28. Apocalypse Now (1979)
29. Mr. Smith Goes To Washington (1939)
30. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948)
31. Annie Hall (1977)
32. The Godfather Part II (1974)
33. High Noon (1952)
34. To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
35. It Happened One Night (1934)
36. Midnight Cowboy (1969)
37. The Best Years Of Our Lives (1946)
38. Double Indemnity (1944)
39. Doctor Zhivago (1965)
40. North By Northwest (1959)
41. West Side Story (1961)
42. Rear Window (1954)
43. King Kong (1933)
44. The Birth of a Nation (1915)
45. A Streetcar Named Desire (1951)
46. A Clockwork Orange (1971)
47. Taxi Driver (1976)
48. Jaws (1975)
49. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)
50. Butch Cassidy and the Sunshine Kid (1969)
51. The Philadelphia Story (1940)
52. From Here To Eternity (1953)
Not recommended. From reading Fr. Gardiner, I understand that the book is rather morally rotten, and the movie felt like it was really pushing it with the censors, and laughing because it made it past. Frank Sinatra was a real darling, and we all loved him, but that increased the tragedy.
53. Amadeus (1984)
54. All Quiet On The Western Front (1930)
55. The Sound Of Music (1965)
Here's a confession: I'm not that into The Sound of Music. I enjoy the songs, but ever since reading the real story of the Von Trapps, I've never been able to view the movie without reflecting on how a truly beautiful story was down-played and, I felt, wasted.
56. M*A*S*H (1970)
57. The Third Man (1949)
58. Fantasia (1940)
59. Rebel Without A Cause (1955)
60. Raiders Of The Lost Ark (1981)
61. Vertigo (1958) 62. Tootsie (1982)
63. Stagecoach (1939)
64. Close Encounters Of The Third Kind (1977)
65. The Silence Of The Lambs (1991)
66. Network (1976)
67. The Manchurian Candidate (1962)
68. An American In Paris (1951)
69. Shane (1953)
70. The French Connection (1971)
71. Forrest Gump (1994)
72. Ben-Hur (1959)
73. Wuthering Heights (1939)
I should have hated it. I'm a big Bronte fan, and the movie cut the tale short. I didn't like Cathy. But I don't think I'll ever see another Heathcliff who was so utterly and completely 'my Heathcliff.'
74. The Gold Rush (1925)
75. Dances With Wolves (1990)
76. City Lights (1931)
77. American Graffiti (1973)
78. Rocky (1976)
79. The Deer Hunter (1978)
80. The Wild Bunch (1969)
81. Modern Times (1936)
82. Giant (1956)
83. Platoon (1986)
84. Fargo (1996)
85. Duck Soup (1933)
86. Mutiny On The Bounty (1935)
87. Frankenstein (1931)
88. Easy Rider (1969)
90. The Jazz Singer (1927)
91. My Fair Lady (1964)
Fun, funny, and with enjoyable music, but, above all... seeing Sherlock Holmes pace back and forth singing 'The Street Where You Live' is a delight beyond words.
92. A Place In The Sun (1951)
93. The Apartment (1960)
94. Goodfellas (1994)
95. Pulp Fiction (1994)
96. The Searchers (1956)
97. Bringing Up Baby (1938)
98. Unforgiven (1992)
99. Guess Who's Coming To Dinner (1967)
100. Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942)
James Cagney, a great actor, a great man, and a great dancer! I'm sorry he didn't get to play more roles like this one. But do see The Seven Little Foys starring Bob Hope. Cagney comes back again as George M. Cohan, and, naturally, steals the show.

Poetry Friday

2007-09-28T11:11:00.000-07:00

They have dared the white republics up the capes of Italy,
They have dashed the Adriatic round the Lion of the Sea,
And the Pope has cast his arms abroad for agony and loss,
And called the kings of Christendom for swords about the Cross.

I'm sure many of you will recognize the above as an excerpt from Chesterton's Lepanto. Friday is traditionally the Poetry Day in the world of blogs, and I wanted to take advantage of this Friday to call attention to the annual Lepanto novena. It begins tomorrow.

The Rosary is such a powerful weapon. Please do join in praying it in these upcoming nine days.

The Man Who Was Thursday on the radio

2007-09-27T17:42:00.000-07:00

Attention all fans of Orson Welles, all fans of old radio shows, and particularly all fans of The Man Who Was Thursday!

I mentioned this is my last post, but I wanted to give the link its own special place of honour where it will be more noticed, rather than buried in the midst of my random ramblings.

This is a link to the radio adaption of The Man Who Was Thursday.

This makes my day complete. I've been looking forward to hearing this for many a month. I'm just getting started on it; maybe I'll have the time to post my thoughts a little later.

And if anyone else would like to share their opinions on the adaption, please do!

Gilbert! -- Ramblings on the Subject

2007-09-27T16:37:00.000-07:00

Over the past couple of weeks I've been watching the various Chesterton-related blogs with increasingly acute agony. One after another, they joyfully proclaimed that they'd received their copy of Gilbert! And I was still waiting... and waiting... and waiting.

But today the long wait ended, and our copy of Gilbert! arrived. I've been buried in it most of the afternoon. I read The Man Who Was Thursday for the first time just this spring (it should have been much sooner), and I'm enjoying all the related material contained in the magazine.

Particularly delightful, though, is the summary of the conference, and the pictures from the event. We were all excited to see the picture of Ria of the Chesterteens blog (whom I might have the pleasure of meeting in the spring!), and, really, it was nice to be able to see all the pictures and begin to put some faces to names.

Of course the perusal the article was a bittersweet experience. It looked like a glorious three days, a glorious three days which I was not present for. I regret that, but I spent that weekend in Ireland. Dublin, to be precise. I had a simply awful ear infection, but on that Saturday I went to a Mass which the Lord Mayor also attended, and at which the Dubliners played and a choir from Italy sang most beautifully.

Earlier that day I'd gone for a stroll to gape at the Gate Theatre. And this summary of my day in Dublin is merely a long-winded way of bringing attention to an interesting Man Who Was Thursday tidbit. For those of you who don't know it, Orson Welles performed at the Gate for a time, which I believe I spoke about a few months back. And he wrote an adaption of The Man Who Was Thursday for the radio.

One item of particular interest to me in the Gilbert! magazine was the note that Manalive is, indeed, on its way to film. I'd read about it on Mark Shea's blog, but either because I thought it was too good to be true, or because he sounded like he was joking, well, I thought he was joking. But it is true, and, as I ardently love Manalive, I'm positively thrilled.

At that will be a lesson to me. I should have known that nothing is too good to be true. Catholicism is, after all, true.

Seagull Shoplifter

2007-09-22T12:15:00.000-07:00

Here's a tale of a very artful and very amusing thief.

The Pirate Party

2007-09-21T10:51:00.000-07:00

Hurrah! We had our party, and it was simply grand.

In the morning we went out to take a few pictures by the water. It was positively gorgeous. The greyness of the sky gave us the perfect lighting for photos. The boys had a wonderful time running here and there, and we admired the beautiful scenery about us.

Later in the afternoon we all settled down in front of the TV and watched The Pirates of Penzance, as performed by the students at TAC last year.

The feast was, of course, the highlight of the day. Setting the table is always an unpleasant reminder that one of the boys won't be joining us, save for the holidays. Our pirate band laments that we're missing our keenest hand with a blade, but we'll make sure he sees all the pictures of the day.

The table greatly increased in beauty when all the food was laid upon it. We searched through our stores and took out whatever struck as as pirate-y. And, of course, we had a large amount of ginger ale. A pirate feast can't be a proper pirate feast if there isn't some sort of ale served.

The highlight of the day was the feast. The highlight of the feast was the cake. We'd been dreaming about the cake since August, and it fulfilled our expectations. It held the place of honour on the table, flanked by two candles, the flames of which cast strange lights upon its scowling skeleton face.

The Boys Went Fishing

2007-09-19T18:55:00.000-07:00

What are Sunday afternoons for, anyway?

They got a couple of tree branches, a couple lengths of some blue something-or-other string, and a couple floats. Then they went out to the beach, and went fishing.

There were boats going here and there, children splashing, and they themselves were thumping around rather unskillfully. If there were any fish in the vicinity, which I doubt, they surely scared them all away.

So they came home with no fish. But they'd had such a wonderful time.

They weren't fishing necessarily to catch fish, but just for the mere joy of fishing. They could hope that they would catch fish, and that was all it took.

We sophisticated and all-grown-up adults don't hope that we'll catch fish under such circumstances, because we know that we won't. We don't fish unless we believe that we have a reasonable chance of catching something. Children do most of their fishing when to catch something would be unreasonable.

They have so much hope and joy in their lives. It's a simple joy of life itself, which doesn't need see any gain to be satisfied. They don't need to catch fish; they're profoundly joyful that they can just try, regardless of what they actually get out of it in the end.

I want to try to recapture this mere joy of living. I don't want to fish just because I want to make a catch. That would be nice, certainly, but just as nice is the sun above me, just as nice is standing knee-deep in the cool water, just as nice is continually marching back to shore because my cheese "bait" keeps slipping off my hook, just as nice is thinking how nice it would be if I did catch a fish after all.

Talk-Like-A-Pirate Day

2007-09-19T12:00:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don't already know, today is Talk-Like-A-Pirate Day. We've known of its existence these past three years, but haven't been organised enough to do anything in its honour until this year. This year we're going to have a great big party... but not until tomorrow. We had it planned for today, but, alas, an appointment with the doctor rose up to steal our most essential pirate captain away, and the festivities have to be delayed until he's free to particpate.

But I played some Pirates of the Caribbean on my violin anyway. We'll also be paying due honour to the famous Pirates of Penzance.

Satellite

2007-09-14T19:57:00.000-07:00

I was watching The Apostle of Common Sense, and seeing "Chesterton," played by John Chalberg, sitting on a bench in the mist, brought to mind my favourite music video. Aside from the mere enjoyment of the music, I love it because of the appearance of a very unmistakable figure. That great tall man, with that hat and that cloak... well, it just can't be a coincidence.

Here's a link to the video.

I could almost say that this music video was my introduction to Chesterton. I remember my dad showing us the video when I was a wee little thing, long before I'd read any of G.K.'s work.

The Fourteenth of September

2007-09-14T18:54:00.000-07:00

As I'm sure everyone is aware, as of today the Holy Father's Motu Proprio, Summorum Pontificum, is in force. EWTN aired a Solemn High Mass, which I've heard was wonderful. I wasn't able to watch it, as we won't have access to the channel until Monday. But I am watching a video we own of a Solemn High Mass as I write this.

For us, there won't be any direct advantages. That is to say, we live way out in the wild and we're only able to get a priest once a week on Saturday evenings to celebrate a Mass in a very small community chapel. No chance of getting a Mass of the Extraordinary form here, at least not anytime soon.

Nevertheless, I'm sure there will be many indirect benefits for us, and this is a great day in general for the Church.

Thank you, Holy Father!

J.H. Fabre

2007-09-12T17:14:00.000-07:00

The school year has begun, the courses are all laid out, and in addition to my own studying I'll also be teaching some Latin and Natural History. The first is easy; all we need is a Henle First Year. The second took a bit more planning. When I took Natural History my studies were based off of the MoDG syllabus, but I didn't follow it strictly.

I don't want to follow it strictly for teaching, either. Actually, one of the exciting things about teaching the subject is the opportunity to come up with my own ideas, work them into some form of a consistent course, and learn a lot about how to homeschool in general.

As far as insects go, we're completely set. Last week brought four new arrivals to our house... books by Fabre, and all of them almost as delightful to look at as they are to read. You see, they're of the old class, the kind of books that are slightly brittle at the outer edges of the paper, and the kind that smell so sweet.

There's The Life of the Caterpillar, which is from 1925; The Mason-Bees, from about the same time; Social Life in the Insect World, from 1918; and Fabre's Book of Insects from 1937.

Fabre's Book of Insects is my favourite of the four. It's big and solid, with nice large print... and it has the most beautiful illustrations within.

The Angels at Our Lady of the Angels

2007-09-11T16:07:00.000-07:00

I just can't help but love the dear things. Their setting in a cathedral I find most inappropriate, but in themselves they're adorable.

I've always loved bats... I've always considered them rather grotesque mice on wings. And these angels never fail to remind me of bats. If they're ever removed from the cathedral, I'd be thrilled to give them a home.

Let me add that I'm entirely in earnest, with no trace of sarcasm. I don't like the thought of these angels in a Catholic cathedral, or even just a small Catholic church, but, like I said, the angels are adorable (if you're fond of bats).

I like the one above the best, as it looks just like it's in that famous en guarde position. Their designer, DeMoss, said he wanted them to convey whimsical qualities. I find the notion of a little fencing bat extremely whimsical.

Interestingly enough, while I always thought those great big wings looked like bat-wings, DeMoss' intent was to have them reflect light, because "he does not believe 'angels need wings to fly.'"

How true it is! The line is so famous that I hardly think I need to write it, but: "Angels can fly because they can take themselves lightly."

Jane Wyman dies at 93

2007-09-10T12:03:00.000-07:00

Here's a news story.

My favourite of her movies was Here Comes the Groom with Bing Crosby. Their duet of In the Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evening is simply delightful.

Quotes from G.B.S.

2007-09-09T16:25:00.000-07:00

The weekends are a wonderful time for taking long walks in the woods, sitting out on the porch and playing the classical guitar, and for reading. I've been reading George Bernard Shaw by Chesterton, partly for pleasure, and partly for school, in which it is still a pleasure.

I can't say that the quotes I've chosen have struck me because of some particular philsophical profoundness, but simply because I found them amusing. The first for Shaw, the second for the landlord and the statesmen. The latter's ecstatic cries really are too cute... I can't decide if they remind me more of Frederic from the Pirates of Penzance or Mr. Collins from Pride and Prejudice, both of whom fall often into such amusing and slightly bewildering raptures.

Any ordinary leader-writer (let us say) might writes swiftly and smoothly something like this: "The element of religion in the Puritan rebellion, if hostile to art, yet saved the movement from some of the evils in which the French Revolution involved morality." Now a man like Mr. Shaw, who has his own views on everything, would be forced to make the sentence long and broken instead of swift and smooth. He would say something like: "The element of religion, as I explain religion, in the Puritan rebellion (which you wholly misunderstand), if hostile to art--that is what I mean by art--may have saved it from some evils (remember my definition of evil) in which the French Revolution--of which I have my own opinion--involved morality, which I will define for you in a minute."

I hear many people complain that Bernard Shaw deliberately mystifies them. I cannot imagine what they mean; it seems to me that he deliberately insults them. His language, especially on moral questions, is generally as straight and solid as that of a bargee and far less ornate and symbolic than that of a hansom-cabman. The properous English Philistine complains that Mr. Shaw is making a fool of him. Whereas Mr. Shaw is not in the least making a fool of him; Mr. Shaw is, with laborious lucidity, calling him a fool. G.B.S. calls a landlord a thief; and the landlord, instead of denying it, says, "Ah, that fellow hides his meaning so cleverly that one can never make out what he means, it is all so fine spun and fantastical." G.B.S. calls a statesman a liar to his face, and the statesman cries in a kind of ecstasy: "Ah, what quaint, intricate, and half-tangled trains of thought! Ah, what elusive and many-coloured mysteries of half-meaning!"

Look! It's a Pikachu!

2007-09-08T20:59:00.000-07:00

I really and truly think it is! Check out Father Z's blog for the picture. The Pikachu is on the right side of the great red sphere. Isn't it cute?

The little Aidan-hobbit of the house would just love to have that ball. It would fit right in with his big stuffed Pikachu and his Pikachu sleeping bag.

The Nativity of Mary

2007-09-08T10:26:00.000-07:00

Today is the Feast of the Nativity of the Virgin Mary. It's also the fiftieth wedding anniversary of a very dear couple at my church. The lady of the couple has a very deep devotion to Mary, and was one of the greatest inspirations to me when I was a little thing. She and her husband are renewing their vows at this evening's Mass, and have asked me to sing Schubert's Ave Maria just prior to Mass in honour of the Blessed Virgin.

That's the very classic concert piece, and I've been uncertain about my voice since a dreadful cold and cough I had a couple weeks ago. I'll also have no accompaniment, and I'll be singing it in front of all her relatives who are coming for the occasion. Briefly put, I'm nearly scared to death!

I'd appreciate it if anyone who stops by here today would ask the Blessed Virgin to help me remember that while I should do my best it isn't the end of the world if I make a mistake here or there, and do say a prayer for this sweet couple, who are such an example of holy living and a holy marriage.

Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee!

Harrius Potter

2007-09-07T11:47:00.000-07:00

Dominus et Domina Dursley, qui vivebant in aedibus Gestationis Ligustrorum numero quattuor signatis, non sine superbia dicebant se ratione ordinaria vivendi uti neque se paenitere illius rationis, in toto orbe terrarum vix credas quemquam esse minus deditum rebus novis et arcanis, quod ineptias tales omnino spernebant.

That's the opening paragraph of Harrius Potter et Philosophi Lapis, a book I didn't realise existed until two days ago, when my mother called from my grandfather's house and informed me of this delightful occupant of the bookshelf. And yesterday she brought it home with her.

My, my, what a book! For a Harry Potter fan who is studying Latin, this is pure bliss. I could almost say that it's the most thrilling discovery of the month, if it hadn't been for the fact that yesterday I opened Chesterton's George Bernard Shaw and a little menu from a French restaurant fell out, with G.KC.'s signature upon the back (all sorts of such surprises jump out of books when the master of the house is a devoted Chesterton fan).

But this is certainly the second most thrilling discovery of the month. It's available at Amazon, and I see there's a translation for the second book, as well: Harrius Potter et Camera Secretorum.

And would you look! There's also an Ancient Greek edition of the first book!

I'm looking forward to finding a few afternoons in which I can find some free time to read our Latin version, but first I anticipate that it will be making a little trip to TAC. My eldest brother hasn't read the Harry Potter books yet, but now I don't think he'll be able to resist.

Another Thought on Liturgical Music

2007-09-06T14:41:00.000-07:00

Last October I temporarily took on the job of cantor at our local church. I quit about a month ago, due to the upcoming busy-ness of this final year of high school, but over the course of those months I received many, many compliments.

I was mostly assigned Haugen, Haas, Schutte, Toolan, and all the rest of them, and went nearly crazy having to sing them every week. But I got plenty of compliments. I was told I had a lovely voice, a clear voice, a beautiful voice. I was told that it was such a pleasure to have me, that it was wonderful to see me up there singing every week. I'm surprised my head didn't swell to the exploding point... so many kind things were said about me (I think having to sing the banal music I did deflated me just a bit).

When May came along, so did the good old Marian hymns, and the music in general was much improved. I managed to work in two familiar chants... the Salve Regina and the Ave Maria.

The Ave Maria is just beautiful (like all chants, absolutely supernal), one of my favourite chants, and my favourite Ave (though I do appreciate the classic Schubert and Bach/Gounod versions). I sang it the second week of May, and afterwards was approached by one of the lady parishioners... no doubt, I thought, to pay me the usual compliments.

Well, there weren't any of the usual compliments. There weren't any compliments, in fact. She told me she hadn't heard Latin and chant since she was very young, and then went on to say how beautiful it was. I figured in the conversation very briefly... I was thanked for doing it.

And I've been thinking about that ever since. Isn't that the point, anyhow? The cantor, or choir, or whatnot is there to sing the pieces, and to do a beautiful job... but I'm more the background, so to speak. The main focus is God. Our rapture at the beautiful voices of the choir should be because it was hinting, with the very vaguest and slightest of hints, at the unimaginable beauty of God.

Or, in short, it isn't about me and my beautiful voice.

And I don't know if I'm right or not, but somehow I can't help but think that I was the center of attention when I was singing Haugen and Haas compositions... maybe my voice was the only beautiful thing they could hear in the music. At any rate, I got showered with praise.

But when I sang the Ave, the music was complimented. Apparently they found it more worthy of praise than my voice. And maybe that was because in that gorgeously haunting chanting, they found that it didn't matter if it was me singing it, or another nice young girl, or anyone at all, because the beauty of the music had raised their souls too far up to God to care.

A Little Comparison

2007-09-06T08:57:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to write a post on liturgical music for some time, but my thoughts have been scattered here and there, and I haven't been able to pull them together for a coherent post. But yesterday evening I was playing and singing from the Adoremus hymnal, and I thought that maybe for the tim being a couple examples would suffice. And I must admit that I don't understand why they just don't suffice in general.

Here are a few verses and the refrain from Jesus, my Lord, my God, my all!

Jesus, my Lord, my God, my all!
How can I love thee as I ought?
And how revere this wondrous gift,
so far surpassing hope or thought?

Refrain
Sweet Sacrament, we thee adore!
Oh, make us love thee more and more;
oh, make us love thee more and more.

Has I but Mary's sinless heart
with which to love thee, dearest King,
O, with what bursts of fervent praise
thy goodness, Jesus, would I sing!

Sound then his praises higher still,
and come, ye angels, to our aid,
for this is God, the very God
who has both men and angels made.

And then here's a piece from the OCP... I suppose one could say it was interesting, but that would still be in a rather horrified sort of way. It goes in part thusly:

Refrain
I myself am the Bread of Life,
you and I are the Bread of Life,
taken and blessed, broken and shared by Christ
that the world might live.

This bread is spirit,
gift of the Maker's love,
and we who share it know that we can be one,
a living sign of God in Christ.

Here is God's kingdom,
given to us as food.
This is our body, this is our blood,
a living sign of God in Christ.

I suppose you could also say that it strikes one speechless. I must admit that every time I read it my jaw drops just a bit. But not because I'm favourably impressed.

Honestly, that is a bit of an extreme example, but compare the first hymn to so much of what you hear as "Communion hymns." Bread for the World, I am the Bread of Life, and so on and so forth. Which contain more poetry, more grace, more beauty, and more truth, both lyrics-wise and musically?

Some of the answers I've got have baffled me, but I'll keep trudging after the beauty and truth.

St. Clare

2007-08-11T09:30:00.000-07:00

Today is the feast of my patron, St. Clare. While I am devoted to her in some way, her feastday reminds me that I need to cultivate a deeper devotion. I have a very deep devotion to my patron from Confirmation, St. Therese of Lisieux. This devotion is very long-standing... I've loved her for as long as I can remember. But sometimes I forget my other patrons who have also been such a help to me, and who I could learn so much from. And so I resolve to cultivate a deeper devotion to St. Clare.

I did always think the fact that she is my name patron very appropriate. I'm at the age when a young girl is constantly discerning in terms of her vocation, but has received no clear indications of what path she should trod, and so remains open to whatever God wills despite an utter ignorance of it. But, if I were to become a nun, I've always been interested in the Poor Clares. Their enclosed life of poverty and prayer has always appealed, for lack of a better word, to me.

If it did turn out that I took that path, I'm sure I'd have many people laughing and saying: "Aha! You must have chosen them because of your name!" I get told that occasionally with just the mentioning of a possibility, and it irks me to no end. Of course, I'd probably have to go into lengthy explanations of why a nun at all.

Why is it that one always has to make excuses for being a nun, while if you get married it's always all fine and dandy? St. Clare herself was given a lot of trouble from people who adopted this mentality.

If I do become a nun, I'll say many prayers for an increase of religious sisters (I will in the meantime, too). If I'm married, I'll always encourage my daughters to become nuns if God wills, tell them about what an honour it is, and never indicate that it's a shame or a sorrow in any way (especially not if my biggest excuse is that I want grandkids... not that there's anything wrong with that, but we have to be like St. Therese's father and be willing to sacrifice our desires for God).

I'm tired of hearing sad tales from girls whose parents don't approve of nuns and won't permit it. I'm tired of hearing of parents that think nuns are wonderful but "not for my daughter," regardless of what God might think. I'm tired of hearing of parents that think nuns are wonderful and definitely for their daughter, but the daughter is scared away from it by the feelings of aversion society in general has towards the calling.

St. Clare is the perfect one to intercede to for this cause... after all, she did suffer on account of it, and if it hadn't been for her determination to serve God and His help, she would have been dragged home, and who knows what would have become of the Poor Clares.

So, for all those who scorn the religious life, for all those who let their own selfish desires get in the way of God's will (that includes me on many occasions), and for those girls who feel called to the religious life but are afraid of the condemnation or at least rude questions of those around them, St. Clare pray for us, that God will give us the grace to be willing to sacrifice everything for His sake.

Lough Leane

2007-08-02T16:08:00.000-07:00

After exploring Ross Castle we went for a boat tour over Lough Leane. The weather was beautiful, and I went out to sit in the open... to enjoy the winds and benefit from the clearer view for the camera.

A boat by the dock

The creek leading out to the lake

The sun attempting to break through over the hills

The hills of Lough Leane

A bridge between two islands

The first bit of blue sky

The Irish flag

Ross Castle

2007-08-02T15:59:00.000-07:00

I'm still working my way through the Ireland pictures. Ross Castle was another stop during the stay in Killarney. We didn't have time to go through the interior, but the exterior was grand enough. Some pictures:

Ross Castle

Lough Leane beyond the castle

The flowers on the wall

A duck by the castle

The clouds over Ross

Muckross House

2007-07-19T09:10:00.000-07:00

While in Killarney, we got to go on a tour of Muckross House, of which no more can be said than utterly gorgeous. For those of you that, like me, love costume films not just for the lovely clothes, but for the lovely manors and their interiors, Muckross House fulfills every dream... save the one of actually living in such a place, of course. I call Muckross my "dream dream home." This dream house is located exclusively in fantasy. My cottage, on the other hand, is so very small and so very inexpensive that it may come true someday... though I doubt it will be in Ireland.

Our tour guide was extraordinarily kind. She simply adored Paddy and gave him a ball of recently-spun yarn when we passed through the gift shop. She and I were alone in the kitchen for a time while we waited for the others to catch up, and we had a nice chat... all about the atmosphere of kitchens, and why old kitchens such as the one in Muckross had so much atmosphere. Honestly, you have the most interesting conversations in Ireland, with practically anybody. Such a conversation on kitchens here would require a careful searching out of a kindred spirit. It was delightful.

I have no pictures of the interior of the House, as naturally no photography was allowed, considering that everything in the house was so old. There is a website for the House, however, with several photos. Here is a picture of the main hallway, which was sometimes used as a ballroom. At the top of the was a portrait of Mary Balfour Herbert, who resided in the House for sometime. You can see the portrait at her page. Isn't she simply gorgeous... and isn't her gown exquisite? I simply couldn't take my eyes off it.

And a picture of Queen Victoria's room, especially prepared for her visit in 1861. It was on the ground floor, as the Queen had a deep fear of fires.

Here are a couple pictures of mine of the exterior of the House:

The Cottage Again

2007-07-11T20:34:00.000-07:00

Our living room, where we'd sit in the evenings reading and watching TV. We were particularly interested in the commercials... there was such a variety. So were so very Irish, some were so very British, and some very overdone imitations of the flashy American style.

The books were many and varied. Liam was reading Les Miserables... Sean and Kieron went through a stack of books consisting of Redwall, Tom Playfair, Outlaws of Ravenhurst, and many others. I had brought The Robe, All Quiet on the Western Front, and the Father Brown Stories. I had originally been intending to save Father Brown for a last resort, as I've read of his adventures many times before, but after becoming ill he and the tall athletic Flambeau were the only ones who could catch my attention. Brendan had brought our other copy, so we were both immersed in Father Brown throughout the trip.

Paddy, myself, and Aidan sitting upon the hearth of our little fireplace. The boys got their hats while were in Killarney, and looked completely and utterly like little Irish darlings.

Our dining room, with the table already covered in books and paper. I meant to get pictures before the cottage become lived in, but I wasn't in time. It took hardly five minutes for us to make ourselves at home.

The kitchen, small but more than serviceable, aside from the fact that some of the appliances needed a great deal of prompting to work... though that only added to the adventure and enjoyment. It was a bit like camping, where you have to make things work, rather than just sit back and know all's well, save that the weather was nice and cool and it wasn't nearly so dusty and dirty. In other words, all the good points and a lack of the bad.

The stairs, with Aidan making his way up. They were narrow and steep... they were exactly how the stairs of an Irish cottage ought to be. We simply adored our little cottage. It was small, but the nine of us fit quite well, especially as we spent most of our time out of doors. Now I know precisely what I want my dream home to look like!

Our Cottage in Killarney

2007-07-11T20:21:00.000-07:00

During our stay in Killarney we occupied a lovely little set of cottages, which were simple, charming, and so comfortable and home-like.

The exterior was simply delightful, looking precisely as an Irish cottage ought to look. The extended family found it amusing that we got the pink door, considering that there's only one girl, myself, in the midst of six brothers. But we came to be very fond of our little pink door.

Little Aidan peeking in...

Above are a few pictures of the room I stayed in. It had a lovely view of the backyard, and as we got quite a bit of sun during our stay I often had the window open. Each room had its own little sink, and the closet was nice and roomy... though the hinges weren't quite lined up. When one is lying ill in bed for the afternoon, feeling drowsy but not able to sleep, and staring across at the same closet for hours on end, one notices such things, and its maddening. And I always did have just a wee bit of Hercule Poirot in me...

More sights of Dublin

2007-07-11T12:08:00.001-07:00

Guinness, of course!

Our hotel was right on the River Liffey. There is something about the river that makes one truly believe they are gazing at Dublin in the 'rare old times.' The lobby of the hotel had a beautiful view looking out over the water, and I loved to sit there and simply gaze.

While walking to St. Mary's to check the Mass times, we came across the Gate Theatre. It was simply thrilling to see. Orson Welles got his start there, and we've been great fans since listening to the old Shadow radio show as little children. We got to see it again a couple more times, and returned to tell all with wide eyes and awestruck faces: "We saw the Gate!"

Sweeney Todd was currently playing there, and though I have no doubt that it would have been fun to see, I have a great fear of two things... demon barbers and demon dentists.

Return from Ireland

2007-07-11T11:21:00.000-07:00

We all arrived safely home several weeks ago, but I've been rather short on time lately. We stopped first in Dublin, which for me was rather miserable. I woke up the morning we left home with an earache, which was made worse by the long flight. I practically lived off of pain-killers during our Dublin stay, which I detest to do, but simply couldn't avoid.

My cousins had a great time, which makes me most happy for them and most sorry for myself. Though we don't live very far apart I don't get to see them very often, and I was looking forward to having over a week to spend with them.

Instead I spent a good deal of time at the hotel in bed, but I did get to go out and see a few of the sights. Thank goodness for scarves! I'd wrap one around my head every time I went out to keep the winds away from my ears. The one day I did go out without one, my ears punished me most cruelly for it.

All my Dublin pictures were taken from the top of a rather wildly-swaying tour bus, so they aren't nearly as properly positioned as I would like them to be... yet they convey the general idea.

Two things delighted me beyond all else: seeing the GPO and the monument of O'Connell.

To see the bullet-holes in the walls and pillars of the building was a tremendously moving sight. I cannot see the GPO without thinking of Joseph Mary Plunkett, a poet who fought in the GPO and is remembered in the moving song Grace. He and Grace Gifford were married a few hours before his execution. The song borrows a line from one of his own poems:

I see his blood upon the rose
And in the stars the glory of his eyes,
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.

I see his face in every flower;
The thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but his voice -- and carven by his power
Rocks are his written words.

All pathways by his feet are worn,
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea,
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,
His cross is every tree.

June 12, 1987

2007-06-11T23:34:00.000-07:00

I'm off to Ireland for a couple of weeks, but I wanted to give the link to this before I went.

He was a truly great man... may God bless him!

Therese (2003)

2007-05-25T21:27:00.000-07:00

I have rather mixed feeling about this adaption of the life of St. Therese of Lisieux to film. Of course no film could match the beauty of her real life, and of her autobiography Story of a Soul. And yet the movie Therese fell just slightly flat, and in most ways didn't even provide a satisfactory portrayal of the saint.

The biggest problem with the film is that it's too rushed. An hour and a half is hardly enough time to properly show the greatness of this young girl's life and death. While the most important points of her life are touched upon, they are no more than touched upon. Therese's mother, Zelie Martin, dies almost instantly after being introduced, and all that those unfamiliar with the story understand is that Therese is very sorrowful over it. One can see from the grief that the Martin's display by her coffin that she must have been a wonderful wife and mother, but there is no indication of the great suffering she went through and the great holiness she achieved, nor the profound influence she had on her children. To those who already know this, it's still a disappointment to see nothing of it.

It was very disappointing to me to see the rather contrived and hurried way in which Therese chose Pauline as her 'little mother.' However, the relationship between them was built nicely. In fact Pauline was the only other who was shown as having any real relationship with Therese. Leonie and Marie were left entirely in the background, and though Celine appeared briefly on occasion, so many trying and wonderful moments between her and Therese were left out. The relationship between Therese and her father was established enough, but to those who are familiar with the deep love they had for one another, not close to satisfaction.

Therese's childhood is breezed over. We see her at school, and are given a brief taste of the suffering she endured there, though most of the actual incidents are replaced with more modern-day snide remarks of fellow students. Her illness is included, as well as her Christmas conversion. Both hint at the spiritual impact these two events had on her soul, but no more.

The first half of the movie deals mostly with Therese's life before her entrance into Carmel, and while we catch glimpses of her growth in holiness, no real foundation is laid. Many of the attempts to show her spiritual progress fall flat... very like Charlotte Bronte's rather over-the-top portrayal of Helen Burns in Jane Eyre. Her goodness was staged on many occasions, just to make sure we didn't miss it.

Things improved after her entrance, and we begin to see a little more clearly into Therese's soul. While her childhood was written as just a bit overly-sweet and on occasion rather sappy, her life in the convent is touched with a bit more grace, humour, and the genuine sweetness of her character.

Indeed, the movie progressed in beauty as it went on, and the end was truly moving.

In general, the movie seemed to be rather amateur with some flashes of brilliance. The cinematography was very clumsy for the most part, with much shaking and some of the rather over-done quick zoom-ins and outs. And yet every so often there would be an extremely gorgeous shot.

The acting for the most part was rather stilted and awkward (with the exception of Linda Hayden, who played the role of Pauline). Lindsay Younce, who plays Therese, spoke her lines very dryly, particularly in the voice-overs. And, yet, she had a gentle and peaceful way of smiling that caught one instantly, and an eloquence in her facial expressions. Her portrayal of Therese's death was beautiful and tragic, and captured very well her great love for God in the midst of her great suffering.

Judged by all these things, I would classify the movie as an attempt rather than an achivement. And yet I still find it beautiful, moving, and one of my favourites. The story of Therese really cannot be dimmed, despite many flaws with the adaption, and even a rather stilted glimpse at her life is deeply inspiring. And perhaps this is fitting. Her 'Little Way' was so very little that even the littlest and simplest of productions is able to capture at least her essence.

I do recommend the movie, but not solely on its own merit. It is better appreciated with the full knowledge of this saint's life. Therese is a start, but Story of a Soul is one of the most beautiful and eloquently written love stories of all time. The movie, despite all that it lacks, and despite that which is poorly done, still is lovely, but the real and true story is an experience beyond words.

St. Therese, pray for us!

Jane Eyre (2006, Masterpiece Theatre)

2007-05-24T18:43:00.000-07:00

If there is anyone present who is not familiar with the story of Jane Eyre, be aware that I'll be giving away much of the story in the course of this post, and there are several things which I would not recommend knowing before reading the book, or at least seeing an adaption of it.

Masterpiece Theatre has put out the most recent adaption of the ever-popular Jane Eyre, and I've heard many excellent things about it. Consequently I had very high expectations and was looking forward to seeing it. And, frankly, I was disappointed, and that disappointment came very early on in the viewing.

I very much liked the way they opened... Jane (as a young girl, played by Georgie Henley) in the midst of the desert, and then the cut back to reality, where we see her perched behind the curtains, book in hand, studying the drawing of the desert and other mysterious and far-off places. And then the enjoyment ended. As Jane is dragged up to the Red Room, we're treated with a rather heavy dose of the clumsy camera-work which seems so fashionable nowadays... the jittering and jolting and jerking. It's possible that it's meant to make the viewer feel more a 'part of the action.' I always wonder if the man behind the camera saw the swiftly-moving actors coming too close and took a few hurried backward steps to get out of the way, and spent the remainder of the take trembling at the close call. Or perhaps he's so busy watching the action that he forgot about the camera. Or perhaps they simply did it that way on purpose.

Jane's childhood is a very important part of the book. It lays the foundation for all that is to occur afterwards, not only story-wise, but Jane-wise as well. It's from the experiences of her childhood that Jane is able to resist the temptations that come and stand morally firm.

In this adaption very little time is spent on Jane's childhood. In fact, much, much too little. The character of Helen, who in the book teaches Jane of trust in God and the insistence on doing what is right, no matter the personal suffering and sacrifice, is reduced to merely a friend, who we hardly become acquainted to before she dies. Under the circumstances, it's no surprise that Jane was a bit more lax in her morality later when Mr. Rochester begs her to stay with him.

I have no complaints of Ruth Wilson as the older Jane. She did an admirable job.

Toby Stephens as Mr. Rochester (I must always add the 'Mr.,' else I think of the Jack Benny show), however, is a bit of a different tale. Part of it was due to the writing of the script. Mr. Rochester was portrayed as too kind too soon. Aside from their first meeting, his gruff and at times rather boorish exterior are melted very quickly away. The way his character was written was my main quibble, but the actor himself seemed to lack a bit of the ability to portray all the subtle aspects of Mr. Rochester's character.

Perhaps I interpret the story in an odd and improbable way, but my first impression of Mr. Rochester was decidedly negative. He was rude, both to Jane and Adele, he was insensitive, and rather selfish (not to mention that he admitted to disliking children!). And gradually there was an unfolding of his real character, and a realisation that he was in fact kind, intelligent, and thoughtful in general. I wouldn't say that he hid these attributes... the circumstances of his past made him rather dark and moody. It was through Jane, good and pure, and of a more noble character, that he was able to change. For he did have to change. His goodness wasn't simply hidden, it was actually lacking, though the potential was always there. He realised this, as he revealed in one of his first conversations with Jane. He met an admirable woman in Jane, and at some point, he fell in love with her. It gave him something to aspire to, and so he cultivated his good qualities once again. He reaches what he always felt he was meant to reach at the very end of the book, when not only has he become a good man, but turns to God.

Mr. Rochester of the Masterpiece Theatre adaption seemed lacking in this conversion. Rather than a complete reconstruction of his ways, it seemed that all he needed was someone to make him laugh, and he laughed very early on. At that point, it was over. He had reached the peak of the mountain, aside from the lingering selfishness that was manifested in his pleas for Jane to remain with him.

The whole relationship between Jane and Mr. Rochester fell on the flat side. On more than one occasion it was reduced to nothing more than the typical Hollywood romance, which catches the attention of the average movie-goer but lacks anything substantial. In fact, the majority of the philosophical elements of the story were forsaken in this adaption.

Mr. Rochester's wife was another great disappointment. I can still remember the thrills of horror that went through me when I first read the story. A quote from the book:

"It was a discoloured face--it was a savage face. I wish I could forget the roll of the red eyes and the fearful blackened inflation of the lineaments!"

"Ghost are usually pale, Jane."

"This, sir, was purple: the lips were swelled and dark; the brow furrowed; the black eyebrows widely raised over the blood-shot eyes."

This description of Bertha Rochester always made the deepest impression on me. It had such bearing later on, when Mr. Rochester revealed his wife after the interrupted wedding. "This young girl," he said, "who stands so grave and quiet at the mouth of hell, looking collectedly at the gambols of a demon."

Mrs. Rochester, however, looked perfectly and utterly normal, aside from a rather vacant expression on her face. When Mr. Rochester utters his line one half expects Mr. Wood to respond: "Well, she looks all right to me!"

(And as an aside, concerning this same scene, the boys were not only disappointed with the normal appearance of Mr. Rochester's wife, but disgusted that he needed Grace Poole's help in throwing her off.)

The less said about Mr. Rochester's attempts to keep Jane with him, the better. The scene is done as a flashback, taking place when Jane is with Mr. Rivers and his sisters. Perhaps it's not so surprising that Mr. Rochester should overdo it with the kissing, but Jane's submitting to it is simply ridiculous. In the book he considered it, but the expression of her eyes drove him back. I couldn't help but feel throughout the whole scene that the writers didn't feel the minds of the viewers would be able to comprehend Jane's repeated refusals, and so pandered to what they believe we can comprehend, which is Hollywood-style romance. But, regardless of what they thought, it was a complete departure from both the book and character of Jane Eyre.

The character of Mr. Rivers was very poorly done. I've already expressed briefly my thoughts on what he is in the book. Hs insistence that Jane must marry him and become a missionary with him, his reading of Scripture passages on Hell directed most obviously to her after her refusal, his constant expressions of how he 'fears for her soul,' and other simply crazy notions. Here the closest he came to it was saying: "Jane, it is your destiny!" But, on the whole, he was rather cute and likeable. The boys were shocked to hear of the reality of his strange character, after seeing him as portrayed in this adaption.

On my first reading of the book, it was Mr. Rivers that made me soften towards Mr. Rochester. Unfortunately it was the other way around in this case... I found myself wistfully wishing that Jane could simply stay with Mr. Rivers, and forget about Mr. Rochester entirely.

The ending has caused much grief to all, those who are fans of this adapation and those, like myself, who don't care for it at all. The fact that Mr. Rochester remains blind was simply wrong. The return of his sight signified so much in so many different ways. I found the following passage one of the most moving of the book:

He cannot now see very distinctly: he cannot read or write much, but he can find his way without being led by the hand: the sky is no longer a blank to him--the earth no longer a void. When his first-born was put into his arms, he could see that the boy had inherited his own eyes, as they once were--large, brilliant, and black. On that occasion, he again, with a full heart, acknowledged that God had tempered justice with mercy.

And in particular the line: "the earth no longer a void." No longer a void in more than just his sight. The fact that the earth remained a void to Mr. Rochester in the adaption was extremely depressing.

And, lastly, the final shot of the film, with the family portrait, was simply just too much of a Hollywood ending.

I'm terribly upset that I disliked it so much. One of the most exciting elements of reading anything by Jane Austen or the Bronte sisters (and recently, Elizabeth Gaskell) is afterwards finding a good and enjoyable adaption to film. I found the 1995 Pride and Prejudice, the excellent Wives and Daughters, and despite the briefness, Emma Thompson's Sense and Sensibility is simply superb. I was so looking forward to four hours worth of an excellent Jane Eyre, and I'm so sorry I couldn't find it.

However, I did find a little less than two hours worth, which I simply adore, which holds an honoured place on the shelf next to Citizen Kane, and of which a write-up will be forthcoming.

The Maltese Falcon, of all things

2007-05-23T22:30:00.000-07:00

I've always been a great fan of old movies, particularly if they're in black-and-white. I understand that not everyone shares my love for the atmosphere black-and-white creates, though I don't understand exactly why not. It doesn't quite make sense to me, yet I realise that such is the case. The majority of people in the world are very happy with the films of nowadays being filmed in colour.

I was under the impression, however, that everyone understood that black-and-white films were filmed as black-and-white films, and therefore much is lost when they're colourised (similarily, Gone with the Wind, for instance, can't simply be transfered to black-and-white, even if I do prefer those shadow-y tints... it was filmed as a color movie).

The example I always use is The Maltese Falcon. So much of the atmosphere would be lost. Even if it were filmed with color as the intention it wouldn't have quite the same feel... filmed as black-and-white and colourised, it would be simply awful! And I always believed that everybody understood this.

I was wrong.

If this attitude is the prevalent one, I'm going to be hurrying to get my black-and-white copies before it's too late.

What Kind of Catholic?

2007-05-06T20:59:00.000-07:00

You scored as Traditional Catholic. You look at the great piety and holiness of the Church before the Second Vatican Council and the decay of belief and practice since then, and see that much of the decline is due to failed reforms based on the "Spirit of the Council". You regret the loss of vast numbers of Religious and Ordained clergy and the widely diverging celebrations of the Mass of Pope Paul VI, which often don't even seem to be Catholic anymore. You are helping to rebuild this past culture in one of the many new Traditional Latin Mass communities or attend Eastern Catholic Divine Liturgy. You seek refuge from the world of pornography, recreational drugs, violence, and materialism. You are an articulate, confident, committed, and intelligent Catholic.

But do you support legitimate reform of the Church, and are you willing to submit to the directives of the Second Vatican Council? Will you cooperate responsibly with others who are not part of the Traditional community?

http://saint-louis.blogspot.com - Rome of the West

Traditional Catholic

83%

New Catholic

67%

Radical Catholic

55%

Neo-Conservative Catholic

43%

Evangelical Catholic

19%

Lukewarm Catholic

Liberal Catholic

What is your style of American Catholicism?
created with QuizFarm.com

To the last two questions, most assuredly yes! I'm far from thinking that Vatican II was the worst thing that happened to the Church. The Church's past is filled with glorious heroes... martyrs who suffered horrendous deaths rather than deny Christ. Surely if they can go through what they did, I can bear an occasional ridiculous hymn and silly homily. And if I find ridiculous hymns and silly homilies a grave matter and not to be borne, how can I flee and let the Church bear it? From the time I was a baby I've been taught to defend Her. I'll defend Her truly, and not cause Her more pain that She has already endured.

Catholic heroes...

2007-05-05T17:02:00.000-07:00

....at V for Victory.

No Surprise There

Upon encountering a wounded corpsman in the direct line of fire of an enemy machine gunner positioned approximately 15 yards away, Lt. Capodanno rushed a daring attempt to aid and assist the mortally wounded corpsman. At that instant, only inches from his goal, he was struck down by a burst of machine gun fire. By his heroic conduct on the battlefield, and his inspiring example, Lt. Capodanno upheld the finest traditions of the U.S. Naval Service. He gallantly gave his life in the cause of freedom.

May Reading

2007-05-04T13:38:00.000-07:00

The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas
How the Reformation Happened by Hilaire Belloc

These are the only two I have lined up for the month at present. The Three Musketeers is rather long, so it will probably take up most of my fiction time, and this month is simply going to be busy, what with finishing up the school year and trying to get a swing dance started.

My re-read of Jane Eyre was very enjoyable. One thing that I found particuarly interesting was the contrast between Mr. Rochester and Mr. Rivers. They were almost opposites. On the one hand you have a sinner, and on the other hand you have a man too excessively saintly. And yet Mr. Rochester changed for the better in the end, but Mr. Rivers did not. One would think that the more 'saintly' would have the greater chance of redemption, but I wonder if perhpas Mr. Rivers' excessive and rigid piety was what held him back from becoming a truly good man. Mr. Rochester's wrongness lay in his wrongness, but Mr. Rivers' wrongness lay in his rightness. It would be a great deal easier for a wrong man to become right than a man too right to become right. He would feel as though he he were becoming wrong, though the fact of the matter would be that he was becoming right, because his rightness was wrong. Yet how much harder for him to see!

Wuthering Heights was also greatly improved in the second reading, if such a thing is possible. In July I'm going to skim through it again, as our annual homeschooling camping trip is going to include a discussion of the book amongst the older set of younger people. And we shall have the great honour of having a student from Thomas Aquinas College join us... my very own brother.

In a Word, a Man

2007-04-25T10:58:00.000-07:00

When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you." He said to him, "Feed my lambs." He then said to him a second time, "Simon, son of John, do you love me?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you." He said to him, "Tend my sheep." He said to him the third time, "Simon, son of John, do you love me?" Peter was distressed that he had said to him a third time, "Do you love me?" and he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you." (Jesus) said to him, "Feed my sheep.

This has always been one of my favourite passages from the Gospels. The way Peter's three avowals of love mirror his three denials sends shivers through me.

I've always had a great attachment to St. Peter, not only as a saint and our first pope, but simply as himself. I always struggled to find fitting words to express the why and wherefore, and I always fall back upon a quote of Chesterton's:

When Christ at a symbolic moment was establishing His great society, He chose for its comer-stone neither the brilliant Paul nor the mystic John, but a shuffler, a snob a coward--in a word, a man. And upon this rock He has built His Church, and the gates of Hell have not prevailed against it. All the empires and the kingdoms have failed, because of this inherent and continual weakness, that they were founded by strong men and upon strong men. But this one thing, the historic Christian Church, was founded on a weak man, and for that reason it is indestructible. For no chain is stronger than its weakest link.

April Reading

2007-04-20T12:53:00.000-07:00

On her blog, my mother put a list of the books she has read and the book she intends to read before the spring is over. I'm going to follow her example, just to give me a concrete plan to follow. My list for April

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
Heretics by G.K. Chesterton
Europe and the Faith by Hilaire Belloc

There's not much of April left, but two of them I'm already part-way through, and now that I don't have any sewing that simply must be finished, I can spend most of my weekends reading.

The two Bronte books I've previously read, but only once and several years ago, and there's a vast difference in the ways a 14-year-old and a 17-year-old will comprehend. There's much philosophical pondering to be done over both.

And, by the way... being a few chapters from the end of Jane Eyre I wonder not only why, but how my peers can find it boring. It's more thrilling than thrillers. Even as I type, my algebra book and Jane Eyre sit side by side, and I can hardly bear the thought of turning to the former first.

All I hope is that they don't find me boring. After all, I was not only raised on the Bronte books, but on Shakespeare as well.

What do they teach them in these schools? And, more to the point, in what cruel manner do they torture them with these classics, that the sight of Jane Eyre is repulsive to them, so they can say naught but: "Jane Eyre? I read that for school.... it was boring!"

Some time ago I took it upon myself to always stick up for the classic books and the old black-and-white films... the summits of the two arts. It's an uphill battle so far. I can only imagine what it will be like when I add music to the list...

Sacramentum Caritatis

2007-03-13T10:25:00.000-07:00

The Apostolic Exhortation has been released! I've been eagerly awaiting it. I haven't yet read it... I wanted to post the link here first thing. Doing an extra lesson of math yesterday was truly an inspiration, for it gives me the time to settle down and read this thoroughly and thoughtfully.

The Taj Mahoney

2007-03-11T19:57:00.000-07:00

Such is the nickname of Our Lady of the Angels. Looking at it one would never guess it was a cathedral. In fact, nothing would lead one to believe it was even a church, let alone a Catholic church. And even if one did happen to know, I doubt if one could find the tabernacle. And, in the case that one is fortunate enough to realise that the weird thing up there isn't some sort of golden idol but actually a tabernacle, one would probably feel the same revulsion that I felt when I realised that the hideous thing was the dwelling-place of Christ.

Just Keep Reminding Yourself: This is Progress

and

The Cathedral's Official Site

I've heard several conversion stories in which the convert entered a beautiful cathedral and, so impressed by the majesty and glory, was inspired to seek out Catholicism. But this cathedral... it probably confirms what they already suspected... that we Catholics are crazy idol-worshippers.

Honestly, if I saw someone genuflecting to that tabernacle... it looks completely and utterly like a statue of some strange and weird god. From the Cathedral's official website: "The tabernacle's vertical composition draws the eye to the heavens." I don't know about anyone else, but the thing about the tabernacle that draws my eyes are it's own great, big, staring ones.

And those angels... the more I look at them, and their great big brown wings, the more fond I become of them. For the cathedral I think they're dreadful. But, elsewhere.... they're rather cute. They look a bit like bats.

That's progress. But, personally, I can't wait for the chapel at Thomas Aquinas College to be finished. I eagerly follow its progress.

Message from the Pope for Lent

2007-02-13T17:44:00.000-08:00

Message of His Holiness Benedict XVI for Lent 2007

“They shall look on Him whom they have pierced” (Jn 19:37). This is the biblical theme that this year guides our Lenten reflection. Lent is a favourable time to learn to stay with Mary and John, the beloved disciple, close to Him who on the Cross, consummated for all mankind the sacrifice of His life (cf. Jn 19:25). With a more fervent participation let us direct our gaze, therefore, in this time of penance and prayer, at Christ crucified who, dying on Calvary, revealed fully for us the love of God.

Humility for Lent

2007-02-13T15:45:00.000-08:00

Lent is fast approaching, and I've been contemplating for the past week what I want to give up. I couldn't come to anything conclusive. Nothing seemed as though it would really be a help in bringing me closer to God. Nothing seemed like a sacrifice. If I gave up the internet, I knew I would be just as happy reading a book in the extra moments. If I gave up books, I would be just as happy writing. If I gave up writing, I could always play music. I have such a wide variety of interests that nothing would be that hard to give up.

I also really wanted to avoid giving things up for ulterior motives. For instance, Lent is often used as an excuse to be more motivated to lose weight by giving up sweets and exercising more. Now, giving up sweets and exercising more can be good sacrifices, and it would be all right if one happened to lose weight on account of it. But when Lent is used as the excuse... it seems to me that it would be very easy for someone to think, if they found they hadn't lost any pounds by Easter, that Lent had been a failure. Which, needless to say, is not the right way of thinking of it. So anything for any ulterior motives was out... I wanted something that I could do unselfishly for God.

Of course I have a list of things I want to add. An extra Rosary, the Divine Mercy Chaplet, and various other prayers. But I really did want something to give up. Sacrifice, mortification, suffering, or whatever other term might be used, is such a wonderful thing to bring one closer to God. Prayer, of course, is excellent, but fire, so to speak, however so small, purifies and refreshes our souls in such a unique way.

On a message board I occasionally visit, the discussion of Lent came up, and one person mentioned that she was giving up defending herself, defending in the sense of correcting misconceptions, false accusations, and so on and so forth. I thought this was wonderful, and I'm also going to do so. This is something I struggle with, and it will be a wonderful way to increase in the virtue of humility.

People are naturally proud, and I imagine some more so than others. I'm probably one of the 'more so' kind. If someone repeats something I said in a way that makes it sound anything less than perfectly correct, I do all that I possibly can to make sure I set it right. This Lent I intend to try to grow in humility.

If something I've said is repeated elsewhere and misinterpreted, I'm going to keep quiet, even if it would make people think less of me. However, I wouldn't do so if the misinterpretation of my words would lead someone else into error. For instance, if I gave directions to some place and it was repeated incorrectly, I would clarify. I wouldn't want my humility to lose someone in the woods!

If someone says something of me, whether out of malice or no, that makes me appear in a bad light, I won't defend myself, but offer it up.

If I'm accused wrongly for something, I won't defend myself, but take the punishment or scolding or whatever it might be with humility.

Concerning the latter paragraph... if I find myself on my way to the chair for a murder which I did not commit, I might have to make an exception. If it ever comes to that, I'll let you know what I decide.

Patron Saint for 2007

2007-02-06T09:55:00.000-08:00

Several families I know have a lovely tradition of choosing randomly on the first of January a saint who will be their patron that year. It's a wonderful way to 'meet' new saints, and in some instances the saint chosen can be very 'prophetic,' so to speak.

I didn't get around to choosing my saint until January was at an end. I took down Butler's Lives of Saints, randomly opened it and randomly laid my finger on the pages. Of course I was very excited and curious. Perhaps I'd come up with St. Cecilia, patron saint of musicians. That would be most appropriate, as I am very musical. St. Francis de Sales would also have been appropriate, as I'm a writer. Perhaps St. Patrick, which would be very prophetic, as I'm going to Ireland this summer. I was introduced to St. Ivo of Kermartin as my patron saint for the year.

Clearly nothing could fall in the 'appropriate' category. St. Ivo is the patron saint of lawyers and that does not happen to be my profession. I've never had any interest in taking up such a career. With a sigh that nothing dramatically wonderful had happened to me as it seemed to happen to others, I closed the book and decided to become good friends with St. Ivo anyway, even if he didn't seem to fit in.

And then I recalled the prophecy! I could think of nothing pleasant that could result from such a prophecy, and I fell into a state of dread. What crime would I be accused of? Why would St. Ivo's intercession become so necessary in the future? In what way did lawyers lie in my future? For two days I lived in fear, but nothing happened. No robberies, no murders... nothing that I could be accused of. Ah, clearly St. Ivo was only to be a good friend after all.

And yet, the evening of the third day, the prophecy was fulfilled. St. Ivo was not so random as I thought, but there was a definite reason for his being chosen.

For several months we had been receiving from Netflix the various episodes of Lost in Space, one of my father's favourite TV shows as a child, which we all enjoyed very much. However, we'd come to the end shortly before St. Ivo made his presence known, and so another of his favourite shows was on its way. And we watched the first episode of the first season on the evening of the third day.

The day the prophecy was fulfilled. We all settled down with great anticipation in front of the TV, and watched Perry Mason.

And I hope that's as far as prophecy will go!

St. Ivo of Kermartin, pray for us!

Mass Hymns

2007-02-03T11:13:00.000-08:00

It's been about three months since I took on the position of cantor at our church. I was slightly reluctant to do so, as I prefer a good choir, but there really isn't any chance for a choir, as the church is so small, and help was needed. And so, I took the job, resolving most firmly to be careful what I did. In other words, I'm not going to have the microphone so close that people can't hear themselves sing for the loudness of my voice. I'll give the help, but I'm not going to be the soloist.

On account of this job the subject of the hymns, which has always been a touchy subject with me, has grown even more so. In the old days if a song came up that I felt was rather theologically unsound, I simply wouldn't sing it. Now I have to sing what comes up, so I notice everything more than I did before.

The thing that has always annoyed me the most are the hymns for Communion. We have, unfortunately, the hymnals from the Oregon Catholic Press, and I shudder when flipping through the section dedicated to Communion. Some of them are thelogically sound, but sound very cheesy and seem more about praising ourselves than the God we just received.

I am the Bread of Life is one that drives me absolutely mad. The tune, for one thing, is completely... banal, for lack of a better word. And perhaps I'm the only one, but I always felt that it was rather odd for us to be singing such a song at such a time. I realise, of course, that we're quoting Christ's word, but sometimes it just feels like I'm singing that I am the Bread of Life. And I'm not.

This evening at two vigil Masses I'll be singing for, we're doing Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silent, which is a good hymn. "Christ our God to earth descendeth, our full homage to demand." That's the impression that should be given. We're there to worship God, not to sing about the wonders of ourselves.

Some of the songs are dreadfully frightening. One hymn proclaims that "we are the bread of life, you and I are the bread of life." I've heard on occasion people questioning whether or not it's true. "Are we the bread of life?" they ask. And that is, again, dreadfully frightening. Thank goodness I have never had to sing that song. If it ever came up, I'd have to put my foot down.

Hymns like the previously mentioned are so wild that I knew right from the start that they were. But there were others that I didn't notice until I became cantor and had to study the pieces so I could sing them well. These were hymns that did sound very cheesy, but I put up with them because other than that, I didn't see anything really wrong. And what's sad is that the writers of the song didn't see anything wrong, either. (Aside... a basic course in theology might be a wise thing for those who intend to write hymns for mass [aside of ths aside... though I wouldn't mind if there was never a new hymn... we have a wealth of tradition already, and I don't know if anything more beautiful could be penned]).

One hymn that I often sang as part of the choir at a nearby church began with: "Precious Body, Precious Blood, here in bread and wine." The music certainly couldn't be classified as sacred music, but the words did seem all right... until I started to think about them.

Frankly put, it's heresy, by none other than Luther. It's called "consubstantiation," which means that Christ is present with the bread and wine. But the fact of the matter is that Christ' Body and Blood are not "here in bread and wine." The teaching of the Church is "transubstantiation." The bread and wine cease to be, and only the accidents remain, or, as you might say, the appearance, taste, etc. of bread and wine. But the bread and wine do not.

One could say it's just a little slip, and doesn't make a difference, but considering the fact a large percentage of people in the average congregation believe in consubstantiation, without even realising it's a heresy, it's rather frightening to think that songs like this are going around spreading that belief.

I'll have to mull it over and decide whether it's worth bringing up sometime to the various people in our music ministry. Not in a confrontational way, of course, but as an item of interest. And continue praying that I can somehow influence them to switch from OCP to Adoremus!

And it would also be nice if some good priest would be willing to center his homily around the teachings on the Eucharist. Moving away from the very kind and gentle homilies doesn't necessarily mean constant homilies on various mortal sins (though it would be nice once in awhile). There's a middle ground. The Eucharist, Purgatory, and other matters of doctrine and dogma. Catholics are generally lacking in education on such matters, and it would be an admirable opportunity to clear up some of the confusions.