So, a couple of interesting Catholic tidbits to share today. The first is that my new experiment with Magnificat magazine, after my first full month, is officially a success. I use it pretty much every day. I don't often get to the evening prayers, but I say morning prayer nearly every morning, and I use it for Mass on Sundays as well. I've also read nearly all of the daily meditations and saint stories. It tucks easily into my purse, and I have it for all of the needs that I just mentioned in one compact source. It's quite perfect.
And today, I used it for daily Mass. :) It's been a long time since I've been to a true daily Mass, usually attending during the week only when there is a holy day of obligation. But I used to go all the time back when I was in law school and working as an attorney. My schedule, as well as my location, worked out such that I could make it nearly every day back then. I also went occasionally when I was in college, which is what initially turned me on to what daily Mass truly was.
Daily Mass is pretty much the reason why I'm a committed Catholic today, and didn't just laze around in terms of my spirituality when I was a young adult. I had always assumed that it was like Sunday Mass, just during the week. It's not. It's a lot shorter (less readings and you don't recite the Creed, usually a more concise homily as well), but it packs a heck of a powerful punch. As well, many parishes don't celebrate daily Mass in the main church, having a separate, small chapel for this purpose so that they don't have to worry about heating/cooling the larger space. Obviously, there will be a much smaller crowd for daily Mass as opposed to Sunday, but the people that do go form this cohesive little community. It's comforting to see the same faces all the time, there is a feeling of camaraderie. And these are people who treasure the Mass and the Eucharist, so the reverence level is high.
It was a huge boon to my faith life when I started to attend daily Mass in law school, and that is when the religious vocation discernment took place. After I graduated, I went during my lunch break at work, Our cathedral downtown had a beautiful daily Mass chapel that I could walk to in under 5 minutes.
When I started working as a librarian/went to library school (both at the same place) it wasn't as easy. There is a Newman Center here, but they only have daily Mass during the main semesters, and even then only 3 times per week. My schedule is also different here, I often have classes or meetings that conflict with the Mass time.
At first, when the Newman Center was an easy walk from my office, I would go down there occasionally for Mass. Then, last year, they built a new, gorgeous Newman Center building, which is great, but I can't walk to it. It necessitates a short drive (this is a fairly large campus) and parking here is at a premium. I didn't want to leave my spot and then have to agonize over finding a new one when I returned. Plus, all that walking out to the lot and driving to and from took my time away from my office from about 20 minutes to 40 or 45. It just didn't work.
But I had always wondered about the daily Mass at our parish. The church is maybe a 2 minute drive from our house, and they have an 8 am Mass. I usually like to get to work around 8:30, but even with attending Mass I knew I would get in before 9 am. I just often have 9 am commitments and didn't want to be feeling rushed. Well, today I had no meetings, classes, or reference shifts on my calendar and I knew the opportunity was nigh. It's also the summer, and so parking is easy. I was going to daily Mass.
I left my house at approximately 7:53 am and made it in plenty of time. The small daily Mass chapel, located in the parish center, has it's own small parking lot that I had never used before. I arrived, collected my stuff and headed in.
I was unprepared for the amount of people in there. The chapel was pretty full. I suddenly remembered that the parish Women's Sodality prays the rosary after daily Mass for the month of May, and so they must all make a special effort to come during that time. A quick perusal confirmed Mike's suspicion that, when I expressed an interest in joining the Women's Sodality, I would likely be the youngest member by at least 15-20 years. :) I slipped into a seat and scanned my Magnificat while I waited for Mass to start. There was a featured meditation on the Feast of the Visitation, since that is what we are celebrating today. Love!
I recognized all of the people present from Mass on Sundays. Many of them also serve as lectors or Eucharistic ministers, or in the choir. I sensed some interest generated amongst the congregation that a new person was suddenly in their daily Mass midst, though I'm sure they recognized me. It's not often that a new person will start going to daily Mass, especially when it's not Advent or Lent.
The chapel was quite warm (it's pretty hot here today, at least by my standards :)) but Mass was lovely. I just feel so *good* when I go to daily Mass. It's the perfect way to start your day. After Mass, Father exposed the host in a monstrance, and I stayed to pray for a few minutes before they started the rosary. I was on my way to work by 8:30 am.
So, this pretty much seals the deal that whenever I don't have a 9 am commitment I'm going to go there for Mass in the mornings all summer. It was just smashing.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Feast of Corpus Christi: need your input :)
Short post today, all, since I really don't have any good ideas for things to talk about. I think this is because I waited until after 3 pm after which time nary a useful thought enters my head. But I do have a request: This Sunday I'm doing Children's Liturgy of the Word, perhaps for the last time. It's going to be the feast of Corpus Christi. I've been trying to incorporate additional interesting things into the lesson each week besides the readings, such as talking about the rosary in May, and the chaplet of Divine Mercy in April. I was thinking that I would discuss some saints who were devoted to the Eucharist. This is where you come in. :)
I thought of Blessed Imelda, but does anybody else have additional suggestions? I'd like to read them some relevant saint stories, that's always a crowd pleaser. :) If you have a saint suggestion, please do leave a comment, with a link to the saint's story.
I thought of Blessed Imelda, but does anybody else have additional suggestions? I'd like to read them some relevant saint stories, that's always a crowd pleaser. :) If you have a saint suggestion, please do leave a comment, with a link to the saint's story.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Did anybody else contemplate becoming a nun?
So, it seems in my experience, that many devout Catholic women that I have met have considered a religious vocation at some earlier point in their life. I am no exception.
Back when I first embraced my faith as an adult in my early 20's, I did think about the religious life. I can't say I thought too deeply about a contemplative order, more of an active order, perhaps teaching. There were some aspects of a contemplative vocation that appealed to me, but I didn't feel that God was calling me to that. Nor to any sort of religious community, ultimately.
Well, relatedly, on this week's episode of the Catholic Weekend podcast (# 174, I believe), the guest was Channing Dale, a young woman who is joining a Discalced Carmelite monastery in Pennsylvania in July. I was completely captivated.
Even though I do not have a religious vocation, I remain fascinated with those who do. I loved hearing her story of how she came to discern her vocation and the order to which she felt called. I have to admit, as a parent, I do find the thought of an enclosed, contemplative order like the Discaled Carmelites to be more intimidating than I used to. :) If my daughter were to join an order like this, I wouldn't get to see or talk to her very much anymore, and I would mourn that relationship I used to share with her. I know that's selfish, but I'm just being honest, and it's how I feel. I would certainly still support her decision, and of course, it would be an incredibly special thing to have a nun in the family. I'm sure I would be thrilled, it would just take some serious getting used-to.
In the world that we live in, a contemplative vocation is very hard to imagine. I get so much out of "my" Catholic community online, that the thought of being cut off from that makes me feel bereft. Social networking, online news sites, message boards, all of that stuff. I log on every day just to see what is going on in the Catholic world and in the Catholic community that I hold dear. It would be very difficult to not have that emotional support anymore. Even though I'm not the most extroverted person, I also cannot imagine living mostly in silence and not being able to talk to someone whenever I wanted to. Of course, this is all because I do not have a vocation to the Carmelite life; those that do are able to thrive in these circumstances.
If you find these sorts of stories interesting as well, definitely listen to this podcast. I was very taken with it. Channing talks about the order, the specific monastery she will be entering, her discernment and preparation, and how she is in fact cutting herself off from social media in mid-June. Good stuff.
Back when I first embraced my faith as an adult in my early 20's, I did think about the religious life. I can't say I thought too deeply about a contemplative order, more of an active order, perhaps teaching. There were some aspects of a contemplative vocation that appealed to me, but I didn't feel that God was calling me to that. Nor to any sort of religious community, ultimately.
Well, relatedly, on this week's episode of the Catholic Weekend podcast (# 174, I believe), the guest was Channing Dale, a young woman who is joining a Discalced Carmelite monastery in Pennsylvania in July. I was completely captivated.
Even though I do not have a religious vocation, I remain fascinated with those who do. I loved hearing her story of how she came to discern her vocation and the order to which she felt called. I have to admit, as a parent, I do find the thought of an enclosed, contemplative order like the Discaled Carmelites to be more intimidating than I used to. :) If my daughter were to join an order like this, I wouldn't get to see or talk to her very much anymore, and I would mourn that relationship I used to share with her. I know that's selfish, but I'm just being honest, and it's how I feel. I would certainly still support her decision, and of course, it would be an incredibly special thing to have a nun in the family. I'm sure I would be thrilled, it would just take some serious getting used-to.
In the world that we live in, a contemplative vocation is very hard to imagine. I get so much out of "my" Catholic community online, that the thought of being cut off from that makes me feel bereft. Social networking, online news sites, message boards, all of that stuff. I log on every day just to see what is going on in the Catholic world and in the Catholic community that I hold dear. It would be very difficult to not have that emotional support anymore. Even though I'm not the most extroverted person, I also cannot imagine living mostly in silence and not being able to talk to someone whenever I wanted to. Of course, this is all because I do not have a vocation to the Carmelite life; those that do are able to thrive in these circumstances.
If you find these sorts of stories interesting as well, definitely listen to this podcast. I was very taken with it. Channing talks about the order, the specific monastery she will be entering, her discernment and preparation, and how she is in fact cutting herself off from social media in mid-June. Good stuff.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
A return to Ordinary Time...
This isn't exactly new news, since Pentecost was over a week ago, but I was reflecting on it more this past weekend (and feast of the Holy Trinity :)). It'll be Ordinary Time now until Advent, so we have quite a long stretch ahead of us. But lots of interesting feasts mixed in there, so we'll stay entertained to be sure.
Coming off of this Memorial Day weekend, I'm feeling very reflective. I spoke a bit last week about my cousin who committed suicide very unexpectedly (not that that sort of thing can ever really be expected) and the devastation in the family that he left behind. I mentioned that we were all struggling to understand *why* he would do something so drastic. Well, I can't really go into any sort of detail, but I can say that we learned some information over the weekend and we now know why he did it. And the story isn't pleasant, as you would expect. There's nothing that we can do about it, obviously, and knowledge can be painful. But we soldier on as best we can.
In trying to see some positive, summer is approaching, which is usually my least favorite time of year (yes, I'm a freak) but this year I'm really looking forward to it. We're all prepared with our air conditioners (we finally purchased a portable unit for Anne's room, which is a big relief) so it should be fine. And I'm looking forward to lots of dance events and family gatherings. Mike and I also watch lots of good tv and movies in the summer together. :)
Oh! Speaking of dance, we're throwing around ideas for a new choreography, and I'm terribly, terribly excited. I may have the opportunity to learn to balance a candle tray (yes, just what I need, to add FIRE into the range of things that can go wrong when I dance) and/or Isis Wings. Both are new props to me, and I love learning new things. Balancing a tray is much more difficult than balancing a sword, so it would definitely be a challenge. Very, very excited about this.
But otherwise, I'm hoping just for a quiet and prayerful summer.
Speaking of praying, Pray More Novenas is slated to being the June novena tomorrow, and this year we're doing a novena to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Join us. :)
Coming off of this Memorial Day weekend, I'm feeling very reflective. I spoke a bit last week about my cousin who committed suicide very unexpectedly (not that that sort of thing can ever really be expected) and the devastation in the family that he left behind. I mentioned that we were all struggling to understand *why* he would do something so drastic. Well, I can't really go into any sort of detail, but I can say that we learned some information over the weekend and we now know why he did it. And the story isn't pleasant, as you would expect. There's nothing that we can do about it, obviously, and knowledge can be painful. But we soldier on as best we can.
In trying to see some positive, summer is approaching, which is usually my least favorite time of year (yes, I'm a freak) but this year I'm really looking forward to it. We're all prepared with our air conditioners (we finally purchased a portable unit for Anne's room, which is a big relief) so it should be fine. And I'm looking forward to lots of dance events and family gatherings. Mike and I also watch lots of good tv and movies in the summer together. :)
Oh! Speaking of dance, we're throwing around ideas for a new choreography, and I'm terribly, terribly excited. I may have the opportunity to learn to balance a candle tray (yes, just what I need, to add FIRE into the range of things that can go wrong when I dance) and/or Isis Wings. Both are new props to me, and I love learning new things. Balancing a tray is much more difficult than balancing a sword, so it would definitely be a challenge. Very, very excited about this.
But otherwise, I'm hoping just for a quiet and prayerful summer.
Speaking of praying, Pray More Novenas is slated to being the June novena tomorrow, and this year we're doing a novena to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Join us. :)
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Happy 2nd Birthday Anne!
*sniffle*
She had a great day. She had balloons, pizza, cake, and babies to play with. She was very nurturing with her twin cousins. She kept giving them toys to play with. :)
She received some new clothes, some books, a Dora doll and toy Backpack (which is her favorite, I think, she loves that Backpack; although inexplicably she crumpled up Map, who she is normally so loving toward), some more princesses for her Disney Princess Castle, and her own shopping cart. She had a great day.
Anne loves to be around big groups of people, so large family gatherings are a lot of fun for her. We had about 20 people stuffed into our house, but it all went great. A box of wine in the refrigerator always helps with that. :) Nobody died from fatal red velvet cupcake consumption and it was nice to be able to see everyone and talk.
And those twins. For the love of all that is holy, THEY ARE CUTE. They're over 7 months old now, and are sitting up, playing with toys, drooling, and generally trying to get into trouble as they work to get mobile. Andrew in particular (my Godson, *beams*) has eyes the size of DINNER PLATES, I've never seen a baby with bigger eyes. SO CUTE.
I'm going to be off for Memorial Day weekend, including tomorrow, so I won't blog until next Tuesday. But we'll be busy, rest assured. We're going to be taking Henry on a little day trip, visiting with some friends, picnicking with family, all that good holiday weekend stuff. I have dance tomorrow and we're going to talk about what we want to do for a new choreography, OH BOY. This could get interesting. With more space we can try out some equally large new props. Wings of Isis were dropped into the conversation, hopefully nobody will get smothered to death. Have I mentioned how much I love belly dance? It's never boring with belly dance in my life, I can tell you that.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
A sword wielding kind of night
So, my big hafla this past Saturday. It went well. :) I was nervous because I had many more people than usual attending to see me dance, and you know, you really don't want to screw up and make a fool of yourself. I like to keep those humility-inducing occasions to an absolute minimum.
The day started off fairly hectic with a trip to see the twins (so cute! I would *still* be kissing their faces if they were here) and then an attempt to straighten the house and bake red velvet cupcakes for Anne's birthday party the following day. Well.
I shouldn't be allowed to bake, let me tell you. Cooking I'm good at, but baking? Even making something out of a box appears to be just too much for me to handle. As evidenced by my work product every.single.time. I mean, *every* time! What is it with me? Do I not have the baking gene? I don't know, but it ain't pretty.
I read the box carefully (snort!). I painstakingly measure out one and a quarter cups of water. Next comes the vegetable oil. My brain tells me that the box just said to add one and a third cups of oil. "Gee, that sounds like an awful lot of vegetable oil," I say to myself as I fill up a measuring cup and dump it in.
People, let this be a lesson to you; learn from my baking mistakes so that you too do not have to suffer from bad cupcakes:
WHEN YOU HEAR THAT LITTLE VOICE OF DOUBT IN THE BACK OF YOUR MIND, LISTEN TO IT.
Did Tiffany listen to the voice? SHE DID NOT. The instant the oil hit the mix I knew something was wrong. I carefully pick the box back up and examine it. It did NOT say to add one and a third cups of oil. It said to add *one third of a cup*.
Yeah, that's a big difference.
I had only put in one cup at that point but seriously gentle reader, THAT'S STILL A LOT OF OIL.
I panic. In a lucid interval, I realize that the oil has not absorbed into the mix, so I can dump some of it out. Said dumping is undertaken. I eliminate much of the oil, but I don't get all of it, and the mix does need *some* oil, so I leave the rest. I'm feeling anxious about continuing on, but going to the store to get another mix is just not a possibility given the schedule I have for Saturday. Mike is on a Cub Scouts hike with Hank, and poor Anne has been abandoned in front of the t.v. watching Dora so that I can bake and hear myself think at the same time. After my baking attempt, I have tons of dance preparation to do and I just don't need this complication.
In a frenzied call to my sister, she suggests scraping the mix and making the cake from scratch. It's not a bad suggestion, but I know I'm not up to the task. If the mix fails Plan B is to go to the bakery and buy a cake. I continue on with the mix and pray for the best.
As I talk to Shauna'h, I try to spoon the mix into the cupcake wraps. Right, it was runny. Far too runny to be normal. I contemplate crying, but instead do the mature thing and just messily continuing spooning the mix in while swearing at it. I stick the cupcakes into the oven.
They puff up quickly. That seemed abnormal but then again I was really feeling paranoid by that point. As they finish I really thought I was going to have to run to the bakery, but an inserted toothpick comes out clean, much to my shock. I let them cool and notice that they are all greasy on their little cake cup bottoms.
Much sighing commences. I'll preview for you the birthday party post which will appear tomorrow by saying that they were deemed safe to consume, but frosting them resulted in pulled up cupcake bits everywhere and just an overall odd look about them. My next text to my sister:
"Your mission, should you choose to accept it: get everybody drunk so that they don't notice the cupcakes. Go!"
Ok, so back to dancing. I was nervous. I packed up 3 costumes, all my assorted dance junk, practiced all my numbers, and told myself that I was excited and ready to dance like I may never belly dance again. I'm not making that up, I *really* told myself that. Out loud. In the car on the way to the studio. Yes, I was talking to myself. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I was already shaky enough from the cupcake debacle.
I arrive, drop off some hummus at the potluck table, and suit up. I'm nervous. Really nervous. We had a group number first, in the new gold costumes. It went fine, but my veil got caught on my top and resulted in a yank followed by a rhinestone rocketing off my chest at an alarming speed and into the audience. Oh, and I couldn't get my veil tied around my hips at the requisite moment, but I'm happy to report that I did not panic. I refolded and reapproached and it did tie nanoseconds before I had to turn around. Then when I had to *untie* it for the dramatic finale it gave me a hard time coming untied. Have I mentioned that I frequently hate my veil? He and I do not get along as well as Sword and I do.
Anyway, dramatic finale. The audience was kind of quiet, that happens a lot when we dance with canes. Perhaps people are scared. :) Other group numbers followed, and then our group had another piece. That one went really well aside from a bad traffic pattern at the very beginning. Then it was time for the solos.
Oh sigh.
I'm always nervous when I solo, but I was especially nervous on Saturday because of The Sword Factor. And when I get nervous, my palms get sweaty and I get a little shaky. I think we can all agree that:
Sweat + Shaky = Not a Good Combination When You're Going to Wield and Try to Belly Dance with a Sword Balanced on Your Head.
I'll spare you the nausea-inducing lead up details. Suffice it to say I was feeling uneasy. But I had prepared, what more could I do?
Claire placed my sword. I was introduced. My music started. I strut out.
The beginning was really good. I had a little sword lead up process that worked really well. When I picked the sword up, I balanced it on my arm to carry it up to the audience.
Really hard to see, but that's what I was doing. :) Mike, my photographer, was sitting toward the back.
I balanced it on my hand a bit, and generally swirled it around while I danced prior to balancing it on my head. Then the big moment arrived.
I lifted it to my head. Everybody is staring at me. This is the moment that I remember from the restaurant that made my heart stop, but this time I was prepared for it. I placed the sword and I *knew* that I was going to feel that it was unsteady. I gave it one more nudge to "screw it in" for good measure and took my hands off of it. It stayed on.
:)
I knew that would happen, but it's still quite nerve wracking, as you can imagine. People applauded, which made me happy. I danced, and I knew that I was nervous, and you know, I was dancing with a sword on my head, so it's not like I could go crazy. I traveled a little, dipped down (one of my favorite sword tricks) and generally tried to call to mind movements that fit with the music. It went well. I spun at the end, which earned me more happy applause. I didn't spin at the restaurant because I was just too nervous, so I felt really good to have gotten back on that horse.
Soon enough, the music ended and I struck my final pose. I always feel like my practicing goes better than my performing because my performance nerves diminish my dance ability a bit. But every time I perform that gets better and better. And I felt good about the performance. It was definitely worlds better than my sword dance at the restaurant, and I got lots of very nice compliments from the audience after the show. They loved Sword as much as I do. I even had someone ask if they could take a picture of me with it.
I felt glowy and happy. :)
The day started off fairly hectic with a trip to see the twins (so cute! I would *still* be kissing their faces if they were here) and then an attempt to straighten the house and bake red velvet cupcakes for Anne's birthday party the following day. Well.
I shouldn't be allowed to bake, let me tell you. Cooking I'm good at, but baking? Even making something out of a box appears to be just too much for me to handle. As evidenced by my work product every.single.time. I mean, *every* time! What is it with me? Do I not have the baking gene? I don't know, but it ain't pretty.
I read the box carefully (snort!). I painstakingly measure out one and a quarter cups of water. Next comes the vegetable oil. My brain tells me that the box just said to add one and a third cups of oil. "Gee, that sounds like an awful lot of vegetable oil," I say to myself as I fill up a measuring cup and dump it in.
People, let this be a lesson to you; learn from my baking mistakes so that you too do not have to suffer from bad cupcakes:
WHEN YOU HEAR THAT LITTLE VOICE OF DOUBT IN THE BACK OF YOUR MIND, LISTEN TO IT.
Did Tiffany listen to the voice? SHE DID NOT. The instant the oil hit the mix I knew something was wrong. I carefully pick the box back up and examine it. It did NOT say to add one and a third cups of oil. It said to add *one third of a cup*.
Yeah, that's a big difference.
I had only put in one cup at that point but seriously gentle reader, THAT'S STILL A LOT OF OIL.
I panic. In a lucid interval, I realize that the oil has not absorbed into the mix, so I can dump some of it out. Said dumping is undertaken. I eliminate much of the oil, but I don't get all of it, and the mix does need *some* oil, so I leave the rest. I'm feeling anxious about continuing on, but going to the store to get another mix is just not a possibility given the schedule I have for Saturday. Mike is on a Cub Scouts hike with Hank, and poor Anne has been abandoned in front of the t.v. watching Dora so that I can bake and hear myself think at the same time. After my baking attempt, I have tons of dance preparation to do and I just don't need this complication.
In a frenzied call to my sister, she suggests scraping the mix and making the cake from scratch. It's not a bad suggestion, but I know I'm not up to the task. If the mix fails Plan B is to go to the bakery and buy a cake. I continue on with the mix and pray for the best.
As I talk to Shauna'h, I try to spoon the mix into the cupcake wraps. Right, it was runny. Far too runny to be normal. I contemplate crying, but instead do the mature thing and just messily continuing spooning the mix in while swearing at it. I stick the cupcakes into the oven.
They puff up quickly. That seemed abnormal but then again I was really feeling paranoid by that point. As they finish I really thought I was going to have to run to the bakery, but an inserted toothpick comes out clean, much to my shock. I let them cool and notice that they are all greasy on their little cake cup bottoms.
Much sighing commences. I'll preview for you the birthday party post which will appear tomorrow by saying that they were deemed safe to consume, but frosting them resulted in pulled up cupcake bits everywhere and just an overall odd look about them. My next text to my sister:
"Your mission, should you choose to accept it: get everybody drunk so that they don't notice the cupcakes. Go!"
Ok, so back to dancing. I was nervous. I packed up 3 costumes, all my assorted dance junk, practiced all my numbers, and told myself that I was excited and ready to dance like I may never belly dance again. I'm not making that up, I *really* told myself that. Out loud. In the car on the way to the studio. Yes, I was talking to myself. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I was already shaky enough from the cupcake debacle.
I arrive, drop off some hummus at the potluck table, and suit up. I'm nervous. Really nervous. We had a group number first, in the new gold costumes. It went fine, but my veil got caught on my top and resulted in a yank followed by a rhinestone rocketing off my chest at an alarming speed and into the audience. Oh, and I couldn't get my veil tied around my hips at the requisite moment, but I'm happy to report that I did not panic. I refolded and reapproached and it did tie nanoseconds before I had to turn around. Then when I had to *untie* it for the dramatic finale it gave me a hard time coming untied. Have I mentioned that I frequently hate my veil? He and I do not get along as well as Sword and I do.
Anyway, dramatic finale. The audience was kind of quiet, that happens a lot when we dance with canes. Perhaps people are scared. :) Other group numbers followed, and then our group had another piece. That one went really well aside from a bad traffic pattern at the very beginning. Then it was time for the solos.
Oh sigh.
I'm always nervous when I solo, but I was especially nervous on Saturday because of The Sword Factor. And when I get nervous, my palms get sweaty and I get a little shaky. I think we can all agree that:
Sweat + Shaky = Not a Good Combination When You're Going to Wield and Try to Belly Dance with a Sword Balanced on Your Head.
I'll spare you the nausea-inducing lead up details. Suffice it to say I was feeling uneasy. But I had prepared, what more could I do?
Claire placed my sword. I was introduced. My music started. I strut out.
The beginning was really good. I had a little sword lead up process that worked really well. When I picked the sword up, I balanced it on my arm to carry it up to the audience.
I balanced it on my hand a bit, and generally swirled it around while I danced prior to balancing it on my head. Then the big moment arrived.
I lifted it to my head. Everybody is staring at me. This is the moment that I remember from the restaurant that made my heart stop, but this time I was prepared for it. I placed the sword and I *knew* that I was going to feel that it was unsteady. I gave it one more nudge to "screw it in" for good measure and took my hands off of it. It stayed on.
:)
I knew that would happen, but it's still quite nerve wracking, as you can imagine. People applauded, which made me happy. I danced, and I knew that I was nervous, and you know, I was dancing with a sword on my head, so it's not like I could go crazy. I traveled a little, dipped down (one of my favorite sword tricks) and generally tried to call to mind movements that fit with the music. It went well. I spun at the end, which earned me more happy applause. I didn't spin at the restaurant because I was just too nervous, so I felt really good to have gotten back on that horse.
Soon enough, the music ended and I struck my final pose. I always feel like my practicing goes better than my performing because my performance nerves diminish my dance ability a bit. But every time I perform that gets better and better. And I felt good about the performance. It was definitely worlds better than my sword dance at the restaurant, and I got lots of very nice compliments from the audience after the show. They loved Sword as much as I do. I even had someone ask if they could take a picture of me with it.
I felt glowy and happy. :)
The comfort of liturgy
I sense that this will be a multi-post day :) so stay tuned for some belly dance talk if you enjoy that sort of thing. But it's been a tough couple of days and I wanted to write a bit about that first.
Death is one of those situations in which we take comfort in ritual and being in the presence of others, of our community. And ritual doesn't just involve a religious ceremony. The "wake" process always struck me as being a death ritual that many people find great comfort in. Having the deceased laid out for us to pay our respects to and pray in front of their mortal remains, leaving flowers, gathering together to talk and support each other, processing to the cemetery, etc.
And as a Catholic, I obviously find great sacredness, joy, and comfort in religious ritual and liturgy. It struck me anew yesterday at the funeral, which was at a Christian church of a decidedly non-liturgical bent. We sang some hymns, the pastor presented a sermon, the associate pastor read some scripture. All of these are very good things, things that Catholics do too, of course. :) I just find such great comfort in the standard words and pace of the Mass, in physical sacramentals like holy water and incense, in the presence of holy reminders like icons, statutes, candles and stained glass, in the Eucharist. Everything feels empty to me without the Eucharist, but I understand that not everybody believes as I do.
I'm certain plenty of non-Catholics feel uncomfortable in a Catholic worship experience, so it goes both ways. But I did miss my Catholic "stuff" yesterday quite a bit. This church, though, was very welcoming and the pastors very kind.
We're all still incredibly sad but glad to have the formal events behind us since those do suck the life right out of you. I found out about Michael's death this past Sunday morning, right before I went to Mass for the feast of Pentecost. To be honest, I didn't really feel like going anywhere after I found out, but I knew that Mass would be soothing, and it was. As I reflected on the death of someone that I loved, I realized that someone was being baptized during the Mass. Not an infant, but a young girl of maybe 13. She had on a beautiful white dress, it was so lovely. So it was a full circle sort of day. Someone had died, but there is also life, and where there is life, there is hope.
After Mass Henry and I lit a 7 day vigil candle for Michael. Henry's dream is always lighting a candle after Mass, and he was thrilled to be able to get "the big one." I appreciated having him there with me.
Death is one of those situations in which we take comfort in ritual and being in the presence of others, of our community. And ritual doesn't just involve a religious ceremony. The "wake" process always struck me as being a death ritual that many people find great comfort in. Having the deceased laid out for us to pay our respects to and pray in front of their mortal remains, leaving flowers, gathering together to talk and support each other, processing to the cemetery, etc.
And as a Catholic, I obviously find great sacredness, joy, and comfort in religious ritual and liturgy. It struck me anew yesterday at the funeral, which was at a Christian church of a decidedly non-liturgical bent. We sang some hymns, the pastor presented a sermon, the associate pastor read some scripture. All of these are very good things, things that Catholics do too, of course. :) I just find such great comfort in the standard words and pace of the Mass, in physical sacramentals like holy water and incense, in the presence of holy reminders like icons, statutes, candles and stained glass, in the Eucharist. Everything feels empty to me without the Eucharist, but I understand that not everybody believes as I do.
I'm certain plenty of non-Catholics feel uncomfortable in a Catholic worship experience, so it goes both ways. But I did miss my Catholic "stuff" yesterday quite a bit. This church, though, was very welcoming and the pastors very kind.
We're all still incredibly sad but glad to have the formal events behind us since those do suck the life right out of you. I found out about Michael's death this past Sunday morning, right before I went to Mass for the feast of Pentecost. To be honest, I didn't really feel like going anywhere after I found out, but I knew that Mass would be soothing, and it was. As I reflected on the death of someone that I loved, I realized that someone was being baptized during the Mass. Not an infant, but a young girl of maybe 13. She had on a beautiful white dress, it was so lovely. So it was a full circle sort of day. Someone had died, but there is also life, and where there is life, there is hope.
After Mass Henry and I lit a 7 day vigil candle for Michael. Henry's dream is always lighting a candle after Mass, and he was thrilled to be able to get "the big one." I appreciated having him there with me.
Monday, May 20, 2013
What a weekend...
And although there was a lot of good that happened this weekend, I don't mean that title in the good sense. I'll write separate posts about my hafla and Anne's birthday and my sister's visit, but everything was overshadowed this weekend by a tragic event.
Sunday morning I found out that my mom's first cousin, whom I've known and loved throughout my life, had died. That's always tragic, obviously, and he was only in his 60's. But to make the news even more difficult to bear is the fact that he took his own life.
Suicide. That single word brings forth pain in a way that is just unspeakable.
When somebody dies, in our human nature we want answers. How did they die? *Why* did they die? And with suicide, it's really impossible to get inside somebody's head to understand what would drive them to feel that this is their only option. I don't know right now if he left a note or not, but even then, those left behind never have the answers that they feel they need.
We're all still very much grappling with this news and the wake and funeral hang on the horizon like depressing black clouds. It feels surreal, like he isn't really gone, and nobody can picture the man that we knew doing this.
But let me tell you a little bit about him, because it's a beautiful story, albeit tragic. His name is Michael. He comes from a devout Catholic family. His mom, Marie, and father, John (both now deceased) were devoted to each other, to their children, and to their Catholic faith. When the rest of their extended family left the Church for nondenominational Christianity, Aunt Marie would love to come talk to us about her love of the Blessed Mother and the rosary since we were one of the few remaining Catholics in the family on that side.
She told me a story once that I never forgot. When Michael was a little boy, she was very much wanting to conceive another child. She had some sort of health complication, and her doctor told her that he didn't think she would conceive again. Thus, she developed a prayer plan. Every day in 9 day segments, she would take little Michael and they would go to church to pray a novena in front of a statue of the Blessed Mother, asking the Lord to bless their family with another child.
After a time, she did conceive, and bore a healthy daughter that she named Francesca. Francesca was just a light in the family. She had this loud, infectious laugh that you could hear no matter where she was in the house. Michael did too, in fact. You could always identify their location based upon hearing them laugh, which was frequently. :)
Aunt Marie died when I was a teenager, and her husband John was just lost without her. He went to live with Francesca and her family. Not very long after, Francesca, who was in the mid-30's at the time, was diagnosed with breast cancer. She lived for a few more years with treatment, but died at age 38.
Her death was a devastating blow to the family. She had a husband and young children left behind, and now her dad was reeling even more. Francesca and Michael had both chosen to be members of an Assembly of God church as adults, but Uncle John never lost his Catholic faith. It was a source of comfort to him during this painful time.
This was one of my first experiences with Hospice care, and with seeing somebody die well before their time when we all knew it was coming. It was horrible. It always bothered me that Aunt Marie had prayed so hard for Francesca to be born and yet she died far too young.
Some years later, Uncle John passed away. And then there was just Michael.
He had a family. A wife, 2 grown daughters, and grandchildren. A successful career. Apparently his wife had started to suffer from dementia, although none of us knew this until this weekend. If this factored into the situation, I do not know. But my mom has spoken to him a lot recently and nothing ever seemed amiss. On Wednesday, I posted a photo of Anne on Facebook, and he commented on how beautiful she is. I clicked the "like" button on his comment. I've "seen" him a lot on Facebook over the past couple of years, and I enjoyed having him called to mind since I didn't physically see him much in my day-to-day life outside of big family events.
He was extremely affable, easy going, funny and sweet. Would do anything for you that you asked. His Facebook profile picture is of his grandchildren. I see that he checked into Facebook Wednesday evening via his mobile phone, that's when he saw Anne's picture and commented. Two days later he killed himself.
It's almost like my heart breaks for my Aunt Marie even though she isn't here anymore. This is her child. And I cry thinking about what he must have been thinking right before he did this. How much emotional pain he must have been in that none of us even knew about.
There are no answers, no explanations. And the older one gets, the more death you experience. It never gets easier.
Please pray for the repose of Michael's soul. He was a devout Christian, and I know that he would appreciate it.
This week I will post about the hafla and the party, both of which have some good stories attached, so stay tuned. But obviously, this was much more important. My heart is heavy, but I press on. What other choice do we have, really?
Sunday morning I found out that my mom's first cousin, whom I've known and loved throughout my life, had died. That's always tragic, obviously, and he was only in his 60's. But to make the news even more difficult to bear is the fact that he took his own life.
Suicide. That single word brings forth pain in a way that is just unspeakable.
When somebody dies, in our human nature we want answers. How did they die? *Why* did they die? And with suicide, it's really impossible to get inside somebody's head to understand what would drive them to feel that this is their only option. I don't know right now if he left a note or not, but even then, those left behind never have the answers that they feel they need.
We're all still very much grappling with this news and the wake and funeral hang on the horizon like depressing black clouds. It feels surreal, like he isn't really gone, and nobody can picture the man that we knew doing this.
But let me tell you a little bit about him, because it's a beautiful story, albeit tragic. His name is Michael. He comes from a devout Catholic family. His mom, Marie, and father, John (both now deceased) were devoted to each other, to their children, and to their Catholic faith. When the rest of their extended family left the Church for nondenominational Christianity, Aunt Marie would love to come talk to us about her love of the Blessed Mother and the rosary since we were one of the few remaining Catholics in the family on that side.
She told me a story once that I never forgot. When Michael was a little boy, she was very much wanting to conceive another child. She had some sort of health complication, and her doctor told her that he didn't think she would conceive again. Thus, she developed a prayer plan. Every day in 9 day segments, she would take little Michael and they would go to church to pray a novena in front of a statue of the Blessed Mother, asking the Lord to bless their family with another child.
After a time, she did conceive, and bore a healthy daughter that she named Francesca. Francesca was just a light in the family. She had this loud, infectious laugh that you could hear no matter where she was in the house. Michael did too, in fact. You could always identify their location based upon hearing them laugh, which was frequently. :)
Aunt Marie died when I was a teenager, and her husband John was just lost without her. He went to live with Francesca and her family. Not very long after, Francesca, who was in the mid-30's at the time, was diagnosed with breast cancer. She lived for a few more years with treatment, but died at age 38.
Her death was a devastating blow to the family. She had a husband and young children left behind, and now her dad was reeling even more. Francesca and Michael had both chosen to be members of an Assembly of God church as adults, but Uncle John never lost his Catholic faith. It was a source of comfort to him during this painful time.
This was one of my first experiences with Hospice care, and with seeing somebody die well before their time when we all knew it was coming. It was horrible. It always bothered me that Aunt Marie had prayed so hard for Francesca to be born and yet she died far too young.
Some years later, Uncle John passed away. And then there was just Michael.
He had a family. A wife, 2 grown daughters, and grandchildren. A successful career. Apparently his wife had started to suffer from dementia, although none of us knew this until this weekend. If this factored into the situation, I do not know. But my mom has spoken to him a lot recently and nothing ever seemed amiss. On Wednesday, I posted a photo of Anne on Facebook, and he commented on how beautiful she is. I clicked the "like" button on his comment. I've "seen" him a lot on Facebook over the past couple of years, and I enjoyed having him called to mind since I didn't physically see him much in my day-to-day life outside of big family events.
He was extremely affable, easy going, funny and sweet. Would do anything for you that you asked. His Facebook profile picture is of his grandchildren. I see that he checked into Facebook Wednesday evening via his mobile phone, that's when he saw Anne's picture and commented. Two days later he killed himself.
It's almost like my heart breaks for my Aunt Marie even though she isn't here anymore. This is her child. And I cry thinking about what he must have been thinking right before he did this. How much emotional pain he must have been in that none of us even knew about.
There are no answers, no explanations. And the older one gets, the more death you experience. It never gets easier.
Please pray for the repose of Michael's soul. He was a devout Christian, and I know that he would appreciate it.
This week I will post about the hafla and the party, both of which have some good stories attached, so stay tuned. But obviously, this was much more important. My heart is heavy, but I press on. What other choice do we have, really?
Thursday, May 16, 2013
A week in review, and a weekend preview...
Things are getting back to normal in the CL household. The furniture is all moved back, the new couch is installed, the children are cavorting in the freshened space. Things are good.
In an answer to prayer, Henry is absolutely loving the Cub Scouts, and is now officially a member at our parish's pack. He's a wolf cub; did you ever?! It's just the cutest thing of all time. He now has an official tee shirt, a badge, and a handbook. He's going on his first hike on Saturday and is terribly excited. I'm SO happy that he seems to have found a niche that he likes.
Anne (who will be the birthday girl on Saturday, *sniffle*) has been talking a blue streak and seems to have mastered a new skill daily. She asked to wear a *tutu* last night and paraded around the house singing and dancing. Where did this extroverted kid come from?
My sister and the twins arrive tonight for a visit, and I'm *terribly* excited. It is going to be a packed weekend of baby squeezing, birthday partying, and belly dancing.
Speaking of belly dancing, my sword and I have been communing nightly and our rapport is excellent. A classmate of mine and I were writing back and forth to each other in a Facebook private message about the coming hafla, and she remarked "I can't wait to see you and your sword!" It was adorable, reminded me of when Claire called my sword my "dance partner," lol. Every time I practice dancing back to retrieve the sword during my number, I telepathically send him his message:
"I respect you. I'm going to handle you carefully and show you off."
I hope that means that he will remain preening on my head, but of course, there are no guarantees. But my practicing is going well. I'm looking forward to performing (or, at least, I keep telling myself that) and thus I should just relax and enjoy everything. Life is short; I shouldn't waste it being a wallflower.
I practiced in my gold costume last night, since I haven't worn it in awhile. The usual checks were employed:
(1) stayed on body, check.
(2) modesty panels did not shift, check.
(3) no leaking beads, check.
(4) no otherwise unforeseen malfunctions, check.
All systems are a go. You can bet that I will be reporting in.
In an answer to prayer, Henry is absolutely loving the Cub Scouts, and is now officially a member at our parish's pack. He's a wolf cub; did you ever?! It's just the cutest thing of all time. He now has an official tee shirt, a badge, and a handbook. He's going on his first hike on Saturday and is terribly excited. I'm SO happy that he seems to have found a niche that he likes.
Anne (who will be the birthday girl on Saturday, *sniffle*) has been talking a blue streak and seems to have mastered a new skill daily. She asked to wear a *tutu* last night and paraded around the house singing and dancing. Where did this extroverted kid come from?
My sister and the twins arrive tonight for a visit, and I'm *terribly* excited. It is going to be a packed weekend of baby squeezing, birthday partying, and belly dancing.
Speaking of belly dancing, my sword and I have been communing nightly and our rapport is excellent. A classmate of mine and I were writing back and forth to each other in a Facebook private message about the coming hafla, and she remarked "I can't wait to see you and your sword!" It was adorable, reminded me of when Claire called my sword my "dance partner," lol. Every time I practice dancing back to retrieve the sword during my number, I telepathically send him his message:
"I respect you. I'm going to handle you carefully and show you off."
I hope that means that he will remain preening on my head, but of course, there are no guarantees. But my practicing is going well. I'm looking forward to performing (or, at least, I keep telling myself that) and thus I should just relax and enjoy everything. Life is short; I shouldn't waste it being a wallflower.
I practiced in my gold costume last night, since I haven't worn it in awhile. The usual checks were employed:
(1) stayed on body, check.
(2) modesty panels did not shift, check.
(3) no leaking beads, check.
(4) no otherwise unforeseen malfunctions, check.
All systems are a go. You can bet that I will be reporting in.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Happy Feast of St. Isidore the Farmer!
May 15th is the feast of St. Isidore the Farmer, patron of this humble blog for the year 2013. :) Interestingly, he has become a favorite of Henry's since he appears in one of his children's saints books. He has requested that I read St. Isidore's story at least a half dozen times this year, and I can't help but think that this saint has taken a special interest in our family. Cam, he has requested a St. Isidore peg doll, so I'll be visiting your saint store again soon. :)
Henry was all excited today that since St. Isidore was specifically noted in his school planner, this means that the principal will read his story during the morning announcements. Precious.
From American Catholic.org we have this blurb on St. Isidore:
"Isidore has become the patron of farmers and rural communities. In particular he is the patron of Madrid, Spain, and of the United States National Rural Life Conference.
When he was barely old enough to wield a hoe, Isidore entered the service of John de Vergas, a wealthy landowner from Madrid, and worked faithfully on his estate outside the city for the rest of his life. He married a young woman as simple and upright as himself who also became a saint—Maria de la Cabeza. They had one son, who died as a child.
Isidore had deep religious instincts. He rose early in the morning to go to church and spent many a holiday devoutly visiting the churches of Madrid and surrounding areas. All day long, as he walked behind the plow, he communed with God. His devotion, one might say, became a problem, for his fellow workers sometimes complained that he often showed up late because of lingering in church too long.
He was known for his love of the poor, and there are accounts of Isidore’s supplying them miraculously with food. He had a great concern for the proper treatment of animals.
He died May 15, 1130, and was declared a saint in 1622 with Ignatius of Loyola, Francis Xavier, Teresa of Avila and Philip Neri. Together, the group is known in Spain as 'the five saints.'"
Henry's saint book notes that sometimes angels were seen to be pushing the plow in St. Isidore's absence, this is one of his favorite parts. Stories of saints from centuries ago are rife with these pious details, and I always make sure to tell Henry that while some such specifics may simply be legends, the person was definitely real and holy in their example.
Good stuff. :)
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