The days are short,

The sun a spark

Hung thin between

The dark and dark.

 

~ John Updike

from "January"

Just Sayin'

I was out shopping last night and was waited on by the cutest little college-age girl -- who spoke just like Snow White --  in a very, very high, very feminine, sweet little voice.  She was adorable.  We talked about how it's a pain to take the hangars off of some of the clothes and how the young man who was supposed to be helping someone at the jewelry counter couldn't have moved much slower to get over there.  It wasn't until she handed me my bags, and I said good-bye and "have a good evening," that I realized I was talking in a high-pitched voice that matched hers.  Um, oops.  I hope she thought that's how I always talk.

My Mom does this when she's around her southern relatives -- and I may actually be guilty of it, too.  We don't even know we're doing it, but we pick up the accent -- and sometimes even the mannerisms -- of the person we're with.  That sweet drawl just sorta rubs off, ya know?  It's contagious!

I never thought I had an accent. My whole life I figured I spoke in "news broadcaster" standard midwestern -- like my Dad (who was meticulous about speech and pronunciation and eschewed my mother's occasional southern twang). But then I got to know the guy who used to spray our house for bugs. I needed an excuse to keep an eye on this bug-guy while he poked around all the corners of my house, so I engaged him in conversation while I trailed after him. One day, in the middle of some comment I was making, he stopped me mid-sentence, exclaiming, "Where the heck do you come from? You have the craziest accent!"

Well! I beg your pardon!? Me? I don't have an accent!  Hmph!

I mean, seriously.  At the time I didn't have Google to look this stuff up and prove him wrong.  But, now I do.  And, let me tell you, it's fascinating research! I've spent more time than I should this morning trying to classify everyone I know, myself included. Scrolling through the dialects at this site, I think I have pinpointed my patterns as mostly Tidewater Mid-Atlantic dialect, crossed with a smidge of Baltimorean, and a dash of Dixie.  But flattened out by Military Basic. This is because my Dad's family is from Maryland, my Mom's family is from the woods of North Carolina,  but I spent my formative years in the Tidewater region of Virginia.  And I was a Navy brat.

So I prounounce orange like ahr-ange, and Florida like Flahr-ida.  My long i's occasional soften out to ah's, but I don't throw r's around indiscriminately like some Tidewater Mid Atlanticans and I don't add extra syllables into words like there;  I never say they-ah, in other words. (No pun intended.)  And my o's don't sound like the back-rounded inflection, eou (pronounced as one syllable), of my Baltimore relatives, nor do I say "youse all" and flatten out my oi's to sound like aw's. If I spoke real Baltimorese I would say, "Youse all deount spawl yer dinner; I'm bawlin crabs fer crab cakes.  Hon."  But I do say fahr'ed for forehead and I pronounce Norfolk as Nah-fk and Baltimore as Bal-di-mr.  So you can tell I'm not a native, but I'm hip to the lingo of my ancestral climes.

Isn't it int'restin'?   And proves exactly what I'm saying.  I don't have an accent.  Everyone else does.

Just sayin'.

Words Wednesday

Reader Gabe, Kindergartener Extraordinaire

"I WILL GET A PAN AND BAKE A

 PIE FOR THE APES AT THE ZOO."

For Paul

Our Marine whose sleep has been disturbed lately.

(Six week old baby, wisdom teeth extraction)

We feel for ya, hon!

Your poor mouth is bound to stop bothering you any day now.

Afraid I can't say the same thing about the baby.

(Though, I have to say, I wouldn't mind one little bit being up at night with scrumptions Gavin.) 

Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul

~ Parmigianino

Would that we could have the Heavenly Father throw some loved ones we know off a horse to the same end.  Or do you think maybe He actually does that sometimes?  I wonder if the trials we see our dear fallen ones face are not the same tactic, but their free will hasn't kicked in yet to lead them to the Faith.   Paul could have despaired after he fell and was blinded,  he could have thrown up his hands in disbelief at the voice of God, and continued to live his life blind and bitter.  But he didn't.  We only know about him, in fact, because he heard God's voice in the middle of his misfortune, opened his heart and jumped over that invisible barrier between doubt and faith; he looked for God and found Him.

I think God still speaks to us, the faithful and the blind ones still stumbling.  I don't think He ever stops talking.  And sometimes He tips us off our horses to get our attention.  How many times, I wonder, has He done that to me in my life and I just didn't get it?  I'm sure He's tried to wake me up out of my stupor of bad habits and apathy dozens of times, but, instead of noticing who it was that had just shoved me out of the saddle, I blamed my hard luck or got mad or galloped off on a pity trip -- without my horse. It's sad how dense I can be.  The metaphor of Paul's blindness is an apt one. 

On this feastday, I pray that St. Paul will help me realize when God is trying to teach me a lesson -- and that he'll help me to learn it.  And I also beg his intercession for the conversion of those near and dear to all of us who have either lost their Faith or never been blessed with it. 

St. Paul, pray for us!

In Honor of Saint Paul
(An ancient Coptic prayer)



O God of knowledge and giver of wisdom, who bringest to light the hidden things of darkness, and givest the word unto them that preach the gospel with great power, who of Thy goodness didst call Paul, who was sometime a persecutor, to be a chosen vessel, and wast pleased in him, that he should become a chosen apostle and preacher of the gospel of Thy kingdom, O Christ our God. Thee also do we now entreat, O Thou good and that lovest man. Graciously grant unto us and unto all Thy people a mind without wandering and a clear understanding, that we may learn and understand how profitable are Thy holy teachings, which are now come unto us by him; and even as he was made like unto Thee, the leader unto life, so make us to be like unto him in deed and doctrine, that we may glorify Thy holy Name and ever glory in Thy Cross. And Thou art He unto whom we ascribe praise and glory and worship, the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, now and ever and unto the ages of all ages. Amen.

* Found here



These Plates...

...painted by the hands of my children during a Christmas week outing,

Make My Monday!

I think it was Christmas Thursday that we gathered everyone  -- well, almost everyone; Kevin's plate is missing because we hadn't given him and Emily fair warning and they made other plans* -- and went to the Fat Cat Pottery, a little ceramics shop in the town down the road from us. We brought a mirror and a mission and just a little bit of goofiness, and came up with these,
                                      
 my Christmas presents from the children:



Super Family: Paul, Nicole, and Gavin (our little cherub)
I love that Paul sees his family the same way we do.  :)

  

Jon and Dominic
Dig the piano keys around the edge of Jon's plate.  And the Latin on Dominic's:  Ecce Homo; Ecce Quam Bonum ~ Behold the man; behold it is good.  (snickersnicker. It is!)



Michelle and Theresa
Shell is known as "Chicky" to her brothers and looks so pretty in just the shade of teal she chose.  I love Theresa's smile and her red glasses match her real ones.



Gabe and William
You can tell they had help... and we arranged for Daddy to
come and get them them after about an hour, because we
knew it was going to be a marathon event, with all the
perfectionists in our group.  And it was.  We shut down
the place, having spent about four hours there.



Anna and Cathy
Can you see who is the silly goose here and who is the prim and proper girl? 



I'm planning to group them on a wall but haven't decided where yet.  I'll let you know what I figure out.

*So, you owe me a plate, Kevvy...  Maybe at Easter?

Make sure and run over to Cheryl's for more Makes My Monday posts!

Lord, I am not worthy...

In honor of today's Gospel (another of my favorites), I wanted to embed the clip from Jesus of Nazareth, where the Centurion asks Jesus to heal his servant.  I love Mr. Borgnine in this cameo!  Having enjoyed Jesus of Nazareth at Easter time almost every year of my life, it's Ernest Borgnine's face that  I see as the Centurion when I hear the Gospel read from the pulpit on the 3rd Sunday after the Epiphany or when I read the story in the New Testament (Matt. 8: 1-13).  Mr Borgnine played the role with such humility and sweetness; it always brings tears to my eyes. 

So, anyway, I wanted to share the clip here, but for some reason, embedding was disabled for all the  versions of this clip I could find.  :(  Drat.

Still -- if you like, you can go see it here.

**********************************************

An aside: On Ernest Borgnine, one of my favorite actors -- I have mixed emotions.  I've enjoyed him in any role that I've seen him play (If you've never see him in Academy Award winning  Marty, you have to check it out!), and, judging from the quotes below, I think he and I would  agree on a lot of things in the larger spectrum of the world and society, in general -- but, this son of Italy, a Navy vet, was also a 33rd degree Mason and has been married five times.  Yikes!  Anyway,  he's still alive (about 93 years old) so we can pray for him!  Where there's life, there's hope -- and I can't help but think he must have a slew of Italian relatives in heaven who are rooting for him.  And maybe the Centurion, too.

Wisdom from Mr. Borgnine:  

Everything I do has a moral to it. Yes, I've been in films that have had shootings. I made The Wild Bunch (1969), which was the beginning of the splattering of blood and everything else. But there was a moral behind it. The moral was that, by golly, bad guys got it. That was it. Yeah.

Ever since they opened the floodgates with Clark Gable saying, 'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn,' somebody's ears pricked up and said, 'Oh boy, here we go!'. Writers used to make such wonderful pictures without all that swearing, all that cursing. And now it seems that you can't say three words without cursing. And I don't think that's right.

"I didn't see it and I don't care to see it ... If John Wayne were alive, he'd be rolling over in his grave." - On Brokeback Mountain (2005)

[On his $5,000 salary for playing the eponymous lead in Marty (1955), which won him a Best Actor Oscar] "...I would have done it for nothing."

I like my women a little big. Natural. Now, they shave this and wax that. It's not right. I love natural women. Big women. This trend in women has to go. Bulomia, anorexia. That's just wrong. You know what will cure that? My special sticky buns. One lick of my sticky buns and your appetite will come right back.

I hate hippies and dopeheads. Just hate them. I'm glad we sent the men off to war. They came back with a sense of responsibility and respect. We should have grabbed the women, given them a bath, put a chastity belt on them, and put them in secretary school.

On the 38th Anniversary

Today marks the anniversary of the decision of our American Legal System allowing the murder of innocent life in the womb.   Millions of words have been written condemning the Roe v. Wade ruling in an effort to save the lives of babies.  And there is no doubt that these appeals have saved babies in individual cases, thank God, but, in the big picture, our world is still blind to the evil it's allowing.  Just as in the days when the evil of slavery soiled our world, the conscience of our culture needs to be awakened and retaught in this matter, equally as grave, if not more so -- because the sin goes beyond the de-valuing of life that we saw when another human could "own" another -- to the legalized destruction of life for the convenience of another.

These are truly sad times -- not just because such a thing as abortion exists, because it's been around since the beginning, but because it's accepted and even celebrated. God help us.

But, no sense wasting more words here on truths that anyone visiting me likely sees already. I know I'm preaching to the choir. But a reminder today to pray that the crime of abortion will be seen as just that -- a crime -- sometime soon in our country. Only God knows how this change of heart and laws can take place. So, we join all the faithful people of our country and our world today in praying for His interference to save the lives of babies -- to save the souls of their mothers.

The offering of the Mass and the daily rosary are our strongest weapons against evil, but here is another prayer, written by the National Director of Priests for Life that encourages a commitment to action along with prayer. 

Prayer to End Abortion
(by Fr. Frank Pavone, National Director Priests for Life.)

Lord God, I thank you today for the gift of my life, And for the lives of all my brothers and sisters. I know there is nothing that destroys more life than abortion, Yet I rejoice that you have conquered death by the Resurrection of Your Son. I am ready to do my part in ending abortion. Today I commit myself Never to be silent, Never to be passive, Never to be forgetful of the unborn. I commit myself to be active in the pro-life movement, And never to stop defending life Until all my brothers and sisters are protected, And our nation once again becomes A nation with liberty and justice Not just for some, but for all, Through Christ our Lord. Amen!

Pens

H/T:  Kath-a-leen M.  ;)

I have one question...

(at least right at the moment...)

What's with the flipflops the girls are wearing these days in mid-January? 

 LADIES!  There's snow on the ground, for crying out loud!

Take a hint from the yaks!

Yaks in Winter
Dressed for the Weather



You don't have to wear a fur coat,
but at least wear Mary Janes!

Simple Monday, January 17th

Outside my window... it's a hazy day, chilly but not cold.  Everything is taupe and grey.

What I'm hearing...  More than usual for a Monday mid-morning because today is school day off.  The background music at the moment: Cathy tickling William; William laughing.  Anna trying to read Theresa's book aloud -- which is interesting because Anna is a second grader and Theresa is reading Pride and Prejudice.

Around the house... The tree and all the ornaments are finally down, packed, and back out in the barn. We were depressed about the house looking bare, though, especially after our very room-consuming tree was added to the wood pile, so we came up with some fun, winter-cheering clutter to fill some space in our great room:



We left up our snowmen as we figure they're more "winter" than
 Christmas, specifically.  And they're bright and cheerful. We
also left our woodland "throws" on the backs of the sofas (below).



We added a new piece of furniture, an extremely functional one.
One of our favorite Christmas gifts, Gabe's new little school desk
works perfectly for a side table.  I'd like to find a matching one
for the other side of the couch -- but that may be a needle in the
haystack. 



We rearranged our furniture a  bit to add a little reading nook by the wood stove.  This is Theresa's new favorite spot.



And here's Cathy's new favorite spot: a crafting center we originally placed by the woodstove.  We ended up moving it to the other side of the room, but, here you can see Cathy working on a special homeschool project: a little gnome village, inspired by the knitted gnome we found recently  at an antique store -- and by the fact that we couldn't  bear to pack  away the" skinny trees" that were around our Nativity.



And here are the "skinny trees" making up the forest
for Cathy's gnomes.  She's been making new characters
for her little world and composing stories about them
for Creative Writing projects.  Lots of fun!  I'll
post some more pictures of the little gnomes when
I can.  And some of her stories if she doesn't mind.


What I'm wearing...  blue jean skirt; earthtone and blue butterfly- printed tee with sparkles; brown cardigan with blue trim, red fuzzy slippers (because one shouldn't match too perfectly on a vacation day).

What I'm reading...  Trying to actually get through the whole New Testament without breaks of months and years in between. Also re-reading an Amelia Peabody mystery just for fun: The Curse of the Pharoahs. 



Dominic, pictured here
serving at Gavin's
Baptism.



We're praying for... all seminarians this start of the new year, but especially our good friends, Brother Anthony, Brother Michael, Carlos, and our son, Dominic who started his first classes at the seminary the first of this month.

From the kitchen...  Fifteen Bean Soup, a winter staple.  The prepared bags of beans are inexpensive and easy to cook up with my own spices and a hambone or leftover ham and rice.  For a quickie, no-recipe, taste-as-you go idea of how we make it: 

For a whole bag of 15-(or16) bean soup mix (already picked, boiled, and prepared as directed on the bag), I add a scant cup of brown rice to the pot (which should be about two-thirds beans, one-third water, give or take), two cans diced tomatoes, one can tomato sauce, a couple tablespoons of beef buillon, a  liberal scoop  of prepared cajun spice, a good sprinkling of basil (because I just like basil), one diced onion and four diced cloves of garlic sauteed in butter, sea salt and pepper to taste.

Bring to a boil, cover, and set to simmer for however long it takes to get the kids rounded up and the table cleaned off and set, plus maybe a rosary if you're gang is fast.  (Roughly about an hour).  But the soup can be set to simmer longer, if it's on very low heat and watched so the water doesn't cook down too low.  If you make a great big pot like I did Saturday, there'll be plenty for left-over lunches all week long.  Yum!

But pass out the "Bean-o" because, um, well, ya know....  those beans can be an issue...

  My Mom says that a pinch of baking soda cooked in can help with the after-effects.  But the jury's out here on whether that actually works.  Maybe it's a coincidence, but certain ones of us have this problem with or without the baking soda... Of course, maybe it has nothing to do with the beans at all. Maybe some people are just full of hot air...  Or something.  Anyway...  'Scuse the digression verging into eight-year-old humor.  But it is one of those complex problems of daily home life, right Moms?   How to use those wonderful, healthful, inexpensive beans without the malodorous effects...  

Anyone know of any other natural preventatives?

One of my favorite things...  The way a teeny baby nestles into the curve of your neck and scrunches up its wee legs so that its cute little diapered butt pooches out.  Sorta like Gavin over there on the right, snuggled up to his Momma, sucking on his fingers.  (Mommom's sweet little guy...) And I love that baby smell.  I think it's the closest sense we have of a heavenly joy on earth.

 Some other picture thoughts I'd like to share...

Uncle William

Uncle Gabe

Sepia Saturday

Back in the days when computers were serious...

That's my Dad on the far right -- when he was still just a sailor.

My Dad was a communications officer in the Navy when I was growing up, and it was a big treat for us kids to visit him every once in a while aboard ship. I remember what must have been one of our first chances to go to my father's "work."  Since I was only five or six at the time, it would have been the first four of us kids. We were so proud to walk alongside Dad in his uniform; I remember the goosebumps of delight when the enlisted men saluted him and his fellow officers chatted with him, remarking on us kids as they added information to the little tour speeches Dad gave as he led us around to the authorized-kid-touring places onboard.  We marched behind my Dad like well-trained little soldiers, the bunch of us, speaking when spoken to, and trying to absorb everything in case there was a test later.

 You never knew with my Dad; there might be a test
.
But, we didn't mind because time with our father was precious and it really was a pretty neat experience; the ships were enormous and we got to see a lot of the cooler bells and whistles from the helm to the torpedo deck, but what I remember most --  besides all the neato ladders and hatches -- was the big computer room.  You could hear the humming and whirring coming from that room as soon as you climbed down the ladder to that deck.  The closer you got, the louder it got.  And it smelled kinda funny for some reason, as I remember it.

Funny the things you remember.

But, anyway... I digress. 



Me.  An eighth as old,
a quarter the size.

 Located somewhere in the bowels of the ship (you had to know where it was to know where it was), the computer room was a long and narrow space -- maybe twenty feet long by twelve feet wide -- and it was lined wall to wall with floor- to-ceiling rows of humming computers.  In the middle of the room were several rows, as well, all with buttons and lights and sliding knobs -- all very mysterious.  And very, very solemn and serious.  Dad only let us poke our heads in, before he quickly shuttled us out, explaining in the most cursory way, that this was -- well, it was the computer room.  Like we knew what that meant.

What my little brain  inferred was that the whole thing was purposely veiled in secrecy. Maybe there was coding going on.  Something having to do, maybe, with the evil empire, the Communists.  Or the Vietnamese.  Who knew?  One thing for sure, though, we obviously weren't supposed to be anywhere near those computers. Dad sure herded us out of there pretty quick.  And then he headed us straight to the mess hall where he gave us doughnuts -- to make us forget about what we'd seen.  Or something like that.  Anyway, what little Lisa, Kindergartener, came away with that day was that computers were a very grown up, complex, and vauguely frightening  thing.  Something I'd probably never understand.  Certainly not something I'd ever own.

Isn't it amazing?

Thirty-some years later*, here I sit, Lisa, twenty-first-century Momma, typing at our desktop computer, communicating via the internet with people all over the world. In a minute here I'm going to look for a crazy free online zombie game that Gabey keeps telling me about.  Dan's in his office working on his laptop, and the children have several "kiddy" computers that they pull out to play games on all  the time.  Our cars are computerized, our cellphones are computerized, our music comes from tiny computerized devices that we plug into our ears.  Even my coffepot has a chip in it, that programs it to grind the beans on schedule for our morning coffee. And here's the thing -- the computer function of my coffee pot would probably have taken a whole wall of the computers on my Dad's ship thirty years ago.  Maybe even two walls.

Amazing.

To Join in on Sepia Saturday fun, run over here.

* Alright, alright.  Ya got me.  Make that forty-some.

Winter Time

Snowy meadow on the way to Telluride, Colorado, Epiphany week, 2011. Click for the better effect of the larger picture...

Winter-Time

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,

A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;

Blinks but an hour or two; and then,

A blood-red orange, sets again.

Before the stars have left the skies,

At morning in the dark I rise;

And shivering in my nakedness,

By the cold candle, bathe and dress.

Close by the jolly fire I sit

To warm my frozen bones a bit;

Or with a reindeer-sled, explore

The colder countries round the door.

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap

Me in my comforter and cap;

The cold wind burns my face, and blows

Its frosty pepper up my nose.

Black are my steps on silver sod;

Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;

And tree and house, and hill and lake,

Are frosted like a wedding-cake.

Just When I Thought We Were Finally Done With All the Christmas Goodies...

I come home from running errands and Cathy has made these:

You know the chocolate oranges you get in your Christmas stocking?
  If you like those, you'll like these.

Double Chocolate Orange Cookies

ingredients

5 oz unsalted butter, softened
2 oz light brown sugar
8 oz all purpose flour
2 oz unsweetened cocoa powder
2 tsp baking powder
2 1/2 oz dark chocolate (chopped or in chips)
Gragted zest of 2 oranges
2 tbsp orange juice

makes
30 cookies

method

Preheat oven to 350.  Line two cookie sheets with baking parchment.

Beat the butter and sugar together in a bowl, until pale and fluffy.  Sift the flour, cocoa, and baking powder together twice and then carefully fold into the butter and sugar mixture.  Add the chopped chocolate, orange zest, and orange juice and gently mix together to form a smooth dough.

On a lightly-floured surface, roll out the dough to a thickness of 1/4 inch.  Cut into approximately 30 cookies with a 2 inch fluted cookie cutter. (Alternatively, "ball" them as you do when making chocolate chip cookies, and flatten to about 1/4 - 1/2 inch thickness) 

Cook in the center of the oven for 12 - 15 minutes.  Allow the cookies to cool on the sheets for 5 minutes before transferring them to a wire rack.  Store in an airtight container.

Enjoy!

(New Year's Resolution?  What New Year's Resolution?)

Other People's Fitness

I saw this morning that Forbes has rated Washington D.C. as the nation's fittest city. 

Um, seriously?

Did the figures that Forbes used come from the PR people in our nation's capital, ya think?  We have such faith in those guys.

Do you know what key factor figured in on this ranking?  How many gyms, parks and fitness trails the city has paid to have built. 

That's a good indicator, now, isn't it? Those people in Washington D.C. expend lots of calories spending our money on their parks.

But, they say, folks in D.C. eat large quantities of fruit and hardly anyone there smokes.

Yuhuh.  Riiiiight.

{pause} =sigh=

Well, alright.  This may be true.  Who knows?  It's not charitable, I guess, to doubt Washington D.C. and  Forbes' word on it.

But, if the citizens in our nation's capital really are so fit, I'm thinking that an abundance of fruit and parks have less to do with it than that city's long-standing ranking as the murder capital of the United States.

 If you live there, you've got to be a good runner. 

(To find some real fitness junkies, come to Colorado.  Denver has lots of parks and trails and gyms, but the statistic that Forbes doesn't count is how many people hang out in the natural terrain around a given city.  Doesn't matter what time of year it is here, you cannot hike a trail practically anywhere in the mountains of this state and find yourself alone. Some of us may be huffing and puffing, but we're out there!) 

An Interesting Thought

...in light of the recent snowy weather all over the United States, and the threat of other disasters that could theoretically trap one inside one's home, like... say,
* hungry wolves surrounding your house (Little House on the Prairie),
* a mudslide trapping you ( Columbia this past December.
* mutant zombie hoardes showing up  (I am Legend)
* government taxation on air (*See below)

...one wonders how long one could survive.

Based upon the following quizlet*, with amazingly thorough and penetrating questions (not),

Not too bad I guess for a household of seven people.  But, this is only if we boil and eat our leather coats and shoes and possibly our pets, under which circumstances I'm thinking I'd settle for two hundred days and call it good. 
                                           -~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

** A partial list of the various ways in which citizens of the US are taxed:


•Accounts Receivable Tax
•Building Permit Tax
•Capital Gains Tax
•CDL license Tax
•Cigarette Tax
•Corporate Income Tax
•Court Fines (indirect taxes)

•Deficit spending
•Dog License Tax
•Federal Income Tax
•Federal Unemployment Tax (FUTA)
•Fishing License Tax
•Food License Tax
•Fuel permit tax
•Gasoline Tax
•Hunting License Tax
•Inflation
•Inheritance Tax Interest expense (tax on the money)
•Inventory tax IRS Interest Charges (tax on top of tax)
•IRS Penalties (tax on top of tax)
•Liquor Tax
•Local Income Tax
•Luxury Taxes
•Marriage License Tax
•Medicare Tax
•Property Tax
•Real Estate Tax
•Septic Permit Tax
•Service Charge Taxes
•Social Security Tax
•Road Usage Taxes (Truckers)
•Sales Taxes
•Recreational Vehicle Tax
•Road Toll Booth Taxes
•School Tax
•State Income Tax
•State Unemployment Tax (SUTA)
•Telephone federal excise tax
•Telephone federal universal service fee tax
•Telephone federal, state and local surcharge taxes
•Telephone minimum usage surcharge tax
•Telephone recurring and non-recurring charges tax
•Telephone state and local tax
•Telephone usage charge tax
•Toll Bridge Taxes
•Toll Tunnel Taxes
•Traffic Fines (indirect taxation)
•Trailer Registration Tax
•Utility Taxes
•Vehicle License Registration Tax
•Vehicle Sales Tax
•Watercraft Registration Tax
•Well Permit Tax
•Workers Compensation Tax
(From here)
*Warning: Though this quiz is harmless, I strongly suggest against allowing children or teens to peruse the site from whence it came.  Not all is wholesome there.

Get-up-and-go Kids...

Make My Monday!


The first day of school after the Christmas holidays -- and I'm dragging my feet, but Gabriel isn't!

From this morning at 7:15 a.m.

We don't have to leave until a quarter to 8, but by 7 a.m. Gabey had eaten, dressed, gotten his coat on, and was waiting for the rest of us to get a move on.  He wanted to know if he could go outside and play in the snow while we got ready -- and was a little miffed that I wouldn't let him.  Truth is I couldn't come to terms, myself, with anyone wanting to go out in the dark and cold and play in the snow (!) before I'd even had a cup of coffee.  The nut!  

Reminded me a lot this morning of this little guy:

September, 2007.  From this post.  At three years old, Gabe was already rarin' to go.



Run over and visit Cheryl for lots of Makes My Monday smiles!

On the Feast of the Holy Family

Consecration to the Holy Family


O Jesus, our most loving Redeemer, Who having come to enlighten the world with Thy teaching and example, didst will to pass the greater part of Thy life in humility and subjection to Mary and Joseph in the poor home of Nazareth, thus sanctifying the Family that was to be an example for all Christian families, graciously receive our family as it dedicates and consecrates itself to Thee this day. Do Thou defend us, guard us and establish amongst us Thy holy fear, true peace and concord in Christian love: in order that by confirming ourselves to the Divine pattern of Thy family we may be able, all of us without exception, to attain to eternal happiness.

Mary, dear Mother of Jesus and Mother of us, by thy kindly intercession make this our humble offering acceptable in the sight of Jesus, and obtain for us His graces and blessings.


O Saint Joseph, most holy Guardian of Jesus and Mary, assist us by thy prayers in all our spiritual and temporal necessities; that so we may be enabled to praise our Divine Savior Jesus, together with Mary and thee, for all eternity.


Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be 3 times.


Aspirations to the Holy Family


Each aspiration carries a partial indulgence.


* Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I offer Thee my heart and my soul.


* Jesus, Mary and Joseph, assist me in my last agony.


* Jesus, Mary and Joseph, may I breathe forth my soul in peace with Thee.

* Jesus, Mary and Joseph, enlighten us, help us, and save us. Amen.

* Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I love thee, save souls.

Crow on the roof of the old firehouse bell tower in Ridgway, Colorado.  1/5/11

Christmastide: Epiphany to the Purification -- and New Year's Resolutions

So, the Kings have arrived in Bethlehem -- and, this year, without a lot of fuss and fanfare at our house.  Some years Momma's on the ball and does the Epiphany party, the Magi bread, the decorations and coloring pages, etc.  And some years Momma's not on the ball.  Some years she is the ball. 

Such is life. 

And it's a reality of life that I've come to peace with over the years.  I am not the third-person Momma, Superwoman, Get-It-All-Done Girl of myth and legend.  I don't think anyone is, though sometimes I go through blogs and see the amazing projects hilighted there in technicolor high-gloss and think the Momma who posted them really is Superwoman.   But then I remember that these Mommas post their best days and leave out their worst, just like I do.  Mostly.  And they go through phases just like I do.  And some of them who really are SuperCraftMommas are not super cooks.  And some who are SuperChefMommas are not very crafty.  And some of them who seem to do it all only have one child.  And maybe a maid. And some of you really are awesome Superchef, Supercrafter, Supermoms who make me sick.  (Just kidding!) 

But that's all beside the point.  The point is that the Kings really did make it to Bethlehem.  They arrived at our living room stable midmorning on the Epiphany when I scampered to boogy them over there when I thought the children weren't looking.  And some two thousand odd years ago Gaspar, Melchior, and Baltazar arrived at the real stable in the real Bethlehem at the feet of the Divine Child.  They come in their robes, with their entourages, to bow in the dirt and straw of a lowly cave to present the gifts they brought the newborn King, gifts from Kingly sources -- Gold, Frankinsence, and Myrrh -- all offerings full of symbolism and portent.  But, the love and honor that came with them were the real gifts. Love and honor no better than the gifts of the shepherds -- which are recorded as nothing other than their presence at the stable under the star that first Christmas.

So, my Christmas was hectic, as I'm sure many people's was.  And I fear that in all my running around I was not as present at the stable as I should have been.  I was a bit distracted.  But Christmas is not over.  The Holy Family is still at the stable, though the Kings may have come and gone.  And, in the calendar of the Church, we have untl February 2nd to officially celebrate the coming of our Saviour.  A whole month into a brand new year and a good time to meditate, as we take down the wreaths and the tree and, bit by bit, pack away the Nativity Set.  The outward symbols will be going into bins in our barn, but the meaning of the season doesn't have to be packed away with them.

 It's never too late to visit with Jesus in the stable.  It's not too late to bring Him our own gift.  Our presence.

This is my New Year's resolution: to give Jesus that -- my presence. 

No Batteries Required

Or joystick, or remote, or monitor...

It's called:  Don't Let Grandpa Catch Your Hands.

Fun for all ages.

You know how you hear about needing a vacation from your vacation?

Ok, folks.   I. am. pooped. 



Deceptively angelic-looking

 Or, um...  Since we are currently trying to surgically remove from our five-year-old's amazingly large vocabulary the category of vaguely vulgar phrasings he seems to collect the same way he saves beer bottle caps and anything remotely resembling a spider, snake or worm -- let me rephrase:

Worn out.  I'm worn out.

In a good way, mind you.  Don't get me wrong; I cannot begin to tell you what a wonderful Christmas holiday we've had here.  First of all, the blessings of the seasons we found Incarnate at Midnight Mass, the event that everything else led up to and followed.  Gabe and Anna were honored to represent the Blessed Mother and St. Joseph in our parish this year, bringing the Infant Jesus in his crib to be placed in the Creche before Mass began. It was all very beautiful.  And neither of them tripped or dropped the Baby Jesus, so we all sighed a sigh of relief and were free to breathe in the beauty of the rest of the night...  

...and the rest of the Christmas vacation together ...

where there was more than enough to see and do and enjoy to please everyone.  There has of course been a most important new family member that everyone is oohing and ahhing over and enjoying immensely....  (Such a cutie, and such a remarkably good baby!  Gavin hardly ever cries!)

But, then there's also been pinochle, poker and board games all through the day and into the night, off and on, at any given time.  Impromptu concerts at the piano springing up out of nowhere and then petering off when the musicians get distracted or start goofing off too much to sing or play.  Football games, volleyball games,  golf and disc golf  (because it seems that Colorado got Georgia's Christmas weather by mistake).  Gatherings going to movies.  Gatherings going to daily Mass.  Gatherings going to paint pottery for the plate collection I'm making for my living room wall. (More on that later, I promise.)

And then the real parties:  first, a luncheon on the vigil of Christmas to greet incoming family and say goodbye to the Sisters of our parish before they headed back to their Mother House for their Christmas Break.  Then, naturally, a party all day Christmas day with everyone on hand eating candyand playing wii games nonstop.  And a party on the Monday after Christmas to celebrate the Baptism of our sweet little Grandbaby, Gavin James. 



 Fr. G. officiating at the most important event of Gavin's life, with Godparents, Uncle Kevin
and  Aunt Michelle, and Uncle Dominic serving.



Then we celebrated both Dan's birthday and Theresa's (Twelfth Birthday!) with a party on Wednesday.  Followed by a party on New Year's Eve traditionally hosted by Dan's Dad  (the annual lollapaloozer featuring Bingo and movies with all the children until midnight when they all drink a sip of champaigne and go immediately to bed so they can make it up for the Holy Day Mass the next day). 



Check out the Grand Piano Cake made by Grandpa, Jon, and Michelle for Theresa's 12th.  There's a teeny, tiny bit of real sheet music on there. (The music for Jubilate Deo.)

Throughout all the festivities, though,  there's been the common factor and greastest pleasure, the company:  guests and relatives all week long.  A house packed to overflowing. Bursts of laughter from various corners, too many for me to sprint around saying: What'd I miss?  What'd I miss?  (Dang it.  But I tried.)



Kev:  Huh?

 And half-consumed drinks left everywhere: on the piano (Jon's?), on the bookcase by the poker players (Grandpa?), on coffee tables (pick your teen), in cracks of couches (teens and young adults), on the printer (who knows, but if I find out I'm gonna have a word to say to them), on the kitchen windowsill (a dish washer probably, who gets a free pass),  all over the kitchen counters (everyone), at the feet of the big Blessed Mother statue (heathen)... 


Michelle: Mhmm

 And socks.  Dirty socks.  Everywhere.  Pretty much all the same places as the half-empty glasses... --  No, I'm kidding.--  Really, I find them mainly all over the floor.  And in the sofa cushions. And in all the beds. Pretty much everywhere but in the hamper.  And I'm not exactly sure whose they all are, as I've just been scooping them up with the dustpan and throwing them in the washer in hot water without unscrunching them to take a guess.  Not like I'd know anyway.  There were fourteen pair of adult feet running around the house this past week or so and most of them were roughly the same size, color, and smell: formerly white, stiff, sports socks crumbled tightly into inside-out balls.   I don't know that it would be possible to distinguish all their original owners, but I do know that there are going to be some young men calling home in about a week wondering if I have all their socks.  And can I send them? (Which I might.   A sock every time they call home just to chat.)


Cathy n Jon: smooch

It's been an amazing, wonderful week of togetherness (and messiness) here in Colorado.  But it's quieted down now, the day after New Year's.  Dan's left for Omaha to take Dominic and Michelle to school and to have Kevin's girlfriend, Emily, meet her ride home to Minnesota.  The grandparents have gone home along with dearest Auntie Nina.  Though Paul and Nicole will be here for another week, and they stop in frequently, their home base is at Nicole's Dad's house, so we don't have 24/7 access to our little cherub grandchild.  But we did get to have Jon  here for an extra bonus day.  He serenaded us to sleep last night, doodling around on the piano with the most lovely assortment of music at bedtime, blending from one tune to another, from Christmas carols to Enya to the Ave Maria -- I wish I had a recording of his lullabyes -- but he's headed east over the mountains tomorrow and then  it will be just me and Greg and the five Littles until Dan gets back.

 Which will be nice in a way.  Normal is kinda nice. In a humdrum, but respectably predictable kind of way.   But the house does feel very empty now.

Except for all the mess.

Which we'll get to tomorrow.  Maybe.

A brand new Monday in a brand new year. (Holy Cow. 2011!)

And, now that I've blogged our Christmas (hopefully not ad nauseum) for posterity...  I hope to move on in a real bike, not an exercycle way, and catch up with my correspondences and internet friends and do some blogging to unravel some of the things I've been thinking about in between snitching peanutM-n-Ms from the candy sideboard and picking up scraps of curling ribbon off the floor.    But be patient with me as I get rolling.  Because there is a really. big. mess. to clean up in my house.  And I really am pooped.

God Bless Everyone and Happy New Year!