Thursday, February 28, 2019

On the Mark


So, I go out on the front porch to check on my Snow Warrior Princess who's shooting archery practice in the snow parallel to the front of the house.

I check to be sure the Snow Warrior Princes is dressed warmly enough, then check out the target. There are five or six arrows clustered all around the bulls' eye, and I'm like: Dang, Anna! I'm gonna get a picture of this. 

And I turn toward the door, but she stops me.

And she's like: No! That's not good at all! I'm only shooting at ten meters and it's not good unless they're inside that second ring.

I stammer something like: Crazy girl. Looks pretty impressive to me! I sure couldn't do that!

And she says: But I can! I'll tell you when you can take a picture.

But, I'm cold (It's like 2* out there!) and don't hang around to watch as she practices and practices, then finally comes in with frozen toes and runny nose, still not satisfied.

She'll go out again tomorrow afternoon, sure shootin'.


And I share this because this, my friends, is all you need to know about living life well:

You've gotta work and work and work. Even when the circumstances aren't optimal. Don't judge your progress by other people. Never be satisfied with less than perfection, even if you suspect you might never actually reach it. And never give up. Even when your toes are frozen and your nose is runny. Because you can count on your Mom to warm up your toes and hand you a Kleenex. And it's the working and trying and persisting in the hardest times that make you strong and able through hard and easy. Something our ancestors knew that we've forgotten in our soft days.

Wednesday, February 27, 2019

St. Gabriel of the Sorrowful Mother, the Young Men's Little Flower

 St. Gabriel Passenti, the eleventh of thirteen children, born to an Italian middle class family in 1838, might be called the Little Flower of young men. His mother died when he was yet a child, but that was not an unusual thing for his time, his father was a government worker, and his family, though large for any time, was fairly solidly middle class. The Passentis did not stand out in their neighborhood and little Gabriel was a fairly ordinary kid. The only creditable note of his birth or childhood was that he was baptized in the same font as St. Francis of Asissi. There were no lights from heaven, no white bees hovering above his cradle; by all accounts, he was neither extraordinarily pious nor a notorious sinner, but he was well-liked. As an adolescent, he had a reputation for being a bit of a "flirt" and loved to dance. It was expected that he would follow his father in a middle-class job, settle down, and marry. But God had something else in mind.

When Gabriel was 14, he contracted a grave illness, and on the point of death, promised that if he were cured, he'd enter the Religious life. Almost miraculously, he recovered, and most surely, he was
grateful, but he didn't enter the Religious life. It's easy to second guess or forget those "rash" promises one makes in delirium, isn't it? But God doesn't forget. Before another year passed, Gabriel had narrowly escaped death in a freak hunting accident, one  brother had died of illness, another had committed suicide, and before he could catch his breath, at the age of sixteen, Gabriel again fell ill.

Once again he promised to enter the Religious life if he should recover, and this time, more conscious, maybe, of his mortality, he followed through, eventually finding his home in the Passionist Order.

He was eighteen years old when he was accepted at the novitiate at Morrovalle, Italy in September, 1856, and received the name Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows. A year later he pronounced his first vows and entered the seminary. A good student, cheerful, humble, and well-liked by all, there was nothing that stood out to the casual observer about Gabriel's next five years of priestly training and Religious life, except perhaps, his particular devotion to perfect obedience. (Does this sound like a Little Flower you know?) Contracting tuberculosis within the first couple years (also familiar?), he suffered patiently, praying that the miserable illness would be prolonged so that he'd have more time to prepare his soul. After six year in the seminary, in almost constant illness, he died on February 27th, 1862, at the age of 24, before becoming a priest. Perhaps this was his last surrender to pride.

Those that were with St. Gabriel say that at the moment of his death he sat upright in his bed, his face radiant, arms reaching for an unseen figure his eyes were fixed upon. His Confessor believed that it was unquestionably the Blessed Mother come to accompany Gabriel Passenti to heaven.

Aware of St. Gabriel's holiness, having followed his spiritual progress as a Confessor and having read St. Gabriel's memoirs (which Gabriel burned in order to prevent a spirit of pride in himself), Fr. Norbert of Holy Mary wrote Gabriel's biography shortly after his death. Word of the young seminarian's sanctity spread astonishingly quickly. The Congregation of the Passionists, spurred forward by the devotion that had sprung up and persevered, as well as miracles reported, began the process for his canonization in 1891. Pope St. Pius X beatified him in 1908 and he was raised to the altar by Pope Benedict XV on May 13, 1920.

 St. Gabriel of the Sorrowful Mother, another saint of the "Little Way."

Like St. Therese of Lisieux, St. Gabriel was not a saint of the extraordinary.
He left no published works (outside of some letters that survived); he did not publicly "convert thousands"; he never went anywhere outside of a small area in Italy; he didn't perform extraordinary acts of penance or astounding feats of great charity; he never even offered Mass. But like St. Therese the Little Flower, he performed many little things very well, offering them perfectly out of love for God. He smiled when he was grumpy; he did his chores without complaint even when he didn't feel well; he obeyed unquestioningly, even when an order from a superior made no sense to him; he suffered illness with resignation; he abandoned his own will to God's in patience and great love. A goal for all of us. One we can reach.

It is no surprise that St. Gabriel Passenti is the patron saint of  youth, particularly of students, seminarians, and clerics. St. Gabriel, pray for us to make our own holiness a joy in little things done for love of God; help us not to think of holiness as a difficult and unattainable burden. Amen.


Grand is the Right Word


Or a heartfelt half smile if you're cute enough.


Above: Michelle and Ben's #2, Ella-bella. A half smile from this kiddo = a full out beaming grin from anyone else. What a blessing getting to know these children of our children!

Monday, February 25, 2019

Off-road Adventures

When God's Got the Wheel But You Don't Know Where He's Taking You


Notes and meditation for anyone who labors under the misconception that all the trouble and worry of parenting ends when the children move out of the house.


I conducted an informal poll the other day on our Family-app. The question to our seven driving children: How many times have you slid off the road in a snowstorm?



You'll note this is a fairly specific question; the incident number would undoubtedly be greater if  I'd asked about accidents, in general, but, since we've had major snowstorms two weekends in a row here in Iowa, it was pertinent, and I wondered if my aging-and-always-questionable Momma-memory had exaggerated the phone calls home to be rescued. Turns out that if my memory was faulty, it had blocked some incidents, and we got a pretty thorough retelling of snow and non-snow fender-benders that everyone lived to tell about -- and laugh over.

Here's a log of the responses, for the sake of posterity:

Shelly: I've slid off the road like 6 times I think.. (We're not including driveways, right?)
This assertion followed later by:
I had my brakes go totally out at a stoplight...thankfully, it was green and then I careened into a parking lot until I coasted to a stop... 
&
Ran into a guard rail after I fell asleep (on my birthday at 3 am) Ruined the rim and tire and alignment...had to sleep in a parking lot...Haha


Paul: I've had a number -- I'd guess 4 in the snow. 1 was with Kevin in the Cheyenne, 1 was with Uncle Dave going to Aspen, 1 was with Luke and Louis going to Copper Mountain, and I'm sure there was at least one other one. And 2-3 non snow-related.



Kevvy: Paul, what about going over Monarch in your truck and you stopped to help the Germans?


I was with you with Louis, too! Ha! Driveways don't count... not Davis driveways, at least. Now, almost running over two siblings...


Cathy: I've gone off the road twice this winter! Both times in the Durango! Haha! But, yeah, Kevin's got us all beat!
(This was before the weekend blizzard, when Dan's car stuck in a drift.)


Kevvy: Crashed my car on my birthday, too. Had one catch fire on Thanksgiving. A car I was borrowing while I lent mine to Father and engine overheated and needed over 1k in repairs. Haha! But I guess that's not all relevant...


Shelly: Slid off the road three times driving from Olathe to Denver in a snow storm. Had to be towed twice, then ended up staying at a hotel.. I think Kevin still has me beat, for sure.. Hahaha!


Kevvy: Haha! I think it's neck and neck, Chicky! (a.k.a. Shelly; a.k.a. Michelle)


Fr. P. Never gone off the road. Dominic has had the most adventures in the Rav4, right?


Monica (Dominic's wife): I bet. He almost slipped into an icy intersection wit me before we were dating... I'm SURE there were other occasions.


You give it to God, and He gives you back gray hair; i.e., wisdom.
We're still waiting to hear back from Dominic with facts and figures, but there's fairly unanimous speculation that his snow-slide list is pretty long. He had a Christmas tradition of sliding off the road in the little Rav4 for a few years there. Never any injuries, never any significant damage to the car, just a phone call to come get him out of the ditch. Christmas Adventures. (I kinda missed that this year!)

But we never lack for snow adventure (or adventure of any kind, actually), even when Dominic isn't around. We had two cars stranded in the blizzard this past weekend, but two "saves" (at least) due to the kindness of others. 



So. All's well. Always was. Even when I was sitting in the snowy window during Saturday's Blizzard, looking out and worrying. (Hail Mary/worry; Holy Mary/worry some more)

Why do we do that to ourselves?  After so many years of parenting, I do know better. If we're considering rightly, all the daily peccadillos -- those things over which we have very little control --  from broken arms to  cars in ditches to midwest tormadoes --  can be traction on the way up  (you know, that steep slope you hear tell about). Or they can trip us. 

I'm human, so I do faceplant fairly often still. But I'm learning. I'm going gray (need to see my hairdresser about that!), but I do know, in hindsight, if nothing else, that if I stand back and really look at the big picture, I can't help but see God in it. There He is. As our teenage daughter plows into a snowdrift -- and He directs someone over almost immediately to help.  As a neighbor picks up the girls from the other stranded car, saving them a mile-long walk home in the storm. As our friend, Dan H, exercises such charity in clearing our driveway for us. As my Dan works from home today to take from my shoulders the burden of finding and retrieving the stranded-then-impounded car. As all the children come together to laugh and joke about all the close-calls and life-affirming saves, still so close to one another though so many miles apart. 

I think God may be easiest to see in a snowstorm.

Sunday, February 24, 2019

Iowa Snowflakes: Millions of Them

To appreciate the beauty of snowflakes
It is necessary to stand out in the cold.

- Aristotle

Out in the cold on the front porch of our little house, tucked into the Loess Hills in beautiful Iowa, appreciating 
every little snowflake.
Two cars to be dug out yet. One down the road and one on the Lincoln Highway, but everyone is home, safe and sound. Couldn't make it to Mass this morning, but prayed our rosary and read the Mass and reflections on the Epistle and Gospel, then after eggs and bacon: squeals of delight when Colleen and Isabel waded over from the Boarder House to spend the afternoon with Anna, Cathy, and our friend Natalie.

So, now we have cocoa on the stove, rice pudding being made, and the best kind of entertainment possible:



Saturday, February 23, 2019

Stranded

Photo in public domain of Chicago blizzard of '67

 Two beautiful young girls (one of them ours, one of them a lovely friend from Germany) who thought they'd beat the storm and get some shopping and sight-seeing in on a Saturday before one of them (the German) heads off to other tourist destinations tomorrow.

Go figure. Locked the keys in the AWD (which we insisted they take) in downtown Omaha. And according to most weather-related authorities, a blizzard is brewing for this afternoon and evening.

Dad and Mom (Us. Stupid, maybe?), leave them to Providence with firm and repeated admonitions as to when they should head on home. Then ("Thank God Almighty, free at last!") alone in the house on a Saturday, we are just biting into the steak we'd  prepared for lunch (since we don't have enough for everyone), when we get the call:

 "Help, Dad! Can you come?" (Surprise, surprise.)

Dad finds spare key, hurries off, Knight on White Horse, to the rescue. "Give me the address," he texts. "Where can I find you, girls?'

Reply: "The car's on Jackson."

(Mom's waiting at home. Eating steak. Trying not to worry too much; thinking: "Dan and God have got this.")

Half hour later, text to Mom from Dad: "I'm at the car,  picked up the wrong Dodge key; waiting for AAA; girls are safe; waiting in the candy shop. Don't worry. Everything's fine."

Mom processes: Girls enjoying candy shop -- happy, trusting, oblivious. Dan sitting in cold car, battery probably dying in phone. Hungry. Wishing he was at home with steak and wife.

Dad life. But there he is.

And this is it, y'all, parenting in one of its most elemental, real life, every dayday applications. And you see what it really is all about.

Sacrificial love.

No complaints. Just do the thing. Be there. Come to the rescue whether they realize or not how heroic it is. (Quiet afternoon and steak dinner left behind...)

Dad. He'd do anything for them, no matter how ridiculous it is that they got themselves into this predicament in the first place.

Because it's the real deal;  he loves these crazy kids. Of course he'll save them.

Because it's Love. Real love. Still turning the gears of anything worthwhile in the universe.

Think how much more Christ was and is willing to take on for us, you guys.

#mindblowing##dontevertakehimforgranted##therealdeal#

That One Cup


The Ivy Cup 


Davis Perfect Old Fashioned Sweet Iced Tea
(one gallon)

1) Prep four cups boiling water
2) Add six standard size tea bags (Twinings better than Lipton), to boiling water in gallon pitcher and steep for five minutes (or until the tea-maker gets off social media and remembers to finish making the tea)
* Stir in one ivy cup* of sugar + small pinch of baking soda
* Fill pitcher with enough cold water to fill after tea bags squeezed and removed

* Most Important: sugar must be measured with this cup (the very last piece of our wedding-gift Corel dishes) or it is not Davis Perfect Old Fashioned Sweet Iced Tea. If you are a Davis, you can taste the difference. No, really; it's true. There may be a fight over this cup when the will is read someday. (This and the dining room table. And maybe the piano.)

Friday, February 22, 2019

Friday Feasts


Actually, though, meatless Fridays have never been a burden for us. In sacrifice-terms, it's more like picking a new Pandora station once a week instead of sticking to the tried and true.  A little smidge of a challenge, but we know well enough what we like that we rarely choose clinkers. And we like fish. And eggs. And cheese.

I thought Michelle and Ben and the girls were coming over tonight (That time of year; they were going to consult with Dan, the tax man), but as we're expecting an ice storm, they opted for prudence and postponed.

So what's for dinner? (To get to the point.)

 I was going to serve a tried and true Friday meal, "Refrigerator Quiche," but, since Cathy's working, it'll only be Dan and Anna and me (and maybe our houseguest, Natalie) at home, so I'm thinking more along the lines of fish tacos for ease. But here's the recipe for both, in case you're looking for last minute ideas.

Refrigerator Quiche Basics

Ingredients 
Per 9" store-boughten or home-made pie crust:

* 4-6 eggs
* 3/4 cup milk or half and half
* 8 oz cheese of your choice -- really doesn't matter what kind, whatever you have on hand, just make sure and shred it so it stirs in
* about 1 cup veggies -- whatever you have on hand, in the way of spinach, kale, broccoli, cauliflower, sweet peppers (lightly steam or sauté these last three first)
* diced and sautéed onion and/or garlic to taste, if desired (1-2 onions, depending on size, couple or six cloves of garlic for us)
* 1/2 -- 1 cup well-drained tuna or salmon, if desired
* about 1 tablespoon of olive oil
* salt and pepper to taste
* parsley (up to a cup, if desired)

How to Make It 

Step 1

Heat oven to 375°F. Place pastry in pie pan on a baking sheet.


Step 2
Heat 1 tablespoon of the oil in a large skillet over medium-low heat. Add the onions, and garlic (if you choose to use them) and ½ teaspoon each of salt and pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until soft, 5 to 7 minutes. Stir in the parsley (if desired), less if it's dried, more if fresh.

Step 3
In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, half-and-half (or milk), and app ¼ teaspoon salt. Stir in the onion mixture, fish (if you like), and cheese.

Step 4
Pour the egg mixture into the crust. Bake until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean, 35 to 40 minutes. (On baking sheet to save your oven-bottom from possible over-spill. Better safe than sorry!) Let sit for 5 minutes before slicing.
Step 5
Serve with a salad -- if you're motivated. 
We like to set out sour cream, ketchup, and salsa so everyone can garnish their own quiche the way they like.

* But tonight, we'll have easy-peasy, cheater
Fish Tacos
Ingredients
* Corn tortillas (best, but flour tortillas can be used in a pinch if that's all you have)
* Whatever breaded fish sticks you happen to already have in the freezer, prepared as directed, enough to adequately fill  the bottom of each taco expected to be eaten (Moms can judge this!)
* Whatever cheese you have on hand, shredded (usually cheddar or the "Mexican Mix" around here
* Diced tomatoes (depending on how many you're feeding. Between 1 and 6 -- Moms know.)
* Diced red onions if your gang likes onions (usually no more than one good sized one.)
* Lettuce (As much as you think they'll actually eat. We usually use chopped iceberg, but anything works, even spinach)
* Sour cream
* An avocado or two, depending on how much your family likes them (peeled, pitted, and sliced or made into guacamole)
* Whatever salsa you already have in the door of the fridge
* Fish taco sauce (below)

How to Make 'em
1) Cook up a batch of breaded fish sticks (we like ours breaded and nice and crispy, but if you prefer, you can bake some fillets, too; it's totally up to you)
2) While you wait for your fish, dice up the tomatoes, onions, lettuce, and avocados (or make guac if you feel like it)
3) Stir up some sauce (below)
4) Toast up your tortillas on a dry fry-pan or griddle, if you feel like it. (Or leave them cold, if you want to skip a step)
5) Set everything out as a taco buffet, so everyone can make their own personalized fish taco creations, fish broken into pieces in the bottom of each "folded" tortilla, then topped with the veggies, cheese, salsa, and/or sauce and sour cream. Yummo. The kids love them. And so easy!
       The Sauce
  • 1/2 cup sour cream
  • 1/3 cup Mayo
  • 2 Tbsp lime juice from 1 medium lime
  • 1 tsp garlic powder
  • 1 tsp Sriracha sauce or to taste

Thursday, February 21, 2019

Thursday Blast From the Past

This post and photo from February, 2018

"William, you know, with my reading glasses on, I can count all your freckles; I can see the pores in your skin!"

"Can you see... my... soul?" Grimace. "No, don't answer that. I know you can. You're my mother."

Note this, kids: all mothers can. It's a skill that comes with the eyes in the backs of our heads. Good that Yuyum knows this. Shame that he'll forget about it in a few short years...

Note from now, February, 2019: William is a teenager, thirteen years three months old to be exact, and he has not forgotten how mothers just know things. He punctuates his weekly phone conversations from the minor seminary with phrases like: "You would ask that" and "I know this will come as no surprise to you..." (He still talks like a thirty-year-old time traveler from the nineteenth century). AND he knows I have spies... Everywhere. (Mwahaha!)




Gabe and William nowadays.



Tuesday, February 19, 2019

As the twig is bent, so inclines the tree


The Saplings 


Somewhere in the lost picture files of our family's growing up, there is a dog-eared photo of our little Michelle, laying limp dandelions in the hand of this statue of the Blessed Virgin. And this is Daria Philomena, Michelle's oldest daughter, doing the same thing.

We gave this statue to Ben and Michelle at their wedding so now Daria and her sisters are growing up with their Momma's childhood image of the Blessed Mother. And her childhood image of the Blessed Mother. The gift of love passed down.

 When you gently and persistently bend the twig, you also incline the saplings. And, God willing, the saplings' saplings. Pray and work that the pressure of the world doesn't bend them away.

You may not be rich; you may be unable to bequeath any great possessions to your children; 
but one thing you can give them: the heritage of your blessing. 
And it is better to be blessed than to be rich.

-- St. Ambrose


* Daria was about one when this picture was taken a couple years ago.

Sunday, February 17, 2019

Today marks the feast of the Flight into Egypt, a good day to recommend ourselves and our families to the protection of good St. Joseph. Whose patronage can we depend upon better than his, whom God trusted to guard the Child Savior and His Holy Mother?

 “I know by experience that the glorious St. Joseph assists us generally in all necessities. I never asked him for anything which he did not obtain for me.”
-- St. Teresa of Avila

Oh St. Joseph, whose protection is so great, so strong, so prompt before the throne of God, I place in you all my interests and desires.

Oh St. Joseph, do assist me by your powerful intercession and obtain for me from your divine son all spiritual blessings through Jesus Christ, our Lord; so that having engaged here below your heavenly power, I may offer my thanksgiving and homage to the most loving of Fathers.

Oh St. Joseph, I never weary contemplating you and Jesus asleep in your arms. I dare not approach while he reposes near your heart. Press Him in my name and kiss his fine head for me, and ask him to return the kiss when I draw my dying breath. St. Joseph, patron of departing souls, pray for us. Amen

Friday, February 15, 2019

First and Forever Valentines



That real love, the genuine article that settles in after the initial earthquake of being in love calms and settles? That love (you know it) which overlooks grumpy mornings, bad manners, belches, and boredom --  that love that persists and prods and supports, that grows downward with roots so it can spread upward with shade for everyone around it? Mirrors of  the greatest and first Love, it's all blessing and curse, pleasure and pain, sorrow, joy, and glory. It's built into us to crave this love with all it's yin and yang -- and  the great challenge of our lives to recognize it when we're hip-dip in it. This beautiful, wonderful, difficult love.

Brothers, Gabe and (photobombing) Dominic,
with big brother, Paul's, daughter, Lily
 We first learn to put up with it (if we are blessed) at home, from our parents from the very beginning, who push and pull and stretch and and pat us into the people we should be. In families that cooperate with God's grace, we wallow in Mom and Dad love, even when we sometimes we resist it or misunderstand it. Then there's that other first love, love in perhaps its most potent and least appreciated form (at least until we've grown up quite a lot), the love we suffer at the hands of our siblings.

It's a sticky, pitchy, testy kind of thing, sibling love. No one knows us better than our brothers and sisters, and consequently, no one annoys us more, puts up with us more, or loves us more. Or longer. Birth to death. In spite of everything. Even when we go through droughts when we barely make connections with one another. The love still fills the corners and floods over, across the generations.

One of Dan's and my greatest (somewhat) unexpected pleasures these last few years has been watching our children's love for one another spring up in their adulthood -- and then spread to their siblings' spouses and children, and then from cousins to cousins, aunts and uncles, back and forth, all around. Everyone's doused, but it's been a slow steady flooding and the water's fine; no one seems to notice they're swimming in it.  Love is a wonderful thing to take for granted, when you've been blessed that way, when you've accepted it from its Source and let it flow .

 But don't take it for granted. Our first school of love is our childhood home. Our first Valentines are our brothers and sisters. 


Left: Aunt Cathy and Uncle Fr. Philip with Michelle'syoungest daughter, Claudia
Right: Paul with Michelle's Claudia


Cousins! Paul's girls, Evelyn and Lillian lovin' on Michelle's middle daughter, Ella

Left: Auntie Anna with Shelly's Claudia
Right: Uncle "Bill" and Uncle Gabe with Michelle's Daria and Ella



Here's looking at you,, kid: Auntie  Michelle and Paul's Gavin

Aunt Sr. Antonia with Ella, Daria and Evie



Uncle Gabe monkeying around with nieces, Daria and Evie




Four generations of Davis men: Great Grandpa, Dan Sr; Grandpa (Dandad), Dan Jr; Dad, Paul; son, Gavin





The music that threads through everything.
Uncle Fr. Philip with Claudia.




(Mind the gaps. Courtesy of Blogger's screwy picture insertion program, these photos are spaced pretty indiscriminately. I declare, I did try to fix it.. Argh)










Generations bonding: Anna, Cathy, William, and Dan's Mom, Sharon (Grandma)

Cousins: Paul and Nicole's Gavin with Michelle's Ell
Aunt Cathy holding Michelle's Claudia, Aunt Anna looking on


Uncle Kevvy with Michelle's Daria


                                      Aunties Monica and Ina with Paul and Nicole's Lilly




Auntie Cathy with Dominic and Monica's, Margaret Mary



Sr. Antonia with Paul's Evie