Charity

I thought since my last blog was a little negative, I would like to recount some examples of real charity, as opposed to niceness. I have to say I am all for charity, if anyone wonders.
Charity is a Catholic priest who flies from Denver just about once a month to do retreats and camps even when only 20 boys or fewer show up.
Charity is Mother Teresa, who, unbeknownst to many, was dizzy-sick because of heart trouble for many of those years she picked up people dying of leprosy on the streets of Calcutta. She also spent from 10 p.m. until 2 a.m. or so walking by herself through the streets of Rome when she had been at meetings all day, just to see if she could find anyone who needed help.
Charity is another priest who spent the last two years of his life wearing disguises and hiding from the police in order to bring Holy Communion and other sacraments to people in Communist Mexico, until he was executed on a trumped charge.
Charity is the mother of 12 children, who doesn't get much sleep, or any time to herself, and yet remains cheerful and manages to speak and listen to each child as though he or she were the most precious person on earth.
Charity is the Grandma, who, when she does finally have time to rest, chooses instead to look after her grandchildren occasionally to give mom a break.
Charity is John Paul II, who forgave the man who tried to assassinate him - no, not just forgave, but sat close to him and heard his confession, shielding the man from the camera as he spoke; also who, when urged by many to retire, chose to "stay on the cross" with Jesus. I don't think he ever had one day in all his adult life when he could just say "Think I'll go golfing!" He did exercise sometimes, in order to remain healthy so that he could do everything he had to do. By the way, the personal income of a pope is 0
Charity is the artist and writer and musician who creates something beautiful for God, even if no one else will ever see it.
This is what I would like to do - to learn to be charitable. There is a difference between that and niceness.

This is nice!

One of the facets of being 50-ish is that some persons lose all concern about what others think. I've noticed myself becoming a little teeny weeny bit abrasive on occasion and, yes, we should probably do something about that.
At the same time, one of the things I've been running into recently, is a tenet which many people seem to treat as Holy Writ. It's the eleventh commandment - Thou shalt be nice.
I'm going to be politically incorrect and say "ptuii!"
Are "niceness" and charity synonymous?
I have some dear friends here who are not Christian. They belong to a different world religion altogether, but they are often saying that for them, it's enough if a person is nice and easy to get along with. That's all that matters. But Jesus said "You must be perfect to get to Heaven." Was He kidding, or exaggerating or something? I believe that many people all over the world get to Heaven by doing their best, even if they have never heard of Jesus. That is not the same thing. There are many people who have heard the Truth, but do not stand up for it, do not proclaim it, pretend that it's more important to get along with everyone than to help people to see the Truth. Someone said there's a problem with having a mind so open that all one's brains are falling out.
First, is there a God? Then, is there a Heaven? Then, if we know there is, does charity require us to tell people about it? If people disagree, should we then say "Well, it doesn't matter if it's not your truth?" How can something be my truth and not be your truth?
I know what Uncle Digory would say.*


*This is a reference to The Magician's Nephew, by C.S. Lewis "Logic - what do they teach in these schools!"

I'm in Roller-blader heaven!

Well, the road crew has pulled out of Fox Valley and all the other kinds of wheels are moving in: cars ripping around driven by those who would like to decorate the streets with skid marks, bicyclists, and roller-bladers. David and his cousin Rebecca have been roller-blading all over town having a whale of a time. Now there are several parking lots, countless driveways, as well as streets and sidewalks for a person with wheels - even Mrs. Dirk is no doubt having fun with her electric go-kart.
Hmmm . . . maybe I'll even take up roller-blading. . .

getting a facelift!

Not me - Fox Valley.
A year or so ago, our village council decided to re-do Fox Valley. New pavement on all streets, new parking lots, new sidewalks and boulevards everywhere.
The road crew and the curb crew have been busy for the past few days. They actually weren't both supposed to be working at once, but somebody got held up, so now they have to negotiate with one another about where to work next. It's impossible to get there from here in Fox Valley right now. I was at Mass with the boys the other day and Elena invited us over for coffee. So, I got into the van and drove around and around for twenty minutes and ended up parking by the swimming pool, even further away than I had been when I was in the church parking lot. However, I found some shade at the swimming pool. Later in the day when we were in town again, the boys asked if we could drop something off at the cousins' house. We drove back and forth for a while and decided it wasn't worth the attempt to get there.
This will all be worth it, though, when the streets and sidewalks are all done. You'll have to come by for a tour!

They're doing What in Where???

On Sunday, we went to visit the Cypress Vineyards. Marty and Marie Bohnet are the proprietors, who got the dream, several years ago to start a vineyard and winery in Saskatchewan. They live quite close to the entrance of Fort Walsh and so are hoping to take advantage of the tourists who pass by their gates.
What a beautiful set-up they have! When we visited them a couple of years ago, they had planted two large vineyards of grapes, and had experimented for many years with wine-making, but there was nothing else there except bush, hills and space. Now they have a beautiful bistro, a creek with waterfall, bridges, deck, and plants and an awesome view to boot. In the bistro itself, there are several varied seating arrangements. There are tables, but there are also sofas beside a fireplace, and lots of big windows. There's a large counter or bar where you stand and sample a small amount of all the wines they have available. We sampled rhubarb, sour cherry, saskatoon and grape wine. There are a number of shelves of articles for sale, and many bottles of wine they made. They're hoping to make mead, and have available grape plants to sell. They actually have the grape plants, but they haven't quite got them moved to a spot near their sales area yet.
They've only been open for two weeks, and they've been busy every day. I wish them all the best.

Oh, the rural life!

I've mentioned before our penchant for being unwelcoming, when our son built a cannon from some old scrap metal and parked it on the front lawn. That was when we were missing a front step.
Today the problem would be that we have a dead rat on the front lawn. I thought since I have four sons and I am perfectly willing to clean up Everything Else, I would leave the dead rodents for them.
Okay,I said, I have two little girl piano students coming this afternoon, and the dead rat needs to be gone by then.
Fortunately I have a gallant and brave husband, who doesn't relish taking care of these things, but does it anyway. I hope our dog survives this latest threat to her security. She is the one responsible for delivering these "trophies" to our front lawn. More than once, Peter has said "It's that dog!" She brings legs of deer, cattle, and various indistinguishable body parts to us regularly. Most of these things, the boys will clean up, but rats are where they draw the line.

Is there anyone out there in cyberspace who doesn't mind things like this? There could be money in it for you!

Is chivalry just mostly dead?

Being somewhat out of commission has had its benefits. While I rest my back, I marvel at the willingness with which our boys have taken up the housework gauntlet and run with it. The older two have been washing and drying all the clothes, the younger two are sorting clean laundry, and they've all helped with dishes and tidying and vacuuming. When I go to fetch my boots, there's nearly always someone ready to pull them on for me, and the boys all rush to my side to help me across icy patches.
Nowadays in the world, it seems so very difficult for men to be chivalrous. I mean, if they should attempt it, they are apt to get a fist in the eye from the lady recipient of their deed. It takes a much braver man than usual to be a knight in shining armor. Not only the dragon to contend with...
The other day I was venturing across the icy church parking lot when two of the boys came up, one on either side, to lend me an arm, and a third boy, finding he was too late to help, decided to hold up my "train." (er, coat-tail) I felt royal, even though it probably didn't really look like I imagined it to look.
I'm very glad chivalry is not dead.

Curious Justin Goes to the Hospital

I spent the night before last in the hospital with Justin. We never dreamt when we took him to Maple Creek on Friday to get his eyes and ears checked that the doctor would want to keep him there overnight. He had been complaining for a few days of a bad headache, off and on, and I noticed a slight temperature in the evenings. He felt quite nauseous sometimes, too, so we suspected an ear infection or something.
As it turned out, his throat was infected. The doctor said he might just have had a headache because of the cold he had had, but he was wanting to be careful in case it was a more serious infection, so he wanted to put him on antibiotics intravenously right away.
One of the first things they did on his arrival at the hospital was to give him a gravol shot in the you-know-where to settle his stomach. That was rather painful. Then they put the needle in his left hand for the intravenous, and that didn't work, so they had to do it again in his right hand. After he got all hooked up and named his IV stand "Johnny" ,(please don't take any offence, anybody) he felt quite well. Then we had our usual bedtime routine of prayers and reading, and as he drifted off to sleep, he said "This is so much fun..."
In the children's ward in Maple Creek, they have a whole suite of rooms - the bedroom, where there was just room for him and me; the library, with a table, chairs, and a bunch of books; and the tv room, with Nintendo. We did the rounds quite a few times the next morning while we waited for the doctor to come and tell him he's fine.
Really, the only severe hardship in the whole thing was that McLanes were visiting at the farm and we were missing them. Fortunately, we did get to see them Saturday night and Sunday.
Justin's been enjoying telling everyone about his hospital stay ever since.

Authoship of the aforementioned

Raymond was asking about the authorship of "Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence" and I was going to just comment that the authorship seems uncertain. In my hymnbook, it says the text is from the Liturgy of St. James, translated by Gerard Moultrie. However, since you asked about my poetry, I thought I'd let you hear some of it:

Saskatoon, Saskatoon, my beautiful hometown
Your streets are so vast
Your Co-op store is the best
Plus all the other things you have to invest.

(notice the poetic licence!)
I wrote this a few years ago.

Let all mortal flesh keep silence

Let all mortal flesh keep silence
And with fear and trembling stand;
Ponder nothing earthly minded,
For with blessing in his hand
Christ our God to earth descendeth,
Our full homage to demand.

King of kings, yet born of Mary,
As of old on earth he stood,
Lord of lords in human vesture,
In the body and the blood:
He will give to all the faithful
His own self for heavenly food.

Rank on rank the host of heaven
Spreads its vanguard on the way,
As the Light of light descendeth
From the realms of endless day,
That the powers of hell may vanish
As the darkness clears away.

At his feet the six-winged seraph;
Cherubim with sleepless eye,
Veil their faces to the Presence,
As with ceaseless voice they cry,
Alleluia, alleluia,
Alleluia, Lord most high!

Oh, hi!

In case any of you saw an alien in town a couple of weekends ago, it was me. I was there with my friend, Bev, attending a silent retreat at Queen's House. Once I got there I realized I would not be able to phone anybody, because I couldn't talk, until the last meal, and then it seemed too late to call around. Bev and I went together in her car.
On Sunday she phoned her daughter to say hello and her grandson asked to speak to her. Her daughter said to him "Grandma's at a silent retreat at Queen's House, she can't talk." Then her grandson said "Well...couldn't she go out to the Queen's car and talk?"
It was an excellent weekend, led by the same priest and brother who will be looking after the boys' camp next summer, so it was a good opportunity for me to meet them.

Oh, hi!

In case anybody spotted an alien in town last weekend, it was me.
I was accompanying a friend of mine from Fox Valley on a silent retreat weekend at Queen's House. I didn't phone anyone ahead of time and didn't even think till I got there that while at a silent retreat I would not be able to phone anybody. I called home just to let Peter know I made it there safely, and my voice reverberated throughout the whole building.
It was a good weekend. The legionary priest and brother who led the retreat are the same ones who will be looking after the boys' camp next summer, so it was a good opportunity for me to meet them.
Ate too much, no exercise. I could have gone for a walk on Saturday afternoon, but I was exhausted.
Fr. Shane has a very profound way of putting things. One thing he said was "When Peter ran away after Jesus' arrest, he had to run away on the feet that Jesus washed."
At the end of the weekend, I told my friend that she should just drive home without me, I needed a bit of a jog.

Organ-izing

I feel a little torn tonight. We spent the early part of the evening moving the organ from our parish church into our house. Peter's dad bought the organ to prevent it being sold on e-bay to who-knows-where, and now we get to keep it in our house. This will come in handy because I can practice it, and because our sons and nieces have expressed an interest in learning to play it.
However, I feel a little disappointed that our parish has chosen the trendier electric keyboard over a classic instrument. Sure, you can buy an organ for a song at the moment, because they are not trendy. But they are classic - a few years from now the price will likely go up again, and they will not get a song for their electric keyboard. Also, there has been more beautiful church music written for the organ than almost any other instrument. It has a long tradition in a church filled with gorgeous old hymns that ought not to be forgotten. For example:

Godhead here in hiding, Whom I do adore
Masked by these bare shadows, shape and nothing more,
See, Lord, at Thy service low lies here a heart
Lost, all lost in wonder at the God Thou Art.

by Thomas Aquinas

Now try playing that on an electric keyboard!

a true fact

We've met a few people, all from the Battlefords, and none of them related to us, who use the expression "That's a true fact!"
Seriously, though, is there such a thing as solid, universal truth. I believe there is, of course, but can it be proven or indicated by experience?
I read a book years ago called Peace Child - I don't remember the name of the author - about a missionary couple who went to Papua New Guinea to evangelize a tribe of cannibals and head-hunters. When they first told the story of the Gospel, all the men of the tribe cheered when they heard the part about Judas' betrayal. As it turned out they loved treachery - thought it was the greatest thing when they could stab someone in the back after a peace treaty. That stymied the missionaries temporarily, until one day they witnessed a ceremony they did not at first understand. The chief of the one tribe gave his firstborn son to the chief of the neighbouring tribe. When the pastor asked what it meant, he was told that this was the one act that could put an end to all treachery between the two tribes. Then he was able to teach them that Jesus is the Peace Child given by the Father to the world to make it possible for us to be at peace with the Father.
A friend asked me recently if there is universal truth, if those cannibalistic head-hunting people had any idea that the way they had been living was wrong. I wouldn't know for sure, of course, but I wonder if their former treachery would have been half so "fun" if they hadn't had some realization that it wasn't right.
Are there moral absolutes? I think, like C.S. Lewis, that even people who believe there are no moral absolutes get mighty offended if you try to steal their watch. They also have some sense that if they share their outrage with the world, most people will side with them. Moreover they sleep fairly well at night, knowing that the sweet elderly ladies next door probably won't murder them in their sleep.
Don't we all assume a basic moral code exists?

Anything Worth Doing

One of my most recent pet peeves is the fact that so many conversations are so little worth having. I'm the most pathetic person in the earth to be talking about this, but I wish to rediscover the fine art of initiating and fostering good discussion and conversation. I mean thoughtful, thought-provoking, interesting and worthwhile.
So, to that end, I'm going to quote SOMEONE ELSE since I don't have a clue what to say.
"Anything worth doing is worth doing badly." What do you think?
I think I exemplify this pithy saying to perfection. For example, one of my responsibilities at Daily Mass is to choose and lead the entrance and recessional hymns. I just do it without accompaniment, from where I'm standing, so I don't even have a piano to hide behind. This is not good because I don't have a fine voice. In fact, it is rather pathetic. However, I really want my boys to learn lots of good hymns, and it doesn't really seem to happen elsewhere in our daily lives, so it seems a good opportunity. So, even though I don't do it well, I do it because it seems to me to be worth doing. My nieces, nephew, and sister-in-law like to learn hymns, too.
Fortunately, my husband and my sons have fine voices, so as long as I get everybody started on the right note, they can carry it.
We were always taught that "anything worth doing is worth doing well," and I can see that, too, but the reverse, a quotation from G.K. Chesterton, just cuts the mustard for me.

Poned by Baked Alaska

My son tells me that "poned" means destroyed.
Last Friday, to celebrate the Birth of Mary, I decided to make Baked Alaska. It has the advantage of having an American name, and as a homeschooling project, we are travelling around the world, beginning in America. Then, I decided to make an extra Baked Alaska for my friend, Debbie, who has a birthday on the same day. You see, then I could put "Happy Birthdays" on the top. I have a bad habit of not reading through to the end of recipes. When I finished said dessert, I noticed on the bottom of the recipe the line that says "Serve immediately." Well, I couldn't serve it immediately, Debbie wasn't here, and after a few minutes of sitting on the counter, these B.A.s were already starting to leak ice cream. Then I put them in the deep freeze until we could go to town and deliver the one, and eat the other at my Brother-in-law's house. Then I found out that Debbie has gone away for the week.
Well, we did eat one, and it was more or less edible. Saw Debbie this morning (a week later) and told her about my adventure, and she said she wouldn't have minded eating my mistake. Then I said, "Well, as a matter of fact, I still have it in my deep freeze!" Some of it melted all over my chicken, but the rest is more or less intact.
I think I'll make her something else instead.

Will somebody with an artistic bone in her body please help me?

I'm trying to construct an indoor water garden. So I have the pot and the water and the pump and so far it all just looks like a pump in a pot. Of course I have some plants around it. How do you disguise that big black cord?
What kind of plants can you plant around it to make it look like it just grew there?
I've been noticing lately how nice it is to have running water nearby. Okay I live in the Palliser Triangle. By running water, I mean a water fall or a fountain or a creek or maybe even a leaky tap. It tends to "cool off" a room and help one to relax. We are all running around here in a stressful state, trying to pretend to get something done before school starts, so some running water is definitely in order. Our yard is completely scorched brown, our trees are all turning brown and losing their leaves, and my garden looks like October. However it is still hot as blazes. I can't do much about the out-of-doors, but I thought if I could keep some water going indoors, it might be nice.

Excuse me, that should have been heartily.

Sagebrush studios

Five boys and I (I borrowed a nephew) went to Sagebrush Studios today. It was about an hour and a half trip to their place - a scenic farmsite in the Saskatchewan River valley. Over the course of a few years, Dean Francis and Fran Hartsook have been collecting churches, renovating them and turning them into studios for Dean's paintings and Fran's ceramics. Dean paints prairie scenery - he grew up in the prairies and loves to highlight them in his works.
The most interesting part of the day for the boys was probably the ferry trip at the Estruary crossing. My nephew was afraid he was going to be seasick, but fortunately the trip is only about 30 seconds long, so he was all right.
It was a good day, notwithstanding the terrific heat, and I would hardly recommend you all take a day trip there.

our mad bull

It occurs to me that some of you will not know about our mad bull.
One of our bulls broke one of its hind legs somehow in the community pasture, and so Peter and Mark had to go out with some other men and try to load it into the stock trailer and bring it home. It was acting rather irrationally and being difficult. It charged at Peter and hit him from behind with its head, knocking him to the ground where he scraped his face. Then it turned around and started running toward him as if it was going to trample him, but at the last moment turned aside and ran past.
Eventually they managed to load it and bring it home, but it was a little scary having it around. Peter took it to Medicine Hat, finally, and had it butchered. I think he rather enjoyed staying around and watching it get shot. I do hope there are not any animal rights activists around.