Just Be Happy

So, I have now completed the 10th day of my first 30 days of life coaching. Not training, but actually being coached. I should have already linked my website here, but I am not ready to share it with all my readers yet. In time...in time...when I know more about what I am doing.

So far, I have learned:

That I am often my own internal enemy, which causes me to take the wrong external decisions.

That I let other people's opinions define much of what I will and will not accomplish.

That I am great at adjusting to change, but I am not so great at remaining focused, taking care of myself, or starting and keeping good habits.

But this is changing, because now that I am a member of Compass and receiving coaching via my email inbox, and personally, from my coach via phone and email daily, I am understanding things I never did before. All those converts with the mentors, they know something. They know they need this in order to stick it out as a good Catholic. A successful Catholic.

Today, my husband and I faced a personal crisis that we, both, agreed really could and should be handled with grace. We had spent a good portion of last night preparing for it, dealing with it in our sleep, and then readying ourselves in the morning for whatever outcome God would allow.

I did not listen to my MAP (my daily five minute Compass coaching) to know what today's challenge was, but when I did, I would learn that it applied perfectly to what I needed to learn today.

The outcome, in the end, of the crisis was not quite as bad as we thought, but it was pretty undesirable none-the-less. It was totally unfair. It was unkind and should never have happened. But what can we do, my husband and I, about the actions of other people?

Not much.

So, together, we came to the conclusion that we should just handle this with every bit of grace God gives us, and not let the desperation of other people keep us from our goal of taking care of our family by serving God in the capacity in which He has commanded us to personally.

I write down a lot notes from my coaching sessions, but one today sharply embedded itself in my mind.

"The quality of your life is created by what you focus on."

In other words, your life is really only as peaceful, joyous, effective, as your ability to control your complaints about the actions of others. You can't control others - even horribly tyrranical dictators eventually learn this lesson.

So, we did the right thing, after all, I realized.

We know what we want for our life.

We recognized the obstacles when we saw them today.

We rejoiced when we realized God always provides a way out of crisis through that wonderful gift called "attitude".

But a lot of us are not too eager to change the attitude that has allowed us all our complaints, all our anger, given us justification for our unforgiveness or judgement, or that makes us eternally defensive. But it is such a prison to live outside of joy. And joy really is something you must choose. It doesn't just happen. It is what becomes of getting off the wheel of false belief that says, "You can have everything just the way you want it, if you just fight for control of all that is uncertain." That's like suggesting that unicorns will save you one day from higher taxes, for sure!

"It is so much easier just to be happy,"

Meryl Streep in One True Thing by Anna Quindlen (Great book. I highly recommend it. The movie is even better.)

The Post That Was Here

There was a post here, but it was too long. I will tackle the subject in shorter form after some coffee, a walk with the dog, and a good book. Or maybe...if you read it, you were lucky and something else will inspire me soon enough.

October 17th!

I just want to remind you, Miss Thang...because I know you always read my blog.

A Favor?

Hey pals...if you are bored today and want natural health articles to read...short ones...click on my profile below (in two places) and check out some of my work at Associated Content. It seems my page hits have dwindled with my lack of activity (ever since the newspaper promised such large successes).

Anyway...click here to view me and choose whatever is interesting. Seriously, just click:)

I will be forever grateful.

Tiffani Burnett-Velez's Contributor Profile - Associated Content

http://www.associatedcontent.comuser/130961/tiffani_burnettvelez.html

Give Me a Break

I have some issues with bloggers who get a lot of praise from sappy women who knit.

True story.

I read some amazing blogs where women tell of their conversion stories, their dedication to healthy living, surviving horrible bouts with cancer, or just living day to day as a stay at home mom and wading through all the physical and emotional strain that can produce.

However, I immediately recoil when their groupie-type readers continually respond with unending praise, even for crappy posts or posts that could bore the paint off a light post. When I write poorly, one of my most valued gifts from my dedicated readers is their singular act of ignoring me.

I used to take this personally, but now I take it as constructive criticism: Post too long, Post too deep for a Chocolate Cake Friday, Post too boring and they stopped reading even when I was still impressed. Post just really not all that interesting to my readership.

Why do others not get this? Why do lonely people want to follow them around crying aloud, "I love you like your words are my big bowl of ice cream on a sad day!"

So, why do these often brilliant bloggers accept so much fluff and wet kisses?

"Oh! You are so brilliant Belinda Blogger! You have such tremendous insight into the ugliness of human nature! How did you keep your pristine spirit so snow white all these years in the coal black world of lust and sin??!!"


Many a moment I have erased my words, "What a load!"

There is no way these people cry over the lost soul of Adolf Hitler while they were sewing their husband's organic cotton underwear in their secret missionary hut.

Come off it! (When I am sickened by mushy kissee-poo talk between virtual admirers/real life strangers, I get a British accent in my mind and insult intelligently).

And lonely lurkers with starry eyes, you should start your own blogs. I imagine your lives are far more interesting than you think. You can link the whole big fat world with this Internet thing. It's a fun ride. Spilling your stupidity for all mankind to examine from the comfort of their messy computer desk at work.

Duh!

Manischewitz!

All those who know me, know that this is my all time favorite made-up Yiddish swear word. I love to spend time using it when I am really irritated. It makes one instantly feel better.

Today, I am irritated.

We were supposed to have watched the house go to sale tomorrow, but mercifully, the date was rescheduled so that the mortgage company can jockey with the investor who wants to buy the place. Good news. It looks like our house will sell after all.

So the sheriff (who never bothered to notify us of the old date) rescheduled the threatened foreclosure and came by our home when we were not there today to give us the info - at the old house. My brother lives there now full-time. He relayed the message. The sheriff is willing to meet us up at the old house, or even just have us come down to the courthouse. HOWEVER...

My husband calls the sheriff and invites him to come to our new home in the middle of town, where everyone knows us, where people actually just randomly stop by because they heard rumor we live here, where tourists pass all day long, and those who don't know us are just now coming to the conclusion that we are okay. The sheriff even suggested that we could just pick up the papers.

But he is inviting the sheriff here with his car and his blazing lights.

Thank you, husband.

He wonders why I do not like this idea.

I post it because, Manischewitz!, it makes me mad and this concept severely confuses him. But I know, out there in cyberworld, many women will understand my extreme irritation at this and will understand me.

Someone should understand this, right?

I do not speak with him today. He makes his own dinner.

When in Rome...

Missed the Divine Liturgy today.

Colds. The whole crew.

But, on my sloppy walk with my happy dog - coughing and sneezing in between stanzas, I sang the appropriate Roman song for the Eastern Feast I missed,

Lift high the Cross,

The Love of Christ proclaim,

Till all the world

Adore His Sacred Name!

And I sang it just loud enough to be disturbing to the few who walked the sidewalk with me and Dixie-Lou. While I wait for Divine Liturgy to arrive again this coming Sunday, I will attend Mass in the Roman half of my Church during the week and on Saturday. I said to my dog today, "The longer I live, the more ticked off I get at whimpy Catholics, the more Catholic I become. Isn't it wonderful that I can take the Eucharist East or West?!"

She licked a tree.

I think I have become that annoying lady who doesn't realize when her half of the conversation is no longer interesting - at least - with Dixie.

American Dreams

Tonight, I know, for sure, that the American dream is not what everyone tells me it is.


That it is much more like the version for my great great parents when they were coming across the Atlantic in 1892, huddled on the lowest level of a steamer leaving the Danube for America.


It is not about convenience and money and career and good looks and smelling like roses and knowing that I "deserve it all".


That it is about the freedom just to be who I was created to be, to worship without fear, to buy and sell freely, to not live under the thumb of a harsh dictator. I have always know this was "it", but I always assume that maybe I am not as smart as so many others, and so this time when I said, "yes," to buying a new big, home, I gave in and adapted to the contemporary version of the Dream.


Never again will I confuse lust with love; house with home.


Now that I have lost the house I lusted for, I have rediscovered my home.


When I first moved to the East Coast in 1992, a hundred years exactly after Sarah-Ruth and David-Jakob Borgos moved to the Lower East Side, I demanded that my father take me to New York where he had visited his mother's family several summers as a kid. The first thing I did in New York was to take a picture of my feet on the docks off Ellis Island.

"Now, I am standing in your footsteps," I whispered to my brave grandmother who did more than I could ever be capable of - leaving older children behind to give younger ones a better future, marrying an abusive man twice her age just to satisfy Orthodox parents and eat better than a peasant, moving across the world to live in a land of plenty, but where plenty would only be available to her great great granddaughters one hundred years away.


This was her dream, to bless her offspring with whatever good America had to offer. It had to be better than pogroms and Czars and angry-fisted Kaisers.




As I unwrapped the picture I have of Ellis Island this morning, where my great grandparents stepped off a creaking wooden ship, I stopped and brushed the heavy layer of dust off it, and thought to myself, "Now this is how it is. I have a roof, and a family, and a church whose bells ring loudly across my street three times a day, and a free public library, and education for my children...and I have the freedom to make mistakes without really suffering on the scale so many other citizens of other less compassionate nations do.


I used to display this picture proudly in my kitchen before I moved to a house where there was no room with all the cabinetry. This time, with the slightly crooked slant of the ceiling, as happens in old and long-lived in homes, I hung it up above my baking table, next to my picture of the birch tree forest in spring.


I feel better leaving the snobby neighborhood behind.


I feel better not having to worry anymore about tall grass where snakes wander.


I feel better that there are people on my street who keep an eye on each other.


I feel better not having to drive my children up and down the mountain in so much snow, having to worry about them playing the same forest where coyotes and bear wander freely and frequently.


I feel better now, because I don't live in the house everyone else insisted I must buy in order to be happy.


I was already happy. It was all the others who were not happy, and so they pushed hard for me to finally financially tax myself as much as all of them. They just could not accept my no, and I apparently, did not know how to express it loud enough.


No, I don't need central air.


No, I don't need a giant yard for my children to play in.


No, I don't need wall to wall carpeting, a huge deck, a four car garage (seriously, this is how many cars we have gotten in our garage at one time).


That old twin in town that I had begged for, this one was better.


The house with the really cheap mortgage and fraction of a yard, that was just fine.


The house without the dishwasher, it would have been okay.


What is right for me, is not right for you. I have learned this lesson in the loss of this house.



What is truly right for my children is always right for their mother.


Love you, friends and family, but your house is selling to a very low bidder on Tuesday. Say your goodbyes to the convenience of our central air and our big yard and our country like setting.


Because it is nearly all finished now...


the understanding of that American dream my great great grandmother had for me -the one that can only be created by immigrants who had so much less in the past.


It's amazing the thick film of dust our modern American "needs" can leave on the good sense of our ancestors.

How my great great grandmother worked from home before opening her boarding house and kosher restaurant. This is the original work-at-home American experience - brading rugs and slaving with textiles to sell on the street corner in the Lower East Side.

True Story!

I got an email from one of the editors at AC yesterday. My bonus was nice this quarter. Not even just my initial payments for my articles, but my bonus. It's not like I could buy that Cadillac or anything, but it means I can buy a really big bag of chips!

Yay me!

They asked me for three stories in two days. I said yes, mostly because I am fairly addicted to writing things. Any things.

I will direct you to them all. Each lovely (or creepy - cause Halloween in coming) piece.

And I have five articles (not including township meetings - which are quite soap opera in their own way) coming up in my newspaper shortly.

I will direct you there as well.

Enjoy your Sunday.

I have a nasty cold, flu or something like that. We, as a family, have been able to say no to so many undesirable social events, because of the H1N1 scare..."Can't help you with that thing, pal. We have the flu, or something like it."

Bingo. Everyone emails. Except my pal, Tom, who I have already seen three times in town just this morning. I suppose I should have warned him. But there were no hugs or handshakes. Just waves and, "Hey, whasssup?"

So, hopefully, he remains unscathed.

Anyhoo...I know this post is completely about nothing, but I had more tea than coffee this morning. What do you expect?

Kyrie Eleison

Christe Eleison

Kyrie Eleison

Get Beyond Your Story

I had a wonderful telephone meeting with my new life coach yesterday. She lives in California, where I grew up, and she spoke to several women and men and not just me. As she spoke I had to think of how wonderful and beautiful the day must have been in San Jose'.

Do you know the way to San Jose
I've been away so long...

The words kept ringing in my head. I closed my eyes and remembered the ocean. Not the Jersey Shore, the beautiful and rugged coast of the Pacific. Home. And I instantly had a nagging feeling that I may very well have walked far away from the person I used to be, who once - as a 16 year old - spoke to a panel of businessmen at a tobacco company about giving me money to take Bibles to Russia. Where had the girl gone who said, "God uses teenagers, because they are too young to doubt," ?

When had the fear of trusting God entered into my life? When had I stupidly decided that serving the will and temperament of people was so much better?

She asked us each a question about where we wanted to be. Everyone gave an excuse as to why it was everyone else's fault that they could not get there.

"My mom was pushy and vindictive when I was young...Still is...So I have to spend so much of my time just keeping her happy."

"I grew up in foster homes..."

"Everyone else is more successful because they have some magic ingredient I don't have..."

"I am afraid that I won't impress people."

(The last excuse was my own - but because I am an introvert, I kept it to myself and only volunteered that I now live in Pennsylvania).

"Everyone has a story," says the coach. "Get off your story and give your level best for once."

Interesting. If there was whining, I did not hear any.

Everyone does have a story, and I started to think about the people in my life whom I have had a problem with on a continual basis. But I could never quite pin down the issue that irritated me so fiercely. Then it hit me:

They all have tremendous, self-pitying stories that they love more than the life the were meant to live.

My story? It's that I always live other peoples' agendas. I help every little dog and pony show that comes along, hoping to high hope, that eventually if I make life comfortable enough for them they will have the ability to calm down and then, hear God's voice (instead of their own or their mother's/husband's/spoiled childrens') and start making excellent decisions for themselves. Maybe, I always think, they will stop whining to everyone in their path and stop taking so much energy from the lives of others. Energy they could be cultivating on their own.

This never works.

So, instead, I work on myself, and this is my conviction (and I circled it in red):

I want to live my life squarely for the purpose God created me for, and NOT according to everyone else's agenda and tightly held opinions.

I mean, this is what made me beg a group of tobacco salesmen for Bible money. They were my biggest supporters.

And guess what this instantly made me realize? That I am good enough to do this, because less of my story, means less of me, and more of Christ. And anything good in me, is really Him. So how can I lose in serving Him and not everyone else?

I am surrounded by an abundant amount of Grace through the Sacraments and prayer, through the mighty cloud of witnesses who intercede for my best, and through Christ directly in the Eucharist and just on a long walk where it is He, my dog, and me, my eternal desire to do the right thing. Although, on today's walk, I will struggle with my desire to live according to His purpose and not that of 50 other people.

And I must be good enough as I am, because as I am, Christ died for me - even though I was, yet, a sinner (and always will be).

"We did not come to be successful. We came to do the will of God." Blessed Mother Teresa on her ministry to the dying in Calcutta.

She could do anything, because her conviction was simply to serve Christ and leave all the success up to Him. Now that's a story worth listening to.

I serve Him alone, and He will handle how successful I am at anything I do. That really takes a load off it all. Makes the little rat wheel, I have been running on, stop spinning for mother, sister, brother, and friend.

So, here is my question for all my wonderful, brilliant readers: Are you living God's purpose for you? If your life sincerely sucks, is tremendously consumed with schedules and stress, if you do not know how to even answer this question...Chances are, you don't know your purpose, and maybe, you don't even know God.

And you can know Him and intimately. In fact, whether or not we know Him determines whether or not we spend eternity with Him.

Matthew 7:21 "Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven."

This is what I said to the tobacco salesmen.

Through the Prayers of the Theotokos, Save Us!

Today is the Nativity of the Theotokos, and since I am such a bad Eastern Catholic in my ignorant Roman state, I forgot about it. Sometimes I wonder what my great grandmother would have done. But I think I know the answer. She would have gone to church. There should have been a mental hint for me - Immaculate Conception is December 8th...so Nativity of the Theotokos is September 8th.

Why did I not connect the eights?

(Bless me, father, for I have sinned...It's still the only way I know how to go to confession)

I have no Theological insights to impart, no apologetics to share. I have only this to say...

Without her, the Blessed Mother, the Theotokos, I would not have a voice with which to pray in the morning when I committ my children to God. And I would not hear Our Lord as clearly if His Mother was not nudging me when I am bitter or distracted and I begin to turn away...

"Do as He tells you"

I love her more than I could ever express. Without my heavenly Mother, I would not know Christ as He intends to be known. I would not have known to seek Him with all my heart. I could not have know Him if she had not said,

"Be it unto me as you have said," and then welcomed, with human hands, Emmanuel, the One who would save His people from their sins.


"Your nativity, O Mother of God, heralded joy to the whole universe, for from you rose the Sun of Justice, Christ our God, taking away the curse, He imparted the blessings, and by abolishing death, He gave us everlasting life." - Troparion, Liturgy of the Nativity of the Theotokos

Flying and Such

It is a Tuesday that is more like a Monday today, so I have very few words of wisdom. I can only "report" my latest adventures in living.

I have become more organized. This should impress my irritating friends who love office supplies (my sweetheart is one of these people, so don't feel targeted if you are irritating with your neat little notepads and obsessive need to clean).

I have signed on with Compass as a client and a rep (because if I happen to pass along this great life coaching service, I want the dough for having done it), and I love it.

It is so simple. Fifteen minutes a day is all it requires, and really, it only takes about ten total. I log into my daily MAP. Listen to the pep talk about sucking it up and learning how to dump the excuses (they intelligently call "learned helplessness"), to admit that most of my fears are quite ridiculous and keep me from the sort of success I want, and to make a daily plan to strive for. If one leaves things to chance, chance will happen. Or as some say, **it happens without a pen, paper, and some basic, simple articulation of how I want my priorities directed.

Now, the organizers in my world will suggest that they have everything it takes to achieve all, because they are clean and neat and obsessive. But hold on, Nelly. Really? Is that why your kids are all running away and your husband ignores you?

Yes, cleany. You too have issues. And you need help. Do you ever organize your spiritual life? Actually live for God on purpose and with a specific goal in mind?

Yeah. Thought you were perfect, huh?

Anyhoo...I am just on Day 2 of my map, and I am figuring out how to manage my Compass website (will reveal that soon), so that I might invite my pals to learn how to make people listen to them better, how to assert oneself more effectively, and how treat their husbands and wives with a modicum of love and respect.

And little old creative-brained, scattered-thought me gets to learn how to use a day planner and make use of all these ingenious thoughts I keep inventing and then turning over to others.

"Papa! Watch me fly!" (It's from Yentl. Which reminds me...I have to pencil in that two hour political phone debate/mystery book review with my Daddy for later today)

It's a Beautiful Day

"It's a beautiful day today, Mommy!"

This was the greeting my 3 year old Mikey would give to me every morning, no matter the weather. In the midst of a blizzard, a torrential rain, a bright summer day, he thought everything was beautiful and I should be happy, and if I wasn't, he would work hard to find a reason for complete happiness...for me. And I didn't ask him of this. Nor did I need it. What I discovered I needed though, was this sweet little spirit that roamed about my messy house, contented and pleased simply to be part of the joy that flowed through his family. A joy he was then, and is now, still a grand and gracious part of.

All the greatest parenting experts say you shouldn't be your childrens' friend. But I can't help it with this one. He is what my Jewish grandmother would call a "mensch". He is a friend (even if he is one who has to wash the dishes at night, help his littlest brother get pants on in the morning, and take the dog out for walks. Even if he is my son to whom I must teach discipline, he so much still my friend).

Michael's goal in life is to bring honor to those he respects. I know this more than I know most things. He is pleased when we are pleased. But what he doesn't realize is that - even when he disagrees with us - we are happy, because he is Michael and he is ours.

Michael is the kind of kid who teachers have school conferences about just because they want to thank his parents for allowing him to be part of their class. True story. I have had, at least, three teachers say this to me.

I arrive to conferences all messy-haired and unshowered and a suited teacher is shaking my hand, not because of me, but because of the kid I send off to school each day.


When my good friend, Catholic School Sister, was eating lunch with a friend of hers who happens to be Michael's junior high football coach, he suddenly brightened up at Michael's name and said,

"He is a great kid! Tell his parents they are doing something right."

But it is only part our doing and a large part Michael's. A complete part Our Lord's doing. Michael is a hundred times the human being I was at his age. Already, he has more integrity than me in many ways. He challenges me to be a better person, because he is already a better person than I am. He won't just be something great as an adult. He is something great now, and I love him more than the sunshine of a beautiful day. After all, the first truly beautiful day of my life was the late afternoon in early September, the moment he was born.

His father held him in his arms until he they both fell asleep snoring.

His first cry was, "Maaaaa! Maaaaaa!" And I will never let him live that one down.

When he was getting his three year old check up, he turned to his pediatrician, Dr. Meehan, and asked curiously, "Are you Irish, Dr. Meeman, because you look Irish."

"Send this one to Harvard," Dr. Meehan said, and he genuinely lights up whenever he sees Michael at his yearly check up. They chat like old pals.

When I invited friends to offer Michael a word of spiritual and life advice for his 13 birthday (which I am collecting for his scrapbook I will be giving him tonight), without any exceptions every single participant was excited to offer Michael their words. I think, because most of them know that Michael will be excited to read them, be open to heeding them, and will look forward to living a life of great character.

He is just that kind of kid, and he is 13 now. A teenager. I look forward to discovering the young man he will become.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MIKEY!

You make my every day beautiful.

(He will be so embarrassed if he reads this:) I should send it over the loud speaker at his school...It will produce what we in the family call, "Michael's Russian Smile".

Grains, God, and Politics

You know how you can tell if a new lifestyle is actually working for you? When you naturally and easily become frugal towards the unnecessary things you always insisted you "needed" even if you already had several of them at home. When you make simplicity a virtue with pure adrenaline-hyped rewards.

The night before last, I finally gave into this wild craving all day that I had been having for vanilla ice cream. For people who know me, they know that I generally do not like ice cream. I don't like milk and milk products. I rarely even desire milk shakes. So, whenever I get this craving - about three times a year - I give into it. I headed to the grocery store for a small container of vanilla ice cream. I don't usually even want the loaded stuff. But I figured, and maybe even stupidly, that I am now finally absorbing iron via supplements (though I might still need an infustion) and vitamin D via the daily walks in the sunshine. So maybe my weirdo body is now even wanting some calcium that, for once, it may not dump in the form of kidney stones into my kidneys. It was just a thought...

As I was passing by the magazine rack, the book nerd (and addict) in me noted all the great new issues with pictures of neatly carved pumpkins on the cover. "Easy Autumn Stews!", "50 Great Kids Costume Ideas!" "Trick or Treat Treats That Will Drive the Little Goblins Crazy!"

Can you tell I freelance these ridiculous things for a living?

In the past, the recent past, I would have grabbed one of those senseless magazines in one of my weakened sleepy stupors, because the colors, the words themselves, and the mental picture of a healthy mother with enough energy to carve Halloween pumpkins with her children was momentarily inspiring. But I would have never done what was demonstrated in the picture. Too tired. I would have, instead, let my kids cut up the $5.00 magazine for some lonely rainy day craft, and the mess would sit for a day or so, because I would be too tired to clean it, and too tired to insist that they do it. The latter takes much more energy. And I would have ended up with a small, but powerful, stab of guilt when my husband finally cleaned up the mess himself, complaining quietly that I let the kids "run all over" when I get too tired to control their creative endeavors in the kitchen.

But this time, because I finally had my energized wits about me, I walked straight past the covers saying to myself, "That's a cute idea. I will see if I can find something similar on a free craft site on the Internet."

See? Wits. Energy. Natural simplicity.

I have spent nearly a week now briskly walking my dog for 45 minutes a day, avoiding bagels and whole grain breads, and it has completely changed my life. I have not told anyone outside of the readers on my blog, and yet, neighbors and friends who have seen me throughout town will stop their cars spontaneously, rolled down their windows and yell, "Have you done something different lately? You have so much great color in your face?"

Someone else said, "I love your energy!"

I don't think those words have been uttered about since the early nineties, if ever.

My own sister doesn't know my new blog address (a clerical error on my part that I have yet to correct), but she saw me today walking the dog down the main street of our busy town and she said, "You look great! What's going on? Vitamins or something?"

Then I tell people I just stopped eating wheat.

"Meat? Me too! Vegetarian," they say proudly pointing to themselves.

"No, no. I am not a vegetarian," I reply. "I am not eating WHEAT."

There is usually a heavy confused blinking and then another, "Oh..." No one seems to be able to wrap their head around this one even though it is quite common in this world. But I guess just not in my little hippie town.

I can already see how others around me are wanting in on this new "energy". I have begun to have the wherewithal to schedule my own time, to say no to people who are doing things I cannot do or are not interested in. I have begun to make my reading time a staple again - though only for about 15 minutes. I go to bed with the idea that sleep makes one feel better and not just the same as going without adequate sleep might make someone feel. Before, sleeping never mattered. I was always asleep anyway. I slept for longer times than I do now, but without absolutely any benefit when I ate oatmeal every morning.

I drink maybe one cup of coffee a day. I still love it. I just don't need it as much. Though I still need it. It is part of my morning routine.

How to keep this goal moving along?

This was my only concern. I have no issues motivating myself. All alone in a silent, dark room I can come up with an action plan and an inspiring self-directed speech. But when it is a chronic fatigue and poor immune system you are fighting, how do you stay on track?

I was searching for an answer to a vitamin question the other night when I came across a life coaching company. Very cool. I never thought I needed anything like that. Always wondered how these converts to Catholicism and Orthodoxy got all these "mentors" and "spiritual fathers, sisters,donkeys" etc...But I inquired, got to talking to one of the coaches who stopped me before our conversation ended and said, "Your life inspires me. It is not often I feel that about a client."

Interesting.

I am going to do it though. I am getting one of those mentors the eager, shiny-eyed converts always get. Only I am going to do so with the intention of possibly becoming one myself some day, if I can come up with more than, "Stay Away From Dinner Rolls And Change Your Life Forever!". This particular company is looking for a qualified female coach of the Catholic persuasion. They already have many other churches represented. And now is a great time for the lack-luster spiritual interior life of many Catholics in the Northeast to be challenged a bit. We'll see how this goes...This company is not expensive at all and is just starting. Quite affordable and, I predict, quite worth the guidance. I need a push and some clarity where I might not get it from friends and family. Everyone who knows me now has always known me tired - from college to the present. How can they imagine for me the Tiffani with an energetic future when they are quite happy with the slow-footed Tiffani of days past?

It is amazing what a lack of wheat can do. It is amazing how finally following the path, you know that you know, God wants you to follow can change even your energy level and eventually just spill out into other areas of your life. It's great to know who you really are when you aren't falling asleep between stop signs. It's great to know that I can come up with statements like the one I came up with in the grocery store the other day when someone asked me if I was a conservative,

"Yes, but I am an American first. Sometimes conservatives are as ridiculously hardcore as the rainbow colored left can be. Really, they are just two sides of the exact same gaudy coin that isn't negotiable anywhere. My Right doesn't look anything like Reagan's anymore. It's all ideology and no common sense."

The spittin' Right grew silent and the teeth-gritted Peace Lover in the room, both, turned away from me in disgust. I knew I felt satisfied, because I was just being me.

Now see? That's the swift thought of a woman who hasn't eat grains all day.

Growing Up

Last Wednesday, I put my tiny little baby on a bus and watched him ride off to kindergarten. He was so excited, holding his big sister's hand tightly - slightly alarmed, but much more eager than afraid.

He came back nearly seven hours later more excited than when he had left. I had committed him (and all my children) to the Sacred Heart several times throughout the day, begging Our Lord, all His mighty angels, the Blessed Mother, St. Nicholas, Pope John Paul the Great, etc...generally all holy dead people I could think of, to look after my littlest man who has the greatest desire, of just about any human being I have ever seen, to learn absolutely everything he can from morning bus to the afternoon one.

I wait for him and my daughter by reading a Mauve Binchy book on the steps of an old historical building in town - just at the site of the afternoon school bus stop. Whitethorn Woods, and I try to distract myself from my restless excitement to hold their hands again. It's the same excitement I feel when awaiting my middle son's school day. That moment when he become thrilled at having accomplished something new - a challenge he didn't even know he would have. And it's the same when I am waiting for my oldest to come out of the locker room from football practice. He's so big! I say to myself. Once he was like you in kindergarten, I say to my youngest who is, by then, already asleep in his booster seat, knocked out from a day in kindergarten.

My daughter now frequently borrows my clothes, has "girl movie nights" or checks out books just for us to read together. Already, she has dismissed school cliques as "being for snobs and people afraid of personality." Smart one, I say tapping my head.

"Enjoy them while they are young," said an old woman to me as I walked them to the corner for ice cream the other night. "They grow up so fast."

No, ma'am. I think I actually enjoy them every year, every day, just as they are. Young, growing, and old - they are amazing. I have great kids, and I love them completely.

Thought For Your Motivated Day

Got something you know must get done on a regular basis for good living?...Found this Aristotle quote today. I am already a huge fan, but hey, this quote was new even for nerdy old me:

We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but, a habit. Aristotle

Goals That Actually Work...

So last week, while I was preparing for my youngest's first day of kindergarten, watching my oldest move over to the local high school for junior high and become a teenager, guiding my daughter on her new 4th grade adventure, and looking forward to teaching my homeschooled son another year...I could hardly stay awake inside the car as I waited to pick my brother up from work. It seems I have all these things to do for other people, but I cannot even shower myself most days without an immense lead time for rest afterward.

"How am I going to make it to 50?" I said out loud. Truly. How can one person, so consistently fatigued, survive anything? It is like being perpetually in the first stage of pregnancy or wearing an xray jacket around all day while washing dishes, driving the car, and walking the kids to the bus stop.

Maybe it sounds extreme, but that is because you have never been perpetually exhausted. Maybe you have only known such fatigue (the kind that makes you literally collapse) when you have just given birth or have a nasty form of the flu. But I have felt like this on a daily basis most of my adult life - which is why I rarely answer the phone or keep commitments to leave my home. Most of us have felt this kind of literal fatigue, but not most days of our lives.

So, I decided last week (begged God really) to show me a better way. A way that all my brilliant doctors over the years have never discovered. I don't need a secret plan for the entire universe. Just a way for my own body to work properly. Medical professionals have never considered fatigue an issue, while Social Security gives checks to millions in the US every year, because of this kind of clinical fatigue. What the heck causes it? Conventional medicine will long say they have no idea, and truly they don't care. Behind the fatigue is a massive amount of drugs. But I don't take them - they don't work anyway. I just wanted God to show me a way to aquire just enough strength to be normal and not 80 years old inside a 35 year old body. Truly. I can settle fine with normal every day tired that most people feel after a hard day's work.

I grabbed the only available piece of paper inside the purse my mother gave me for Christmas, and I started writing cryptic, messy goals in a red felt marker. What have I got to lose?

The first thing I was going to do was to stop eating wheat and to begin taking the supplements and vitamins I never naturally absorb. More than 80% of the immune system is located in the intestines. If you are not absorbing there, then something is "off", and it is usually (about 90% of the time) an allergy. The most typical allergy is to wheat or eggs. I know I don't have an egg allergy, because when I eat them, I am temporarily normal. It is after the toast when I feel drugged. If I feel awake after avoiding wheat, chances are...I am actually beginning to absorb some of the nutrients I am purposefully taking. Normally, I just dump them.

So far, so very good. I have actually been awake for the last three days or so. I have taken long walks Saturday (needing a nap afterward), Sunday (not needing a nap, but a cup of coffee), Monday (needing neither nap nor coffee, and actually washing the dishes and baking a pie afterward).

My next couple of goals was to find a way to afford my vitamins better. I think I have done that. I order them wholesale when I am not being lazy and begin to refill them just before I run out. I have invited a few friends to order with me, so we can all get a nice discount on the every day stuff - like vitamin C, calcium, and kids vitamins - that we all use. So far, so good...

Then, I decided that even if I could not coordinate the standing up properly, I would exercise - by walking - every day for 30 minutes. This is a real commitment for me. Sometimes, I cannot even walk to the kitchen to refill my morning coffee cup. I am so glad I no longer have an infant in the house. I could not even care for my youngest when he was born without medical professionals helping me in my home all day. And when they left, friends and family had to even help feed me. I don't want to go back to that kind of anemia and fatigue ever again. And I am hoping to avoid more iron infusions after this next one, because maybe just maybe I will actually retain what I have been given via IV.

So far, so good...with the above efforts.

I also turned my debit card over to my husband, because when I am overly tired, I cannot cook properly and so I order easy to cook food or I give into the junk food junkies in my house, and I allow them to order out. This time, I can't do that. So, I work within the budget I am regimented with when I have the energy. I have decided that if I really want something, I have to live as though I am already there. I crock pot everything like I have an amazing physical list of activities to complete by the end of the day, because one day, I will have the energy to complete them again.

And lastly, I have decided that I want to complete my degree in natural health. I will start slow - with certifications first, and by begging friends to let me use their health issues as case studies while I learn...offering them free vitamins and daily really good smelling cups of nutty tea. That part has only arrived in a small sliver of excitement on the horizon so far, as I need the capital and organization skills to keep me focused on my educational goals.

What is amazing to me, is that, since we found out we were losing the house, I have begun repeating the phrase to God, "You are just going to have to surprise me, Lord." And He does. Everytime. It is as if this is what He really wants to do. Or maybe, I have just finally melted into that part of Sacred Scripture that says He will give me the desires of my heart. Perhaps, after all this sleepy suffering, He has created the desire to get better, so I can help others in much worse shape.

Imagine that. Who knows?

I will keep you updated. Off to teach the first day of homeschool now, and to prepare a gluten free afternoon and a long walk with my obese dog who currently has human-imposed weightloss and etiquette goals.

So Far, So Good...

So far, so good...with the lack of wheat thing. Turns out, when I don't eat it, I am not as tired. When I don't eat it, I don't even miss it. The only time I was tempted was when I ate a chocolate brownie at Through the Looking Glass today. Well, just part of one. Really only a bite.

But even with that, my middle of the day immobility arrived at 2pm instead of 12pm, and more as an afternoon sleepiness and not a weird sudden near-paralyzation.

It has been three full days of no wheat, and I can actually feel the difference. I said to Leonarrrrrrdo this morning, while sitting out on our front porch, "I feel like something has snapped for me."

"I felt like you snapped a long time ago," he replied back sipping his French Roast coffee.

"No! That's not what I mean!" I insist. "I mean, that I feel like something has changed. Like I am still tired, because I have no iron, but that I am not nearly as tired as I was three days ago."

"Oh, that kind of snapping. Yeah, you look different."

I have no huge allergy puff eyes when I awaken in the morning. I actually awake before most in my family and make the coffee. Three days in a row, I got up before the kids even knew there was yet a morning, and I showered! True story. In the past, I had been told that I did not have Celiac Disease, and therefore, not a "wheat problem". But I asked my doctor last week, "Could I just have a wheat allergy and not a complete intolerance to digesting wheat? I mean, my immune system is fighting something so hard that I cannot absorb basic nutrients anymore. Just like a person with Celiac Disease."

"Why not?" he asks. "Definitely why not. It makes sense."

And then I wonder why the heck they end up making so much money...

The truth remains to be seen. But I have contacted a specialist in CFIDS (look it up), and I have been given a list of supplements that I need to infuse into my daily routine every day in order to gain more strength.

Again, so far so good. I notice a difference. I have slept much more soundly, and since I have begun this no-wheat-thing, I have not been awakened in the night with terrible leg cramps that last 15 minutes or more. This time, I sleep all night long and wake relatively pleased that the sun has risen.

I already take vitamins every day, as I don't absorb a good portion of them in my normal food intake, but I have also incorporated a few interesting sounding ones now too, and I have seen a difference. What's significantly different is that I no longer crave weird things like carrots and raw broccoli or copious amounts of citrus fruit.

I have long had a sincere passion for medicinal herbs and homeopathy. I found both to work - the former with greater and often a faster lead time than the latter. But homeopathy always rids me of a cold, sinus infections, and respiratory problems much faster than even conventional methods. When I was in high school, I continued to get tonsillitis when I first moved to Central PA. My father had lost his job and my mother did not have anymore money in the budget for another co-pay. So she pulled out her homeopathy kit and gave me some little white soluble pills in decreasing amounts for three days. Within three days, the tonsillitis was completely gone and I never had any pain from it. I have nearly always had this kind of success with homeopathy.

So, once again, I have embarked on a study of it. Informally right now, but soon, I am going to finish that health care degree but from a "natural" angle. Perhaps, my discovery of dangerous grains will also now start to rid me of kidney stones.

Who knows? It has been only three days, but I have more proof of longevity with some of these "natural" methods than with other conventional prescription ones that have always made eager doctors drool when they promise me, "a sure fire way to get your energy back, dissolve all kidney stones, make childbirth painless, cure infections in 72 hours, knock off a migraine within 30 minutes, kick vertigo straight, and keep strep throat out of the system forever!"

They are about as reliable as a politician's promise not to raise taxes even if they come in, both, generic and name brand. Conventional medicine saves lives every day, but it is also often just a rich lobbyist's snake oil. So I don't care that most people who have never been seriously and chronically ill might think herbs and supplements are "unproven". So is God, but I strive hard to throw myself completely into His limitless care and I am encouraged to do so by millions of people who have never seen His face nor heard His voice in a readily available and audible voice. Sometimes the answer to things comes only through trial and silent expectation.

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews 1:11

Much more saintly and deserving people have wished for far nobler and important, impossible and ridiculous things than my wish to have energy like all the other 35 year olds I know. I think, maybe this time, I walk on the right path.

Imagine If!

I went to see my doctor for a follow-up visit for the shingles infesting my ear (sounds creepy, huh?) this past week.

"I am recovering from my old lady chicken pox, but what I really want is to not see you for, at least, 6 months. I don't want to come in here with my normal fall bronchitis or my December strep throat, and more than absolutely anything at all - I do not want to be tired anymore! My baby just went to kindergarten, my little girl is in 4th grade, my homeschooler wants to learn a sport this year, and my oldest is playing football and starting junior high! I don't want to be too tired to experience their lives anymore!"

He agreed that this sounded quite sane and reasonable, as I tugged on my ear and screamed a little bit (Shingles are tiny very painful recurring chicken pox). I told him that my neuro was sending me into the cancer center for another iron infusion, because I have virtually none in my body suddenly and again. He already knew this. I told him that I wanted to be one of those normal people who just naturally absorbs iron from their Saturday afternoon steak. He agreed that, this too, is very normal to want and a much more normal physical state to be in than I usually am.

So, for one of the few times in my weirdo medical history, I have taken my own care into my dystonia fingers.

"I think I might have a wheat allergy," I said to my doc.

"Why?" he asked.

I have him all the pertinent reasons (which he agreed in his nerdy doctor way are all quite medically sound), and I then informed him that I am embarking on research and heavy self-medication through vitamins, minerals, walking the dog, etc...as is safe.

"Sounds fine to me," he said. "Just let me know what new vitamins you begin to take and who you are getting them from. Some aren't all that good."

But what I have discovered is that every time I take vitamins, with the exception of iron, I absorb them fairly quickly even with the every day drugstore supplements. But I do much better with high quality ones.

For years now, I have wanted to finish my degree, but in natural health. I tried to get my BSN (Bachelor of Science in Nursing) a couple of times, but got sick in the middle of my way up and had to quit about 1/4 of the way there. It was the all the holistic and natural health classes I loved the most though, while other student nurses found dissection or labor and delivery infinitely fascinating. For me, though, it was learning all I could about the true effects of homeopathy (if any at all), and how an herbalist might get better results in a child with ADHD than Ritalin might in some instances. And so last year, around this time (when I was feeling slightly better for about an hour), I applied to a rather prestigious natural health college, but got too sick to enter. They continue to invite me, and the counselor I spoke with sends me tips on energy retainment nearly every week.

"This worked for me, but it might be different for you," he tells me. "Just keep trying. Something will work eventually, even if standard medicine cannot."

Now, I have this insane goal to finally get healthy (God knows I have tried a million fruitless times in the past) and if I can do it (with Our Lord's help), teach others and finish the degree I have been starting over and over again for a decade now (that this really already a masters but completely non-cohesive).

Like Miss Thaeda would suggest in her shrinky way, I even wrote down my goals. True story. And now I pray my gluten-free living for the next few weeks works.

Already, the whey shake has given my quite a bit of energy today. But that could be adrenaline due to the prospect of health, and maybe just maybe...a life without the cancer center!

Imagine if!

Bar Harbor to Leave PA

For everyone who lives around here...I have some sad information with a very slim silver lining.

My pal, Russ, is closing his very excellent used book store in the next couple of weeks, but everything is, at least, 50% off for a while.

If you are in my part of the world - google him and go shopping! You won't regret giving back to your community through this disappearing small business.

Bar Harbor Used Books

Almost Over

For those of who have kept up recently, it has been one heck of a rough summer. Thank God for great books, Divine Liturgy, good pizza, buckets of coffee, vitamins, and friends. Lots of great friends who are really family without the genetic screw-ups.

Anyway, today, I met with an attorney to speak with him about this sudden foreclosure (less than 60 days from threat to actual sheriff sale) to see if there was anything we could really do. I was greeted at the door by a friendly Doberman who led me to an oversized fluffy leather couch where I immediately recognized the secretary and said, "I have seen you before!"

Turns out, I am friends with her identical twin sister - who I was just thinking of and praying for today over morning coffee. The secretary promised to relay my good wishes to her sister - my pal and her twin - as soon as she got home from work that night and could call her.

The attorney was friendly. He immediately shook my hand and said,

"You guys are doing the right thing. You have a strong payment history. You worked hard to keep your mortgage company informed of struggles you were having. You sought out certified financial counseling. You are very frugal. You are selling the home. There is nothing more for you to do," he said looking across the table from me. "And this should probably not be happening to you."

"But this is all happening so fast," I insisted. "Is that legal?"

He said it was, that the foreclosure is ocurring in record time, because it is the most economical response from the point of view of the mortgage company.

"This will effect your credit, but it won't rock it like some foreclosures would. It's not that kind of a foreclosure. It's not the end of the world, and it is clear that you have done all you can. That matters."

He gave me some more advice, shook my hand again, told me we would be okay, refused to take a dime for the consultation, and then wished me a great week. His dog followed me to the door and begged me to toss around a dog bone with him.

I drove home relieved.

It's almost over. It's not fun. It is not without a great amount of stress. It has been painful. I cried last night like some freak, because I realized we had a home that we will never be going back to. The home holds a lot of our memories over the past four years. That is all that hurts anymore. But even that is fading. I never knew I could muster up a backbone so fast, or rather, that Our Lord could create one in me just when I really needed it.

It really is All of Him and None of Me.

The attorney and his dog are right - there are more important things in life that the home that is soon no longer to be ours, and we did all we could. And we didn't neglect our responsibilities. Things just happen. And God always does All- which is so much more than our unperfected minds can fathom. So much more. The picture I see today is not the real picture. I see only a shadow of a shadow. A sliver of a color. But not the whole picture, and so I believe this to be about us surviving the shocking and sudden foreclosure of our house, but it is about even more than that. This is something big that has something to do with the salvation of our souls. Grace is the center of this experience. And that is all my small human brain can comprehend. And so I must trust that this was allowed for some much greater purpose.

All things work together for the good of those who love God and who are called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28

You lose some and you win some. I feel like we have won. We are together. We have friends. We can go to Church on Sundays and celebrate Movie Night in our new living room - rented to us by our dear friends who come down the street to give us zucchinis and tomatoes from their garden. And prayers. We have a ton of prayers surrounding us and they have encouraged us to pray even more. And through it all we have realized the much greater needs of others, and through Grace, we know we are saved - and not by anything else.

He has won, because He is and was and is to come, and what is not nearly as important is nearly over now...and life begins anew each day.

Lessons That Can Save a Life!

I had a sudden and wonderful lunch with Catholic School Sister today. Comida Mexicana! It was great.

We were so excited to have the brief afternoon alone that we kept tripping over each other (well me mostly tripping in my big shoes) while making up our minds and then changing them again - regarding a lunch location. After lunch we wandered through town to shop and discovered this great quote on a plaque...

There are two theories about arguing with women.
Both are wrong.

I am purchasing this plaque for my husband to hang over his home office (and then to transport with him to work and to carry around his neck when he is home watching football and such).

It is a great lesson every man should WISELY learn.

Now!

Sisters of the Church - True Story!

Definitions:

Cradle/Cradler - To be born into a faith. Example: A cradle Catholic or Orthodox never had to convert to Orthodoxy or Catholicism because they were born into their faiths.

Convert: An adult who converted to a new faith. Example: Too easy. No example needed.

Recently, I have been able to have a beautiful conversation with a cradle Orthodox about the Eucharist. It has been such a blessing to me, and to her. She is far from an Orthodox church where she lives and finds absolutely very little in common with her Bible Belt neighbors. Not that they are not kind to her, but they just do not fast regularly or use the words "liturgical season" very often. And she is unable to take the Eucharist very often, as she has only Catholic churches near her. The opposite of my recent predicament with Orthodoxy. Come to think of it, strangely, I have had this kind of very pleasant exchange with more than one cradle Orthodox recently - the inability to get to the Eucharist regularly, but not for lack of want.

I completely understand their pain, and what is cool, is that no other faith can fully grasp this kind of longing for the Eucharist.

This recent personal Orthodox/Roman conversation is significant, because I have had many a slap in the face from converts to Orthodoxy in the past couple of years. The converts don't mean to appear cruel. This is the convert's last intention. But this is the result of much of their anti-Catholic remarks.

AKA: Really Evangelicals in Eastern disguise.

Love them. Do not love the sharp Protestant smell their Fire and Brimstone approach often gives off at Mass (or Divine Liturgy), where they are always ready to correct the priest on his "watered down homily" or "wrong offering of the Eucharist". Not that they are incrrect. Most of the time they are 100% right. It's just that they talk like the return to what-should-be is so very simple and "duh!" and somehow their recent invasion has nothing to do with the push against Catholicism to embrace Vatican II. They were the ones who incouraged us to speak in tongues and instructed our small groups....Now when they convert, looking for the Early Church, they treat us like half-witted foreigners who think the statue of Mary in our living room does our laundry when we are asleep at night.

And I am certain that the Orthodox Church is forever grateful for their numbers as well and their sincere fervency. I know they have similar distress though. We Romans are grateful for their conversion as well, because they create all our apologetics material and our nifty websites and TV programs. And I think their constant desire to spread the Gospel even in the grocery store is what we Catholics need - seriously need. But it is not always easy having them in our ranks. We Romans get a little tired of their slappings of us. They have no other enemies. They are kind of like bitter drill seargants who just got demoted to train kindergarten failures.

The cradlers though - the Orthodox naturally - they have become some of my best "Catholic" pals. I say "Catholic", because as a Roman, we are to consider them part of the Church as well. They - officially in Constantinople and Moscow - may not consider us familia, but we consider them as such. Valid Sacraments and all. Legitimate and same Eucharist. The only other place where Christ is fully present in His Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity.

Anyway, even when lifelong Orthodox say something that is contrary to Catholic teaching (not very often) it does NOT rub me even slightly the wrong way, as in this beautiful conversation I have had via email with a cradle Orthodox pal. I don't care when they disagree with me. It's never a problem.

We are sisters in the Church, and even though it may tick off a few old men in vestments in both of our worshipping locations, we refer to ourselves as such. We began in the exact same location 2000 years ago. We accept the same Eucharist each Sunday.

And we are the only ones who do.

So why did I not become Orthodox?

Because of all the darn Evangelicals who have invaded the place with their anti-Catholic ideas still fully, and sometimes even more ferociously, intact than before their conversion. This happens even in Roman Catholicism with Evangelical converts to Rome. True story.

They enter with the Evangelical belief that they are privy to some secret contract with Jesus that the rest of the world does not have. Even as Roman Catholics, they often treat cradle Catholics as though they are the ignorant slugs who need their Evangelical wisdom and intelligence imparted to them. It is often as though we original Romans are morons and the original Protesters are the geniuses of the Faith who have arrived to make everything better, shinier, and less "special ed". Now don't go sending me emails about making fun of special ed. I have a son with special needs, and this is exactly how I feel Evangelical converts to even my own Rome treat cradle Catholics: As though we are in need of a hand-holding when we cross the street to Mass.

"This is how it should be done, and now that I am here, I can explain it all to you. Thank God that my clear Evangelical thinking has been reluctantly dragged over to your slow Catholic thinking."

And they are often the bane of my Catholic existence. I guess this is the thing that "sends me to the bin" as my old pal, Fr. Straka would say, more than any other confessional item.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned in my angry thoughts toward the know-it-all Evangelical converts to Catholicism again..."

Father always sighs - any father - and says, "I know they are hard to deal with..." I have had more than one - Catholic and Orthodox - priest say to me, "Sometimes I am not certain they are always good for our future. Sometimes we spend a lot of time cleaning up the pain they cause in our parishes."

True story.

And I don't say this because I believe them to be evil or wrong or bad in their conversion. I want that everyone, even the Orthodox, can unite with Rome and become One Church again. I just think their personal lesson should be to leave the "holier than thou" former Evangelical attitude inside the bin where I leave my cradle Catholic "what's it to them!" fighting Irish anger management methods.

Not all converts are like this. Some come with the very pleasant attitude of, "What the heck is going on here? This is all totally new to me?"

Nice.

Because this means they are really Catholic or finally Orthodox. Because this is how the Saints were from the moment they began to serve Christ. Completely unworthy.

And this is the reason we Catholics drink so often, I am fully convinced. Not because we are these lovers of sin, but because we realize how little is in our control, how much bigger God is than our mediocre human existence, how much we fall short of even an inch of His glory. Again, our coping mechanisms are old world - 2000 year old world. We need instruction in this area, but we don't need the missal handed to us in a Dick and Jane reading fashion.

And so it has been really nice sharing emails from a cradle Orthodox - rouge sister of the Church - who has the same hang ups and trials as a dumb Roman might have. Nice. Refreshing like a huge water ice at a hot church festival in the dirty parking lot. She makes the converts so much easier to take in at a sudden Catholic Bible study.

New Stuff

Regulars will notice the new gadgets and such on my blog. I had time on my hands tonight while my son and husband watched preseason football...I should be getting that article together for the paper....

Blessings From the Angels

A few weeks ago, my husband was speaking candidly with a financial counselor - really by accident - and she recommended this great grocery ministry called Angel Food Ministries. It is not income based, and you can order as much restaurant quality foods you want each month for less than 50% the normal sale price. The whole idea is to fit the Gospel into a grocery box every month for a family interested in buying excellent groceries at a discount price.

Anyone who knows me knows that my greatest adrenaline rush comes from serving my family. I am completely "made" when I am baking something warm and buttery from scratch, or roasting citrus chicken one Saturday evening after the 4 o'clock Mass. Divine Liturgy on Sunday morning heralds in fresh everything - the biggest fast-breaking brunch the world has ever seen. These traditions come from my Catholic Italian stepfather and my Russian/Hungarian great grandmother who owned and operated her own boarding house and restaurant in Brooklyn, New York. Her genes are as strong in me as my stepfather's years of pasta cooking lessons were.

Early on in life I knew that I would be a writer but that, unless I became a mother and a wife, I would feel truly unfulfilled. I realize this is not everyone's vocation, but I knew it was mine. And so each time I roll out cookie dough with my daughter and my five year old son, I am reminded of how God has blessed my every prayer request just to have a happy family of my own one day.

So...grocery shopping is one of only enjoyable versions of shopping (true story), because I know that from many pertinent ingredients come hours of family satisfaction. My kids actually get excited - akin to being promised a movie night or $10 bucks to spend at the Dollar Store - if I tell them I am baking their favorite pie or making them chocolate fudge walnut brownies for dessert. I call my sweetheart ten minutes before he leaves every day from work to give him the dinner menu, so that he has something to keep him awake on the ride home. No matter the stress he endures in a myriad of meetings, when he is home eating his favorite Sephardic Rice Pilaf or Baked Chicken Parmesean, he is a happy man.

I love cooking and serving and making people fat, dumb, and happy. Well, maybe not dumb. Too book nerdy for that. But I love a happy crowd of people who fear fatness because they are so overjoyed at what they have just eaten in my home. It's a love language - to cook unto happiness.

So, when "cheapo/from scratch" me heard that there was a ministry (God-inspired) that would allow me restaurant quality ingredients for even cheaper than my beloved Aldi and in a greater abundance...I had to check it out.

We placed our first order a week ago. We picked it up last night. For $60.00 we came home with two laundry baskets full of...

3lbs Ribeye Steaks

6 lbs Split Chicken Breasts

2 lbs Boneless Center Cut Pork Chops

4 lbs Mac and Beef Dinner Entree

3lbs Breaded All White Meat Chicken Nuggets

2lbs Lean Ground Beef

2lbs Fish Sticks (We cooked these for Fishy Friday last night and there was not a smidgen of grease to be found. There were absolutely the best fish sticks I have ever consumed, and generally, I hate fish sticks! But these, I actually missed when the cookie sheet was empty of them)

2lbs of Fresh Frozen Corn

2lbs Fresh Frozen Baby Lima Beans (Made these Southern style with butter, onions, and a dash of black pepper. Everyone devoured these FIRST. True story.)

2 Heads of Lettuce

4lbs of Fresh Sweet Potatoes (Made these Southern style as well last night - with butter and a dash of brown sugar. They were scooped up in less time than the fish sticks).

30oz of Pork and Beans

2lbs of Rice

2 32oz Cartons of Milk

2 Dozen Eggs

2 Boxes of Baked Apple Tarts (every month Signature Box gets a dessert)

My family had the most wonderful home cooked meal last night, and when we were out school shopping today and had to eat out because of the heat and lengthy drive from home, everyone enjoyed lunch but commented on how much they enjoyed their meal from the night before at home so much better. Cheap and satisfying. How can I ask for more? They wanted my "sweet taters" more than Chili's chips and salsa.

The Signature Box is the monthly menu, but there are organic and vegetarian boxes, food allergy boxes, senior boxes, an amazing fruit and veggie box that I will be ordering with my boxes next month. We only have to get lunch supplies from the grocery store now- most of which I make from scratch for school lunches - so our new grocery bill has shrunken from $150.00-$200.00 a week to about $80.00 a week for a tremendous amount of nutritious food that we are loving. Remember, there are six of us in this family and only two of us are female. Lots of food being consumed around here - and now we have a teenage football player. But our Signature Box is enough!

Angel Food Ministries is for absolutely every income. We saw Mercedes outside the beautiful 100-plus year old UCC Church where we placed and picked up our order. The director told me over the phone when I called with inquiries, "There are families here making a hundred grand who buy 8 or more boxes at a time each month." It is such a savings and it's a ministry...who doesn't want to be part of this? I am going to see if I can get my equally beautiful Eastern Catholic parish involved.

Go to the website by clicking here Angel Food Ministries. Hope to see you on the September distribution day.

The Insider

Since I now live in town I am trying to pretend that I am outgoing and extroverted. I accomplish this by smiling and offering a wave whenever someone actually spots me in my dark corner on my front porch. I much prefer the back porch on the old swing where no one can see me, except. old Mr. Brogan who only goes outside to fall asleep on his folding lawn chair next to his tomato plants.

Anyway, last night the noise of my house became too much for my shingle ears. (I have CFIDS, so I catch a lot things quite often, new reader, so this is why you will read..."now that I have pneumonia" or "because I got that toe infection last week" etc...) So I went out to my front porch with the pleasantly dead porch light bulb and I stole the quietest, most invisible section of my porch in which to sleep without bother from neighbors. Come to think of it...the old man next door probably likes me alright, because I am like an old man myself in many ways - though I am young and a woman. Must be a writer thing...

I watched teenagers nearly get hit by a car, a young couple run past falsely thinking that a diner would exist or be open in our small town at 10pm. A drunk hick from somewhere up the mountain drove his beat up pickup up and down the street, swerving like active vertigo, from the Old Jail to Through the Looking Glass. He tossed a Pepsi can out of his car and screamed something about health care before retiring for the night.

My brother eventually joined me on the porch in his dirty unmatching socks.

"I can smell those things from here," I said to him with my eyes closed. He was waiting for our mother to pick him up and take him back to our old home on the Mountain. He is house sitting for us.

"Thank you," he said, resting his feet on the Ottoman so that I might get a better look at the crusty critters.

A couple of teenage girls passed us as attempted to flirt with him, giggling about their hair.

"Really? Him?!" I said after them, but neither my brother nor the girls responded.

After several minutes I could hear the noise of my Latin husband and half-Latin children die down a bit.

"Everyone must be asleep," I said to Leonarrrrrrdo as he came out to join us on the porch.

"No. They are totally disobeying me, but because I have threatened them sufficiently they are disobeying me silently," he said leaning back into his cushioned rocking chair.

"Shouldn't you go back to deal with them?" I asked him.

"No way! This is what I wanted. For them to be quiet," he said. "It was all part of my plan, because I know that no one listens to me, so I tricked them into not listening to me but SILENTLY."

He whispered the last part.

"Whatever," I said, hearing the indoor thumping of our five year old as he attempted to spy on us from his "sneaky" place on the hall steps.

After a while my mother drove up. "I didn't even see you there," she said to me as she greeted the men.

"I know," I smiled. "I am the Insider. Sitting invisibly on the porch is as close as I can come to actually engaging with the world."

"I see," she said. "Come on, Dave. I have to get home and go to bed."

Nearly 40 and my brother is still somehow convincing my mother to give him dinner and transportation on a whim.

It's a strange world. But it's Friday and I am going to clean my house invisibly and then spy on my neighbors from my porch swing later on when I get sick of organizing the play room. And what is really cool about this old house that I am beginning to love in a way I could never love a new house (nerd, remember?), is that there are so many stinking awesome creaky crooked 1865 rooms that we have room for a playroom for once! Like an academic's wife, I can say things like, "Oh, my goodness! There is such a mess in the playroom!" when I am on the phone with suburban/new house friends. I imagine a great amount of jealousy when they hear my lilted, city curbed, excessively large, antique house resident excitement. I can't say "owner". The house I still actually own is not nearly as cool and not at all an ice breaker in a boring conversation unless I begin with, "What did I do for my summer? Oh, I lost my house."

Booknotes

My Daddy (people of Southern birth do not use the word "dad") sent me a great cozy mystery recently. Knowing I was completely stressed out, knowing that I had been through a million things he could do nothing about, he sent me a book. Nerds comfort in their own special way. Luckily, both Daddy and I are nerds, so I immediately understood his intention when I discovered my mailbox overstuffed with a book.







The Body in the Attic by Kathrine Hall Paige. Love it. It has lots of New England dark cornered houses, a long lost creepy collection of love and terror letters, a hint of ghosts, and the main character is a pastor's wife who has to "up and move" so her sweetheart can fulfill his dream of teaching at Harvard Divinity. It's a great read, and I love my Daddy for so many reasons, but one big one is because he is the guy who taught me how to read and gave me my first novel, The Hound of the Baskervilles. I will never stop loving good old fashioned mysteries before all other genres. It is his fault.



Under the Radar by Fern Michaels. A thriller about four formerly abused women who rescue presently abused women by completely illegal means. Their methods are controversial, but their motives are not. The main victims in this novel within a series are underage married teenagers from a Fundamentalist LDS polygamy group. It is not the greatest writing on earth. You won't be reading this story for its prose, but its message is clear, and I enjoyed the early morning distraction it gave me over coffee and before the children woke to demand breakfast.

Not fun, but more rewarding than a Boston Creme Doughnut and almost as satisfying as Mass on a Sunday morning...

The First Circle by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. It is the chronicle of a scientist sent to a "soft gulag" for the purpose of harvesting his genius and arresting his free spirit and sense of God. I love everything Solzhenitsyn writes. He is a true genius of modern Russian literature, a Gulag survivor, and a devout Orthodox Christian. However, his words - unlike so many great Russian writers' - are not hard to decipher and you won't get confused trying to understand what he is saying. You will fall easily into the layman's terms for everything, and into the difficult rhythm of Soviet prison life. It is really one of those 600-plus page novels that you will not be able to put down. With each page, you will need to know what happens to this sufferer and that. He sucks you in by vying for your human compassion.

So...enjoy my booknotes. Soon, my latest Reading Stupid For Fun group will meet on my front porch for lemonade and to laugh at how easily our American brains can be amused.