Divine Pedagogy

Well, the end of my Advent is shaping up to be...not at all what I planned or expected.

Remember the puppy from last week? Well, on Monday he went to a new foster home with children, more space - everything he could need! I've seen pictures and can say confidently that it was the right decision and even though I loved the little rug rat, he needed far more than I could offer, and my own dog needed far less than that pup was offering her!

After that experience, of course, my week was pretty calm and I finally got most of my Christmas cards out.

Then yesterday (Saturday), I received an email - could I emergency-foster a 1.7 month old Rottweiler who needed to be moved from his current foster home ASAP? I looked up his info on the rescue's web page, called the rep back and obtained a little more info on him. It seemed appropriate to take the risk.I said Yes.

We introduced my dog and the newcomer on neutral ground and walked them back to my house where they actually began to play. The young Rottweiler, however, was not quite really understanding play-time. He first didn't seem to understand my dog's play-bow in his direction, then started "copying" her moves - it was quite hilarious! My favorite, though, took place much later in the evening after he'd had his dinner. While my dog finished checking his bowl for crumbs, he began inviting her to play. He pounced and pounced and wheeled around and play-bowed - to my dog's butt! She was totally oblivious to the desperate drama taking place behind her.

Unfortunately, though, although all of this was hilarious, it again quickly got very old for my dog and she began seeking solace from me just to get away from the young dog's playful advances. I also ran into a great deal of frustration as the dog is still "intact" (ahem!) and as such, has a hobby of "marking". It doesn't matter how often I have taken him in and out throughout the evening and day. The moment we come back in he's alternating between trying to chew on me (OW!) and lifting his leg on something. I have to watch him very closely and the moment he even SEEMS to be sniffing I yell a warning to him so that he will desist.

The best, though, was this morning. We must have walked for about 45 minutes or an hour and he absolutely REFUSED to "poo". We got inside, I took his leash off thinking perhaps he'd go next time I took him out. As long as it took to turn my back, he had peed and pooped all over the floor!

I cleaned it up, took him out and threw the "refuse" in an area of the yard so that he would associate that with the business that belongs OUTSIDE.

Somewhere in the middle of scrubbing the carpet...and the chair...and the carpet there....again...I realized it would behoove me to buy stock in "Nature's Miracle." As it was, I had to go back to the pet store today to get MORE of it!

Now, it is a consolation that this dog won't be with me for long. I know someone is already interested and I advised his rep that I can't take him with me for Christmas. He's far too rambunctious and out-of-control and I'm terrified he'll both pee all over my brother's house and potentially knock my mother down. Not a good risk.

Mind you, this dog is not mean or aggressive. He's just a very large puppy who doesn't understand manners. He's also cooped up right now in a small house with no way to run freely to get his energy (and other stuff - ahem) out.

So it was this morning that I mused and prayed and mused again on my way to Mass. I swore to myself I would NEVER take another puppy again because both my dog and my house are just not good for puppies. As it is, I'll have to kennel the creature so I can wrap Christmas gifts, and I can't actually get anything done unless it's something that can be completed in 5 minutes with a constant shift of attention to see where the dog is and what he might be sniffing. Or chewing, for that matter. (He really likes my cedar chest.)

I'm having to develop ADHD as a coping mechanism!

Then it struck me: NOW I know what's going on!

At the beginning of Advent I once again offered a little prayer and asked God to help me become more patient, more caring, to grow in virtue in these areas. I shuddered as I offered the prayer because those virtues, much like asking for humility, tend to be answered with a Divine bat upside the head!

This afternoon while I wrote a "bio" for the foster dog to help him be adopted, I still felt frustrated and found I had to dig to really look for this dog's great points. I know he's a good dog and deserves a good home. I know he's more rambunctious with me because he's free to move around, has another dog to play with (when she does play), has a person to walk him and pet him and give him awesome food. He's responsive, he is protective, he is playful and won't let me out of his sight. That means he bonds quickly. He is exactly what a healthy dog of his age should be, minus a bit of training for he has clearly been neglected in that area.

In other words, what does he need from me? Patience and understanding!

OK, God, I get it. Thank you for answering my prayer. *sigh* 

My dear friends, do take care what you ask from God, because if you mean it (and He always knows if you do or not, even if it's only a little), He WILL answer. And seriously, I mean it, BE CAREFUL!

I'm just sayin'....if you ask for patience, humility, or a chance to sacrifice....God might answer your prayer just like He answered mine: by sending you a  65 lb unschooled young Rottweiler!  

How to Foster a Puppy

Well, it wasn't part of my Advent plan, but a last-minute thing came up, and as it turns out, I'm fostering a puppy.

Yup. A puppy.

Yesterday afternoon when I was asked to do this, and told it was a "six-month old shepherd mix" I pictured the first dog I adopted as an adult: a 60 lb nearly-grown puppy. Well, much to my surprise, last night when the bundle of joy was introduced to me I found about a 25 lb small puppy who could properly be named "Jaws."

So! For all you dog lovers out there, I thought I'd provide a helpful "how-to" in case you, too, are interested in fostering a puppy!

Without further ado....

HOW TO FOSTER A PUPPY

1. Pick up the puppy, get dog food, make sure you have a crate of some type, some squeaky toys, and treats.

2. Drive home.  Pull over on the way and remove the seat belt from the puppy's mouth. Carefully re-enter traffic and continue driving home. When you arrive, be sure to introduce your dog to the puppy on as "neutral ground" as you can manage.

3. If safe to do so, leave the puppy in the car while you run to get your dog, let her go potty, and then go to the car to get the puppy.

4. Open the car door while holding your dog's leash firmly. Scramble to half-catch the puppy as he tries to explode from the car, barely manage to grab the leash while gritting your teeth against the pain of rope-burn.

5. Untangle the leashes.

6. Watch the dogs as they are introduced - does the resident dog seem too intense? Hackles up? Baring teeth? Or just sniffing cautiously.

7. Remove the puppy from the astonished resident dog's head.

8. Untangle the leashes again.

9. Go for a walk. Make sure the male puppy doesn't pee on the resident dog. Ensure the puppy doesn't consume resident dog's poo. (Sorry, necessary warning!) Try not to step in said poo while untangling leashes again, and try not to fall in said poo when leashes are tangled around one's legs.

10. Return home. As resident dog is "in charge", make sure to support the alpha by removing her leash first no matter how annoying the puppy is in inhibiting you from doing this. Once resident dog is free and no longer entangled in either leash, drop the puppy's leash and let it drag for awhile just in case you need to snatch him back outside or away from something. Give him freedom to sniff around to get to know his new surroundings. Just watch him like a hawk.

11. Take the shoe away from the puppy. Hand him his squeaky toy.

12. Introduce the puppy (gently!) to the kennel. Go outside to bring the car in and get the rest of the puppy's toys from the car.

13. Let the puppy out of the kennel. Let the dogs "romp" a bit if it seems to be going well.

14. Take the piece of paper away from the puppy and replace it with a chew toy.

15. Remove the puppy from the couch.

16. Go into the kitchen to get the dog food ready.

17. Return to the livingroom at the sound of a very loud YIPE! followed by the resident dog slinking into the kitchen with her ears back. Ask who bit whom?

18. Take the blanket throw from the couch away from the puppy. Replace it with one of his chew toys. Watch him squeak away happily at it. Praise him enthusiastically.

19. Go back into the kitchen. Kick the dogs out of the kitchen. Realize the resident dog is trying desperately to get away from the puppy. Allow the resident dog into the kitchen and put the baby gate up. Watch the puppy sitting outside the gate wagging his tail hopefully and looking up at you with big puppy eyes.

20. Feed the dogs their dinner, return to the livingroom with a movie to watch. Sit on the couch with the resident dog who is still trying to get away from the puppy. Watch the puppy invite the resident dog to play. Watch the resident dog bare her teeth in warning because she does not want to play. Watch the puppy persist. When ignored, watch the puppy first bite the resident dog's tail and then her paws. Watch that not be a very popular course of action from the perspective of the resident dog.

21. Remove the puppy from the resident dog's presence and place yourself in between them so as to run interference.

22. Rewind the movie several times as you have not been able to actually watch this scene yet.

23. Realize sitting on the couch is not helpful so sit on the floor on the dog bed against the couch with a squeaky toy and try to contain the puppy. Rewind the movie again.

24. Watch the puppy as he roams and seems to be "sniffing" for a spot. Take the puppy out. Remove the leash from his mouth. Realize he doesn't want to go "out". Return inside.

25. Rewind the movie again. Sit back down with a toy and the puppy. Try to give the resident dog a lot of praise and attention too.

26. Watch the puppy sniff around on a rug and squat. Yell "NO!" and grab the puppy's leash. Throw a paper towel over the soiled spot and take the puppy out, praise him when he finishes going potty outside. Bring him back in. Remove the leash from his mouth. Try not to play tug-of-war in doing so.

27. Go get "Nature's Miracle", soak up as much of the mess out of the berber carpet as you can, spray the spot with the cleaner, soak it up, repeat. Take a shoe away from the puppy. Return to cleaning the rug. Put the cleaning implements away. Take the soiled paper towel away from the puppy and deposit it in the garbage. (The paper towels, not the puppy!)

28. Return to the movie. Rewind it again. Play "fetch" several times with the puppy.

29. Accidentally get into a "tug-of-war" game with the puppy. Make sure you win!

30. YIPE loudly when puppy accidentally bites you while you are winning the tug-of-war game you didn't intend to play.

31. Sit down at the computer to write about "how to foster a puppy".

32. Find it endearing that he is sitting on your feet while chewing on a proper toy. Hear a crunch and remove the teddy bear's eye from the puppy's mouth. Return to typing.

33. Realize the puppy is investigating computer wires. Push the puppy away and block the area with another object. Give the puppy a toy. Return to typing.

34. Hear another crunch. Remove the other teddy-bear's eye from the puppy's mouth.

35. Pet the puppy because he is really really cute! Remove your shirt sleeve from the puppy's mouth. Tell the puppy to get a toy. Remove your pant leg hem from the puppy's mouth. Tell him again to get a toy.

36. Realize you ARE what the puppy considers to be a "toy". Stand up and get a proper chew toy. As the puppy comes at you with a a wide open mouth ready to bite you again, stuff the toy in his mouth and watch him squeak away happily. Go sit down and rewind the movie.

37. Realize it is late. Take the puppy  and resident dog outside to go potty, put the puppy in his kennel and go to bed.

38. Get up in the morning, immediately get on the cold-weather gear and get the resident dog's leash on. Approach the kennel, leash in hand. Catch the puppy as he explodes out. Entirely miss him. Chase him off the couch. Take the couch pillow away. Try to catch him to put the leash on. Intervene when puppy pounces on resident dog who does NOT like being pounced upon. Try to catch the puppy. Take the couch pillow away again. Put it out of reach. Finally get the leash on. Untangle the leashes. Open the inner door. Untangle the leashes again. Praise resident dog for being so patient and quiet. Go outside with the dogs. Try not to slip on the ice when being pulled in several directions at once. Untangle the leashes again...

40. Welcome to life with a puppy!  (Don't worry, they grow out of it.....!)  ;-)

{ADDENDUM}

41. Notice how resident dog is getting snippier and snippier alternated with trying desperately to get away from puppy in active mode. Realize how this is not a good thing for either dog.

42. Contact dog's adoption representative to update and request he be moved to a more appropriate home.

43. Pray and wait for some hapless foster to take said adoption rep up on the offer to bring home the cutest puppy EVER!

44. Continuing working on maintaining peace in current home while scrambling to keep the puppy busy....

The Mystery of the Open Door

For the last several days, it seems like every time I've come home from work, I've had a door open that wasn't supposed to be open. Or perhaps a makeshift "baby gate" that has been tipped over by a very guilty-looking German Shepherd.

I'm used to her antics in trying to access some baby-gated areas and usually, no harm done so it's not a huge deal (as long as it's not the kitchen!).  Open doors, though, are a different matter entirely!

I had actually been attributing the recent open rooms to my own failure to properly close the doors, and again, neither the bedroom or bathroom had any damage or obvious disturbance, so I didn't worry. After all, my dog isn't a puppy anymore although she DOES on occasion get into things and make a mess simply because (GSD owners say it with me!) ...she's a GERMAN SHEPHERD!

Until last night, anyway, I'd been attributing open doors to my own failure to close them, and this is the cue that I need to give you a little back story.....

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time, little new homeowner Adoro adopted a German Shepherd, age 1.5 years, from the local Humane Society. The paperwork and the staffer there told Adoro that her new pet was very very smart and had a long history of an uncanny ability to open doors she was not supposed to open.


Adoro learned this very quickly the first time she tried to kennel her dear GSD, only to come home 45 minutes later to find the kennel door ajar and the dog standing outside of it with a happy waggy tail and a big happy doggie grin. 


The next time Adoro left, she reinforced the kennel with flex ties at all points, even the door, thinking that as she would be gone for only about a half hour, this would be a good test of the new "security" system. 


When Adoro came home, the kennel was completely intact! Yay! The door was still closed and tightly tied shut!


Unfortunately, the German Shepherd was AGAIN outside of the kennel, staring at her, doggie-grinning and happy-wagging. 


Hmmm.....


Well, Adoro gave up on the kennel, at that point realizing that to continue might actually cause her dog to be strangled if she was trapped in an escape attempt and Adoro did not arrive home in time to stop the tragedy. So it was that she invested in a baby gate for the kitchen to prevent counter surfing (for some reason the dog did not desire to jump over the gate), and pseudo-gate the steps at the bottom to prevent the dog from going upstairs. 


Over the years this worked, until the German Shepherd did begin leaping the stair gate. In place of that, Adoro closed upstairs doors, especially after an incident in which her dog had injured herself during the day and cost Adoro hundreds in veterinary bills to prevent her dog from bleeding to death when the clotting factors were thrown off by the injury. 


That system worked very very well  unless Adoro forgot to close the door or simply didn't latch it properly. 

Until....now...

And that's where the story continues to the nearly present day.

Keep in mind that the doorknobs in my house are the round sort that tend to need to be GRIPPED in order to turn and unlatch.

Well, I had begun to wonder about the open doors, wondering if in fact, there was a "mechanical" problem with the mechanism - was it not latching properly even though I had pulled and heard the "click"?

Then last night, I came  home to find that my bedroom door was open and a child-size scapular I bought at the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City in 1994 was lying on the ground, the string in shreds and the miraculous medal lying neatly among the mess.

When I stopped to stare at it in confusion, my German Shepherd circled my feet, ears back, tail tucked with the tip wagging as she "apologized".

I picked up the pieces. None were wet so it happened hours ago. The string appeared to have broken through stress. There was no damage to the door or the knob. The dog was playing "guilty" all over the place, especially when I had the evidence in my hand.

Thankfully, only the string was damaged - the two main pieces seemed fine and perhaps can be used again.

You see, this scapular is one that maybe I had worn (I don't remember) but as it is so beautiful and comes from such a place, I put it on my doorknob as an act of devotion - both to preserve it and to remind myself of Our Lady's protection, her intercession, and of course, what it means to be devoted to Christ.

I guess my dog isn't really into sacramentals even though I've done my best to raise her as a Catholic and she seems to enjoy it when I pray the Liturgy of the Hours with her.

But still.- I couldn't figure out what the broken scapular had to do with the open door! And of course, WHY the scapular was broken!

Yesterday a storm had passed through, and as the years have gone on, I've noticed that my dog reacts more and strongly seeks my company when the thunder cracks. I wondered if perhaps she'd nudged the doorknob in hopes of finding me, or maybe to get as close to me (via my scent in my room) as possible during the storm, and the door just happened to be forced open at her insistence, the knob turned just enough.

Today changed that theory, but first a little more to the story: 

You see, a couple years ago my dog wandered into the upstairs bathroom one evening and apparently closed the door on herself. She didn't make a peep, but because she was often in my room staring out the window doing her GSD-thing, it wasn't uncommon for her not to be with me in the main part of the house.

Well, having not seen her for a few hours and wanting to feed her, I called and she did not come. I knew she was not outside (no fenced yard so she was never outside alone). I went upstairs, saw the door to my room closed and recalled doing that. But I knew she wasn't in my room because I'd ushered her out before closing the door. But why was the bathroom door closed?

I opened it and she exited somewhat sheepishly as I greeted her. I remember being confused; the doggie Houdini-extraordinaire hadn't made a peep up there and hadn't torn the door apart in an attempt to get out!

I thought that perhaps she'd forgotten about her door-opening skill after nudging the door closed during routine sniffing and decided to just wait it out.

Well...no. I was wrong. 

She just hadn't had the proper motivation at the time as she was quite content that evening, apparently, to lay down on the rug and take a nap until I'd opened the door.

Today when I came home, once again I found the bedroom door standing ajar and the dog acting guilty in her rush to pass me in hopes I wouldn't notice that, in fact, I didn't actually have to open the door myself.

I stopped, horrified, staring from the floor to the doorknob. Was my only other scapular from that shrine destroyed, too?

No, no...the ground was bare. I looked at the knob. No, there it hung, although it was a bit more tightly wound. I reached out to grasp the "tag" with the embroidered picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe, feeling the gold threads under my fingers. I tugged gently...and saw the knob turn. The string was just taught enough to rub and pull the knob to the side, releasing the latch!

As the door opened, I rose my eyes to my dog, perched at the window, staring outward, ears forward and twitching according to the sounds reverberating against those huge radars. She stood at the window I always left slightly open in fair weather to let the fresh air waft in, and there she could percept, as well, all the sounds of the neighborhood including the dog the neighbors always allow to roam off leash all day long....

Mystery Solved!

CASE CLOSED!

RESOLUTION:

* close window even while gone
* remove scapular from door and leave nothing to act as "doggie pull-chain"
* more interesting toys if actually affordable?  (donations accepted!)
* get a different breed  NEVER! GET BEHIND ME SATAN!  German Shepherds are as close as a canine can get to being human - must continue to nurture in accordance with St. Thomas Aquinas's hierarchy of Creation as this is clearly an animal present with Adam in the Garden! Must learn to be more like the dog whose thought process is very logical!

OK then!

Blog Quotes of the Day

It's been awhile since I posted some of these, so back by...uh...popular demand of the past, I bring you some silliness for today:

If bloggers stopped blogging about what happened to them, then there would be a lot of empty web pages.

~ inspired by Elaine Liner

The man who blogs about himself and his own time is the only man who blogs about all people and all time.

~ inspired by George Bernard Shaw

The role of a blogger is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.

~ inspired by Anais Nin

Either blog something worth blogging or do something worth blogging.

~ inspired by Ben Franklin

And for the cherry of truth atop a cupcake of silliness:

The skill of blogging is to create a context in which anonymous commenters can flame without fear of reprisal.

~ loosely inspired by Edwin Schlossberg

Discalced Singles of Perpetual Involuntary Vocational Deprivation

Every now and then someone contacts me to ask how my "discernment" is going, and that makes sense, considering the very premise upon which I began this blog was... (drum roll....) : VOCATIONAL DISCERNMENT.

Well, I haven't offered any updates because IT ISN'T GOING ANYWHERE. 

Literally.

Now, don't jam up my combox [not that I recall what a jammed-up combox is since I've never had one] with a bunch of hand waving interruptions and insinuations like nightmares from the past I wish I could forget resembling  "But Adoro! But Adoro! Go to this community! Or this Order! And Oh my gosh, Adoro, my twelfth cousin thrice removed liked THIS community and celebrated her jubilee this week so you should go there!".

Please spare me and all we discernment-weary Singles your....uh...distant relative's joy. I already assume it exists and that if God wanted us to know more about it, we'd be the recipient of it in some way, and far more directly than a combox internet-vocational-charitableness assault from someone I don't know and who doesn't actually know me no matter what I've written over the years.  (Why do I fell like I'm channeling The Crescat right now?!)

Anyway...yeah...I'm done looking and have been for over a year now. I know where I'm going but God has not opened the door. In fact, even though the community opened the door, I have not been able to enter their program, ironically, because I work for a church and every one of their formation weekends has also taken place on a weekend I have been required to work. Every one. No exception. Not even their retreat was possible for me. That's what I get for having to direct a program I don't even want; but then again, we must be obedient and go when GOD calls, not when we would prefer to go.

As a friend of mine observed (someone comfortably married who can afford to make such observations), I'm probably experiencing a "purification".  

Yeah, tell me something I DON'T know. What I AM interested in knowing is whether this ongoing period of purification that began roughly when I lost my first career in late1996 is going to finally come to an end? Gosh, stick a fork in me already! I'm done!

Apparently God isn't into the culinary arts and doesn't have very good aim with the fork. Maybe He should talk to St. Lawrence, who always knew when he was done.

But I digress.

After a conversation with a friend today, who was under the impression that I have decided to no longer pursue religious life, I realized that, well, this limbo is not only Hell for we who suffer it, but also a really confusing time for our friends and family members who have come to "see" us, finally, as religious, and don't understand why we're not living in a community and going around chanting and praying all the time.

This conversation made me come up with 

A COMPLETELY BRILLIANT PLAN!

Oh, my regular followers are all shaking in your shoes right now, aren't you? You know ALL ABOUT my "Completely Brilliant Plans" from the past and how they...uh...ended...don't you?

Well, you all may be naysayers but really, this is brilliant and this time I MEAN it!

So, here's the deal:  there's a lot of we Single Catholics out there who aren't at all sure of our Vocation and are at various stages of discernment. For some it is a new thing, for some, who are veterans like me, we actually squwack cobwebs from our mouths when we utter the word "Vocation", and that's really disconcerting both to us and to our various interlocutors.

Many of us have worked really really hard, with SD's, with friends, with spiritually-wise trusted people to learn to seek God's will, and some of us have, in that journey, even spent thousands of dollars in a Master's in Theology program just to work in a church so that we might become even MORE poor and deprived in a voluntary economic inversion of involuntary poverty we didn't actually understand before it irrevocably buried us.

We discerned seriously, and then the doors closed. We realized we aren't called to Marriage (or probably not, at least), and focused with our entire hearts and souls upon religious life of some sort, and learned that, well, with our debt, the market crash that made it impossible for we late vocations to sell our homes and actually be without debt as canonically required, our student loans, our credit card loans from paying for car repairs not covered by warranty...etc...we're really REALLY buried, and not a valuable finely crafted Trappist coffin among us!

No one will have us. We're so poor we can't pay our own bills, and even though we have the ability, otherwise, to enter religious life, we find there are other obstacles, such as parish work, that literally makes it impossible to even BEGIN to enter the final stages to acceptance to a community...which, if completed, would open doors to mere financial assistance.

But heck, at least we get to experience the poverty-part while seeking. That's such a nice plus.

Gosh, I can't tell you what an honor it is to offer up a near-foreclosure existence while barely staying ahead of disconnection bills. Just riding the holy wave of the almost-destitute....whew! The ADRENALINE baby!

It's so heroic to be single and try to figure out which of my possessions will fit into a box on the corner under the 394 bridge near the Basilica in Minneapolis. I think my wool blankets hand-woven from Mexico, the ones I got in the market, would be wonderful, but I hope they don't pick up vermin too quickly or start to stink if they get wet.

But WAIT!

IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE LIKE THAT!

This brings us to my plan:

MY COMPLETELY BRILLIANT PLAN:

I'm going to found a new Religious Order!

Are you ready?

Good!

But...before I tell you what it is, there will be a certain code of introduction we the Screeners (not "Superiors" as we have no authority whatsoever) will be looking for. It should be something like this:

"Hi, I'm Adoro and I'm a Single in Vocational limbo just when I had it figured out for...hold on I have to count (one...two..three...) Do you have a calculator? No? Ok, hold on... (four...no, wait...ok six...back to...right...then...) TEN! I had it figured out for the tenth time, consistently. Um, except that...well...uh *scratching head, scraping toe on floor* I'm still Single and I THINK I'm supposed to enter religious life except that, ah, well...I can't. And it's not just a matter of funds but...ah, well...the door is...uh....stuck.

Yes, that's right, it's stuck. It won't open. I've tried and tried and the crowbar is defective. See? It broke! And now I'm out $20.00 for the broken crowbar and the store won't take it back since it's "used". Now I have to skip 3 days of Ramen noodles because I have to pay for that bloody crowbar!"

You see, that's what we'd be looking for, although variations would be permitted.

So, are you interested in what Religious Order could come out of the above intake interview?

Here it is:

The Discalced Singles of Perpetual Involuntary Vocational Deprivation

Who we Are: Singles from all walks of life who have sincerely sought God's will for our lives but broke crowbars and hurst tools while trying to open each and every Vocational Door...at least twice, if not more. We're on the "lowered expectations" end of the scale because most of us have tried sincerely several times and seem to be stuck in a room full of a few doors that refuse to open or be chopped down.

Each candidate goes through a screening process to make sure they aren't just taking the "easy way out"; we Discalced Singles of Perpetual Involuntary Vocational Deprivation worked HARD to get to where we aren't, and we won't tolerate anyone who hasn't put in the honest time and mileage. Most of us are age 36 and above, given the cut-off ages of most religious communities.

We Discalced Singles of Perpetual Involuntary Vocational Deprivation will take ANYONE of any age over and above those accepted by religious congregations. We're like the opposite of the Frassati Society - the flip side of that coin.

Oh, and just to be curmudgeonly, we don't do outdoors things because it's really hard on our feet since we're discalced.

That brings us to our Vows:

We take vows of Chastity, Poverty (not like we have a choice!) and Obedience to the Magisterium of the Holy Catholic Church, and we will go barefoot (discalced), also because we have no choice because a requirement of membership is actual poverty because the economy crashed and they foreclosed on our houses so now we're both homeless and shoeless and just trying to keep the car running so we can get to work so we can pay taxes, never mind the groceries....

We're still discerning our Charism; the thus far non-existent Discalced Singles of Perpetual Involuntary Vocational Deprivation is such a motley crowd and we so fear becoming modern hippies with vile 60's and 70's colored dyes and ironed hair and designer fringes on the organic hemp clothing being pushed on us by a nearby vegan community who just doesn't "get" our spirituality, man, know what I'm sayin'? (Seriously, just because we're poor doesn't mean we're without taste or have in some way become color blind! Also...we like meat. We actually would be willing to raise cattle as long as we get a good cut of steak every now and then, especially when it's warm enough to grill.)

So...more to come as we continue to discern our involuntary Vocational deprivation....

From Hell

Spiders are from Hell. They are demons sent to torture us in small ways. Think about it.

My long-time readers will remember a couple posts on the topic of spiders.

The first was aptly entitled Spiders so I offer this excerpt:

Fast forward to my new townhome. For the first couple years, I lived in holy terror of the bushes. They were COVERED in funnel webs and sheet webs, spiders entered my house through microscopic cracks and I considered purchasing a S&W .45 semi-auto and staking out the doorway in order to blow every creeping spider into oblivion. Or purchase a blow-torch. Or Aqua-Net and a lighter.

Every morning as I stepped outside with the dogs, I feared walking into a web that covered the doorway. As it was, they covered the doorbell and made the bushes look like a horror-movie version of cotton-candy. Vanilla flavored. I idly wondered if I sprayed the bushes with food coloring, could I SELL the webs as a fair treat?

Spiders on a stick.

Read the rest; for once it's not a long post but it has the benefit of big, colorful pictures of spiders. Go ahead. I dare you!

You may be asking yourself, "What prompted this random post about the demonic nature of spiders?"

Well, my Google+ friend (I'm not naming him as I'm not sure if he's public or not) posted a photo of a spider sculpture demonically placed directly across from the Notre Dame Cathedral in Ottawa, Canada. The spider happens to sport a huge egg sac crawling with baby spiders ready to overcome the world. Or at least the square.

Or perhaps it is actually an allegory of an allegory of the dragon discussed in colorful detail in the book of Revelation; the dragon waiting to eat the child of the Lady, forcing her to flee to save him from the spider's dragon's terrible jaws.

I bet if we really look at the original Greek, the term for "dragon" would mean:

 "huge giant gargantuan leviathan sickening drooling snapping aggressive funnel-and-sheet-web-weaving venom-bearing creepy crawling destructive poisonous vindictive rabid syphilic leperous flesh-eating hairy scuttering scaling ebola-and-tetanus-bearing kracken with eight legs building an ecosystem out of nasty rotten cotton spun out of its rear end in order to snare unsuspecting or misdirected innocents in order to entrap them in said cotton (not silk because silk is pretty) in order to suck blood from them for eternity just for sport and to get back at God for stepping on the snake that tempted Eve and suckered Adam."

Yup. That's what "Dragon" means in Revelation. It's all there. Really.

Spiders are creatures straight from Hell.

I once had a dream about it, and sin was the vehicle that carried the spider allegory. It still haunts me, and I STILL dream of spiders and spider-like creatures when I need to go to Confession.

Oh, yes, God knows how to remind me of Hell and how I will be spending it if I continue to reject Him.

I will be spending it with spiders, dead and alive, large and small, and I will NEVER be able to escape them!

The worst part about it, is this: if in life I become comfortable with them, that is the sign that in death, I will suffer eternal separation from God in their huge giant gargantuan leviathan sickening drooling snapping aggressive funnel-and-sheet-web-weaving venom-bearing creepy crawling destructive poisonous vindictive rabid syphilic leperous flesh-eating hairy scuttering scaling ebola-and-tetanus-bearing kracken with eight legs building an ecosystem out of nasty rotten cotton spun out of its rear end in order to snare unsuspecting or misdirected innocents in order to entrap them in said cotton (not silk because silk is pretty) in order to suck blood from them for eternity just for sport and to get back at God for stepping on the snake that tempted Eve and suckered Adam with no hope of ever escaping to a dragon/spider free eternity.

In order to understand this statement, check out my eternally-haunting dream from 2007, Attachments to Sin:

I turned away and went to find my spray bottle, a spider repellant, which I hoped would kill all the spiders that still lived, even unseen, in that terrible thick web. First I went to the garage where I was careful to cover all corners and the entire door with the fine spray. Then I went to the large wall/door in my home and sprayed it down, aiming especially at anything that moved. When done, I put the bottle away then returned to the conglomeration of spider webs, trying to figure out how best to deal with the mess.


Even as I stared at it, I realized that for some reason, I was not as horrified as I should have been; I am complete arachnophobic. I HATE spiders, they freak me out and give me nightmares. (case in point!). Yet I was somewhat disaffected by the overabundance of these horrible creatures and the home they had made in my very house!. I thought this kind of complacency to be odd, even in the dream.

*shudder*

Read the rest. You'll never look at spiders or sin the same way again.

Maybe you're still thinking I'm some sort of crank case.

I ask you this: Why do I think this post makes you think differently than you ever did before?

Yup. I'm a crank case. But that doesn't make me wrong.

Think about it; Spiders are a creation of God designed to reveal the nature of evil and Hell.

1.  Some spiders are *cough choke vomit*  pretty  *choke choke choke Heimlich choke cough* in some twisted way, and attract people...well...who are attracted to that sort of...uh... *choke* beauty *choke..someone give me oxygen* !!  Ugh.  That's all I can say about that or I'll drop dead right here on my own blog.

2. Have you ever seen the morning sun, as it rises, reflect upon the dew droplets innocently caught on the predatory reflecting the new light, the dew droplets like perfect victims pearls, revealing the incredible artistic, ingenious design of the death trap ?

[Note to self: get rid of anything resembling pearls. They now remind me of dew drops being sucked to eternal torture in a demon's lair]

3.  Spiders retreat and set snares for their prey, just like demons. All the creatures who find their violent end in a spider's web or outside his trapdoor have to do is go about their daily business of flitting from flower to flower or shade to shade, only to find the horrific countenance of deformed ickyness pouncing and latching onto them in all their nasty hairy skitteriness only to suck the life from them at leisure. It's a terrible, painful death involving liquefied organs.

No wonder they've spawned so many horror flicks. Just like they spawn their young and take over the planet.

4. Spiders and their lairs spawn and then attract innocent children who are fascinated by their surroundings and see only the pretty colors. Just like sin. Sin is pretty too, but it ensnares the soul and sucks the life out of the human who also mistook it for a shiny bauble.

5. The biggest spiders are found in the hottest places on earth: the tropics, the desert. Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico, Texas, Mexico, Guatemala, etc etc through the Amazon, then Africa, the Middle East, India, Taiwan, Indonesia, Australia, New Zealand....you get the picture.

Hell is HOT. That's why spiders live there on earth, too.

6. There are 6 points, the number of imperfection, ergo: God created spiders, and because every facet and creature of His creation has theological import, it's obvious that spiders were designed to remind us of Hell.

Spiders Demons weave pretty webs but reproduce in astronomical proportions; whatever "beauty" can be attached to a spider is merely an allegory for Satan and his minions and his horrific residence.

Spiders and Demons are the same thing and should be handled in the same way they handle us: violently.

Maybe that's why the Saints said we must "do violence"  to ourselves in order to rid ourselves of sin. After all, demons, by seeking to separate us from God, do violence to us, and spiders are, by nature, bloodthirsty, violent creatures.

I will never again feel guilty about "wasting" ammo on a spider. They're great for target practice.

I just wish the neighbors would relax about it.

What?

What Do Sin and Belly-Button Lint Have In Common?

Observation 1:

Yesterday I was watching, via Netflix DVD, the 1980's show "Perfect Strangers". 

This probably has to be one of the best comedies ever, and it's so refreshing to actually LAUGH at things that are funny but not in a squirmy "I shouldn't be laughing at this" kind of way.

In any case, Balki, from the mediterranian country of Mypos, was working on a lint painting. He explained to cousin Larry that the legend of its origin had to do with their spiritual leader. The man apparently made a trip to the top of a mountain where he sat staring at his navel for sixty days and sixty nights, and returned to his people with a lint painting.

Seriously, doesn't that make you giggle?

Then I reflected a bit on navel-gazing. Are you ready for my observation?  Here it is:

If you don't navel-gaze on occasion, you'll never find the lint you missed.

Ponder that one for a bit...

Observation 2:

This morning's Divine Office, first reading, was taken from the book of Hosea.

The book itself is startling, expressive, and ultimately redemptive in character, but I always cringe at the names.

The prophet Hosea, at God's direction, took a harlet named Gomer as his wife, and she gave birth to a son. Then the Lord said to him,

Give him the name Jezreel

for in a little while

I will punish the house of Jehu

for the bloodshed at Jezreel

And bring to an end the kingdom

of the house of Israel;

Ugh. Brutal name for the poor infant son!

But wait! There's more!

Gomer gave birth to a daughter, and the Lord ordered Hosea,

"Give her the name Lo-ruhama;

I no longer feel pity for the house of Israel;

rather, I abhor them utterly.

And it even gets worse when Gomer gave birth to another son:

Give him the name of Lo-ammi,

for you are not my people,

and I will not be your God

That's just from today's reading! There's even more!

Although I do love the book of Hosea, which is an allegory expressing the spousal love of God for His Bride, the Church (and what a fallen Bride she is), the names given here cause me to ponder concupiscence, for truly, it is not God who rejects us, but we reject Him. We are the ones telling Him, "We will not be your people and You will not be our God."

That's what sin does.

Sometimes I am very saddened upon the necessary navel-gazing, looking for that lint I missed the last time I went to Confession. But when I really think about it, I am overwhelmed with gratitude that I am not named Gomer, Jezreel, Lo-ruhama or Lo-ammi, or for that matter, Mahershalalhashbaz.

That is all.

** ** **

P.S. You checked your belly-button for lint, didn't you? ;-)

Comedy Among Tragedy

It's been a weird day for me, filled with grace, humor, sadness, grief, and hope.

Comedy of Errors

It all started with a thunderstorm that kept me home after my planned departure time, allowing me to take a phone call from a co-worker who needed a ride to work today.

I'd already opened my garage door for air, so when I finally left I found two birds taking shelter from the weather. They flew off as I encroached upon their friendly solitude and tossed my purse into the car.

En to co-worker's house, I was confused, wondering if perhaps I was on the wrong road; for some reason, everything looked weird today. Although the road signs and sights were familiar I was discombobulated, then taken aback even more when I had to slow for what I thought was a family of ducks. As I reached them, though, I didn't recognize them as any waterfowl I'd ever seen and was unable to get a good look thanks to a redneck pickup hard on my rear end. Had I not slowed to a stop for the birds, however, I would have run over the last cartoonish straggler, which I hope the pickup driver saw in his probable confusion as to my randomly-stopped behavior on a country road.

When I finally reached my co-worker's neighborhood, I missed the turn and had to go back, even though I've driven this route several times.

On the way to work, we saw yet another creature crossing the road ahead of us, but this time neither of us could identify us; could have been a cat, a badger, a skunk, or a raccoon...or some other critter not yet considered. For once, no deer appeared; they were probably still huddled in their storm-shelter thickets.

Then I took another wrong turn and headed up a highway that took me back towards home...not work. Laughing at my very stupid mistake, I turned around at the next exit and managed to navigate our way to the office.

My co-worker took me out for lunch to thank me for the drive to work and home for the last couple days, and on the way back from the office, I AGAIN turned down a wrong road, causing a detour from a known detour. There seemed to be a theme developing.

Finally, on the way back home, I AGAIN got off on the wrong exit to my co-worker's home, causing us to have to sit in traffic we could have avoided and even though it all worked out, she offered me the use of her GPS in case I got lost finding my way home again!

Yeah...I nearly took her up on that offer!

But that's not the whole story. There were bigger events today and I wonder if God just used my lapse in obvious navigation as comic relief to keep me from focusing on  weight heavy upon my heart.

Tragedy

Today we visited a dear friend who is dying of cancer, now completely bedridden at home, suffering from the encroachment of several brain tumors.

I admit I was afraid to see him, but at the same time, looking forward to it, for I love this dear, dear man.

When we arrived, I had to hide my shock (even though I expected this) at his condition; he looked like a concentration camp survivor. This once-robust man was lying in bed, eyes still bright and welcoming, overwhelmed so much by a body wasted away that he could not even reach up to hug us, settling for a good strong handshake instead.

We remained for an hour or so, listening to a story about a part of his life, laughing with him and his wife as they still bantered, laughing with his lively spirit even as he struggled to draw his breath, waiting patiently through his pauses as he had to often swallow, breathe, and gather himself for the next thing he was going to say. It was a great gift to be with him.

This man and I have a few wonderful things in common:  we graduated from the same university, although he has a greater claim to it: he was a Brother there for a time, trying his Vocation, attended the seminary there, and of course, ultimately earned his Bachelor's there, as did I...many many years later. So it was that I was grateful to sit at his feet, literally, as he spoke of his early Vocation, how it came to be, his Irish mother and her persistence, his Priest brother, and his children and grandchildren in their relationship to God and the Faith.  He showed us his rosary, spoke of his brother's death (only a couple years ago), of his mother.

Yup. He's always been a storyteller, but what I reflected on as we left was this: in his stories, he is remembering and communicating not just his actions, but trying to impress upon us those he loved who had gone before him. He is getting ready to meet them again.

He gave me a few directions and hopes for his funeral, things that perhaps I can assist with, and I recognized it as a "dying wish". He knows full well that I don't have the power to do all of it, but I do perhaps have the ability to influence at least SOME of it...and a few other things perhaps he doesn't expect. Those things are in the works and I must pray about the rest, for it involves personally delivering very difficult news to young people in hopes they will respond in love through their grief and meet Christ more deeply.

I don't know if I'll ever see him again, but as we told his dear wife, we hope to come back for "Chapter 2" of his story. I don't think MY life will be complete without it.

The Unexpected Tragedy

When we returned to the office today after the hilarity of lunch and getting "lost" on the way back thanks to my ditziness in known lands, I had an email from my brother.

Mom recently came to the Cities, to Abbot Northwestern Hospital, for some tests on her heart. Well, they found a blockage. My brother said only that Mom needed surgery, family needed to be present, and he couldn't be there so call Mom.

So I did.

Mom has a blockage in one of her Coronary arteries, which are the arteries that supply blood to the heart itself. One of the tests she had was an angiogram, and the surgery required now is Angioplasty. For those unfamiliar, it means they send a little balloon into the artery to clear the blockage, and this includes many risks, although it is probably easily the least invasive heart surgery available.

I told Mom to schedule it according to what works. She was concerned about a meeting with her Insurance Agent that week. I told her to cancel it, he'll understand. (She worries about these kinds of things).

We also discussed the Sacraments: I told her she should be Anointed (Sacrament of the Sick), but she said she wasn't sure how to go about it. Part of the problem is that her own Pastor is out with his own health problems, so substitute priests are covering their parish. They never know who's coming, and often, they don't even arrive for scheduled Confessions on Saturday. She had thought, since there are rarely any lines anyway even if a priest DOES show up, that perhaps she could ask for the Sacrament then.

Well...given the improbability of this actually happening, she is going to contact another nearby parish, one with which she is familiar, and ask for Confession and Anointing. (I also told her Confession is part of the Last Sacrament, for those who are able, so even if she hadn't been to Confession they should be offering it).  I looked up the phone number for her and it sounds like she is familiar with and comfortable with the priests, one of whom was ordained only a year or two ago.

As soon as I learned of her surgery, I sent out prayer requests, and immediately the Grace was flowing, as prayers are being answered.

First, Mom is going into surgery on August 15, the Feast of the Assumption. She has a HUGE devotion to the Blessed Mother, and I can't help but recall that my one and only surgery was on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. My Mother's prayers gave me my devotion to Mary and brought me back to my Faith, even though she didn't know I was lost. Now I am grateful to see Our Lady's intercession with the date of Mom's heart surgery.

We grew up with the images of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and Immaculate Heart of Mary...clearly, they will be with Mom, and hopefully with her surgeon, anesthesiologist, surgical nurses, technicians, lab techs, etc etc ets.

Secondly, she is going to receive the Sacraments of Confession and Anointing at...Divine Mercy parish.

At least, if complications arise, we will have the comfort of knowing she will go to Our Lord having received His Most Divine Mercy, after a life of suffering, after a life of quiet devotion and unnoticed holiness.

But please, God, not yet. I'm clearly still lost, can't find my way, and still need my mother!

Prayer Requests:

Please pray for my friend as he prepares to leave this world, and when you pray the rosary, add an extra decade for the Christian Brothers and for students everywhere.  

Pray also for my Mom, who hopes to continue with we who still need her, yet she still has the humility to know she may be going into this and meeting eternal beatitude. Although my brother and I and our extended family want her forever in Jesus's arms,  we aren't quite finished with her and are praying this surgery is typical and uneventful and gives her back a bit more health so that she can enjoy the fresh air a bit longer. 

Thank you all who have already received this news and are praying, and thank you to all who pray upon learning this information now.

Operation Deputy Tim

Welcome to another edition of "Storytime with Adoro". Sit back, grab an iced tea or lemonade, and enjoy the ride!

**     **     **

I grew up in two small towns, and the one I grew up in more was bigger than the one I'd grew up in before I'd arrived. So it was that my experience both as a teen and as an aspiring police officer occurred in a mid-sized city in a decent county that gave me both the connections of the small town along with the mysteriousness of a larger city.

You see...my family was small, followed the law, so didn't get into trouble. On the other hand, we weren't  exactly celebrities or politicians and therefore, we, the average taxpayer-type of family, did everything every other family did. That meant that my best friend from my local Catholic Church babysat for a county Deputy and I was, as her best friend and trusted by her family and a parishioner at their parish also...a substitute babysitter.

So it was that, through my church and social life, while growing up I came to know not just one Sheriff's Deputy, but a lot of them, and when I was old enough, (high school), was able to ride along with them on a shift or so and learn about becoming a cop...city or county. Cops are very supportive to those aspiring in their own footsteps.

Because I babysat for one Deputy's family, I was called upon, as a trusted ride-along and friend, to babysit for others, and their kids were kind when I was as terrified as spiders as they were. But that's a different story. (I think those kid's father is now the Sheriff, but I digress.)

Meanwhile, Back At the Teen's House...

We were plotting. That's what 18 year old teens do: they plot. So we did.

You see, our favorite Deputy, a very reserved gentleman and great Deputy in line for great things was about to have his birthday. Because my best friend and I, both trusted babysitters, could not let this date go by unnoticed in our own advanced ages of 18 and 19, we got in touch with his wife with a completely brilliant plan. We knew that we could engage her own mischievous nature, too.

We had decided that our dear friend, Deputy Tim, needed to smile a bit. We knew him to be a wonderful human being, but he didn't smile a lot so we decided that it was necessary to do something for his birthday that would bring a smile to his face and a bit of ribbing from his co-workers, who hopefully loved and respected him as much as we did.

In a bit of trepidation, his wife gave us the key to the van he was driving on that fateful day, admonishing us  with the dark directive, "Don't do anything to embarrass Tim or damage the van!".

"No problem!" We took the key, grinning at each other, knowing what was to come.

And, actually to be totally honest...as we were 18 and 19 respectively, of COURSE there would be an "embarrassment" aspect to our hi-jinks! Duh!

Tim's wife knew that, but of course she was just asking for some of it to be moderated a bit because anything we did to him would overflow onto her and she'd have to do the damage control. We knew this, too, and respected this limit. We had no desire to undermine the trust and respect we had for her and her for us.

This was a delicate and carefully planned Operation.

On the day it was to happen, when we picked up the key, Deputy Tim's wife gave it to us in an envelope along with his tentative schedule. Armed with foreknowledge, it fell to me as the most credible and criminal-record-free of the two of us, to contact the Law Enforcement Center with our plan so that we would be allowed into the restricted area where the County and City cops parked their personal vehicles.

Having often been there, I knew who worked the day shift, which dispatchers, and of course, the gossip tree that would send every "free" employee of the LEC to the windows overlooking the parking lot while we did our dirty little deed!

So it was that we drove around the block a few times to scope things out and saw, much to our joy, that Deputy Tim had parked the family van at the edge of the lot in full visibility of the main drag in town. SCORE!

We immediately knew where to hang our carefully crafted banner, precisely composed in the alternate colors of our respective vehicles; one of which Deputy Tim would not recognize as I had purchased it only a few days prior.

Oh, yes, we were Geniuses! 

Finally it was time. I picked up the phone and called the non-emergency number for Dispatch, identified myself, informed the Dispatcher that it was Deputy Tim's birthday and explained our plan. I asked permission for us to enter the premises to decorate his vehicle inside and out and invited her to contact his wife to verify our...veracity.

There was no need. She knew who I was, told me exactly where Deputy Tim would be and when so that we would have a perfect hour-and-a-half opening to enter the parking lot to complete our business.

I thanked her very much, hung up, and my best friend and I set to work blowing up balloons and stuffing them into our vehicles so that they would be ready for transfer at the proper time.

A few hours later, we entered the lot which was strangely abandoned, found Deputy Tim's van, and set to work. Very conscious of the fact that any available personnel of the City and County Law Enforcement Departments was watching us both out of mirth and protection of their friend/co-worker, we moved carefully to ensure we would not end up face-down on the pavement with guns pointed at us. Fine if the Investigative Division was taking notes, not fine if it went sour!

As I lifted up the hatch on the van, I whacked myself a good one, quite likely witnessed by the mirthful peanut gallery overlooking the lot from the LEC, and even as I wiped the blood away, I pretended nothing had happened. The LAST thing we needed was an ambulance to respond to Deputy Tim's van!

Not-quite-as-deftly-as-we'd-hoped, we stowed the inflated balloons into his van, hung our sign, and a special message on his rear view mirror, in case he happened to miss the fact that there were 80 or so balloons filling his vehicle.

We fled, returned to my friend's house and spent the rest of the day cruising around in my car since it was the one he didn't know.

 But Wait! There's MORE!

Well, Deputy Jim was no dummy.

He returned to work and was directed by his co-workers to get something from his PV (personal vehicle). Upon returning, he demanded information which was also provided as the dispatchers had my full vehicle information. At some point, my friend and I switched cars and drove hers, so it was that, as we drove through town, we caught the good Deputy's eye and he followed us, everywhere we went, but didn't stop us.

Finally, as we drove out of town and in between the lakes, he turned on the lights and my friend pulled over. It was a warm summer day, our windows were open, and because this was not a formal stop, we got out of the car, too.

Deputy Tim, smiling broadly, cheeks reddened, boomed at us, "How did you get into the van?"

We yelled back to him, laughing, "Ask your wife!"

To me he asked, "When did you get the car?"

"Last week!"

Still smiling, maybe with his trademark smirk, an expression rarely seen, he tipped his hat at us, got back into the squad, and drove away.

Yup. We made his day!

Operation Deputy Tim...COMPLETE! 

To this day, it's one of my favorite memories of growing up. Even though I haven't seen him or his family in years, I hope "Deputy Tim" also remember it fondly. Now having been a cop, even for a very short time, I know why so many never smile, I know why he was always so serious,  and pray that our teen hi-jinks of that day spread encouragement not just to him, but to his colleagues as well. After all, without them as accomplices, we would have been criminals!

In all seriousness, please pray for all who work in Law Enforcement; the Police Officers, Deputies, Dispatchers, Marshalls, Constables, Community Service Officers...and Rookies.

Pray especially for my friend "Deputy Tim" and his family and friends, most of whom are probably retired now, one of whom might actually be the current Sheriff.

Thank you.

Grimm's Fairy Tales Aren't So Far-Fetched

...in fact...they're usually entirely too tame.

I gotta tellya, folks, sometimes a story is too good NOT to tell.

Once Upon a Time...

..in Adoro's Townhome Association, there lived a bunch of average people with their lives and their pets and their cars and their troubles. Usually they lived together just fine among the rules, but every now and then, there appeared some Trolls who moved into the Kingdom, or Trolls who emerged from those who had always been present even from the beginning.

One winter, there came a-barking a small ferocious creature with teeth, making vicious noises towards the residents of the Kingdom, and although the creature [York Terror] was merely bait for hawks or larger dogs, it had decided, through making its owners submissive to its desires, that it was the ruler of the Kingdom.

The Kingdom {Association}, made up mostly of good, responsible taxpayers in possession of their own fuzzy creatures, gave permissive indulgence to the idiocy of the village idiots {Trolls} in the charge of the York Terror, rolling their eyes upon the group as an unavoidable vacuous monstrosity common to townhome life.

After a time, though, the People of the Kingdom [Association] became annoyed and visited upon the elected Nobility [Association Homeowners' Board] various complaints regarding the small Terror, for fear their toes and ankles might be bitten or at the very least, harassed. As it was, they were fed up with the harassment of their auditory faculties and found need to seek relief through the Association authorities when their own confrontations of the thing's caretakers were fruitless.

Adoro, in her own particular consternation, having in her care a large beast of relatively ferocious countenance, found a need to prevent it from eating the York Terror for fear that should she do so, her own dear pet would be lost to her forever no matter how responsible she was. So it was that when the York Terror came to Adoro's door and pounced upon her own beast, she found herself in a moral dilemma that hadn't much contest at all.

It wouldn't matter that the Troll's lack of control over its own York Terror was at fault, no matter how documented was that lack.

Why?

You see, the York Terror was a protected class, and even though it was without control by its Trolls, and had never in fact been trained to understand humans were dominant over Terrors, it thought it was in charge, and tried to attack anything and anyone in its path. Had Adoro's Creature of Ferocious Countenance successfully sublimated the York Terror permanently, the Ferocious Creature, by laws of the Association and the State above it, would have been killed in order to rid the world of dangerous creatures.

So you see the problem, don't you? 

So it was that Adoro, in response to a timely letter from the Kingdom [Association], reported the offenses, in hopes the Calvary would arrive to put the York Terror and its minions in their respective place, perhaps, even if necessary, banish them to another Kingdom.

Indeed, the Kingdom attempted this, but was met with resistance and in fact, the Trolls outright ignored the Decrees of the Kingdom and allowed the York Terror to run amok throughout, thus annoying and irritating all in its path.

Meanwhile Back at the Guardhouse in the Shadow of the Moat

There was Adoro, innocently imagining her dinner, when there came about, once again, the echo and then the bark and then the growl and then the attack of the dread York Terror.

Adoro, having several times confronted this Terror and several times called upon the Kingdom's authority to banish the Terror and its minions who kept it so uncontrolled, was....finally fed up. She pushed up her sleeves, rolled up her cuffs, and took matters into her own hands; it was time to tame the beast and face the Terror that was so misnamed as to be far to gauche to represent the County of York by its name.

Vigilante Justice

Over the long winter, Adoro had obtained photos, had chased the Terror, had listened to it, had held her own Creature of Ferocious Countenance back from it, and one day, the CFC escaped and dominated the Terror as it gnashed its chops at her very door. Adoro could not hold her own Creature of Ferocious Countenance back from the vicious, unsupervised and unprovoked attack of the York Terror, for the latter would have otherwise encroached her very homestead.

Adoro, though, fearful the CFC would unlawfully damage or kill the Terror without the Kingdom's sanction, intervened at great risk to herself most especially from the Terror, and let the Terror yipe its way in horror back to its home as it realized Adoro's CFC, was, in fact...far more powerful and had far less patience for unmitigated yiping  than did the otherwise permissive human content of the Kingdom.

The next night, Adoro noted that the York Terror had convinced, by its terrified yiping, its Troll Servants-fancying-themselves-as-masters to pretend to contain it by nylon straps, along with its Guardian companion. Neither Adoro nor her Creature of Ferocious Countenance were fooled...they knew this battle wasn't over. The Trolls were only waiting their chance.

So it came....

Meeting the Head Troll

On this very evening, Adoro was busy at her work when she heard the clarion call of the York Terror emerging from its nest. Even though the critter had not encroached Adoro's territory as of yet, its voice was one with which to be reckoned, and Adoro was not pleased when it went on for more than the law allowed. After that time, Adoro left her abode, keeping her own creatures at bay, and approached the York Terror and its fellow canine Guardian, in hopes of taming and quieting the creature(s).

Adoro sat quietly on the curb, the property of the Kingdom, and found that the York Terror was silent but its stablemate and Guardian was, in fact, a mouthpiece with which to be reckoned lest one lose possession of one's ankles!

Little by little, the Guardian calmed, and even approached, and by silence and eye contact and basic presence, Adoro was able to bring dominion to the Terror and his other worthless canine companion. It was sufficient that Adoro be present in order for the small canines to be silent, for Adoro is Alpha dog and will not stand for canine pertinence in any form.

Adoro left the venue, contentedly until she heard that clarion call again not five minutes later... 

She returned, then, to the venue, again sans her own Creature of Ferocious Countenance for she planned to calm the Beast(s) and perhaps finally entice their puppets (owners) out for negotiations.

So it was. 

Finally King Troll emerged from his cave and demanded to know what Adoro wanted. 

Adoro explained that she wanted nothing more than the peace to which she was entitled as a home owner in the Kingdom.

The Troll disagreed and demanded she leave the property at once.

Adoro stood her ground to the bare-chested, pants-falling, white-bearded, nostril-flaring ogre of a Troll, explaining quite candidly that, in fact, she RESIDED there and thus had a right to stand where she was, with an even greater right to be there as she was protesting the sound and presence of the York Terror and his other Canine Guardian, well heard at her own abode far away.

The Troll, sticking to his fly-strip platform,  threatened to call the Kingdom's ultimate Authorities, wherein Adoro found it necessary to cite the very Ordinance and why the creatures allegedly under the Troll's control were, in fact, not, and therefore liable to legal citation while, Adoro was, in fact, not liable to any kind of citation, she being a quiet and legal resident with full property ownership also in full possession of auditory capabilities, thus identifiying the Troll's issues as those contrary to the law.

The Troll, having nothing to say in his own defense, fully confused by actual intelligence and actual citation of actual law, stepped threateningly towards Adoro, even raising his fist to order her off "his land."

Had he been green, Scottish-accented, and more ogre-like, he might have been cute in a Disney-style Ogre-like sorta way, but he was more akin to an anti-Shreck than anything else. And in any case, Adoro was not impressed nor intimidated by the anti-Shreck imitation.

Adoro, understanding that, in fact, the Troll was indeed trying to physically intimidate her, raised her own hand in a "stop" gesture, not breaking the Troll's gaze, growling, "Don't you DARE!"

The Troll, seeing something in Adoro's eyes (for it certainly wasn't in her diminuitive 5'3" in.  stance in his great hulking shadow, nor was she making a fist), stopped, and ordered her to move her "fat arse."

Adoro, not the least bit offended, quite ready to admit that, in fact, she has indeed gained too much weight in recent years (and knows how to use it),  with a glint of mirth, questioned the Troll whose "fat arse" was bigger and therefore less worthy of using that term of attack.

The Troll turned back to Adoro, unable to believe she was still there arguing with his bare-chested, pants-falling, COPS-ready stance, only to find, much to his chagrin, that COPS was not actually filming in the Kingdom at the time. He tried again and again to chase Adoro from "his" property, only to learn that Adoro claimed, rightfully the same place and further, that the City Ordinance was, in fact, on her side and she would not hesitate to use it.

Adoro even tried to make a deal with the Troll;  to move his unruly Terrors into his own cave and keep them quiet and then, as a favor, Adoro would, in fact, go away (as far as she could on their shared property), and would not call the Kingdom's Ultimate Authority (COPS).. Adoro  held out her hand and offered to "shake" on it.

["shake" is a human interaction that binds an agreement between equals]

The Troll turned away, yelling, "(Fbomb), I'm not shaking your (Fbomb) anything!"

Adoro turned away mirthfully, tossing over her shoulder, in place of salt, the adage, "That's OK, I don't shake anything when I don't know where it's been.", wishing only such adage could have been proclaimed in a solid Cockney accent as it would have had far more flavor and pertness to it.

Just the same, it had the proper effect and the Troll fled to his cave, muttering, shocked, defeated, and took the York Terror and its pathetic if loud Guardian in with him, to be kept silent throughout the remaining hours of the night.

Time will only tell until the York Terror will again menace Adoro's door...but when it happens, the Kingdom's Official Guard will be ready, complete with cages and documents, for shelters, foster homes, jail time, court dates, and.....

Wait!

When did Fairy Tales get so heavy on the paperwork?????

*shrug* Well...no matter. It's my story and I'm stickin' to it and may well soon have the police reports to prove it.  ;-)

...And they lived Happily Ever After! ..........

?

Lenten Meme: Why I Love Jesus!

Mike over at What Does Mike Think tagged me for a Lenten Meme, and as this is Spy Wednesday, I’ve pushed this to quite literally the last minute.

The rules:
Those tagged will share 5 things they “love” about Jesus / Or why they love Jesus. Those tagged will tag 5 other bloggers. Those tagged will provide a link in the comments section here with their name so that others can read them.

Why I love Jesus:

1. From His very pre-existence, the beatific vision present at His conception, through His agony and crucifixion, Jesus knew everything I would ever do to offend Him – and He suffered and died for me anyway.

2. He is so patient that even when I start out praying and end up writing recipes for seafood salad, He still listens. (And the salad came out great and if He came to my house I'd serve it to Him happily!)

3. Jesus gives us all the ultimate example of the true meaning of love: that it is sacrificial and not just invites, but requires our cooperation and participation.

4. Every time I say “NO!” to Him, He finds another way to get through my stubborn will.

5. Jesus kept His promise to be with us; He continues to give Himself to us in the Sacraments.

 O Sacrament Most Holy, O Sacrament Divine, all praise and all thanksgiving be every moment Thine.

It's late and I don't know who to tag anymore - it seems this one has already made the rounds and I'm at the bottom of the barrel. If you haven't been among the chosen, consider yourself chosen!

Meditation on Distraction

This morning, en route to work, I was praying the rosary and specifically meditating upon the Sorrowful Mysteries. At some point though, my mind wandered from Christ's Passion and went through a recipe catalogue somewhere in the depths of my brain. As I prayed Hail Mary's, I imagined seafood salad and came up with an ingredients list then realized how long it's been since I've made that salad.

Suddenly I realized I was praying the last two decades but couldn't recall actually pondering the Crowning of Thorns. The last thing I remembered was the beginning of Jesus being scourged and somewhere after that, the terrible weapons turned into the knives used to slice onions and celery to be added to the chopped seafood.

And I was ashamed. How, exactly, did I go from Our Lord's most Sorrowful Passion to...seafood salad on crackers?

How in the world did I manage to pray Hail Mary's, Pater Nosters (half in Latin, half English), Glory Be's, all in apparent praise of a salad?

I wasn't even hungry!

Oh, sure, Jesus said He would make us "fishers of men" but I'm sure He didn't have a chopped seafood salad in mind when He said that.

*sigh*

I'll let you know how the salad comes out when I make it next. I've got the ingredients.

In the meantime, please pray for me. I'll try to pray for you but I must warn you; I may begin with great intentions but end up prayerfully meditating on summer cole slaw, caprese salad or grilled steak instead.

Springtime in the Northland

On Monday, I left to go on a retreat and for the last couple days have been experiencing community life and prayer and...more iconography. I brought my icon with me to work on, and am amazed at what a little direction and time will accomplish! Although I have a long ways to go before it will be done, I admit I feel more confident in my ability to proceed.

This morning we drove out to the Oratory where the community will reside when the renovations on the Priory are completed, and it was my great pleasure to end my retreat with four solid hours of prayer. Of course, there was the rosary en route (in private as I drove solo), then once there, chanted Divine Office, Morning Prayer, Adoration, Little Office of Mary, Daytime Prayer, Holy Mass in the Extraordinary Form, Novena to St. Joseph, and Stations of the Cross (the version by St. Alphonsus Liguouri). Whew! Talk about marathon prayers!

On the way home, at Sister's suggestion, instead of driving straight to the freeway, I took a brief but parallel detour along peaceful farmland so that I could stop and pick up some fresh cheese curds.

My friends, one of the great pleasures of living in the upper Midwest, and most specifically, of passing through Wisconsin, is being able to pick up fresh, still-squeaky cheese curds fresh off the family farm.

As I left, squeaking on curds, enjoying the rolling hills of Wisconsin farmland, I realized how grateful I am both to be Catholic and to live in the upper midwest. This is GOD'S COUNTRY, my friends, and I don't think I'd ever want to live anywhere else.

I've even come to appreciate the oft-parodied accents of our region, and associate the most prominent with the friendliest, most-down-to-earth people one would ever care to meet.

At the same time, as I inhaled the fresh farm scents, I also realized how distasteful it is to have to actually reside within the rotting urban putrescence we refer to as a "suburb", kept apart from the incredible beauty of the tilled land that makes up most of the Midwest.

An old song from the Indigo Girls came to mind as I drove along, musing, so I couldn't help but create my own parody of it.  Just so you get the melody, first check it out here then come back and sing with my edited version.

Northland in the Springtime

Maybe we'll make Fargo by the morning

Light the flood-swamps with our tail lights in the night

300 miles to Stillwater from the state line

And we never have the money for the train

I'm in the back seat sleepy from the travel

Rocked our hearts out all night long in the Windy City

I'm dirty from the diesel fumes, drinking coffee black

When the first breath of Eau Claire comes in clean

And there's something 'bout the Northland in the springtime

Where the waters flow with flooding and destruction

Though I miss her when I'm gone it won't ever be too long

Till I'm home again to spend my favorite season

When God made me born a yankee it was pleasin'

There's no place like home and none more reasoned

Than the Northland in the springtime

In the Northland nights are colder than a blizzard

Within a snowcone someone's brother formed in hand

With the farmland like a tapestry passed down through generations

And the birch trees stitched across the land

There'll be cider up near Redwing off the roadside

And warm cheese curds in a bag to warm your fingers

And the smoke from the chimneys meets its maker in the sky

With a song that winter wrote whose melody lingers

And there's something 'bout the Northland in the springtime

Where the waters flow with flooding and destruction

Though I miss her when I'm gone it won't ever be too long

Till I'm home again to spend my favorite season

When God made me born a yankee it was pleasin'

There's no place like home and none more reasoned

Than the Northland in the springtime

The Joke's on Me!

Back in 1996, I was in the market for a handgun.

I'd graduated with my B.A. degree, had passed the Police Officers Standards and Training (POST) Boards, and knew that it was only a matter of time before some police department (hopefully) hired me. I needed to be able to practice and I wanted to practice and become intimately familiar with a handgun that wasn't just my own for random range recreation, but something that might be carried as a backup weapon, that of which would also be compatible with my likely duty ammo.

So it was that I demoed an HK .9mm, found it to be far more accurate than the .9mm Glocks we used in training, and decided I'd make it the love of my life (as far as saving it if necessary).  While I'll admit I REALLY wanted the Sig Sauer .45, since I couldn't afford that holy grail of weaponry, the HK was satisfactory enough.

Minnesota State Law required that I apply for a permit to purchase which was good for the period of one year. It was further required that I wait 24 (or was it 48?) hours after submitting the application. So it was that on the prescribed day, I went down to the Law Enforcement Center to pick up my approved permit to purchase the gun on hold for me at the local gun shop.

I went to the window, and as I was a Police Reserve Officer, saw a few Officers I knew who waved at me as they walked by.

Unfortunately, I was on a short schedule and had to return home, but when I arrived a friend asked to see my permit so I pulled it out of my purse to show him. Just before I handed it over, explaining the State Law and the year limit, I saw the date of expiration:  "April 1, 1996".

I burst out laughing as I handed it to my very confused friend for a gander, having finally realized the joke on me. (The next day I returned to the LEC for a replacement permit, and then purchased the gun.)

Given the disposition of my law enforcement career, I find this memory absolutely hilarious, especially as I recall badge number assigned to me when I was sworn in a few months later:  Badge #72.

1. **   **  ** 

For those who need an explanation:

My permit to purchase expired on the day it was issued:  April 1, 1996.  [Sure you can buy a gun - NOT!]

My badge #72, received the day I was sworn in, corresponded to police code #10-72:  DOA.[Dead on Arrival]

APRIL FOOLS! 

Catholicism and the Art of Home Maintenance - The Sequel

I've said it before and I'll say it again; the worst decision I've ever made was the decision to purchase a house. In my case, specifically, a town-home.

Case in point:   Some of you will recall my comic escapades a few years ago when I attempted to replace a simple toilet-seat. 

I thank God for the good sense not to have purchased a single-family home. Although I looked at a few, those in my range (back in 2002) were true crack houses needing to be flipped.  Not my market in any way, shape or form. But...that meant the best townhome I could get was among those built shortly after the Dharma Initiative was invaded and destroyed by the Hostiles.

The problem with home maintenance is that it doesn't end. 

In the time since I've purchased my home, I've had to replace the furnace and water heater, both of which were done, providentially, the winter after my grandmother died and left me a small inheritance. (Thanks Grandma! Please say a prayer for her, y'all!)

Other things aren't so expensive, but they add up over time, stuff breaks down, and people like me...well....I'm helpless. I can start a circular saw and I can start a chain saw and operate a Hurst tool, and give me a sledge hammer and your old garage will collapse in 5 minutes as we flee the catastrophe, but gosh darn it, when my toilet breaks someone better call an expert for me right quick!

A few months ago I got a letter from the City stating they detected a small leak in my house and gave instructions as to how to identify the source of the leak.

Obviously I knew by mere observation that no water was leaking out of any of my appliances or accoutrements, therefore I set about trying to follow the very simple instructions.

In fact, I recalled that my garage spigot seemed to have a small leak (or was that from the hose that is still attached, rusted to the spigot itself?).  So I tried that...after I couldn't twist it any more and didn't want to actually turn it ON as it was -20 outside, I wrapped the hose around an old recumbant exercise bike tipped up against the wall and...VOILA'! No more leaking!

I went inside to my furnace-water-heater chamber and tried to reach the internal shut-off for my garage spigot.

Uh-oh.

Can't reach it.

At all.

When my water heater was replaced, it was replaced with one that was taller and wider (yet somehow more "efficient"?) and as I am  a minimalized-statured individual, it seems that my water heater is not politically-correct enough for me to actually reach the piping and twisty-thingies behind it that are supposed to turn things off.

I have a backup plan in case a pipe breaks somewhere:  Flee the house, knock on every door in the vicinity until someone either tall enough or tiny enough responds to save the day. 

In the meantime, I'll have lots of towels on hand and maybe some teflon tape and...well, duct tape and WD-40.

WD-40 and duct tape fixes everything, you know.

Adventures in Home Repairs

A week ago I realized I was in real trouble and I had a choice: build an ark or call for help.

The unknown small leak has been weighing on me with great anchors for months now, and added to that was a leak that sprung beneath my kitchen sink. That one seemed to be contained after I discovered it one morning on the way to work. (Why are these things always discovered when one has to be somewhere else and has no time to deal with it on the spot?).

So I put an old dog dish under the leak, pulled out plastic bags intended for dog refuse and tried to dry them off - any that weren't already petri dishes for penicillin - and headed off into the big frozen white yonder.

And then...last weekend, as I headed to work, I got ready to go as usual. While drying my hair I noticed that the bath mat where it butted up against the tub was SOAKED.

WHAT?!

Quickly I soaked up the water with an old towel and ran downstairs. Sure enough, the water had leaked through the ceiling into my downstairs half-bath! Dirty, nasty water that had been un-filtered through the infrastructure and fan fixture.

Great.

So I cleaned THAT up and headed for work after ensuring the leak was not happening so long as I wasn't taking a shower.

I was certain I would come home to an aquarium and a very wet, cold, and pouty German Shepherd.

Time to call for help...

This weekend, my brother, in response to my desperate calls and emails, heroically strapped on his carpenter's belt and quested to save me in my ivory tower.

(Well...actually...after I sent him an email complaining about water dripping through the ceiling, he offered to get into his car and help me with my minor elementary-level  home repairs in the hovel within which I reside as long as the bank allows me to do so. )  

My brother arrived with a box of chemicals and tools, a shopping list and ideas while we inspected the biggest problem areas needing immediate repair.

As it turned out, the toilet leak was a flapper dancing improperly in my toilet. She was removed and re-employed by the department of sanitation and replaced with a more flexible model.

The rubber ball was rubbing against the wall (get your mind out of the gutter - we haven't gotten there yet!), so the arm had to be bent back to center and the screw  had to be adjusted a little for a more proper flow.

Once we fixed THAT problem (or so we thought), my brother tried to show me how to scrape off the old cauk and clean the grout in the shower. It was petrified and the tool...useless.  The best we (meaning me, actually) could do was clean it up along the base, and within the tub, spray mildew/mold killer, which, much to my surprise, did a lot to whiten up the grout! There are still problem areas, though, so we determined that all we could do was caulk the base for now - which is the area that was leaking.

So...I have a new skill! I can caulk the base of a bathtub like nobody's business, and then clean up the mess! Yay!

Of course, in this process I learned that no matter what guys do, they leave a mess behind. Ladies, all the stereotypes about men and women are true.

Case in point: Brother stood on toilet seat to reach the malfunctioning fan overhead. Dust and dirt and foulness came down - right into the basket where I kept my brushes and lotions, etc.! Could he maybe have either moved it or asked me to put it elsewhere before he "cleaned" above?

No, apparently not.

He'd already observed that my upstairs sink was draining slowly and in need of a snaking or drano. So what did he do? He rinsed the nasty grate in the sink, which will be GUARANTEED to completely stop it up! Oh, and when the water drained, there was all that nasty stuff in the sink that naturally, he didn't wipe up himself.

I stood, stretching out my aching back, demanding to know what he was doing by dumping that crap in my otherwise clean sink.

"I'm a guy", sez he.

Yeah. "Idiot" sez I. Glaring, I wiped it up.

As I went about my house, I realized that everywhere my brother went, he left a trail of dirt from weird sources and I was constantly cleaning it up after him.

Even when we re-arranged my livingroom, dusting and vacuuming electronics as we went, when he was finished, there was STILL stuff on the floor where he had been kneeling, making electronic connections. Where did THAT even come from?????

It didn't help that the living room was in utter chaos as we rearranged it, moving things temporarily to this and that spot, moving sacred images and statues, sacramentals and books, research materials and old paperwork that needs to shredded.

Indeed, the dog had to quite literally get into the mix so she could see what was going on. Unfortunately, because of the constant state of flux, she didn't have any place to BE! As it turned out, this was not a good thing for her...or us.

As I vacuumed up old dog hair and dust from behind the areas previously covered by furniture, a terrible smell arose. My  brother, seated on the floor, commented upon the stench of the dog who seemed to have burped nastily in his face.

This being unusual for my dog, I stopped to inspect her and indeed, she smelled...pukey. As did the air in the  livingroom. Very pukey.

I took her outside, then once we were back in, the wave of stench nearly knocked me backwards.

I peered around the apocalyptic "living area" in confusion,  finally spied the source of the stench: indeed the dog, anxiety-ridden by the sudden upheaval of the main room, added her own upheaval in the form of what was left of the dinner she'd eaten 5 hours earlier.

UGH!

Already, we had the windows open upstairs and fans blowing to clear the area of the fumes from the mold/mildew cleaner.

Already, we had the door and windows open downstairs because that same chemical smell and those fumes from the WD-40 for other projects was permeating our senses.

And now...the smell of sickness. The terrible, terrible smell of sickness, and the realization it was sickness that was destructive to some historical documents which then had to be thrown out, for they could not be preserved.

UGH!

By 3:00 am or so, the order and normal scent of the house was more or less restored, the dog's anxiety calmed by the stability of at least some of the objects with which she was familiar, and it was time to retire to our rooms and finish up as much as possible the next day.

Final Status:

I'm happy to report that the toilet seems to no longer to leaking, the doors  no longer squeak, there is not a flood to be found in my house, and the caulk is curing as we speak.

The dog kept her breakfast and dinner down just fine, and in the production of the event and subsequent blog post, no bad words were used by either my brother or myself. ;-)

Now, there's only one thing I didn't do this time, so I guess I completely contradicted the advice given in my post from a few years ago:  I didn't call a priest. Maybe next time.