some truth?

Ok, K and Lisa both linked to the truth as this website sees it, and I'll paste it here because I'm amused by it. And I agree with so much of it. I will also edit.

The Truth.

1. Cigarettes are bad for you. Well, duh.

2. Men and Women are equal. Even if my sweaty archbishop doesn't think so.

3. Global Warming is real, and (by the way) it’s all our fault. Personally, I could use a little local warming. Hate winter. But I understand I need to take one for the team here.

4. It’s not all relative. There is objective truth. But it's not all black and white.

5. Gin is better than Whiskey. Whiskey is better than Gin.

6. Intelligent Design is wrong. It sounds nice, but the way I see it, science and religion shouldn't try to ask the same questions. Science should be about what and how, and religion should be about why. Literal creationism belittles the human intellect, which is a gift from God.

7. Over consumption is a serious problem. Amen.

8. The Millennium Development Goals are worthy. And, frankly, should be everyone's goals.

9. Wilco is good, sometimes exceptional, but often inconsequential. But they have an album named for numbers stations, so they can't be all bad.

10. Shit happens (ditto for sex and death). Yup. But as Terry Alexander put it, life is a shit sandwich. The more bread you got, the less shit you gotta taste.

11. Creationism is silly. (also, see 6). Umm, see number 6.

12. SUV’s are just stupid. I have nothing to add.

13. The truth is worth more than an iPod. This is true. I don't even want an ipod. I just liked this list.

14. On the whole, disorder increases. Look. At. My. House.

15. Science, for better or for worse, is all around. And, if you scroll to the bottom of this blog, all the way to the very bottom, you'll see what else I think about that. Once again, intertwined but not the same question. It is silly to look to science for the meaning of life and it is silly to look to the sermon on the mount or Genesis 1-11 for answers to questions about observable reality.

Now I feel ready to start the day. Quotidian. See number 14.

I can't shut up

Ok, so many of you have commented that I have been a little MIA. That's because for the month of November, I set out with many others via Nanowrimo.org to write a novel this month. If you don't already know about me and my temporal lobe problem, I'm a little hypergraphic. More than a little. Not to the point of covering my walls in lists or something like that, but it started in 8th grade and hasn't shut up ever since. I have an insane drive to write, it waxes and wanes, but it is a compulsion that borders on mental illness....but of course mental illness is defined in my little world as not being able to handle whatever it is and keep on truckin, and for the most part, I manage ok. I keep a journal, I have two blogs, I write lists, I scrapbook, I write reflections on Benedictine spirituality for Sr. Jean to fawn over--I manage. When I don't manage, I find myself in bed at night "typing" with my fingers whatever thoughts go through my head. So I kind of realize I'm nuts, and I try to tame it down.

And I noticed that one of my 365er friends, Mali from New Zealand, mentioned something called nanowrimo in her blog description. Huh. I clicked on it. And signed up.

I got a message from them at the end of October--sign up, write a novel. I thought, hey, that'll be a good use of my late night web-browsing time, actually. Plus there are some stories tugging at me that I've been hashing out on my song 365 blog (if you don't already read that blog, really, just don't. You don't want to know me that well, it's a real purse-spiller). So I signed up.

I finished just now. It's not done--of course--nanowrimo says no editing, no deleting, no no no. And they don't care if it's complete--they set the bar at 50,000 words and if your cut-and-pasted text is that long by 11:59:59 November 30, you win. I just finished page 101 by my count, 50,870 words. It was a good stopping point for now. Time to focus on church banners and knitting and Christmas, come back to it when I'm winter-crazy in January and need something to cling to and use as an outlet.

So congratulate me. I can't shut up.

Hearkening Back a Moment

Before the first killing frost back in late October, I picked all the hopeful tomatoes we had left, mostly black cherries, and put them in a bowl with more hopeful ripening hot peppers. Tonight I took the hot peppers out, sliced them for freezing and chili and whatnot, and noticed all the little cherry tomatoes had ripened to a respectable red, if not the beautiful sun-kissed smoky maroon they get when they're left on the vine.

The kids already had dinner, Mike was out at a movie with friends. I took those little lovelies, put them in a bowl with a mini-drizzle of olive oil, salt, and pepper, and remembered, just for a moment, that yes, summer exists.

The Juncos Are Back

Looked out the window this morning. The juncos are back. Steve and Jerry are gone but the juncos are still living in their magnolia tree, eating seeds off the ground. I guess it's time to put the feeders up. I neglected the birds this summer, but I do try in the winter. And I love these little snowbirds who come to Missouri to be warm. I guess their thought is, well, I want a little more sunlight, Frank, but not too warm in the daytime. No blizzards, but maybe a midwest flavor.

I'm waiting for the first white-throated to come and lament poor Sam Peabody. I rarely notice the first time I hear them, not like the first junco sighting--but I notice when I hear a hanger-on in April or May.

The goldfinches have on their winter plumage, the cardinals are in the thicket shrubs next door, and there are far fewer robin cheerily cheering up songs in the morning.

Yup.

Oh, and my favorite moment

Forgot to mention the best part of today. The girls and I decided a little ice cream sounded like a great way to end the day. All we had was Mike's rocky road, which we all detest, so it was off to Schnucks. Turning onto Magnolia from Grand, heading down Magnolia, get to Kingshighway and there are four cars turning left in the left lane. It is a double left turn, though, and no one was in the right lane. So I pulled into the right lane (it's a quick light and I'd never make it as car #5). Put my left blinker on. Nobody behind me frustrated, wanting to turn right.

Light changes. I turn. And, like according to prophecy, the little white honda makes a wide left into me. We don't quite touch, I lay on the horn, and she swerves. Speeds up, cuts me off.

Typical--this happens to me at this light about half the time. It's one of my driving crusades, though, and I will not give up my right to turn left from the right lane at Magnolia and Kingshighway. And I won't be pushed into the parking lane by bozos who think they can just swing on out any which way.

The car that cuts me off, it has two bumper stickers. The first is our local NPR affiliate. The second is one of those Coexist stickers where the word is made up of different religious symbols. This person holds a lot of the same opinions I do, I can tell. Except that I try very hard to not wreck my car or cut people off.

I follow her, not on purpose, we're both going to Schnucks. She gets out of her car. She grabs her canvas bags. She has a felted wool hat and a kicky jacket on. she is tall AND thin.

Sophia and Maeve get into the car cart. We go into the store right behind her. In front of the organic lettuce section, where she has dropped a bag on the floor accidentally (but doesn't reach to pick it up), I pick up the lettuce and say,

"Magnolia at Kingshighway is a double left."

"I know," she says defensively.

"You turned into my lane."

"Well, sorry, then." And walks away from me.

Ah. These little moments we share just warm my heart. And perhaps I should have just let it go, but I think it flustered her that this creepy minivan mom in sweatshirt and jeans and birkenstocks with two kids and nobody looks kicky or cute stalked her into Schnucks.

You are not anonymous in south city. Yell at the girl behind the counter at bread company and it turns out, you go on retreat with her older sister. Stiff the waitress and she gets a job teaching your kids. Tell the woman behind you that her baby is bothering you, nice as you can, but still--and her husband is the assistant T-ball coach. Cut the minivan off because you don't know how to turn into the correct lane and the woman stalks you into Schnucks. Ok, the last one isn't as natural a progression as the others, but still.

My Sunday

My Sunday started early, after an early Saturday and single parenthood for 3 days. Kinda intense. I am not cut out for this. It started with finally getting on the scale after about 2 months of pretending it didn't exist, and the news wasn't happy--but also not surprising, since we haven't biked since Mike's accident with any regularity. But the truth shall set ye free and it was good to see it in black and white and know I can fix it. Just have to. It's only 4 extra pounds (on top of the twenty-odd I need to take off before next baby makes an appearance on the scene). This was at 6:45. Woke the girls up, got them dressed--Maeve started crying the moment I took off her pajama shirt. Went to Atrium.

Maeve calmed down, a little Good Shepherd Catechesis does the soul good, I guess. But I think she was deeply offended when we pulled up at St. Pius for mass afterwards. How could it be? More church?

And we sat behind neighbors who have started coming to church, which is wonderful from many perspectives, but the only one that is detrimental is the "I see her all the time. It must be playtime" opinion held by Maeve the minute they sat down. Tried to escape the pew several times. Finally I picked her up and said, "no" in a firm whisper. This was, I will say, post-homily. But that was it. We went to the back and sat in the old baptristy while she SCREAMED FOR A HALF HOUR.

Of course, afterwards I was scheduled to present the liturgical year to RCIA (adults coming into the church/preparing for baptism). I have actually a wonderful little thing, a church year calendar made of wooden blocks in liturgical colors, all on a wheel, with pointers to the feasts of Easter, Christmas, Pentecost. It's designed for children to see the year as a tangible object, connected to things they've already seen (liturgical colors of vestments, the star for Christmas, the cross for Easter). But I figured it would do just as well for adults, if I could tweak the presentation somewhat. So I added a bunch of stuff about the history of the liturgical year, including the origins of Christmas, thanks to the presentation we had at Atrium training and Stephen's blog entry about the same topic. Fascinating--if you want to know more, go there, really, instead of rehashing it. Plus, his blog is wonderful thinking Canadian Christian ideas.

So the girls ran around in the cafeteria and I presented the liturgical year. And even our fire-and-brimstone deacon was leaning forward listening and watching me. None of the catechists contradicted me. Two candidates asked good questions. These are things I worry about, and none of them happened.

Then Sophia went to a friend's house for the rest of daylight, and Maeve the Screaming Possessed Preschooler and I napped on the couch.

But Mike is on his way home as I write. The girls are about to go soak their stinky selves in the tub and then I think I will open a bottle of wine. Drink it all by myself. Not care.

I think I have a problem

I've done it.

At a three-woman church meeting this week, Marie was looking through a book of vestments, and said wistfully, "This makes me want to get my loom back out."

"You have a loom?" I asked. I am intrigued by people's hobbies, especially when they coincide with my interests/hobbies.

"Yes, one I'm trying to get rid of, in fact."

Negotiations followed.

Basically, it's in pieces in my van. Marie has right of veto or return when and if she wishes to start weaving. I do mean start. She was given the loom by a friend who closed her weaving shop ("these are the things I think you would like") but Marie never put it together again.

As I sat there salivating in Sr. Mary's office, she stopped me and said, "Now wait a minute, you can't do this." Meaning, we'd just spent an hour planning this beautiful Christmas processional banner...and if I get a loom before Thanksgiving, there is no way anything else will happen. My whole life will be hijacked in favor of this.

"Oh, don't worry," said Marie. "I won't give her the directions how to put it together until January."

Did I mention it came with 12 bankers boxes filled with yarn? Ann, I need help.

Crazy Eights

Indigo Bunting just wrote "L is for List" on her Alphabird blog (at the right). And then Not all Mary Poppins wrote her Crazy Eights list, another meme, and frankly, I could use some listmaking. So here goes.

1. Eight Things I'm Passionate About
Parenting
Breastfeeding
Halliday
St. Pius
Benedictine Spirituality
Words
Fiber Arts
Mah Jongg

2. Eight Things I Want To Do Before I Die
Hike the River to River Trail
Be published
Enter (win? perhaps, not as important) a sheep to shawl competition
Go to Ireland
Go to Italy
Watch my children grow up and be reasonably happy
Hike the Skyway to the Sea Trail
Learn another language fluently (I have a lot of non-fluent choices...)


3. Eight Things I Say Often
Please try to finish that before the end of time
You were not invited to _____________
Well all right
Yeah, well
It's counterintuitive
Did you remember to __________? I told you 3 times now to _________.
I'm only going to say this one time (always, always a lie)
Amen

4. Eight Books I've Read Recently
The Rule of Benedict (Chittister)
The Quotidian Mysteries (Kathleen Norris)
Following My Own Footsteps (Mary Downing Hahn; juvenile fiction)
People's Companion to the Breviary
at least 2 dilbert books
From Shanghai to Miami Beach (Mah Jongg)
An Infinity of Little Hours

5. Eight Songs I Could Listen To Over and Over
Feeling All Right (Joe Cocker)
Hallelujah (Leonard Cohen, various renditions)
Midnight Rider (Willie Nelson or the Allman Brothers)
Seven Bridges Road (Eagles)
Rich Man, Poor Man (Peter Paul and Mary)
Cassidy (The Dead, or Suzanne Vega's remake)
The Boxer (Simon and Garfunkel)
Hearts and Bones (Paul Simon)

6. Eight Things That Attract Me To My Closest Friends
Sense of humor
Willingness to try new things, learn new things
Broad base of interests/knowledge
The ability to not take things too seriously, to forgive, to know what's important
Patience
The ability to call a spade a spade
Proximity (at least at the beginning!)
The ability to stand on his or her own and not see me as the dominant person in the relationship--can hold his/her own with me, doesn't overpower, doesn't cower

The Joy of Carpooling

Today was the first carpool. As you might expect, I am afternoon pickup, not morning. Another Bridget (but with one T) is morning, just on Thursdays, and I pick up her son afterwards and take him to Atrium with Maeve. It seems so small, but it means Bridget doesn't have to interrupt her toddler's nap, and it means that it's 9:00 here and I'm sitting in pajamas at the computer. Haven't even made coffee yet. It is lovely. Ingenious. Why didn't we think of this sooner?

Thursdays suck for me, really they do. There's the drop off and pick up with City Garden, and then Maeve goes to Atrium and Sophia goes to piano, which, this week, we've practiced ONCE. Piano ends, Maeve gets picked up from Atrium. Usually, then Sophia goes to Spanish back at City Garden, but the Spanish teacher (and founder and director, Trish) broke her knee cap so there's no Spanish for a few weeks. We do Spanish here at home, too, but Sophia likes that class, likes that school, so Monday and Thursday brings us back in the afternoon. And after Spanish (usually), it's over to SCOSAG because Sophia is nothing if not a budding pottery artist. Home, clean up, get dressed, and Irish Dance at 5:30. By the time we're all home and thinking about dinner, I'm thinking about crawling into bed.

But Thursdays allow the other days of the week to drift by nicely. Mondays are so productive. Wednesdays are a gift. Fridays are typical. And now, Thursday mornings might just make the rest survivable.

Rock Eddy Moments

Oh what a place. We spent the weekend at Rock Eddy Bluff Farm, which makes me hold my breath every time I go--oh, to be able to come back again and again and again. Without it, we would wind up plunking down the change to buy our own land. And then spend all our time trying to re-create this place. Yes, it is that way for me. We've been there more times than I can count, mostly because we wind up arguing over the total every time I try. But since October 2000, ten days before I got pregnant with Sophia. I was still in shell shock and mourning a baby who decided not to come, and that trip, something there fit a few of the puzzle pieces back together in my head. It was a full moon, and we walked down to the river in the middle of the night without flashlights, singing Down by the Riverside and full of hope and wishes. At the end of that trip, I turned to Mary and asked if she thought we could come back sometime, and she looked at me like I was nuts for having to ask. And I went home and got pregnant.

Sophia and Maeve have spent two or three weekends a year there since they were born, seeing different seasons, different groups share a house and a kitchen, watching the moon or Mars or falling stars, learning to light a fire with one match, and then with no match. Play some horseshoes, paint a picture, sing a song. Traipse through the woods with the dog a few paces ahead.

A few pictures from our most recent visit:

Curse of the Gifted, or...

So last night another person mentioned that I don't post as often as I used to, and I'm not posting at all about St. Pius windows and such--I will do what I can--but in general, I am guilty of being me. Seriously. This is me in a nutshell, in a year and a half of blogging you can see it. I used to wonder if I were becoming more ADHD as I got older--less H, more AD. There are just so many things to do and see and learn and write and hear and be. Really. But I think it might be the simple fact that I am adequately prepared for most tasks I undertake. I don't mean this in a snotty way. I mean that not much is a challenge in every day life, so when a challenge comes along (knit a sweater, clean a church, sew a banner, write a novel, join a religious order, homeschool a child), I jump in. But then I jump into too many challenges at once. Another 365 blog? What? I successfully stuck to a year of people, now I'm going to do a year of songs, each with a vignette from my life or someone's I know? What the hell am I thinking? But here I am, almost halfway through. Don't read it. Unless you want to read about me dumping my purse all over the table. Let's just put it this way: I've come a long way BABY.

But back to this--things are really great here on Halliday. Things are wonderful in my marriage, in my childrearing, in my friendships, and in my blogging. I cannot believe how fortunate I am to be this person, to be this happy, to be in this marriage, in this family, in this house.

And all this joy? It makes me a little crazy sometimes. Right now I'm trying to can and bottle all the joy I can before the light diminishes and I sleep too much and eat carbs all winter. Maybe, like in Ray Bradbury's novel, I can open that bottle and be back in summer.

And if not, then you'll see a major upswing in the amount of writing here. Gotta tame it down somehow.

Chocolate Ruminant Mammal

This weekend we went down to Rock Eddy, pictures to come, but I wanted to share this while I had a moment. On Saturday night, we had our big meal in the evening (as is our custom at Rock Eddy), and Mary made chocolate mousse for dessert. This is a faux mousse, really a chocolate pudding, except that she makes it with heavy whipping cream in place of half the regular milk. A little fluffier, a lot richer. And she always makes real whipped cream on the side. It is yummy.

Sophia was skeptical, as she is about new desserts. She knows what she likes and isn't so willing to step outside that box. Ice cream was present in the house (as is our custom at Rock Eddy) and she wasn't sure she wanted to trade down to mousse without a test run.

Mary was in the kitchen, which has room for two people, or three if one is a dwarf who wouldn't mind being burned by the oven door, mixing this up. I was at the sink tackling the dinner dishes, and other people were mingling and tidying up the table and distracting Maeve and so on. And Mary gets the whipped cream done, in the fridge, starts on the chocolate. As I walk over to the table with a dishcloth to wipe things down, Sophia asks,

"Is the elk done?"

"What?" I ask her. "We had turkey for dinner, not elk." She's been exposed to various hoof animals as meat at my in-laws.

"No, the chocolate elk. I want to try it to see if I want any."

Ok, ok, I'm behind. Halloween & All Saints

So sorry. I've been busy, as is my nature. This year for Halloween, both of my children outdid themselves. Sophia's Halloween hall of fame: Wizard, frog, angel, pumpkin, cheerleader, cowgirl. But this year? Bast. You know. The daughter of the sun god of Egypt. She asked me, kind of worried, if I thought she would be the only Bast. I said of course--that she'd probably be the only Bast IN THE WORLD this Halloween. She seemed happy with that. And Maeve? Ah. This girl wants to have it all. So she was a Ballerina Princess Butterfly Pirate. You know you want to be one too.


And here, a larger picture of the group that went around Ann's neighborhood the Saturday before. Bast is at the end there.


And, then, suddenly, it's November. Which is the beginning of this long downhill slide into Christmas from the standpoint of the gal who decorates the church. All Saints, All Souls, our parish's mass of remembrance, then our harvest of justice mass, and Thanksgiving, Christ the King and bam, it's Advent.

Here's the ambo these days. We used to have this big ole ambo that actually stood in the way of the view of the altar for half the congregation. Gigantic. And there was carpet on the sanctuary floor, the back wall was yellowish peach--it's so crisp and clean now. Grays, white, dark brown, maroon, a smaller ambo, it's just so much nicer.

Tomorrow morning, I go in to set up for the harvest mass on Sunday. I can't wait. It starts at the crack of dawn--I'm going to the wholesaler to buy harvesty stuff. This is my favorite month to decorate church--Eastertime is too flowery, December was really intense last year, and most of ordinary time is rather plain--refreshing, but not that exciting. I like this time of year.

Fuzzy Wuzzy

From Maeve:

Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair
Fuzzy Wuzzy goed away
Fuzzy Wuzzy saw his mom
The captain liked him

More later. Halloween pictures, All Saints pictures, girl scout update, and so on. But right now:

I need clockitt milk in a cup!