My Sears Catalog Life

Happy Labor Day!

2011-09-05T20:25:00.000-05:00

"Look at your hands," he said.

He told us of the times past when our forebears, many of whom were newly emigrated to this land or were the first generation born of immigrant parents, worked the farms, steel mills, in textiles, on rigs, criss crossing this country working hard to provide from their family too proud to take a government handout. He spoke of his father-in-law, who built his family's home. He kept a meticulous log of all his efforts. On each and every week he wrote this entry:

SUNDAY

NO WORK

"No matter what happened or did not happen during that week- Sunday was the Lord's day."

Our grandparents kept the Sabbath holy by not working. If you read the Little House Books, you know that this was not some habit brought over by pious Catholic and Orthodox immigrants. This was the way it was. No work, no play. Go to church, pray, read your bible.

"What have we permitted? How could we allow this to happen?" he exclaimed.

It is not hard to see the signs of work, no matter how short your journey to church is. Clothes swaying in the wind and the perfume of clothes drying in the dryer, bubbles floating on the breeze from a car being washed up the street, the sound of whirring lawn mowers and trimmers, not to mention people who go to jobs on Sunday. How many people who work all week use their one day off to clean house or host guests or cook a huge Sunday dinner? What are we doing?

"Look at your hands, " he said again. "These are the hands that do God's work." Be they the hands of a mother or a engineer or a carpenter, these hands do God's work and God rested on the Sabbath. Did you know that the neither the Amish or Orthodox Jewish women do any work on the Sabbath (granted these are different days). All of the housekeeping, food preparation, laundry, everything that can be done is done the day before so that as much as possible these woman can spend their time in the worship and in prayer and resting in the Lord.

With seven children this is something I am really bad about doing. I can always find work. Yesterday I hung two loads of laundry on the line before church and cooked a massive lunch after. I am more often than not more tired on Sunday than I am at the end of a long week. Even though we call it a family day, we often spend a fair amount of time doing chores instead of communing together. It is time to stop-- to take the rest the Lord commanded for every week, not just one day a year.

All of this talk about work reminded me of a funny story about my good friend, Mandy's, great-grandmother. After her granddaughter married and had her first child, three generation of the family's women came together to see the new baby. A young Marynell began to tell her grandmother of the wonderful gift from her husband, a new washer and dryer set. She explained that she could finish all the laundry in just a couple hours. Her grandmother was stunned by this information. She sat silently for a second and then finally asked, "But what will you do all day?"

Yes, it is true that I will work today as I have worked every other day for more than a decade, but it is also true that it is time to reclaim the original labor day. It is time to rest on the Lord's Sabbath.

Big Bottom Girls Make the Rockin' World Go 'Round

2011-09-01T11:11:00.000-05:00

and the same is true for Johnstown apparently.

Johnstown, and its inhabitants as I have said have there very own breed of charm. For instance, down South, church ladies and other strangers will readily compliment a new baby. If, for instance, the baby has a particularly prominent feature like big eyes or chubby thighs, it is not unusual for one to hear exclaimed, "those eyes!" Or, "look at those thighs! What a cutie!"

This is what you hear in Johnstown, PA.

"Look at that baby! Looks like she has a chew in each cheek!"

Down South, a man upon seeing a girl he admires might chance a low whistle or a wink or a smile and tip of his hat. In Johnstown, they aren't shy about giving compliments. For instance, on my way to Downtown Johnstown's landmark eatery Coney Island Lunch, I was told by a passerby, "Hey, you'd make the perfect, plus-sized model, lady."

Let's just say, I laughed out loud for a good ten minutes.

What a weird, great, little place.

Seven Quick Takes:

2011-08-29T21:09:00.001-05:00

The eldest five children begin school the day after tomorrow. Mr. Flavius and I are sicker than dogs. I am feeling a little out matched with all there is to do before I shuffle them out the door into a new routine. Spending most of the mornings stuffed into bed coughing and feeling miserable doesn't help.
My sister-in-law is making the journey to visit us. This will be our first guest. In 12 years of homeownership, we've only had 2 overnight stays. We have four sets of guest between now and Christmas (that I know about). I am very much looking forward to her visit, but I am on a strict all work and no play schedule between now and her visit in a week and a half.
House blessing. Still working on making a path so that Fr. Nick can bless and sprinkle away with abandon without breaking his neck.
On Friday, the kids and I went garage saling. Johnstown has great sales. I guess this is one of the secret upsides to a greying community. We found several good pen knives, a very good pair of Korean War era binoculars from Japan, some fabulous costume jewelry, and some beautiful perfume bottles that I did not buy, but wanted to very much. Driving through the twists and turns we came upon a huge Chicken of the Woods mushroom growing on a maple tree along side a driveway. The man very generously gave us the behemoth and many pears. It's going in an omelet first chance I get.
Mr. Flavius began classes today. No one died. I think that I will be okay while he is away. I've had my doubts, but really it will be fine.
I am scouting jars for putting up strawberry and violet leaves for healing herbal teas for this winter. Also, we have been offered as many Concord grapes as we can pick. I cannot decide if I should put up juice or make jelly or what all I could possibly do with such a generous gift. I'm sure the children will assist me in the endeavor. Also, these are the last few weeks for local tomatoes and cucumbers and it really is time to start the sauerkraut too.... So much to do!
I am coming up with my Autumnal List of things to break up the monotony of everyday homemaking. So far soap making, sausage making, crocheting, and canning autumn fruits figure high on the list. We hope to add a fence, a coop, and a bee hive to the yard by next Spring. Lots to do and keep busy.

A Joyous Feast!

2011-08-27T23:18:00.002-05:00

From the Forefeast of the Dormition of the Theotokos:

Dance with joy, O peoples!

Clap your hands with gladness!

Gather today with fervor and jubilation;

Sing with exultation.

The Mother of God is about to rise in glory,

Ascending from earth to heaven.

We ceaselessly praise her in song as truly Theotokos.

Today the universe dances with joy at your glorious memorial,

And cries out to you, O Mother of God:

"Rejoice, O Virgin, pride of Christians!"

The Real Reason We Are Here

2011-08-27T22:36:00.000-05:00

Earthquake Jottings

2011-08-24T22:24:00.002-05:00

I cannot speak for the rest of the blog, but this cracked me up. From doylez.com:

earthquake on the east coast

it’s funny to us how the east coast folks responded to a magnitude 5.8 earthquake the other day, since us californians probably wouldn’t even notice such a temblor while going about our daily lives. but some east coast folks got a little ticked that we are making fun of them and one of them responded with this:

touché

The State of Customer Service

2011-08-24T17:02:00.001-05:00

The state of customer service varies in Johnstown in much the same way that it does everywhere based on the business, gender, age, etc. of the person you are dealing with. It can be as individual as the individual you are dealing with. So thus far, I have been pleasantly pleased by my day-to-day dealings with Yankees.

That said, there is always the exception that proves the rule. You see, we have no official parking at our new house. I have been hoping to remedy this situation sooner than later, but I am not having a lot of luck. We have been trying to get an estimate for a carport from one contractor in particular since June. As it is now August and I still do not have an estimate for what I've asked for, you might understand why I am a bit frustrated. Today, the contractor's secretary and I had a conversation during which I began to hope that I might just stroke out rather than continue. Needless to say, I am still looking for a contractor for my "simple" job. Pray for me and anyone else that might cross my path, please.

We Had An Earthquake.

2011-08-23T21:51:00.000-05:00

SO, Mr. Flavius has a favorite story he likes to tell about me.

Once upon a time in a land far, far away the Motherworks-Flavius household visited the Southern Flavius's. A riotously good time was had by all and everyone played until they were very tired and prone to being naughty.

All of the grownups in the land were also tired and to avoid being too grumpy sent the children away to their chambers for some peace and quiet. Only the children were very naughty and and very noisy. They stomped and the shouted and they dropped heavy things from high places until the whole house shook with their calamitous racket.
Mr. Flavius, knowing the sensitive disposition of the the Southern Flavius's (having never actually having raised any children themselves) hurried and hushed the children until all was peaceful again. But only a short time later, a new sound like an angry, fire breathing monster filled the entire house. So loud was the sound of this infernal respiration that it seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Unfortunately, I was stuck nursing a new baby and could not go see what was the matter. So I raised my voice to make certain that all the noisy children could here me over this new and terrible sound and I said in my loudest mothering tone I could muster, "CHILDREN! WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU DOING? IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU HAVE A DRAGON UP THERE!"

And that is when Mrs. Southern Flavius said, "It's me. I'm ironing."

The alternative title for this little vignette is, "How We Know Mommy Does Not Iron."

SO, today we were leaving the house to go run some errands, when Mr. Flavius came running out the door.

"What are the children doing? It shook the whole house!"

"Nothing. What? Why?"

"the whole house shook."

Apparently, we had an earthquake. Only I hadn't eaten since this morning and I was feeling pretty shaky already so I missed our great adventure. Anyway, as our neighbor said, if it's not in the news just check Facebook first. Sure enough status updates across the Mid Atlantic and lower New England reported the unexpected terremoto from Virginia.

Always something new happening here in Johnstown. Never a dull moment.

Salvo Magazine- Salvo 13

2011-08-21T22:41:00.004-05:00

AMAZING article.

SLAVE MASTER

How Pornography Drugs & Changes Your Brain

by Donald L. Hilton, Jr.

While some have avoided using the term “addiction” in the context of natural compulsions such as uncontrolled sexuality, overeating, or gambling, let us consider current scientific evidence regarding the brain and addiction.

This article will seek to answer two questions: (1) Biologically, is the brain affected by pornography and other sexual addictions? (2) If so, and if such addictions are widespread, can they have a societal effect as well?

h/t Fr. Andrew Stephen Damick

What Difference A Year Makes

2011-08-19T21:34:00.004-05:00

August 2010

August 2011

August 2010

August 2011

Mere Comments from Touchstone Magazine

2011-08-19T12:38:00.003-05:00

Mere Comments from Touchstone Magazine consistently produces relevant Christian commentary on popular culture. Give them a read if you haven't already.
When I broke my ankle, I spent too much of my time watching all five seasons of The Wire. It is not the holiest of activities. The series centers in on one gang in a drug infested neighborhood Baltimore and the police charged with trying to stop them. The lines blur more often than not, with the 'good guys' and the 'bad guys' swapping places. Over the course of the five seasons, the story focused on all perspectives from the gang and detectives to the children and schools, the politicians and the media. Lots of violence and debauchery. Frankly, it was more depressing than I can even talk about. At the heart of all the corruption, was the family or rather the total absence of the family. Without the presence of the family, the vacuum left behind begged for something that none of the willing contenders could measure up to. The family is a working unit of love and cooperation. Anything short of that is just that too little to fill the void and ultimately doomed to fail. It isn't simply some cute little coincidence that the family is the best metaphor for the Trinity, it is the truth. What this world needs is more families, more children in those families, more people in the pews, and more religious and clergy. Let's get busy, folks, and make it happen. Otherwise, what are we hoping for when Christ returns?

Rise Up, O Men of God
by William Murchison

From The New York Times, August 16, 2011:
     "The number of Americans with children who live together without marrying has increased twelvefold since 1970, according to a report released Tuesday. The report states that children now are more llikely to have unmarried parents than divorced ones."
      Time for the Church to clear its collective head and find its collective voice, wouldn't one say?
      I, for one, would.
      The religious doctrine of marriage -- never mind the civil one -- has beeen kicked down the stairs by a culture intent on enshrining personal choice as the essential element in all relationships. Choice, of course, is an element in romantic love, but in Christian marriage it comes with strings attached, chiefly those pledges of fidelity and commitment.   The idea that in marriage one hands over personal desire to the custody and keeping of another is profoundly un-modern.
      Expatiation on the disastrous consequences of uprooting commitment and fidelity from the marriage undertaking isn't the present point. The need I would advertise is for the churches to rise from the bottom of the cultural staircase, where they have too long lain, and resume teaching a full-throated, ontological doctrine of marriage and family, derivable from what was once understood as the sovereign will and purpose of God.
      "God"? What a concept with which to belabor the 21st century!   Which is a big chunk of the problem, isn't it?   A modern Church squeamish when it comes to faithful representation of its Master's unmodern wishes gets the expected payback. So do the rest of us, alas.

Blessed Feast of the Transfiguration

2011-08-19T00:07:00.002-05:00

You were transfigured on the Mount,

Christ God revealing Your glory to Your disciples,

insofar as they could comprehend.

Illuminate us sinners also with Your everlasting light,

through the intercessions of the Theotokos.

Giver of light, glory to You.

You were transfigured upon the mount,

O Christ our God, and Your disciples,

insofar as they could bear, beheld Your glory.

Thus, when they see You crucified,

they may understand Your voluntary passion,

and proclaim to the world that

You are truly the effulgence of the Father.

Fasting Old Calendar Style

2011-08-17T22:30:00.001-05:00

We here in Johnstown are on the Old Calendar. So our Dormition Fast just began this week. That said, we, Orthodox fast about 250 days out of the year, so another recipe won't hurt. This soup is completely fastworthy, delicious, and hearty enough to make a nice supper on a cool night with some bread. All of my children, including picky D., ate everything. Its taste profile is similar to my all time favorite soup, Mulligatawny. It a great way to use up that garden abundance that seems to be coming on strong right now.

"Cream" of Garden Vegetable Soup

some chopped zucchini

some squash

a few tomatoes

one chopped onion

two grated carrots

leftover pinto beans pureed or mashed potatoes

a hunk of Earth Balance

a quart of water

a dash of salt

a few twists of pepper

some fresh nutmeg

a pinch clove

toasted and ground yellow mustard seed

a splash of apple cider vinegar

steamed rice

Sweat the onions and squashes together in the Earth Balance. Add the tomatoes and the grated carrots and saute everything until it softens. Puree in a blender. Add water and beans or potatoes. Add seasoning, apple cider vinegar, and simmer for 20 minutes or so. Serve topped with steamed rice.

So you know how it is, part ii

2011-08-17T06:48:00.001-05:00

When you post things in the middle of the night after a really long day you are liable to leave out a few important details. Like, but did you ever get the milk? Did you indeed have to walk to a filling station? Did you ever get out of the wilderness or are you currently writing this from inside the belly of a black bear?

About that...

The thing about mountain roads in Pennsylvania is the tend to be narrow, twisty, and have crazy switch backs, turn offs and random signs like these:

To be honest, depending on the time of day, these signs freak me the freak out. Between the children in the back doing their rowdy thing and the Roads That Demand Your Full Attention, I do not need anything crazy to leap out at me, thankyouverymuch.

The craziest drivers of all on these treacherous tiny roads are FedEx drivers. They drive well over the speed limit on every road, especially if it's raining, tailgating the whole way just so you can see their superior handling while you crawl across the mountain in your ice cream truck come people mover.

Once I realized that I was incapable of interpreting mountain man directions (go to the T and go through it, the when you get to the top turn right... the road might curve, I don't quite remember, but you'll know what to do when you get there... it sounds so simple, but if all the roads curve, none of them really ever 'tee' either...), I just want off the damn mountain. By now, Good Mommy is gone and Bat Poop Crazy Mommy is at the wheel. The children, sensing my weakness, launch themselves out of their seat belts once and begin playing the screaming game. You know, the one where if you and your little sister both scream loud enough and at the same pitch you can achieve some sort of bizarre sonic resonance that can break the sanity of any nearby adult? Yeah, that. The other game they were playing was to see if they could make the van shake. While we were driving. On a mountain. In the rain. If you ever doubt the ability of two people you love more than your own life to take your nerves and shred them like so many incriminating Arthur Anderson files you don't have 4 and 6 year old girls.

That's when I discover that No Signal only applies to the phone and not the Map. Seeing a road just behind my blinking location, I decide, "to hell with this," it's time to practice our three-point turns in blind curves while driving the largest passenger vehicle made by Chevrolet. Why not? I've got a back-up camera. For those of you needing a refresher course, here is how PennDOT recommends making a three-point turn:

To make a three-point turn:

Signal with your right directional, then pull over to the right and stop. Signal with your left directional, then check carefully for approaching traffic.
Turn left, cross the road so you come to a stop while facing the left curb or edge of the road.
Check again for traffic. Turn your steering wheel as far to the right as possible, then back up to the right curb or edge of the road.
Stop, check again for other traffic, then pull away from the curb.

About half the side roads in Westmoreland County, run down hill at a grade that most roller coaster engineers would likely consider unsafe. So in real life this is how you make a three-point turn:

In a hairpin turn, find Hidden Driveway and using your Advanced Driver Training, apply brakes while simultaneously signaling and making a hard right turn. Come to a skidding halt. Signal with your left directional. You are now tail up, back-up camera to the treetops, looking down a slope that makes base jumping look safe. Using only your totally inadequate side mirrors: check for traffic, while revving your engine in Reverse.
Floor it. Cross the road, slamming on the brakes, so that your life flashes before your eyes, as you narrowly avoid going off the mountain.
Saying your prayers and crying a little, check for traffic again. Rapidly, turn your steering wheel as far to the right as possible, reverse over the edge of the road onto the non-existant shoulder inches away from a sheer drop off.
Tell those kids that they had better buckle up, throw it into Drive and tear away from the road like a pack of demons are on your tail.

And that is how you do it. To really have an authentic experience, you should do your best to almost get teed by one of the completely insane FedEx truck drivers traipsing the mountains in one of their Oh-So-Superior Dodge Sprinters between step 2 and step 3. If you do it right, your kids have no idea why all the hair on your head is standing on end and they will think you are "way totally overreacting Mommy" to their continued lack of tethering to the vehicle because you know, you are still alive. [If you are praying for me right now, thank you. As prayers are outside of time, I really needed them back there. Thanks for helping get through it. As far as, the future is concerned? I still covet them.]

The whole time I am doing this, I have this crazy thing Mr. Flavius said stuck in my head. I keep hearing it over and over again: You know what is a bad idea? [he sings] Jesus, take the wheel... you know, Jesus didn't drive. You probably don't want him to take the wheel without at least Driver's Ed course...

These were almost my last thoughts, folks. Ayeyiyi.

I was looking for Willpen Road. Willpen is a township somewhere down the mountain near the Last Gas Station You'll Ever See in This Wilderness, but for whatever reason I could not see the turn for the road. There are plenty of reasons for this, like it isn't actually there or I was too crazed with adrenaline to have attention to details like other roads, but whatever the case, the first road I came upon (a telling thin gray line on the map) seemed to connect. When you are about out of gas and there is no one to hear your screams when the zombies emerge from the woods to eat your brains, you will make this turn:

View Larger Map

Compared to my last adventure, Hamil School Road was a cake walk. Thankfully, the road deposits you within sight of The Only Filling Station. Much whooping and hollering and joyous sounds were made upon seeing this little Jerusalem in the Boonies. We celebrated with $40 worth of junk food from Sheetz. Filling up, I noticed that Cash for Clunkers did not seem to make much of an impact in Westmoreland County as our car was the newest model by 25 years or so.

After filling up the tank and then topping off like crazy, just to be safe, I was more commited than ever to finding this store. The store owner had called me back during my wild journey, but I had not received it.

His voice message begins: "Hi, there. It seems we have gotten disconnected. If so, you are now driving around the wilderness and I wish you luck on getting back down here to [civilization]. When you get to town, go three-quarters around the square to W. Main Street. We're on the left. Call me back when you get this."

I hit redial. No answer. I probably called him 10 times, but no one ever answered. When I got to town, I followed his directions, but there was no Delightful Raw Milk and Whole Food Emporium on W. Main Street. For 20 minutes I crawed up the street one way and then the other, examining every shop and address. I went up side streets and down alleys. Finally, I gave up and went into Agway.

"Well, darlin' you got your directions wrong. That place is on E. Main Street."

Sure, okay. Maybe I heard it wrong? Nope. I played that message 4 times. WEST MAIN.

Everyone makes mistakes, that's fine.

Once we had the correct address and correct street name, finding the Delightful Raw Milk and Whole Food Emporium was no big deal. And they were still open. And they had milk. And they were very nice. They gave all the children pints of raw milk for the road (I know, I know, what smells better than tumpt out pints of raw milk in your Van de Excitement? Nothing, that's what. But, hey, it's the thought that counts and I was very grateful, all the same.)

I said, "I just wanted to let you know, in your directions, you said West Main Street."

"Yeah."

"Well, this is East Main Street."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes."

"Oh, that's interesting."

I'll say.

Look, they are very, very nice people, but let's just say they are about like I would be or maybe even a little worse than me if I ran a business (but only because I would know where my shop was). The second visit I made was much less exciting and only took 28 minutes to arrive (as opposed to the 2¼ hours it took the first time), but even then it was not uneventful as my damnit-I-know-there's-money-in-there debit card was declined and they sent me home with everything. All I can say is that, their computer must have been having issues because thankfully the ATM recognized the card as valid, working, and with plenty of mulla.

Since then I have finally located a store in Johnstown that sells real milk. Of course, they have no listed number, because what fun would that be?

I hope you are having a great week. I'll keep you posted on our adventures.

You know, so long as I survive.

So you know how it is

2011-08-15T23:36:00.001-05:00

With children everyday is a new exciting adventure. There you are just trying to hold the line and adventure shows up on your doorstep. In Johnstown, new experiences and excitement are around every corner. Every single corner. Everyday. All day long. Something new and exciting just waiting to get you.

Pennsylvania is full of trees. Hence the name: Penn's Woods. It is a great thing about Western PA. Also, the mountains. I am really enjoying the mountains. Sometimes a too much of a great thing can just be too damn much.

The first time I tried to find a store that sold raw milk, I set out early enough with enough gas and fairly easy directions: turn right, drive 19 miles, turn left, arrive at destination. Three-quarters of the way there I double check my directions. Well, what do you know? I am 21 miles off course.

What?
Recalculating.

This is looking down not straight.

Wrong turns in Pennsylvania have seriously bad consequences. My first surprise, there are roads on GPS that a) are single lane; b) made of dirt and gravel; c) go straight down a mountain. Straight down is usually the wrong way down. What followed was sheer insanity. Do not attempt to drive down a freshly rained on gravel road in a two-wheel drive, 15 passenger van. Why? Because your children might turn into idiots and decide to go row hopping, while you, in the grip of hysteria, drive down said road. And while they are jumping for joy in the back seat as you slide and shimmy over every single turn and bump in the road, your heart will threaten you with the worst thing you can imagine in that moment: the phone call to your husband when you are stuck, but not dead or injured enough to make him just glad y'all are okay.

Did I mention that when I left I had a little more than a quarter tank of gas? As it turns out, that is not enough gas in a place that takes 24 minutes to travel 7 miles.

I did make it down the mountain into a valley where I found the beginning of a paved road. It is the most sweet smelling place I have ever been. The only sound besides the song birds, was a breeze high up in the tree tops. Wow. It's enough to make you want to make you want to go Off Grid.

Now add 20 years and lose a few teeth
and you get the picture.

So here's the thing about using Google Maps. Usually it's pretty good. There is one feature that allows the user to more accurately pin point one's address by actually placing a pin on the map and calling that address whatever you want to call it. Then the whole wide web will know this is where X really is. Except in this case, X turned out not to be the only whole food health store this side of Pittsburgh. X turned out to be some guy's house out in the wilderness of Westmoreland County (whose residents are comprised mainly of extras from the movie Road House).

I dropped my phone and damaged the antennae a while back so if mobile phone coverage is spotty at best then I have nothing at best. I called the number listed and discovered another great thing about Western PA. The people love to talk. These are some really friendly folk. But again, too much a great thing and your are up a creek. In this case, the man my life depended on was a real story teller. He starts out: "there are 7 turns that you need to make to get here. It's so funny you calling me from Pendleton Road that's where my farm is. . ." The ellipsis in this case is a 6 minute story about the three other poor souls that called him from the same spot. Meanwhile I am under an eighth of a tank of gas and still driving. During our 12 minute phone call, he got through step 2 of the 7 before the phone cut out and said 'No Signal.'

I kept driving. I have not passed a single person in miles, I have not seen a gas station since I checked my directions and discovered how off course I had become. I am now strongly considering what it is going to be like walking, in flip flops, on mountain roads with an infant, a toddler, a four year old, and six year old, all of whom follow directions like people their age follow directions. Somewhere along the way, I figured out that even if the phone does not have signal the Map can locate your position. I did at one point talk to two guys, who informed me that the only gas station was 7 miles away and I was headed in the wrong direction. Their directions were more concise, but equally confusing. Another fun fact, it really is true that if you don't bathe long enough other people can smell you in your car from their car on the other side of the road. Up until that moment, I thought that was simply something I made up to scare my boys into taking bathes. I was wrong.

Anyway, either people cannot give good directions in Westmoreland County or I cannot follow them for the life of me. It was after that I discovered that I was the purple blinky dot on the Map on my phone where upon for the second time that day, I drove straight down the mountain, with kids cackling with giddy hysteria, while I gripped the steering wheel and prayed and cursed under my breathe the whole way. Making a 30 minute journey to the gas station fewer than 10. What's the fastest way down the mountain? Straight down . . .

Poor Mr. Flavius, seeing the above picture on Facebook with the caption, "What the hell, GPS?" started a prayer circle, that ended with thanks be to God and suggestions all around to tie up that wife of his upon my return . . . and that was just a trip to get milk. Now imagine if I was trying to do something really wild? Like go looking for one of these:

Next time on A Sears Catalog Life:
Chicken of the Woods

It Did Not Hit Me Until Today. . .

2011-08-09T22:30:00.002-05:00

Me: Hi, I looked everywhere, but I don't see any tortillas. Do you sell tortillas?

Grocery Store Clerk: Uh, yeah, you mean like those shell things? They're in the refrigerator case next to the milk.

Apparently, I moved to Pennsylvania, where Tex-Mex goes to die.

Ohdeedoh, I Curse You!

2011-08-01T16:03:00.008-05:00

That's right-- fie on Thee, cute, DIY, decorating website with your trendsetting ideas and crafty tutorials- fie on Thee.

Take one family with an overdeveloped sense of ability and an underdeveloped sense of actual DIY-ity, add one old house owned by a different, middling DIY-er and crazy will ensue.

N. is our AAA, #1, dog walker extraordinaire, but then we sent him to camp. So our poor pooch became forlorn and lonely while his favorite boy was away. Mr. Flavius took over the dog walking duties and Ajax seemed to be doing okay, but with a little extra mope in his giddy up. Little did we know, while we were sleeping he was sneaking upstairs to the Boy Sanctuary and doing his business in their room. Imagine my surprise ( shock, horror, disgust, insert adjective here) when the boys came home and announced that their room had become less than sanitary (they left it clean, so there was no reason for this mama to make the great trek arriba).

N. and D. went to work oxycleaning to the max, but to no avail. Really, how awful? Could their be a worse homecoming? Considering all the unpacking we did all week, this was a blow to Progress.

So yesterday after church, Mr Flavius and I tackled the yuckiest room ever and removed all the carpet. The thing is, we chose this house because it was move-in ready. Id est: I do not need another talent in my wheelhouse to make this place habitable and presentable, or at least not this week. Should a rolled up carpet full of tacks and staples go scraping down the hall wallpaper, that could change my skill set considerably. That's when we decided there was another option: defenestration.

So there we were, Mr. Flavius hanging onto a rolled swath of old, icky carpet leaning farther than could possibly be safe out the third story window, while I alternately laughed hysterically and covered my eyes (have I told you about my inappropriate laughter?). Then I thought better of it and tried find purchase on him in the event of an untimely, rapid exit out said window. Then, my hero, pitched the carpet He-Man style out and over the porch roof.

Helloooo, neighbors! We're from Texas and we're crazy. . .

I really do have to wonder what my neighbors made of the scene when large rolls of rose followed by thread bare and stained grey carpet was being flung out the third floor windows. Then there was a thing, which I did not know existed, but am positive I know exactly what the mystery pad under the second layer of carpet. It is a horsehair carpet pad. An ancient, dusty and disintegrating, horsehair pad at that. Gross, gross, gross.

There were dust plumes that made my skin crawl. Despite my mega runny nose, I refused to wipe it for fear of what this involuntary fount might be protecting me from. Mr. Flavius commented that I had managed to trick him into two days of heavy labor (Saturday night, I casually suggested we move some boxes of books, which turned into a box moving extravaganza). Needless to say, we struggled on for four hours, but we prevailed. Staple and tacks removed, floors scrubbed of any and all gook, dust, and dirt, a rug laid, furniture arranged, and beds made.

And it all started with this picture:

How cute is this? Dangit. They got me again.

Camp Nazareth and Preserving the Harvest...

2011-07-27T22:33:00.000-05:00

We sent away half our children and we still have double the national average! Our eldest three children are off at camp enjoying a break from chores and sibling herding. We are feverishly attempting to get Little House in order ahead of their return. I love seeing these pictures of them while they are away. I miss them bunches.

Sts. Cyril and Methodius

M. getting acquainted with new friends

The boys are hiding from the camera.

N. getting ready for a swim.

Where's Waldo?

D. and N. together at last. N. is trying out a new camera face.

More Where's Waldo.

PS> We love our new neighborhood. Our neighbors are so lovely. Our neighbor, Mr. Leo, has been sharing his harvest of enormous zucchini, cucumber, and summer squash. I am in survivalist mode, right now, which basically means not much cooking. Rather than see these gifts spoil, I have started putting up the harvest as it comes in.

If you have been receiving generous harvest gifts from your neighbors or you have more zucchini than you planned on try this method of preserving: the freezer!

This is a two step method.

Step 1: Wash, quarter, and slice your squash or zucchini into 1 inch slices.

Step 2: Place on a cookie sheet in the freezer.

That's it. Put the frozen chunks in a freezer bag at your convenience. You can also freeze tomatoes whole. When you run them under cold water later their skins just peel off. No blanching necessary.

Still Unpacking

2011-07-27T11:55:00.000-05:00

We're still unpacking.

Ugh.

Anyway, this is a monastery that has been recommended to me. The entire video series can be found here: Life Transfigured.

From the website:

LIFE TRANSFIGURED tells the story of the Orthodox Christian Monastery of the Transfiguration in Ellwood City, Pennsylvania. It was founded by Mother Alexandra, a former Romanian princess, and was consecrated in 1968. This vide3o explores the history, daily life and commitment of these women as they pray, worship and extend hospitality and counsel to visitors seeking a relationship with God.

Little House on the Hill

2011-07-22T16:14:00.002-05:00

the Little House on the Hill

Father Andrew Stephen Damick once suggested, in a post that I can no longer find, naming one's abode. At the time, I lived in a large, cookie cutter house that I felt ambivalent about at best. A string of unfortunate events, none of which were actually problems with the house or the neighborhood and could have happened anywhere (an extremely disappointing initial loan process that cost us a friend, an expensive leaky dishwasher that turned in months of remodeling, a failed attempt at stained concrete floor by an inept and unethical contractor, our first home owners' association, broken bones, our first asthma attack, to name a few) strongly affected my affection for the place.

The thought of naming that house was depressing. There were at least 100 other houses that were just like it. We had significantly changed the kitchen (after the dishwasher episode), added a bedroom, but all in all there were still 100 other houses with the very same floor plan, some with the same brick, most with the exact same elevation. Don't get me wrong, there were many things I loved about that house, my kitchen was a dream come true, our master suite was a pure luxury of light and space, and lest I forget, my heirloom roses, grapes, and figs that I planted over the years, but I wasn't attached to it. I think the emotional baggage of some of these events colored the way I felt about the place. I did not want to claim it as my own. My enlightened response to Fr. Andrew's post at the time was: what twaddle! Either that or something even less erudite.

Now, freed from the tyranny of sentiment, I can see the wisdom of the suggestion. This is especially true in a place where the houses are often 75 years or older. Naming your home can be a way of claiming that which you did not design for yourself as your own. We can christen our homes, blessing them and transforming the very earth of the place from a wild and ungodly place into a Spirit filled firmament. As Orthodox Christians, we build icon corners and bless our homes, but we can go further. Through consistent prayer and blessing we consecrate our home to God and set it apart from the world. It becomes a Spirit-filled refuge.

In this new home of ours, I want to pay particular attention to blessing this home formally and informally. I will do this by making the sign of the cross and saying a small prayer as I rise in the morning, begin a chore, serve a meal, plant a garden, harvest its bounty, administer medicine, fold the laundry, lay down to rest. My goal, during this season of unpacking and paring down, is to bless the places and spaces of my life so that it becomes me, so that I am habituated to praise God and ask for his assistance and blessing in all things. Blessing the earth and gardens, the home, and its inhabitants with love of God and neighbor, so that through the Lord, Who Abides All Things, not only is this place transformed, but we are transfigured by His grace.

Towards that end, naming this home of ours is apropos. Seeing as we have downsized significantly, losing about 1000 ft², this house is a cozy fit for us. For now, it will be The Little House on the Hill. For me, the naming of this place puts miles between me and the world even if it's right out my front door. Its not that our Orthodox traditions fail to suffice or are in anyway incomplete, but that by naming, it becomes distinct, it becomes my own.

We are still unpacking, making room, learning about basements and attic bedrooms and life without air conditioning. I am still looking for the silverware. In other news, my ankle feels so much better. I can almost forget that it was broken. What a tremendous blessing that has been. I can whole heartily recommend Dr. John Early of Dallas, TX as a competent and able surgeon, as far as ankles are concerned. Thank you for all your prayers, everyone one of you.

We Moved!

2011-07-18T16:25:00.000-05:00

On Saturday, July 9, 2010 we loaded up a truck and left our home in North Fort Worth and headed North. Mr. Flavius took a week off work, we loaded his car onto the auto transport trailer and away we went.

Our 1300+ mile journey was mostly (thanks be to God) uneventful. The children were exceptionally well behaved, impressing patrons of Cracker Barrels (aka Crackle Bare-row, according to our A. and E.) across 7 states. The further north we traveled the more the compliments came, which is reassuring that our theory of Totality of Politeness may actually be working.

We arrived in the late afternoon on Wednesday. The house awaiting our arrival, electric candles in the windows, and a key in the mailbox.

Our movers did a dubious job at best and we are deep in boxes and packing wrap and the sundries of moving.

The children alternate helping with riotous play outside. We have no air conditioning, so it is often more pleasant out of doors than in. We inherited a large sand pile left behind when the previous owners removed their above ground pool. It has provided more enjoyment and entertainment than I thought possible.

The children have been able to really go out and play. This is the kind of parenting I fantasized about. It's great.

One surprise about our new life: I am way greener than I ever thought I'd be. Stalwart anti-environmentalist that I am, it is pretty surprising to find myself hanging a clothesline, enjoying the lack of air conditioning, reducing, reusing, and recycling. I may need to start littering just to balance it out (just kidding).

If I were Ann Voskamp, this post would be full of off-kilter, sunlight through the trees, light hanging laundry, basement windows pictures. Of course, you might not have any idea what I was trying to say either if I were. Please accept this humble offering, sans photos and beautiful phrasing.

2011-07-08T21:30:00.001-05:00

M.D. Harmon: Ironies can be sadly amusing – or unspeakably tragic

Several recent articles on a modern trend abroad carry lessons for us here at home.

Among the things journalists are taught to avoid -- including obscenities, libelous statements and claims known to be untrue (unless you're quoting a politician, of course) -- there's one figure of speech that we aren't often warned about, but we learn by hard experience never to use.

It's irony.

The dictionary's first definition of irony is "a humorous or subtly sarcastic expression whose real meaning is the opposite of the usual sense of the words used." (As in using "smart move" for a foolish act.)

Journalists learn quickly that most readers expect straightforward language and will take whatever you write in its literal sense, with any ironic subtext gliding past unnoticed.

If they discern the double meaning, they may be amused -- or they may think you tried to fool them and get mad at you. The downside outweighs the upside, so writers avoid irony.

Still, as a literary device, it can produce a wry grin. Thus, Garrison Keillor's spurious radio ads for "The Professional Organization of English Majors" (I'm a member, by the way) have English majors using their skills at work -- which their jobs never require.

In one, Keillor played an English major impressing a female moviegoer with his insights on films -- while working as an usher. The irony -- unstated, so as not to spoil the effect -- is that all the jobs the ads portray are minimum-wage. Want a better job? Next time, major in something useful.

The problem is, many things that are ironic are not fully humorous, but sadly so. Even Keillor's irony takes its bite from the fact that many newly minted English majors do find the job market a challenge.

But irony can go far beyond sadness to actual tragedy -- indeed, to events and trends so momentous in their impacts that even the word "tragic" cannot express the full meaning of what has happened.

Thus, the definition of irony I have in mind isn't the literary one. It's No. 3 in my Webster's, "a combination of circumstances or a result that is the opposite of what might be expected or considered appropriate."

Here's the warning. I started this column on a lighter tone, because I have learned some things I found so disturbing that I couldn't approach them directly. From this point on, the ironic theme that will be discussed is a very dark one, and if that bothers you, well, you can turn a few pages and find the comics. I won't blame you.

Unfortunately, I can't avert my eyes from this, and neither, I think, could any morally responsible adult. In the past couple of days, I have read a number of articles on abortion that I found unutterably tragic and I intend to describe them in the space that remains.

The rest here.

A Step In the Right Direction

2011-07-05T14:41:00.000-05:00

Ohio House approves abortion ban after heartbeat

By Jo Ingles

COLUMBUS | Tue Jun 28, 2011 7:56pm EDT

(Reuters) - The Ohio House of Representatives on Tuesday voted to ban abortions after a fetal heartbeat is detectable, which can be as early as six weeks.

The House voted 54 to 43 for the ban, along party lines, with most Republicans voting in favor.

If enacted, the law would be a challenge to the U.S. Supreme Court's 1973 Roe v. Wade ruling which upheld a woman's right to an abortion until the fetus is viable outside the womb, usually at 22-24 weeks.

Read the rest here.

Literature for Children

2011-06-28T23:03:00.000-05:00

My comment on this is that it is important to note the reactions of authors or the over-reaction. No longer is this simply the vain belief that only a poet can critique poetry. This is an attempt to suggest that non-authors don't get "art" in this instance YA or Young Adult literature.
Not only do I reject that notion, but I would go further to say that my life has at one time or another been changed by a book, a documentary, a portrait. I would not be a wife and a mother today if not for Caravaggio, Mary Pride, and C.S. Lewis.
Children are fed a diet of easy reads that range from gross to lurid by the time they reach adolescence. Books that romanticize sex, date rape, anorexia, drug use, intoxication, and worse are being published under the auspices of being 'relevant,' 'real teen life,' etc. It is not limited to YA lit., but also television, movies, and video games. With 7 children of my own and two children who rip through a book every one to three days, I cannot keep up with their media choices. That said, I am the one who bears the responsibility of their young lives. It cannot be said enough, keep up with your child's reading habits. Pay attention to their formation. If you don't, their are those that are more than willing to take on your child's formation for themselves.

From the Wall Street Journal Online:

My 'Reprehensible' Take on Teen Literature

Raise questions about self-mutilation and incest as a young-adult theme and all hell breaks loose.

Affordable Illustration Source/Images.com/Corbis

By MEGHAN COX GURDON

If the American Library Association were inclined to burn people in effigy, I might well have gone up in smoke these past few days. ALA members, mostly librarians and other book-industry folk, are concluding their annual conference today in New Orleans, and it's a fair bet that some of them are still fuming about an article of mine that appeared in these pages earlier this month.

The essay, titled "Darkness Too Visible," discussed the way in which young-adult literature invites teenagers to wallow in ugliness, barbarity, dysfunction and cruelty. By focusing on the dark currents in the genre, I was of course no more damning all young-adult literature than a person writing about reality TV is damning all television, but from the frenzied reaction you would have thought I had called for the torching of libraries.

Within hours of the essay's appearance it became a leading topic on Twitter. Indignant defenders of young-adult literature called me "idiotic," "narrow-minded," "brittle," "ignorant," "shrewish," "irresponsible" and "reprehensible." Authors Judy Blume and Libba Bray suggested that I was giving succor to book-banners. Author Lauren Myracle took the charge a stage further, accusing me of "formulating an argument not just against 'dark' YA [young-adult] books, but against the very act of reading itself." The ALA, in a letter to The Journal, saw "danger" in my argument, saying that it "encourages a culture of fear around YA literature."

The odd thing is that I wasn't tracking some rare, outlier tendency. As book reviewer Janice Harayda observed, commenting on my essay: "Anyone who writes about children's books regularly knows that [Mrs. Gurdon] hasn't made up this trend. . . . Books, like movies, keep getting more lurid."
Read the rest here

And Then I Woke Up!

2011-06-28T01:26:00.002-05:00

We made the mad 50 mile dash to the Surgery Center this morning. I finally accept that we are in the traffic hole of the Metroplex. How could there possibly be traffic before 5:30 AM?

The staff at the center were amazing and accommodating despite the fact that I was late. The anesthesiologist was everything I could want: great bedside manner, flexible (I turned down Versed since I am nursing), and put in an i.v. as well as my father ever did. True story, my father put nearly every i.v. I ever received before I was 21. I was accident prone (not much has changed on that account).

Anyway, they wheeled me into the operating room, transferred me to the operating table, placed the oxygen mask over my nose, and then I woke up in recovery! Hug your anesthesiologist, y'all. They are where it's at.

The previous surgery my care was managed by a CRNA, I received too much medicine in my spinal and had depressed breathing, I woke up prematurely, I remember things . . . Remembering things is at the bottom of the list of desirable surgery experiences.

Anyway, I woke up. My wonderful husband took care of baby I.. My good friend, Rita, saved the day with a sterilized breast pump and a generous milk donation so that she would not have to have formula. Hug your favorite La Leche Leaguer, y'all! She is also where it's at.

My pain level has not been great. I'm taking more medicine than I want to, but my new mantra is: Tomorrow will be better. For now, I am back in a new improved black orthopedic boot. I have not seen the wound, but the metal appliance looked like something you might find on a bike.

I'll be limping around here for a few days, but nothing significant. The stitches come out three days before we move. Thank you for your prayers and thoughtful words of encouragement.

Some News, Some Books, Some Links, and a Request

2011-06-26T23:47:00.002-05:00

News:

Every six weeks since I was discharged from the hospital, I have seen the orthopedist. This past week was one such week. I see the PA which is not really my preference, but I haven't figured out how I keep getting bumped when I schedule with the physician. I assumed it would be my last appointment and I announced that it was when PA John walked into the room. He asked about my pain level and I honestly told him, "it hurts most of the time." Tuesday's appointment came after a particularly ferocious storm and my ankle is my own personal barometer. It's not awful, I expect it will improve with time, but what can I say, it hurts.

He sent me off for x-rays and I wondered for the fortieth time if I should be requesting some sort of collar or apron. I never know what the safety protocol is for these machines. It seems too late to ask once they have me balancing precariously atop a wooden box with a film braced between my feet. I returned and we discussed my PT that I've never done and future potential surgeries (ankle replacement, fusion, appliance removal). This is exactly how my last four visits have gone. We departed from the script when the orthopedist called from behind the door, whispered in PA John's ear, and mysteriously went away.

"After reviewing the films, Dr. E. has decided to remove the appliance from your leg. Sally will come schedule your surgery." And with that PA John exited, never to return, and now I am having surgery.

Apparently, there are three screws that are digging into another bone. It is believed that this is source of a lot of the discomfort and pain. I have to wonder if this is the part where I ought to say, "Nay, leave these thorns to chasten me against sin and remind me of our Lord's own Passion!" Needless to say, I punked out on that account.

So early Monday morning, I will submit to the surgeon's knife and he will remove the eight inches of surgical steel and the six screws that bind the steel and bone together. I cannot even bring myself to think about it. I pray my guardian angel will watch over me. My last surgery was very successful and very uncomfortable. I think that was when the morphine pump was installed. I have been told that it will not be as significant. Lord, bear me safely through this latest challenge.

Baking Books:

Some of my favorite people have been bitten by the baking bug. I thought I was use this space to share some of my go to books for baking bread.

This is the National Geographic for bakers. Beautiful photography, amazing recipes, very international in scope. I first learned about delayed fermented dough from these pages.

You cannot go wrong with Peter Reinhart. He teaches Baker's Percentages and the how to create a DIY steam oven technique. Fool proof recipes. His Stollen in this book is to die for. Plus, he's Orthodox! What's not to like?

For the truly hardcore. This book gets whole grain and takes it to the next level with delayed fermentation and a host of other techniques. If you are into grinding your own wheat, this is your book.

Helpful Sites for Bakers:

Baker's Percentage Calculator:

Food Artisan's Baker's Calculator

Baker's Forum:

The Fresh Loaf

Great Recipes and Eye-Candy:

Request:

Pray for me, please. Pray for Baby I. and her father as they struggle through the morning together. Pray for my doctors.

Quick Takes

2011-06-18T23:57:00.001-05:00

Here are 8 little quick takes from our Father's Day Weekend. Nothing major or anything, but some photos to capture our weekend so far.

This is B. pretending to be a cow in the cattle shoot.

D. has an affinity for play driving vehicle. He's the little guy in the cab.

Evidence that - with a neutral third party - a brother and sister can play a game together without undue bloodshed or whining.

This picture needs some explanation. A. went to the pond with her brother and sister. She was directed to get in the water because she was hot. The result was a muddy, wet 6 year old. On returning to the barn M. (without fanfare) took off her pants and traded them for her sister's soaking wet pair so she could be with the family fully dressed. Then, as this picture shows, M. tied her sister's shoes and walked with her to say hello to everyone.

Little awesome guy. He's just fun to watch do his boy thing.

N. feeding the cows some treats.

Before we left the kids picked blueberries for a bit. Then Mr. Flavius went to get gas while I picked vegetables. The kids snacked on blueberries on the way back and listened to Nelson Mandela's "Favorite African Folktales" audiobook. It's quite good; the stories are short enough for all ages and it mixes up animal stories with other folk tales so that the variety keeps you engaged. I ❤ Audible.com.

It was 105ºF today. The wind kicked up dust and blew dust in our eyes. Standing in the shade, those gusts felt like I was standing in front of an open oven door. The pond is down, the deer stay all day in the trees. Days like these never seem to cool off. It's so hot our heavy clay soils crack wide open, blue jeans will go from wring wet to dry in under 20 minutes hanging on the talilgate. We're praying for rain here. What I will remember most? I hope it is all the sunshine and happy faces. Thank you, Lord, for your many and abundant blessings.

When the Cat is Away. . .

2011-06-15T23:31:00.004-05:00

the Mice shall spend too much money, crunch the car, murder a kindle, and cook really weird and/or fun food.

Mr. Flavius is far away and has been since Saturday morning. These trips always cause a bit of flurry anxiety and impulsivity in me. Being the only parent in the house seems a decidedly unnatural thing to me. I am not particularly accustomed to being the HERE where the buck stops. That is not to say I roll over when he is not here, but they are many and I am singular. When he is at home, I know he's got my back.

Anyway, we're here not doing much of anything in particular. My ankle is really bugging me this week. I made Chicken Feet Stock to help combat the ever-shrinking cartilage in my sad ankle.

I saw a woman with the tell-tale black orthopedic boot on my way to the barber shop with the boys. She had fallen through her attic and broken her leg when she hit the concrete below. I really hope that there was someone at home with her. After my ordeal, I couldn't bring myself to ask her who found her. She said seeing me walking gave her hope. If someone can take hope from my achy-breaky, gimpy-limpy walk then it is all worth it and I will quit complaining and take it like a woman.

A few months ago, N. got the worst haircut ever. Somehow before I could get all the children inside, the gentleman wielding the clippers of doom managed to wrangle him into a chair and faster than most people could whip one of those capes on-- he had practically scalped the poor boy.

N. was stricken. I was too. He's always been sensitive about this teeninesy scar on his forehead from a game of Open the Door-Close the Door when he was 15 months old. I don't why he is so preoccupied with it, but he is and this just about killed him.

It took getting a really bad haircut to appreciate a mediocre one. For this I am thankful. For whatever reason, I have not mastered the language of the Barber Shop. I keep asking for a Classic Boy's Cut and it looks different everytime.

B. is by far the nicest toddler I have ever had the pleasure of taking to the barber shop. No screaming or flailing or crying or terrorizing the barber, the customers, or young mothers. He sits up on the chair just like his brothers, but with the requisite lollypops.

He's saying, "Cheese!"

A few minutes after this we had lunch. And a few minutes after that, I accidentally cut a corner short and ran over a boulder. That pretty much did it for me. Then we went home.

We got out the grill for out last days of Texas Summer. It had to be 100ºF or hotter. May I say that Texans grill in the summer to prove that we can take the heat. If not that then why? House after house in Johnstown had something called a Summer Kitchen. Usually a stove in the basement between the washing machine and the laundry sink. It might get to 90ºF outside there, but central air conditioning is not common. Here in beautiful sunny Fort Worth, we have ALL the a/c you could want, but we still go out and stand over the grill. If you do it right, you can get cooked on both sides with the sun on your back and the grill at your front- you can come out looking like a bright red cherry tomato!

After dinner, I realized that I let the coals burn down too far so made s'mores over the stove.

I managed to get all sorts of undefinable goo all over my phone. It started with a piece of Press n' Seal that I wadded up and stuck in my pocket. Being the same pocket as my phone, it, of course, melted sticky muck all over my phone screen. As I was trying to get the mysterious substance off, it occured to me that this is not necessarily a product to be used in the microwave.

Taking this picture, I managed to get S'more all over the home button. This was cause for mild concern, but Mr. B. took care of that and replaced it with a new anxiety after he washed the darn thing.

I may not be taking anymore pictures. At least not for a few days, while I wait for my "it came from the eighties" picture filter to go away.

Thank the Lord, he is returning tomorrow evening.

Humanitarian or Eugenicist?

2011-06-15T22:07:00.029-05:00

Watch this:

Then read this:
Tetanus vaccine may be laced with anti-fertility drug. International / developing countries.

Abstract

A priest, president of Human Life International (HLI) based in Maryland, has asked Congress to investigate reports of women in some developing countries unknowingly receiving a tetanus vaccine laced with the anti-fertility drug human chorionic gonadotropin (hCG). If it is true, he wants Congress to publicly condemn the mass vaccinations and to cut off funding to UN agencies and other involved organizations. The natural hormone hCG is needed to maintain pregnancy. The hormone would produce antibodies against hCG to prevent pregnancy. In the fall of 1994, the Pro Life Committee of Mexico was suspicious of the protocols for the tetanus toxoid campaign because they excluded all males and children and called for multiple injections of the vaccine in only women of reproductive age. Yet, one injection provides protection for at least 10 years. The Committee had vials of the tetanus vaccine analyzed for hCG. It informed HLI about the tetanus toxoid vaccine. HLI then told its World Council members and HLI affiliates in more than 60 countries. Similar tetanus vaccines laced with hCG have been uncovered in the Philippines and in Nicaragua. In addition to the World Health Organization (WHO), other organizations involved in the development of an anti-fertility vaccine using hCG include the UN Population Fund, the UN Development Programme, the World Bank, the Population Council, the Rockefeller Foundation, the US National Institute of Child Health and Human Development, the All India Institute of Medical Sciences, and Uppsala, Helsinki, and Ohio State universities. The priest objects that, if indeed the purpose of the mass vaccinations is to prevent pregnancies, women are uninformed, unsuspecting, and unconsenting victims.

PMID:: 12346214; [PubMed - indexed for MEDLINE]

Now, doesn't that makes this headline much less cheery and happy?

Summer Milestones

2011-06-12T03:54:00.133-05:00

Baby I. laughed.

Just the other night, gazing into her father's eyes, she had a way down deep chuckle. I love watching, Mr. Flavius with his children, especially when they share these moments. There's a twinkle in their eyes that speaks of mutual adoration and inside jokes. Even the baby gets it.

B. is becoming a water baby. In these last Texas days of ours, I am getting as much use out of the neighborhood pool as I can. Making up for lost time I suppose. I know there were whole summers I avoided going, because I was afraid of managing The Many, because I had not yet accepted that I was The Lifeguard, because there was always The New Baby. As far as reasons go I've got them in spades, but these days I am trying to find ways to say yes as much as possible. I don't want little resentments from The One towards The Many because we avoided sleep overs or pool time or whatever it is. So for now, I am sitting (read that as: pacing) in the shade with the baby, watching the many, lifeguarding as best I can.

It drives Mr. Flavius crazy, but Summer Swim Days means one thing: Sno Cones. [Household favorites are Tiger's Blood and Wedding Cake with Sno Cream, both flavors from ~~twenty-some-odd years ago~~ my childhood. In case you were wondering: Sno Cream is not optional. I mean, really, what kind of crazy nut job is going to endure the anxiety and strain of watching 7 children at the pool, under the sun shade, yet mostly in the sun, in 100ºF weather, and not going looking for a frozen drink when it's all over? Not to suggest that endlessly watching little girl's handstands and spins, and baby boy splashes, while monitoring the big'uns and also watching to see who also might be watching the big'uns (cause you can never be too careful) is fun. It's fun. It's work, but the good kind. Did I mention I'm watching 7 children? It's an endless counting game.

Beautiful M. turned 10. We had a few girls for a sleepover. Popcorn and a Movie (Gnomio and Juliet) and then swimming the next day (and then I was watching 10!). We gave her a charm bracelet and a new chain for her cross. Blow-up mattresses filled the family room, all the girls wanted to share the same bed with M. I'm sure she was flattered. It was sweet to watch them all together chatting and making summer plans for the time remaining. My mother celebrated with us the next day and called it The Last Birthday. I suspect she's not taking our upcoming move well.

We endured our inspections on our Texas house and on the Pennsylvania house. Praying for our buyers and sellers has become a must. I would like these experiences of buying their first home to be a wonderful one and not one they regret or have any resentment over. Likewise, I want our sellers to feel good about selling their family home of over 32 years. I remember buying and selling our first home and I occasionally must remind myself not to hold onto disappointments and frustrations from that time because we were young and inexperienced. Now, I'm still young, but more experienced. I feel like I understand the process a bit better. Of course we've added out of state purchasing to our repertoire now.

Our Texas time is now in it's final days. Mr. Flavius made it official and purchased our hotel rooms from the Big Trip Up Yonder. We leave very early on July 11th. I told a dear friend yesterday and tears filled her eyes. I panicked, did a crazy, "No-No! You can't cry- there's no crying," sort of thing. I feel bad about it now. How low is my EQ? I think that once I start though, it will be a while before I stop crying myself. Not that I'm unhappy, but all the happy memories and wonderful friends and family that we are leaving behind, all those potential memories together that will now be different and far away.

If you only knew. . . I'm missing you already.

Hello. . . Is It Me You're Looking For?

2011-06-01T21:07:00.002-05:00

I've not abandoned the blog, but I have felt busycrazy and then some since the baby was born. So much has happened already this year and so much more was to come that had you told me what a year this would turn out to be (and it's really barely half over. Lordhavemercy, protect me through the rest!) I would have buckled up right where I sat.

From the spectacular fall and a new baby's birth to her holy Illumination and now the beginning of a new chapter in our lives.

For nearly all of our marriage Mr. Flavius has struggled with/against/toward a call. At various times, my tin ear thought he was being daft/stubborn/not settling in/difficult, but that turned to amazing/dedicated/brave as I began to hear the correct pitch. One day, I'll have to tell you about how choosing to let my husband be the head of the household saved me, our marriage, our family, our happiness. . . but not today. Anyway, for the better part of a year, it has been our goal to get my man to seminary. It started last August and took a major hiatus come December. We had not a single showing during that time and I was happy to get the house off the market so I could prepare for the baby. I think I called that time period the Divine Silence. Mr. Flavius called it frustrating. Then I fell. After that baby I. came. Now we are ready. The proof? We had a an offer for our asking price fewer than 12 hours after we went active. Hello, Providence!

Anyway, just as I was settling into the thought that I would like to start hauling back in all those boxes of cookbooks and linens and sundry comforts that we had packed away last summer, I had a flash of inspiration on how to accomplish The Goal. It was the radical option, but as it turns out it is The Option, ultimately it is all worth it in the end. I don't normally like to say that God spoke to me. Who am I? But there was definitely a whisper that early morning in the predawn quiet.

That was Holy Friday. Today, I sit in a preternaturally clean home devoid of the things and clutter one might expect a family of our size to have, awaiting the call of any passing agent who might care to see the house even though I don't really need too. Two contracts signed. One, for a home far away, waiting for our family's arrival. The other for the house in which we have lived for nearly five summers now freshly painted and newly carpeted awaiting the now-strangers to become its soon-residents.

We are in the crazymaking time that is the house shuffle. My mother is having a hard time with it. My impression is that she is pouring over the various websites at all hours looking for The House, despite the fact that we have a contract on Another House. She frets over the age, the stairs, the laundry room in the basement. She frets for my ankle, over the snow ("5 feet!" she'll occasionally exclaim. Johnstown tends to get between one and two feet.), over the distance, for the children she already misses. My father on the other hand calls with practical advice, the importance of a tune up, getting the serpentine belt checked, maybe we ought consider replacing the windshield. Even he holds the children tighter, hugs linger a bit longer.

Other family members have flatly refused to give any kind of blessing to The Adventure. I want to understand. It sure makes it harder, but I am trying to understand. Everyone, myself included, has remarked about the future likelihood of snow and all things snowy. Apparently, we, Sun Worshipping Southerners, are terrified of the stuff.

In between Now and Moving Day, we have to cram in our last breaths of Texas -air, -sun, -memories. . . there is a rush to push it all into this moment, as though it could evaporate or fade once we cross over the state line. M. turns 10.

I. has her third ear infection in less than as many months We are headed to the ENT on Monday. Lord have mercy on us and help her, poor thing. She smiles amazing sunshine smiles. I get lost in her eyes. She is so attentive and responsive. I am not adjusting well to the dairy free diet, but I'm trying. She is getting better.

I did not write for so long because I did not know how to respond to some of the sad things going on with you, my readers, with my neighbors, and then to the tragedies that seem to abound between Pascha and now. I did not want to contribute more noise or write falsely about one thing or another. I prayed, found few words, and so I wrote nothing.

As for the moment, I hope to keep caught up here. I hope y'all are well. Many prayers and well wishes to you all.

Putting on Christ. . .

2011-06-01T16:46:00.001-05:00

Cake! Generously provided by my parents. We always do a cake for baptisms. Sometimes we also do meals, but as this was our first Saturday baptism we opted for just a cake. We were delighted the other family who had their child baptized today (Many years, little Ludmilla!) brought some wonderful food to share.

My father was able to make it. He and B. have a special relationship. Whenever we visit B. seeks him out, runs to him, and gets a big hug. It's as sweet as it sounds.

The children in attendance. They played upstairs and outside after the service while the adults ate the aforementioned cake and chatted.

Mommies with their catechumens.

I just really love this photo.

And this one...

... and this one.

"For you are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus. For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus. And if you are Christ’s, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise."

- Galatians 3:26-29

I. and her godparents.

I. was tuckered out after the event. She held her baptismal cross in her hand for quite a while and slept for even longer. She didn't wake up until after 5. This is actually pretty common for our children - they sleep for hours and it gives us time to kiss on them and call them new creations, no longer heathens, beloved of God, etc.

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new."

- 2 Corinthians 5:17

Touchstone Magazine - Mere Comments: Federal Creep Update: Public School Children

2011-05-09T19:44:00.000-05:00

Federal Creep Update: Public School Children

At Public Discourse today, Greg Forster writes about a little known effort that is nearing completion for the Feds to take over public education.

You haven’t heard about it, but for over a year the U.S. Department of Education has been quietly working behind the scenes to establish national control of K-12 education curriculum. Their plans are coming close to fruition as Congress prepares to debate the renewal of the main federal education law, which the administration plans to use as a lever to force states to “voluntarily” adopt a national curriculum and even a national test that all students would have to take multiple times per year.
Historically, national control of education has come up as an issue about once every ten to fifteen years. In the past, it has usually produced a lot of fireworks but burned out pretty quickly. This year is very different. The nationalizers have learned from their past mistakes; they understand now that the American people don’t want the federal government to control schools. So they’ve adopted clever tactics to disguise what they’re doing and misdirect public attention, and as a result, they are already dangerously close to getting everything they want.

Aside from the problem of the federal government taking over more and more control of state and municipal matters, think of what this could mean for what children are supposed to be taught about sex and marriage in every school district in the country.

As signer of the Manhattan Declaration, I've been told by critics that the declaration is overwrought, or "political," or that some of the "wrong" people have signed it and thus it shouldn't be signed by serious Christians who have a more sophisticated understanding of these things than, apparently, the drafters (primarily Robert P. George and Timothy George) or at least some of the signers--"fundamentalists"? Signing it means you are associated with really stupid Right Wing Christians who have been beating their heads against the wall on "pro-life" issues for decades and getting nowhere because they're too stupid to know how things "really work" in society, culture, and politics.

If you don't think that, without serious opposition, the day will not come when children and their parents will not be punished in some fashion for expressing opposition to gay marriage or abortion because of their religious beliefs (or because it seems to violate natural law and commonsense), then I don't know what sort of alarm clock is needed to wake people up. Those engaged in this operation know the more quietly they do their work behind the scenes, the more they can get away with.

Mute Monday

2011-05-02T22:57:00.000-05:00

A Public Service Announcement. . .

2011-04-16T19:49:00.000-05:00

I frequently see and hear this word misused. Normally, I could overlook it and substitute the word that was actually intended based on context, but then I heard Christ described as such. So here we go, brought to you by the Merriam Webster Dictionary:

Penultimate:

Main Entry: pen·ul·ti·mate
Pronunciation: \pi-ˈnəl-tə-mət\
Function: adjective
Date: 1677
1 : next to the last
2 : of or relating to a penult
— pen·ul·ti·mate·ly adverb

Anna Karenina

2011-04-15T00:08:00.001-05:00

I spent the last week reading Leo Tolstoy's work, Anna Karenina. I had seen the 1997 movie with Sophie Marceau many years ago. I found it to be tragic, riveting, and equal part uplifting and crushing. I'm not certain what drove me to download it to my Kindle, maybe because it is free? Probably.

It begins: Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

It is painful from the outset in a way that you can't get at by watching the movie. I knew the facts: there are two central couples: Anna/Alexy and Kostya/Kitty. My vague recollection was Bad vs. Good, Passion vs. Intellect, etc and then at some point near the end: Anna throws herself in front of a train and dies. Reading the book, I was drawn in, I experienced real emotion -joy, grief, revulsion, horror- no longer a mere observer.

I was horrified by Anna's transformation from a good woman of society into a wretched wreck. What was horrific was how much I have ever been Anna (no, not in adulterous sense). I have been Anna in her rages and recriminations, with her jealousies and coveting. I have been Anna. Halfway through the book, seeing that she could not stop herself and knowing that there was a train coming, I began to flinch whenever Tolstoy would lead me back to the sordid disaster of an existence that is Anna Arkadyevna. I would speed through her pages half urging her to just hurry the hell up and end it and other times begging her to just stop, turn around and go home to her son.

It was the passages about Kostya, particularly as he and Kitty drew closer and closer together, that made it possible to get through the text. Kostya's mental turmoil and judgements, fair or otherwise, were an oasis amidst the harsh environment created by Vronsky and Anna. They reflect the best and most wonderful versions of me or rather there are shadows and glimpses of their love in me, in my marriage. Their innocence and tenderness and even their ridiculous arguments transported me back to the first year of my marriage. Kostya's struggle as an unbeliever and his wife's certainty that his love of neighbor made up for whatever disbelief he might actually have were sweet and touching. I know what it is to struggle with belief and yet to be smacked flat with the fact of Christ, laid bare by the Church's truth. I know the devil that teases and dances in the thoughts of Konstastin Dmitrievich. How hard it is for him to surrender; how hard it has been for me to surrender! Yet, he does.

Part 8 of the book was spurned by Tolstoy's editor and was first introduced when the author paid for the book to be published. Had we been left simply with Anna's desolation, her despair, the tragic triumph and defeat of her final act, the book would not be the masterpiece that it is. It would have left us dull, cold . . . as hopeless as she. I dare say the final paragraph makes the entire work for me something wholly new, hopeful, even lyrical. Levin leaves us with these thoughts to ponder and reconcile:

"This new feeling has not changed me, has not made me happy and enlightened all of a sudden, as I had dreamed, just like the feeling for my child. There was no surprise in this either. Faith — or not faith — I don't know what it is — but this feeling has come just as imperceptibly through suffering, and has taken firm root in my soul.
"I shall go on in the same way, losing my temper with Ivan the coachman, falling into angry discussions, expressing my opinions tactlessly; there will be still the same wall between the holy of holies of my soul and other people, even my wife; I shall still go on scolding her for my own terror, and being remorseful for it; I shall still be as unable to understand with my reason why I pray, and I shall still go on praying; but my life now, my whole life apart from anything that can happen to me, every minute of it is no more meaningless, as it was before, but it has the positive meaning of goodness, which I have the power to put into it."

If you have not read the book, go get it. And if you have, read it again. Yes, I know I spoiled the ending for you, but honestly this is such a beautiful examination of people and their suffering. Tolstoy truly knows the human spirit and I dare say you will see aspects of your life reflected in these pages.

A Preparation for Confessionn

2011-04-14T14:41:00.000-05:00

by St. John of Kronstadt

from our priest via the parish mailing list:

I, a sinful soul, confess to our Lord God and Savior Jesus Christ, all of my evil acts which I have done, said or thought from baptism even unto this present day.
I have not kept the vows of my bbaptism, but have made myself unwanted before the face of God.
I have sinned before the Lord by lack of faith and by doubts concerning the Orthodox Faith and the Holy Church; by ungratefulness for all of God's great and unceasing gifts; His long-suffering and His providence for me, a sinner; by lack of love for the Lord, as well as fear, through not fulfilling the Holy Commandments of God and the canons and rules of the Church.
I have not preserved a love for God and for my neighbor nor have I made enough efforts, because of laziness and lack of care, to learn the Commandments of God and the precepts of the Holy Fathers.
I have sinned: by not praying in the morning and in the evening and in the course of the day; by not attending the services or by coming to Church only half-heartedly, lazily and carelessly; by conversing during the services, by not paying attention, letting my mind wander and by departure from the Church before the dismissal and blessing.

I have sinned by judging members of the clergy.
I have sinned by not respecting the Feasts, breaking the Fasts, and by immoderation in food and drink.
I have sinned by self-importance, disobedience, willfulness, self-righteousness, and the seeking of approval and praise.
I have sinned by unbelief, lack of faith, doubts, despair, despondency, abusive thoughts, blasphemy and swearing.
I have sinned by pride, a high opinion of my self, narcissism, vanity, conceit, envy, love of praise, love of honors, and by putting on airs.
I have sinned: by judging, malicious gossip, anger, remembering of offenses done to me, hatred and returning evil for evil; by slander, reproaches, lies, slyness, deception and hypocrisy; by prejudices, arguments, stubbornness, and an unwillingness to give way to my neighbor; by gloating, spitefulness, taunting, insults and mocking; by gossip, by speaking too much and by empty speech.

I have sinned by unnecessary and excessive laughter, by reviling and dwelling upon my previous sins, by arrogant behavior, insolence and lack of respect.
I have sinned by not keeping my physical and spiritual passions in check, by my enjoyment of impure thoughts, licentiousness and unchastity in thoughts, words and deeds.
I have sinned by lack of endurance towards my illnesses and sorrows, a devotion to the comforts of life and by being too attached to my parents, children, relatives and friends.
I have sinned by hardening my heart, having a weak will and by not forcing myself to do good.
I have sinned by miserliness, a love of money, the acquisition of unnecessary things and immoderate attachment to things.
I have sinned by self-justification, a disregard for the admonitions of my conscience and failing to confess my sins through negligence or false pride.

I have sinned many times by my Confession: belittling, justifying and keeping silent about sins.
I have sinned against the Most-holy and Life-creating Mysteries of the Body and Blood of our Lord by coming to Holy Communion without humility or the fear of God.
I have sinned in deed, word and thought, knowingly and unknowingly, willingly and unwillingly, thoughtfully and thoughtlessly, and it is impossible to enumerate all of my sins because of their multitude. But I truly repent of these and all others not mentioned by me because of my forgetfulness and I ask that they be forgiven through the abundance of the Mercy of God.

Pascha is Around the Corner

2011-04-12T11:01:00.000-05:00

My 40 days landed smack in the middle of Lent. As a matter of fact, it will end on Holy Wednesday. If ever there was a woman who needed time to recover from childbirth, it is I. Baby I. and I managed to catch what has been dubbed a "hospital acquired infection". It has spooked me enough to wonder if I shouldn't just home birth next time. Of course, I should point out that this is the first time in 7 births and 4 different hospitals (and 5 different practices) that I have even had a single complication. Considering that nearly a quarter of the births in the state of Texas are via cesarian, I feel blessed.

There are many blessings that have touched our lives in the last few weeks, not the least of which has been in the form of sleep. Mr. Flavius has tolerated and even encouraged me to get as much sleep as possible. Our parish has once again showered us with love in the form of many meals and generous gifts. Thank you!

In other news, Pascha is around the corner and I am slowly getting things ready for the big day. Things like: finding the cheesemold for the Pascha cheese, buying butter muslin and cheesecloth, locating a source for fresh cream to make butter for the butter lamb, locating a source for fresh horseradish, setting out the Pascha baskets and covers, collecting bags of yellow onion skins, making or finding fresh kolbasi, mixing my curing seasons for the slanina, collecting my favorite recipes for the hrudka, kolace, and chrin. But maybe you have no idea what I'm talking about. Chrin?! Hrudka?! Is this food or a foot condition?

My husband and I came to the East through one of her more Western doors, the Byzantic Catholic Church. It is ethnically Carpatho Rusyn They are a people without a country, a slavic diaspora, who make up the Byzantine Catholic Church and the American Carpatho-Rusyn Orthodox Diocese here in the United States. If you have ever celebrated St. Alexis Toth of Wilkes-Barre, you know a Carpatho-Rus. They are most notably known for their unique and very beautiful plain chant (Prostopinije). It was through these hymns and through these people that I began to learn to love the East. Since we converted to Orthodoxy, we have kept those traditions close to us.

The Pascha basket is something of a big deal in many Orthodox families. Some people put in their baskets those things which they have given up for Great Lent (cheeseburgers, barbeque, and mead featured prominently in some of the baskets we saw blessed last year). The Carpatho-Rusyn basket reminds me of a Christian Passover meal. Our basket is decidedly Rusyn with a few extras. I always add sweets, Archbishop Dmitri's Pascha, and charoset, a typical Passover staple, because it reminds me to pray for my sister and her husband, who are Jewish, and new this year will be a spare set of car keys.

Oh, that's nice . . . wait a minute, Svetlana! Did I read car keys?!

Why, yes you did. One of the most wonderful of all our Orthodox traditions is the Paschal liturgy. I like to think of Great Lent and its abundance of services as a sort of Olympic training program. Slowly warming your muscles and strengthening your body for the greatest feast of the year. The Paschal liturgy full of solemn beauty and eminently wondrous majesty begins upon the earliest moment of the day at midnight and it when it ends, we feast like it's going out of style. Last year, our eldest daughter accidentally locked the keys in the car at 3 o'clock in the morning. We tried everything in our power so as not to have to call a locksmith, but it was to no avail. By the time the locksmith arrived, the revelry and feasting had been going for quite sometime. Vodka and wine flowed freely (or as freely as it might within the confines of the church walls, anyway) and so he arrived amidst the shouts, "Christ is risen!" and singing, . . . trampling down death by Death! . . ., and children running through the yard loud and happy. It was still pitch dark out. I cannot imagine what he made of this scene. Anyway, given the Flavius household history with key trouble, it seems warranted.

Here is a typical description of the affair:

After the midnight Paschal Liturgy, we all gather together to bless the Pascha baskets. These baskets have been carefully prepared with many of the foods from which we've been fasting for the past month and a half during Great Lent. There are several foods traditionally included in the basket. These are: a yeast bread, a bitter herb, wine, cheese, meat, butter, salt, and a red egg. Each has symbolic significance:
Bread: The Easter Bread (pron, paska). A sweet , yeast bread rich in eggs, butter, etc. Symbolic of Christ Himself who is our True Bread as well as a symbol of the New Covenant: the Jews made unleavened bread, and we, the Children of the New Covenant, make leavened bread. Kulich is the traditional Russian bread, and Tsourekia is the traditional Greek braided bread. The braided form of this bread is a display of the Trinity. Sometimes a round loaf baked with a golden crust decorated with a symbol indicative of Christ. Sometimes a cross of dough is placed on top encircled by a plait giving it a crowned effect, or Greek abbreviations for the name of Christ. The letters XB indicate the Slavonic for "Christ is Risen."
Ham: (Sunka - pronounced shoon-ka) The flesh meat popular with Slavs as the main dish because of its richness and symbolic of the great joy and abundance of Easter. Some may prefer lamb or veal. This is usually well roasted or cooked as well as other meats prepared in advance so that the festivity of the day will not be burdened with preparation and all may enjoy the Feast. Meat is included in remembrance of the sacrifice of the Old Testament Passover, which has been replaced by Christ, the New Passover and Lamb of God. This is directly from the prayers said, we see that the meats represent our Lord Jesus Christ as the Lamb of sacrifice, obeying the will of the Father, as did Abraham who was ready to offer his only son to the command of God.
Sausage: (Kolbasi - pronounced kol-bus-i) A spicy, garlicy sausage of pork products, indicative of God's favor and generosity
Bacon (Slanina - pronounced - sla-ni-na) A piece of uncooked bacon cured with spices. Symbolic of the overabundance of God's mercy to us.
Soft cheese: (Hrudka or Sirets, pronounced - hrood-ka or si-rets) A custard-type cheese shaped into a ball having a rather bland but sweet taste indicative of the moderation that Christians should have in all things. Also, creamed cheese is placed in a small dish and both are decorated with symbols made of cloves or pepper balls.
Salt: (Sol - pronounced sol') A condiment necessary for flavor reminding the Christian of his duty to others as well as a reminder that we are "the salt of the earth."
Butter: (Maslo - pronounced ma-slo) This favorite dairy product is shaped into the figure of a lamb or small cross and decorated as the cheese. This reminds us of the goodness of Christ that we should have toward all things.
Eggs (decorated / colored red): (Pysanky - pronounced - pi-sun-ki) Hard boiled eggs brightly decorated with symbols and markings made with beeswax. Indicative of new life and resurrection. The red egg is likened to the tomb or sepulchre from which Christ arose. As the egg is sealed, but holds life in itself, and that life in the shell breaks it open and comes out as a new life, so was the grave of Christ sealed, but it contained life eternal which burst its seals and gave to us a new eternal life. This is because of the miracle of new life which comes from the egg, just as Christ miraculously came forth from the tomb.
The red coloring of the egg recalls to us that by the blood of Jesus upon the Cross we were freed from sin and death. Tradition also says that Mary Magdalene gave the first egg to the Roman emperor Tiberius, when she was brought before him and accused of being a Christian. She took the egg and by it demonstrated the belief of Christians in eternal life, and by her presentation, was able to persuade the emperor to stop the persecution of Christians.
Horseradish: (Chrin - pronounced - khrin) Horseradish mixed with grated red beets. This bitter herb ultimately serves as a reminder of the first Passover (horseradish is eaten as a traditional part of the original Passover meal) and of the bitter sufferings which Christ endured for our sake. Sometimes the herb is colored red with beets, symbolizing the Blood of Christ. The bitter herb is also to bring to mind the Jews' forty years of wandering in the wilderness.
Tomato / Vegetables
Candle
Wine: figurative of all the good things of life, wine reminds us of the earthly gifts that come from God.
Decorative cloth to cover basket
These articles are placed in a wicker basket and a ribbon or bow is tied to the handle. A decorated candle is placed in the basket and is lit at the time of blessing. A linen cover usually embroidered with a picture of the Risen Christ or symbol with the words "Christ is Risen" is placed over the foods when brought to the church. In some places a large Easter Bread (Paska) is made and brought separately in a large linen cloth. Thus each of the foods in the Pascha basket have rich meaning, as does everything in Orthodoxy. Glory to God!

What traditions do you observe around Pascha?

Baby Update

2011-03-26T01:43:00.000-05:00

Baby I. went in for a bilirubin draw this week. Her numbers came back 'elevated' but she is not considered to be at much risk. Also, she finally pooped after playing the waiting game for 7 days. She looks healthy (aside from the tan) and wets often, but I have to wonder if she is drawing down the hindmilk. A dear friend of mine is tracking down a pump for me, as we speak. I'm telling you, it pays to have crazy La Leche League friends (love you, Rita).

I on the other hand and being told in no uncertain terms that I need to go get back in bed, by my body via kidney infection. I guess this is comeuppance for all the times that I have almost haughtily told new mothers "if you don't take it easy, you'll get what's coming to you." I surely did. I guess I need to take this whole 40 days more seriously...

B. turned two and N. turns 11this weekend. I have been changing diapers for 11 years and up until December it had been without a break or 3902 days without a break. I wish I had more pictures, but I've spent most of this week in bed.

I know, yesterday was the Annunciation. I feel sort of lost in time right now, unmoored from the Church calendar. I did find this Psalm which seems especially appropriate for the day.

Psalm 40

¹I waited patiently for the LORD; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry.

²He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings.

³And he hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God: many shall see it, and fear, and shall trust in the LORD.

⁴Blessed is that man that maketh the LORD his trust, and respecteth not the proud, nor such as turn aside to lies.

⁵Many, O LORD my God, are thy wonderful works which thou hast done, and thy thoughts which are to us-ward: they cannot be reckoned up in order unto thee: if I would declare and speak of them, they are more than can be numbered.

⁶Sacrifice and offering thou didst not desire; mine ears hast thou opened: burnt offering and sin offering hast thou not required.

⁷Then said I, Lo, I come: in the volume of the book it is written of me,

⁸I delight to do thy will, O my God: yea, thy law is within my heart.

⁹I have preached righteousness in the great congregation: lo, I have not refrained my lips, O LORD, thou knowest.

¹⁰I have not hid thy righteousness within my heart; I have declared thy faithfulness and thy salvation: I have not concealed thy lovingkindness and thy truth from the great congregation.

¹¹Withhold not thou thy tender mercies from me, O LORD: let thy lovingkindness and thy truth continually preserve me.

¹²For innumerable evils have compassed me about: mine iniquities have taken hold upon me, so that I am not able to look up; they are more than the hairs of mine head: therefore my heart faileth me.

¹³Be pleased, O LORD, to deliver me: O LORD, make haste to help me.

¹⁴Let them be ashamed and confounded together that seek after my soul to destroy it; let them be driven backward and put to shame that wish me evil.

¹⁵Let them be desolate for a reward of their shame that say unto me, Aha, aha.

¹⁶Let all those that seek thee rejoice and be glad in thee: let such as love thy salvation say continually, The LORD be magnified.

¹⁷But I am poor and needy; yet the Lord thinketh upon me: thou art my help and my deliverer; make no tarrying, O my God.

Keep me in prayer, dear Reader. Many blessings to you.

Getting Your Core on for Jesus

2011-03-23T13:25:00.005-05:00

I never watch the News. I occasionally read the News, but I filter most of what I read. This is mainly a self-preservation technique, as the News has left me dissolved in tears over the horrors of what we do to one another. Every once in a while I have been rickrolled by a lead or a article heading, but usually I manage to stay out of the murky depths.

This is nearly impossible to accomplish when you watch the News on tv. It seems to matter little what the leading stories of the day are: Japan, Libya, the Recovery, the Un-Recovery, Afghanistan, etc... you are going to first be subjected to Info-tainment, the spam of the wasteland that is network news. I'm sure that if a network news executive were to wander onto my pitiful little space here he would offer me deep critical insight from the current king of Info-tainment in the form of the deep analysis that we have come to expect from the Pundits. It would go something like this: "Uh, duh. Winning!" (As an aside, did you know that the word 'pundit' originated from the Hindi, "... term pandit, which in turn originates from the Sanskrit (a language from ancient India) term paṇḍitá, meaning "learned" (see also Pandit). It refers to someone who is erudite in various subjects and who conducts religious ceremonies and offers counsel to the king." from Wikipedia. Oh, how far we have fallen.)

Anyway, just proving that Modern Man has eschewed the chalice to swill directly from the trough (lest our sense, dignity, or humanity interfere with our ever enlightened Progress) I bring you:

POLE DANCING FOR JESUS

Wheeeeeee!

HOUSTON - Pole dancing as a workout is nothing new. Over the past few years, independent studios have popped up all over the country, but there is a very unique type of pole dancing class here in our area.
It’s called Pole Fitness for Jesus.
You’re probably thinking: “How on Earth can you mix pole dancing with Jesus?”
According to one studio in Spring, you can definitely mix the two.
“I was actually a dancer for 3 years, probably 7 years ago or so. I did it for awhile, it’s not something I felt very rewarded with, but to each his own and it was just something I decided I didn’t want to do anymore so I decided to take the part that I liked about that and bring it here but it’s so much fitness, I don’t teach women to be strippers,” said owner/instructor of Best Shape of Your Life Crystal Deans.
Every 2md[sic] Sunday of the month, Crystal Deans invites female church-goers into her pole dancing studio.
“On Sundays, we do pole fitness for Jesus. We do the upbeat contemporary Christian music because people have to bring their church program to get into the class, so we basically are just continuing the whole worship thing here.”
Don't let the name of the class fool you though. There's no prayer beforehand and there's no crosses hanging in her studio,
“Just to get past the whole stigma of the whole thing, I’m very Christian. I go to church every Sunday and I pray. I talk to God things like that I think there’s nothing wrong with what I do. I teach women to feel good about themselves, to feel empowered and we get in really good shape. God is the only person that judges so anybody who wants to judge me, feel free to but I’m good with God, so that’s what’s important to me and I really don’t care what people think.”
And neither does newcomer, Tiffany Booth.
“I think it’s a fabulous thing. I was raised around religion. My parents were very religious and it’s a great way you get the stigma off. It’s not just dancing on a pole. You have music and you have girls together working out and it’s a different kind of workout. There’s tons of different kinds of workouts, this just happens to be one,” said Tiffany.
“I mean it does the legs. That’s why we wear the shoes. The shoes are good for the legs and the glutes, but it’s a lot of upper body and a lot of core,” said Crystal.
* * * * * * *

On the 'News', Ms. Deans spoke of the 'spiritual connection' she definitely felt to Jesus when she was on the pole. Lord have mercy.

Baby Update and Real Food Alternatives to Dairy

2011-03-20T23:00:00.001-05:00

Baby I. and I are coming along. She is strong and sweet and not too hard to soothe. I gave her her first bath today. She has a head full of ash blond hair and long slender fingers. I cannot get enough of her! I would like to spend my whole day cuddling and feeding her. Mr. Flavivius has off from work all week and has facilitated much of my babymoon desire, but tomorrow we will begin the new schedule.

A sweet friend came over yesterday and took some professional baby pictures of I. in the beautiful layette made for us by one of the ladies from church, her birthday suit, and then in her baptismal gown. We have never had professional pictures taken of any of the children. It was such a special treat! I. slept through much the event and nursed a little bit, but was fairly contented for much of the 2 hours that Amber was here. The couple that I saw were so beautiful. I can't wait to share them with y'all.

Nursing started out great, but now I worry that maybe I'm not making enough milk, that this little nibbler is a bit too laid back, etc... this happens to me everytime there is a new wee bean in the house, but I have the added concern that she is nor having enough bowel movements (only 5 since day 3).

I will be calling the pediatrician tomorrow and trying to decide what to do next. She had a touch of jaundice on day 3, but it was not a concern then. Bilirubin is stored in the tissues, but is primarily elimated through waste (a small amount through urine, but the majority through stooling). Keep us in your prayers, please. Also, if you've ever wished a real stinker on that know-it-all-not-yet-a-parent-friend, please, pass all that passion and fervent wishing/praying on to Baby I. All poopy prayers are welcome.

+ + + + + + +

Okay! One of my motherly peeves around the Fast is how, in effort to keep the fast, we will replace a real food with a fake food. Now, if I was being honest with myself, then no butter would mean, no butter substitute. That would certainly put an end to my margerine/transfat/what-exactly-is-Earth-Balance-and-why is-it-kinda-grey? anxieties. I eventually shelve these minor-freakouts for the sake to being able to cook fast friendly food that the kids will eat. Invariably, this eventually leads to a soy overload and then freakout #2 "what-is-all-this-soy-doing-to-us?!"

Soy products, in general, are the answer to the question: What to do with all this agricultural waste?! Fortunately, for all of us, the Church and Christendom have being dealing with the question of Lenten cooking for millenia (two actually). If you to have concerns about the effects of soy on you and your children then here is an easy dairy alternative for the nut milk inclined. First. a little history on use of Almond Milk and then a recipe. I hope you find it useful. By making your own almond milk, you can also avoid all the yucky sweeteners and Bisphenol A that end up in a comercial product.

In the Middle Ages, animal milk was, of course, not refrigerated, and fresh milk did not stay fresh for long. Most cooks simply did not use much milk as the short shelf-life of the product made it a difficult ingredient to depend upon. Many recipe collections of the time advise that cooks should only rely on milk that comes directly from a cow, something not possible at all times, and purchasing milk was a dubious practice, for streetsellers of milk often sold wares that were either spoiled or diluted with water. Milk’s use had to be immediate, in cooking or by turning into cheese & butter. It was these difficulties that forced Medieval cooks to look upon milk with great reluctance, and so having milk in the kitchen was usually unheard of.
Rather than animal milk, Medieval cooks turned to something they could depend upon, and that was the milky liquid produced by grinding almonds or walnuts. This liquid, high in natural fats, could be prepared fresh whenever needed in whatever quantities. It also could be made well ahead of time and stored with no danger of degeneration. Because of its high fat content, it, like animal milk, could be churned into butter, and because it was not animal milk, it could be used and consumed during Church designated meatless days.
Almond milk was used extensively in period; all existing cookbooks call for it, and it must have been found in literally every Medieval kitchen. It's the prime ingredient in many, many recipes, and the modern cook recreating Medieval food will have to learn its production in order to prepare the most common of dishes. Fortunately, it's easily made. from here

Homemade Almond Milk
2 cups of raw almonds soaked overnight
5 cups of filtered water
1-3 teaspoons of natural sweetener of your choice (I like maple sugar) optional

Grind your soaked almonds with the water. Let steep for an hour. Stir and strain through cheesecloth or a fine sieve. You can save the ground remains to dry and grind again to use as almond meal. Stir in sweetner if you choose to use it.

The children visit

2011-03-12T12:49:00.002-06:00

I will bless the Lord at all times . . .

2011-03-12T11:24:00.001-06:00

Thank you so much for your prayers. They bore me safely through my travail. Our baby girl was born at 1:57 p.m. on March 11, 2011. 8 pounds, 13 ounces and 20 inches long. Thanks be to God for His abundant goodness and many blessings.

Psalm 34 was on my lips for much of my labor. It vanquished much of my pain and fear.

I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall continually be in my mouth.

My soul makes its boast in the Lord; let the afflicted hear and be glad.

O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together!

I sought the Lord and He answered me, and delivered me from all my fears.

Look to Him and be radiant, so your faces shall never be ashamed.

The poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles.

The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him, and delivers them.

O taste and see that the Lord is good!

Happy is the man who takes refuge in Him!

O fear the Lord, you His saints, for those who fear Him have no want!

The young lions suffer want and hunger; but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing.

Come, O sons, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the Lord.

What man is there who desires life, and covets many days, that he may enjoy good?

Keep your tongue from evil, and your lips from speaking deceit.

Depart from evil, and do good; seek peace, and pursue it.

The eyes of the Lord are toward the righteous, and His ears toward their cry.

The face of the Lord is against evildoers, to cut off the remembrance of them from the earth.

When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles.

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves the crushed in spirit.

Many are the afflictions of the righteous; but the Lord delivers him out of them all.

He keeps all his bones; not one of them is broken.

Evil shall slay the wicked; and those who hate the righteous will be condemned.

The Lord redeems the life of His servants; none of those who take refuge in Him will be condemned.

Today is the day...

2011-03-11T08:40:00.001-06:00

Keep us in your prayers, please. Sts. Svetlana and Irenaeus, pray for us.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Free As a Bird Far, Far Away

2011-03-03T16:43:00.002-06:00

stunt belly

I haven't posted in a while. Pregnancy is taking a serious toll on my brain these days. Activities that require lots of computation- out. Activities that are based on a set of explicit instructions or require nothing but respiration on my part- in. It's not that I feel bad. I'm just here.

cutie patootie baby pants

I've been having days of on-again, off-again contractions that look promising, but go nowhere. This suits me to a 'T,' as after about 6 hours of this, I come to the somewhat irrational decision that staying home is fine and that Mr. Flavius is perfectly capable of catching the little one when she comes. Of course, this is a pretty lousy plan considering the fact that I'm taking a goodly amount of anti-clotting drugs and they pose a real risk to my health after delivery. Thank heavens for Mr. Flavius, who I married because (among many other reasons) he told me, "No" (a word I seldom heard growing up or among my friends and beaus).

more baby pants

These are the days that I am grateful beyond belief for priests, readers, and choirs that carry me along during Liturgy; for children content to play with blocks or playdoh, while I sew little pajama pants for our little baby that will be here sooner than later; and the capable women and men of the internet.

We made a huge batch of Food Renegade's Double Fermented Kombucha. My most successful fermented endeavor to date.

Then my googling led me to an excellent article on the hows, whys, and whens of using corn syrup or another substitute, by David Lebovitz.

Made by Rae, baby tights

And finally, because I am currently obsessed with things that cover baby behinds, a tutorial from Made By Rae on how to make baby tights, which are so adorable I want to make a dozen pairs.

I hope all of you are well! God bless!

Catch up

2011-02-23T21:22:00.000-06:00

I'm back. Almost.

The week before I broke my ankle, I had attended Holy Unction. There were four priest present. I was seeking healing, grace, mercy, possibly 'magic' that cannot be for a fairly persistent thyroid problem that has been a life long struggle for me. Anyway, then I fell off that chair and my life was upturned along the way.

The result was that I was immediately put in contact with an amazing endocrinologist. You know, the answer to your prayers kind of endocrinologist. For the first time in my life since I became aware of my condition, I have a great! thyroid panel. I haven't felt this good since I was 10. It's really amazing. Thanks be to God.

Having energy has assisted in my recovery more than I can express. Waking up feeling good is such a gift. I mean, look, I'm 37 weeks pregnant so there are some less than ideal sleep going on and the weather is wreaking havoc on my ankle, but I'm not complaining. Or at least, when I remember what a gift I've been given, I stop and give thanks. It's my miracle and I am loving it, but also amazed that Jesus keeps coming to me when I know He knows my faults and failings better than anyone.

I met with one of my midwifery/obstetric team members today (breaking your ankle just kills your chances of being left well enough alone. I don't mind the extra attention in this instance though). I am hoping and praying that they will allow me to go to term and move away from their current recommendation to induce labor. I have a poor track record as far as labor is concerned; as in, I do not go into labor. (Ever. No, really. Just take my word for it. Seriously.) I'm hoping for the best as my thyroid has never functioned as well as it does currently. I'll keep you posted. I'll get the verdict next week. and let you know.

Our priest and his family joined us yesterday evening for the blessing of our home and dinner. I cooked. No really, it's a big deal. I've made one other meal since coming home. I love home blessings. I love the preparation. The opening of our home, all the rooms, clean, straight and orderly and well lit. We light all the candles. The house just glows awaiting the prayers of purification and its own baptism in the waters of the Jordan.

We always forget something. This year we forgot the the rosemary branches. They aren't mandatory, but they have their place in the tradition. Still there is nothing more lovely, more hopeful, more exquisite than the Sacraments (the big ones and the little ones) and they are all my favorite. And I love this one. I love all the kids tromping through the house led by the light of the vigil lamp and the priest and everyone singing and blessing and praising, worshipping all at once.

And after we broke bread together. Pizza for the kids, and House Blessing Ragu for the grownups. fantastic fellowship and the rowdy bunch. These are the moments that I want to stay with me for the rest of my life, these blessings, these little moments of friendship.

When You, O Lord were baptized in the Jordan

The worship of the Trinity was made manifest

For the voice of the Father bore witness to You

And called You His beloved Son.

And the Spirit, in the form of a dove,

Confirmed the truthfulness of His word.

O Christ, our God, You have revealed Yourself

And have enlightened the world, glory to You!

24 days to go . . .

2011-02-17T00:58:00.000-06:00

and I'm in a brain fog. I wish I could rally to get some last minute things done, but I'm not succeeding. Here is a photo journal of our latest escapades.

we went to the Stock Show

I saw my future (just kidding)

the kids ran wild

my new favorite lunch

we made some ugly dolls and the boys learned to sew

the girls were silly

really silly

we made bottle cap brooches for St. Valentine's day

our co-op order came

E. took 45 pictures just like this one

In Defense of Being a Kid

2011-02-09T22:01:00.001-06:00

from the Wall Street Journal . . .

Amy Chua, the “tiger mother,” is clearly hitting a nerve—especially among the anxious class (it used to be called the upper class), which understands how much skill and discipline are necessary for success in the new economy.

What Ms. Chua and her critics agree on is that childhood is all about preparation for adulthood. Ms. Chua claims that her parenting methods will produce ambitious, successful and happy adults—while her critics argue that her methods will produce neurotic, self- absorbed and unhappy ones.

It took economist Larry Summers, in a debate with Ms. Chua at the World Economic Forum in Davos, to point out that part of the point of childhood is childhood itself. Childhood takes up a quarter of one’s life, Mr. Summers observed, and it would be nice if children enjoyed it.

Bravo, Larry.

Children are not merely adults in training. They are also people with distinctive powers and joys. A happy childhood is measured not only by the standards of adult success, but also by the enjoyment of the gifts given to children alone.

What are the unique blessings of childhood?

Read the rest here.

2011-02-04T22:05:00.000-06:00

You cannot be too gentle, too kind. Shun even to appear harsh in your treatment of each other. Joy, radiant joy, streams from the face of him who gives and kindles joy in the heart of him who receives.

All condemnation is from the devil. Never condemn each other. We condemn others only because we shun knowing ourselves. When we gaze at our own failings, we see such a swamp that nothing in another can equal it.

That is why we turn away, and make much of the faults of others. Instead of condemning others, strive to reach inner peace. Keep silent, refrain from judgment. This will raise you above the deadly arrows of slander, insult and outrage and will shield your glowing hearts against all evil.

St Seraphim of Sarov (1753-1833) h/t St. James Kids

The O.D.F.M.

2011-02-03T22:05:00.004-06:00

So many baby name books are rubbish. I'm not certain how some managed to get published! Meanings are often an afterthought and the worst offenders simply make them up. One book actually stated that Michael was of unknown origin and had no particular meaning. The same book declared Belinda to mean 'grace' when a quick google search will tell you of the possible meanings (bright serpent, immortal beauty, pretty) grace plays no part. Often poorly researched, they amount to little more than a republished census list with little thought to history, etymology, culture, much less cognates or even reliable definitions. It was not until I was pregnant with E. that I found a baby name book worthy of the paper it was printed on.

The Oxford Dictionary of First Names, a.k.a. the O.D.F.M, is that tome. In between it's covers you can find name history and origins, names from many different cultures, diminutives, but most importantly cognates! Never do the editors defer to the gas station keychain name origin lottery (will it mean grace, beauty, graceful beauty? Spin the wheel and find out!).

Take the name, Elizabeth. In addition to the history of the name and trends associated with it, there are also 34 short and pet forms and 10 cognates listed.

Anyway, it is fun to read, learn about other cultures names, and sometimes you learn something unusual. This entry, tickled my funny bone:

OMAR (m.) English: biblical name borne by a character mentioned in a genealogy (Genesis 36:11). It has been occasionally used since Puritan times down to the present day in America. More often, however, it is of Arabic origin, as in the case of the film actor and internationally famous bridge player Omar Sharif (b. 1932 in Egypt). (emphasis mine)

Only the O.D.F.M. would assume we're all stacking our Fantasy Bridge Leagues with Omar Sharif. Laugh out loud.

. . . She Shall Be Saved In Childbearing. . .

2011-02-02T16:01:00.000-06:00

. . . if they continue in faith and charity and holiness with sobriety.

Maternal Caress by Mary Cassatt

I am realizing how far behind I am getting ready for the new little. The sorting, cleaning, a replacing of many things, plus the establishing a new sleeping situation for E. (4) who has been family bedding with us for the last five months and B. who needs to transition to the boys room.

6½ weeks to go. So many things to worry and fuss over. I know I need to stop, drop (everything), and roll (my prayer rope through my fingers). Everything will get done, one way or another.

We have settled on a St. Irenaeus as the patron of this little girl. As much for his apologia, as for our desire that this child should embody the peace that this name means. We are waiting to see what day she will be born on before we decide on a middle name.

What a year we have had already! My beloved and I have almost always managed my labor together and mostly alone. Husband-coached childbirth takes years to achieve. Suddenly we've been thrown a loop in our routine. Will I be able to walk pain-free and unassisted when the time comes? What impact will The Ankle have on my labor? I am now considered "High Risk" and I'm hoping this is a distinction that is more pro forma than reality. These are anxieties that I am holding at bay (barely).

There isn't much we really need. Maybe a new car seat. Some newborn diaper covers and a few more more newborn diapers. A small layette and some onesies and sleepers. I made one sweater, I'll make another along with some more hats and some baby booties. It feels bigger than it really is.

When I dwell too long on these things, I feel my heart lurch and run into to overdrive. I think this is the faith, charity, holiness, and sobriety part of my salvation that I need to work on.

What rituals and things do you have to have as you prepare for birth? What prayers or meditations are helpful for you?

2011-01-29T03:25:00.001-06:00

Sleep will not come to me tonight.

Pregnancy works such a remarkable number on the mind and the heart and the body. At the end of my days, I would like to know what it really means to carry this little life inside of me and why it is such a struggle (even the best pregnancies have their struggles). Isn't it amazing to think that I am one body full of life, pregnant with another soul . . . this wiggly, little girl that bumps and twists against me throughout the day. This child is full of bursting joy and I feel so happy as she makes herself known to me.

Insomnia has accompanied my last few pregnancies. My mind locks onto an idea or an anxiety and I cannot let it go. Minutes turn into hours and night gives way to day, while I roll around meditating the life out of one thing or another. Tonight is one of those nights. Logismoi is at its worst when I am pregnant.

I had a shock recently. Events from my past, choices I made and have greatly repented and despised have found their way into my present. How and what they are are really unimportant . . . because in the grand scheme of things nothing has changed. My life will continue on as it has with no difference. Nonetheless, it is painful.

Whenever I have had a terrible struggle, my Beloved, has always taken me to church. Whenever I have experienced deep pain at my own hand or by another, he gets me to Vespers and Reconciliation. I know someone out there is thinking, "what an oppressive, jerk!" In reality, God is the only one that can heal this pain. When I first became a Christian, I was seeking shelter. I had broken my own heart through sin and error and bad ideas. I became a refugee of the Church. My husband knows this is the cure for what ails me . . . another reason why I love him fiercely.

So tonight my husband brought me to Peace. He doesn't ever ask if I'd like to go, he just announces that he is going to Vespers and anyone who would like to go needs to be ready in 10 minutes. This saves me from thinking too much about how I am feeling, what I am wearing, the location of my headcovering, etc. Do I want to go, yes or no? Yes. Yes, I want to spend sometime in the quiet with my dear husband. Yes, I want to sit in the darkness of the temple and let the prayers and the incense wash over me. In many ways, I am still a refugee in Christ. There are times when I feel like a half-drowned thing washed up on the seashore, tonight was one of those nights.

I've been home and beginning to walk finally just in the last week or so. Standing for any length of time is excruciating and so I availed myself of one of the chairs that line the wall near where we usually stand. Just closing my eyes and listening to the chanted psalms and prayers is such a gift.

Lord, I cry unto thee:

make haste unto to me;

give ear unto my voice,

when I cry unto thee.

Let my prayer be set forth before thee as incense;

and the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.

My heart melts whenever I hear Psalm 141. God is merciful and so is my spiritual father. He gave me a chair to confess from. He endured all my blubbering and fear, my poor, illformed confessing with love and gentleness. He reminded me of God's mercy and God's protection. He reminded me of all my blessings and amazing gifts that the Lord has bestowed on me. His reproofs were easy and kind. Truly, our priest is an amazing man.

And yet, even if he weren't, Reconciliation would still be my favorite sacrament.

Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean:

wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

Make me to hear joy and gladness;

that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice.

Hide thy face from my sins,

and blot out all mine iniquities.

Create in me a clean heart, O God;

and renew a right spirit within me.

Cast me not away from thy presence;

and take not thy holy spirit from me.

Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation;

and uphold me with thy free spirit.

Even without a tender confessor, this is God's promise. In seeking absolution, we are not seeking a magical word or a comforting phrase from the priest. The absolution we seek and are so blessed to receive comes from God. If you ever find yourself broken hearted at your own hand, burdened by grief and despair, worn out from worry . . . get to church. Were you to break your arm, you would get to the hospital. When you rent your soul let Christ send his angels to minister to you. Seek absolution; be unburdened.

Pray for me as I seek to give thanks for my blessings and opportunities for humility. The Lord is such a faithful Father. His love astounds me.

While We Are On The Subject...

2011-01-27T12:52:00.000-06:00

Got a big family? Then you already know that you’re crazy, a traitor to feminism, and a slave to the pope; you’re neglecting most of your kids and robbing the rest of their childhood; you’re a burden on the system in general, and you probably don’t own a television set.

But wait, there’s more! Don’t forget, you’re also destroying the earth.

Lately, it’s become fashionable for radical environmentalists to denounce large families as irresponsible, even selfish. Maybe you heard the remarks of the chairman of the U.K.’s Sustainable Development Commission, who said that, out of respect for the earth, couples should be legally limited to bearing two “replacement” children.

And yet, if we can get beyond the inflammatory rhetoric, do radical environmentalists have a point? Should we slow down a little? It almost seems like common sense, especially when you’re having one of those days when you do feel a little crowded by the swarms of ravening locusts — uh, I mean, treasured offspring who share your last name.

Read the rest here.

I ♥ Ravelry

2011-01-27T01:35:00.001-06:00

Best Baby Cloche, pattern by Aesthetic Nest

Baby It's Cold Outside, pattern by Julie Holetz

When I was discharged from the hospital, I thought, 'hey, I know! I'll teach myself to knit and crochet while I'm stuck in bed.' So books were purchased, sets of needles and hooks, too, and then a stash of luxurious fibers in jewel tones, whereupon I proceeded to learn a lot about humility. Six weeks later, nothin'doin', as I like to say, I was blessed to be invited by a fellow parishioner to a crocheting class in her home. Her mother is our instructor. A sweet Russian lady who speaks flawless English and is an excellent tutor.

She taught us single crochet over the course of two hours. Many of the ladies from our parish joined us. It was the first time in weeks upon weeks I had been with them. I really loved being there among them listening to stories about their children and families. The goings on, the New Year's resolutions, the ups and downs. I had very few girlfriends growing up and sort of askewed female companionship in college. I really did not know what I missing. I have really come to depend on my sisters in Christ.

The above pictures are two items I managed to produce in the week and a half since that class. The cloche, crocheted in Debbie Bliss Cashmerino Aran yarn, uses a variety of techniques (Crocheting in rounds, double crochet, half double crochet, single crochet, increasing, decreasing, shell stitch). Anytime I was stumped I was able to find a video tutorial on the great Google.

The sweater is crocheted completely in half double crochet from bulky Plymouth Hand Dyed Baby Alpaca Grande yarn. There is a single crochet border on the edges.

I found both patterns for free on Ravelry. It is a online community for knitters and crocheters. The search engine is superb. Not only can you search by pattern, but weight, yardage/meterage, source type (book, magazine, etc), gender/age/size/etc, free/purchase, and attribute/technique. Love, love, love it!

It is nice to claim this skill for my own. Though I am not anywhere close to being knowledgeable or talented. It is nice to reclaim that skill which belonged to my great-grandmother's generation and was still of great import to the women of South Texas when my father's mother was coming up. A mere nine years younger, my mother's mother, though she may have learned, as the descendant of very successful merchants and wildcatters, she placed little import on the skill.

It may have taken me more than a decade to gather my wits enough to start getting it together, but this one was one of my goals I wanted to accomplish when I set out to be a homemaker.

You Know What Causes That, Right?

2011-01-26T00:31:00.001-06:00

Somehow, when I hit publish half of my original post disappeared. Please forgive my incoherence. I'm not sure this made it any better, but the first half has been restored.

Recently, I was waiting at the hospital for a decidedly difficult to find sharp's container when it happened. I was waiting in the discharge area with several other patients. Usually I can predict who and what form the 'it' is going to take, but that day I was not paying attention as I had already waited for quite sometime and there was no end in sight.

"Is this your first baby?"
"Pardon me?
"You are expecting? Is this your first pregnancy?"
"Yes, I am. No, it isn't."
[uncomfortable pause]
"How many children do you have?"
"This will be our seventh."

I know that it can be more startling to hear this news that there is a young, 30-something mother happy to be expecting her seventh child, but I was still taken aback by this particular woman's reaction. Rising out of her chair, she adjusted the spectacles that balancing on her nose so that she could more effectively examine me. Her hands struck the desktop with such startling ferocity that several of the other patients jumped in their seats.

"You know what causes that, don't you?"

Up to now, I had only ever encountered a sneer ion the lips of some sinister ne'er do well in the pages of of some gruesome murder mystery. I am certain that the tone and expression on this woman's face would live up to everything literary sneering aims to be.

I wish I could pinpoint the moment in time when we became committed to the large family course we've been on for more than a decade. The most hopeful me would say, our wedding day. In reality it has been a struggle for each of us. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but it is a daily conversion for each of us. Growing in understanding of what exactly is this blessing of children, what it means to being open to to life, being open to God's will. Just because you decide on paper that you do not want to engage in the so-called 'contraceptive mentality' does not mean that you won't wrestle with what that means from time to time.

After I became pregnant with our third child, the jokes, comments, and questions began to abound regarding when we were going to stop having children. Three. It really amazed me that three small children could elicit such powerful emotion and derision. I was embarrassed, angry! and speechless at the near constant commentary that came from all quarters. I'm certain that Satan was doing all that poking and prodding and hackle raising.

Actually, mention any spiritual discipline and you will get the same angry response from the same people. So taking an average group of Christians and non-believers alike and raise the case for tithing or fasting or the blessing of children and you are likely to be met with the same level of vitriol, defensiveness, and rejection of the argument (maybe even a few ad hominem attacks if you are really lucky). And why is that? Because the Devil is at work there. Any time we obey those commandments that cause us to die to self, any small sacrifice that we make towards the building of our treasure in Heaven, anytime we choose LOVE over jealousy, avarice, covetousness, fornication, pride, et cetera our defeated foe makes a furious campaign to overwhelm us. It can be shocking the venom that snake has ready for us, but there it is. I used to be much more cautious to call out the Devil on these things, but if it is not the work of Satan then I am at an utter loss as to why my business is of any concern to anyone else.

I had a much beloved professor who used to pound table with both hands and declare, "Children! If you learn nothing else, you must know! Evil exists! It's a fallen world!" That lovely man saved me more time than I can tell you. I no longer try to understand the senseless, terrible things that occur in this world. If events at times seem to arise out of senseless chaos, out of insanity . . . then it is likely that they do.

So given all this, and the fact that we do have several more children than your average household, I decided several years ago, that I wanted to be a positive witness for marriage, large-than-average families, and for husbands and wives. I have been through the 5 stages of "you know what causes that" everything from humiliation to cordial silence to barbed comments to funny retorts and finally acceptance. I know this topic is covered ad nauseum, there's even a song. As I am rapidly approaching my due date (only 7.5 more weeks) I'm going to throw in my 2 cents: be a good witness. If you must say something, smile and say, "yes." Now unfortunately, this doesn't satisfy everyone, but it will satisfy most. It was not going to satisfy my cross-examiner that day. What a bizarre experience, this public trial of sorts as there were many present. All the same, I was resolved to neither be snarky, nor rude, nor defensive, nor embarrassed.

"You know what causes that, don't you?"

"Yes. My husband is a wonderful lover."

The coolness and unexpectedness of my comment knocked her off her feet. And maybe that seems to be a mean or crude joke to play on someone. But actually, what followed was a frank and lovely conversation about what we consider our vocation. Gone away was the Angry Sneerer, scurried off was the venomous snake, all that was left was a room of people who listened and heard, "the grace is bestowed when the blessing is received."

Win-win, I'd say.

In the News. . .

2011-01-18T12:21:00.000-06:00

E. helping fill up gallon jugs with raw milk
on a recent co-op run.

I was excited to see this feature about raw milk in our local newspaper. Mike Moyers, owner of Sandy Creek Farms in Bridgeport, Texas, is our dairyman supreme. If you are a local and looking for Grade A, certified-free, grassfed, Real Milk, Mike's your man. Gallons of milk are $5 and I've never had better milk.

The Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo started January 14. On Monday, Vanda, one of Mike's beautiful ladies, was named Grand Champion. The FWSSR is the oldest continually running livestock show and rodeo. It is also one of the largest, in 2007, over 900,000 folks visited the Stock Show and 22,000 animals participated in exhibitions, shows, and rodeos. As they say, "this thing is legendary!"

Area dairymen who sell raw - unpasteurized - milk can't meet growing demand

BY DAVID CASSTEVENS

dcasstevens@star-telegram.com

FORT WORTH -- The grocery store dairy case is stocked full with every kind of milk. Whole milk. Reduced-fat milk. Low-fat milk. Skim milk. Buttermilk. Acidophilus milk.

Comedian Lewis Black rants that soy milk, another choice, isn't milk at all.

"They couldn't sell soy juice, so they call it soy milk," he says. "Because anytime you say 'soy juice' you actually" -- Black pauses, his throat working -- "start to gag."

What you won't see at a Texas supermarket is raw or "real" milk.

That's the pulsating squirts of white liquid being pumped into tanks during hourly live milking demonstrations at the Stock Show.

Throughout each day, four or five cows are led into an enclosure, where they stand in stalls, end to end, like railroad cars. The teat cups of milking machines are attached to swollen udders and, voila, the magic begins.

Children gather behind a glass partition take in the educational experience with wide-eyed amazement.

"They think milk comes from the store," said Dennis Carr, an instructor with Southwest Dairy Farmers, the milking parlor sponsor.

Carr grew up on a dairy farm, where he routinely drank raw -- unpasteurized -- milk.

So did Mike Moyers, a 6-foot-4 dairyman who operates Sandy Creek Farm, in Bridgeport.

Moyers, 53, says that raw milk has never once made him sick and that drinking it obviously didn't stunt his growth.

He sells all the raw milk his 30 head of brown Swiss cows can produce. The unpasteurized product is available to consumers for $5 a gallon at his farm, the only place he can legally sell it.

In Texas consumers can buy raw milk only by going to the "point of production," i.e., the pasture-based farm and buying it directly from the farmer -- provided the farm has a Grade A Raw for Retail Milk Permit issued by the Texas Department of State Health Services.

House Bill 75 would legalize the sale of raw dairy products by licensed farmers at farmers markets and farm stands.

Ethan Lott, right, showed Mike Moyers' Vanda, a 6-year-old brown Swiss.
Vanda was named Grand Champion at the Stock Show on Monday.

The raw milk debate has been going on since pasteurization was instituted in the 1920s to combat tuberculosis, infant diarrhea and other diseases. The Texas Association of Dairymen opposes the bill, citing raw milk as a serious health risk. According to the U.S. Centers for Diseases and Prevention, more than 800 people in the U.S. have gotten sick from drinking raw milk or eating cheese made from raw milk since 1998.

Raw milk advocates view raw milk as "nature's perfect food." Once milk is pasteurized, they say, it destroys the beneficial microorganisms.

"A lot of people are wanting to go back to all natural food sources," said a Wise County dairyman, who raises registered jersey cattle and sells raw milk to the public.

He asked that his name not be used because his small dairy already can't meet the booming demand. He charges $6 per gallon for raw milk. One customer, he said, drives 110 miles one way to his farm. It is not uncommon, he said, for customers to buy 30 gallons at a time.

It's rare after a Stock Show milking demonstration that someone -- child or adult -- doesn't ask:

"Can you drink that [raw] milk?"

"Yes," Carr tells them, "but it's not good for you."

"Why not?"

Carr who is 68, smiles and politely removes his black cowboy hat.

"It turns your hair white."

David Casstevens, 817-390-7436

Meet Egle-Ekaterine Potamitis, Iconographer, Children's Book Author, and Illustrator

2011-01-15T20:57:00.002-06:00

It was a search for quality Eastern Christian children's books that began my conversion to Orthodoxy. Many of you may be familiar with Potamitis Publishing and their beautiful full color books for children. I am pleased to introduce you to the illustrator and half of the author-team, Egle-Ekaterine Potamitis. Currently, the best place to find these gorgeous books is on their website.

Svetlana: Where are you from? Have you been Orthodox your entire life or are you a convert? Was your family very religious growing up?

Egle: My roots are from Eastern Europe. Having said that, I must admit that it takes me a few seconds to answer the question where I am from, cause I very truly feel Greek. My family was not religious at all, though I do remember my grandmother whispering the Lord's Prayer at my bed every evening. I became a Catholic at 19 years of age , but soon after I found out Orthodoxy, which has genuinely fascinated me since.

Svetlana: Did you always want to be an artist or an illustrator? What inspired you to illustrate children's books?

Egle: Absolutely. I've been holding a pencil since I can remember. However, my graduation paper says that I am a foreign language teacher, though I always wanted to study art. Ever since I graduated, I had an urge to draw which eventually developed into the urge to draw for children. My husband always stood by me with ideas or text. We have no less than ten fully developed and illustrated children stories in the drawer still waiting to see the daylight. It took six years from the beginning of my first try for a picture book to our first published book.

Svetlana: How long have you been writing icons? What is your favorite medium?

Egle: I started writing icons some twelve years ago with the blessing of our family's spiritual father. However, lately there was absolutely no spare time in my daily life, so there are some five pieces of beautiful, ready to paint on wooden desks on my shelves, patiently waiting for that big moment. I prefer egg and pigment mix over any other kind of medium for icon writing.

Svetlana: Who or what are some your favorite artists, authors, and children's books?

Egle: I'm absolutely crazy about picture books and children books in general! There's never too many of them at our house and we really do have tons of them. My favorite illustrators vary from classic to modern ones. I am in love with classic old ones, such as Brandywine school illustrators (Jessie Wilcox Smith, Maxfield Parrish), Beatrix Potter and old Russian fairytale illustrator Ivan Bilybin. My top five modern picture book illustrators would be Gennady Spirin, Anthony Browne, Vladyslav Yerko, Pavel Tatarnikov and Leonardas Gutauskas. My absolutely number one author is swedish Astrid Lindgren, though I suppose she is not so well known in the US.

Svetlana: What was the inspiration of Potamitis Publishing?

Egle: Our own kids. And the gap that we felt at the time for good orthodox material for kids. So we tried as good as we could to provide what we thought was appropriate and needed first of all for our own flock.

Svetlana: You and your husband, Dionysios, often collaborate on your books. Who does what?

Egle: Usually we collaborate on the text, which, from the first draft to the final pro - edited version, changes loads of times, is trimmed, cropped, discussed over and finally agreed on. Then come the illustrations, this being my field ( but with kind suggestions from my husband and even the kids). All the credit for the graphic design, scanning, pre-posting, etc. goes to my husband.

Svetlana: How did your books gain the attention of His All-Holiness, Bartholomew I?

Egle: His All-Holiness Bartholomew I, wrote some very kind comments about my humble illustrations to the book "The Fairy tales of the Island of Imbros" (by Evi Tsitiridou and "Akritas" publishing house, 2004).

Svetlana: Your books are published in 7 different languages, which is amazing! How have your books been received in traditionally non-Orthodox countries?

Egle: We usually concentrate on Greek and English editions of our books, but with our last publication we expanded the language range a bit. Thus, the set of twelve small books "The Paterikon for kids" is now available not only in English and Greek, but also in Spanish, Italian, Russian, Romanian and German. The books are, thank God, received very well even in so called non- Orthodox countries, but, then again, they are purchased by the Orthodox living there.

Svetlana: You clearly love your faith very much. What is your favorite part about being Orthodox? Any favorite traditions?

Egle: Yes, I do, as Orthodoxy feels authentic, ancient and very deep. I really do love everything about being Orthodox. We try to keep all the main Orthodox traditions.

Svetlana: Do you ever illustrate for other authors?

Egle: I did illustrate the fairytale book for Evi Tsitiridou "The Fairy tales of the Island of Imbros".

Svetlana: What advice do you have for others, particularly mothers or fathers who would like to write or illustrate a children's books?

Egle: Take a sketch pad and a pencil! Write down your ideas, make tons of sketches and drawing. Look for a theme that fascinates not only you but also your or others kids. Do not stop with the first obstacle.

Svetlana: You just released The Story of the Vasilopita. Any future projects in the works?

Egle: There are too many projects simmering in the pot. However, being realistic, I should just mention that there is a sequence for "The Paterikon for Kids" being prepared, as well as there are more coloring books to show up soon, God willing.

And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.

2011-01-04T15:59:00.000-06:00

How can you provoke your child into anger (Ephesians 6:24)?

by John MacArthur

Here are some easy steps:

Spoil him.
Give him everything he wants, even more than you can afford. Just charge it so you can get him off your back.
When he does wrong, nag him a little but don’t spank him.
Foster his dependence on you. Don’t teach him to be independently responsible. Maintain his dependence on you so later drugs and alcohol can replace you when he’s older.
Protect him from all those mean teachers who want to discipline him from time to time. And threaten to sue them if they don’t let him alone.
Make all of his decisions for him because he might make mistakes and learn from them if you don’t.
Criticize his father to him, or his mother, so your son or daughter will lose respect for his parents.
Whenever he gets into trouble, bail him out. Besides, if he faces any real consequence, it might hurt your reputation.
Never let him suffer the consequences of his behavior. Always step in and solve his problems for him so he will depend on you and run to you when the going gets tough and never learn how to solve his problems.
If you want to turn your child into a delinquent, let him express himself any way he feels like it.
Don’t run his life, let him run yours.
Don’t bother him with chores. Do everything for him then he can be irresponsible all his life and blame others when things don’t get done right.
Be sure to give in when he throws a temper tantrum.
Believe his lies because it’s too much hassle to try to sort through to get the truth.
Criticize others openly; criticize others routinely so that he will continue to realize that he is better than everybody else.
Give him a big allowance and don’t make him do anything for it.
Praise him for his good looks, never for character.

From the blog Trivuum Pursuit

h/t Josephus Flavius