Saturday, September 27, 2008

Breaking Bread

The Cobbler and I have reached a milestone in our relationship--I've started "sharing" his food. The first time it was because I wanted seconds but didn't have time to wait in line again, so I liberated a piece of turkey from his plate and ate it. Most of the time, though, there's no such logical reason. I just think his food looks good. In fact, during those times there's a logical reason not to take his food. He's about 102% of my height but only 70% of my weight--in other words, he's thin. He needs his food. I do not need his food.

Of course, this food-sharing relationship is not entirely one-sided. I love cooking for the Cobbler. Once I got mad at him because I had a lovely lunch planned and he showed up an hour and a half late. (It wasn't his fault.) I'm continually donating baked goods to the Make the Cobbler Fatter fund. They're handy because you can give them to somebody a week after you make them and they're still good.

A little while ago I was sitting sharing the Cobbler's midnight snack and commented that sharing food creates a relationship. He asked, somewhat incredulously, "So, every time you have someone over for dinner they become family?" At the risk of sounding ridiculous, I said yes. The Greeks knew that--Zeus would smite you if you abused the guest-host relationship, and people remembered that. Recall, if you will, the scene in the Iliad in which Diomedes and a Trojan warrior (I should remember his name but don't) exchange armor because somebody's grandfather visited somebody else's great-grandfather or some such thing. The relationship between guest and host still held true a few generations later.

It's something we know, or should know, from our Judeo-Christian roots as well. Read the Old Testament sometime. What are they always doing? Making covenants. What do covenants do? They form relationships. Pretty much all the time, the covenant ceremony involves two things: sacrifice and the breaking of bread. The meal is a part of forming the relationship. Then we have the Eucharist, which is sacrifice and meal all in one; which is the sign that we are members of Christ's family.

Friday, September 26, 2008

Still Daddy's girl

It's my dad's birthday today. He's 46. I don't think he'd mind me saying that; it's Mom who's touchy about her age. So, all I'll ever say on that topic is that she's younger than Dad (younger by years, not just months like with me and Scott) but old enough to have a 21-year-old daughter.

Back when I was little I thought Dad knew everything. Eventually I figured out that he didn't, and some of it I helped him learn, especially back when I was his RCIA sponsor--yeah, I'm my dad's godmother. Does that make me my own godgrandmother? (Well, technically he was baptized validly as a baby but those godparents aren't around so I consider myself his godmother.)

Anyway. Here's to 46 years of my dad's existence, which was a necessary prerequisite to my own existence. I love you, Daddy.

Still May-may

For those of you who don't know, I'm home for the weekend. I was a little worried that the Princess may have forgotten me, since she hasn't seen me for a month and when you've only been alive for 23 of them a month is a long time. However, the minute she saw me she gave an enormous smile and then scampered over and held up her hands so I'd pick her up, which I obligingly did.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

You know you are a certifiable geek...

...if you read this on two friends' wall-to-wall and almost fall out of your chair laughing:

"Gah! I hate writing papers! I'm so mentally exhausted and traumatized that I fear I may spontaneously give birth to a non-entity that thinks it created the world!"

I love being in Honors. (I would never actually quit, I'd find another chocolate source.)

Monday, September 22, 2008

Survival Tool

I will probably drop out of the Honors Program if Wal-Mart ever stops selling giant bags of Tootsie Rolls.

Well, a girl has to motivate herself somehow, doesn't she?

Friday, September 19, 2008

Dropping My Shield

Last week during my Thursday night Legend of Zelda session, I had to defeat a particular miniboss who had this annoying habit of picking me up and throwing me across the room. As you might guess, this tended to kill me rather quickly. I couldn't figure out how to dash in, slash with my sword, and dash back out again fast enough to not get grabbed and tossed. I think it was the Cobbler who finally observed that my shield was causing me to bounce off the miniboss, which made my sword-flailings even more ineffective than usual.

So I started running into the room with my shield down. I might have even disabled the shield so I wouldn't be tempted to use it. And guess what? It only took me a couple more tries to beat the miniboss (out of 20 or 30 tries total). It struck me as interesting that going into battle seemingly defenseless actually made me better able to defend myself and ultimately defeat my enemy.

A few days later I thought, "How often do I dare to drop my shield spiritually?" Whenever I'm faced with a challenge, I immediately duck behind a carefully-constructed set of my own assumptions. Sometimes these ideas of what safety is help me to ward off the attacks of the Enemy. Sometimes, though, I end up just getting tossed around and in my hurt and confusion ask God, "How can he still hurt me when I have my shield up the whole time?" Then God points out that my shield isn't helping me one iota, and that in order to advance past this dungeon, I need to just let it go for a little while and have faith that when He tells me I don't need it, I really don't.

How We Roll, Women's Dorm Edition

Overheard in the hall:

"No more drama! Or I'll kill myself!"

(On an unrelated note, my poor knee feels much better today.)

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Oww

I think I must have done something to my right knee when I genuflected before Communion this morning, because ever since it's been hurting rather badly whenever I try to bend it and if I put my hand on it and straighten it out I can feel something popping. Oww.

Either it will pop itself back into alignment or it will be hopelessly thrown off by my carrying the books for 4 classes today. If I do end up hobbling around campus for a while at least it will be because I'm excessively reverent.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Interesting

So, dear readers, over the weekend I discovered something.

People who aren't used to getting up in the mornings find it difficult to do so.

Yeah, I know, revelation. Bear in mind that I've been habitually getting up before 7 am since I got my driver's license. (In fact, one of the reasons I got my driver's license as soon as I did [16 years and 2 months of age] was because I got sick of depending on my mom for a ride to daily Mass.) So I can haul myself out of bed at 6 am regardless of how much sleep I got the night before. I'm sure there is some level of sleep-deprivation at which I will sleep through my alarm or fall back asleep after turning it off, but so far I've managed it even on nights where I'm getting less than 5 hours of sleep.

But I digress. The point of this ramble is that when Scott stayed up until 3 am Sunday protesting The World and Its Stupidity, I assumed that he wouldn't have that hard a time getting up at 8:30 the next morning.

The first I heard from him was after I got back from 12:30 Mass. If you calculate it out he really only got about 8 or 9 hours of sleep, which is perfectly average. So I shouldn't have been surprised that he woke up when he did. Most people go to bed, sleep until they're not tired anymore, and then wake up. I go to bed, sleep until dawn, and then wake up and generally can't get back to sleep for at least another 2 hours. (I used to think that I couldn't go back to sleep again until my after-lunch nap, but I've since discovered mid-morning naps.)

Based on these observations I conclude that until I get Scott firmly in the habit of waking up in the mornings, I need to make sure he's also getting to bed before midnight.

Monday, September 15, 2008

What Vespers Will Always Be

Since coming back to Steubie I've been reminded of a lot of the events of the end of last semester. Most of the "firsts" are over now but last night was the first Vespers of the semester and I can't help but remember what happened once walking back from Vespers.

I'm trying to think of a really good conversation starter and can't.
Me neither.
So...Friday...


And everything that followed from that.

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Roommates

Me: Where's my Pop-tart?

Morgan: I think I ate it. Want one of my berry pies?

Friday, September 12, 2008

Knowing and Choosing

A while ago my mother sent me a link to this post at Faith and Family Live and the accompanying discussion about the pros and cons of marrying young. One of the commenters posted a link to this post by Mighty Maggie (a blogger whose writing I have enjoyed for about a year and a half...did you think I linked to all my favorites on the sidebar?) Maggie has an interesting perspective on marrying young: She presents her relative lack of knowledge of what marriage entails to be a positive rather than a negative.

To give a little background on my perspective: My parents married when they were respectively 19 and 23. If Mom had waited until she was 25 to get married, neither my sister nor I would have been born. So I might be a wee bit biased in favor of young marriages. As for me, I'm 18 and I already know whom I'm going to marry. I probably won't be married when I'm 19, but I probably will be married by the time I'm 23.

There is a place for evaluating things objectively and having standards and not rushing into things. If one of my friends was dating someone who cheated/drank/abused controlled substances, then I would be very concerned. If one of my friends eloped with someone they met a few weeks before, I would also be concerned. If one of my friends married a good Catholic guy after dating him for a year, it wouldn't bother me. I wouldn't wonder "Do they know what they're getting into?"

The simple answer is that they don't. I don't. I have only the most general idea of what is required for a marriage to work and no practical experience with living such a life (I am seeing a sequel post on cohabitation...hmmm). All I know is that I told the Cobbler, "I'm not going anywhere," and I intend to stand by that statement. When we marry I'll promise formally not to go anywhere, and I won't know then what the next 50 or 60 years will hold for us. All I'll know is that I'm choosing to spend the rest of my life with him.

Project Oligochaeta

Remember how over the summer I decided I needed some homemaking skills and so I embarked on Project Domestic Conquest?

Well, Scott has decided that he is going to start practicing for when he gets a first-shift job. This means that he wants to wake up in the mornings, which means that it's my job to call him and make sure he's awake, which means that I'm going to blog about it.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

I hate this

Since I got an email address 4 years ago, I have gotten a particular chain email at least 3 times. It quotes a Bible passage saying that God will be ashamed of whoever is ashamed of Him, and in order to prove that you're not ashamed of God you should forward the email to everyone on your contact list. I got it again last week, from someone I know slightly but not well. Please note that the following post is not meant to be a condemnation of that person for sending it on (some people are good sports, unlike me); just a rant against whoever thought it would be a good idea to get this email started in the first place.

First, I'm going to see if I can make myself not-angry enough to actually respond to this in a logical manner.

*deep breath*

Okay, number one: Since when is forwarding spam a necessity for being a good Christian? Yes, it's Christian-themed spam, but nonetheless it is still spam. I don't forward chain emails. Ever. No matter what the content. The only time I've even come close is with a fill-in-the-blank tell-about-yourself email was going around my friends a while back. I don't at all appreciate emails that demand to be forwarded, and I especially don't appreciate it when they try to browbeat me into forwarding them by saying that it will prove I love God.

Two: Are chain emails really the best way to say, "Hey, I'm a Christian and I'm proud of it"? If you want to get people witnessing to Christ, then send out an email telling them to pray for their enemies or some such thing, not fill up their acquaintances' and business associates' inboxes with garbage.

Ergh. I'm just going to stop thinking about it, but this is the official public service announcement to all of you who read this blog: if you should ever get a chain email and happen to be in a compliant mood, such that you forward it to everyone on your email contact list, I will most certainly not send it back and/or send it to anyone else, and will probably blog about it.

Sunday, September 7, 2008

Cute?

Scott: "Whenever life gets too difficult I want to beat it over the head until it listens to orders."

Me: "Or whack it with your sword until it explodes."

[pause]

Me: "I just made a videogame reference! Are you proud of me?!"

Scott: "Yes."

I Hab a Code

If I act crazier than usual the next week or so, it's because cold medicine makes me weird. I'm actually feeling better this morning; I have this wild hope that this cold might have been the short-lived variety but given my track record with colds this is probably just the peak effectiveness of my medicine and I'm going to be wretched again this afternoon.

However, my life has not been unmitigated respiratory wretchedness. For instance, yesterday Scott, Morgan, and I watched Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, which happens to be my Favorite Movie of All Time. Scott and Morgan both liked it. The funny thing was that I didn't actually remember the ending, even though I thought I did (I must have dozed off for the last few minutes or something), so I was in as much suspense as anyone else over how it would turn out.

After I escorted Scott out of the hall Morgan decided that it was time to fix her internet. I've been enabling our laziness by letting her use my computer whenever she needs an internet connection, but I must admit it was getting a little annoying to be forever going to Facebook and having it automatically fill in her email address. (I have a long email address, I don't like having to type it every time.) So Morgan followed the instructions for getting her computer onto the network and then I used my deep knowledge of the oddities of the internet here to reset her port. Then her internet worked. At that point she declared her undying love for me and subsequently had to clarify that yes she loved me before I fixed her internet, and no her love for me is not dependent on my computer skills. Once that was cleared up I went to sleep.

Friday, September 5, 2008

Openness

I know some people who have many kids who are completely incapable parents in love and attention. Others have none or too few children when they have not only homes but hearts big enough to sustain a larger brood. Then there's people like me, who fears that I shall be wasting the best of my baby-bearing years on school, but still hopes to at least best my mother by one.

This was left in the comments section of my last post, and I agree with its author wholeheartedly (of course, she is my best friend, but she still makes a good point).

In an ideal world, everyone who was called to the married state by God would be able to find their spouse in time to have a large brood, and that large brood would come easily. In the world we live in, this happens so rarely that families with more than two or three kids are almost freakish. (And, as Durnhelm will attest, there are even people who think three is too many.)

Sometimes it's our culture that creates a barrier to realizing this ideal circumstance. Nowadays you have to go to school for at least 16 years before you're considered educated, and that candle is burning on both ends. We have two-year-olds going to "preschool" and 22-year-olds who can't find a job because they don't have a Master's Degree. Sometimes even if people marry young they don't have a large family--either because they can't or because they won't. Not to lump those two problems together--too many people do that today; looking at a Catholic family with 1 or 2 or 3 children and thinking that the parents must not be open to life. I absolutely cannot emphasize enough that you never, ever know another couple's circumstances. If you must think about their family size at all, just pray for them.

Then there are the families with eight or ten or however many children who seem to be the model of Catholic family life and aren't. I almost hate to make that point because our culture likes to say that if a family has many children there must be some sort of abuse going on. That's just plain wrong--it hurts the families that are genuinely happy and it hurts the children in the families that aren't, because the structures we have in place to catch child abuse are too busy going on wild goose chases.

We live in an incredibly messed-up world, and often the people who ought to be parents aren't, and the people who ought not be responsible for a guinea pig are. I don't have a perfect solution to that. I have two cousins who are adopted. They went from being abandoned to being two of the most doted-on little girls in the Midwest. Sometimes that works. Sometimes God can take two bad situations (in this case, abandonment and childlessness) and patch them together to make something good. God has a way of bringing good out of bad--just think of Redemption.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Thumbs, Bananas, and Poetry

Yesterday at Principles of Biblical Studies (henceforth referred to as PBS), we had a very interesting discussion of Genesis 2. For instance, when the professor read Genesis 2:18, one of the boys shouted "Yay!" A few verses later, Dr. B read Adam's reaction to Eve's appearance. Only he didn't just read it, he sang it, and when the class laughed at him he said, "Look, it's in verse right there on your page. Before Eve came along, Adam was just like, 'Ohh, an opposable thumb! Hey, ape, pass me a banana! Look, I can grasp it!' Then Eve came along and he was Shakespeare." (All of this accompanied by appropriate gesticulations.)

I was recounting this story to Scott at dinner and he said, "If that had been me, I would have been composing poetry about thumbs and bananas and then when you came along as Eve I would have been like..." [he sits wordlessly with an astonished look on his face].