Personal Update

Wow! I didn't realize it had been so long since I posted. I compose posts in my head at odd moments and somehow they never seem to make it online.

I had my first round of chemo about a week and a half ago and spent the rest of that week discovering how the chemicals were going to affect my body. The anti-nausea meds worked very well, especially when a friend mentioned that it's the kind of nausea that goes away if you eat something. Oh--like morning sickness! I know how to deal with that! So I ate crackers when I woke up and ate something every couple of hours. (So much for my Lenten fast...) Then, over the weekend, which was several days after I stopped taking the meds, I noticed my vision was blurry. Turns out one of the meds is a steroid and blurred vision can be a side effect. Swell--my choice is nausea or blurred vision. I'll take blurred vision for $100, Alex!

There was the expected fatigue and then there was the fatigue that crept up on me that I didn't always realize was there. There was constipation, despite drinking several quarts of water a day. There's the nagging sore throat, not a bad one, just one that worried me because I have a history of tonsillitis and strep. So I slept, added molasses to my morning oatmeal, and gargle with warm salt water.

This week I feel like my old self, so much so I went back to my aqua aerobics class yesterday. And then had to explain where I'd been since the beginning of the year. I'm one of the regulars and my absence was noted, which is a nice feeling, actually.

I cut my hair short, kind of like the pixie cut I wore as a girl, which everyone thinks is really cute. And "you got new glasses!" Well, yeah, back in November. People notice the hair and then notice the glasses.

I also made my oncologist laugh at my follow up appointment on Monday. I mentioned I had returned to the office on Thursday after my chemo and she was surprised.

"I had Girl Scout cookies to deliver," I said in explanation.

"Oh... Girl Scout cookies!"

"Yeah. We have our priorities."

"And I can see where Girl Scout cookies are a priority," she said and laughed.

As Sis#2 pointed out when I mentioned the doctor wants me to "keep up my calories": like there's any problem with that during cookie season! (My favorite? All of them, for different reasons and different moods.)

I also attended the special Mass & Anointing of the Sick held by my parish over the weekend. And, yes, I did feel better after attending. Part of it was the feeling of community: I am not alone, spiritually or physically, in my suffering. I have the Communion of Saints to get me through this.

My next treatment is a week from this Friday.

Also, please pray for my friend who was just diagnosed with Stage III lymphoma. She's known in our local Girl Scouting community as "Grandma Willow," and keeps us on our toes! Her daughter, one of my closest friends, is taking this turn of events very hard.

News To Good Not to Share

My surgeon just called: there was no cancer in the second excision she took, which means that the cancer on the edges of the first lumpectomy was it.

Thank You, Lord!

Yes--it is 6:07 p.m. and she called me personally.

I go in tomorrow so she can take a look at the incisions and how my breast is healing. Right now it's a lovely shade of green-and-purple and a little bit swollen.

Many thanks to all my friends who have been storming heaven on my behalf.

First hurdle done; two more to go.

Movie Review: Paul Blart: Mall Cop

The movie opens with a line up of the latest recruits for the New Jersey State Troopers. They have one more test: the obstacle course.

Paul Blart (Kevin James) is shorter--and considerably heavier--than the rest of the gang. But he climbs, crawls, jumps, and runs the course until he collapses--six inches from the finish line.

Paul has hypoglycemia, which causes him to fall asleep if he doesn't get enough sugar.

He discusses this with his family over the dinner his Mom (Shirley Knight) has prepared for Paul and his daughter, Maya (Raini Rodriguez). It's clear that food is the way Mom shows her unconditional love to her family.

Maya reminds Paul that he made a promise: if he was still single by November, he would sign up for an online dating service. Paul's first wife--Maya's mom--used Paul to get a green card, then split, leaving Maya behind. Mom and Maya help Paul fill out the application.

The next day, Paul takes his Segway to his job as a mall cop in New Jersey. He takes his job very seriously, which his co-workers don't understand. Paul is assigned to orient the new guy, Veck Sims (Keir O'Donnell) and teach him the ropes. Paul uses this opportunity to impart some of his philosophy about protecting the mall to Veck.

A new saleswoman for one of the kiosks catches Paul's eye. Amy (Jayma Mayes) smiles back at him and Paul is smitten. She invites him to join the gang for an after-work get-together where Paul inadvertently gets drunk and makes a fool of himself.

The next day, he apologizes, but Amy isn't sure what to make of him. She heads off to the bank and is taken hostage there as part of the mall takeover. Everyone else evacuates--except Paul, who was playing video games in the arcade and misses the excitement.

So he ends up being the only one on "the inside" for the police department and SWAT team. He has a chance to leave, but doesn't take it when he realizes Amy is one of the hostages.

But he's overweight, hypoglycemic, doesn't have a gun, and has no training. What can he do?

This movie is a "Happy Madison" film, which is Adam Sandler's production company. But there's no cameos by Mr. Sandler or any of his regulars. In fact, most of the actors are B-listers, whose faces you recognize but can't-quite-place. There's lots of physical comedy as well as playing off cultural and physical stereotypes, but I didn't find any of it malicious. No profanity. No nudity. Maya, who is a "tween-ager" is mostly sweet. She loves her dad, although she is a bit exasperated by him.

Paul has taken a lot of abuse: for his weight, for his inability to pass the State Trooper test, for his hypoglycemia, for his seriousness about his job. But he knows what's right and what's important. And he's not stupid.

DD#2 (15) saw this with some of her friends and thought it was hilarious. In fact, Hubs and I saw Mall Cop based on her recommendation. We enjoyed it, although I didn't find it as funny as she did. It's rated PG, which feels about right. Overall positive messages about family, ignoring stereotypes, and believing in yourself.

On the March Hare scale: 3.5 out of 5 Golden Tickets

crossposted at Catholic Media Review

Surgery II--Update

Thursday afternoon I went in to have more tissue excised.

Doesn't that sound better than saying the surgeon hacked off another chunk of my boob?

I wasn't under as long, so I recovered faster. Except that I'm now taking a broad-spectrum antibiotic that is playing havoc with my stomach. (I am eating lots of yogurt.) And the bruising is turning my skin a lovely green-and-purple.

Next appointment is Wednesday to review the new pathology report. I'm praying the margins are now "clean" and this is the end of this stage. If not, then I'm looking at a mastectomy--or, as I prefer to think of it, becoming a left-handed Amazon.

Fortunately, I can do a lot of my job from home. Still, I find that there are files and things I need on my PC at work that I just don't have here.

I am truly touched by all the prayers and positive thoughts that have been sent my way. I have such a wonderful circle of friends and family!

Book Review: The Know-It-All

Subtitled One Man's Humble Quest to Become the Smartest Person in the World, the book chronicles A.J. Jacob's quest to read the entire Encyclopedia Britannica, from a-ak to zywiec. The book is filled with the fascinating tidbits of information he discovers, for example that John Heisman of football trophy fame was a Shakespearean actor during the the off-season. Mr. Jacobs then wonders, "Why aren't there any Shakespearean football coaches nowadays?"

Mr. Jacobs also explores why he began this quest. The answer is not as straightforward as the entries. He is concerned that his time as editor of Entertainment Weekly has caused him to lose much of the knowledge he gained while at Brown. As a boy, he fancied himself the smartest boy in the world--a self-concept that was severely shaken as he grew up. And then there's the competition: his father, who has a truly amazing list of degrees and who has authored 24 or 25 serious, scholarly books on points of law, had also attempted this feat. Dad, however, dropped the project around the B's. Could the son accomplish what his father couldn't?

The project takes him about a year. There is a chapter for each letter of the alphabet, except for X, Y, and Z, which are combined. But how can Mr. Jacobs be sure he actually is becoming smarter?

Thus he investigates the nature of knowledge and "smartness." He joins Mensa, interviews a gentleman with an acknowledged stratospheric IQ, interviews Alex Trebek of Jeopardy!, and participates in the game show Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? He looks for others who have read the entire encyclopedia. His search even leads him to Chicago and the headquarters of Britannica itself.

And, oh by the way, Mr. Jacobs is married and he and Mrs. Jacobs would like to have a baby.

I have a lot of natural sympathy for Mr. Jacobs. I, too, love arcane facts and get side-tracked easily while looking up words in dictionaries or checking facts in encyclopedias. (Internet databases have not helped. I only become side-tracked more quickly and more deeply.) Some of the facts Mr. Jacobs shares are interesting, some are odd, some are downright funny. His sense of humor is much like my own: wry, a little dark, self-deprecating, and fascinated by the world around him. (He is a pessimist, however, while I tend to be an optimist.) In fact, this book was a Christmas present to me from DD#1 who saw the title and knew I'd enjoy it. (She knows me too well!)

What keeps this book from being a classic, however, is that Mr. Jacobs is truly a product of his environment: a secular Jewish liberal, born and raised in New York City (Manhattan, in fact), educated in elite private schools. Everyone around him is a liberal. His parents have an apartment in Manhattan and a country home in East Hampton. His friends get married in Italy, so Mr. Jacobs and his wife fly over, spending time in Venice before attending the wedding.

So of course he takes potshots at President Bush, with kind of a knowing wink because everyone feels this way. It's obvious. One or two cheap shots I could overlook. But there are several. They were unnecessary. It's almost as if Mr. Jacobs couldn't resist. So what could have been a classic book instead becomes more limited.

Okay, it was interesting as an anthropological study of a certain segment of Manhattan's socio-economic-cultural strata. A society I will certainly never fit into even if I do read the entire Britannica myself.

On the March Hare scale: 4 out of 5 Golden Bookmarks

crossposted at Catholic Media Review

Movie Review: Marley & Me

Ostensibly, Marley & Me is about the world's worst dog. In reality, it's about family and love.

John (Owen Wilson) and Jen (Jennifer Aniston) Grogan are newlyweds. Jen has their life together all planned: moved somewhere warm, get jobs, buy a house. When a houseplant dies, Jen complains, "How am I supposed to take care of a kid when I can't take care of a stupid plant?", John realizes what Jen's next "step" is. He discusses this with his bachelor friend and colleague, Sebastian, who recommends getting a puppy. So John takes Jen off to a breeder where they get a "Clearance Sale" puppy--Marley.

Marley turns out to have a few quirks. He eats anything and everything. He's afraid of thunderstorms. He has nearly unlimited energy and an unconquerable will. He is untrainable. And he loves John and Jen unconditionally.

And they love Marley, despite all the chaos he brings to their lives.

John is offered a chance to write a twice weekly column. Initially, he's reluctant to accept it because he sees himself as a reporter. But the offer includes a raise, so he takes the assignment. His first column is about Marley. His editor (Alan Arkin) reads it and, perfectly deadpan, says, "This is hilarious. I'm laughing my ass off here."

Eventually, John and Jen decide to have a baby. Jen announces she's pregnant at the same time John's colleague, Sebastian, is offered a chance to go to the Middle East--and he wants to bring John along. John has to make a real choice here: career versus family.

And then Jen has a miscarriage.

John doesn't know what to do. But Marley does.

The Grogans do have children eventually and Jen has choices to make as well. Although Marley doesn't treat the children as chew toys, he's still pretty incorrigible and Jen becomes overwhelmed with it all. John is feeling the stress as well: he's the sole breadwinner and his column is now running five days a week. A decision--a serious one--has to be made about Marley and his place in the family. John and Jen also have to make a decision about their future as well.

Because the movie is based on the real-life experiences of the actual John Grogan, many of the scenes hit home for Hubs and me. The conversations John and Jen had were conversations that we've had, albeit with wittier lines. Their relationship with their kids, as well as the relationship of the kids with Marley, rang true. Despite the comedy, this movie does not sugar-coat the sacrifices each partner makes so that marriage and family life works.

The ending is predictable but not overly sentimental. The parents acted like adults, not hiding the facts of life from their children but helping them cope with the inevitable.

Bring tissues.

This movie is rated PG but I wouldn't bring young children (although there were some in the audience), mostly because the emotional undertones might be overwhelming. There is some swearing, a couple of implied sex scenes between John and Jen (hey--they're married, right?), one implied nude scene (again, it's John and Jen in the privacy of their own backyard). DD#2 (who is 15) enjoyed the movie, although she didn't always laugh at the same parts Hubs and I did. On the way home we talked about the dogs in our family, especially our current dog who broke through a closed window as a puppy--twice--and was notorious for chewing stuffed toys and underwear. (Fortunately, old age has mellowed her. She is currently sleeping on the couch next to me.)

The casting, by the way, is superb. Owen Wilson and Jennifer Aniston play off each other well. They look like real people who have lived real lives. They're sweet and goofy and serious when they should be. Alan Arkin plays John's unsentimental editor who pushes him to grow into adulthood. Kathleen Turner has a great cameo as the obedience school trainer. Eric Dane is Sebastian, the eternal bachelor and the life John Grogan could have had. Sebastian could be a sleaze, but he's not. The actors who play the Grogan kids are not precocious or overly adorable.

Kudos also to the animal trainers and handlers as well as the dogs who played Marley at different ages. Having a dog misbehave on cue is no small feat!

On the March Hare scale: 5 out of 5 Golden Tickets. An especially good "date night" movie for us old married couples who have raised a dog and a kid or two.

crossposted at Catholic Media Review

Post-Surgery TMI

Thursday afternoon was the Big Day. The two youngest went off to school for finals, the second oldest to work. I stayed up late Wednesday night because I wasn't going to be able to eat or drink after midnight (just call me "Gizmo") and I wanted to forestall a migraine induced by low blood sugar because my surgery was scheduled for the afternoon.

I took a shower, washed my hair, dressed in a button-front shirt, flannel pj pants, and slip on shoes. And after Hubs and I found the correct place to check in, got prepped and... waited.

No laptop. No cell phone. Just me and my latest issue of Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine. They finally let Hubs back to keep me company. Plenty of time for a quick Act of Contrition (got to cover all the bases, right?) and Apostles' Creed.

The staff was wonderful. But the questions--Oy! I repeated my name, my medical ID number, which breast needed surgery. I confirmed that certain opiates make me vomit. I confirmed that I was not pregnant, that I did not have to pee (come on--I hadn't had anything to eat or drink since midnight. What was supposed to come out?), that my blood pressure and pulse rate usually are ridiculously low.

"How do you respond to anesthesia?" the anesthesiologist asked.

"I have no idea. This is my first surgery," I explained. I was almost apologetic. "I always thought that was a good thing."

She agreed.

Did I mention that, except for the recovery room nurses, the staff looks like they are the same age as my children?

I remember the anesthetic going into my IV. I remember waking up. I have no idea how long surgery actually took.

When the nurses told me I looked a little blue, I thought it was because I had just come out of surgery and was feeling a little nauseous. But actually I was blue from the dye the surgeon injected to find the tumor. I also had a drain in my armpit.

Hubs brought me home and surrounded me with soup, yogurt, and orange juice. I snuggled into the recliner and fell asleep.

The next morning, I got up and went to the bathroom. What a surprise! Somehow I missed the note in the Post-Op Instructions about how the blue dye gets out of my system.

One of the recovery nurses called me to see how I was doing and to make sure I was managing my pain. Fortunately, I haven't had much--my broken arm hurt much worse. I had a kind of sinus-migraine-type headache and a sore throat (from the tube) and that's about it. The drain is more bothersome than painful as I try to limit the use of my left arm.

I have an appointment on Wednesday to go over what the surgeon found, assuming the lab reports are back. And hopefully to get this drain out. Sometime after that I'll meet with an oncologist to plan chemo treatments and radiation.

Hubs, DD#2, and I went to a movie on Sunday to forestall cabin fever and to make me get up and walk around. I did change out of my post-op attire but am now back in mis-matched gear. I'm am also trying to convince Hubs that I have plenty of "bulk" at this point--I don't need to keep eating constantly. Especially since my exercise level is practically nil.

Thanks to all for keeping me in your prayers and sending good thoughts my way. I appreciate them as I continue down the road.

Book Review: Dark Night of the Soul

I have heard about the "dark night of the soul," when one feels abandoned by God. But I had never read the famous book of that name by St. John of the Cross. The book is primarily aimed at spiritual directors, but it's also a good background on the concept and what to expect.

The idea has its roots, really, in the story of Job, who is alternately rewarded and punished by God. In Dark Night, St. John compares the dark night to gold being refined by fire. The process is painful, but necessary for the ore to become something beautiful, pure, and precious. All the dross is melted away as the soul becomes more like its Creator, the better to become one with Him: "Souls begin to enter the dark night when God is drawing them out of the state of beginners, which is that of those who meditate on the spiritual road, and is leading them into that of proficients, the state of contemplatives, that, having passed through it, they may arrive at the state of the perfect, which is that of the divine union with God." (Ch. 1)

There are two stages: the Night of the Sense and the Night of the Spirit. The Night of the Sense is the first stage and, frequently, many who begin the journey go no further. Many beginners fall into the sin of pride--much like the Publican in the parable, they are proud of their devotion, their sacrifice, their good works. But as they grow, they become humble, looking at others as better, "regard(ing) them with a holy envy in their anxiety to serve God as they do." (Ch. 1)

St. John goes on to list and explain other spiritual sins that beginners make. These mostly have to do with our human need to feel (both physically and emotionally), to see, to hear, to taste. Our bodies distract our souls from the perfect contemplation of God and Satan uses these weaknesses to his advantage. During the first night, "God is now changing that light into darkness, and sealing up the door of the fountain of the sweet spiritual waters, which they tasted in God as often and as long as they wished." (Ch. 8) No comfort is found in things of God, nor in "created things." St. John then goes on to explain how those who have entered this first night are to behave and the necessary role of a spiritual guide.

Once this stage is completed, a person may stop there or may experience only a respite for the much more rigorous dark night of the spirit. This stage requires much more from the spiritual director because those going through it feel completely abandoned by God. They must continue on their journey with complete and utter faith in Him. The length of time required for this dark night may be months or years. There may be periods were God shows His Face and His Love is directly and powerfully felt, but then withdrawn, forcing the seeker to trust and believe. And to pray--always prayer.

The end is complete union with God. St. John intimates that for most of us, Purgatory will be our Dark Night of the Soul; very few reach the state of perfection while here on Earth. (This is probably as good an explanation for Purgatory as any I've heard.)

This edition, translated by David Lewis and published by Saint Benedict Press Classics, is 189 pages, heavily footnoted, with short chapters. But the text is really dense. I found I could only read a chapter or so at a time because the prose is a bit clunky. And it can be repetitive, in the manner of a teacher who says, "Have you got this yet?" I haven't read any of St. John's other works which might have helped. A study guide, either a person or a booklet, probably would have helped as well. But Dark Night of the Soul did shed some understanding of what Blessed Mother Teresa experienced and wrote about.

When Mother Teresa's spiritual trials were revealed, I read comments by some Christians that were rather disparaging, mostly from those who hold to sola scriptura. The "dark night" might be a peculiarly Catholic tradition--although I wouldn't be surprised if this is also understood in the Orthodox religions as well, since they have a monastic tradition.

Biographical background about St. John of the Cross can be found in Wikipedia. I was kind of surprised by the list of those influenced by his thoughts, which included Dorothy Day and Pope John Paul II.

This isn't Catholic-lite. And it's not a book that I understood at first reading. It deserves more study than I'm prepared to give at this point, but I would like to return to it and to St. John's other works, as well as those of St. Teresa of Avila.

This review was written as part of The Catholic Company product reviewer program. Visit The Catholic Company to find more information on Dark Night of the Soul.

crossposted at Catholic Media Review

Books and More Books

After our Girl Scout meeting last night, DD#2 wanted to go to the local Big Chain Bookstore. She needed to pick up a birthday present for a friend who loves manga.

Unfortunately, the Big Chain Bookstore was having their After Holidays 75% off sale. And, since I'm a member, I believe I even got a discount from that.

Five books (four for me and the manga for DD#2) later we left. The total was less than $20.

So I picked up The Federalist: The Famous Papers on the Principles of American Government (I thought the topic was timely), Selected Poems of Emily Dickinson (inspiration for my own poetry, maybe), The Short & Bloody History of Knights, Spies, and Pirates (just for fun and because, thanks to my dad, I am a sucker for both knights and pirates), and A Long Way Down by Nick Hornsby. Mr. Hornsby also wrote About A Boy and Fever Pitch which I really enjoyed.

There's something about books that are deeply discounted or remaindered that tugs at my heartstrings, kind of like the puppies and kittens in the SPCA display at Macy's during Christmastime. I want to adopt them all. Unlike puppies or kittens, books just need to be stacked, dusted occasionally, read, and ultimately shared.

Still I rather regret leaving behind a nice edition of Christmas stories by Charles Dickens, which included A Christmas Carol, the only one I've ever read. This edition had gilt edges and a ribbon bookmark and old-fashioned type. But I know I wouldn't read it. So I left it behind along with some "beach" novels that also looked like fun. It's kind of like putting back a piece of clothing you really, really like so you don't feel guilty about the money you are spending.

Update

Surgery has been pushed back to Thursday.

Who says God doesn't have a sense of humor? Patience has never been one of my strong suits.

Add to that, no one can tell me much of anything until after surgery. Everything "depends" because everyone is different. I know this intellectually. But I am one who Likes to Plan. In fact, when Hubs was still Boyfriend, he was amazed at how quickly--and how far ahead--my calendar filled up. I like Knowing.

Now I don't. This bugs me.

At work everyone has been supportive for the most part, except there is a little bit of "who is going to take care of my customers while you're out?" Unfortunately, my boss will be out of her office while she's helping another office relocate. The other office has the only other Customer Support person outside of HQ. So three of us will be unavailable (out of seven). Sales reps aren't always very patient either.

I know this is Not My Problem. But I hate being a burden, especially since the others also have their own projects. I'm working from home again tomorrow, hoping to catch up a bit.

Reconciliation

Friday afternoon the surgeon called. She has an opening for the next Wednesday--do I want it?

Next Wednesday? I wasn't planning to have surgery for another two weeks! I have projects to do, customers to train, reports to send off!

After I finished hyperventilating, I accepted.

Then I spent the weekend catching up with chores. The simple ones: dishes, laundry, taking down the Christmas tree and the decorations.

Yeah, our tree was still up. I didn't feel too badly, though--many of my friends also had just taken their trees down as well. We commiserated about the boxes now decorating our living rooms.

And I did what any good Catholic does in a crisis: I went to Reconciliation.

I always have difficulty with Reconciliation. It's not that I don't have sins; it's just that my sins seem so... boring. I lose my patience with Hubs and the kids. I have difficulty not holding a grudge against my MIL. I goof off at work and don't give my all. I gossip. I have a "smart mouth."

How many times have I confessed to these over the course of my life? (With Hubs & kids taking the place of parents and siblings.) I have improved some--I'm much better at restraining my impulse for the "zinger" around people I don't know well. But, overall, my weaknesses are my weaknesses and improvement is incremental.

Reconciliation is also a lot like getting called into the Principal's office. My hands get cold, my heart races. I am now going to hold myself accountable to someone. It's kind of like announcing that I'm going on a diet. My sins become public, as does my failure to reform. If I don't tell anyone, no one will know that I've failed except me. And I can continue on the charade of being a better person than I know I am.

Because going to Reconciliation (especially since this was as an individual) is so tough, I know it's good for me. Humbles me in a real way. And I always feel better afterwards, especially if the priest doesn't let me off the hook too easily--which some of them do.

Am I ready to face what Wednesday will bring? Not entirely. But more than before.

The Results Are In

And I've got breast cancer.

The tumor is small--about the size of a pea. But it definitely needs to come out. I've opted for a lumpectomy and radiation. I met with the surgeon today and surgery is scheduled for February 3, unless there's an earlier opening. Radiation starts about a month after surgery. I also had an EKG and pre-op blood tests.

Besides the tumor, the surgeon will also remove at least one lymph node under my arm. If that's clear, she won't have to remove more. I probably won't have to go through chemo, but we won't know until after the surgery.

I'm beginning to hate Januarys. Otherwise, I'm in my "take charge and do something" mode, which is good for me mentally. I'll break down later. I'm not looking forward to telling my mother & the two youngest kids about this.

Continued prayers appreciated!

More Prayers Requested...

DD#2 and 59 fellow candidates for Confirmation left this afternoon for their weekend retreat. She and two friends are bunking together--I feel for their counselors.

Please pray for these teens (most are sophomores in high school, so they're 15 & 16 years old) as they learn more about the Catholic faith and their place in it.

The Mystery of Ministry

The Coordinator of Lectors emphasizes the importance of our ministry. "You never know who you will reach by your proclaiming the Word of God," she says at every meeting.

Last night I was a Eucharistic Minister at the Youth Mass. One of the altar servers was fairly new, but I've known her since she was in Kindergarten at the Parish School and through Girl Scouts. I'm in the Sanctuary, getting ready to receive the smaller ciborium to hand out the Body of Christ, when she comes up to me.

"I don't feel good," she whispers.

She is slightly hunched and has her hand cupped over her mouth, which my mommy-sense tells me is the sign she's ready to throw up.

"Go to the sacristy," I whisper back and point. (Just in case she's forgotten or didn't understand me.)

She leaves. I think about following her, but there's Father K. (a new priest himself) standing there. I take the ciborium and head out to my spot.

On my way, I look for the altar server's mom. Like most of us, she sits in the same spot, more or less, each week. She and I find each other.

"She's in the sacristy. There's a bathroom there," I whisper.

Mom nods and heads off.

After Mass, I notice the girl was in the pew with Mom, looking very pale.

Part of me wonders what she would have done if I hadn't been there. Would she have been brave enough to go up to another adult and tell them she didn't feel well? Or did she come to me because she knew me as the mom of DD#2? (I had spoken to her briefly before Mass.)

Chalk this up as one of my more unusual experiences in ministry... :)

Prayers Requested...

For me. Tomorrow I go in for a breast biopsy

I find it awkward to ask for prayers for myself. Part of me wants to stay in the background. Another part--the proud part--thinks I can handle this on my own. Or that I should be able to. I've never been very good at public announcements like this.

Just before Christmas, I went in for a routine mammogram. Just after Christmas, I was called back for a second look at my left breast, followed by a sonogram.

The radiologist found a small "nodule" in the middle of my left breast. It's about the size of a pea and can only be seen on a mammogram, not felt. So my timing was just about as perfect as it could be. Since this is a suspicious nodule/mass/lump--not a cyst and it has irregular edges-- the doctor encouraged me to get a biopsy as soon as possible.

And then I wait a week for the results.

BTW, I cannot say enough good things about my HMO, Kaiser Permanente, at this point. The Nurse-Practitioner called me twice from home to set up the appointment for the biopsy and for the follow-up appointment with the surgeon (as she said, "If you don't need it, it's easy to cancel). And then my GYN, who works out of a different facility, called me as soon as he received the results of the first mammogram. He called me both on my cell and at home to make sure I was receiving the appropriate follow-up care and to ask if I had any questions.

I told Hubs and the kids at home but haven't told the rest of the family. I figured I'd wait until I know more. I left a garbled message for my boss (who works on the East Coast) about why I need tomorrow off.

Meanwhile, life goes on, albeit I'm a bit distracted and worried. At this point, I've been praying and trying to live "Thy Will be done"--and mean it. ;)

BTW, Ladies, if you have been putting off getting a mammogram, please don't.

Movie Review: Bedtime Stories

The movie opens with a voice-over: Marty Bronson (Jonathan Pryce, who played Elizabeth Swan's father in Pirates of the Caribbean) explains how he started the Sunny Vista motel and the reactions of his two children, Wendy and Skeeter. Wendy is a serious and solemn girl. Skeeter has a wonderful imagination and a sense of adventure. Skeeter loves living in the motel and can imagine nothing better than to run it when he grows up.

Alas, Marty Bronson is no businessman and is forced to sell his motel to his rival, Barry Nottingham (Richard Griffiths). However, he does make Mr. Nottingham promise that his children can live in the motel as long as they want and that Skeeter will have a chance to run it some day. Mr. Nottingham promises and Mr. Bronson signs the contract.

Cut to the present. The modest motel is now an upscale hotel and Skeeter (Adam Sandler) is the maintenance man. He's a good maintenance man, but is clearly not seen as hotel management material. The head concierge is Aspen (Lucy Lawless) who treats Skeeter with disdain. However, he is not intimidated by her and answers her tit-for-tat.

Skeeter has another rival: Kendall (Guy Pearce) who is named as the "Manager Apparent" for Mr. Nottingham's new mega-hotel. Kendall is also dating Mr. Nottingham's daughter, who loves to party and is often photographed coming out of the hottest clubs.

Meanwhile Wendy (Courteney Cox) is going through a bitter divorce. She is the principal of a local school, which is slated to be closed. She has an interview in Arizona and asks Skeeter to watch her two children, splitting the duties with her best friend, Jill. Jill will take the "day shift"--getting the kids to school. Skeeter has them at night, along with their guinea pig, Bugsy.

His first night with them, he realizes he has to do something to entertain them, as Wendy does not have a television and the kids' books are all of the crunchy organic/progressive kind. Skeeter decides to make up a bedtime story, much as his dad with him and Wendy.

The story is a barely concealed sketch of Skeeter's life at the hotel, illustrating all his frustrations. The kids, Bobbi and Patrick, start to get into it and add their own scenes to the story. The story ends with Patrick exclaiming, "And then it rains gumballs!"

Skeeter brushes it off as a bit of childhood whimsy and gets them to bed. However, the next day events follow the narrative of the story pretty closely. It even "rains" gumballs! Skeeter tries to explain this to Jill (Keri Russell), who thinks it is merely coincidence. However, Skeeter tries to take the story in a new direction, one more positive for him. But the kids interrupt, adding their own twists.

The next day, events happen that mimic the story, but only the parts of the story the kids have added.

Meanwhile, Mr. Nottingham has announced a competition between Kendall and Skeeter: whoever comes up with the best theme for the new hotel will become the manager.

And then there's the fate of the school where Wendy is Principal, Jill is a teacher, and the kids are students. Can it be saved?

There is some clever wordplay, reminding me of the Amelia Bedelia stories, where confusion reigns because the same word often has several meanings--especially between a six-year-old and a thirty-something-year-old.

This is a Disney movie, so there's no nudity, no bad language. Several archetypical stories are represented. Discussions of divorce and the impact it has on a child's emotions (the absent dad is mentioned but never seen). I did find it rather odd that Wendy would have to go to Arizona for a teaching job when the Los Angeles Unified School District is the largest in the state. And Principals are covered by California Teachers' Union seniority rules. The only Sandler regular who appears is Rob Schneider and even his character is restrained.

Hubs, DD#1 (who is 22), and DD#2 (who is 15) saw it with me. Our verdict: it's a cute movie, especially suited for grandparents to take the kids during the holidays. I'm not sure, though, which age level/s Disney was aiming for. Bobbi and Patrick appear to be five and six, but I don't think kids that young would get the story. Tweens (11 and 12-year-olds) would probably be bored, especially if they were expecting more typical Sandler craziness. DD#2 didn't like it right off the bat, but thought it was "pretty good" after she thought about it.

Bedtime Stories is not a typical Sandler movie--he's much more restrained, although there are plenty of snarky comments between him and the other adult cast members. I thought there were clever and funny, but then verbal "zingers" are an honored tradition in my family.

We saw this at a matinee--I wouldn't pay full price to see this one. Bedtime Stories might do better in the rental market, either on DVD or cable.

On the March Hare scale: 3.5 out of 5 Golden Bookmarks.

crossposted at Catholic Media Review

Football!

There's something special about college football. While money is always a factor, for most of the athletes, college is the last time they'll get to play in a stadium in front of a crowd. For many of the seniors, there is no "next year." They seem to want to win for the sake of winning and will lay their bodies on the line for a trophy as simple as an Axe, a Bell, a Cup. And if they get to play for larger stakes--a shiny silver trophy awarded on national television--so much the better.

The play-calling is more creative, the coaches more willing to try a stunt play. The Song Girls/Dance Team/Pom-Pom Girls look like the girls next door and often cry when the team loses. The Cheerleaders/Yell Leaders and the Mascots give their all to rally the audience behind the team.

This year Cal was invited to the Emerald Bowl, located a mere 1.5 miles from my office. The Bowl sponsors were thrilled: they got their first sell-out. The Cal Seniors were happy: they played their last game in front of a home crowd. And Cal fans were excited: it was cheaper to see the Emerald Bowl than the Big Game versus Stanford. Cal fans bought up their allotment and all the tickets the University of Miami turned back in. Ten members of my family attended--thanks, Mom! And Happy Day-After-Your-Birthday, too. :)

The only Bowl Game that would have made us happier would have been the Rose Bowl.

Jahvid Best, who played for the local Catholic High School in my neck of the woods, gave the right answer when asked about next year's Heisman Trophy: "We want the National Championship!" Turns out the Rose Bowl hosts the BCS Championship game in 2010.

Ah-ha.

The game turned out to be closer than it seemed like it would be. Miami's team is young and I foresee great things for their young quarterback. I wouldn't be surprised to see another Cal vs. Miami match-up at a Bowl Game next year. Meanwhile, I hope Tedford finds the answer to the passing game: a QB who can throw accurately and Wide Receivers who can catch consistently.

The Pac-10 is now 5-0 in Bowl Games this season and will gain some respect among the football pundits.

Nah. Don't think so.

Other games are on, allowing Hubs and I to watch dispassionately, analyzing strengths and weaknesses of the various teams. Next week it will all be over and I'll reading about the Giants and the A's, their bullpens and the stadium plans of the A's.

Religion: Hazardous to Your Health

Our Advent Wreath sits on the coffee table in the family room. I try to keep the table clear of the Stuff that seems to collect on any horizontal surface in our house--I mean, these are real candles, with real flames. Usually someone is in the family room at all times.

However, no one told the cats.

We have four of them. Three are fairly intelligent; one is just, plain dumb. They love DD#1--she is their mother. When they see her, they cluster around meowing loudly until she gives them what they want. This particular cat loves milk, poured in a small dish and set upon the coffee table.

Apparently she didn't notice the Advent Wreath. Or, cat-like, chose to ignore it. She couldn't eat it--what good was it.

And so, while DD#1 was getting this cat her milk, the cat brushed against the candles and managed to set herself on fire.

I was upstairs when I heard DD#1 say, "What smells like hair burning?" (Yes, we've had some hair burning mishaps before.)

Then I heard, "Puppy! (Yes, the cat's name is Puppy. We also have a cat named Mouse.) You're on fire!"

Fortunately, Puppy just lost some fur. I was concerned that she would panic and set the house on fire. But DD#1 calmly put the fire out and Puppy maintained her dignity.

However, she no longer jumps on the coffee table!

Review: Mobile Gabriel

Mobile Gabriel is a website that has the readings for Mass, both Daily and Sunday. It's available for viewing over your computer or you can download it to your PDA or smartphone (iPhone, Treo, Blackberry, Centro, etc.) through an e-book reader called "Mobipocket." Mobipocket is available free of charge and Mobile Gabriel has instructions.

You can also download Mobile Gabriel to your PDA/smartphone through AvantGo, which is how I found Mobile Gabriel originally. (AvantGo has other sites, secular and religious, you can download as well.)

Mobile Gabriel is free. (I like free!) Besides the Daily and Sunday Mass readings there is a reflection written by Don Schwager which focuses on a key phrase from the Gospel.

The readings of Daily Mass either continue the theme of the readings from the previous Sunday or lead into the themes for the coming Sunday. Many of my favorite parables and Psalms appear in these readings. The same stories will often appear, but from a different Evangelist, so the same event will be told with a slightly different emphasis.

Reading the Daily Mass helps put the Sunday Mass into context and is especially useful for those weeks I'm a lector. By the end of three years (Cycle A, Cycle B, Cycle C), I will have read most of the Bible. And I don't have to flip through the different Books of the Bible to find the correct Chapter and Verse. Because I have my Centro with me, I'm more likely to follow the Daily Mass readings--I usually read them waiting in line for my BART train at the end of my work day. Waiting in line might not be the ideal time to contemplate the Divine; on the other hand, I'm reminded that God and Jesus are with me always. Besides, Jesus didn't just preach in the Temple. :)

On the March Hare scale: 5 out of 5 Golden Bytes.

crossposted at Catholic Media Review

It's Christmas Time in The City

Out here in the Politically Correct Bay Area, Christmas seems to be making a comeback. The tree in the lobby of the Hyatt Regency Hotel (the largest hotel lobby west of the Mississippi), is called a Christmas Tree. Radio station KOIT calls itself the Christmas Music Station, playing secular songs and traditional religious Christmas carols. The classical music station, KDFC, intersperses traditional carols with classical music and offers classical Christmas music over the web.

Store clerks are as likely to wish me "Merry Christmas" as they are "Happy Holidays."

Mervyn's may be going out of business, but they let the Salvation Army station a bell-ringer out front.

My suburban town has a Christmas tree in the downtown park--and had a celebration to light it--as well as a string of lights in the shape of a star stretched across the street.

Kind of reassuring. Maybe we haven't completely lost our way.

"A Day Without... Whom?"

Okay--if I hadn't read about it on Michelle Malkin's blog, I wouldn't have realized that yesterday was supposed to be "A Day Without Gays." Even in Radical San Francisco there were no parades, protests, or signs. My BART train was full. The Holiday Party sponsored by the Management Group of the office building went on as planned. The food was as tasty as ever. The trio played all sorts of Christmas music.

If anyone called in "gay," I sure didn't notice.

The End of An Era

DD#2 had an appointment today at the orthodontist for a retainer check. When she came back to the front she announced, "I'm done!"

While she still has to wear her retainers, she no longer has any appointments.

DS#2's last appointment was this summer. DD#1's last appointment was a couple of months ago.

No more getting in the car at 6:30 a.m. for a 7:00 a.m. appointment. No more notes for school. After six years, we're done.

I feel kind of... sad. In a "another childhood milestone reached/completed" kind of way.

Movie Review: Australia

First Disclaimer: I would pay to watch Hugh Jackman read the phone book. So, no, this review is definitely not unbiased.

Australia is told from the point of view of a young boy, Nullah (Brandon Walters). He is a "creamy": half-white, half-aborigine. His grandfather, King George, is a "magic" man who is teaching young Nullah the songs that impart all the wisdom of the Aboriginal people. Nullah has some magic in him, too, but he also realizes that he does not belong to the Aboriginal world. Neither does he belong to the white world. He has to find his own spot.

Complicating matters, the Australian Government is removing mixed-blood children from their Aboriginal mothers, forcing the children to attend boarding schools with the intention of "breeding the black" out of them. So Nullah and his mother are ever watchful for the local law.

The year is 1939. World War II has begun, but is confined to Continental Europe for the moment. A young English woman, Lady Sarah Ashley (Nicole Kidman), flies to Darwin, Australia, to persuade her husband to sell his cattle ranch and come home to England where he belongs. However, her husband's cattle station, Faraway Downs, is the only competition for the local cattle baron, King Carney (Bryan Brown). Carney is trying to drive Lord Ashley out of business so he will be the sole provider of beef cattle to the Australian Army.

Lord Ashley has sent his cattle drover (Hugh Jackman) to meet Lady Ashley at the pier in Darwin and bring her to Faraway Downs. The drover is self-employed, working for whomever he chooses. While waiting for Lady Ashley in the local bar, one of Carney's men insults him, calling him a "Boo lover." Drover slugs the man and the fight is on, moving out into the street, where Lady Ashley's luggage becomes part of the melee. She is horrified to see her lingerie scattered across the dirt street. Drover--for that's the only name he's called during the film--mutters an apology. They begin the two-day journey to Faraway Downs in a beat-up truck, overtopped with what ends up being a couch and arm chair.

Of course, Lady Ashley and Drover despise each other. She thinks he has designs on her. He informs her that he wouldn't sleep with her if she were the last female on Earth.

We know where it's going to lead--right?

Thirty minutes (or less--I wasn't looking at my watch), Drover has his shirt off and is washing up. For those who remember Mr. Jackman in Leopold and Kate, it's obvious Mr. Jackman has been working out. With good results.

When they reach Faraway Downs, Lord Ashley has been killed and King George is the primary suspect. Lady Ashley discovers that the foreman of the station has been working for Carney as well as beating Nullah (whom she suspects is his son) and Nullah's mother on a regular basis.

She fires him. He leaves, taking his men with him.

But there are 2000 head of cattle that need to be driven to Darwin if she is to have a chance at the government contract. She needs Drover's help. He's not sure that a well-bred Englishwoman can survive the tough ride.

And this is just the first half of the movie.

If you've ever watched a Western that involves a cattle drive, you know what will happen, more or less. What makes this drive different is Nullah. His grandfather is always watching from a distance. And Nullah is a special boy--he has learned his lessons well and he is brave. Frankly, Brandon Walters steals this movie from Ms. Kidman and Mr. Jackman, much as the director tries to limit his screen time.

There are lots of soulful looks between Lady Sarah and Drover. A lot of close-ups, which will probably play better on the small screen once this movie is released on DVD. There are discussions about the land and the importance of having a story and of song.

The cattle drive ends in Darwin, which sets up the next scene: a charity ball to fund the Mission where the mixed-blood children will live. This provides an opportunity for Ms. Kidman to wear a beautiful gown and for Mr. Jackman to clean up and wear a white dinner jacket. He does clean up well. The scene also gives Ms. Kidman a speech about how horrible it is to tear these children from their mothers and to show how small-minded and prejudiced the average white Australian was in 1939.

There is an interlude of relative calm until 1942. Using newsreel footage, the move jumps forward to the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and on the movements of the Japanese through Southeast Asia. Drover accepts an assignment from the Australian Army: a six-month "drove" of cattle. Nullah wants to go walkabout with King George. Lady Ashley doesn't want either of them to go, so Nullah sneaks off and she tells Drover that if he leaves, he shouldn't return. So (of course), he leaves.

However, Nullah hasn't gone walkabout--he's been taken by the sheriff and is going off to Mission Island, which is directly in the path of the Japanese. Lady Ashley can't save him, but she can help with the war effort, monitoring the radio transmissions from the priest at Mission Rock.

Meanwhile, Drover is having his psyche dissected by his best friend, who happens to be an Aborigine. They notice planes flying over--Americans--and Drover figures that this is not a good sign. They ride back to Darwin in time to see the place in flames. Drover assumes Lady Ashley is dead and, when he hears that Mission Island has been attacked, commandeers a boat to find Nullah.

The acting is uniformly good. The writing could have been tighter and more true to the time: would an English lady really leave the manor to travel to the Outback? Would she really go against the conventional thinking about Aborigines? To her credit, Ms. Kidman makes it seem plausible. Mr. Jackman plays the quintessential cowboy, albeit an Australian. His toughness covers his vulnerability. His actions speak instead of his words.

The love scenes are discreet. The language is clean for the most part.

I was happily surprised that this was not another "Convicts come to Australia" movie. I tend to forget how close to Southeast Asia and the Pacific Theater Australia was. I wish I had looked at map beforehand, though, to get oriented as to where Darwin is on the continent. In the opening credits, it looks like the film was signed off by a group representing the Indigenous People (I don't remember the exact name and it's not listed on IMDb). Their characters and their traditions are presented very respectfully. In fact, I wish there had been more about them in the movie.

At the end of the movie, there is a note that the forced removal of children was ended in the 1950's and the Australian Government issued a formal apology to the "Stolen Generation."

Word of warning: do not drink a large soda prior to the movie. There is no intermission. ;)

There wasn't quite enough action to keep Hubs completely engaged. (Nicole Kidman is too thin for his tastes.) DS#2 (18), DD#1 (22), and DD#2 (15) want to see it--and I'd be willing to see it with them.

A good movie if you need a break from the holiday madness.

On the March Hare scale: 4 out 5 Golden Tickets

crossposted at Catholic Media Review

Gift Idea: Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine

Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine is known as a "pulp": printed on cheap newsprint, a little bit larger than a standard paperback. The format is a throwback to the pulps of the 1940's and '50's where now recognized Grand Masters--like Isaac Asimov, Robert Heinlein, and Theodore Sturgeon--first refined their craft. And in that tradition, Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine publishes short stories and novellas from current authors like Connie Willis and Alan Steele and new authors as well.

The stories vary in length, style, and subject. Some are hard SF, some are soft, occasionally there is fantasy. Each issue includes poetry, editorial columns, book reviews, web site reviews, and a Convention Calendar.

Subscriptions for one year (10 issues), U.S., is about $33.00. There are "double issues" twice a year. Check the website (www.asimovs.com) for details. There is also an online version.

I've been a subscriber off-and-on since the mid-1980's. A subscription is now on my permanent Christmas list (Thanks, Mom!). Some issues, some stories, some authors stand out more than others. Other authors have used the stories first published in Asimov's as a basis for their novels.

Content warning! This is not a magazine for children. Some stories contain adult language, adult situations--including sex scenes and drug use--and violence. Some authors are not sympathetic to organized religion--and that bias may show up in some of their stories.

A warning is usually included in the front of the stories the editors think might be the most offensive. However, everyone has different triggers. Over the years, I've noticed the themes of the stories come in waves: a spate of bionic soldier stories, a spate of global cooling stories, a spate of global warming stories, a spate of First Encounter stories.

Overall, the quality of the writing is excellent. The short story and novella format allows for a lot of experimentation with themes and ideas that isn't possible with a novel because a novel is a significant investment of time and money on the part of the author and the publisher.

Asimov's is my favorite "commuter" magazine: it's small and there's a lot of variety, both in story length and content. I usually find one story I really enjoy and there are some, like Connie Willis's annual Christmas story, that I look forward to. A year of enjoyment for the cover price of a single hardback!

On the March Hare scale: 4.5 out of 5 Golden Bookmarks, excellent for the discriminating SF reader.

crossposted at Catholic Media Review

Book Review: Hannibal

Hannibal open seven years after the Silence of the Lambs. Clarice Starling, now a full FBI agent, is on a drug bust with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, the D.C. police, and the Drug Enforcement Agency. They're bringing in a woman who is running a meth factory and who Clarice has arrested previously.

The bust goes bad. Clarice, who is a champion pistol shooter, ends up killing the woman. Unfortunately, the woman was carrying her infant in a sling and used the child as a shield. Clarice was able to kill her without harming the child, but the TV news clips don't show the woman firing. Her family files suit and someone's head must roll to appease public opinion.

In the midst of all this turmoil, Clarice receives a letter. She recognizes the handwriting--it's from Hannibal Lecter who has been silent for these seven years. His letter alternately taunts and comforts Clarice and reignites the search for Hannibal.

The FBI, however, isn't the only entity looking for Hannibal. His sixth victim, Mason Verger, has been looking for him and is offering a reward. Because of the attack, Mason is bedridden and a paraplegic and, with nearly unlimited wealth, revenging himself on Hannibal has become his reason for living. Mason has his contacts within the FBI and knows what they know, usually before they do.

Hannibal, in the meantime, is now living in Florence, Italy, and is a curator, the previous one having mysteriously disappeared. His appearance has been altered during his stay in Brazil, including the amputation of the sixth finger on his left hand. He is content until a local police inspector begins to suspect who "Dr. Fell" really is. However, greed gets the better of the good inspector and he tries to capture "Dr. Fell" outside normal police channels, with disastrous consequences.

Thus Hannibal finds himself back in the Eastern United States and his seduction of Clarice Starling begins.

During the course of the story,the author, Thomas Harris, gives us some insight to Hannibal Lecter, clues as to how he became the monster he is. We also see more of what makes Clarice Starling tick and her frustration at being thwarted from rising in the ranks of the FBI. But I never felt any real sympathy for either of them as people. Mason Verger is absolutely evil--there are no redeeming qualities about him at all. His sister is hardly better. In fact, the character I thought was most fleshed out was the Italian police inspector: his motives for his actions were clear and plausible. The rest of them--eh, not so much.

I admit I have not read Silence of the Lambs and there might have been some important information about the characters there. Or Red Dragon, which I believe is the first book about Hannibal Lecter.

The ending was a let down.

Content Warning! Hannibal is still a cannibal. Graphic descriptions of what Hannibal does to his victims and of Mason Verger's physical state. Also graphic descriptions of what Mason does to his victims. Lots of morally unsavory characters as well.

Fortunately, I bought this copy at a Used Book Sale at my local library, so I'm not out full price. :)

On the March Hare scale: 2 out of 5 Golden Bookmarks

crossposted at Catholic Media Review

Now Back to Our Regular Programming

I hate migraines.

The old name for them were "megrims," which I think describes them a whole lot better. Because I do get pretty grim when I have one. This month I've had more of them than usual.

Modern medicine allows me to function, but there's a cost. By the evening, I am ready to sit on the sofa and be entertained by television--the fluffier, the better. Unfortunately, my family bears the brunt of my lethargy and grouchiness. So I try and pick up the slack when I'm feeling better, dealing with the stuff--like bills and budgets--that I didn't have the emotional energy to deal with when under a migraine attack.

My writing stalls. All the wonderful entries and essays I've composed in my head disappear along with any desire I might have to sit in front of a computer and type. And, in these parlous times, I'm also hesitant to write during working hours while using my work computer and their servers. Hubs is somewhat jealous of the time and attention I give to outside endeavors as well.

So output slows to a trickle.

One of my migraine triggers is changes in the weather. This year we have had cold-and-sunny, warm-and-sunny, rainy, foggy, morning-fog-and-afternoon-sun. Saturday was the 111th Big Game between Cal and Stanford and I was sitting in the stadium in my shirtsleeves. It was warm enough to wear shorts--well, until the sun went down. Today, it's rainy and looks like November. The leaves from our liquid ambar tree are all over our driveway, the sidewalk, the front yard, and the street. They're rather pretty: deep red and bright orange. But they do need to be swept. Hopefully the weather will stay this way for awhile and let my head settle down.

And I'll be able to find a moment or two to write down my thoughts.

Heebie Jeebie--The Spirits Are About to Speak!

"Are they friendly spirits?"
"Just listen!"

--Courtesy of Jay Ward and the Rocky & Bullwinkle Show

The mood seems calm around the Conservative blogsphere, with warnings of how the Right should behave towards President-Elect Obama and what the GOP needs to do to renew itself. The biggest concern is how long before the "Fairness Doctrine" reasserts itself on the radio and affects the Internet--and if there are enough Republicans and "Blue Dog" Democrats to oppose reinstating it.

Of course, there is no discussion about adding print media under the Fairness Doctrine.

Looking into my cracked and foggy crystal ball, this is what I foresee:

• The MSM, including (or especially) Print Media will give President Obama a longer than usual honeymoon for a couple of reasons. They want to appear "post-racial." They are afraid of being "kicked off the plane" or out of the press room. President-elect Obama is a Democrat and one of them. The MSM can't admit they're wrong.
• Disillusionment will begin with the Base when ordinary folks discover that as President Obama can't pay their mortgage or put gas in their car. And when they discover that, according to the Democrats, they are now "rich."
• We will rediscover that turning the Ship of State is kind of like turning the Titanic. It can be done, but it will take longer than most people think it will.
  
• The Republican Leadership will still play by the old rules, although I think some are beginning to realize the rules have changed.
• Unless the Republicans come together and work very quickly, the Democrats will hold the edge in Congress through 2012.

What do I think the message of the GOP should be in the intervening years?

• The United States is a country ruled by law--and those laws apply equally to all.
• Equality under the law does not mean equality of outcomes. Just as not everyone is capable of playing basketball (for example) at the NBA level, not everyone is capable of attending a top-tier university or being a CEO.
• We are personally and primarily responsible for ourselves and our families. Educational reform begins at home, not with the government. Opportunity exists, but ultimately we are responsible for reaching out and taking advantage of it.
  
• The United States as a country is not "wealthy." Her people are wealthy and are among the most generous people on the planet. We are generous in our private donations (as we should be) and also we have one of the highest rates of voluntary tax compliance. That will change, though, if the people feel they are being overburdened or unfairly taxed.
• We have a duty to be good stewards of the planet; however, we also need to be mindful of the unintended human consequences of our actions, whether in maintaining a pristine environment or exploiting it.

But, hey, if the Powers That Be aren't listening to bigger, braver, and more articulate bloggers, they won't listen to little ol' me.

For example: This post on Hot Air by Ed Morrissey who channels Claudia Rossett. Yeah, Liberty is a great word!

On a final note: Yesterday I was reading baldilocks, who is one of my favorite bloggers. Juliette was discussing the results of the election with her step-father, a conservative Methodist minister, and a staunch Republican. He told her, "Don't you ever go to bed at night without praying for that man." Good advice. Sometime in January, once all the hoopla and the adrenaline dies down, President Obama will be mugged by reality. I think he's going to need all the spiritual support he can get.

The Election

Damn.

Then I remember why I began fasting and praying: "Not my will, but Thy Will be done."

For some reason, it's more difficult to leave the future of my country in His Hands than it is the future of His Church. :)

I have been reading A Year with John Paul II: Daily Meditations from His Writings and Prayers (edited by Fr. Jerome Vereb). The Meditation for today, November 5, is titled "My Deepest Thoughts":

I have lately given much thought to the liberating force of suffering. It is on suffering that Christ's system rests, beginning with the cross and ending with the smallest human torment. This is the true messiad (the true source or hope of belief in a Messiah).

--Letter to Mieczyslaw Kotlarczyk, November 2, 1939

Hmmm...

I am also reading St. John of the Cross, Dark Night of the Soul: how the journey of self denial leads to perfect union with God. In Chapter V, St. John discusses the imperfections of the beginner in the matter of anger. Numbers two and three stood out for me: those who are angry with other people for their faults and who consider themselves "guardians of virtue" and those who become angry with themselves "with an impatience that is not humble...as if they would be saints in one day."

Here's the terrifying part: "There is no perfect remedy for this but in the dark night."

I don't know that I'm ready for a "dark night."

Meanwhile, Virgen de Guadalupe, pray for us and watch over this country. Open the minds and hearts of our leaders, both current and newly elected, to the Will of your Son.

Update: As usual, The Anchoress puts it all into perspective for me. :)

Dressing the Part

"Wow! You look nice. Do you always dress up this way?"

"Yes, she does."

The conversation took place in the lobby of the gym where I take an aqua aerobics class three times a week. The participants in the class are used to seeing me in a swimsuit with my hair pulled back in a pony tail, not in my usual work outfit of heels, nylons, skirt, and tailored shirt. I was really surprised that the second person had actually noticed how I dress.

"Do you have to dress this way for work?"

I never know how to answer that question. In fact, my company has a "business casual" policy, but the president of the company I worked for previously was much more traditional. So even though we technically had a "business casual" policy, the men all wore ties and most women wore suited skirts, dresses, or pantsuits. So when I came to work at my current company, I had six suits, several suits, a couple of blazers, lots of tailored shirts--and three pairs of pants.

So guess what I wear?

Besides, dressing professionally puts me in a professional frame of mind. Blame it on my upbringing: I wore a uniform to school for 12 years. Getting dressed in the morning was simple and once I put on my uniform, my brain knew what was coming. In a sense, it was--and is--kind of like dressing for a part in a play. It's much easier to act like an executive when I'm dressed like one. And I find that I am treated like one as well--my words are taken seriously.

So when I heard that the Republican National Committee spent $150,000 to outfit Gov. Palin and her family, I gasped. And then I thought, "They want her to look Presidential." And they want her family to look like they belong as well.

Shortly after I began working, John T. Molloy wrote Dress for Success and then, later, a special edition for women. I found many of his tips useful, especially since neither of my parents were executives and I looked very young. One of his tips was "Dress for the next level"--dress for where you wanted to be, not where you were, indicating that you were ready to move up the corporate ladder. My success with that has been mixed: I'm not a VP, but I've been involved in some high level projects.

Gov. Palin has a more difficult job: she has to look like she belongs in D.C. but not lose her "common touch." Her wardrobe has to reflect taste, quality, fit well, and not be ostentatious. No "obvious" labels. She has to exude self-confidence and her clothes have to show that. The Political Mavens are harsh: remember the hatchet job they did on the outfits Mrs. Roberts chose for herself and her children when Justice Roberts was sworn in? And the comments about Sen. Clinton and her choice in pantsuits? Or Barbara Bush and her pearls? Or the gown Rosalyn Carter wore to Mr. Carter's inauguration?

I hate to think how my readywear suits from Macy's and no-brand shoes would fare under close scrutiny.

And if those red peep-toe pumps are a size 8 and come up for auction, I might just have to bid on them. :)

UPDATE: On the way to BART this morning, the radio newscaster referred to a recent study that found that, in order to be successful, female politicians need to be attractive and confident while male politicians only need to be confident. (Sorry--I didn't catch the name of the institution that did this study.) The female newscaster and the male DJ both seemed surprised--after all, this is 2008!

I'm not.

I found my first job through a headhunter, who flat out told me that I would be easy to place because I was clean, neat, and reasonably attractive. My surprise must have shown on my face because she went on to clarify what she meant: I wasn't grossly obese, I didn't have any distracting moles or birthmarks or scars. The fact that I was intelligent was almost a handicap--employers would worry that I was too qualified for an entry-level job, would become bored quickly, and would leave. (This was during the Carter economy and the unemployment rate was in double digits.)

When I found myself unemployed a couple of years ago and back in the job market, Hubs suggested I dye my hair "to look younger." Gray hair makes a man look "distinguished" but makes a woman look "old." Mrs. Pelosi is a grandmother, as is Senator Feinstein--yet neither of them have a gray hair on their head. With five children, I'm sure Gov. Palin also has a few gray hairs of her own, too, artfully hidden among her highlights.

This physical double standard is a fact of life and I suspect it has roots in our biology. If so, it's going to take active effort on the part of both men and women to overcome it.

A Moment of Beauty & Tranquility

Shots like this are about the only reason I can think of to keep Daylight Savings until November. I captured this moonset as I was leaving the house for work last week.

Aaargh--Or Snatching Defeat From the Jaws of Victory

Fans of Cal Football don't ask for much: defeat USC, defeat UCLA, beat Sanford. And get us to the Rose Bowl. Under Jeff Tedford, the Bears have caught wind of the Roses, and every year have shot themselves in the foot.

Last night's game against Arizona was a case in point. Up by ten at the half, the Bears had a disastrous third quarter. Arizona scored four--yes, four!--touchdowns. And Cal couldn't come back. Even replacing Nate Longshore, who only threw one interception and actually had a pretty decent game, with Kevin Riley didn't help. I couldn't stand it and by the middle of the fourth quarter I couldn't watch the game.

Especially since I'm fasting from alcohol.

I hope God noticed. ;)

On Friday night, the kid's high school lost to their cross-town rivals as well. Hubs and I were working the snack shack, slinging hot chocolate, cup o' noodles, and nachos for 2.5 hours. So I didn't have to watch that game. But we were busy all night, so I don't think the game was too exciting.

The Bay Area pro teams? I don't think I can stand any more frustration. I have meeting minutes to write, a pig race binder to clean up before passing along, and stationery gift sets to make.

Maybe I ought to include football in my fast. :)

The Wisdom of Solomon

The Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream at night.

God said, "Ask something of me and I will give it to you."

Solomon answered:
"O Lord, my god, you have made me, your servant, king to succeed my father, David; But I am a mere youth, not knowing at all how to act. I serve you in the midst of the people whom you have chosen, a people so vast that it cannot be numbered or counted.

"Give your servant, therefore, an understanding heart to judge your people and to distinguish right from wrong. For who is able to govern this vast people of yours?"

The Lord was pleased that Solomon made this request.

So God said to him:
"Because you have asked for this--not for a long life for yourself, nor for riches, nor for the life of you enemies, but for understanding so that you may know what is right--I do as you requested. I give you a heart so wise and understanding that there has never been anyone like you up to now and after you there will come no one to equal you."

1 Kings 3: 5, 7-12

That was the first reading on Sunday, July 27. I had the privilege of proclaiming it at Mass and it struck me how appropriate--how necessary--this reading was to our country's situation.

I find it even more appropriate now.

So when The Anchoress stated she was going to pray and fast until the Election was over, I decided to join her, especially when she explained her idea of fasting was more a Lenten type fast. For me that means three small meals, no snacking, no sweets, no alcohol.

I'm tired of feeling helpless. I am praying to God and asking Our Lady of Guadalupe, one of my favorite icons of Mary, to watch over us here in America and guide us with a mother's care. (Maybe Our Lady of Perpetual Help would be more appropriate?) Like the Anchoress, I'm praying for guidance for my personal vote as well as guidance for the country. I'm leaving the results in His Hands--much like I do when the cardinals select the Pope.

I've slipped up: a s'more at Camporee, beer at my parish's Oktoberfest, cake at an Eagle Court of Honor. I have managed to avoid the fresh-baked cookies at work. :)

After Mass on Sunday, I was talking to one of my fellow parishioners. I mentioned the video at CatholicVote.com and how it would make an excellent meditation piece for a parish prayer service because of its emphasis on voting for life, for family, and for your conscience. His eyes lit up, "What a great idea! We should have a Mass of Discernment the Monday before the election. I'll talk to Father at the Parish Council meeting tomorrow night." We both agreed this wouldn't be a matter of telling people how to vote, but encouraging them to pray over their decisions and reflect on them. There are a couple of State Propositions and local issues on the ballot that are also important--it's not all about the Presidency.

I don't know if Father bought into the idea. But it's a mustard seed.

Can mustard seeds overcome ACORNS? I guess we'll find out.

(The Anchoress is also posting Compline and Vespers, for those inclined to more formal prayer and reflection.)

Feminism, Sarah Palin, and Me

I was a senior in high school when the "Second Wave" of feminism moved to the popular consciousness. I was intrigued--the Second Wave promised that all life choices a woman made would be respected: mother, homemaker, career-woman, doctor, nurse. In liberating women, the theory went, men would be freed as well: free to express their emotions, no longer bound to "male" jobs, encouraged to bond with their children. Their ideas were exciting, although in many cases what the feminists were doing was giving a new name (Consciousness-raising sessions) to an old activity (women's neighborhood social groups). I changed my career path from nursing, which I had wanted to do since I was five, to medicine--mostly because a teacher of mine pointed out, rightly, that I was much better at giving orders than following them and that if a doctor was making a mistake, I would correct him or her in front of his or her patient or colleague.

In the beginning, Feminism was all about choice. I'm not sure when abortion became the sine qua non of Feminism, but it was sometime after I was graduated from college.

I did not go to medical school, in large part because of Organic Chemistry and the fact that Boomers like myself were applying to medical schools, law schools, and other professional schools in record numbers, even without considering women applicants. In four short years, the percentage of women in professional schools, especially in the health field and in law, was about equal to that of men.

Feminists wanted more. They began to attack "The Glass Ceiling," talked about "The Mommy Track," and began to deride women who chose a more traditional lifestyle path. Men became The Enemy, and control over our bodies, which originally began as a health issue, became the right to unrestricted abortion at all times, at any age.

The Wisdom of the Crone was ignored.

I like men--they're some of my favorite people. Always have been. I married one; gave birth to two. Most of them were good guys, struggling to make a living, to do the right thing, pursuing happiness. When my arms were full of baby and baggage, when I was pushing a stroller and herding a toddler, I appreciated having doors held open for me. When I was pregnant, I was grateful for a seat on BART. A lot of the "old school" social rules began to make sense. And abortion became The Issue.

I have two daughters. As painful as it might be for me to hear they are pregnant out-of-wedlock, I still would want to know, especially if they were minors. And 12-year-olds are minors.

So Feminism and I have drifted apart. I decided I am nobody's Victim in general, although I may be in particular. I am grateful for those women who pioneered the way in business and I knew several of them in my industry. I'm also grateful for the men, especially those of my father's generation, who saw more potential in me than I saw in myself and who mentored me.

What has this to do with Sarah Palin?

I recognize her as a kindred spirit (or as Anne of Green Gables might say, "a member of the race of Joseph"). She is "one of the guys" while wearing a skirt and heels. She's the kind of person you want on your task force at work or your committee on the PTA: give her a goal and she'll get the job done. No excuses. No endless "discussion." No subcommittees and study groups. Just "here's the problem, let's try this to solve it."

A woman equally comfortable in a skirted suit and makeup or jeans and a flannel shirt. Yeah, I relate. Big time. :)

Her husband seems to be loving and supportive, equally at ease working in the oil field and holding a baby. Okay--he's had plenty of practice with that last one before appearing in front of a national audience. He might not have been so comfortable when first holding Track. The Palins seem to be the Feminist Ideal Couple: true equals.

So while I expected some outcry about her--that she was a "stunt" by the Republicans, that she was a Conservative--I didn't expect the outright venom. I thought that the furor would die down after a few weeks, and it has, but the attacks are still intense.

The night of the Vice-Presidential Debates, I overheard the following conversation on the way home:

"Are you going to watch the Debates?"

"Yes! I can't wait to see her fall on her ass!"

The last sentence was from a woman, who uttered it with absolute glee in her voice. I was stunned. I wanted Gov. Palin to do well, I wanted her to do better than Sen. Biden, but I didn't want him to "fall on his ass." What is wrong with these people? It's not enough for their candidate to win; the other candidate must be humiliated?

And lies, vicious lies, must be spread about her and her family? I thought we were moving towards a "more enlightened" civilization.

Apparently, some choices are more Womanly than others. Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton must be spinning in their graves. And I am happy to join Gov. Palin in the ranks of those humans with XX chromosomes who are not "really a woman." (Though Hubs may beg to differ.)

Postscript: I read part of Maureen Dowd's column on Gov. Palin's acceptance speech. Ms. Dowd noted Gov. Palin's red peep-toe pumps and commented on her pedicure. Where the heck was Ms. Dowd sitting that she could tell the color of the polish?

In Honor of the VP Debates Tonight

And to show solidarity with my preferred candidate, I am wearing my red pumps to work (Step-Ups by Dr. Scholl's).

Of course, this is a much better picture, but in brown: