Musings of a Scribbler

Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary since we lost the first from our ranks.  It’s funny how the memories can soften with time and yet leave an ache so deep.  Some days I look back and think, “I can’t believe it’s been nearly a year.” and other days it feels like so much more than a year.

It has been a year of change and realization.  Life is so fragile and death hurts all the time.  It doesn’t matter if you have a lot of time with a person or a little.  We never met Jeremiah, and yet the pain of losing him was maybe more acute than if we had memories to tuck away.  We never held him. We didn’t see his smile or his first steps. We didn’t have the pleasure of listening to him lisp our names, or cry in the middle of the night.  And yet it is something of a comfort to know that he flew straight to heaven and angels will be taking care of him.  We lost. He went to be with Jesus.

Losing family hurts because family is the most important thing in the world.  Family is always there. Always has been, always will be. Your family understands you better than anybody else.  Of course, sometimes you get in each others hair.  But you know in the back of your mind that they’re you’re best friends in the world.  You love them more than life itself.  If it was a matter of their life or yours, you would take the blow and die so they could live.  That’s what true love is.  Love is pain because life in this world ends. Somebody is taken, and somebody is left with a broken heart. Thank God we have eternal life to look forward to!

I hope and pray that we won’t have to break ranks again for a very long time.  Jeremiah was part of us.  He still holds a place in our hearts–a place that won’t be filled physically until we meet again in heaven.  Praise God for the promise of eternal life!

I apologize profusely for the sparcity and sporadic nature of my late posts.  Life has been very busy!  A bit of that should wind down this evening as I face my high school recital.  I’m a bit nervous about it–wish the butterflies would stop jumping around in my stomach!!!!  When I start playing, the music will be all that there is in the world, but until then I’m a nervous mess.  Tried practicing, but practicing just a few hours before a recital is more nervewracking than the recital itself.  Then you don’t have the adrenaline rush that the recital will produce, only a poignant sense of discomfort as you realize that the time for practice has come and gone and if you don’t have that music under your hat now you’re toast.

Pray for me tonight, if you think of it

The following is a very old, traditional prayer.  I’m not sure who it originated with, but I’m adopting it for tonight as my prayer.

I arise today                                                                                                                                                  Through God’s strength to pilot me:
God’s might to uphold me,
God’s wisdom to guide me,
God’s eye to look before me,
God’s ear to hear me,
God’s word to speak for me,
God’s hand to guard me,
God’s way to lie before me,
God’s shield to protect me,
God’s host to save me,
From snares of devils,
From temptations of vices,
From every one who shall wish me, ill,
Afar and anear,
Alone and in a multitude.

Christ to shield me today
Against poisoning, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So there come to me abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise.
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every one who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
~ Traditional

Let my mind be continually fixed on the great Giver of all peace, today and always, that He may receive the glory for everything good in my life.

Yesterday I found myself walking through wally-world.  As lackadaisical as that sounds, a trip to wally-world is never ‘just’ a trip to wally-world.  You don’t exactly go there to have fun (unless you’re with friends or shopping cart jousting).  You go there for a purpose.  You may be sidetracked by everything else in the store, but you have a purpose.  You’re either checking out the sale prices on clothes, checking out the sale prices on shoes, or shopping for normal groceries.

Yesterday my specific purpose was simple: find a strapless bra that will hopefully do the job it was made to do.  When it comes to strapless bras all bets are off.  I have very little confidence in the thought of one, but I bought a gorgeous blue dress for my senior recital and figured bright pink bra straps could really spoil the effect… so could every other color of straps for that matter.

In my inspection of the products available, I recognized the possibility of three choices.  The first I drew an x through before I even realized I had thought the thought.  Absolutely no plastic adhesive.  Nope.  Not happening.  I don’t wanna know how those things come on and go off.  I’d rather have my bright pink straps showing, thank you very much! (maybe not, but it would take DIRE circumstances to make me consider those plastic ‘candy dishes’ as Miss Congeniality so aptly named them)

The second two choices surprised me.  There was one with incredibly flimsy elastic and one with a wide band of thick, heavy duty elastic.  They were about the same price.  Why choose to see exactly how quickly thin elastic from Walmart stretches out with a strapless bra, of all things?  Oh, oh… I just figured it out… you buy the one with flimsy elastic and then use gorilla glue to glue it up and on.  Gotcha.  That sounds appealing.  As long as you’re using gorilla glue to keep it up, who cares!

It’s good for a laugh after the fact, but is it any wonder that buying lingerie is such a pain in the neck, ladies???  If it’s not bad elastic, there’ll be enough padding to use the thing like one of the flotation cushions from the plane that you have been instructed to use in case of a plane crash.  If it isn’t the padding, it’s a pattern so wild it would show through a thick black sweater!  And if it isn’t any of the above… you’re either in heaven, or you’ve found the perfect store.  Let me know if you do.

So here in the real world ‘once upon a time’ there is this family I know.  Eight perfect angels, mom and dad, two dogs, one cat, and about a billion turtles, frogs, or other creepy crawlies that have been considered ‘pets’ for some amount of time—until they escaped the evil clutches of the three-year-old or perished in the attempt.
They’re one of the coolest families I know.  The funniest thing about them is that they only have two seats left in a twelve passenger van (make that one seat—after March 2010) and if you ask them, they don’t think they have a large family.  When they go to the store, out for dinner, to the state fair, get gas and use the bathroom on family vacation… you can sit there with a camera and watch heads zip around to watch all these kids piling out of a van with no apparent religious affiliation and no school name on it’s side (political bumper stickers on the back though).  The sad weirdos who have no kids (and a couple of multi-million dollar dogs) gape like it’s the circus come to town.
“How many kids are there anyways?”
“Good Lord, are they out of the van yet?  They just keep coming?”
“I’ve counted six so far.”
“You missed two—I’m up to eight.”
“And if that’s the mother, there’s one more on the way!”
They gape at us in shock.
Yes, us.  I’m the scribe of the family, with a shall we say—well developed sense of the ironical humor of life in a large family.  Sarcasm is mandatory.  If you live in a large family, life’s a lot funnier if you’re sarcastic about it.
We have our trademark sarcastic comebacks in our family, and I thought I’d share a few of them with you as they appear to me, the eldest of almost-nine kids.  We’ll work through the day step-by-step, and when we’re done, you can sit back and evaluate… if you want, I’ll even give you a pop quiz.
#1.  (this trademark sarcastic comeback—TSC, since I’m already sick of writing that out—will usually occur at approximately 0650 in the morning on the weekend)  “Go ahead and whisper a little louder—I can sleep through a riot.”  The previous will be delivered by a grouchy older sibling who rouses from the pillows just far enough to shoot a glare that would scare the president at the offending party.
#2.  (7 AM—on the weekend)  The small persons who received the first TSC have had enough of whispering, and the first TSC drew their maniacal attention to the happily—or not so happily anymore—slumbering elder.  In a burst of high-pitched laughter (almost certainly fueled by coffee) the elder is jolted from dozing by a minimum of one heavy bug catapulting onto her bed.  I have had as many as four crawling on me at once, by the way.  These ornery critters don’t leave for all the pillow-smacking in the world.  Your best bet is to lie completely still and hope that they’ll think you’ve died sooner than later.  After ten minutes of poking, prodding, jumping, and otherwise tormenting the elder, a sweet three-year-old will crawl up beside your head, pry your eyes open and ask the inevitable. “Are you awaaakkkkeeee?????”  As if I could not be?  You kids are gonna kill me!
#3 “Get out of the bathroom.  You’ve been in there for an hour.  How much makeup can you put on anyways?”  This is self-explanatory.  Allow your imagination to create the scenario—but let it be known that I did not spend 60 minutes in the bathroom.  Brothers exaggerate.  Period.
#4. “Oh but such-and-such a person volunteered to do breakfast clean up all by him/her self.”  Also self-explanatory.  This remark, however, will instigate a long discussion, lasting at least 30 minutes, or the length of breakfast.
#5.  “We don’t need a burglar alarm… anybody who tries to break into our house will break their neck in the first five steps tripping on all these bloody shoes.  For crying out loud, do you kids know that God gave you two hands for the express purpose of putting your shoes away when you come in the door?”  This is the truth.  Word of advice—don’t try to break into our house.
#6.  “Go to bed.”  This is the only remark that may not be sarcastic, however it must be repeated so many times that it begins to be debatable whether a certain few members of our family even know the English language.  Bedtime dialogue goes something like this. (**Please note–’elder’ refers to any of the eight people older than Sam and Emily in the house at the time of the incident)
“Oh look at that!  It’s 8:25!  Sam and Em!  Guess what time it is?”
Sam: Can we watch a movie?
Em: I need to take a bath.
Older: Sam, it’s already past your bedtime.  Get your pajamas.
Sam: I don’t want to go to bed.  I want to play with my toys.
Older: Didn’t you have a bath earlier today, Em?
Em: No… at least… I don’t think so… that was yesterday.
Older: Whatever.  You can take a bath tomorrow.  Go to bed.  We want to watch Bourne.
Sam: Can I watch Bourne?
Older: No.  Where are your pajamas.
Sam: Why can’t I watch Boure?
Older: It would scare you.
Sam: Would it scare me?
Older: YES!
Sam: But I wanted to watch a movie.
Older: You watched one!  Remember!
Sam: but I want to watch Bourne.
Em: You can’t, Sam.  It would scare you.
Older: What are you doing around still, Em?  I thought you were taking a bath.
Em: I thought I wasn’t supposed to.
Older: It’s your bath night.  You always take a bath on your bath night.  Go get into the bathtub and hurry up.  Three other people need showers tonight and if I end up with a cold one somebody’s gonna catch it.
(Em exits the stage.  Goes upstairs to find her pajamas.  The conversation with Sam continues for ten more minutes, at which point, some older sibling is dispatched to get his pajamas and see Emily—still dry-haired—sitting in front of her dresser in her bedroom.
Older: I thought you were taking a bath.
Em: I can’t find any clean underwear.
Older: Did you look in your drawer?
Em: I was looking around the bed first, because the folded laundry gets set on the bed.
Older: It’s been ten minutes!
Em: I can’t find any.
Older cross the room, pulls open a drawer and hands her clean underclothes and pajamas: Go get into the bathtub.
The bath lasts long enough to get Sam in bed, but the chorus echoes down the stairwell.
Sam: Dad!  Dad!  When are you going to come pray with me?  When is Emily coming to bed?  Are you watching Bourne?  Why can’t I watch Bourne?  I’m thirsty.  Can I get a drink?  When do the big boys have to come to bed?  Why isn’t Emily in bed yet?
Somebody carries Sam a glass of water.  Five minutes later the monologue changes.  “I’ve gotta go potty.”
He is escorted downstairs, but is unable to use the bathroom because Em is still holed up in there taking a shower hot enough to boil a camel.
Eventually, under the worry that Sam may wet his pants, he is escorted into the bathroom where Emily is found showered, dressed, and immaculately combing her hair.
At this point the elder glances at his/her watch, notes that it is now ten minutes shy of nine o’clock and wonders if he should run down to the horse barn and find some tranquilizer.
A few more barked commands, however, find both kids settled in bed and the movie started.  A catastrophe is avoided for a single night and the two littlest ones managed to extend the moment of the execution 35 minutes past when it was expected to go off.  Of course, they will both be back downstairs at least three more time for drinks and subsequent potty-runs, but for the most part they are in bed and silent.  Maybe we’ll get to watch the last four scenes of the movie without any interruptions tonight!!!
…… Thus ends the first installment of Tales from the Castle

So I am attempting to write a novel set in the year 2250.  I love the plot, love my characters… but I’m not sure how to make it a) believable, and b) not as cheesy as every other ‘back-to-the-future’ novel out there.

The problem as I see it, is that assuming we aren’t all blown up by a nuclear bomb in the year 2250, technology will have changed so drastically that the most innovative ideas for technology now will seem cheesy.

Chalk it up to personal pride… I don’t care if I’m long dead, I would really prefer to not sound cheesy and cliche in my writing.

Of course, I could drop technology all together for the plot of the book… something horrible happened and the internet collapsed, electricity no longer exits, cell-phones (what are they?)… the entire world has reverted to a semi-third world state…

That’s weird.

Anyways, if you have any suggestions, I would be THRILLED to hear them!!!

As I am preparing to go to college in 2010, I have had some serious questions about what the rest of my life could entail for the next five years.  What next, what next, what next?  But as my incredible Dad pointed out yesterday, ‘This season of your life, when you are single and on your own, is only going to come around once.  Use the time to do the things that you want to do, because when you get married everything is going to change–not change for the worse, but completely change.’  Marriage is a different season.

That changed my perspective on a couple things, but I really should never have forgotten.  Live each day like it might be your last.  What about that is so hard to remember?  It should be the motto to our lives!

The country song by Tim McGraw, ‘Live Like You’re Dying’ is so true.  Granted, I’m not ready to go sky-diving yet (I’m planning on doing that after I’ve seen a little more life… like around the age of 65, say) but taking intense pleasure out of every moment that passes is key to a fulfilled and very happy life.

God created humans to work.  It stands to reason that we are happiest, then, when we have our hands stuck in something up past our elbows.

Whether it be music, marksmanship, camping… “Live each moment intensely.” ~Mother Teresa

There is so much in the world that is fascinating!  I’d love to tour Europe as a traveling musician and just prop up my violin case outside the door of a restaurant and see if I could live on that money for a couple months.  If I start making a list, you’ll be reading this all day!  I’d like to drive the Oregon trail, hike in a bunch of the huge State Parks, visit every country in Europe, play in a couple of the major symphony’s in Europe and the US, go skiing, hang-gliding, rock-climbing, scuba-diving, caving (not the super-tiny-spaces-all-the-time caving–I think I’m slightly claustrophobic), kayaking, white-water rafting, water-skiing… the list continues.  The only things I’m not too crazy about trying yet are parachuting and free-falling.  I don’t know if I’ll ever want the experience enough to just do it and there are plenty of other things on my list to do first

Hm… what was my first point with this post?

It really is true.  The world is anybody’s oyster who has the guts to see what he/she can do in it!  I will probably find a good man (or a good man will find me )someday, but for now I’m going to simply love the time I have, wherever I am, whatever I’m doing.

Life is awesome!

St. Francis of Assissi admonished us to, “Preach the gospel at all times, and if necessary use words.”

This morning’s Mass was our ‘missions sunday.’ Fr. Francis and his wife were here to give a presentation of their work in Africa.  We heard some lovely stories–and some not so lovely ones, too.  (Does the term 30-foot drop mean anything to you?  If it does, have a giggle–if it doesn’t, don’t ask).

The Great Commission sends us into the world, to baptize and teach people of all nations.  Some of us are called to go to distant, primitive lands, proclaiming the gospel to thousands who have never heard it.

But the rest of us are called–just as validly–to be missionaries to the world around us.  Right here.  Right now.

Missionary work is not entirely evangelistic.  Sometimes we spread the gospel best by not saying anything at all.  Ultimately, what people see in us is our attitude towards the world, and how we react to strife, worry, and pressure. Without us ever trying to bribe them into coming to church, or being baptized, they can see the light of Christ in us and be blessed.  Maybe after they have seen that peace which we have everyday, they’ll want the same thing and seek Christ.

Just a thought…

In the modern culture of the Western Hemisphere, “love” and “romance” are words used to very loosely express feelings of expression.  People fall in love.  They have romances.  And then they sometimes fall back out of love as perfunctorily as they fell into it.  The divorce rate is sky-rocketing… and that statistic does not include the number of couples who live together without being married and then make like a banana and split to different partners–essentially  divorce.

We ridicule the Old World idea of matchmakers and the arranged marriages that caused people so much grief.  Or so we assume.  The funny thing is, when arranged marriages were the norm, divorces and annulments were not.  Annulments were so unusual that they created a huge stir wherever they happened.  Marriages were made and lasted the test of time.

What makes the difference so radical?  We are free to marry for “love” these days.  We can marry whoever we want–rank has no bearing in the matter.  Everybody should be content.

Note, I’m not a huge advocate of arranged marriages.  They worked in their time, but we’ve been modernized to within an inch of our lives and wouldn’t like it at all if we were thrown into a marriage ceremony with somebody we had never met before.  I have no aversion to being introduced to potentials by well-meaning family and friends, but an entirely arranged marriage is a bit extreme, even for me.

My point is a question.  What is the difference?  Why is the divorce rate so high?  Why are the numbers of happily married couples dwindling?

We’ve forgotten what true love is.  We still recognize it when we see it in the movies–hero gives his life for the girl he loves.  Innately, we realize that sacrificial love is far and beyond all that we can ever dream with our petty visions of “romance.”

The kind of love that lasts a century requires giving as much as it requires taking.  It isn’t perfect, but it is steadfast.  There may be hard times, but hard times come to everybody, so true love just holds tighter and rides out the storm.  Love is putting another person’s life, work, and dreams ahead of your own.  Love is sacrificing yourself and your talents for the one you love.

That only sounds harsh if you’re the only person in a relationship.  In a real relationship, where both parties agree to live and love together no matter how long and hard the road may be at points, “Till death do us part”, each person gives.  Each person receives.  And the sacrifices you make together make you better people–more prepared to walk that walk side by side and love each other forever.

Participants in an arranged marriage weren’t given a choice.  You went to the church.  You married this man/woman.  You went home and lived together until you died.  You didn’t think about the bumps in the road.  You focused your eyes on the horizon and learned to love each other.

Remember the song Tevye and Golda sing in ‘Fiddler on the Roof’–’Do you love me?’  First class example and, despite the fact that it is in a fictional movie, true to life.

Love was made to last.  Let yours.