Solidarity

"I march, not to take rights away, but to give a voice to the voiceless, to stand for those who cannot stand for themselves. To shine the light of God's truth and fight for the right to life for all, no matter the stage of life. God is great. Let him be praised. Amen."--young person at the March for Life

Today I remember my youngest brothers and sisters, the smallest and most vulnerable ones in their mothers' wombs, and also those who are vulnerable because of advanced age, disability, or illness.

I remember my friend K on the East Coast, who had an unplanned pregnancy and chose life for her baby. That baby is now a beautiful, intelligent young woman, an editor and a newlywed. K volunteers at a crisis pregnancy center to help other young women facing pregnancy in difficult situations.

I remember my friend S on the opposite side of the country, unable to have her own biological children. She and her husband gave life to a son and a daughter whom they took into their hearts through adoption. S also worked at a crisis pregnancy center.

I remember morally bankrupt phrases such as "If you don't like an abortion, don't have one" and wonder if those who espouse such a view feel the same way about slavery. "If you don't like slavery, don't own one."

I remember the young Clinic Support guy who taunted us and accused us of not caring about women as we walked and prayed outside a local abortion facility, but had no answer when my soft-spoken friend B asked him in her gentle voice, "What about the babies?"

I remember a former renter, T, who had an abortion before we knew she was even considering one. She had alarming, continuing physical problems, and even worse emotional and spiritual turmoil. My husband was first to discover what had happened and urged me to talk to her. I told her about a post-abortion healing ministry, and took a nurse friend of mine with me to check on her. We urged her to seek medical help and counseling. T became dangerously thin and lost in a downward spiral of drugs and depression. Then she disappeared.

I remember the Christmas card and photo T sent us a few months later, admitting that the abortion was the worst thing she'd ever done. She wrote that now she was clean and getting help, and thanked us for caring for her when she couldn't care for herself, even though at the time we felt we hadn't done very much.

I remember four of our children (pictured above) who marched in Washington D.C. today with thousands of others to proclaim the dignity of all human life from conception till natural death.

I remember my friend H and his wife M right here in the middle of the country, raising a large family. H worked for the pro-life cause at the state level for years, while also holding a full time job to support his wife and children. I tease him about being a jailbird, because he was arrested for peaceful, civil disobedience at an abortion clinic. He told me that the parts of the Bible Paul wrote from prison truly come alive when you are behind bars yourself.

I remember the story H told me about their two eldest children (now adults) accidentally finding a photo of late-term aborted babies in a trashcan--not dismembered, but whole and fully formed. H's children were about three and four years old at the time, and were arguing about whether these were dolls, or babies. Their conclusion?

"They must be dolls, because NO ONE would throw away babies."

Connoisseur

A couple weeks ago I mixed up a batch of henna to touch up my roots. In lieu of boxed chemical color, I use very diluted henna, which makes my grays golden (instead of making me a redhead, which full strength henna would do). Anyway, I stirred lemon juice into the green powder and left the bowl atop the refrigerator overnight to magically release its dye.

I also had plans to make fudge that same weekend. All the ingredients were waiting for me in the pantry.

I only use a bit of henna at a time, mixed with conditioner. I globbed spoonfuls of the brownish goo onto two cookie sheets to freeze for later use. One cookie sheet went into the garage freezer, but I didn't have room for the other so it waited its turn on the hood of my husband's classic car.

An hour later he was standing in the kitchen wearing the funniest expression. He was convinced that I'm the worst fudge maker in the known universe.

Bond of Love

It's Christmas. The house is noisy and brimming with life. Tonight the kids are hosting a Wii party and the basement is filled with laughing teenagers. Still there is an empty space, a Dara-shaped hole where she is not. She named herself Sister Squared for her siblings; she's their sister who's also a sister in a religious order. This year I was blessed to see her twice. We also spoke to her on the phone on Christmas Day and exchanged letters, yet the hole remains.

Real love involves sacrifice. Look at a crucifix and ponder the meaning. Can you love with that kind of love? The older I get the deeper this realization sinks into my heart. Three years ago we celebrated her entrance into the Little Sisters of the Poor . I was thrilled for her and beamed throughout the liturgy. An older couple greeted me after Mass, and the lady patted my arm and told me it would get better. Mark was the one having a hard time, not me. "I'm fine," I assured her. I was, until the drive home without Dara. Everything was changed...forever. I closed my eyes and turned my head to the side, feigning sleep, directing the air conditioner vent toward my face to dry the tears I couldn't stop. I clutched the bag she'd given me, containing the personal items she wouldn't need anymore: her makeup, shoes, the clothing she'd changed out of.

At least I'm more used to it now. I don't expect her to walk through the door. Her room now belongs to her sister and most of her possessions have been given away. I know this is the path down which God has called her, and the knowing gives me peace and joy mingled with the pangs of missing her. I can't explain it, but if I accept the grace God gives, accept and even embrace the sacrifice, the pain involved, it makes the love even sweeter.

Her letters are bright spots in our lives, a mixture of nun news and catechesis. This year the beautiful picture above was on the Christmas card she sent. "...don't you love the picture on this card?! I could gaze on it for hours...or at least a really long time. I love Mary depicted realistically as she would have been as a Galilean girl...not a golden crown and jewel bedecked Empress. And the glisten in the eyes of the utterly content baby Jesus...just as we should be in the arms of our Father. ...Knowing that we were each made to reflect, rather, be transformed into, a certain aspect or trait of Christ, I have been drawn more and more to Him as Servant. This is a beautiful time to be immersed in that..."

"Lastly, you are not given permission to let my absence dampen your holidays. Rather, rejoice and thank God that He has given me so much happiness and fulfillment. Keep up your prayers...being called to be a witness to a message and reality that much of the world does not want to hear or accept is tough work!"

Riiiiggghhht. I do rejoice for her happiness and I readily admit it is tough work, but she as my dear daughter cannot "deny me permission" to miss her during the holidays or any other time. Sorry, Dara, the tug is still there and always will be. God uses all things for good, even (and maybe especially) hard things, to stretch our hearts to receive more of Him.

Shortly after she left, a song came on the car radio...the song she sang and recorded on her cell phone voice mail. Countless times I'd heard her singing it, and now her voice echoed inside me. I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel and melted into a puddle right there in the Wal-mart parking lot. Funny how a simple tune and words can carry you back to an earlier time, a time when Sister Squared was just Dara, a busy college student...when her little silver car would show up at our house and her siblings would race across the front lawn to greet her and help her carry in her bags and laundry.

I don't mean this to sound utterly depressing. It isn't, but I can't deny that the separation is hard sometimes. Dara once wrote about the bond of love that holds us together, whether we are celebrating Christmas or she is half a world away lying on a cot in India (where she spent the summer of 2004). Love, the bond that nothing in the universe can break.

"But all the miles that separate disappear now when when I'm dreaming of your face."

For My West Coast Friend

This week a friend who lives far away looked eternity in the face and was blessed to find herself still on this side. Her life is set on a "new normal". Thank goodness for modern medicine. She now has an amazing electrical gizmo implanted in her chest, giving her heart necessary operating instructions. Beat. Now. God isn't finished with her here just yet.

Ten years ago after our youngest was born, I found myself in a hospital bed with a massive blood clot in my leg. I, too, faced the very real possibility of leaving this earth. It was unfamiliar, terrifying terrain for an otherwise healthy 38-year-old woman. I begged God to let me go home to my husband, newborn baby, and six other children who needed me. Lying there feeling as helpless as a newborn babe myself, unable to walk (I could hop on one leg!), I listened, trembling, as more than one person described to me what could happen if a piece of the blood clot broke off and lodged itself in my lung. You'd be dead in minutes. Sheesh, hadn't these nurses' aides ever heard of bedside manner? My breathing quickened, and I wondered frantically, is it happening yet???

Heartfelt, tearful prayer brought intimacy with Him who loves beyond imagining. He can turn any circumstance, even a life-threatening blood clot, into blessing. Yes, I was helpless, but the fear gave way to a peace I'd never known before. I wasn't a terrified victim, but a beloved child cradled in the Father's arms. Death isn't the Grim Reaper casting his ominous black shadow, but rather the loving embrace of God for Whom we were created. I admit I don't like to think of dying in a horribly painful way, but whenever and however it happens, He will still be there with arms outstretched.

This life is a drop of water to be swallowed up in the ocean of God's love and mercy. When we cross over to the other side, I imagine we'll laugh at how long we thought it all was...waiting for Christmas as a child, being engaged and anxious to be married, carrying a baby for nine forever-seeming months, even heartbreaking things like watching Mom struggle with physical ailments that slowly drained the life from her. It is a blink in the scheme of the Eternal.

God is good. He holds our past and our present and, unbounded by time, is already in our future. He knows what our days will bring, and offers abundant grace for the moment. Let us spend whatever time we have left here knowing,loving, and serving Him until He lifts the veil and calls us home.

Espionage

A (age 10): "I'm going to be a hippie for Halloween!"

M (20-year-old sister): "You don't even know what a hippie is."

A insisted that he did. M: "Well, what is a hippie then?"

A: "Someone who sells secrets to the government."

Rome Trip--Day Three--October 10th (evening)

After eating a wonderful dinner of (of course) pasta, veal, and potatoes roasted with olive oil and rosemary, we walked up the hill to St. Mary Major...yet another exquisite Roman church! We had already been to Mass in the morning at St. Paul Outside the Walls; this was a prayer vigil in anticipation of the canonization Mass at St. Peter's Basilica the next day.

Our daughter, Sr. Dara Catherine, was supposed to do a reading at the prayer vigil, but for some reason they did not have anyone to cantor, so she was asked to do this at the last minute with a Franciscan priest and another man. They did well with little time to practice! She said each time they stepped back from the microphone, she would wipe her sweaty hands on her habit. After all, it was her first time to sing in such a huge full church in front of...cardinals!

Sr. Dara Catherine and Sr. Gemma are happy to be in Rome!

I asked this Indian sister if I could take her photo, and only afterward did Sr. Dara, our daughter, inform me that Sr. Cecilia Patricia is not just another sister, but an assistant to Mother General, the worldwide head of the Little Sisters of the Poor. She is from Bombay. What a beautiful smile!

I believe this is the tomb of a pope but so far I have not found out which one.

Wow!!! Such exquisite detail is everywhere you look.

Oh. My. Goodness. It's not every day that this girl from Kansas sees a group of cardinals chatting after church. I had to snap some photos! Sorry for the blurriness, but I just could not bring myself to go up to them and say, "Excuse me, Your Eminences, would you mind posing for me?"

St. Mary Major, so beautiful at night!

Buona notte! Tomorrow is the big day at St. Peter's!

Rome Trip--Day Three--October 10th (morning)

Saturday morning was gray and wet, so we donned our rain gear and headed to Mass at St. Paul Outside the Walls. We had seen so many breathtaking sights it's a wonder I had air left in my lungs. Thankfully, we had adjusted to the seven-hour time difference, and also, the skies cleared and the weather was beautiful.

I made these photos large, to show the grandeur of this holy place. I hope you have a high speed connection! If not, you may want to go cook dinner or run a few errands while waiting for this blog to load!

Mark at St. Paul Outside the Walls

Me at St. Paul Outside the Walls modeling my lovely plastic apparel. Look at the gorgeous gardens!

Good St. Paul himself

I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.

Mother Paul and another Little Sister (if you know her name, please e-mail me and I will add it!)

Our lovely daughter, Sister Dara Catherine, novice

Beautiful iconography at St. Paul Outside the Walls

There were portraits of all the popes running all the way around the top of the walls.

Sue and Ann

Little Sisters of the Poor from India...aren't they beautiful?

Mark rounds up Bus 152 with his improvised sign.

It was a beautiful celebration with so many different nations represented, reminding me of the universality of the Church. Now on to lunch and our afternoon adventures!

Rome Trip--Day 2--October 9th

The morning was sunny and promising as we loaded onto the bus to head to the catacombs. But a warning: if you do not enjoy pictures of beautiful churches, ornate fountains, or narrow old streets, you might want to visit another blog. This post is very photo-heavy. Can you blame me? I'm a small town Midwestern girl who was overseas for the very first time. So enjoy...and be prepared to drool.

I love these narrow walled streets, even though it is kind of scary if you realize how tight a fit it is for our bus.

Beautiful villa in the morning sun, I presume the home of someone wealthy.

Ancient gates to the city...I believe I heard that Rome has fourteen of them.

These umbrella pines are everywhere, but do not grow that way naturally. You can see the nodules where the lower branches have been cut off. I love this shot of the tree against the ancient wall.

The morning light coming through the cypress trees at San Callisto catacombs...a green cathedral!

Mark and I in front of the gift shop at San Callisto (St. Callixtus) catacombs

We weren't supposed to take photos inside but I sneaked in a couple. The passages were narrow and went down several levels. It would be so easy to get lost inside! Many of the tombs were empty niches in the wall, due to grave robbers. Christians celebrated Mass here in secret in the early centuries of the Church.

Lovely gardens outside the catacombs

We went to Mass at the Church of the Nativity. On the back wall behind the altar is this beautiful icon. The Latin words are the first lines from the Gospel of St. John: "In the beginning was the Word and the Words was with God, and the Word was God..."

Sister Dara Catherine (aka Sister Squared) outside the church with her dad

I threw a coin into Trevi Fountain, which is supposed to mean I will return to Rome someday. I hope so!

San Claudio Church near Trevi Fountain

Side altars in San Claudio Church

Mark in front of beautiful icons in San Claudio Church

You have to try gelatto in Rome! It is delcious Italian ice cream.

Our guide, Francesco, is a university professor of European history, very knowledgeable and funny. I think he looks like an Italian Kevin Kline.

Gorgeous old door...so many postcard-beautiful scenes everywhere

Statue of King David at the base of an obelisk near the Spanish steps

Francesco our guide said this street was sort of the "Fifth Avenue" of Rome. Scary model in that Prada advertisement,eh? Why would you wear a dress that costs thousands of Euros and have a frizz-bomb going off on top of your head???

I love these narrow cobbled streets! Beware of little cars and motorcycles though.

This looks like a photo in a magazine, but it's just everyday bella Roma. Look at the gorgeous lamps.

Another beautiful narrow street

I love this photo of a shop that made stone signs...notice the contrast between the old bricks and the vines.

Yes, another old narrow street!

Mark in Piazza del Popolo (the People's Plaza)

Twin churches of Rome...Santa Maria dei Miracoli on the left and Santa Maria di Montesanto on the right

Santa Maria del Popolo Church, "St. Mary of the People", in Piazza del Popolo

Old gate in the Piazza del Popolo

More walls of ancient Rome!

And that concludes our tour for Day Two. I hope you have enjoyed it!

Rome Trip--Day One Continued--October 8th

Here are a few photos I took on the bus tour, in between cat naps!



This massive monument was built in honor of King Victor Emmanuel II, the first king of a united Italy. It houses a museum.

I think this street vendor is selling drinks and gelatto, which is wonderfully delicious Italian ice cream. It is sold all over; we bought some near Trevi Fountain.

Nearly every Roman apartment building had terraces with plants.

Rome has numerous sidewalk cafe tables. The mild weather allows outdoor dining through November.

A typical Roman street with cobblestones hundreds of years old!

Wouldn't you love to live in an apartment building with such Old World charm? I would! We'd need a second apartment for the kids, though...

Beautiful architectural detail everywhere you turn

Ancient Roman temple

Another ancient Roman temple, very near the one above. I thought our guide said these were the temples of Mars and Venus, but I think my sleep-fogged brain got it wrong. I'll have to do some researching.

Ruins of an ancient Roman bath house, a hub of social activity. This one even included a library. Now that's my kind of bath house! Well maybe not. I wouldn't have liked the public bathing. I'd have hidden myself away in a cozy nook with some ancient tomes.

Part of the ancient wall of the city, made with narrow bricks.

I was surprised that Rome had palm trees! I expected cypress and olive, but since it rarely freezes palm trees do well here also.

The traffic here is crazier than even New York's, and they park crazily, too. This funky little triangular shaped parking "lot" intrigued me. I hope the guys in the middle aren't needing to leave in a hurry.

Little flower shops and greenhouses are everywhere.


Curbside gas pumps! I calculated that the signs were saying about $1.90 when converted from Euros into U.S. dollars. That's not bad, cheaper than in the U.S., until you consider that this is per liter, not per gallon. Gulp. No wonder so many people drive tiny cars, motorcycles, or use public transportation.

That's all for the first day! More later. Ciao!

Rome Trip--Day One--October 8th

After crossing the dark Atlantic for many hours, we finally saw twinkling lights of towns in the blackness below. France! Then we flew straight into the sunrise while crossing the Mediterranean. Little Italian coastal villages were partially shrouded in mist, with shreds of thick cotton nestled in the folds of valleys. Ahead the fog obscured the ground completely, lit pink and golden by the morning sun. Che bello!

Mark and I had talked of taking an anniversary trip to Rome last year, and when that didn't happen we considered going this year. So when the Little Sisters of the Poor called last spring and asked if we would like to make the pilgrimage with them, it seemed perfectly timed.

Our bus picked us up from the airport and we celebrated Mass at a church dedicated to Our Lady of Guadalupe. I had been up for 36 hours straight, and was fighting hard to stay awake, especially since this Mass was in Italian.

Beautiful arched bridge over the Tiber River

Closeup of statues on the bridge

Tiber River, looking the opposite direction

Mother Andrea in the Church of Our Lady of Guadalupe

In the afternoon we had a bus tour of the city. The reasoning was that we'd be too tired to walk, but I think walking would have helped us stay alert. We saw you nodding off, Mother Marguerite! Don't worry, you weren't the only one suffering from jet lag:

Our campsite consisted of rows of small cottages built for the Rome Olympics a few years ago. It wasn't the Ritz but they were nice. Somehow Mark and I ended up with our own two-bedroom chalet with a little kitchenette. Molto accogliente e romantica!

Home from Rome!

We made it home at 2:20 a.m. yesterday, after a 3-hour drive home from the airport! Of course Mark HAD to be in the office Thursday morning. We both crashed last night very early.

Rome was amazing beyond words, though of course that won't stop me from writing about it! We saw so many breathtaking churches, ancient ruins, postcard-beautiful scenes, and had wonderful tour guides to explain it all. The Mass at St. Peter's was incredible. We were outside and watched on video screens, but our daughter Sister Squared was able to be inside! She and some others from her group arrived early and ran up to the basilica as fast as they could. Someone said there were 250,000 people in the square. We were very near the front and had a good view of Papa Benedict when he came out to greet the crowds in various languages and give us his blessing.

I can't even say what my favorite part of the trip was. The magnificent churches? The ancient ruins? The catacombs where the Christians buried their dead and celebrated Mass in secret? The sculptures of Michelangelo? Meeting so many pilgrims and Little Sisters of the Poor? Standing in line for the ladies' room for thirty minutes at the canonization Mass? Oops--scratch that one.

Yes, I will be blogging more and adding photos, but right now, I must let the jet lag fog clear from my brain.

It was the most amazing trip. Ever.

Call 1-800-Improve-Your-Eyesight-Instantly

We were talking about ears and hearing, and I mentioned to Andrew that deaf people often have much keener vision and other senses. Their peripheral vision is often sharper. He stared straight forward and asked his older brother Paul, who was sitting off to the side, to hold up a number of fingers. He could not tell how many fingers there were, so then he said, "Maybe this will help." He stuffed his fingers in his ears and told Paul to try again.

He's almost ten, but I hope this little boy funniness doesn't end anytime soon! Paul and I had a good laugh. Then Paul added, "If you hold your nose, maybe you'll have laser vision like Superman!"

Hoedown with the Low-down

Andrew and I survived camping on the "dark side" of the Walnut Valley Bluegrass Festival. We camped with two friends; one of them brought her three young boys whom A spent hours with, playing soccer, Nerf football, and Legos.

We brought our guitars, and Mel brought her banjo. She has long hair, wears prairie skirts, and sometimes sits on her front porch plucking music. Her husband says all she needs is a corn cob pipe to complete the look.

On Saturday night the local priest said Mass at the camp. First time I've heard an autoharp played at church; it was lovely!

The national flat-picking guitar champions were amazing. And the bands...so much talent and such a nice variety of bluegrass, old timey, Celtic, gospel, and more. The David Munnelly Celtic band was superb, and featured a lively young man who did something that was a cross between tap and Irish step dancing.

The "dark side" is known for being noisy, my friends warned me. What they didn't tell me was that we were camping near a small stage with miked music till the wee hours, and that people would be howling like animals until just past sunrise. The ear plugs my friend gave me did not help much.

One night we were invited to eat supper on the north side of the campgrounds with my former sil and some of her family. Their camp was on a cliff overlooking the river. The only sounds were insects singing and soft bluegrass music being played nearby. It could have lulled me to sleep. If we go next year, I'm camping on the boring side.

It only took me two nights to recover.

Karen, Mike, Bob, Mary

Dick and Julie

Andrew by the Walnut River

Don't take my picture!

Andrew and I enjoying a show...don't let his scowl fool you!

Mary and Bob


Mary, me, and Andrew listening to a show at Stage 2


Indiana Jones (Mike) snoozes during the show.

Message from Our Linux-Techie-Geek Son

Thirst Quenching

Andrew was reading aloud to me. I couldn't figure out what the strange aroma was, or where it was coming from.

Me: "What is that smell?"

9-year-old Blaze: " I just drank some pickle juice." He did. The empty jar was sitting on the kitchen table.

Boys can be so weird! I can just picture him crawling on his belly across a parched desert, panting, "Need.....vinegar....now...."

Thirty Years Disappeared

I was worried about going to my 30th high school reunion and being unable to recognize classmates I hadn't seen for decades. Squinting at bald, paunchy, people and scratching my head. And then there are the guys. Haha. Thank goodness, it wasn't like that. So many of them hadn't changed much. Older, sure, but it was easy to put names to faces.

My old high school friend Linda came and sat next to me while we ate dinner, and it felt like we should be eating from aqua melamine cafeteria trays! I heard some stories I hadn't even realized at the time, or maybe I've forgotten. One guy bought a keg of beer and had it in the back of his pickup truck the last day of school. Some freshman also found it and helped themselves. Our principal caught someone indulging, and the guys got in big trouble for having alcohol on school property. They were expelled on the last day of senior year, and their diplomas were held until they got their work on the yearbook done.

Four hours flew by, and at 10:00 we had to leave the place we'd rented. A couple who worked hard planning the reunion lived nearby and graciously invited us to their house. My friend Kerry had a bad headache and went home, but another friend Keri who lives further away did come, and she and I spent a couple hours catching up.

Why did I have any worries about looking older, having a big family, not having an enviable career??? I didn't want anyone to think I was wasting my life I guess. That little girl shyness coming to the fore. We went around the room and gave a brief summary of what we were doing now, and I teasingly said I was a slacker mom. So many different paths...teacher, day care provider, truck driver, airline pilot, doctor, financial aid office at a university, property management for a huge complex, and more. And me, the mom of seven, homeschooling and carting kids all over.

Excuse me, I have to get back to slacking now.

Down from the Moutaintop

This weekend my family and I attended the Midwest Catholic Family conference. We listened to talks and perused booths filled with books, DVDs, art work, t-shirts, and information about religious orders, schools, and pro-life groups. Do I need to disclose the amount of my partaking of these items? It's my blog, so of course I don't. Silver Streak will get the credit card bill soon enough. (A homeschooling mom I know came up behind me and said, "Buying more books?" She understood. It's a sickness.) I loved seeing the sisters in their various habits moving throughout the crowds. What a sign of contradiction in a self-absorbed culture! Our own daughter, Sister Squared, knew she wanted to join an order that wore a habit. "If I'm going to live a consecrated life, I want to be a visible sign."


My favorite speaker was Immaculee Ilibagiza, who spoke with passion about how the Lord taught her to forgive those who murdered her parents and brothers in the Rwandan genocide of 1994. I read her book, Left to Tell, last year, and had seen her speak briefly on EWTN, but hearing her in person transported me beyond the dark auditorium to the heart of Africa. She huddled in a tiny, cramped bathroom with seven other women for three months, hiding from the killers who wanted to hunt them down and hack them into pieces with machetes just because they belonged to the "wrong" tribe. Her dramatic inner change in the midst of unspeakable evil showed so clearly the Hand of God at work in her life.

My prayer is that this conference will not be just a brief respite from my everyday life of folding laundry, chauffeuring kids to sports practice, cooking dinner, and planning the upcoming school year.

Jesus, help me to draw closer to You, to show Your love to my little corner of the world, especially to my husband and children, but to anyone who comes my way. Help me, as I heard someone say this morning, to do Your will in the present moment, for that is all that we have on this earth.

Elastic Dollars

My kids come from a long line of frugality. Their paternal grandma is the ultimate Garage Sale Queen. Today the three girls, Michelle, Karen, and Elizabeth, went bargain hunting at the mall.

Karen: (in answer to her dad's protesting that she had spent money) "But Dad! I spent less than $30 and got seven things." Good so far. "And two of them I actually needed."

As Sister Squared Would Say...

...cool beans! Google Alert can bring you some very neat surprises. Here is Sister Squared's order, the place we visited in May. We played nun volleyball with these beautiful ladies! Watch at least the first six minutes of the video.

May God bless all of you, newly professed Little Sister of the Poor. (Ooops...now Google Alert is going to get me again...haha.) I am so happy for you all.

And Sister Maria Lourdes...I have a mental picture of you playing Women's NBA in your lovely habit. :-)

Playing the Blues, Wedding Style

I feel so awful.

Our 17yo, Karen, and I performed music for a wedding this evening at our church. She was the accompanist and I was the soloist. We arrived at the church at 5:15 to give her plenty of time to warm up before playing 25 minutes of prelude music, and then the "Ave Maria" just before the wedding began.

At 5:28 she was just ready to begin playing the prelude pieces, when our priest whispered to me, "I think it's time for the Ave Maria." What???

The wedding was scheduled to begin at 5:30, not 6:00 as we had thought. I have been doing this for years, long before Karen was born, but this was a first. I don't remember the bride ever telling us that the wedding was at 5:30; she may have when we first met over a month ago. I had 6:00 in my head, I guess, because that was the time of the rehearsal last night.

We did only "Ave Maria" as a prelude, and then began with the piece for the seating of the mothers. We were both obviously flustered. I owe them a big fat apology.

Stupid, stupid me.