The Ugly Green Monster, or Being content with your own challenges

It is always difficult comparing oneself to others. It is perhaps more difficult not to compare oneself to others. The tendency is one that every parent (every parent, that is, who does not encourage such comparisons) combats as soon as his/her child enters school. "Tommy is 3 pages ahead of me in math!" "Jimmy read 3 books and I'm only on my second!" "Caleb and Cody run faster, and Ruben is a better soccer player!" But in all reality, I think most adults are equally guilty of comparing themselves to others, and that the result of such comparisons is the inevitable envy of others' situations. It is a struggle to remember, at times, that our situations are frequently the results of our own different goals and choices, and that others' challenges may be more difficult than ours, even if their circumstances seem better in one way or another.

This is something I have struggled with ever since coming to Texas. The standards by which native Texans judge life--especially the financial aspects of life--are radically different from how I understood things growing up in New Orleans. Graduate students still being supported by their parents and grandparents provided my first great shock, but I think this difference really gelled for me when a friend's husband remarked that he didn't think they were yuppies yet, but that he hoped to be so one day. To me, the term "yuppie" represented something like Matthew Arnold's use of the term "Philistine" in Culture and Anarchy, or the term bourgeois to societies that value aristocratic culture. To him, "yuppie" represented a standard of income and comfort to which he aspired. As I remarked to a student the other day when we were discussing graduate school and income, specifically, the idea that some B.A. degrees have a greater payout than many graduate degrees, it definitely depends on your perspective whether a graduate degree is "worth it." My family already earns more than my family's income when I was growing up (inflation notwithstanding), and my mother had 6 children. I am only on #3.

Though I have stopped panicking about the financial aspect of this pregnancy, having found that my insurance will probably only require us to pay about $600 for every aspect of this pregnancy and delivery, it will not be easy on us to have #3 at this stage. We just decided that we could afford #2, when we were confronted with the choice, shortly after her birth: reconcile with the USDEd or be garnished. (Forbearances fell through the cracks.) We considered ourselves to be doing pretty well, comparatively. We were better off financially than we ever had been since marriage. My husband's job was more stable (since he gave up the teaching that he enjoyed) and he was guaranteed a paycheck 12 months of the year (which I am not). So I was shocked when a friend of mine, newly married herself, devoutly Catholic, a great advocate of NFP who considered me an NFP "success" when I became pregnant shortly after becoming Catholic, presented me with a couple of shopping bags of baby "gifts"--chosen from the crisis pregnancy center where her Dad worked. Was I to be a charity recipient? I in no way felt like I was the person for whom those goods were intended. I was married, my pregnancy was "planned". . . I could only assume that she either believed that my daughter was an NFP success because I was "open to," but not necessarily trying to achieve, pregnancy, or that we were too poor to be able to afford another baby. Either impression was disturbing.

Inevitably, when one is close friends with people, particularly, it seems, with couples, one becomes acquainted with their financial situations. In the case of this friend and her now-husband, I know that they planned meticulously (albeit quickly) for marriage by taking stock of their various resources, considering their compatibility and God's will--things that it would not have occurred to me to do, and which, if considered carefully, would have contraindicated marriage because of our financial situations at the time. So we came to realize that these newlyweds, who did not have children and did not have to pay rent because of an arrangement with the homeowner, made roughly twice our income. Other friends exceeded our income by something like three times, but did not feel financially secure enough to have a family, in spite of their significant lack of debt. We have always struggled. It may have been wrong to compare ourselves to others who did not choose graduate school, or who did not finish or work continuously towards the degree the way I have. But the comparison was inevitable, and the seeming unfairness of the situation preyed on my mind. It also puts one at a disadvantage in a friendship to feel as though, if your friends can't afford a child at $100K, how can they respect your decision to have a second at $40K?

I have discussed elsewhere the dilemma of helping relatives who need financial assistance after being displaced by Hurricane Katrina. We pay for two cars, but only have use of one.

Things will not be easy, and I am still over a year away from the possibility of a tenure-track job, though all the instruments we have agree that motherhood decreases a woman's chance of achieving tenure, either because of her own decisions in the matter or others' prejudices. Fatherhood, by contrast, according to an article I can no longer find, increases the man's chance of advancing in academia, providing his fatherhood is a subtle aspect of his persona. My husband had to abandon the possibility Ph.D. a while back, in support of my own Ph.D. (though perhaps not permanently). So I'm pretty much our hope for any increase in income. Later, not now.

And here I am, working on #3.

The question occurs to me, once again. . . What is the role of Divine Intervention in financial matters? There are many whose blogs I have read, notably Jen at Et tu, Jen?, as well as commentors on a previous post of mine, who believe explicitly and implicitly that God does provide materially and in tangibly noticeable, even dramatic, ways. I have always experienced it as a slow inching, by degrees, to a slightly more preferable state, followed by a number of setbacks like a seized tax return after loan consolidation paperwork fell through, or sabotage by graduate coordinator of the Ph.D. program that my husband would have graduated from by now, or the sabotage of a willful department head who could not see why someone with a family and an excellent teaching record deserves to teach, and be paid for, the full-load of 4 classes instead of 1.

If I accept my own view of things, that God does not directly intervene in financial matters, but provides for our needs in other ways, I can not account for others' financial-relief-though-prayer stories. However, if I accept others' faith in God's provision for our material needs--in some cases, wants--I am faced with the dilemma not of why my needs are not met, but why others, in worse situations than mine, do not have the benefit of divine intervention. As for myself, I have either to conclude that I lack constancy in prayer and faith in this particular area of God's mercy, or that my situation is not bad enough to merit Divine Intervention, which I can accept, but I know that there are more pious people than I who are very, very desperately poor.

This was not intended to be a post primarily about finances, however, but about envy, comparing oneself to others, and finally preferring one's own challenges.

There are many other occasions that arise that encourage one to compare oneself to others. Mothers everywhere discuss childbirth experiences, early feeding issues, jaundice. . . I have twice had friends less experienced than I with breastfeeding spared the agony I faced with a child who would not wake up to nurse--who lost a pound of her birthweight while I waited for my milk to arrive. Whose doctors did not have to push formula, and who did not make them feel deficient. Baby and I survived these trials, and more. And it is difficult to see others breeze through. . . Except that one of my friends had to travel 3 hours in the days after her son was born to spend time with her father in his last days. She found that she was pregnant about the time that he learned that he had cancer, and had little if any hope of it being cured. So her unplanned pregnancy resulted in her father being able to see his new grandchild before he died. What a gift! And had she had to struggle with my new baby struggles, her ability to find time for her father would have been compromised. My other friend who has wonderfully had unparalleled success with breastfeeding almost lost her baby due to complications, endured an emergency C-section, and had a terribly emotionally taxing pregnancy even before the onset of health concerns for the baby. Her positive breastfeeding experience has allowed her a measure of comfort in all of this. It is impossible to feel actual envy in the face of these circumstances, and it helps to be able to recognize that our difficulties are our own, unique to us, given to us with a recognition of what we are capable of handling, and from what we will benefit most in our particular circumstances.

Since finding I was pregnant, I have found more blogs discussing--often in grim detail--the emotional and physical pain of miscarriage than I ever suspected existed. I already knew of 3 fellow-graduate students who suffered miscarriages since I was pregnant with my daughter. This is not healthy reading for someone in her 9th week of pregnancy, but it does make it clear to me that my feelings about this baby--and this pregnancy--are not ambiguous. I did not expect that they would be, but being confronted with it concretely is a blessing of sorts. In the midst of my sadness and sympathy for others, I realize that I prefer my own challenges, and pray that I will not have to face what they have bravely endured.

Similarly, the financial burdens I have are ones to which I am fairly accustomed at this point. They weigh me down. They are ugly. They seem inescapable--and may well be. But they are my own challenges. I have a wonderful, supportive husband who understands me and does not demean me or my experiences in any way. We both value much in life above money, and we will hopefully teach our children this attitude. Likely we are not as generous as we could be, but since we both returned to the Church, this has been improving. It is difficult to be generous when one's mind is focused on one's own financial troubles! We love one another and our children. We will accept this new life with excitement. We have goals that are non-financial that may be within reach! So at the end of the day, the comparisons between our life and the lives of our friends do not hold up. We are living as we have chosen to live in many ways; we accept our own challenges and are satisfied.

ADDENDUM--Here is the source for my comments about academic motherhood and fatherhood, above, from The New Republic's Open University blog feature. Evidently the same search term yielded this result and one of my posts! It never ceases to amaze me how the web works. . .

Children and the Naughty Kinds of Sin

Melanie of Wine Dark Sea has this observation to make while discussing a point raised by Amanda Witt on Keeping Children Innocent When Lesbians Move In:

People complain about the lack of homilies about homosexuality, birth control, abortion, pornography and all the other hot-button cultural issues. But a priest must discern how to speak pointedly on the issues and yet not strip the children in the congregation of their innocence. By speaking about the principles rather than the details I think priests could address the issues that need to be addressed. Also, I think most priests could benefit by talking more to parents and hearing about their concerns, finding out about what they need to hear about.

This struck a chord with me after a homily two weeks ago, when the priest, usually very theoretical, and still more theoretical than he could have been, elaborated for an eternity about the sin of the woman taken in adultery, and the sins of her accusers, who, he pointed out, likely derived some perverted pleasure from the act of watching her so closely as to be able to catch her in the act. He discussed marital infidelity in society, and how the injured party is frequently attempting to heal a breach that s/he doesn't even know occurred (or it might have been the guilty party who tries to make amends for the sin the other does not realize s/he committed. It got a bit fuzzy.) There was also some mention of impure acts and how society encourages them. At any rate, I was dreadfully worried that the 10-year-old would ask me the meaning of "adultery" or any number of other terms. I needn't have feared. In this case he had the insight that I possessed as a child--knowing when NOT to ask about a subject. However, my husband and I didn't ask what particularly he liked when he mentioned that he liked the homily. I should probably mention that this was a post-Spring Break homily.

If I were a poem. . .

Though the poetry itself is rather bad (I could do better--and have), it is nice to know that this fun, but totally random little quiz identified me as the verse employed by Dante in the Commedia. Give it a whirl! Hat tip to Melanie of The Wine Dark Sea Blog!

I'm terza rima, and I talk and smile. Where others lock their rhymes and thoughts away I let mine out, and chatter all the while. I'm rarely on my own - a wasted day Is any day that's spent without a friend, With nothing much to do or hear or say. I like to be with people, and depend On company for being entertained; Which seems a good solution, in the end. What Poetry Form Are You?

Nostalgia: The Early Years of Cable TV

Every now and then I remember something from my childhood that requires investigation with the powers of the internet. Usually these are television shows. Occasionally, I have investigated toys that I owned--with the result that I now own once again, thanks to eBay, a Yoda that functions as a Magic 8-Ball that my mom bought me for Christmas when I was about 5. I desperately wanted Star Wars action figures and the Darth Vadar carrying case. But Yoda was a pretty cool substitution. Did anyone else have Princess Leia Underoos? Oh, yes, and Wonder Woman, too. And perhaps Bat Girl and Super Girl. I suspect that these may be memories I share with AmyReads! After all, how could such a devoted comic book fan be raised without Wonder Woman Underoos?

My all-time favorite memories of early cable involve Fraggle Rock. After a friend in the graduate program introduced me to eBay several years ago--perhaps as many as 6 or 7 years ago--I supplemented my 1990s VHS of Fraggle Rock with the original HBO Video releases from the 80s. It was a happy day when Fraggle Rock was released on DVD, and an even happier day when they were released on DVD as complete seasons--I am waiting anxiously for season 3. There was a time when I could hardly find anyone who remembered Fraggle Rock, but as people my age became primary consumers, and those younger became interested in the 80s, either as a partial remembered decade, or as my friends in high school looked back to the 60s and 70s, Fraggle Rock shirts, patches and such surfaced in the trendier stores.

With the easy availability of Fraggle Rock (there are even dolls available in Target!--I have some of the 1980s fraggle dolls, played-with, but in good shape), I turn occasionally to old Nickelodeon cartoons. My siblings remember well some of the children's shows that were on in the late 80s--"David the Gnome," "Eureeka's Castle," "Sharon, Lois and Bram's Elephant Show"--which I watched with them on occasion, when I was home from school. My memory even extends back to the really weird days of Nickelodeon, with the science-fiction-esque "The Third Eye" (which was too creepy for me--I was probably about 5). Some of the shows I enjoyed, but were either short-lived or aired in the early morning, were "Belle and Sebastian," "Danger Mouse," and "The Mysterious Cities of Gold." The latter was aired a bit later than the other two, and of the three, my favorite was "Belle and Sebastian"--a dubbed anime based on a series of French novels about a young boy and his Great Pyrenees dog, Belle. (It occurred to me recently that two of the names I have seriously considered for offspring have been, well, Belle--Isabelle--and Sebastian!) The boy was in search of his mother, a gypsy, and on the run from authorities, who confused the gentle (but huge) Belle with the violent "Pyrenees Monster"--a dog who terrified villages. Classic! Unfortunately, the only copies I have found of the series available for purchase are clear bootlegs. :( At least the vendor is honest about it--he digitized them himself. And matters are further confused by the presence of a band called Belle and Sebastian. Hmph.

Tonight, my husband threatened to call our daughter "DG"--for "DangerGirl"--after she balanced herself on an inverted toy pail. And suddenly I remembered Danger Mouse! (DM, as he was known by his assistant Penfold.) These were the early days of Nickelodeon, before Alanis Morissette had even heard of oral sex! (we hope) To my surprise, there is not only a dangermouse.org, the complete series is available on DVD! I rather think that they wouldn't be as funny as they used to be, but British humor being what it is, I could be wrong! There was also a spinoff called "Count Duckula" that was amusing--a vegetarian vampire duck. Hah! Both incredibly British.

This has been a fun if pointless ramble down memory lane. I welcome any of your own fond memories of Nickelodeon, early cable, or whatever! I am also a huge Sesame Street fan (before the rise of Elmo), and received the "Old School" Sesame Street DVDs for Christmas! My daughter & I have fun watching Sesame Street and Fraggle Rock during the day, though she is developing an odd preference for A&E's Pride and Prejudice. Unlike some of us, it's the music and not Colin Firth that attracts her!

Thinking about Leisure

Andrew Greely, in his book The Catholic Imagination, makes the point that Catholics (by which he means cultural Catholics rather than strictly practicing Catholics) have a different concept of time, in particular, of leisure time, than non-Catholics. Basically, Catholics, in unconscious defiance of the Protestant "work ethic," place more value on time away from work than on time working. Not that we don't see value in work, but work is a means to an end--often an end that has to do with the accumulation of time to engage in other activities, be they familial, spiritual, intellectual, whatever. This rings true for me, as it does (I'm sure) for anyone from New Orleans. We don't live to work, we work to live. And many of us try to find the type of work that most closely resembles leisure in which to engage.

Considering that Spring Break just ended for the university at which I teach, and considering that very little of what I did during that week was "leisure" in the strictest definition, it seemed a good time to reflect on these things--or at least, to have the students reflect on these things! So I had them do blogs for the week on Spring Break and leisure. I asked them to consider Spring Break from a non-student perspective, and ask themselves who benefits from Spring Break. On the topic of leisure, I asked them to interpret it creatively. Well, I had to clarify somewhat, and this is how I did so:

Spring Break

By having you reflect on Spring Break, I was trying to induce you to get outside of yourselves a bit. Yeah, Spring Break is a great time to have fun, but do you think for one minute that the university, in gracious recognition of how hard you work, decides that you deserve this time off? Don't bet on it!! The university administration works a lot harder than you do, and puts in regular 40 hour work weeks, yet staff and faculty in administrative positions don't get a full week off. So what? Are they trying to get rid of you for a week? Vacations are great and all, but businesses don't regularly just give their employees a whole week to do with as they choose--so Spring Break clearly isn't a reflection of how life is in the real world. Employees have to "earn" vacation time over a set period of time and then ask permission to be able to take off even a few days, much less a week. So why are you, as college students, so privileged? And what about schools that don't offer Spring Break? Schools that, instead, have quarter systems to squeeze as much classroom time into the shortest number of months? Do they value education more than those schools that do have a Spring Break? Basically, who is Spring Break benefiting--besides the students? Because I can't imagine that the universities believe that you work too hard or that you can't get enough time to do what you want in the semester and you need a whole week to party. After all, what are Thursdays through Saturdays or Sundays for??

leisure time

This question was intentionally vague, but I believe it may have been
too vague. To answer that leisure time is time to relax is like
saying that recreational activities are things that people do to have
fun. The only possible response is. . . Um. . . yeah. Of course. So
let's get beyond that a bit. Things I'm interested in hearing about are:

* who has leisure?
* are some people deprived of leisure?
* does everyone deserve leisure?
* does everyone need leisure?
* is leisure a right?
* do all people WANT leisure? (regardless of whether they need
it or not)
* are there right and wrong ways to use leisure?
* are we as a society supportive of leisure?
* is too much leisure a bad thing?
* do we take leisure for granted?
* I think Ben Franklin may have been the one to say "idle hands
are the devil's workshop"--what does that say about leisure? are
there people who still believe this, and if so, in what contexts?

I'm hoping that this will get them to probe a little more deeply into both of these questions. Of course, there are arguments implicit in my questions. And clearly I can be a bit of a hard ass sometimes. . . (Pardon the expression)

I'm back. . . and where I've been

For Spring Break I took a trip to Louisiana to visit my grandmother, who has been suffering from a strange condition. She has had near-constant recurring UTIs, but more disturbing has been her severe memory loss. My siblings, mother & I were summoned to visit her by relatives who feared that she wouldn't know us if we did not visit soon. A day or so before our visit, she was hospitalized upon the discovery, by my aunt, of a staph infection in her hand that the nursing home where she has been by doctor's orders neglected. It is perhaps a testimony to her physical strength that she was able to recover from the infection. Incredibly, our visit marked a turn for the better. She was able to remember things--specifically, she remembered that we were coming and asked my aunt if she had seen me on the evening I was supposed to arrive! She conversed with us almost like normal, with only a couple of lapses of memory like losing one's train of thought. She particularly enjoyed glimpses of my son and daughter--her only great-grandchildren (so far). On Friday, before we left, I told her my new news, and she was "tickled," as she said. My husband and I discussed the possibility that knowing the news would give her some hope--something to look forward to, perhaps.

Unfortunately, she was released from the hospital to the nursing home the same day, and relatives have said that she had taken a turn for the worst as of yesterday. I am left to wonder whether the downturn is because she is away from the IV in the hospital, or because of the psychological pain of being in that environment. It is a sad condition. I am left to wonder why she was not treated sooner for the staph infection--was the nursing home staff unconcerned because of the possibility that they would, by neglecting the infection, provide a bed for a new resident? This is cynical on my part, I know, but as a nurse told my aunt, a healthy young person may have been able to wait for a doctor's visit to see about the infection, but not a weakened 77-year-old woman. Her own parents lived well into their 90s and retained their mental faculties; I hate to think that she would accomplish less, or that her mind would deteriorate while her body remained strong (relatively speaking).

I was able to spend only one evening with my aunts and cousins, and only one full day in Louisiana, though I would have liked to spend more--the other two were spent in transit. We have been rather estranged because of distance and circumstance, misunderstandings among siblings, hard feelings because of missed visits, and any manner of petty things. But we are not ones to hold grudges, at least not for long. Interesting that this week's gospel reading should have been the prodigal son. . .

At any rate, I am back now, with obligations fulfilled, though perhaps only minimally and not quite satisfactorily. But such is contemporary life, when in spite of our increased ability to travel quickly, the demands on our time are such as to limit even further our ability to spend time as we would like to do--particularly when sentiment and not profession motivates us.

Update--I didn't need to read this account of a nursing home experience, but on the other hand, it answers some of the questions in my post. I really wish there were a way for my grandmother to go home NOW. If this is what she is facing daily, it's no wonder her mind does not want to resist the decline.

I AM, I am: A Rare Reflection on a Homily

In general, I tend to be slightly frustrated with homilies, even fairly good ones. The composition teacher in me wants to ask, "where is your thesis?"; to comment, "you introduce too many ideas in that paragraph" and "your composition lacks focus," "you repeat your point rather than elaborating" or "did you exceed the maximum word limit?" I generally prefer compositions that are too long to too short, as long as they remain on-topic with no unexplainable digressions. I do think there is some value in critiquing homilies, even in this manner, because it requires the ability to summarize or restate what the point or points were, with the possible result that we review and analyze the points of the homilies themselves, not just the possible structural imperfections! (Yes, we are paying attention to substance, too!--perhaps more than when I grade papers...)

This evening, the homily was given by a deacon who endeavors to stick close to and explain the readings, sometimes a bit too literally or pedantically, but I generally appreciate the effort to connect the readings to each other, to the particular feast day or liturgical season, or to the theology that they inform. He focused primarily on the first reading, from Exodus, in which Moses encounters the Burning Bush (a scene of Ten Commandments fame, and it's hard not to picture Charlton Heston--or, secondarily, Michelangelo's Moses). Particularly, he addressed the name by which Moses would call God as proof of his truth to the Israelites: I AM. In contrast the the great I AM, he recounted occasions on which no one answered "I am," occasions on which someone was asked to take personal responsibility for one's actions: "Who is responsible for the underwear up the flagpole?" "Who is responsible for moving the teacher's Volkswagon onto the sidewalk?" "Who is responsible for the mess in the kitchen?" He pointed out that society doesn't particularly like for us to answer the question, "Who is responsible?" with the response, "I am," particularly in the case of sins, which are increasingly explained as being something other than sin.

What he did not say was, I think, the most interesting point of the homily, the one which I would have tried to coax from the student writing an essay on the subject (in another life, when I have the occasion to grade a composition on a religious theme--my students would willingly write them, but I could not, in my current setting, fairly grade them because of the hogwash that they would offer for religious justification; in order to have an intelligent composition on religion, you likely have to have the ability to discuss religion openly in class as a valid topic, and to stress that religion and logic are compatible). The Deacon did not say, but I believe implied on some level, that by taking responsibility for our actions, by saying "I am" to the question, "Who is responsible?" we are able to participate in the Divine purpose in our lives, and in the Divine presence in the universe--by being the "I am"--the motivating force in our own lives, the moral agent that takes responsibility for our own actions--and doing so in accordance to our understanding of God's will, we are reaching for the "I AM." This can apply to any number of instances, and it has to do, at times, with participating in (or facilitating) the good that may come from evil and sin. Here, I clearly diverge from the homily, and I am thinking of two things--the "doing evil to undo evil" arguments for legalization of abortion, as a default argument, of sorts, and an extreme example to explain the point, and the co- or sub-creation within Creation that Tolkien portrays in The Silmarillion.

In The Silmarillion, Tolkien creates the Valar as sub-creators, whom Ilúvatar created in order to participate with him in Creation. Each of the Valar sings a part in the beginning melody, a song which brings about the actual substance of the universe. Melkor, the greatest of the Valar, seeks to challenge Ilúvatar (sorry for the oversimplification), and weaves discordant sounds into the melody in an attempt to take control of it himself, but each time, Ilúvatar is able to create still greater music and harmony out of the discord. This idea of creating beauty out of discord is extremely significant for Tolkien, and is a profound reflection on the Doctrine of Original Sin and the Incarnation. I understand the Great I AM, the underlying responsibility for the universe, in these or similar terms.

It is in reference to the personal "I am" that I invoke the problem of abortion. I invoke above, reluctantly, but because they are the most visible and dramatic example of the theology I am trying to invoke, the arguments that abortion should be permitted in the cases of rape and incest. The justification is typically seen by those who oppose abortion in all cases, on moral grounds, as seeking to "fix" an evil situation by acting in a manner that is intrinsically evil. In my terms, when asked, "Who is willing to take responsibility for this new life?" it is the refusal (or inability, in the face of the evil situation) to answer, "I am." The "I am" is not the answer, in these cases, to the question, "Who is responsible for creating this new life?" (The answer to that would be "I AM.") In this situation, the personal "I am" is having the strength (admittedly, such an act of responsibility would take considerable strength, and there is no way of knowing if any one of us would be equal to the task) to be responsible for transcending the evil, and participate in the Divine task of turning discord into beauty.

I am a strong believer in personal responsibility, and it is easy enough to recognize in perhaps the majority of elective abortions, the refusal, supported by numerous discourses, to take responsibility for one's own actions. But in the case of the usual exceptions, rape and incest, it is more difficult. The obvious answer is, "you can't answer evil with evil," but that answer is only partly satisfactory, and has always left me wondering whether there might be another way to answer this to address the injustice of making someone who is not, through an act of her own will, responsible for the situation take responsibility for the actions of another. (Notice I do not seek to answer the anticipated objection, "Well, is the Church going to support this child for her?"--The question is not relevant.) This is not where this post was meant to go, but it is, as I said, the most obvious example of being the remedy to a sin that is not one's own. Taking responsibility for one's own sins, the actual subject of the homily, is more straightforward. Furthermore, when one's personal sin yields a good result, it is not an excuse for the sin, but evidence of the turning of discord into beauty, and hence, a revelation of Divine goodness--the "I AM" behind the "I am."

It was a Lenten homily, and also a Spring Break homily, perhaps intended to save the priests time in the confessional before Easter listening to tales of Galveston. For me, it made sense of a puzzling passage--why "I AM," anyway? Was it just a Hebrew thing that didn't translate well?--and some puzzling moral issues, and provided a much longed-for excuse to blog about Tolkien. All in all, a successful homily!

P.S.--Part of the curse of teaching composition is that abortion is the ready-made example for EVERYTHING!

Quick Lenten Meals #3: Fusion Shrimp Wraps

Disclaimer: Unlike my previous recipes, this recipe depends on the availability of certain packaged foods in your area. But as it is likely that suitable substitutions can be found, I will post this anyway, so that it doesn't look like I'm slacking! ;)

Ingredients

Frozen, fully cooked shrimp (number of shrimp depends on number of portions desired)
1 Tbsp butter
garlic granules (optional)
1 jar of Archer Farms Peach-Pineapple Salsa (from Target)
1 box Marrakesh Express Mango Salsa CousCous (if you can't find it locally, here is a website that carries it)
1 can black beans
flour tortillas

Habanero tabasco (optional)

1. Prepare couscous according to package directions. Black beans can be drained, rinsed, and put into the couscous water to cook together, which produces a good flavor but grey couscous, or warmed separately and mixed after cooking. (I prefer the first option!)

2. Melt butter in a saucepan. Add garlic granules if desired. Sauté shrimp in butter until warm. Do not overcook or your shrimp will be tough to chew. Some of the water from the frozen shrimp should cook out at this stage.

3. Add desired amount of Peach-Pineapple salsa. Add habanero tabasco, which contains mango puree, to taste. Continue to cook until salsa is warmed and shrimp flavor permeates. Remove from heat.

4. Warm tortillas in a frying pan. Assemble couscous, beans, and salsa-shrimp mixture. Enjoy!

Family Values and Other Meditations on Children's Literature

Recently, I ordered the set of Little House books from the Scholastic Book Club. I decided that having a daughter and finding them at a reasonable price were sufficient reasons to buy the series I read as a young child, then as an older child, and as a teen--the only set I read nearly as often as The Chronicles of Narnia, though the two series are worlds apart (no pun intended) in genre. Looking desperately for something to read yesterday that was relaxing and not too challenging, and rejecting, for the moment, A Canticle for Leibowitz, which I recently bought from the Second Chance Book Adoption (thanks, Chris!), as being too post-apocalyptic, and therefore potentially too thought-provoking, I remembered the Little House books, unwrapped, but still untouched. So last night, I selected These Happy Golden Years, the book in which Laura is courted by and marries Almanzo, and in which she teaches school for the first time.

Predictably, the novel was thought provoking. After all of these years, I had forgotten few events, but some of the descriptions of the events stood out for me anew. After spending her first full week at home after a dismal experience boarding with the head of the school board and his wife during her first teaching job, Laura reflects on the contrast between her own home and the Brewsters':

But best of all were the mornings and the evenings at home. Laura realized that she had never appreciated them until now. There were no sullen silences, no smoldering quarrels, no ugly outbursts of anger.

It was with a shock that I realized that this was precisely the difference between the home my husband and I have made, and the one in which I grew up. These sentences may mean nothing to my children when they read them, or else they will sympathize with Laura without knowing exactly what she has experienced. To me, they summarized a contrast I have felt within my own life, and for which I am grateful. My mother has not yet escaped that past, and I fear that there is little I can do to help her. Similarly, in Little Town on the Prairie, the "ordinary" (stereotypically Irish, perhaps) quarreling of the Clancys, by whom Laura is employed as a seamstress, disturbs her because the behavior is so foreign to her: Laura was so upset that she could not eat, she wanted only to get away.

A meditation followed:

So much of children's literature these days is intended as self-help, of the pop-psychology variety, intended to make children recognize, and perhaps wallow in, the short-comings of the world around them. Rather than displaying personal strength and the ability to meet challenges, they portray children who "need help" in order that the "actual" child reader will know what it means to "need help." I welcome an assessment of this by someone with experience helping troubled children professionally; I venture to assert that having similar experiences in which to wallow would compound rather than alleviate one's own problems, and that stories that show magical solutions to real world problems are still more damaging. I did not need a story to tell me that my family was dysfunctional, and I did not need a story to validate that being dysfunctional was O.K.--it was not O.K., and acknowledging that may have given me the ability to change my own life accordingly. Though I never thought of the stories in this way, the Little House Books, by holding up an ideal, may have allowed me an escape from our family situation, and shown me what could be possible through mutual respect between husband and wife, parent and child.

A further context for this meditation is my son's recent experience of reading the award-winning, but to my mind wholly unsuitable Each Little Bird That Sings, which centers on the life of a family of undertakers, children who are confronted with the death of strangers and who must, in the course of the book, confront the deaths of two elderly relatives and a beloved dog. The baby, probably not much older than my daughter, sings about people being dead to the tune of nursery rhymes. I'm sure this is all very "helpful" to children's psyches. However, my 10-year-old was soberly meditating on the fear of death after reading this wonderful piece of children's literature. At his Catholic school, he should be taught more about the meaning of death in the context of eternity than in the context of worldly fears. In the Little House Books, he would be learning about the challenges of life, and how they contribute to its wonder and joy. I may be naïve in preferring the latter to the former; nevertheless, I feel that it holds more value to the human person.

The Little House Books also offer useful lessons in generosity, albeit towards one's family only. I have a difficult time understanding where taking care of one's own (extended) family fits with Catholic ideals of generosity and charitable giving. Is giving to one's family being charitable? Some would say not. If caring for one's family precludes one's ability to give generously to strangers, does it fulfill one's obligations for charity? I am not well acquainted with Catholic social teaching, so I do not have the answers.

My brother has expressed his resentment--in words and actions--that he has had to share in the financial responsibility of the household. Admittedly, he is 18, the 5th of 6 children, but his venom is great, and does not fit with how we lived when I was part of the household and he was young--he was only 7 when I married. Without elaborating on the situation, my mother's unstable financial state has been further weakened by health concerns. In this college town, my brother has been exposed to a world in which undergraduates drive Lexus and BMW and Mercedes; more moderate incomes drive Mustangs. To not have a car to oneself at 18 is the exception rather than the rule. Talk is cheap, and money is cheaper. He has been well poisoned, who used to be generous.

In the Little House Books, Laura willingly and gratefully takes on jobs that she hates--that intimidate her, expose her to danger and unpleasantness, jobs that keep her in town from dawn until dusk, though only for short periods of weeks at a time--in order to contribute to her family's efforts to send her sister to the college for the blind in Iowa. She feels a deep sense of contentment, upon leaving to be married, at having contributed to her family, and feels able to leave and feel satisfied at having material things of her own because she has been able to give of herself to her family. In contemporary children's (or young adult) literature, would generosity or selfishness prevail? Which do we need more in today's world?

Putting things into perspective. . .

I ran across this post, Some Thoughts on Motherhood, on the Wine-Dark Sea blog, as I followed the Darwins' request for prayers on behalf of Melanie Bettanelli, who faces cancer in the aftermath of a miscarriage. The post fits with an overall theme of mine--the vocation of motherhood, on which I hope one day to have non-reactionary observations to post! It also puts a number of things into perspective, particularly as it deals with the grief of losing a child, which is perhaps something most (?) expectant mothers fear on some level, myself included. I can't summarize my reactions, though the words "shame" and "sympathy" come to mind, and perhaps "humility"--my recognition of another person's humility and the experience of being humbled by another's experience.

I appreciated another post on Wine-Dark Sea titled Lent on God's Terms, which is also relevant to how I've been feeling this Lenten season (she thinks, realizing she has just eaten a Lenten candy bar). It is a feeling many I know have shared; it's as if somehow we were not, collectively, ready for Lent--at least several of the Catholics I have read, spoken to, or emailed. In my case, I have not felt particularly spiritual since well before my Toddler and the Mass post. Perhaps these posts will lead me to a new era of maternal spirituality. Certainly, I have a new incentive to pray.

Pregnancy Anxieties, part 1

At the time that I wrote my two blogs about Catholic moms, careers, and unplanned pregnancies, I had a strong suspicion that I was pregnant with my third child. Turns out, I am. If you know me in the world outside the blog, please don't mention it just yet, as I am not quite ready for the news to go public (especially since my first doctor's appointment isn't until April 2, and I'm always rather afraid of something bad happening in the meantime). Also, pleeeeease don't make with the Catholic jokes until later. I can't really handle them right now. You can save them for the series of posts I'm planning: one in which I ask for people to say happy, excited, cheerful things; one in which I ask for people to tell me all of the obnoxious things that people tell to women who are pregnant--especially who are pregnant again, too soon, and then perhaps one that asks about Catholic large family jokes or even perhaps blessings. I need all of the blessings I can get!

You see, I really wasn't ready. I thought I would perhaps wait until my daughter was 4 or 5--after all, her brother was about to turn 9 when she was born. I wanted to determine how her very strong little personality would develop for a while, and I feared that she would be a "middle child"--the attention-seeker who feels persecuted by his/her siblings and parents. I did not want this for her. She has a sweet disposition, but has entered the most frustrating age!! I remember being frustrated with her brother at this age, and the frustration didn't lessen until he was 4 or 5, though the later frustration was perhaps a symptom of his ability to communicate rather than the inability, which is what we are facing now. She is very needy, and wants my (usually) or my husband's (frequently) attention most of the time. Brother is a big help, but it is a real challenge to keep her happy these days. I also need to investigate the possibility that she has recurrent urinary tract infections, a fear with which the doctor poisoned my mind when she had a UTI at about 9 months. The "asserting her will" phase is further complicated by the fact that my house is NOT baby proof--not even remotely baby proof--not baby proof in any sense of the word. So all is not well in toddler-land.

I worry that no one will be excited for me. That I will be greeted with pity, which, I believe, has already happened. That I will be regarded as foolish. That those who express joy will harbor a secret pleasure in seeing me humbled. I did not have a baby shower with my daughter on purpose, because I didn't know who would come anyway, and it was never custom in New Orleans to have a baby shower for a second pregnancy. But for this one, I feel like I might like one. This might be because a baby shower forces people to at least pretend to be happy for the pregnant mother. I was most insistent that I receive a baby shower for my son, also unplanned, but more so, and so dreadfully afraid (with reason) that no one would step forward to give it that I organized it myself, for the most part. Perhaps I felt confident enough in myself not to need other people being happy for me with my daughter--they were already, and it didn't necessarily matter, because I was happy.

Which perhaps brings me to the real cause for my anxiety over what others will say. Anyone who knows me will know that I rarely care for other's opinions. Except that I feel, in spite of the fact that I am happily married, a deep sense of embarrassment and shame. Because, as I mentioned before, intelligent, mature women don't have accidents. I don't really believe that, but that is what feminism would have us believe, isn't it? And regardless of the issues I have with feminism, it's hard to eject the poison from our consciousnesses. The Catholic arguments aren't really working for me, because as a self-styled intellectual and a long-time skeptic, I have deep reservations about doing, feeling, or thinking something because a religion tells you to do so. Conversion or no conversion, I can't purge something so closely embedded in the fiber of my being--or at least I haven't been able to do so yet. This is a point that was not helped by the homily I heard on Sunday, in which the priest discussed ecumenism. He mentioned that while we believe that the Catholic Church holds within itself all of the necessary elements of salvation, that we share with other denominations some of the elements necessary for salvation. While his point was that we can enter dialogue through this common ground, it rather sounded like, if you can't be Catholic, other options can lead you to salvation also. While this is the grounds according to which Catholics recognize the potential for those outside of the Church to achieve Salvation (an idea my mother was not taught in parochial schools), it is not necessarily something that one wants to banter about to Catholics who are feeling discouraged. And as if to illustrate the point, I saw someone in my department yesterday whom I know to have been ordained a Catholic priest. He left the clergy, married, and is now an Episcopalian priest (and a conservative one, from all accounts). So instead of regarding him and wondering the reason for his decision, albeit a difficult decision, this homily allowed me to see the rationale according to which he must have acted, making the choice for the love of his now-wife that he felt, from the weakness of our common human condition, to be necessary at the time. There is, of course, more to the theology issues, but I will leave them for now. . . perhaps forever.

I worry about being a bad parent, particularly to this new one. I have high standards for everyone, but my highest standards I reserve for myself. If I am frustrated with my beautiful little girl right now, how much more will I brush her aside to care for a new one? I don't know how my mother did it. Especially without any support from her husband. And already I am making compromises in my high ideals in anticipation of the new arrival. It was a matter of pride for me to wait until delivery to find the sex of my first two. I am now considering finding out in advance, simply to make it easier on myself--not to enhance the excitement, but to know whether I need to assess the situation with boy clothes, or if I can rest assured that I have things covered with clothes from my daughter. My son and daughter never did take bottles. I now feel that I will probably pump and give the new baby at least one bottle a day. I can not decide whether I am compromising my beliefs about child rearing because I am not mentally or emotionally prepared for this baby, or if I am simply being practical, given the fact that I still need to complete a degree while caring for a toddler and an infant.

And of course, I worry about finances. My husband is woefully underemployed given his education and talents, and has settled for his present position in support of my academic pursuits. My financial aid is exhausted, and I'm not sure I will qualify for alternative loans next academic year. I'm not even going to address bills, but while we have made significant progress on the credit card-type debt over the past 4-5 years, student loans and car notes (of which we have 2, though only one car) pose significant problems. We will be moving into a better school district, which brings additional expense, and would like to get a 2-bedroom, though with a baby on the way, a 3-bedroom would be more legal, if less practical in terms of layout (and price!!). A good friend who will shortly be giving birth herself has told me of a Mexican proverb that a baby is born "with a loaf of bread under its arm." This could be taken more or less literally, assuming that the family situation will work itself out, or that, specifically, families find ways of making things work financially in order to support a new baby. I believe both of these things to a degree, though I must confess to a weakness of faith with regards to God's intervention in financial difficulties. It has just never been something I believed--that God intervenes in financial matters, perhaps because of the emphasis in the Bible on relinquishing one's material possessions.

I have always felt that a baby is indeed a blessing, and precious, and that babies are a joy, and help people to cope with situations in positive ways, so I know things are going to work out somehow. I also maintain the belief, expressed elsewhere, that motherhood does not restrict the mother to the home, and that, in particular, an academic profession and parenting are perfectly compatible. But I know I have significant challenges before me, and I can use all of the prayers and encouragement that you have to offer.

Not Meant to be a Homeowner

Recently I discovered, once and for all, that I am not meant to be a homeowner. For lack of a better post, I will treat you to the reasons why. Utter financial ruin notwithstanding, there are a few basic, practical reasons having to do with the maintenance of a home and having to pay for it. I'm the kind of person who doesn't like to change the oil or rotate the tires on a vehicle. . . How much more costly is the upkeep of a house? It is much easier to complain to the landlord or fix the problem and deduct the cost from the rent. Of course, we frequently fix the issue and do not deduct the amount from the rent, if it was a minor problem, or if it wasn't an "approved" expenditure. Also, we have been without an overhead light in our kitchen since November, as our landlord works offshore and could not replace or fix the fluorescent light that once illuminated our cooking--and laundry--area.

However, the most important reason why I am not suited to homeownership might have something to do with inconstancy--you decide. I have difficulty staying in the same place for very long. I find that all of the elements that I once found charming, the "quirks" of the home, if you will, begin to prey on my consciousness. I feel the walls closing in, and I must seek escape--a change of scenery--a permanent change of scenery. Although I prefer working at home to working at my office (a dreary place), since we have lived in our current house (6 years now--the longest we've lived in one place since we've been married), I have changed my work area several times--from room to room, replacing furniture, lighting, etc. I could put it down to procrastinating, but it really feels like an urgent need for change, and I can procrastinate well enough without moving heavy objects, thank you very much. What else are blogs for?

When I was in college--a "fuzzy little adolescent poet," as one enlightened professor called me--I wrote a poem that I called "No Suburban Love." Ostensibly about not settling down in yuppie comfort, it was about the incompatibility of domesticity and passion and my then-belief in the impossibility of finding lasting love. Truly, a Romantic, naïve poem in many ways, but not one from which I am so distant that I can no longer see its charms. After all, the evocation of "plush carpets" and "soft Sylvania lighting" was quite nice. And, indeed, its evocation of place is true for me in a superficial way. I am not one for settling into one comfortable house, unless I have just not had the means or opportunity to find that particular house, the means and opportunity being attached to my goal of achieving a Ph.D. and finding a job that will allow my family to live comfortably. The one house to which I was attached was sold, unfortunately--my grandparents' house. I wrote a poem about that one, too, in which my grandfather's spirit infused the porch swing, the cypress tree, the brick-paved yard. It was a New Orleans poem, not a suburban poem, and felt more real.

So I find myself, after 6 years of living in one place--having only, since we were married, ever lived in a place for one year at a time before now--looking for a 2-bedroom apartment instead of our 3-bedroom, 1400 sq. ft. (rental, old) house. This will mean getting rid of a lot of "stuff"--"stuff" which is threatening to suffocate and crush me under its burdensome weight. I have heard that moving every so often prevents the accumulation of "stuff." I am willing to experiment to see if it is true.

Quick Lenten Meals #2: Shrimp or Crawfish Jambalaya

In this recipe, I will be using crawfish, which I found frozen from Louisiana (not China) at a good price (cheaper than the Chinese crawfish!). Shrimp will work just as well. With larger shrimp, you may want to cut them in half or thirds to insure an even distribution of shrimp throughout the dish. This is a main course, not a side dish!

1-2 Tbsp, butter
1 onion, finely chopped
1 bell pepper, chopped
16 oz. frozen crawfish, or an equivalent amount of shrimp
1 can diced or crushed tomatoes
1 1/2 c. rice
3 cups of liquid (water with the tomato juice added)
1/2 tsp salt (less if your seafood has added sodium)
pepper and cayenne to taste

1. Melt the butter in a pot. Sauté the onion and bell pepper until onions are transparent and the bell peppers are soft. Add pepper and cayenne, and a portion of the salt.

2. If your seafood is frozen and precooked, add and cook until barely thawed. If your shrimp are raw, cook until they have turned orange (or pink, depending on the variety) and opaque.

3. Add the rice and sauté until the grains begin to look translucent.

4. Before the grains of rice begin to brown, drain the tomato juice to use later and add the tomatoes. Add the 3 cups of liquid (drained tomato juice and water) and bring to a strong simmer. Add remaining salt.

5. Cover, reduce heat to low, and cook for 15 minutes, or according to the cooking directions for rice. Some climates may need to add more water, I believe. Avoid the temptation to stir, but do make sure you don't smell burning. If your rice sticks and burns, your fire is likely too high and your water cooked away before the rice was cooked, so be cautious!

Enjoy! Makes a whole lotta jambalaya! Enough to feed a family!

To Clarify. . . -or- The Angry Momma Post

My last post was intended primarily to raise a couple of issues: that when a married Catholic female decides to "live her marriage," as it's called, according to Church teaching, there is the possibility of unplanned pregnancies, whether because of miscalculation, lack of self-control, liquor, whatever. In the event of an unplanned pregnancy, particularly one that is "too soon" if you will, the intellectual class will wonder, particularly if she is in their midst, why she allowed this to happen to her. While it is true that certain professions are less supportive of frequent procreation than others, this was not the primary motivating factor behind my post. The reason my question of whether married Catholic women belong in the workplace was rhetorical, and the reason I clarified that I thought that married Catholic women do indeed belong in the workplace, is that I anticipated being told that when God blesses one with children, it is one's duty to stay home. I didn't really want to get into that. My real question was, how does one deal with the inevitable sneers in the event of an "oops" (or blessing)? Does one ignore and rest secure in the knowledge that one is doing God's will, and if so, how does this enter casual conversation? Does one try to raise consciousness and assert that children are not incompatible with careers? What I am hearing instead might run something like this. . .

HEADLINE: "GOD PLAYS DIRTY TRICK ON CATHOLIC WOMEN"

After allowing her to pursue her interests and develop intellectually for the better part of two decades, in the hope that she can make a livable wage using her God-given talents, God decides that the archetypal Catholic woman is not meant to pursue that path anyway, and instead blesses her with a large family. Unfortunately, her husband, in order to support her efforts, has been working in a job that is insufficient to support the large family economically rather than searching all over the country to find a livable wage for the large family that they didn't know they were going to have. Obviously, this is her fault for not being aware of her calling before she entered graduate school.

As one friend was told (jokingly, I assume) by her husband, she's just going to have to take this one up with God.

Gotta tell you, friends, if I really thought that this was the essence of Church teaching on the role of women in the family, I would probably have been a deathbed convert. As it stands, I do not believe that unplanned pregnancies are a signal to change vocation.

But what if they were? There is a definitive test for the vocation of motherhood. When you look at the little stick and see two lines instead of one, it means that God wants you to undertake the vocation of motherhood. It's a pretty easy sign to read, especially when you consider that there are digital ones nowadays that say "pregnant" or "not pregnant" instead of leaving it up to the women to interpret a "+" or "-" or the single- or double-lines. So that's good, no mystery there.

But what about you single women? I don't think a litmus test has been invented yet that you put on your tongue and it says "career path," "religious life," "marriage and kids in your future." God's calling may show itself a lot more subtly in your lives than in ours, I think. And when the time comes, you may not want to choose "either-or," but both. I, for one, believe that God made us capable of serving him in multiple ways, even within one person's lifetime.

"It's Just a Catholic Thing" (?) in the Professions

A few months after my daughter (now 16 months) was born, I had her with me in my department, likely for a meeting with my dissertation adviser. A professor whom I had never met saw me, and, being an outgoing, friendly type, he proceeded to tell me about his daughter who was expecting, to tell me that two children is sufficient because that's one for each knee, and a number of other things that I have now forgotten. He asked me if I had any other children, and, as I responded affirmatively, he asked slyly, "They're not Irish twins, are they?" Now, I thought cluelessly, my husband is part Irish, but I'm not. Obviously, I had no idea what Irish twins are. Asked to explain, he informed me that Irish twins were siblings born within one year--which, of course, would be unlikely given the likelihood that impoverished Irish Catholics (he wasn't talking about Orangemen, after all) would be breastfed. A few minutes later, he repeated the joke for the benefit of my officemate, herself raised Catholic, and we agreed with good-natured disapproval that this was a thinly-veiled Catholic joke.

The joke evokes nineteenth-century immigrants with families of 5-12 children, overworked women, shabby brown clothing, tenement housing, clothes lines--you get the picture. So my question is, how do contemporary intellectual Catholic women deal with such a situation? Over the past couple of years, I have had at least three friends ask themselves this question in one way or another. All were working, one a Ph.D. student. Two were using NFP and one not. In these situations, "oops-s" or "what the heck" moments inevitably happen. So then what? One friend had been married for long enough that she could easily pass it off as "we've been trying" or "we were ready," or whatever. One friend decided that since she had been married for less than a year and people had just given her presents, she would ask not to have a baby shower.

This question comes to mind for a couple of reasons. First, well, people ask the most audacious questions! When I was pregnant last, the father of one of my son's friends from school saw us in Target, expressed surprise, and asked, "Were you trying, or was this a surprise?" One of the aforementioned friends remarked, as we discussed similar such remarks, "Do they realize that they're asking you whether you're having sex?"

O.K., so people are nosey. But it goes beyond that. In certain circles, it is just the unspoken rule that you should space your children according to your career goals. Hence, one female professor mentioning that her youngest was her "tenure baby," though it was unclear if he was the result of the celebrating, or her award for accomplishing the task! Within a year of my entering the M.A. program, one of my professors had her "last chance" baby, and two months after I had my daughter, my almost-adviser had her post-tenure baby. Others waited--and advised their grad students to wait--not until tenure, but until getting the tenure-track job. Recently, the female grad students in the department have decided that A.B.D. is a convenient time to have children, a decision I support wholeheartedly, obviously! But there is still somewhat of an unspoken consensus that children are to be spaced rather further apart that one to two years. While my "spacing"--a new baby with a 7-year-old--drew attention from a school dad (also a professional, incidently, but a professional father), spacing children every two years (considered ideal by those who are actively growing their families) is a professional faux pas. So what about Catholic professional/academic mothers?

Some, of course, believe that these terms are contradictory, and I could point you to the blogs to prove it. My friend who works at a Catholic high school has been condescendingly treated to the casual assumption that she would not be returning to work--EVER--by her colleagues for the last several months. But the role of Catholic women in the family is not my purpose for this post. Rather, I am embarrassed to admit that popular opinion is my concern.

Morality and Church teaching aside (though very much bound up with this post, as I hope is obvious), "accidents" are for teenagers, low-income households, minorities, and Catholics? All of these are stereotypes, but stereotypes which the average enlightened intellectual holds in the deep recesses of her politically correct heart. Just look at Amanda Marcotte.

This begs the question. . . Do married Catholic women really not belong in the workplace? This question is rhetorical. I do not expect an answer. Rather I am using the question to imply its answer--that of course married Catholic women belong in the workplace, if they so choose! So then, what about the "oops" factor? NFP "works," but people have different levels of resistance, and error and the Will of God are always factors! ;) Perhaps married Catholic females belong in the workplace to enlighten the masses, and should cling to the beatitudes for encouragement: that those who suffer mockery in the name of holiness will have their reward. But if asked, "You're pregnant again?" that's hardly an answer that will satisfy the average enlightened intellectual, provided the discussion occurs openly rather than in a series of sneers and snickers (yes, I am hard on my fellow academics). I have even encountered resistance to the motherhood-academic combination in Catholic academic circles (circles formed to discuss the intersection of faith and professional life!), so how much more should secular academics resist the Catholic academic's attempt to live her marriage faithfully, understanding its possible consequences (blessings)?

Large families and accidents--Catholic stereotypes both. Neither FEMLA, nor tenure procedures, nor enlightened liberalism allows for those realities. I don't know the answer, and I hate a cliff-hanger post. I further hate admitting that the sneering disturbs me. But it does. So while married professional women wait to reproduce until they reach their goals, what does the Catholic woman do? Stay home? Or not marry until after tenure/promotion?

Beyond Fish Sticks: Quick Lenten Meals #1

I thought I might share some favorite meatless recipes as I think of them. I only ask that no one decide to, you know, enter any Food Network Challenges or anything, because I might have to ask for a share of the prize money! ;) But seriously, this is my recipe for "Quick Crab Creole," as I like to call it, and while there is a lot of "to taste" involved here, this gives you a basic idea of how I make the dish.

Quick Crab Creole

1 onion, finely chopped
1-2 Tbsp butter
2 pouches real lump crab meat
1/2-1 can tomato paste
1/2-1 c milk or cream (the fattier the better, but skim will do in a pinch)
salt, pepper, and cayenne to taste

2-3 c cooked rice (Texmati is mighty nice)

1. Melt the butter over low heat. Sauté the onion in the butter until onion is more or less transparent. Add a few dashes of cayenne and black pepper. NOTE: Salt does help the onions to "wilt" somewhat, but as there is salt in the crab pouches, you might just want to do the salting at the end. Also, be aware that the "heat level" of the cayenne increases as it cooks--don't overdo it!

2. Add the crab from pouches, including the crabby liquid, which imparts a good amount of flavor. You might add a bit of water to the pouch & swish around to get the crab bits that are stuck to the sides of the pouch. Cook until most of the liquid has evaporated off, then add a bit more water, probably about 1/2 cup.

3. Add the tomato paste to the crab and onion. Remember that tomato paste is a thickener. If you want to stretch the crab in this dish (which can be kind of pricey) add the whole can. If you want a more intense, concentrated crab flavor and smaller portions, add 1/2 a can (the flavor is good either way). Work the tomato paste into the liquid, integrating the solids and breaking up clumps of crab. The final texture should include crab "strings," not lumps.

4. Add the milk--again, if you use less tomato paste for more concentrated crab (that is, more that you can feel in your mouth), you will use less milk. The dish should be a nice creamy-orange color. Theoretically, it could probably be thinned into something like a bisque, but I suspect you would need more crab to make that work. This should probably be about the consistency of your favorite pasta sauce or a little thinner, to go over rice.

5. Once you have added the milk, cover and continue to let the sauce simmer so that the flavors blend. It is basically ready at this point, but it's good to wait another minute or two.

6. Serve over rice & enjoy!!

I would estimate that you can get about 6 generous servings, but "portion control" is an unknown phrase to me. This would be about 6 bowls' worth as poured over a generous 1/2 cup of rice or so.

Let me know if you try it!

An Inspired Idea

Courtesy, once again, of Darwin Catholic: Lenten Mediations on the Divine Comedy. The idea is to rediscover the spiritual purpose of Dante's work. As I wrote in the comment section of this blog, the Commedia is one of two creative works that I credit with my own conversion--the other being Lord of the Rings. The Commedia is, at its root, an intensely, even tangibly spiritual work. It is also one of the first works that got me to think in a serious way about reading--in this case, misreading. The Commedia is as much a work about the Christian way of reading, which leads one closer to God rather than providing distractions--as opposed to the pagan way of reading represented by Virgil (though he is an enlightened, proto-Christian pagan poet)--as it is about spiritual salvation. As a poet, the joining of the two was essential to Dante (a man who knew his vocation!). I will be looking forward to this blog, as it is sure to be insightful!

A Unique Perspective. . .

. . . On Natural Child Spacing!

Book Notes: The People of Sparks

A week or so ago I finished reading The People of Sparks, which is the Second Book of Ember, a series that began with The City of Ember, which I mention here, here, and here. Obviously, the first book was interesting enough to merit reading the second, and once again, I was fairly pleasantly surprised. It was not as good as the first, but avoided the didacticism I feared in a book about rebuilding civilization after an apocalypse, particularly one written post-9/11. However, a couple of features of the book merit a brief mention.

Towards the end of The People of Sparks, I had a revelation, as I did at the end of The City of Ember. However, while The City of Ember evoked Plato, The People of Sparks evoked no less illustrious an author than Dr. Seuss. Now, I love Dr. Seuss, but was surprised when, likely by no conscious design of the author, I considered the moment when the people from two competing cities were, to their own eyes and to each other, indistinguishable, and thought, "The Star-Bellied Sneetches"! This moment in the book, the moment of resolution, was rather simplistic. We are building to a crisis that could result in war. One or two individuals are trying to provoke the war (or at least failing to see a solution other than violence) while one or two are trying to prevent the war. In the tense moment before the violence--or perhaps in the tense moment after the onset of violence--a disaster occurs that threatens to destroy the livelihood of one group. This presents the perfect opportunity for a "joining together," spurred by the bravery of one individual.

Now, the actions involved were noble, but it does beg the question, which, ideally, should be considered by the reader--what would have happened had the disaster not occurred? Likely violence. So does this mean that it requires a disaster for the proactive individual to take the step--doing good instead of evil, or at least avoiding doing evil--that is necessary for the prevention of violence? This strikes me as a bit of the Deus Ex Machina. I would have liked to see the people work things out without near-divine intervention (or pure chance, which frequently substitutes for the divine).

Another rather surprising element of the book, in retrospect, is the almost complete lack of heterosexual pairings--there are no traditional families! Well, O.K., there's one. But we do not feel this to be the norm. Admittedly, there are displaced persons (better not to call them refugees) who have to create alternate living arrangements for the sake of space, but among these, there are many young people who are mentioned independent of any parental figures (not wholly unknown in children's fiction). The "families" are generally single-parent. The main characters have a father on the one hand (an entirely male family of two), and a foster-mother and a sister on the other hand (an entirely female family of three). These alternative families existed in the first book, but events at the end of the second book throw them into sharp relief.

One alternative family arrangement consists of a single doctor and her neglected orphan nephew. Our heroine, her sister, and their guardian move in with the doctor and her nephew. There is another nephew, a "roamer," who is the apple of his little brother's eye. When he arrives with a female "partner" (in roaming), things begin to go awry. However, the "partner" considers him unfit for companionship, which, indeed, he is--but he didn't have to be. This was a creative choice on the part of the author. So this non-traditional female escaping from her home city, a failing city, joins forces with our own heroine, and befriends her. So far, so good. Eventually, this large, soft-spoken female joins with the other large, soft-spoken female--the former greenhouse keeper--to become her apprentice and learn about growing plants.

At nearly every turn, heterosexual unions--or close heterosexual friendships--are avoided. There is even a teeny-bopper who falls in love with the most charming male present, usually a sweet-talking con-man or rabble-rouser, who clearly signals the dangers of charismatic men and unchecked heterosexual attraction (not a bad message, and one that can also be found in Louisa May Alcott). The notable example is the hero and heroine, who remain (wonderfully, in my opinion) good friends with no hint of a pre-adolescent romance.

In contrast to the other books intended for this age range, which are largely over-sexual, this can be seen as a significant improvement. However, the lack of viable heterosexual couples remains troubling, particularly for a civilization that is trying to rebuild itself. In the declining City of Ember, where dysfunction would have been understandable, there is nevertheless more of a "feeling" of family unity. I suppose we are to surmise that the hope of the future rests with the pre-adolescent generation, which is fitting for a pre-adolescent book with post-adolescent appeal.

#11

One more thing I will not give up for Lent (or try not to): EXERCISE! (See this post. . .)

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday

Since I'm in Texas (and not in Galveston), Mardi Gras isn't a big deal, though I will be subjecting my students to some Louisiana, New Orleans, and Mardi-Gras-specific images for our continuing discussion of Visual Rhetoric tonight. In lieu of festivities (though I might be persuaded to go to my favorite seafood restaurant for a pre-Lent shrimp-fest), here is a list of 10 things I will NOT be giving up for Lent:

1. email
2. blogs (reading and writing)
3. teaching
4. grading
5. writing the dissertation
6. cooking supper (occasionally)
7. laundry
8. Jane Austen DVDs (especially Pride and Prejudice--the A&E version)
9. SHRIMP! (I did one year and it nearly killed me!)
10. involvement in my son's education (even if it does kill me!)
    

Lenten meditations more solemn than this one to follow. . .

Great Moments in Literacy

Great Moments in Literacy

A video worth watching is posted on the Ironic Catholic blog. I couldn't get the darn thing on my blog, though...

Happy St. Valentine's!

I figure with the rest of the world trying to shorten "Valentine's" to "V," either to resemble the similarly shortened the "V" Monologues (and thus make Valentine's Day a celebration of that anatomical morsel), to remove traces of the saint for whom the day is named, or from the sheer linguistic laziness that is so prevalent, especially in electronic media, I will keep the "Saint" and the "Valentine" and forget the "Day"--at least in my title.

Actually, I almost did forget the day! It's been an exhausting week since last Wednesday, when my daughter developed a stomach virus right before beginning her Amoxil for an earache. So today, since things have calmed down and for the first time since last Tuesday, I was the only one home (my husband was also sick for a few days & I was happy to have him home, but not happy that he was unwell!), I tried to get back in my routine while getting a little emotional rest & reading the book I've been working on for pleasure. It occurred to me mid-morning that it was Valentine's Day, something I remembered before going to bed (after midnight), but had forgotten by the morning.

Valentine's Day is a curious holiday for me. In spite of its origin with a saint who was martyred for his covert celebration of sacramental marriage, it seems to be largely enjoyed by a category of people best described as single-yet-attached. It is a holiday peopled by clueless men. It is the holiday of expectant or disappointed women, of expectant or disappointed men. These thoughts occurred to me while driving around this evening among the flurry of excitement, or walking around stores observing the last minute purchases--and purchasers.

When my husband & I first found each other, we shared a mutual dislike of the holiday, having never had someone to share it with. We therefore threw ourselves into it the purchasing of gifts and cards with gusto our first few years. There was one year of disappointment after our first child was born, as I was unable to go shopping and regretfully, did not manage to contrive a gift. This post was intended to be about my changing attitude towards the holiday: the fluctuation from dislike to excitement, to sentimentality, to something not quite resembling apathy--more the quiet feeling that accompanies the opportunity to appreciate having someone that I love deeply, while acknowledging that cards and gifts do not have the power to express this love (especially after the anniversary of our Convalidation in October, his birthday in November, Christmas in December, my birthday in January. . . we're gifted out by this time!). This was how I envisioned the Valentine post this afternoon, as I sat rocking my baby to sleep: I was going to commemorate the holiday by downplaying it a bit, mentioning the beauty of everyday love and the hassle and expense of finding babysitters.

My intentions changed when, as I was sitting on our futon reading, my husband walked in with a dozen pink roses. It really is amazing how moving a small gesture can be, and it was all the more moving since, unlike the multitudes of women who woke up this morning or went out this evening, I had not expected it!

We moved through the rest of the evening doing ordinary things: we went to dinner (with the kids!), went to Target to buy ourselves iTunes cards, ran in to a store or two for essentials. An ordinary, yet extraordinary, romantic evening.

Sometimes I hate this

What is it about blogs that draw me in? I think I will be taking a break for a while. I've been composing an entry that I call "Skirting the Issue" about people who narrowly define what is "feminine." It is in response to this post and, to a lesser degree, this post, which includes the following comment from a reader:

It's important to also remember that the Tridentine does not allow disruptions such as the laity hand-shake/kissy face/hugging fiesta, nor does it have the holding hands Protestant innovation during the Our Father, no musical instruments other than the Organ, only sacred music or Gregorian chant and polyphony; no women on the altar, kneeling reverently to receive Blessed Sacrament only on the tongue, no talking in Church, only reverent dress, no slacks for women, etc. (emphasis mine)

I have become caught up with thinking about the issue of traditionalizing femininity, especially in a Catholic context, and I am frustrated that, for one thing, so many of the blogs I am reading voice this opinion in one way or the other. I have become inarticulate about the matter. Luckily I know that the Church in no way endorses the attitudes that these bloggers/serial commenters represent. Rather, they are viewing the theology narrowly, for their own ends, and defending/asserting their claims with narrow-minded arguments and persuasive techniques (the type I teach my Freshman to analyze, then to avoid). This is not my last word on the matter, but I don't want to spend the time and effort on the response right now, as I am tired from a long weekend of caring for a sick baby, and I don't think my blood pressure can stand the stress. What I object to most are the personal attacks and misrepresentation--after all, if I disagree slightly, I am the enemy--emblem of all they are fighting against. This has ceased to be fun for me right now.

Blog Evolution, Genesis, and Science Fiction

One of the wonders of blogging is the ways that various streams of discourse merge and branch off again, merging, converging, flowing and continuing in other forms. Perhaps its a new version of the immortality that Shakespeare noted with the advent of print--then, the writer was immortal, but preserved in presumably changeless form (unless you consider the horrendous mistakes, printing and editorial liberties, rewriting, etc. that ran rampant in early printing history). In the blogosphere, the evolution of thought--how one influences another, how it continues in new form--creates that kind of monument to the original author, but in a less sterile manner, as the thought inspires creativity rather than existing for itself and the original author alone.

This rather circuitous late-night theorizing is occasioned by my decision to post in response to some thought I gleaned from DarwinCatholic's post on Coulter, Evolution, and Catholicism, which, in fact, I requested because of a post on Roman Catholic Blog.

In the course of explaining the compatibility of evolutionary theory and Catholicism, answering the question that I found most interesting, Darwin explores some of the oddity of Genesis--the items that complicate the traditional children's storybook version of Creation, namely, the presence of humanoid creatures and the question of who Adam's & Eve's offspring married. Darwin writes:

The idea of there being other human-ish creatures wandering the Earth at the same time as Adam and Eve doesn't fit well with the standard Sunday school version of the story, but the Bible itself is slightly odder than the children's version. Recall that at several point in the early chapters of Genesis people are mentioned as going off and interbreeding with other creatures (giants, 'the sons of heaven', etc.) Indeed, after the initial description of the time in the garden itself, one doesn't necessarily get the impression that Adam and Eve are alone in the world. (Why, for instance, does Cain fear that when he is banished people will kill him? He's just killed one of the four named people in the world up to that point, and the other two are his parents.) Rather, Adam and Eve seem to be described tribally: as the tribe of true humans, but not necessarily the only creatures on Earth. Now, the idea of early (ensouled) humans interbreeding with (soul-less) human-ish creatures is unappealing. But then, the idea of Adam and Eve's children having no options other than incest isn't exactly appealing either.

My knowledge of this part of Genesis derives from C. S. Lewis who, in the Chronicles of Narnia, makes reference to the "first wife" of Adam--Lilith, mother of giants and jinns and other human-like or half human creatures. (While Lilith is from the Kabbalah, my investigation of Lilith led to other discoveries.) Interestingly, in Prince Caspian, one of Lewis's characters states that while humans may be good or evil, human-like creatures, things that should be human, used to be human, but aren't, are always involved with evil. I guess that's why it was O.K. for Adam to divorce Lilith! In Out of the Silent Planet, the race of creatures is not humanoid; in Perelandra, by contrast, he creates a race of green (new? fresh? innocent? untested?) humanoid beings who succeed where Adam and Eve failed, and successfully avoid the Fall. This is not a C. S. Lewis post, but I was reminded of Lewis at several points.

Initially, as I commented on Darwin's blog, the intermarriage of ensouled and soul-less humans reminded me of a plot from Star Trek or perhaps the novels of Robert Heinlein--Methuselah's Children comes to mind, and not because of the Biblical allusion in the title! However, this concept was problematized for me by commenter CMinor, who writes:

Likewise I can see why we might find the thought of souled humans interbreeding with unsouled humans unsettling from our position in time, but I'm not sure it's a rational concern. As souls are not externally discernible, there's no reason to assume that souled and unsouled humans would be any different in any other respects, to include intelligence and behavior. The sole (no pun intended--really) difference could be that souled humans had a point of contact with God not available to unsouled humans.

I believe I was more comfortable with the idea of unsouled and souled humans (or human-like creatures, if humans are defined by the possession of a soul) interbreeding when I imagined the unsouled humans being somehow different--lower on the evolutionary scale, perhaps, to which CMinor also alludes by mentioning the evidence that Neanderthal and Homo Sapiens interbred (intermarried?). Considering the idea of humanoids equally intelligent as ourselves who merely had no "point of contact" with God--or maybe a different point of contact with God?--reminds me hauntingly of the destroyed planet in Arthur C. Clarke's "The Star," which (in the story) provided the light by which the wise men found the Christ child (sorry for the spoiler). The story is profound and beautiful, if in a profoundly beautifully troubling way. With the planet, an advanced humanoid race capable of artistic expression and technological development has been destroyed, presumably to provide the light announcing the Incarnation. The narrator and ship's science officer is a Jesuit priest who must decide, at the end and beyond the borders of the story, whether to reveal this calculation.

I once had a heated debate with a professor and a room full of undergrads over whether or not the story makes an ultimate condemnation of religion. Others maintained that in the context of the story, either God did not exist, or God was evil. I felt certain that there could be a theological answer to this that did not include either of the two aforementioned conclusions. Is this the answer?

Theorizing theological responses to science fiction, albeit theologically reaching science fiction, aside. . . What would be the implications of soul-less and ensouled humans (or humanoids, in the case of the former) marrying or interbreeding? In the Old Testament we already have the history of a people who were chosen by God as special, set apart from other people. In the New Testament, it is revealed that the Incarnation of the Son of Man is for all people (see my post on Epiphany!). So, then, is the ensouling of Adam and Eve the first "choosing" of God from among His creation? First, He chose a very select group, from whom we inherit Original Sin; then, He chose a race, the Hebrews, the Isrealites, from among those who interbred with the soul-less humanoids; finally, in a late stage of our development, He chose to give to all people the opportunity to choose Him (I would have to suggest that we already had the capacity to choose, but without knowledge of religious Truth, our Free Will--on which I am not the expert, see An Examined Life on Free Will--was not, perhaps, as relevant as it later became with reference to our spirituality).

Returning to science fiction, then, the planet in "The Star" is peopled with the non-chosen. By contrast, although his fantasy repudiates the humanoid as anthropomorphic evil, C. S. Lewis's science fiction "other worlds" are populated with ensouled beings--humanoid and non-humanoid alike. For Lewis, all are "chosen."

Does this bring us any closer to theological or evolutionary truth? Not really. But it does demonstrate the ways in which literature is a working out of various theories of the authors, and further demonstrates the beauty of reading, and the ways in which literate activity affects the consciousness, opening the psyche to the possibility of things beyond our narrow experience. Literature invites us to come in without wiping our muddy boots, allows us to muck around a bit, trying out our ideas in new context, or trying its ideas on for size. When we leave, we are invited to take what we want before moving on--or not. Now that's hospitality! (So much for the literacy plug!)

Finally, I agree with CMinor, who says that we must "let God be God."

Is it a Sin. . .

. . . to believe that certain people shouldn't procreate? I mean, yes, we know that the Catholic Church teaches that all forms of artificial contraception are wrong, but to look at someone who is not Catholic and Thank the Good Lord that She Will Never Procreate. . . Is that wrong? For more, see this post and the articles to which it refers, especially this one. I mean, so much hate must tarnish the gene pool somehow.

What if?

Imagine that there is a chemical that could be injected into young children that would counteract the cancer-causing carcinogens that come from smoking tobacco. Further, imagine that the state in which you lived began to mandate this treatment for all children, since many children at some point in their lives take up smoking, try smoking, or are exposed to smoke. Presumably there would be resistance to such a practice. After all, not all of the children who would be subjected to the (admittedly easy) treatment would actually be affected, since not all children actually take up smoking, try smoking, or are exposed for long periods of time to cigarette smoke. Moreover, this "cure" for lung cancer, by removing one of the major obstacles to the habit, might actually allow for an increase in consumption of cigarettes, thereby increasing sales and indirectly funding the tobacco corporations. Well, this might be enough to get most people upset. After all, why subject children to a treatment that would benefit today's most vilified corporations?

So maybe this scenario would be better, as it removes the economic objection: Imagine that there is an immunization developed that protects against HIV. Somehow, this immunization would adapt to the mutations of the virus, and prevent anyone exposed to the virus from becoming HIV+. Or I guess they might already be HIV+, since the immunization would be based on the virus in some form, but it would either be benign or unable to multiply or whatever. (My background is not scientific.) So in order to prevent the spread of HIV, and in order to prevent (as in the chemical treatment that protects against lung cancer) insurance and Medicaid expenditures, it is decided that a certain portion of the population must be immunized. This is a mandatory immunization. But because it is fairly costly, the most at-risk population would be singled out and required to participate. Once again this has to be done to fairly young members of the population, before they are sexually active, so the decision is made to screen children for character traits that would make them most at risk to contract the disease. This might cause some concern. Parents might fear that their children would be stigmatized by being identified as "pre-homosexual" or at risk for intravenous drug use later in life. Some might object that since anyone can contract and spread the disease, it is unjust to single out people with certain personality traits.

So the necessary funding is acquired, and now all children will be required to be immunized for HIV between the ages of 8 and 13, or they will not be admitted into public high schools. While this is not an air-borne illness unlike (oh horrors!) chicken pox, because this is still a public health risk, and because the treatments are still costly for the government and for insurance companies, all involved agree that it is necessary to impose this sanction on those parents who refuse this sensible precaution. Some might venture to suggest that, since not all people are ever exposed to the virus, indeed, some (though it might seem hard to believe) never even engage in the activities (including intra-venous drug use) through which the virus is contracted, this is an unnecessary precaution. Further, it might be suggested that since the consequences that deterred young people from engaging in activities (including intra-venous drug use) that promote the spread of the disease have been removed, the activities themselves would be rendered more attractive.

Clearly these scenarios are far-fetched. A vaccination could never be forced on us or on our children to prevent a condition that arises from the deliberate choices and unhealthy actions of an individual (an exception should be made for those who contract HIV through the actions of others, including blood transfusions, or perhaps the infidelity of a spouse; the only exemptions for smokers would be those who began smoking before the health risks were known, and these are a shrinking number). Or could it?

I was concerned when, while in the hospital after bearing my second child, a daughter, I read an article in the local newspaper about the immunization that has been developed against Human Papilloma Virus. Two things in particular worried me: first, that it was being promoted as an "immunization against cancer"; second, that those targeted for the immunizations were young girls, around the age of 12.

I am a minimalist when it comes to medical intervention. Which doesn't mean that I am against medical intervention altogether. I believe wholeheartedly in modern medicine when home remedies are exhausted or the condition necessitates bypassing home remedies, and I am very, very happy that Jonas Salk was a genius. But I am increasingly skeptical of the numbers of immunizations to which we are "required" to subject our children.

I am also worried about the messages that are sent to us and our children about responsibility--or perhaps the messages that are not sent to our children about responsibility. You see, dears, there is a preventative or a quick-fix for everything in life--indeed, for life itself! So when I learned of this immunization for an STD that they didn't talk much about when I was in sex ed, this "cancer causing virus" that affects young women, I was afraid. And now the illustrious governor of Texas is proposing exactly what I feared: the immunization of all young girls against HPV.

Now, to my mind, this is a punishment for those young women who remain celibate. It is also a punishment for those young women who are tricked or seduced, either by young men or by our culture, into not remaining celibate. Furthermore, it is punishment for young girls, by virtue of the fact that they have a cervix and therefore are susceptible to cervical cancer if they should happen to contract the virus from a young boy who has in turn caught it from another young woman and so on and so on. It also represents the removal of one more of the consequences of uninformed, indiscriminate sexual behavior (even among those who feel that they are well-informed, discriminate, and emotionally mature--these are also subject to the tricks and seductions of contemporary society). I'm not sure our inhibitions need to have any of the limited "checks" that still exist removed. But even if this were really a public health issue, I would have a further objection.

Don't get me wrong! There have been objections, but those objections have to do with financial contributions to the governor's campaign. It is only a matter of time before some other illustrious politician proposes the same, and it is rather an accident of fate that Rick Perry should have been paid off in such an obvious fashion instead of a less obvious one. So if this is about money, which it surely is, rather than about cervical cancer, then why not immunize all who can contract the virus? Aaah. . . Because boys can't really be harmed by it. So think. . . If boys couldn't get the virus, who would pass it to the girls, thereby exposing them to the possibility of cervical cancer? Exactly! So I propose this: either don't introduce mandatory vaccinations for anyone, or vaccinate boys only! I'll vouch for my daughters!

Celtic Music, Anyone?

I don't know if I'm suffering from an excess of ideas this week, or if none of my thoughts on any given thing, idea, or incident are fully formed. So instead of just rambling on whichever topic I happen to catch as it passes by, I will offer this public service announcement (at least I think it's a public service!).

I've had an on-again, off-again thing going on with my iPod. I love the idea of the iPod, but I don't tend to find myself in situations that allow me to block out the rest of the world. I don't walk across campus, since when I am on campus, it is generally to teach or meet in "my" building (we've all got one. . .). I miss the walking, especially on cool, crisp sunny days. I have one of those little doohickeys that allows me to broadcast my iPod to my car stereo, which is cool, but I don't always remember to bring it to the car, etc. Until recently, I had to download my podcasts at school because of the high-speed connection. Now we have DSL. And I remembered to update my iPod. And it's charged.

So. . . I've been listening to an incredible podcast sporadically for several months, and I just had to spare some words for the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast. For those of you in Austin, it's done by Marc Gunn, who is in your neighborhood! I met him once at a Sci Fi, etc. "con" at the university where I currently exist, signed up for his band's (The Brobdingnagian Bards) email list, until Yahoo! kicked me off because I hadn't checked my email in, oh, years. . . So imagine my surprise to learn that he has an awesome podcast! At the time, I was wondering how I could discover new cool music with an utter absence of decent radio stations in my area. Problem solved! The Irish and Celtic Music Podcast is currently in the top 25 podcasts in iTunes, so check them out if you like Celtic music.

Just to get you started, the "new year" podcast was a collection of listener favorites from last year, and is quite a nice mix. It is #29 and was released on January 4, 2007.

Many of my favorites from the last year are included on episode #29, but some other favorite songs/artists have been:

Podcast #25 -"Old Carrion Crow" Michael William Harrison
Podcast #25-"The Scottish Song" Seamus Kennedy (MacBeth in a nutshell--a must hear!)

The Brobdingnagian Bards have a number of amusing songs, and of course, the ones that make you spit out your coffee in the car are the easiest to remember (include in this category "The Scottish Song," above). So from the Bards:

Podcast #24-"Now It's Time To Go" (from Memories of Middle Earth)
Podcast #17 -"The Orange and The Green"
Podcast #16 -"The Unicorn Song"
Podcast #15 -"Jedi Drinking Song"

This turned out to be much more of a Bards plug than I intended, but they have the funny songs, and like I said, funny sticks. This podcast is, overall, great celtic music--funny and serious, so enjoy!