I'm not a winner, but I'm still excited

I didn't win, and it wasn't even poetry. And it may not look like much to you, but for some of us losers who never win anything, it's a badge of honor! Thanks, I.C. for liking my six-word summary of my spiritual life ("I want to love Him more"). Now, am I pathetic, or what...?

If you don't laugh, you've no sense of humor...

This piece aired on NPR years ago (when I still listened to it occasionally), and I still think it is one of the best things I've ever heard. You will see that it is modeled after the Book of Leviticus, and I offer it to you who may happen upon my blog because, well, it's Monday and everyone can use a laugh on Mondays.

Laws Concerning Food and Drink; Household Principles; Lamentations of the Father

Of the beasts of the field, and of the fishes of the sea, and of all foods that are acceptable in my sight you may eat, but not in the living room. Of the hoofed animals, broiled or ground into burgers, you may eat, but not in the living room. Of the cloven-hoofed animal, plain or with cheese, you may eat, but not in the living room. Of the cereal grains, of the corn and of the wheat and of the oats, and of all the cereals that are of bright color and unknown provenance you may eat, but not in the living room. Of the quiescently frozen dessert and of all frozen after-meal treats you may eat, but absolutely not in the living room. Of the juices and other beverages, yes, even of those in sippy-cups, you may drink, but not in the living room, neither may you carry such therein. Indeed, when you reach the place where the living room carpet begins, of any food or beverage there you may not eat, neither may you drink.

But if you are sick, and are lying down and watching something, then may you eat in the living room.

Laws When at Table

And if you are seated in your high chair, or in a chair such as a greater person might use, keep your legs and feet below you as they were. Neither raise up your knees, nor place your feet upon the table, for that is an abomination to me. Yes, even when you have an interesting bandage to show, your feet upon the table are an abomination, and worthy of rebuke. Drink your milk as it is given you, neither use on it any utensils, nor fork, nor knife, nor spoon, for that is not what they are for; if you will dip your blocks in the milk, and lick it off, you will be sent away. When you have drunk, let the empty cup then remain upon the table, and do not bite it upon its edge and by your teeth hold it to your face in order to make noises in it sounding like a duck; for you will be sent away.

When you chew your food, keep your mouth closed until you have swallowed, and do not open it to show your brother or your sister what is within; I say to you, do not so, even if your brother or your sister has done the same to you. Eat your food only; do not eat that which is not food; neither seize the table between your jaws, nor use the raiment of the table to wipe your lips. I say again to you, do not touch it, but leave it as it is. And though your stick of carrot does indeed resemble a marker, draw not with it upon the table, even in pretend, for we do not do that, that is why. And though the pieces of broccoli are very like small trees, do not stand them upright to make a forest, because we do not do that, that is why. Sit just as I have told you, and do not lean to one side or the other, nor slide down until you are nearly slid away. Heed me; for if you sit like that, your hair will go into the syrup. And now behold, even as I have said, it has come to pass.

Laws Pertaining to Dessert

For we judge between the plate that is unclean and the plate that is clean, saying first, if the plate is clean, then you shall have dessert. But of the unclean plate, the laws are these: If you have eaten most of your meat, and two bites of your peas with each bite consisting of not less than three peas each, or in total six peas, eaten where I can see, and you have also eaten enough of your potatoes to fill two forks, both forkfuls eaten where I can see, then you shall have dessert. But if you eat a lesser number of peas, and yet you eat the potatoes, still you shall not have dessert; and if you eat the peas, yet leave the potatoes uneaten, you shall not have dessert, no, not even a small portion thereof. And if you try to deceive by moving the potatoes or peas around with a fork, that it may appear you have eaten what you have not, you will fall into iniquity. And I will know, and you shall have no dessert.

On Screaming

Do not scream; for it is as if you scream all the time. If you are given a plate on which two foods you do not wish to touch each other are touching each other, your voice rises up even to the ceiling, while you point to the offense with the finger of your right hand; but I say to you, scream not, only remonstrate gently with the server, that the server may correct the fault. Likewise if you receive a portion of fish from which every piece of herbal seasoning has not been scraped off, and the herbal seasoning is loathsome to you, and steeped in vileness, again I say, refrain from screaming. Though the vileness overwhelm you, and cause you a faint unto death, make not that sound from within your throat, neither cover your face, nor press your fingers to your nose. For even now I have made the fish as it should be; behold, I eat of it myself, yet do not die.

Concerning Face and Hands

Cast your countenance upward to the light, and lift your eyes to the hills, that I may more easily wash you off. For the stains are upon you; even to the very back of your head, there is rice thereon. And in the breast pocket of your garment, and upon the tie of your shoe, rice and other fragments are distributed in a manner wonderful to see. Only hold yourself still; hold still, I say. Give each finger in its turn for my examination thereof, and also each thumb. Lo, how iniquitous they appear. What I do is as it must be; and you shall not go hence until I have done.

Various Other Laws, Statutes, and Ordinances

Bite not, lest you be cast into quiet time. Neither drink of your own bath water, nor of bath water of any kind; nor rub your feet on bread, even if it be in the package; nor rub yourself against cars, nor against any building; nor eat sand.

Leave the cat alone, for what has the cat done, that you should so afflict it with tape? And hum not that humming in your nose as I read, nor stand between the light and the book. Indeed, you will drive me to madness. Nor forget what I said about the tape.

Complaints and Lamentations

O my children, you are disobedient. For when I tell you what you must do, you argue and dispute hotly even to the littlest detail; and when I do not accede, you cry out, and hit and kick. Yes, and even sometimes do you spit, and shout "stupid-head" and other blasphemies, and hit and kick the wall and the molding thereof when you are sent to the corner. And though the law teaches that no one shall be sent to the corner for more minutes than he has years of age, yet I would leave you there all day, so mighty am I in anger. But upon being sent to the corner you ask straightaway, "Can I come out?" and I reply, "No, you may not come out." And again you ask, and again I give the same reply. But when you ask again a third time, then you may come out.

Hear me, O my children, for the bills they kill me. I pay and pay again, even to the twelfth time in a year, and yet again they mount higher than before. For our health, that we may be covered, I give six hundred and twenty talents twelve times in a year; but even this covers not the fifteen hundred deductible for each member of the family within a calendar year. And yet for ordinary visits we still are not covered, nor for many medicines, nor for the teeth within our mouths. Guess not at what rage is in my mind, for surely you cannot know.

For I will come to you at the first of the month and at the fifteenth of the month with the bills and a great whining and moan. And when the month of taxes comes, I will decry the wrong and unfairness of it, and mourn with wine and ashtrays, and rend my receipts. And you shall remember that I am that I am: before, after, and until you are twenty-one. Hear me then, and avoid me in my wrath, O children of me.

Sleep

Don't you just love the way that little children can sleep just about anywhere?

Sunday and the Chapel of Divine Mercy

We assisted at mass at Sacred Heart in Russellville, KY yesterday. It was nice to see a number of folks we hadn't seen in a long time. Everyone is anxiously awaiting the new chapel at the novitiate of the Fathers of Mercy in Auburn, which is to be dedicated on the 23rd of August. Until then, everyone is attending masses wherever.

Afterward we stopped by the novitiate in order to take a look at the chapel in progress. Bret has been charged with making a cross for a life-sized corpus to go in the chapel, and he wanted to look at the place in which it will be installed. CPM Fathers Bill Casey and Ben Cameron us for a little tour while a few of the seminarians entertained the kids outside. I took a few photos. It's really coming along, and when it is done it will certainly be the prettiest chapel in all of rural Kentucky. There may be a prettier one somewhere, but none as far out in the sticks as this one!

Today Begins the Year of St. Paul

28 June 2008-29 June 2009

I am delighted...

...and also somewhat saddened. One of my heroes, Archbishop Raymond Burke, is getting a faithful servant's reward and is being summoned to Rome by our Holy Father. Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam has the news here, along with the Chaplet of the Holy Face for His Excellency's intentions. Apparently 400 people have already pledged to pray the chaplet for 60 days during July and August.

Du Bist Deutschland--You Are Germany

I grew up in Munich, Germany, and my mother often said that the Germans love flowers and animals (dogs are even allowed in restaurants if they are well-behaved), but are less fond of children. This has become more and more evident in the generations born since the second World War. I think that the war and post-war experience combined with an economic boom after recovery made the German people very self-centered. Children are very much looked at as a burden; noisy, untidy and demanding self-sacrifice. Guilty as charged! But, oh, how poor an existence is one in which a person never feels that willingness to pour one's self out for another!

As I have said to people before, a child is a cross in its most embraceable form. If not for our children, we might never understand what God's love is like.

This video is part of a new German campaign to make Germany more child-friendly. And they'd better act fast. Germany has a zero-growth rate, and the non-Germans are going to out-number them in a couple of generations.

Anyone else suffering from grocery store sticker-shock?

I seem to spend half my time at the store gasping and trying to do the math to figure out just how much this item or that has gone up in the last week or two. And we're not talking about a nickel here or dime there, folks; we are talking about the big bags of shredded cheese (which, per ounce, cost no more than their blocks of cheese) up two dollars in the last two weeks. The block cheese was up accordingly, too. Dairy in general seems up by leaps and bounds. I don't buy meats other than deli slices for Bret's lunch box and occasionally a bag of frozen chicken breasts, but the cold cuts that were 2 for $3 two weeks ago are 2 for $4 this week. And we have a 7.75 percent sales tax on food to boot. If we didn't raise our own meat and have a cow, my kids would be vegetarians. I feel for those large families who are not in a position to offset the high cost of groceries with a little home-grown food. My heart and prayers go out to them.

So how many toilets do we need, anyway?

We had another toilet-related drama this morning. Una was in my bathroom, and she usually takes a bit of time, as she has IBS and is prone to tummy trouble. Adrian, who is three, came to me and said, "I need to go pee in the potty." This was good news, as he is rarely so bored as to bother to tell me he has the urge to go. We were there at the bathroom door when Sebastian said he needed to use the toilet as well. Okay, two toilets; three kids who need to use them.

God grants wisdom to mothers who ask for it.

I eye Sebastian. "Can you pee in the back yard?" I ask hurriedly.
He shakes his head. "No, I don't have to pee."
I look down at Adrian. "Pee or poop?"
"I have to go pee I said!" He looks anxious.
"Alright, you take the bathroom, Sebastian. Adrian, come with me." I grab his hand and lead him through the kitchen and laundry room to the back steps, then I jerk down his shorts and pull-up diaper. "Now, stand close to the edge and pee down there."

Just a moment before he begins to tinkle, I see Lizzy, one of our barn cats, a shy one who never approaches the kids but likes me quite well, coming towards us just below the step where Adrian stands. And the inevitable happens.

He pees on the cat.

How is the less-than-one-toilet-per-capita problem dealt with in households full of girls, I'd like to know?

Brave New World

With the restoration of the Extraordinary Rite by our Holy Father has come a resurgence of backbone in some parishes. There is an encouraging tidbit on Hallowed Ground about a parish in Mazomanie, WI where the pastor has decided to do away with altar girls. The parents of the girl-servers are outraged, of course, but I applaud the resolve it must have taken the priests to make this move. The whole point of having boys serve at the altar is to encourage a priestly vocation. Using girls, what is the point? They can serve the Church in many other ways. Once the girls are removed from the sanctuary, we can get rid of the unisex alb-type things that are worn by the servers and return to cassocks and surplices...

From the "Wishful Thinking" files...

I have long desired one of these TVGuardian things. They seem a miraculous thing to me. I don't know how many times I've rented a video or dvd of some movie I saw many years ago in my childless days and thought, "Now there's a nice movie for the kids," only to be mortified upon watching it, hoping that the unfamiliar "colorful" language will go over the kids' heads or lurching for the remote in order to fast-forward through the close-up of a couple playing tonsil-hockey I'd forgotten all about. I do try to check things out these days on one of the family-friendly review sites, especially having made so many blunders in the past. In any case, the device is not compatible with our home entertainment system, which consists of a TV with a 13" screen and built-in VCR, connected to a $30 dvd player from a discount store.

Anyway, I was on the phone with my sister this morning, walking a circuit from room to room as always in a feeble attempt to avoid the screaming and whining of all the short, angry, demanding little people who suddenly appear whenever I pick up a telephone. It suddenly dawned on me that what I need is the MommyGuardian. With the flip of a switch it will instantly filter out all whining and screaming unless bloodshed is involved. You know what that would mean?

Silence.

Yessiree, this house would become a haven of quiet, comparable to the Grande Chartreuse--if you'd overlook the toys scattered about and the sticky juice spots on the kitchen floor. It would be like naptime all the time!

Hm. And maybe there could even be a setting for Incomprehensible Toddler Chatter...

Just don't drip pizza sauce on your book...

Here's something to encourage your kids ages 10 and under to do a little reading this summer:

1. Download a reading log here and have a parent or guardian sign it.

2. Then have your child read for at least 15 minutes a day for a week.

3. When you have a week's worth of reading logged in, take the signed log and the child to CiCi's Pizza or Half Price Books and get a Feed Your Brain Reading Reward: your choice of a $3 off coupon at Half Price Books or a free Kid's Buffet at CiCi's Pizza with the purchase of an adult buffet.

This can be repeated every week through Saturday, August 2nd. Check out details at www.cicispizza.com or www.halfpricebooks.com.

What's the difference, really?

The strange legal dichotomy: if the baby is still in its mother when it is killed, it is abortion and it's perfectly okay in the eyes of the law. But if the baby makes it out of the womb alive, then killing it becomes murder. Here is an example of that strangeness, and also proof that abortionists are callous baby-killers and not really humanitarians with a tender concern for women's health and well-being (but we already know that, don't we?).

How many of these do you use?

I strongly urge everyone, but especially mothers who are interested in feeding real, unadulterated food to their kids, to take a look at this list of food products that contain genetically engineered or modified ingredients.

Combine genetic manipulation with soil depletion, artificial ingredients and a slew of preservatives and you may feel that the task of feeding your kids well is nigh impossible; I often feel that way. All I can say is, raise what you can yourself (even if all you can do is a few containers or raised beds of salad greens and tomatoes), buy local as much as possible, cut out unnecessary junk and cut back on whatever else you need to in order to pay the price for real food. If you have to travel a distance for it, make a monthly trip and fill your freezer accordingly. God made humans tough, and yes, children will grow even eating all that toxic garbage out there. But what happens then? Our health is compromised enough by things out of our control, like air quality and our water supply. So it is all the more important to try to do the best we can in those areas that are within our control.

All I need to know I learned from my hens...

(wisdom culled from somewhere on the internet):

Wake up early, stay busy, rest when you need to, but always stay alert.
Visit your favorite places each day.
Scratch out a living.
Routine is good.
Plump is good.
Don’t ponder your purpose in life - your brain is too small.
Accept the pecking order and know your enemies.
Weed your garden.
Protect your children fiercely - sit on them if you need to.
Take them for walks, show them the little things and talk constantly.
Make a nice nest. Share it with friends.
Don’t count your chicks before they hatch.
Protect your nest egg.
Test your wings once in a while.
Squawk when necessary.
As you age, demand respect.
Leave a little something for those who care about you.
Chase butterflies.

Cheap Fun: Homemade Playdough

If you happen to be the parent of young children, you will eventually go looking for this recipe. Especially when school is out and it is pouring outside, as it was here this morning.

Homemade Playdough

Ingredients:

1 cup salt
2 cups flour
4 tsp cream of tartar
2 Tbsp cooking oil
2 cups water
food coloring

Directions:

1. Mix everything together in a medium non-stick saucepan.
2. Cook on medium heat for three to five minutes, stirring constantly, until the mixture is so thick you can't stir it any longer and it looks dry, like mashed potatoes.
3. Remove from heat and allow to cool until it can be handled.
4. At this point I divide it into 3 balls and knead food coloring into it until I have a pleasant shade.
Using rubber gloves is advisable, although I never do.
5. Store in air tight containers.

Just look at how much fun you can have!

Sunday evening ice cream cones

More Andy Griffith and homemade vanilla ice cream with sprinkles! Life just doesn't get any better than this...

The rapid downhill slide...

A friend in Charlotte, NC emailed me the link to this article. Nothing that many of us don't already know, but it sums it all up well enough.

How Much Time Does the U.S. Have?

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Why I Prefer the Latin Mass

We went to mass in Horse Cave again this morning after two weeks of assisting at the Novus Ordo for reasons of convenience (we needed to go to an early mass, and the TLM in Horse Cave is at noon). It felt good to be back, good to not be the only one wearing a mantilla, good to watch the carefully orchestrated gestures and genuflections.

I was drawn to the Latin Mass long before I ever assisted at a mass, years before I was baptized. God lured me to Himself through externals: art, music, architecture, history, etc. In my teens, when I was still very much a pagan, I nevertheless had a strong love of medieval European history, and growing up in Bavaria I was surrounded by it. The history of Europe is inextricably entwined with the history of the Catholic Church, and the Romanesque, Gothic and Baroque architecture I was/am in love with is most evident in the churches and cathedrals of Europe. I was surrounded by both religious and secular art, and in my late twenties, having left Europe, I became fond of chant and polyphony. And Latin. It was always a wonderful language to me, as my maternal grandfather whom I so admired was fluent in it--and Greek--having been educated by Jesuits in Germany. There was also the connection to the old books I was learning to restore, many of them printed or hand-written in Latin.

When I finally came to realize that I wanted to become a Catholic, it was the Latin mass I thought I would come to know. I was quite unaware of what changes had occurred in the aftermath of the Second Vatican Council. When I finally assisted at my first mass in Charlotte, NC, I wept for half an hour afterward. It was a very modern parish, and all the emphasis was on the risen Christ and God's love and mercy; good news indeed, but never a word about sin, or Christ's suffering, or the mass as a holy and perfect sacrifice. It was all about the community of faith--the horizontal rather than the vertical aspect of the mass.

I am not one who believes that the Novus Ordo is not a legit mass. That would mean that the Holy Father is a heretic, and I don't buy into that. I trust the Holy Spirit to guide the Church through the Vicar of Christ. Each offers to God our crucified Lord, a perfect sacrifice. But I get more out of the TLM not because of what is offered to God--which is the same in both the new and old masses--but rather because of what I receive, and I am more favorably disposed toward the old rite.

I like the pomp. I like the meticulous motions and gestures of the priest that leave no room for his own creativity (the mass isn't the place for it). I like seeing the tabernacle and not the presider's chair at the center of things. I like looking at the priest's beautifully vested back rather than his face (less distracting, for me and for him). And I like the prayers, the elevated language. It is not a little ironic that the Novus Ordo is now referred to as the Ordinary Rite and the TLM as the Extraordinary Rite. The language of the former is, in all truth, ordinary.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Latin prayers, I would like to offer a reference for comparison. The Latin Mass Society of England and Wales has an online side-by-side comparison of the old and new missals. So take a look and see what you think. With God about to condescend to the altar, body, blood, soul and divinity, how might we address Him?

I wish I had more nerve...

We took a trip out to the Mennonite community near Scottsville, KY this morning. I could have had some fantastic photos today, but I know that the Mennonites don't appreciate the cameras and I respect that, although I still kick myself for respecting that [Drat, drat, drat, those would have been great shots!]

The wheat was gathered in sheaves in the fields, stacked upright like hundreds of little tepees. We placed an order for a gallon of raw honey (it won't be harvested for a couple of weeks yet), and while Bret talked to the gentleman who sells the honey I watched three little girls in brown dresses and white head coverings as they quietly stood nearby, the youngest trying to catch butterflies near the vegetable garden.

Then we went to pick up a sack of cracked corn for the hogs, and I watched a woman among the tomato plants while in the background by her house a horse hitched to a buggy stood tied under the most beautiful weeping willow. I so wanted to photograph her, but I didn't dare. We go rather frequently to this community, and I don't want to become a persona non grata...it might be different if we were one-time visitors.

Then we stopped and watched Mark shear a sheep, while a few feet away from him a young man was skinning another, then gutting it for some customers. A dozing german shepherd lay nearby, and my oldest three kids watched with fascination (Adrian didn't want to go out because the dog worried him, and Dominic was asleep).

I bought produce--red and green tomatoes, yellow squash, new potatoes and a basket of peaches--from one place, and peanut butter, sunflower seeds, dried apples and camphor oil from another. It's always good for my soul to visit there.

Hope I'll have the nerve to ask if I may photograph them at threshing time. They may be less self conscious because of the machinery...

Tasha Tudor, 28 Aug. 1915-18 Jun. 2008

I live in something of a media-void. No network or cable TV, no newspapers, no radio. So news always comes to me late, and it was only in browsing a bit on the Catholic Mothers blogs this morning that I discovered that illustrator and lifestyle icon Tasha Tudor died on Wednesday.

I first came to know of her through my mother, who owned the books, Tasha Tudor's Garden and The Private World of Tasha Tudor. Later on, when my first child was only two, I came across a copy of First Things in a secondhand book store, and in my mind the little girl Sally in the book was my daughter, as we looked forward to moving from Charlotte, NC to rural Tennessee.

I have since acquired Tasha Tudor's Heirloom Crafts and The Art of Tasha Tudor. I love her detailed yet somewhat naive illustrations. I greatly admired her talents and her life of industriousness and energy. I was less enthralled with some of her personality traits as they were revealed by those who wrote of her. Stubborn, insisting on her way in everything, forcing life to be as she willed it...not exactly an example of Christian submission to the Divine Will, but then, she was not a Christian. Still, she had a superabundance of fine and admirable talents, and for this I will always be an admirer of hers.

May God grant your soul peace, Tasha.

It's Friday Night...

...it is late. Bret didn't get home until 9 p.m. The kids and I had dinner, prayed the rosary and then popped pop corn. The "big kids" get to sleep out on the pull-out sofa on Friday nights and watch videos or dvds. And what is on tonight? An Andy Griffith Marathon. I got Bret the entire first season for Father's Day. I think they are on episode 7 or 8 now.

The kids are growing up watching Andy Griffith, Green Acres and The Beverly Hillbillies. And they just love it. So do Bret and I.

Home made Laundry Soap

Blogging just doesn't get any better than this, eh? I know that the dollar stores have inexpensive laundry soap, I've used the Sun brand and it isn't too bad. But I was intrigued by the thought of making my own, especially since the ingredients in home-made are pretty simple and the instructions are easy enough for anyone to follow. I tried it out today, and it seemed to do a good job, despite our hard--I mean really hard--water. Just don't use it for cloth diapers, as soap leaves a residue that will lock in the odors and lessen absorbency.

1/3 of a bar of Zote soap (but any mild soap could do), grated
3/4 cup Arm & Hammer washing soda
3/4 cup 20 Mule Team Borax

In a large pot, heat 3 pints of water. Add the grated bar soap and stir until melted (this could take a while, so I just stir frequently and keep it from simmering). Then add the washing soda and borax. Stir until the powder is dissolved, then remove from heat.

In a clean, 2 gallon pail, pour 1 quart of hot water and add the heated soap mixture. Top off the pail with cold water to make 2 gallons and stir well. At this point you can also stir in a teaspoon of essential oil--I used lavender.

Use about 1/2 to 1 cup per load, depending on the size of the load. I filled up 2 old gallon vinegar bottles. You do need to give it a good shake before pouring it out to use. Even better is a 2 gallon bucket with a good lid, so that you can stir it.

American converts to Islam...

...are Cafeteria Muslims. Example from a 2007 episode of Inside Edition here. A couple of things that I found a little nauseating: 1) the comment, "But things haven't been easy for Muslims in this country since 9/11." [N.B.: things are actually much easier here for them than in Muslim countries--Angela ought to try life in Saudi Arabia for a while]; 2) her parents. Her dad's comment that he "wasn't surprised" just shows me how very "Catholic" they were, despite the charming photo of the girls in their Catholic school uniforms.

Wake Up and Smell the Turkish Coffee--Part II

I am still reading The Sword of the Prophet and finding myself quite surprised by what I read. I don't intend to stop at one book on the topic; I do plan to read a little more extensively, but the author refers to many books written by both westerners and Muslims, so I am not too worried about an unfair bias.

I actually was going to entitle this post, How to Create a Totally Dysfunctional Society Without Even Trying, but that was too long and tedious. The chapters I finished recently are on marriage and women in the Arab/Muslim world.

When one looks at western society and attempts to find the causes of societal dysfunction, certain things are obvious and the statistical data is there to offer proof: divorce, absent or emotionally distant fathers, poverty and lack of education, abuse-- all of these contribute to creating wacky people who have difficulty functioning as healthy, productive members of society. Certainly there are exceptions, by the grace of God, but for the most part people incur some kind of emotional damage when some of these factors come into play.

Now take a look at Islam and marriage in the Arab world. First of all, women are looked at as a commodity. According to Muhammad, a woman is pretty much a cursed thing, stupid and faithless, whose only chance of gaining paradise is to have a husband who is pleased with her at the time of her demise. Marital intimacy is not a matter of love or tenderness, but an expression of the husband's domination. Polygamy is permissible because some men have such a "compelling sexual desire" that one wife is not enough to satisfy. Divorce is easy, and a man need not even inform his wife that he is divorcing her. When a Muslim man takes on another wife, she does not live with the former wife and her husband, but in a separate household where she raises her children. She may be visited by her husband, depending on his whims, weekly, monthly or hardly at all. In this decentralized family, the many children rotate around not their father, but their mothers. The father is "generally perceived as an absence. Instead of the father figure essential to normal development," the author points out, "there is a void, from Ishmael to Muhammad to Bin Laden, one of fifteen children by one of ten wives."

I could go on and on, but I will try to keep this up in segments as I continue reading.

No Humility Without Humiliation

There's nothing like being a mother to young children for opportunities to grow in humility. About fifteen minutes ago I found myself suddenly overwhelmed by what we might call "potty issues".

My 22 month-old comes into the office, where I sit hoping no one will discover my whereabouts and interrupt my perusal of favorite blogs. He isn't noisy or disruptive, he just sits. And stinks. So, finally I decide that I really must do something before he ends up with a leaking, stinking diaper. As I stand by the changing table taking off this toxic mess my five year-old reports, "Sebastian put a bunch of toilet paper in the toilet and now it's stopped up." He continues to fill me in on the details as I use my fourth or fifth baby wipe. "I'll get to it as soon as I can, Gabe", I tell him. Enter the three year-old: "I have to go pee in the potty." I cannot take him, so I scream to my nine year old daughter in the other room, "Una! Stop whatever your doing now and get Adrian on the toilet! Get the potty seat out of the bathroom and use the toilet in my room, the other is stopped up!" She dutifully gets the potty seat and the toddler and disappears into my room. The baby is clean. I spray some air freshener into the air. "I'm done, mama!" I hear from my room. I put the baby down and he follows me to check on Adrian. I have failed to remind Una to remind Adrian to put his little thing down between his legs, and now there is pee on him, pee on the potty seat, pee on the toilet seat and pee on the floor. Now I feel about ready to scream. I get Adrian off the toilet, clean him and say in a foreboding tone, "Go. Go out. Now." He leaves the room with the baby in tow, sensing the threat. He has no diaper and no shorts. Now I scream. No one comes running, as they are all familiar with the sound of mother losing it. I get the spray disinfectant and the paper towels and sit on the floor cleaning everything.

"Thank you, Lord", I finally say, "for helping me to learn humility. You know how much I need it."

Post Scriptum: In the middle of this post I had to respond to another call: Gabriel spilled half a glass of iced tea all over the kitchen floor...Deo Gratias.

The Ironic Catholic's 2008 Poetry Contest

I've entered with a handful of Haiku, because they are easy to come up with and require almost no innate talent. First, my entries for the Serious Haiku category:

Crucified for me
Although my heart is like stone;
This is Love.

Jesus lifted up,
Broken, bleeding on the cross.
My Lord and my God!

Blessed Sacrament--
I avert my eyes in shame.
Have mercy!

Then these two for the Funny Haiku category:

Here I am again.
Why do confessionals not
Have revolving doors?

Love my enemies,
Pray for my persecutors.
All but her.

I may now wear this badge with pride:




Enter your own poetry here.

Party Time!

Yesterday's cookout was a great success, for which I would like to thank my friend Cindy especially. Even though she is very pregnant with her ninth child, she managed to fill out my menu with potato salad, chicken salad, a Caesar salad and bar cookies for a crowd. Others brought pasta salad, water melon and cheese cake. And I served pulled pork sandwiches, hamburgers, hot dogs, coleslaw, bean salad, baked beans and brownies. So it was an incredible spread!

The weather was beautiful. Even at 90 degrees, it was fine in the shade, and there was a breeze some of the time. When it got hot enough, we pulled out a load of water pistols and the kids went about cooling everyone off. Of course it progressed from water pistols to hurling cupfuls of water, and I don't think anyone stayed completely dry.

The day's end left me completely wiped out, but in a good way. I did have trouble falling asleep, my mind was so full of the day's fun.

The new chickens are here

We picked up our new laying flock from our friends at Garnett Family Farm on Friday. We got ten pullets and a cockerel--at least we think he's a cockerel; if it turns out that he's a she, we will trade her back. Hopefully the pullets will start laying next month, because we are averaging an egg a day right now. We may let the old hens hang around or they may end as chicken and dumplings when the weather begins to cool and the leaves change color.

The new flock are Jersey Giants, also known as Black Giants.

St. Anthony of Padua

Today is my daughter's baptismal feast. I don't know of a single, Catholic home-schooling mother who does not rely heavily of St. Anthony. My children, like most, are good at misplacing things and seem to think that I ought to know where these things are (because, after all, mama has eyes in the back of her head). I always refer them to St. Anthony. The Communion of Saints is great for that-- one always has someone to whom one can delegate the impossible jobs. I call on him myself frequently for lost items. And I have a friend who calls on him whenever she gets lost going somewhere. But we ought not forget that St. Anthony is not a mere bloodhound for sniffing out lost articles. He is a saint of great miracles, and we ought to turn to him for the conversion of hardened sinners, for that of those who have strayed from the Catholic faith, for enemies of the Church and indeed for all difficult cases.

Recipe: Eye of Round Roast

For lack of anything better to post here's a recipe. This is dinner tonight, with steamed potatoes and herb butter and a vegetable.

It is without a doubt the best way I've found to cook an inexpensive, rather tough cut of meat. I have only used it with eye of round roast; I wonder how it would do with other cuts.

1 3lb. beef eye of round roast
Seasoning (I use Monterey Steak seasoning)

Preheat oven to 500 degrees. Season the roast and place in a roasting pan or baking dish. Do not cover or add any liquid.

Place the roast in the preheated oven. Reduce the temperature to 475 degrees and roast for 21 minutes (7 minutes per pound), then turn off the oven and let the roast sit for 2 1/2 hours (you may have to adjust the time for smaller or larger roasts). Do not open the oven door at all during this time!

Remove the roast from the oven. The internal temperature should have reached at least 145 degrees. Carve into thin slices and serve.

Can't tell you; I don't know myself...

Time to clean the chicken coop

Of the remnants of our laying flock there are now only two. We lost most of them during the winter to an opossum, and yesterday one of our oldest hens, Mrs. Taylor, was found dead in the barn. No sign of damage, so the apparent cause of death was most likely age and the appalling heat. She was actually one of three Mrs. Taylors--all three were indistinguishable, and so it was easiest just to give all three the same name. As if chickens pay any attention to what you call them.

Anyway, Bret, who comes home from work each afternoon to much more work, is today cleaning the chicken house in preparation for a new flock. Yesterday it was mowing, the day before unloading hay. We are down to one or two eggs a day, and if we don't want to have to buy eggs along with the milk, then we need some hens soon.

Here's a shot of the lovely chicken coop Bret built:

And here are a few photos of the boys I took while I was out taking pictures of the chicken coop:

Oh how I hate buying milk...

Well, we are down to our last half-gallon of raw, creamy, yellow Jersey milk. Nuala is officially dried off in preparation for the arrival of her calf in August. Her actual due date is 18 August, which is Bret's birthday. I hate having to buy milk, yogurt and sour cream. I have to ration it somewhat, as we go through nearly a gallon a day in this house.

Oh, how I look forward to our marvelous milk!

Wake Up and Smell the Turkish Coffee

I am about halfway through reading The Sword of the Prophet. I highly recommend it. I am reading history that was never presented to me in school, or if it was it must have been a mere sentence or two slipped in nonchalantly.

The Muslim conquest of India, to refer to just one area of this veiled history, resulted in the complete obliteration of a highly developed civilization, one which until the Islamic invasion was one of the most advance civilizations of all time. The reaction of the less developed warriors to a more refined people was resentment and appalling violence. In many ancient cities of India every single temple was leveled and mosques built in their places.

Will Durant is quoted in his The Story of Civilization. He called this "a discouraging tale, for its evident moral is that civilization is a precious good, whose delicate complex order and freedom can at any moment be overthrown by barbarians invading from without and multiplying from within." There is prevalent evidence of that across Europe today. Here's a news article from the UK Telegraph I read this morning, the one that spurred this post

Today the violence is an undercurrent, attributed by academia and the media as belonging only to proponents of radical Islam. They do not know history. They do not know the Koran or the life of Muhammad. If they do, they hold their tongues because the history of what non-Muslims have suffered under Islamic rule is politically incorrect to tell.

So those of you who can, book a flight to Europe. Visit the churches and cathedrals. View the religious and secular art that is to be seen literally everywhere. It may all be so much rubble and ashes before you know it.

Dominic the Pet