Worth a Thousand Words

Britannia arm-in-arm with Uncle Sam symbolizes the British-American alliance in World War I. (Source: Wikipedia)

Worth a Thousand Words

Paul Weller by Edward B. Gordon

Daybook

Outside my window
The trees are green and I see maybe a leaf or two that is changing color. It will be Thanksgiving before they really change in force, if they do at all.
~~~
In my thoughts
I miss Hannah and Rose. I wasn't missing them for some time ... but today, I miss them!
~~~
In Thanksgiving
For my good life and family and how rich it is with God in the middle of it.
~~~
Kitchen meanderings
Planning another Khmer stir-fry this week ... a simple pork and green bean dish. We'll see if I actually make it or not.
~~~
Using my creative powers
Not sure if I'm using creative powers on this but I definitely am trying to keep myself on schedule and disciplined enough to ignore distractions. I'm realizing that my day is full of them and most are self-imposed. Bad, bad Julie D!
~~~
Stacked up

• Calico Palace by Gwen Bristow: revisiting an old favorite
• Shapers by Robert R. Chase: dropped into the middle of a situation that is probably the most unique and original view of an alien species I've ever read. Fascinating. Really fascinating.
• My Cousin, the Saint (review copy): loving this book. How the author manages to combine Italian history, the Italian immigrant experience in the U.S., the poor Italian parish priest experience, food writing, and faith ... well, he's good, let's just say that. Very good.
• Pope John Paul II: An Intimate Life (review copy): finished this actually. Excellent. Now I must write the review.
• The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch (reading a chapter in the evenings with Tom, when we remember): funny and inspirational. I hope that if I were faced with such dire news I'd react as he did.

~~~
Couch potato
Ignoring those stinkin' Cowboys ... the usual things at home from the VCR: House, Bones, Pushing Daisies, Chuck. We gave Life on Mars a Try and I found it interesting although somewhat claustrophobic when he'd hear from loved ones over the television or radio. I felt trapped along with him. That was not such a good feeling but I believe it is particular to my reaction. I'm going to be continuing with it.

From the library-Michael Palin's Sahara which we're halfway though. I continue to be fascinated by how very differently people live right now at this moment from the way that I do.
~~~
In my ears
The Adventures of Jimmy Dale, The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman, proofing this week's podcast.

Caught up with Alderpod which is an interesting fantasy with a bit of steampunk folded in. The author surprises me time and again by having the characters react realistically in stressful situations as opposed to the idealistic way that I expect the strong female, the lad coming into his own, the bard on his first mission ... to react.
~~~
Around the house
Very, very slowly I'm cleaning up corners or bookshelves or tabletops. And they still stay cleaned off!
~~~
A favorite thing
Right this second? My husband. (That whole second honeymoon thing, you know.)
~~~
An extra tidbit
I have become the Queen of Canned Dogfood. (Also of canned cat food.) We're catering to our sweet old boxer who is slowly fading away from cancer. We joke that it's the canned Alpo keeping her alive. She's always a chow hound no matter what. The cat has finally become pleased now that I've tried Fancy Feast. She eats every bit, as opposed to the Iams tiny bits of fish (or whatever) where she laps up the liquid and disdains the solids.

What's Missing from this Stamp?

Of course, you noticed. We all noticed. They have removed the cigarette from one of the most famous photographs of Bette Davis. I like the way Roger Ebert comments on this:

... Yes reader, the cigarette in the original photo has been eliminated. We are all familiar, I am sure, with the countless children and teenagers who have been lured into the clutches of tobacco by stamp collecting, which seems so innocent, yet can have such tragic outcomes. But isn't this is carrying the anti-smoking campaign one step over the line?

Depriving Bette Davis of her cigarette reminds me of Soviet revisionism, when disgraced party officials disappeared from official photographs. ...

The great Chicago photographer Victor Skrebneski took one of the most famous portraits of Davis. I showed him the stamp. His response: "I have been with Bette for years and I have never seen her without a cigarette! No cigarette! Who is this impostor?" I imagine Davis might not object to a portrait of her without a cigarette, because she posed for many. But to have a cigarette removed from one of her most famous poses! What she did to Joan Crawford in "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane" wouldn't even compare to what ever would have happened to the artist Michael Deas.

Read the whole thing here.

Worth a Thousand Words

Bloch Building by Hey Jules

Question of the Day: on the side

You can have only one condiment for the rest of your life. Which do you pick?

We're not talking seasonings like salt, pepper, and herbs here. This is about mayo, mustard, ketchup, hot sauce and the like.

The Matrix, Light Sabers and ... The Vote Reaper

I can't help it. This guy just cracks me up ... (via John C. Wright).

In Which Nations Shoot the Breeze

From the hilarious Wondermark Lite. Click on the cartoon to enlarge or click through the link to read it at Wondermark Lite.

Worth a Thousand Words

Achilles tending Patroclus wounded by an arrow
Identified by inscriptions on the upper part of the vase. Tondo of an Attic red-figure kylix, ca. 500 BC. From Vulci. (Source: Wikipedia)

You Know, I Never Thought of It LIke That!

Leave it to John C. Wright to point out ...

In other words, if your whole political economy is based on putting a burden of debt on unborn generations, does not the existence of your political economy rest on the idea that the unborn generation shall and must come to be? If the Big Brother you worship and serve cannot remain solvent, indeed, cannot survive at all, unless the next generation outnumbers the current, is it not treason to Big Brother to remain infertile? ...

Read it all here.

Worth a Thousand Words

Wild Autumn Beauty
Taken by the talented DL Ennis at Visual Thoughts

I am increasingly approving of The Nutrition Diva

She is part of the Quick & Dirty Tips podcasting family. I enjoy several of those podcasts as a matter of fact.

What makes me point out The Nutrition Diva? She uses common sense. And science.

I like that.

For instance, I had fallen prey to high fructose hysteria (to my shame, as I now realize) and she helped shake me into common sense (emphasis added):

... As is so often the case, a little chemistry helps makes things a lot clearer. Table sugar, or sucrose, is actually made up of two types of sugar molecules; it’s about equal parts glucose and fructose.

Regular corn syrup, the kind that you can buy on the grocery store, has a different profile. It’s much lower in fructose than table sugar. You heard me correctly: Corn syrup is naturally quite low in fructose. And that makes it a poor substitute for table sugar. Things made with regular corn syrup don’t taste the same as things made with table sugar.

The breakthrough for food manufacturers came when they figured out how to produce a corn syrup that was higher in fructose. High-fructose corn syrup actually has about the same amount of fructose as regular table sugar—making it a viable alternative for food processing. Because corn syrup is so much cheaper than cane sugar, manufacturers quickly adopted it and high-fructose corn syrup has largely replaced cane sugar in manufactured foods.

But here’s what gets lost in the high-fructose hysteria: Foods and drinks made with high-fructose corn syrup are, in general, no higher in fructose than foods made with regular sugar. But they are cheaper. ...

Or this bit of information about how much water to drink? Now, this one I knew. But it was refreshing to hear a little known bit of information being brought to light through a venue that is fairly popular (or so I'd bet):

... I bet you’ve heard it said that you need to drink at least eight glasses of water a day in order to stay properly hydrated. Perhaps you’ve also read that by the time you feel thirsty you’re already in an advanced state of dehydration, or that most of us are chronically dehydrated. Chances are also good that you’ve been told that drinking caffeinated beverages like tea and coffee cause you to lose more fluid than you take in.

What would you say if I told you that all of these widely held truths are little more than urban legends?

I can almost hear your shocked expressions! The dehydration myth has become so firmly entrenched in our collective consciousness that it may indeed come as a surprise to learn that there is very little scientific support for any of these notions. ...

Yep.

You don't have to listen to the podcast if you'd rather read. Full transcripts are available for each show.

Now This Would Make for an Interesting Shower

When a woman in Marino, a small Italian town south of Rome, turned on her kitchen tap, she got a spurt of wine instead of water. "Miracolo!" she shouted, and ran outside to tell others. Word quickly spread, and soon residents all over town were filling bottles and containers with Frascati, the local white wine made from trebbiano and malvasia grapes.

... Plumbers were supposed to have connected the 3,000 liters of Frascati to the town fountain for the annual harvest festival, but they accidentally hooked it to the water supply instead....

Story from Slashfood as well as a nice piece of art as illustration.

Looking Both Ways

You Know You're a Republican If ...
You favor free speech,
except for burning the flag or criticizing U.S. military policy.

You Know You're a Democrat If ...
You favor free speech,
except for ugly words about minorities, the disabled, or endangered species.

You Know You're a Republican/Democrat If...

Audiobook Review: The Standards of Creation

My review can be found at SFFaudio. This is right up there with T.M. Camp's "Assam and Darjeeling" as one of my favorite books of the year. I don't want to give anything away but I believe that Christian sci-fi fans are going to be especially delighted at some of the twists of this story. I know that I was!

Worth a Thousand Words

Motts: 1st Completed Commission Piece by Neil James Hollingworth

I not only love this artist's painting style but the fact that companies are still commissioning artwork. Nice.

It's All Downhill From Here ...

A midweek joke, thanks to Terri. I am heading out now to do a little investing ...

If you had purchased $1,000 of Delta Air Lines stock one year ago, you would have $49 left.

With Fannie Mae, you would have $2.50 left.

With AIG you would have less than $15 left.

But, if you had purchased $1,000 worth of beer one year ago, drunk all the beer, then turned in the cans for aluminum recycling REFUND, you would have $214 cash.

Based on the above, the best current investment advice is to drink heavily and recycle.

A Little Useless Information

It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless information. -- Oscar Wilde

FLAIR • When first used in Middle English, the word had nothing to do with fashion, it referred to a heightened sensitivity to smell. It comes from the Latin fragrare, a verb meaning "to produce an odor." The same root generated the English word "fragrance."

The Word Origin Calendar

Hope and Imagination

I didn't watch the debate last night or even remember it was on until reading the paper this morning.

We had the privilege of being invited to the annual seminarians' welcome dinner. It was a silent auction/live auction/door prize gala event.

I was surprised to find out that our diocese seminary also educates seminarians from other cities such as Austin, Houston, and Little Rock.

I was also surprised to find that having fifteen seminarians enter this year was considered big numbers and good news. Perhaps that is because I have been used to reading about the big numbers in places like Denver and Nebraska. However, with the old bishop out and the new bishop in, everyone is confident that many more vocations will be nurtured in the near future.

I was not surprised to hear the overwhelming and thunderous applause for Monsignor Duca, now the bishop of Shreveport, but solidly from Dallas before that. He is well known and loved. It was a pleasure to hear his talk as he is a simply wonderful homilist.

He remembered how he first became attracted to the priesthood when he was in his early teens. Then he spoke movingly of how much he appreciated not having his dreams swatted down by his family. As he put it, he was allowed to imagine what the future could be. His imagination could range far and, as he put his hope in God, it could come to fruition for him to be where he is today.

This is something that Tom and I have seen on a much lesser scale. I recall some friends telling us that their son wanted to study music. Then the mother asked if we thought that they shouldn't discourage him and turn him toward something more practical.

Our position has always been that if kids can't dream when they are young, when will they dream at all? How does one get in the habit of it if not allowed to be bored and daydream during summer vacations ... and then to go on and dream bigger and more realistically when a teenager? That is when the fire of inspiration takes hold of a soul. It is when one discovers a true love lurking deep down that can't be found without listening to the voice of imagination and dreams.

Those dreams may or may not ever come to pass in the way we imagine. However, not allowing the child to follow their own star, to use a hackneyed phrase, to have their own successes and failures, is to do them a grave disservice that they may regret their entire lives.

We argued compellingly on behalf of their son's music, needless to say. That attitude is why we have one daughter studying Wildlife and Fisheries Science and another studying Film Editing. Practical? Mmmmm ... not so much. An expression of who each of them is and what they love? Indubitably.

To look at a priestly vocation any differently is equally regrettable. As Msgr. Duca put it, "Think of a time when a priest touched your life in a positive way. It might be a big moment you remember or a series of small events. Think of how it changed your life and how that good priest has changed the lives of others. Now look at your son. How could you not want him to do that for others?"

Of course, that is paraphrasing. It was much more heartfelt and eloquent and I was glad that everyone was looking at him so I could blink back the tears in my eyes.

That made it even more of a pleasure to speak with a former classmate of Hannah's, Zack, who is embarking on discerning his vocation. What a nice boy he is. I couldn't get him to speak up about himself because he was so interestedly asking questions about Hannah and her studies. His mother told me later that whatever he discerns, they are proud of him. And she added, as any good mother should, that if he discerns his vocation, "He would be a good one. He really would." She had an eager smile in her eyes and it was easy to see that Zack was not one of the young men there who had to battle their families simply to get to the seminary.

We would all do well to have that eager attitude about any vocation for ourselves and for our families. God's future, his plans, are always so much bigger and more surprising than anything we can imagine. It is we who box ourselves in with vain attempts to "be practical" and safe.

As Msgr. Duca reminded us, we need to have hope and imagination.

And, to dig a bit further back, to another well loved Catholic priest, we need to remember, "Be not afraid!"

Question of the Day: Bradbury vs. Gaiman

Jesse brought this up on SFFaudio's podcast and we had a spirited email discussion about it.

Result?

I may wind up on that podcast next Monday. They'll be sorry when they see just how often I interrupt ... but I would try to behave myself.

Anyway, I now bring the question to you, many of whom are devoted science fiction readers.

Which would you choose?

Living in a universe without Ray Bradbury writing.

Or living in a universe without Neil Gaiman writing.

For those in the know, who are clutching their brows in an agony of indecision, I feel your pain. Congratulations! You are true sci-fi geeks.

For those, like my husband, who are laughing at the idiocy of being in agony over this question. Congratulations! You are not sci-fi geeks.

I will put my answers in the comments box later, since I've had the benefit of pondering this question. Though, to tell the truth, it took me, like Scott on the podcast, about two seconds to come up with my answer and justification for it. As it did Hannah, who agreed with me ... I knew I'd raised that girl right!

Worth a Thousand Words

Ural Owl
Taken by Remo Savisaar.
Click through on the link for his blog and more stupendous nature photography.

Jesus and the Catholic Church Podcast

Somehow it slipped right by me that Jeff Vehige was now podcasting. I really like reading him and am looking forward to listening ... just the thing for my early morning "prayer walks." Hey, I can't pray the entire time ...

The blog posts evidently support the podcast information though you need not have listened to get plenty from the posts.

You can subscribe here

Via Scott Danielson at Rivets and Trees who I bet was the person asking for subscription methods. If so, well done, sir!

Why is the Pope Reading the Bible in Italian on TV?

Because if he read from the New American Bible in English the American bishops would sue him.

Ok, that's at least partially a joke.

Not that I'm annoyed about the way the bishops treat well-meaning Bible-podcasters or anything. (Yes, they'll actually sic the law on you ... )

But it is pretty cool that they are actually going to read the entire Bible in a marathon on Italian television.

Pope Benedict XVI will kick off a week-long reading of the Bible on Italian television starting Sunday, with readers to include three former presidents and Oscar-winning actor Roberto Benigni.

Some 2,000 people will take turns reading the Bible's 73 books, from the Old Testament's Genesis to the New Testament's Book of Revelations, at Rome's Holy Cross in Jerusalem basilica.

The pope will record the first reading at the Vatican.

Read the whole story here.

For a more indepth look at why the Bible reading is happening, check out the always reliable Get Religion.

Teach Your Children Well ... Reviewing "The Fathers" by Pope Benedict XVI

Finally, [St.] Basil was of course also concerned with that chosen portion of the People of God, the youth, society's future. He addressed a Discourse to them on how to benefit from the pagan culture of that time.

He recognized with great balance and openness that examples of virtue can be found in classical Greek and Latin literature. Such examples of upright living can be helpful to young Christians in search of the truth and the correct way of living.

Therefore, one must take from the texts by classical authors what is suitable and conforms with the truth: thus, with a critical and open approach--it is a question of true and proper "discernment"--young people grow in freedom.

With the famous image of bees that gather from flowers only what they need to make honey, Basil recommends: "Just as bees can take nectar from flowers, unlike other animals which limit themselves to enjoying their scent and color, so also from these writings...once can draw some benefit for the spirit. We must use these books, following in all things the examples of bees. They do not visit every flower without distinction, nor seek to remove all the nectar from the flowers on which they alight, but only draw from them what they need to make honey, and leave the rest. And if we are wise, we will take from those writings what is appropriate for us, and conform to the truth, ignoring the rest."

... Dear brothers and sisters, I think one can say that this Father from long ago also speaks to us and tells us important things.

In the first place, attentive, critical, and creative participation in today's culture.

Then, social responsibility: this is an age in which, in a globalized world, even people who are physically distant are really our neighbors; therefore, friendship with Christ, the God with the human face. ...

One of the things that may surprise the reader of this series of homilies given by Pope Benedict XVI is just how much pertinent information can be packed into a short piece. As one flows into the next we are treated to a history of the growing understanding of the revelation of Jesus Christ. We also watch the struggles taken on for the truth, not simply against pagans, but with those who have developed heretical doctrines.

Each homily, nicely edited to read as an essay, encapsulates the Father's life history, influences, and career. Pope Benedict then focuses on a key area of influence which that particular Father has had on the faith. Most importantly, he shows just how significant this influence can be to modern society and to each of us personally if we reflect upon it. I was reminded of just how little human nature has changed over time as I repeatedly felt the applicability of these teachings to our lives today.

As wall, we are reminded that none of us is perfect and these Church Fathers are noting if not human. Pope Benedict is not shy about pointing out a person's failings, though he always does so with charity and in order to emphasize a topic for our personal reflection.

An interesting item to note is that every single Father strongly emphasizes prayer. Each has his own particular focus or style, but the constant refrain from person to person serves as a strong reminder to us that this is a vital area where we must persevere in order to come into a good and loving relationship with God.

Notwithstanding all the theological richness of his [Origen's] thought, his is never a purely academic approach; it is always founded on the experience of prayer, of contact with God. Indeed, to his mind, knowledge of the Scriptures requires prayer and intimacy with Christ even more than study.

He was convinced that the best way to become acquainted with God is through love, and that there is no authentic scientia Christi without falling in love with him.

In his Letter to Gregory, Origen recommends: "Study first of all the lectio of the divine Scriptures. Study them, I say. for we need to study the divine writings deeply... and while you study these divine works with a believing and God-pleasing intention, knock at that which is closed in them and it shall be opened to you by the porter of whom Jesus says, 'To him the gatekeeper opens.'

"While you attend to this lectio divina, seek aright and with unwavering faith in God the hidden sense which is present in most passages of the divine Scriptures. And do not be content with knocking and seeking, for what is absolutely necessary for understanding divine things is oratio, and in urging us to this the Savior says not only 'knock and it will be opened to you,' and 'seek and you will find,' but also 'ask and it will be given you.'"

The "primordial role" played by Origen in the history of lectio divina instantly flashes before one's eyes. Bishop Ambrose of Milan, who learned from Origen's works to interpret the Scriptures, later introduced them into the West to hand them on to Augustine and to the monastic tradition that followed.

It is a pleasure to see that Pope Benedict doesn't just include the better known Fathers, although he does go into extra depth for some of them such as St. Basil, St. John Chrysostom, and St. Augustine. He takes care to highlight the richness of the Eastern Church by including such lesser known Fathers as Aphraates "The Sage" and St. Ephrem, the Syrian.

It says much for Pope Benedict's abilities that he was able to synthesize such a vast amount of information about the Fathers the history of the Church, and the application of their teachings to modern life in general and our own lives in particular. What a gift this collection is for those who read it thoughtfully. Each of the essays is fairly short so that they could easily be made part of a daily devotional reading if desired. As well, this book is a nice companion volume to The Apostles, a previous collection of Pope Benedict's homilies.

Highly recommended.

This review was written as part of The Catholic Company product reviewer program. Visit The Catholic Company to find more information on The Fathers by Pope Benedict XVI.

Other Catholic Company reviews may be found here.

Worth a Thousand Words

Alchemist's Laboratory IN: 'Amphitheatrum Sapientiae Aeternae' by Heinrich Khunrath, 1595.
From BibliOdyssey where there is a whole gaggle of Alchemy Laboratories on display.

Personally, this just screams steampunk to my mind. But it's the real thing ... from way before the steam, much less the punk!

Weekend Joke

Via Coffee Klatch.

New Dog Breeds

The following breeds are now recognized by the AKC:

Collie + Lhasa Apso = Collapso, a dog that folds up easy for transporting

Spitz + Chow Chow = Spitz-Chow, a dog that throws up a lot

Pointer + Setter = Poinsetter, a traditional Christmas pet

Great Pyrenees + Dachshund = Pyradachs, a puzzling breed

Pekingnese + Lhasa Apso = Peekasso, an abstract dog

Irish Water Spaniel + English Springer Spaniel = Irish Springer, a dog fresh and clean as a whistle

Newfoundland + Basset Hound = Newfound Asset Hound, a dog for financial advisers

Terrier + Bulldog = Terribull, a dog that makes awful mistakes

Bloodhound + Labrador = Blabador, not a popular dog with CIA agents

Malamute + Pointer = Moot Point, owned by… oh, well, it doesn’t matter anyway

Collie + Malamute = Commute, a dog that travels to work

Deerhound + Terrier = Derriere, a dog that’s true to the end

Worth a Thousand Words

Red Barn on a Mountain Farm taken by D.L. Ennis at Visual Thoughts

I know he is in Virginia but this really reminds me of driving the back roads in the Ozarks.

Looking Both Ways

You Know You're a Republican If ...
You want to increase the U.S. military budget,
especially for the base in your congressional district.

You Know You're a Democrat If ...
You want to slash the U.S. military budget,
as long as they don't touch the base in your congressional district.

You Know You're a Republican/Democrat If...

Goodbye Dallas Morning News. Make Room for the Wall Street Journal.

I remember the good old days. The days when we had two newspapers in Dallas. Our choice was The Dallas Times Herald.

The one that went under.

Naturally.

Now, this was over twenty years ago. We adapted. We have read The Dallas Morning News every single morning for that entire time.

However, in the last year or so there have been more troubling changes than the usual ones that we see complained about by everyone in general when griping about media.

• Saturday's religion section was abruptly replaced with a story on the front of the Metro section that led to a couple of token listings near the back pages. I woke up every Saturday looking forward to that religion section. That was like a punch in the gut. (Result: Less local coverage.)
  
  
• The television reporter was fired. Y'all know how very important my tv is to me! I needed that reporter! He was reliable and a good judge of shows! Luckily, he moved to the internet and I can get my dose of Ed Bark anyway. (Result: Less local coverage.)
  
  
• Local movie reporters were cut. We were left with maybe one for the main movie each week. The rest is picked up from syndications around the country. If I wanted to know what someone in LA thought of a movie, I'd read their paper. (Result: Less local coverage.)
  
  
• Tom began pointing out to me business stories where very precise terminology was misused. To the point where two words meaning different things were used interchangeably in the same stories. I don't know if the editors and reporters are overworked or simply incompetent. Those aren't stories we can trust. (Result: Untrustworthy local coverage.)
  
  
• We started seeing articles from people we knew. These were largely neighborhood event coverage and often the reporters were local mothers we knew through our children's schools. There's nothing wrong with that as long as they can write well. But when the newspaper has fired a lot of the trained reporters and now seems to be filling in with local freelancers ... who can't necessary write the way a reporter would? (Result: Local coverage we don't care about.)

Those are just a few examples.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but the reason to take a local newspaper is for the local coverage by professionals that we can trust.

For the last few months I'd begun wondering about canceling the newspaper. But what would we read when we got up in the morning? A book wasn't going to cut it. So I didn't say anything.

Then, a couple of days ago, Tom's blood boiled. In a size and starkness that would do a terrorist attack proud, the headline read, "$1 Trillion Lost!"

He said, "If I can't get some reasonable reporting from the newspaper then why am I reading it? I can get this kind of alarmism without any real facts from any television station in town."

Over dinner last night we began talking about what rag that the DMN has become. Tom put it down to the fact that newspapers felt the pressure to compete with blogs. My point, which I'd made in writing to the newspaper over a year ago, was that the way to compete is to become better. Not to put your most interesting coverage on the blog and just reference it in print. (Another gripe, can you tell?)

We began pondering alternatives. National newspapers? I'd rather die than take the NY Times. If my news came ladled out with their giant doses of opinion I could count on having a heart attack some morning.

Then we thought of the Wall Street Journal.

Yes.

Business and national ... and, as far as we could tell ... less opinion than most news sources.

The true shocker was that when I looked it up, the WSJ was $89 per year. The DMN has been on a credit card draw for some time. They talked of the low, low price of ... $3.29 per week? Wait a minute ... why that's ... that's ... that's $171.08 per YEAR.

Just serve up my heart attack now.

What a sap I've been for not catching that astronomical price.

On the other hand, I'm so excited about getting a new newspaper. 3-5 days to begin delivery ... c'mon, c'mon ... I can't wait to fire the DMN!

The ironic thing is that when The Dallas Morning News guys sit around analyzing sales figures at the end of the year, they are going to blame a bad economy, blogs, the internet, and everything else except the real reason. Their lack of passion and pride in their own product.

UPDATE
Got a letter from the Dallas Morning News yesterday. Silly me, I thought that perhaps they had noticed we canceled our paper and were asking us back. Pffft! No way.

The essence of the thing, which not only shows the depth of their self-delusion in their references to "quality you expect" but also took many paragraphs to get to:

We have taken aggressive steps to offset rising costs and reduce expenses while preserving the quality you expect from The Dallas Morning News and the convenience of home delivery. ...

It is necessary that we increase 7-day subscription prices by $2.00 per month ... from $19.00 to $21.00 per month.

That makes the annual rate for the paper $252.

No decision ever looked better.

If You Only See HC Through an RSS Feed ...

... you might want to click through today to see the quote in the sidebar from Pinky and the Brain. It's one of my favorites and certainly speaks to the way that most people feel today, what with upcoming elections and economic crises and all.

Good for Wednesday only ... tomorrow it will change!

A Little Useless Information

It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless information. -- Oscar Wilde

VERMIN • Although this term now refers to offensive animals of all sizes and kinds, it originally referred to only a single kind of creature, a worm. In Latin, the root was vermis, meaning "worm."

The Word Origin Calendar

Worth a Thousand Words

La Dordogne, Frits Thaulow, painted 1903

Aye Carumba! That's A Lot of Hits!

Taking a look at the stats from yesterday's angel-fest, I did a double take. The number of hits doubled my all-time high.

Welcome to anybody who comes back by today for a follow-up ... not so many angels, but hopefully there's still a little something interesting going on.

The Economic Crisis, St. Basil, Aliens, and Greg Farrell's Prediction

Reading The Fathers, a collection of Pope Benedict's homilies about the Church Fathers, I have consistently been struck by how much these of these men's wisdom relates to modern life.

For instance, reading about St. Basil yesterday, this instantly made me think of the economic crisis and the greedy, selfish, thoughtless people whose desire for gain has hurt so many.

In times of famine and disaster, the holy bishop exhorted the faithful with passionate words "not to be more cruel than beasts ... by taking over what people possess in common or by grabbing what belongs to all."

Or as Ellen Ripley paraphrases pithily in Aliens (you didn't know that St. Basil was in there, did you?):

I don't know which species is worse. You don't see them f*****g each other over for a goddamn percentage!

Ah yes. That about sums it up.

Finally, I listened to the Monday morning memo yesterday and it has a fascinating revelation that goes to the point I made when talking about that economic crisis explanation video. This is everybody in Congress's fault. Everybody.

Greg was America’s only reporter in the courtroom for every minute of the trials of Enron, Worldcom, Tyco and Martha Stewart. As an investigative reporter Greg dug deep, full time, year after year. “Roy, the SEC is being set up to take the fall for a series of financial disasters,” he said. “This whole Enron thing is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“What do you mean?”

“The number of publicly traded companies has grown exponentially in recent years, yet the budget for the SEC had been increased by only a small amount. Think of it this way,” Greg said, "Andy and Barney did a pretty good job patrolling Mayberry, but now they’re being told they have to patrol Los Angeles without any additional help, and without any bullets for their guns.”

Go read it all and check out the links.

Worth a Thousand Words

TOMB OF PTAHOTEP 5TH DYNASTY
Ptahotep sits before a table to receive offerings. He is dressed in an animal skin.
(Found via Your Daily Art)

Thank You, Joan!

Much heartfelt thanks goes to Joan Wester Anderson who not only devoted the time to answering questions (and in a very gentle and loving way, I was impressed to see) but who also had to learn from the ground up about Haloscan and comments boxes. She leapt over many technological hurdles to be with us!

Also, much thanks to those who commented. I read some really wonderful stories and some very thoughtful questions. Check the comments on our introductory post as well as those linked to in the very bottom of that post to see them all.

RAFFLE WINNER
And, the winner, based on a random drawing ... is Victoria. Victoria, please send your contact information to me (julie at glyphnet dot com) so we can get that autographed book headed your way!

Angels and Wonders: Warriors

My favorite angel stories tend to be those that remind us of what warriors they are. Yes, they are constant spiritual warriors. However, sometimes we hear stories that remind us they also can do it "up close and personal."

Here is the last of our series of pre-posts to get us in the right spirit for Joan Wester Anderson's blog tour which will begin here on Monday. This story is from her newest book.

The God Squad

As a “street kid,” Mike DiSanza learned early that life was full of dangers. He was small and slight, with a shaky self-esteem, and he soon developed a strong fear of any kind of physical violence. There was no use praying about his physical safety either; to Mike, God was an aloof deity, interested in rules and punishment, not concerned with an ordinary kid from the Bronx.

By the time Mike graduated from high school, the Vietnam War was under way. “There was no money for college,” he explains, “and since many of my cousins and my brothers had been drafted into the army, I followed.” Perhaps as a soldier he would overcome his fear of violence.

Mike came through Vietnam unscathed—but still anxious. Almost on a lark—and because few job opportunities loomed—he then took the test for the New York City police force along with fifty thousand other applicants. Mike was astonished when he was one of the four hundred hired. Now he would have to get over his fears. But he didn’t. Mike worked as a patrol officer, first in Harlem, later in Manhattan. Due to antiwar sentiment, police officers were under attack by many, and morale was low. This increased Mike’s on-the-job stress. “We were the cops on the front line, the ones who went into situations all alone,” he points out. “I got seasoned real quick, but I continued to be afraid.”

One evening on street patrol, Mike experienced such a deep anxiety attack that he thought he was dying. “My body literally shook as if it would explode,” he says. What was it all about? he asked himself. What was he doing out here in this high-risk environment, where fear tore him apart every night? Just then a young black woman stopped in front of him and grabbed his hand. “Is anything the matter, Officer?” she asked.

Mike didn’t answer, but he held on. “I didn’t want to let go,” he explains. “I felt something wonderful coming from her. I didn’t know it then, but it was the love of Jesus, a love I had never experienced.”

The woman led Mike to a storefront Pentecostal church, where people were singing, dancing, and praising the Lord. Mike thought it wasn’t at all like the “flickering candles in those huge, formal New York cathedrals I’d been used to.” A nameless hunger came over him, and a few nights later, he read the Bible at home for the first time.
He came upon the words of John 3:17: “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.” Mike closed the book. “Jesus, whoever you are, help me,” he prayed.

A few weeks later, Mike answered a call for assistance from a fellow officer making an arrest in the subway at Seventy-second and Broadway. Mike ran past one officer still in the parked squad car and continued down the stairs. “The cop was attempting to handcuff the suspect, but he was resisting,” Mike says. “A crowd was growing, and people were trying to rescue the suspect. I worked my way through and helped the cop get him cuffed. But we were surrounded. How were we going to get upstairs?”

The crowd was furious at the arrest. Hands shoved Mike toward the edge of the platform. “Throw him onto the tracks!” someone yelled. Mike felt a blow against the side of his head and heard, with dread, the sound of an approaching train.
“Jesus,” he murmured. “Help.”

Suddenly two large African American men loomed in front of him. “Follow us, Officer,” one said. The other, somehow, made a little opening in the densely packed crowd. Relieved, Mike pushed the prisoner directly behind these two unexpected guardians. The crowd moved back, and with the other officer behind him, Mike and his prisoner followed the two men across the platform and up the stairs.

On the street, however, there was more danger. “Another gang had formed around the patrol car, and the driver was getting nervous,” Mike says. “The black guys had been right ahead of us, running interference all the way.” But now as Mike shoved the prisoner in the car and turned to thank his rescuers, they were nowhere in sight. How could he have missed them?

As the squad car pulled away, everyone sighed in relief. “Thanks, Mike,” the subway officer said. “You did a great job getting us through that crowd.”

“Yeah, thanks to those two big black guys,” Mike answered.

“What guys?”

“The ones that said ‘follow us.’ You saw them. They muscled everyone aside.”

The officer looked puzzled. “I didn’t see anyone but you.”

Mike stopped. He was getting a strange feeling. Just last night, in his ongoing quest to understand the Bible, he had read from Hebrews about “ministering spirits, sent from heaven to help in times of distress.” Could the black men have been angels?

No. Police officers didn’t see angels. Not unless they were having mental breakdowns. But although Mike’s heart had raced during the subway episode, he realized suddenly that he was not as afraid as he ordinarily was. Something was definitely different.

A few weeks later, he was assisting another officer making an arrest. “The suspect broke free and ran,” Mike says. “I tackled him, and we fell into a hole in the street, where the Con Edison crews had been digging. The suspect landed first, and I fell on top of him, making it easy to handcuff him. But the hole was too deep for us to get out. We had to wait for backup.”

When extra officers arrived, they hauled the prisoner out of the hole. Then they grabbed Mike’s hands and pulled him up. “Lucky that you landed on him-—you could have been hurt,” one officer remarked.

“Yeah,” Mike murmured. Again he was filled with anxiety. Would he never be free of it? And then, near the side of the excavation, he saw two large black men wearing Con Edison helmets, smiling at him as he passed. They were the same two—he knew it! But when he looked back, they had vanished.

Over the next few months, Mike spent a lot of time thinking. He was in a unique position, he knew. He had already begun to witness to other police officers, even to people on the street, about how knowing Jesus was changing his life. Maybe God was building his confidence, so he would have both the physical and mental courage to do whatever he was asked to do. But how would he know for sure?

One afternoon Mike went into a restaurant for lunch. He had passed two diners at a table before he realized . . . He turned in amazement. There were the same two black men, both looking directly at him.

Joy flooded his spirit. “I couldn’t help it,” he says. “I winked at them.”

Each man winked back. Mike could hardly keep from laughing out loud. He seated himself, then looked back. The table was empty.

It was the sign he had needed. From that point on, although Mike continued to have occasional anxious moments on the job, he never felt alone. Sometimes he’d sense that he was being prepared for an upcoming dangerous moment. Occasionally he would walk into angry crowds, disarm gunmen, or display sudden strength, all without being injured.

It wasn’t the sort of thing one could put in a police report. But Mike understood. “I knew now that Jesus was right beside me, and would never leave me,” he says. Jesus, and two very heavenly bodyguards.

Worth a Thousand Words

Starry Night Over the Rhone, Vincent Van Gogh
(via Lines and Colors who has a very nice essay about seeing the Van Gogh connections in Arles.)

Miracles ... In Our Time

The parting of the Red Sea, the feeding of the five thousand, the turning of water into wine - miracles. Miracles? Yet miracles have been part of human culture for thousands of years. From beliefs about the shin bone of a saint to ideas about the nature of creation and the laws of nature, miracles have been a measure of disputes within religion and between religion and rationality from St Augustine in the 4th century to David Hume in the 18th. They have also been used by the corrupt and the powerful to gain their perverse ends. Miracles have been derided and proved to be fraudulent and yet, for many, the miraculous maintain a grip on our imagination, our language and our belief to this day.

BBC's In Our Time is back from their break with a look at miracles. Anne is a Man reviews this episode and says, among other things:

... A lot of fascinating aspects were touched upon, but the subject flows like fine sand between your fingers; it is so difficult to get a grasp.

... this is a weakness that is unlike In Our Time: it was too fragmented. There are glimpses of intelligent and provocative thoughts, but they fleet a bit too easily. Still, this is In Our Time, one of the best podcasts around. But be prepared.

Read his whole review here.

Angels and Wonders: Mary's Mantle

Now to get us all in the mood for angelic conversation on Monday, here is a feature story from Joan Wester Anderson's newest book, chosen for us by the author herself.

Mary’s Mantle

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.
—Cecil Frances Alexander, “All Things Bright and Beautiful”

When bombs fell out of the sky on Sunday morning, December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, was not the only city to suffer. Many areas in the Philippine Islands were also hit, including the city of Baguio. Baguio was a place of pine trees and mountains, surrounded by fields and gold mines, where Lolo Joaquin worked as an engineer. Lolo’s family, all devout Catholics, had spent the weekend visiting him at the mining site, and everyone was driving home to Baguio for Mass when they heard the bombs exploding. Terrified, the family turned the car around and sped back to the relative safety of the camp. For the next several months, they and many others, stayed near Itogon at a mission run by Father Alfonso, a Belgian priest and longtime friend.

Lolo had graduated from the Colorado School of Mining and had American friends, so as the Japanese army invaded city after city, he became involved in the resistance movement. He refused to work in the copper mines, knowing the metal would be turned into bullets used against his friends. His wife, Lola, smuggled messages inside loaves of freshly baked bread to American prisoners in concentration camps. But both knew it was just a matter of time before the Japanese made inroads into more distant areas, and discovered their activities.

Early in October 1942, as monsoon season began, word spread that Japanese soldiers were heading in their direction. “We’ll go deeper into the mountains, to Dalupiri,” Father Alfonso told the families that had been staying with him. They could hide among the Benguet tribe, whose kings were sympathetic to their plight.

The journey began early in the day, but Lolo soon realized that, for his family, passage was going to be difficult. Not only were the Joaquins traveling with four young children, but Lola had recently had a miscarriage and was still very weak. As miles passed and the trails became rockier, she often stumbled and fell. Other families tried to help, and Lolo knew that his was holding the rest of them back. With the Japanese on their heels, this could be disastrous for everyone.


“Go on ahead,” he finally told Father Alfonso. “We’ll catch up.”

Father nodded reluctantly. “We’ll send people back to help carry Lola as soon as we can,” he promised. “God go with you.”

“And you.”

Soon their friends were gone. Frightened, everyone looked at one another. “Daddy, it’s starting to rain.” Nine-year-old Patricia glanced anxiously at the sky.

Lolo followed her gaze. Clouds were gathering, and the sun had dropped, leaving a chill in the air. “Come,” he said, lifting baby Sonny into his piggyback sling. “Everything will be all right.”

But it wasn’t long before the wind picked up and rain pelted the little group. Soon everyone was soaked. The baby whimpered, and seven-year-old Teresita jumped as the trees swayed, whispering ominously. Lola grew increasingly exhausted. The monsoons had begun. How could they go on?

Soon the trail became so narrow that it could only accommodate one person at a time. To the right rose the cliff-side, straight up, stony and forbidding. To the left a precipitous chasm dropped to the overflowing river. The rain continued, pounding them as they struggled to stay upright on the slippery bluff. Finally Lolo stopped. “We’ll sit now,” he said calmly, although Patricia had seen the worry on his face before the last of the light faded. “Your mother needs to rest.”

Slowly the family put down their packs and sat against the rocks. It was dark now, Lolo realized. Even worse, somewhere in the last mile or two, he had lost his way. What should he do? His little ones were exhausted—how could they continue across those treacherous cliffs, especially as night fell? But they couldn’t sleep on the mountainside either, not with these heavy rains and soldiers trying to ambush them.

The wind grew wilder, and soon Lolo stood up again. “Perhaps we should crawl,” he suggested. “One hand on the ground and the other on the wall of the mountain for guidance.”

“Why don’t we light a torch, Daddy?” Buddy asked.

“We can’t, son,” Lolo explained. “The enemy might see it and shoot us.”

Teresita began to cry. “I’m scared, Daddy,” she sobbed as thunder rolled across the mountains. “I want to go home!”

“Hush,” he soothed her, patting her with one hand as he held the sobbing baby in the sling. “Stop crying, my little ones. This is not a good place to be caught by darkness and rain, but we must make the best of it. This situation calls for courage, not fear!”

“What can we do?” Lola asked, drawing four-year-old Buddy close to her.

Lolo paused. “We can pray,” he said. “Haven’t we always turned to heaven when things got bad?”

The children nodded. They had all read prayers from books, or recited those they had been taught. Of course they could pray. But now their father threw out his hands and lifted his voice in a way they had never heard before. “Cover us with thy mantle, oh Blessed Mother of God,” he pleaded, “that we may be saved from all evil and temptation, and from all dangers of body and soul!”

It was a wonderful petition. It had power and hope, and their terror seemed to recede, just a little. Lolo felt it, too. “I have an idea,” he said slowly. “It is too dark now to see ahead, but if we go in single file, each taking the hand of the person in front, we will all feel safer.”

Teresita wanted to be brave. But she trembled as the river beneath them roared. “I’m afraid, Daddy.”

Her father grasped her wet hand. “We will say the rosary as we walk, loud, so God can hear it over the storm! Buddy, you lead the way because you are the smallest and closest to the ground. Is everyone ready?”

“Ready.” Slowly the little group moved forward, water streaming into their eyes, clothes plastered to their shivering bodies. They would not make it. One child would trip, and all would lose their balance, plunging to the canyon below. “Hail Mary, full of grace.” Shakily they clung to the familiar biblical phrases, the reassuring cadence, the memory of their father’s impassioned plea. They would not make it. And yet . . .

The journey seemed to last forever. But as they approached a sharp turn in the path, Buddy was the first to see. “Mama! Daddy!” he shouted. “Look!”

The rain had abruptly stopped, the air seemed sweetly fragrant. And before them, as far as they could see, stretched a long line of luminous candles winding around the curve of the mountain and on to a wide plain. But no—not candles. For these lights were bouncing, dancing, twinkling like stars illuminating the heavens.

They were fireflies! Thousands, millions of them, all hovering about three feet from the ground. In their combined greenish glow, Lolo could see the path as bright as day, even the footprints of the refugees who had gone ahead of them.

Awed, Lola dropped to her knees in thanksgiving. The children laughed, catching some of the little insects and wrapping them in their handkerchiefs. “We can use them for lanterns!” Patricia cried, delighted.

Clutching the baby, Lolo stared at the scene, incredulous. In all his life he had never seen such a huge collection of fireflies in the same place, or massed in a precise pattern like this. Fireflies didn’t come during monsoon season. Nor did they hover close to the ground, preferring
instead the tops of trees. Yet here, hip-high, were an incredible number, waiting for his family, enclosing them—like a mantle of protection, he realized suddenly. A queen’s mantle, edged with gold.

There were more miles to go, but now the path seemed enchanted as the blessed fireflies lighted their way to the little village. Finally! They ran the last muddy yards and pounded on Father Alfonso’s door.

“We had given you up for lost!” the astonished priest cried, coming out to embrace them. “How did you do it? How did you cross the mountains in the dark, in this raging storm?” Patricia and Teresita looked up. The deluge had started again.

“Father, we can’t explain it,” Lolo said. “Look behind us and see this miracle for yourself.”

Father looked past Lolo. But there was nothing at all to see. No fireflies, no softened sky—nothing but darkness and streaming water. Lolo understood. “Has it been raining like this all evening, Father?” he asked quietly.

“It has not stopped at all, Mr. Joaquin,” Father Alfonso answered.

The following day, Father Alfonso called a meeting of the tribal elders, some of them over one hundred years old, and showed them the fireflies left in Teresita’s handkerchief. “Have any of you heard of this?” he asked. “Fireflies coming in a storm to light a traveler’s path?”

The elders conferred. They were experts on the ways of nature, and fireflies. There was no possibility of such a thing, they all agreed.

Such a verdict did not matter to the Joaquins. For they had seen, not only with physical eyes but the eyes of faith. Life would be difficult as they struggled to survive in their war-torn land. But they would not be alone. How wonderful were the ways of God!

"Rapunzel! Why aren't you at the fair?"

The book went on to spin the tale of a charmed girl named Rapunzel, who spent her days in the tower sewing dresses with a friend. She loved when the witch came to visit and teach songs, including one that made Rapunzel's hair grow longer. But tension arrived: One day, Rapunzel looked out the window and saw a fair in the village nearby. She wanted to go, but the witch was off tending to her garden and couldn't let her out. Fortunately, a prince riding by in his carriage called up to her, "Rapunzel! Why aren't you at the fair?"

This was not the fairy tale I vaguely recalled from my childhood - the one with the mother who gives up her child, the vindictive witch, the powerless girl trapped high above the ground. This new version was sanitary and safe in a way that modern parents will easily recognize. In an age when some families ban the word "killed" or come up with creative euphemisms to mask the death of goldfish, it's not hard to see why a toy company would reduce Rapunzel's story to its prettiest parts. Real life, presumably, packs enough trauma for children to think about later.

Read the whole story here

Joanna Weiss talks about the evolution of fairy tales from dark and frightening to whitewash, sanitized "feel good" tales.

Saint Superman, whence I found the link originally (are y'all reading him because he's really great, by the way), talks about what Tom and I often wonder ... has everyone forgotten what it was like to be a kid and experience deliciously scary stories?

When I was ten, I lived in Pan’s Labyrinth, a place filled to the brim with demons and witches, monsters and swords. I hoped my house was haunted, and I prayed for some supernatural thing to happen to me. I wandered in the woods between housing properties at night and at day, looking for some monster, king, or sage, or looking in the dark sky for some flash of alien light. It wasn’t something fearful; I’d read Herschel and the Hanukkah Goblins, and I knew that monsters could be fooled, even if they were not to be trifled with or ignored. It was people that scared me.

I know just what he means. I think, too, that people forget another valuable aspect to the dark side of fairy tales. Not only do children not process them as adults do, but the stories provide valuable lessons for children in dealing with problems later in life. When they are being picked on in the school yard, the last one chosen for baseball, or pointed out as a bad example to the whole class, these stories provide a cultural background that life often is not fair, bad things happen to good people, and that the little guy can win if they keep on trying. Do they think of these things consciously? Nope. But those stories are lurking in the back of their minds nonetheless with valuable lessons for life.

Worth a Thousand Words

Rose Window, Santa Maria del Pi Church, Barcelona
from Barcelona Photoblog, of course!

God Sends His Messages in Humble Vessels

In preparation for Monday's Angelic Blog Tour ... I am rerunning a few of my angel posts. Here's one that is a trifecta of angel stories from friends.

+++++++++++++++++++++

One of the many lovely cemetery photos taken by Blogging in Paris.

From my friend Don comes this wonderful story.

Something happened this week that reminded me of you and one of your posts awhile ago. I had a business lunch date at a restaurant in Silver Spring, MD. I had gone to confession on my way to the restaurant, and I took a new way across the MD ‘burbs to the place. The drive was lovely—Sligo Creek Parkway. I had driven past it often, and I was always curious about just how much the parkway lived up to the name. As it turned out, it was beautiful. It follows the creek up into Montgomery County; the parklands were thickly forested w/ trails and picnic areas. Just beautiful. We were also enjoying temps in the 70s with no humidity. So the sun roof was open, and old Lyle Lovett was playing in the CD player. I arrived in a fine mood.

My lunch date was late, so I hung around outside. As I waited, a very scruffy older man shuffled up to me. He had bad teeth. His remaining hair was uncombed. He wore an old t-shirt and torn jeans. When he got close, I smiled, and he said, “Your light is shining.” I wasn’t expecting an exchange, and I was kind of distracted. I had no idea what he was talking about—my car’s headlights? I smiled again, and said “Excuse me?” He smiled and repeated, “Your light is shining.” I realized that he was talking about me. I thanked him profusely, and he grinned and wandered off. I was touched, and he efforts seriously brightened a day that was already wonderful. ...

I thought immediately of your posts regarding angels, especially the one about the homeless man on the median. A wonderful lesson: God sends his messages to us in humble vessels. You could go on forever from there.

On the related subject of angels, A. Alve left this comment yesterday on one of my angel posts. It was too good to leave buried there.

A few years ago, I took a one-week vacation in Geneve, Switzerland. I was flying from Lisbon with a stop in Italy. When I planned my return to Lisbon, I booked an early flight from Geneve to Rome and a late flight from Rome to Lisbon. My idea was to spend some hours in Rome to pray at Saint Josemaria's tomb, where I had been 15 years earlier. I had to arrive in Geneve's airport really early and therefore I had to leave the place where I was staying and catch a bus to the airport before sunrise, when it was still really dark. I was travelling alone and I was concerned about my safety. I had to be at the bus-stop, with all my luggage when it was still dark, and that prospect frightened me. The night before I prayed and asked for a safe journey to the airport.

When I arrived at the bus stop, I was relieved to see that there other people there as well, in particular a woman with a long blond hair who had a reassuring and peaceful smile. When my bus arrived, I was happy to see that she took it too. She left the bus before I did, and when she did it, she nodded at me, she smiled and I heard her saying "Bonne prière", which means "Good pray". How could she know what the purpose of my trip was? I had never seen her before, nor had talked to anyone about I was going to do in Rome. Up to now, I have the clear feeling that she was my guardian angel, to whom I had prayed asking for protection. This is one of the happiest memories I have and I wish I could go back in time and experience that moment again. Now I know the face of my guardian angel.

Needless to say that I arrived sound and safe in Rome, where I prayed as I had planned, and in Lisbon.

To make a trilogy of humble vessels, Penni tells the story of how a 3-year-old boy inspired her to make a "Bible flip" that gives her God's answer to her innermost thoughts.

How can this be? This is one of my favorite places to be. I sigh inwardly and make my way out, pushing on the heavy wooden door to go back into the light. Quiet, silent. Disappointing. But even as I leave, I thank God for being with me, even if I can't feel Him. I thank Him for the steadfastness in being with me, even though I can feel no indication He is paying attention.

"At least I hope so," I thought to myself and returned to the clinic for the balance of the afternoon.

Rediscovering Catholicism Sounds Like a Fantastic Book

In Rediscovering Catholicism, Kelly has taken the complicated language out without dumbing anything down. He’s given me a resource that can be easily passed along to anyone - and most especially other Catholics.

He gives tips for the tough things - living an authentic life, say - that make sense AND can be put into practice easily, even as he explains other difficult concepts - like mortifications - in a way that made me see, immediately, how to apply them.

He talks of witnessing and salvation with an enthusiasm that’s hard not to catch. This book burns with a fire that comes straight from the Holy Spirit, and the practical advice Kelly gives is perfect for us normal folk. He writes it as a real person, not as someone who assumes that their canonization will take place five minutes after their death.

And it's free!

Read all of Sarah's review and you'll see why she's so enthusiastic.

As for me? Yes, I've ordered my copy.

Catholic Voter's Guide

Let us begin with some wise words from Pope John Paul II.

Above all, the common outcry, which is justly made on behalf of human rights—for example, the right to health, to home, to work, to family, to culture—is false and illusory if the right to life, the most basic and fundamental right and the condition for all other personal rights, is not defended with maximum determination.”

Christifideles Laici, no. 38

There are numerous places out there to help Catholic voters inform their consciences for the upcoming election.

I would like to direct people to these that cover everything pretty well as far as I can tell.

• The U.S. Bishops' Faithful Citizenship page that has links to informative pieces as well as a pdf of a scripture study, a novena, and (I find this curious) an iPod giveaway for those signing up on their Faithful Citizenship List. (And, yes, I did sign up ... so I guess it's working to some degree.)
  
  I would like to suggest that Catholics especially consider the guidelines in the Statement on Responsibilities of Catholics in Public Life when evaluating candidates. Although the bishops certainly direct this at politicians, the name of the document suggests that these guidelines apply to any Catholics in public life ... or who might be opinion leaders. I would think that this applies to bloggers also, especially those who are popular.
  
  
• Joint Statement from Bishop Kevin Farrell and Bishop Kevin Vann to the Faithful of the Dioceses of Dallas and Fort Worth
  
  
• The Catholic Pro-Life Committee has a Civic Action Voter Education Page. The linked documents have been approved by Bishop Farrell for distribution in the churches and organizations of the Diocese of Dallas.

Worth a Thousand Words

French Cottage, Lavender and Vineyards by Manuela Valenti

Signs and Mysteries: What You Didn't Know About that Fish Symbol

So we all know about why the fish symbol is used by Christians. Don't we? Well, maybe we do ... and maybe we don't. Or at least, maybe we don't know everything about it. As Mike Aquilina is ready and willing to point out. Love these details, don't ya know?

But we have not yet touched on the original and the deepest meaning of the fish. The fish is the primal symbol of the Holy Eucharist. One need not be Catholic to recognize this fact. Erwin Goodenough, an agnostic scholar at Yale University, wrote that the Gospel According to John — which he called “the primitive Gospel” — gives us “the earliest explicit acceptance of the fish as a eucharistic symbol and as a symbol of the Savior who was eaten in the Eucharist.” John does this, in his sixth chapter, by moving immediately from Jesus’ multiplication of the loaves and fishes to the Bread of Life discourse, His most famous eucharistic sermon. Jesus is the bread come down from heaven, multiplied for the multitude. At the end of John’s Gospel, we see the figures of fish and bread return as Jesus prepares a lakeside meal for the disciples (Jn 21:9). For the early Christians, all of these events prefigured the life-giving blessing that Jesus bestowed upon the Church. The Protestant scholar of archeology Graydon Snyder concluded: “the fish was, with the bread, the primary symbol for the Eucharist, the meal that developed, maintained, and celebrated the new community of faith.”

No text could make the association as clearly as one particular depiction in Rome’s Catacomb of St. Callistus. There we see two fish on a gravestone, one fish bearing bread, the other bearing a cluster of grapes: the eucharistic bread, the eucharistic wine . . . and the symbolic eucharistic fish.

Signs and Mysteries: Revealing Ancient Christian Symbols
by Mike Aquilina

Worth a Thousand Words

From Dark Fun by Mercer's Daughter

I really love those big spider webs. This brings back memories of sitting with my mother on her front porch in the night, watching a large garden spider fix up her web to get ready for the evening's catch. Mercer's Daughter has some wonderful photographs that take me back to time in the country (my favorite place, truth to tell). She's an artist so it isn't surprising that her photographs are great. Check her site out.

All Compline, All the Time

Ok, not really. However, The Anchoress has organized her compline prayer podcast into one handy spot to make it easy for everyone. Check it out!

Compline Podcasts

A Father Faces His Fears and Finds, "I now believe Genevieve is here for everyone. "

On the ninth day, she came home, and I began to realize that my feelings of fear and anxiety had changed in a way that no prenatal screening could ever have predicted.

I now believe Genevieve is here for everyone. I believe Genevieve is taking over the world, one heart at a time — beginning with mine. I believe that what was once our perceived damnation has now become our unexpected salvation.

When Gregg Rogers heard that their baby would have Down syndrome, he was terrified. Until she was born. A life-affirming story that reminds us that what we often fear turns out to be a great blessing. Read or listen to this short essay here at This I Believe.

Signs and Mysteries: Christ is a ... Dolphin?

I must admit that one of the pleasures of this book is finding out completely new and surprising symbolism that never would have occurred to me otherwise. Jesus as a dolphin. Hmmmmmm. But when it is explained, of course, it makes perfect sense and I will never look at a dolphin without remembering this.

Christian sailors likened Jesus Christ to the dolphin. Pastoral images of the lamb were remote from their experience. But they knew countless stories of dolphins as rescuers, guides, and friends. As the dolphins appeared in the ancient legends, so Jesus served in life: rescuer, guide, and friend.

Dolphins appear frequently on the walls of the catacombs. As symbols of Christ, they bear the souls of the saints to glory. Sometimes they appear crushing the head of a sea monster or an octopus, representing Satan. Often, they are shown twisted around a trident or an anchor, suggesting Christ on the Cross. In underground Rome there is even an image of a dolphin with an exposed heart.

The dolphin usually symbolizes Jesus Christ. In some instances, however, the dolphin seems to represent not Christ, but Christians. Thus the dolphin, like the lamb, holds an ambiguous position for the ancients: the lamb can represent Christ as “Lamb of God” — or the Christian as member of the Good Shepherd’s “little flock.” These dolphin-Christians appear sometimes in pairs, both swimming toward a monogram or other symbol of Christ.

Signs and Mysteries: Revealing Ancient Christian Symbols
by Mike Aquilina

In Honor of Padre Pio ...

... with whom I share a birthday ... and whose feast day I see it is today (read about his life at Musings from a Catholic Bookstore) I am rerunning this post.

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Padre Pio is one of my favorite saints and I see that I'm in good company. John Allen reports that Italian devotion to Padre Pio is reflected by three Italian hostages who were freed by U.S. Special Forces in Iraq on June 8.

On June 23, all three men, accompanied by their families, made a pilgrimage to San Giovanni Rotondo, the chief national shrine to Padre Pio, in order to give thanks to the Capuchin saint ... The three told reporters they had prayed to Padre Pio during their captivity and promised to make this pilgrimage if they survived.

"I'm very devoted to Padre Pio and I prayed often during our imprisonment," Cupertino said. "They too," pointing to Agliana and Stefio, "were united with me in prayer because they know Padre Pio."

In another twist, Cupertino's 10-year-old cousin Carmelina, after going with her parents to San Giovanni Rotondo on May 31, apparently returned home and wrote "freed" on a calendar hanging above the family telephone on the date of June 8 - exactly the day the Italians were liberated. She says the date came to her in a dream.

Worth a Thousand Words

Roe Deer

Taken by a brilliant wildlife photographer, Remo Savisaar. Click through on the link to see the sequence of photos and many more at his site.