Peony Moss: October 2003 Archives

Thanks to alicia (who is 82% good) for this link.

Catholics United for the Faith's tract "All Hallows Eve" (requires Adobe Reader)

Dear Mr. Riddle's poetry selection today is To His Coy Mistress by Andrew Marvell, which put me in mind of this poem

You, Andrew Marvell
Archibald MacLeish

And here face down beneath the sun
And here upon earth's noonward height
To feel the always coming on
The always rising of the night:

To feel creep up the curving east
The earthy chill of dusk and slow
Upon those under lands the vast
And ever climbing shadow grow

And strange at Ecbatan the trees
Take leaf by leaf the evening strange
The flooding dark about their knees
The mountains over Persia change

And now at Kermanshah the gate
Dark empty and the withered grass
And through the twilight now the late
Few travelers in the westward pass

And Baghdad darken and the bridge
Across the silent river gone
And through Arabia the edge
Of evening widen and steal on

And deepen on Palmyra's street
The wheel rut in the ruined stone
And Lebanon fade out and Crete
high through the clouds and overblown

And over Sicily the air
Still flashing with the landward gulls
And loom and slowly disappear
The sails above the shadowy hulls

And Spain go under and the shore
Of Africa the gilded sand
And evening vanish and no more
The low pale light across that land

Nor now the long light on the sea:
And here face downward in the sun
To feel how swift how secretly
The shadow of the night comes on . . .

I finished Hambet's fireman coat last night. I did cut the boots, but I'm not worrying about finishing them -- Hambet is too little for them just now. He can just wear his snow boots and a pair of black jeans.

If he wears the costume, that is! When I brought it out for him to try on, he said, "no!" and ran off! He's been refusing to try it on since.

The fireman coat is made of yellow vinyl with black contrast banding. (The pattern is Butterick 3244.)

I had such a time with the vinyl! It's got a felt backing, kind of like a vinyl tablecloth, and I'm sure the fabric was intended for upholstery. It was very cumbersome to sew. Most vexing was that I couldn't sew the applique stripes onto the costume -- it just kept getting knotted up into the machine! I think it just wouldn't feed properly, that the felt back of the top layer, when laid on top of the vinyl of the second layer, made the whole thing too slippery. I made a 911 call to my mother and another one to a lady around here who is an experienced seamstress. They were both out. So I clicked around Mothering With Grace, read about someone else's costume woes, and then remembered.... the glue gun.

I used the glue gun for the applique stripes and for the fastening tabs. So far it seems to be holding together. My mom called me back this evening and suggested sandwiching the vinyl between layers of tissue paper. Maybe sometime I'll go back and try it. The glue should hold up through tomorrow night, though -- especially if Hambet won't wear the costume! I cut it plenty big, so he can be a fireman next year too.

I like the idea of sewing, but I'm not very good at it. There's part of me that whispers, "you're not good at it because you don't sew very often" but there's another part of me that's whispering, "you're not good at it because you're doing everything the hard way" -- kind of like trying to cook with dull knives and a cheap pan: possible, but unnecessarily difficult.

So today I'm trying to cut the fireman costume. Difficulty #1 is that I am using vinyl, and I don't want to stick pins in it (I usually use millions of pins) because I don't want to poke all these holes in the vinyl.

Difficulty #2 is that it's a multi-sized pattern, and I am cutting one of the smaller sizes. I don't want to cut right on that cutting line, because what if I want to use the pattern again in a larger size? So I'm alternating between folding the pattern back and tracing the cutting lines directly on the fabric. It is such a hassle. There has got to be a better way. Is this the kind of situation where tracing paper is called for? (I have never used that before; when my mom taught me to sew we used tailor's chalk, which rubbed right off.)

I get really frustrated when I try to sew for myself. I have to do extensive alterations to my pattern -- sizing up and grading, shortening, ease -- enough to make practically a new pattern. Then I wind up getting confused when I cut, plus I have the multi-size pattern issue. Is there a good way to handle this? Is there a way to just trace my mutant pattern onto a new sheet of paper or something?

Got the old computer fired up, managed to log in, email's up too. I may still be scarce this week, though, because I might attempt sewing a Halloween costume for Hambet (fireman) although I'm not sure what we're going to do with our little fireman once he's got his gear on. Probably the usual: take pictures for the relatives, wait around for trick-or-treaters, realize around 8:30 that none are going to come, feast on the candy ourselves.

I am planning to take the computer into the shop tomorrow. If I can't figure out how to hook the old one back up, that means I won't have any kind of e-access for about a week, including email, in whice case I'll see you all next week.

Yesterday our friend Iris came over and joined us for an excursion to the pumpkin patch. Hambet had fun running all around Pumpkinland and choosing his Very Own Pumpkin. Iris found a Long Island Cheese pumpkin for herself and another exotic pumpkin for me -- mine is kind of a pale green color, like the color that used to be called "seafoam green" in the Crayola box. (I forgot what this variety is called.) We also hit the farm's market on the way out and came away with yummy Jonathan apples and some fruit butters and Damson plum preserves.

We rented The Matrix Reloaded and viewed it while Hambet snoozed on the couch. This was the first time my dh and I had seen the movie; my dh's verdict: "That is the most stylish train wreck of a movie I've ever seen." I thought all the scenes in Zion were pretty boring -- memo to science fiction movie writers, any scene that begins but we have to consult the Council! is inherently boring and should be cut. But the stunts were astounding, and I'm still digesting the philosophy parts. I will need to reread Old Oligarch's posts.

Today it's a cool, overcast day. Dh is mowing the lawn for the last time this year. Hambet is acting all cuddly and contrite, as well he should, for his behavior at Mass was probably the most abominable it's been in his entire life. I might try baking quick Sally Lunn bread so we can have something to smear those yummy preserves on.

Pressed for time, so please allow me to direct you to Thrown Back(including this great reflection on the value of Terri's life), Catholic Light, and Apologia for the latest.

UPDATE: Some great new links from Terrisfight.org:

Dr Jane Orient's statement on behalf of the Association of American Physicians and Surgeons (emphasis added):

“Terri Schindler-Schiavo has won a temporary stay from execution by a method too cruel to be used for convicted criminals. And yet her husband’s attorney is trying to spin it into a “death with dignity issue” with his comments on Tuesday.

“He says it’s cruel to begin rehydration. The opposite is true – dehydration is a
cruel, painful death. It is unconscionable that the state would have allowed removal of her feeding tube in the first place—it’s nothing less than state-sponsored euthanasia...."

Florida agency for protecting the rights of the disabled to investigate allegations of abuse

Heart attack? or trauma? Greta Van Sustern interviews a forensic pathologist on Terri's case. (Some have speculated that Terri had an eating disorder that led to a potassium deficiency; he does not address this possibility.)

than to attempt to comment on the brainiest blogs in the parish and remove all doubt.

Which Dr. Seuss character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

This is actually one of the few Dr Seuss books I've never read.

Thanks to Karen Marie for this quiz.

Unsaid by Dana Gioia

Thanks to Robert Bove of Spinsters for the link.

Dear Mr. Luse brings us Wesley J. Smith's article from the October First Things:

...according to the California Supreme Court, Robert Wendland enjoyed full constitutional rights when he was an auto-parts salesman. But he lost at least some of these protections during the sixteen months of his unconsciousness—only to regain them when he awakened. Or to put it another way, the court declared that unconscious people have lesser rights and their lives are entitled to fewer legal protections than conscious people—a radical decision that may mark the beginning of a personhood theory of constitutional jurisprudence in the United States...

...human non-persons with cognitive disabilities are beginning to be looked upon by some as a natural resource to be plundered for their body parts. There is even an effort underway by some in bioethics and transplant medicine to redefine death itself to include a diagnosis of permanent unconsciousness toward the end of gaining access to the organs of unconscious people for the purposes of transplantation....

I once knew a nurse who, as a conscientious objector, did not care for the heart-transplant patients we sometimes cared for on our floor. I am appreciating her position more and more.

Scott leaves this comment on one of our older posts on Terri:

Well I have only recently become familiar with this case however i am split on my thoughts. I Feel for all people involved with this situation. and pray for their grief. I have expressed in the past to my spouse that i would not want to live like teri's condition or any condition where i was unable to continue to feed myself or take care of myself and have never felt the need to discuss this with my parents this legislative ruling shows not only should i do that but perhaps put in some sort of order with the state clerk. Listening to her brother they have not had medical records or acess to doctors reports in the past 10 yrs perhaps there is more then they know at this point. May god allow the one that i entrust with my wishes make the decsion for me and not a body of lawmakers or any other party that thinks they have my best intrest in mind but rather the one that i share my deepest most inner thoguhts to on this subject and may he allow the others to grieve properly for their loss

World Net Daily has picked up the story.

UPDATE 10:00 AM: ABC radio news is reporting that Michael Schiavo "reportedly" is considering giving up the legal fight. Give it up, Michael! Just divorce Terri and go marry your children's mother. And tell the goon squad to lay off the elderly priest, okay?

Maybe he could resign as guardian, Terri's parents take up the guardianship, they get Terri into rehab, and then sue him for the rehab money that got spent on lawyers. How delicious!

Laura-lady has some interesting comments on Halloween:

I suspect that the commercial success of the holiday has very little to do with the neo-pagan emergence. Yes, we are becoming more superstitious as a society but that is really just a reaction to the atheistic tendencies of the past few decades. We are on a eternal flux between materialism and superstition and the pendulum is just swinging back the other way. This is hardly the first time that a vast number of people have been interested in the more silly and harmless looking aspects of the occult.

No, I think that the popularity of Halloween has to do with something entirely different. It has to do with the Culture of Death. Because one of the curious aspects of the Culture of Death is that it makes Death a forbidden subject ...We ignore the mortality of others so that we can ignore our own....

Thanks to the Mighty Barrister for this great news!

Now let's pray that Michael Schiavo's bid for an injunction fails....

This morning I tried to call the office of Senator Jim King, the President of the Florida Senate. It took me a few tries to even connect, and then at around 9:45 I got a recorded message that began with a little speech to the effect of, If you are calling concerning Terri Schiavo, the bill was passed by the committee this morning and will go to the Senate Floor at 6:45. The message box was still full, so I couldn't leave a message thanking Senator King.

This afternoon I received an email from Earl Appleby, a forwarded message from "Central Command":

URGENT!!! SENATE AND TERRI'S LAW

The bill is being pushed back because of language. We need to keep the pressure on. Here are the contact details for Florida's Senate.

But even if the bill passes, there's more trouble ahead: George Felos, Michael Schiavo's lawyer, has already filed for an injunction just in case the bill does pass and Governor Bush does sign it. Judge "Do you dare to question my decisions?" Greer is scheduled to hear that case this afternoon.

Meanwhile, here's a nice reflection from Wesley J. Smith:

Will Terri live or die? That can't be known. But this much is clear: The Schiavo case has changed everything. Our government leaders have been put on notice that tremendous numbers of people in this country are determined to halt the erosion of the sanctity/equality of life ethic in the practice of medicine. The routine practice of dehydrating the cognitively disabled who need a feeding tube--which occurs to the conscious and unconscious alike in all 50 states--is going to receive a badly needed review. The bioethics movement, which has been leading us down this treacherous slope, can no longer expect to pontificate from on high in medical matters of life and death and expect the people to just meekly go along.

In a sense, the Schiavo case is a miracle. Because so many people around the country and the world have come to love her, root for her, and yes, pray for her, our country has been given a rare opportunity to look at where we are heading as a culture and reinvigorate a simple moral maxim: When in doubt, choose life.

Details here, at Thrown Back.

The Florida House passed Terri's Bill 68-23 last night.

The President of the Senate's on board now, too. I was discouraged yesterday because my email to Senator King kept bouncing back, but it looks like it's because his email was swamped with pro-Terri emails!

Meanwhile, George "I talk to dying people telepathically" Felos, Michael Schiavo's lawyer, complains that this is unconstitutional. Perhaps he missed the part of the Florida Constitution establishing the legislative branch? slept through the "separation of powers" part in high school civics?

Mahalo plenty to early birds William Luse and Mark Shea for these links.

Jeanetta links to this amazing story about a Boston woman who, in 1985, woke up from a coma to find that her husband, a physician, was trying to pull the plug on her:

At that meeting, my then-husband, who was a doctor siding with the other doctor who wanted to let me die, held that clipboard which was my lifeline up in the air in front of me. He was not going to make it easy.

The purpose was to prove that the nurses were basically hallucinating and that I was
really and truly brain-dead.

To prove I could not communicate, he then put ink on my fingers and asked while laughing, "There isn't anything you want to tell us, is there?"

In response I spelled out, "D-I-V-O-R-C-E Y-O-U!" The laughter got very nervous then. The doctors called for medication because I was obviously having a seizure....

It is appalling how much prejudiced doctors (and others) will rationalize away as "primitive brain stem activity" and "seizures."

I'm a O65-C4-E27-A50-N66 Big Five!!

...asks Elinor, in our comments box below.

The short answer: "AP" stands for "attachment parenting."

Pansy and Gorbulas

And the long answer:

Attachment parenting is an approach to raising infants and young children that places a strong emphasis on responding to a baby's needs and fostering a strong, trusting bond between the baby and his parents. Dr. William Sears and his wife Martha (the parents of eight children) are probably AP's most famous faces, but I actually started learning about the AP approach through the writing of Sheila Kippley of the Couple to Couple League. The La Leche League has been advocating this approach for years. There's also some Catholic therapist guy out there with a blog who has written a book and other articles that include information on the AP approach, which he aptly describes as "natural law parenting."

The premise of attachment parenting is that tiny infants need their parents, especially their mothers. (Yes, it does seem strange that we need a parenting book to tell us this, but these are the crazy times we live in....) It rejects the idea that babies cry to "manipulate" their parents.

Some highlights of attachment parenting include breastfeeding "on demand" (i.e., feeding the baby when he's hungry, not just when you think he should be hungry), holding and cuddling the baby when he cries (instead of leaving him to "cry it out"), using a sling or other babywearing gizmo, and sharing sleep.

St. Bloggers who are interested in the AP approach include Alicia the midwife, Davey's mommy and daddy, Dinka, M'Lynn, the Popcaks, Sparki,and Smockmomma (can't speak for the other Summas yet.) (This list was right off the top of my head; apologies in advance to anyone who should be on the list and isn't!)

Mothering with Grace is a website for Catholic moms interested in AP.

UPDATE: Add Bobbi to the list of AP St Blogger's. She also has a list of AP links.

Kairos Guy has moved to stblogs.org! Welcome to the neighborhood!

Other new points of interest on our ever-expanding blogroll:

Amy's journal
Musings on Muses
Ora et Labora
A Plumbline in the Wind

Alicia has a great reflection on faith and obedience, and how following the rules helps save us from the natural consequences of dumb decisions.

Our culture, of course, hates rules and parenthood and faith and obedience. So now it is reaping the consequences of hating the rules.

Dear Governor Bush:

History is being made in your State at this very moment. When the history books get written, how do you want to be remembered?

Do you want to be remembered as the patriotic governor who defended Terri's rights as an American and as a human being? This morning, I read the news and learned that Terri is being denied the right to practice her religion -- Michael Schiavo AND THE POLICE prevented her from receiving Holy Communion from her priest. How much longer before someone else tries to take away your First Amendment rights to freedom of religous expression?

Do you want to be remembered as the brave governor who stood up for the rights of the disabled and saved a helpless, innocent woman from a horrible death by starvation? If Terri Schiavo were a criminal on death row, she would not be executed by starvation. If she were a stray dog in the pound, she would not be starved to death. If Florida won't starve murderers, and won't starve pets, why will it starve its disabled citizens?

There was a point in history where the evil plans of the Nazis could have been foiled -- a point when, if enough lawmakers, doctors, and other citizens had said NO, the mass killing of the disabled would have been prevented. There would have been no Dachau, no Auschwitz.

For that was how it began in Nazi Germany. Before the first train car rolled away to the death camps, the Nazis were euthanizing the weak and disabled -- the "useless eaters."

We are at a similar point now. A few judges in your State have made outrageous decisions that effectively tell Terri to shut up and die already. Not dying fast enough? No food, no water, no wasting time with rehab. Shut up and die!

This is not the time for "playing it safe." This is the time for patriotism. Act now, Governor. Defend the defenseless. Defend our Constitution. Help stop our nation from repeating the crimes of the Nazis.

Do you want to be remembered as the governor who stood by principles and did what was right? Or as the governor who stood by while evil attacked our country?

You do have options, Governor! The media has reported that several lawyers have submitted outlines of actions you could take. You could arrest Michael Schiavo for contempt of court, for failing to spend Terri's trust money on rehabilitation as ordered. You could close down the hospice for fraud and criminal neglect. You could impeach Judge Greer. You could send in the National Guard.

Be brave, Governor. Take action, and be remembered as the Governor who did the right thing.

Sincerely yours,

Peony Moss, RN

The buzzard never says it is to blame.
The panther wouldn't know what scruples mean.
When the piranha strikes, it feels no shame.
If snakes had hands, they'd claim their hands were clean.

A jackal doesn't understand remorse.
Lions and lice don't waver in their course.
Why should they, when they know they're right?

Though hearts of killer whales may weigh a ton,
in every other way they're light.

On this third planet of the sun
among the signs of bestiality
a clear conscience is Number One.

--Wislawa Symborska
(trans. Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanaugh)

Let us now consider the plight of the blender, that versatile -- but often ignored -- appliance. That drainer of current and dimmer of lights; that crusher of ice and that sine qua non of smoothies.

The blender longs to serve. It knows that if only it were accessible, if only its owner, its lord and master, remembered its mere existence, that it would be pressed into service. It longs for the day when its owner sees it and exclaims, "Eureka! Thou, O blender, can help me with my problem of too many ripe bananas!"

But the blender's power is its undoing. Its service is usually not required daily (unless its owner is on Slim-Fast or a daquiri jag), so it is usually banished from the prime real estate on the countertop, from the august company of the coffee maker and the toaster oven. Yet its heavy base and its tall, majestic vessel often prevent it from being stowed in the lower cabinets.

So the blender sits, ignored but patiently waiting, in the upper cabinets. It knows that it has been forgotten by its owner. It knows that if the owner thinks for a moment about a smoothie or a milkshake, the happy idea will be followed by the grim realization that a smoothie or milkshake will involve remembering where the blender is, finding the stepstool, climbing up to retrieve it, blowing the dust off, realizing that the upper cabinets really do need a thorough cleaning.... The effort, and the oppressive thought of fall cleaning, are too much. The food processor, squat and resigned with its harem of accessories, sees the blender's downcast countenance and sneers.

And the blender languishes on, forgotten, dreaming of a renovation that will allow him to join the inner circle of elite household countertop appliances....

Their excellent taste in professional sports -- and in uniforms. Terry does not approve of the Dallas Stars' new third jersey. But when you put an ice hockey team in Dallas, this is the kind of mutant result you're going to get.

boy, it's been a while since I did one of these.

1. Name five things in your refrigerator. Three kinds of milk (whole, skim, buttermilk), eggs, cheese, hot dogs, ketchup.

2. Name five things in your freezer. Ice cubes, chicken breasts, broccoli, unsalted butter, the freezer bowl for the ice cream maker.

3. Name five things under your kitchen sink. Trash can, dishwasher detergent, compost can, plastic bottle full of crushed eggshells, dish drainer rack and tray.

4. Name five things around your computer. Telephone, plastic plate, wallet, dustcloth, copy of Where the Wild Things Are

5. Name five things in your medicine cabinet. Toothbrush, toothpaste, tweezer, dental floss, bottle of hair goo purchased in 1998.

Five different lawyers and legal entities have submitted suggestions to Governor Jeb Bush on actions he can take to save Terri Schiavo.

Read more here.

May I add a few more? such as impeaching Judge Greer? calling out the National Guard? How about charging Michael Schiavo with contempt of court for spending the rehab money on lawyers? Investigating the hospice for fraud?

Thanks to the Mighty Barrister and JS Kern, commenting at Apologia, for the links.

When I look at the recent pictures of Terri Schiavo, I always remember a patient I helped care for about ten years ago, when I was in nursing school.

I was halfway through my first year, and had taken a job as a nursing assistant at a hospital. I worked the night shift, on the float pool, so at the beginning of my shift I'd find out where I was going that night. At first I hated the float pool, but after a while I began to enjoy it as I got to know the staff of the different floors and learned their ways.

On this particular night, I was assigned to a medical unit. I'd been there before and had gotten to know the other nursing students who worked there all the time. One of the crueller customs at some hospitals is bathing "total care" patients -- brain-damaged patients unable to help themselves -- at night, when things are quieter, freeing up more time for the day shift to get their baths done.

Tonight there was only one bath, and it wasn't for any of my patients. I was suprised when Patty, the other nursing student, implored me to help her. Patty was a tough young woman from Baltimore, heartlessly practical and usually completely unflappable, but she confessed that she just couldn't face going into her patient's room alone.

I looked down the hall. Her patient was all the way at the end of the hall, in an isolation room -- the kind with a little antechamber between the room and the corridor. That antechamber and the two heavy doors barely muted the eerie wailing coming from the room.

Bath time rolled around, and as Patty got the towels and blankets together, I flipped quickly through the chart. It was a terribly sad story. The patient was a young woman, barely into her thirties. She had been abused as a child and had struggle for years with mental illness. Just as she had begun to emerge from that turmoil and pull her life together, she had developed a serious infectious disease and went into cardiac arrest. They had managed to revive her, but she had suffered a severe anoxic insult -- brain damage -- while her heart had stopped.

We entered the room. The patient was painfully thin, with short, shaggy dark hair. Her arms, hands, and legs were beginning to draw up into contractures, but occasionally she would helplessly paw at the air. She started to cry out again. Patty shuddered, as she unpacked the washcloths, anticipating yet another nerve-wracking night.

I went around to the other side of the bed. I was feeling relaxed -- it was a slow night, there were two of us there to give the bath, and I was going home in four hours. Out of habit, I greeted the patient and introduced myself.

The wailing immediately stopped. Patty looked up and stared.

I started explaining what we were going to do and apologized for having to disturb this poor woman at three in the morning. She didn't attempt to speak, but watched us intently and didn't cry out again.

We started washing up. I was struck by how pretty the patient was, and told her so. Patty got into the spirit of things, and before long we were practically playing spa -- brushing hair, brushing teeth, massaging the patient's hands and feet. We exercised her hands, arms, and legs, changed the linens, and finally tucked her into bed and dimmed the lights. Patty was beaming as she propped the patient's hand on a pillow. "Thank you! Oh, thank you!" she gushed -- to the patient.

I don't know what happened to the patient. (She probably got shoved in a nursing home, where her family might or might not have visited her.) I don't know what happened to Patty, either, but I hope that as she started her career she remembered that night as vividly as I do.

Kathy the Carmelite is going on hiatus for at least six months; T.S. O'Rama very kindly posted her goodbye.

Praying for you, Kathy. You've always set such a good example of charity, and in this new chapter you are setting a truly heroic example of sacrifical love through wifely submission.

From Terrisfight.org:

Flos Carmeli has several lovely posts up for La Madre, including this selection from her Autobiography, which I need to staple to my forehead:

....why, then, should they abstain from [prayer] who serve and desire to serve God? Certainly I cannot comprehend it, unless it be that men have a mind to go through the troubles of this life in greater misery, and to shut the door in the face of God, so that He shall give them no comfort in it. I am most truly sorry for them, because they serve God at their own cost; for of those who pray, God Himself defrays the charges, seeing that for a little trouble He gives sweetness, in order that, by the help it supplies, they may bear their trials.

Who else but...G.K. Chesterton?

The Song Against Grocers
(From "The Flying Inn", 1914)

God made the wicked Grocer
For a mystery and a sign,
That men might shun the awful shops
And go to inns to dine;
Where the bacon's on the rafter
And the wine is in the wood,
And God that made good laughter
Has seen that they are good.

The evil-hearted Grocer
Would call his mother "Ma'am,"
And bow at her and bob at her,
Her aged soul to damn,
And rub his horrid hands and ask
What article was next
Though MORTIS IN ARTICULO
Should be her proper text.

His props are not his children,
But pert lads underpaid,
Who call out "Cash!" and bang about
To work his wicked trade;
He keeps a lady in a cage
Most cruelly all day,
And makes her count and calls her "Miss"
Until she fades away.

The righteous minds of innkeepers
Induce them now and then
To crack a bottle with a friend
Or treat unmoneyed men,
But who hath seen the Grocer
Treat housemaids to his teas
Or crack a bottle of fish sauce
Or stand a man a cheese?

He sells us sands of Araby
As sugar for cash down;
He sweeps his shop and sells the dust
The purest salt in town,
He crams with cans of poisoned meat
Poor subjects of the King,
And when they die by thousands
Why, he laughs like anything.

The wicked Grocer groces
In spirits and in wine,
Not frankly and in fellowship
As men in inns do dine;
But packed with soap and sardines
And carried off by grooms,
For to be snatched by Duchesses
And drunk in dressing-rooms.

The hell-instructed Grocer
Has a temple made of tin,
And the ruin of good innkeepers
Is loudly urged therein;
But now the sands are running out
From sugar of a sort,
The Grocer trembles; for his time,
Just like his weight, is short.

Elinor Dashwood blogs on Halloween, and includes practical tips on saint costumes.

... the bottom line in the child's mind is a) dressing up and b) getting candy. Provide those two treats, and they'll be as happy as clams.

Works for me.

As many others around St Blog's have posted, if something dramatic doesn't happen, Terri Schiavo is scheduled to have her feeding tube removed tomorrow at 2:00 PM.

Joni Eareckson Tada arrived in Florida today to join the vigil.

The linked article also has a quick rundown on the legal maneuverings behind the effort to get rid of Terri. Every time I read about how she's been treated in the courts, I just come away more disgusted and frighened.

The article mentions that her trust fund, which was intended for her rehabilitation but instead has been used to litigate her extermination, has run dry, and that the hospice where she's been kept is now being paid by federal funds through Medicaid. Some of Terri's former nurses have alleged falsification of medical records. I would love to see a flock of lawyers and inspectors general descend upon this place, looking for fraud.

It's a Tuesday, but it feels like a Monday around here since my husband had Columbus Day off. He had already left this morning when Hambet woke up, so we had tears first thing in the morning -- "Where's my daddy? I want my daddy!"

I'm very happy with the paint job in the kitchen. The fresh paint on the trim (Behr high gloss Ultra White) looks very cheerful next to the yellow.

We had contractors in last week to install a drainage system in our basement. (They were not the ones recommended to us by Mr. L, the contractor we turn to for carpentry and other Prussian Green Money Pit needs. Angel of God, my Guardian Dear, slap me silly upside my ear, if I ever again from Mr L's advice veer.) I would be happy to advise Beltway bloggers as to who NOT to choose to install their drainage systems.

It's a long story and one that causes steam to come out of my ears, but, after six days of dirt piles and broken promises, the contractors finally finished yesterday evening. I am so glad to be rid of them and have the house to myself again. And I'm glad to turn this tale over to my husband. (We have not ruled out small-claims court.)

In other news, thank you all for prayers for my grandma. She is out of the hospital and back on the farm. It sounds like she has reluctantly consented to "companion care" -- having a aide around during the day just to help keep an eye on things. So we'll see how that works out. My mom and her brothers and sisters are trying hard to come up with solutions that will allow grandma to stay on the farm as long as she can.

And finally, baseball. I don't follow this sport at all, but even I heard about the fight on Saturday. I just want to say that I can't remember the last time hockey coaches jumped off the bench and got involved in a scrap.

From the Terri's Fight mailing list:

Terri Schindler-Schiavo, age 39, will have her feeding tube removed at 2PM on Wednesday, October 15, unless Governor Jeb Bush is persuaded to intervene.

On Monday, October 13, at 12 noon, Terri’s family and friends will begin a 24-hour-a-day vigil outside the Woodside Hospice where Terri lives. Hospice Woodside is located at 6774 102nd Avenue N. (near 66th Street N and 102nd Avenue N) in Pinellas Park, Florida. The vigil will continue until Terri is rescued by Governor Bush, or killed.

Terri’s family asks that you please come to the vigil as we call on Governor Jeb Bush to save her life. Your presence is welcome for any length of time, day or night.

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October 13, 2003 Statement from the parents of Terri Schindler-Schiavo--Bob & Mary Schindler:

We love our daughter very much and we want her home. Over the last 13 years, Terri has laughed with us, cried with us, talked with us, and even tried to get out of her chair. The accusations that Terri is in a coma or is a "vegetable" are a lie.

We beg Michael Schiavo, and those working with him to end our daughter’s life, to let her come home to her family. We will sign any agreement you want, giving you all monies related to Terri’s collapse and any insurance money that may be forthcoming. You take the money. We just want our daughter.

-------------------------------------------

The family especially invites you to be at the vigil in front of the Woodside Hospice for press conferences scheduled for:

Monday, October 13, at noon
Tuesday, October 14, at noon, and
Wednesday, October 15, at 2PM

**For those who live in the Tallahassee area; if you could attend a vigil in front of the Governor’s Mansion please contact us immediately.

....those who think painting a kitchen means flipping through dozens of paint chips before finally choosing the right shade of yellow, pulling out all the nails, filling and sanding the holes, wiping it all down, washing the walls, putting down masking tape, paper and drop cloths, priming, letting the primer dry, painting, wiping up the lip of the paint can before closing it, and carefully washing the brushes and rollers before hanging them up to dry....

...and those who think painting a kitchen means getting a paintbrush and a can of paint and going to it.

Perhaps it would be wise if the Pre-Cana courses included something about painting on that questionnaire, and addressed the implications of different painting preferences for maintaining marital harmony on Saturday afternoons.

Sparki, who'll soon be observing her very first All Souls Day as a Catholic, reflects on the comforting doctrine of Purgatory.

"...'cause it's ain't my jurisdiction.

And no more wasting time seeing if she can eat by mouth, anyway."

What if the Schindlers (Terri's parents) had argued that depriving Terri of rehabilitation was depriving therapists of work, and therefore depriving Florida of tax revenue based on their income oh, crumb, not even that would have worked since Florida has no state income tax.

Times Against Humanity promises more coverage later today.

But what else can be done, short of civil disobedience? If only there were enough doctors and nurses who refused to play along with this.

1) Did you have a good Catholic formation as a child?

I was taught a few bedtime prayers, taken to Mass every Sunday, and occasionally carted off by my mother (never my father) to Confession or parish devotions. Our family had a crucifix in each bedroom, and said Grace Before Meals (though only at dinner, and only at home.)

But that was it. We did no regular devotions as a family. We never discussed the Faith -- prayer, spirituality, Bible stories, morality, devotions -- ever. If the topic of church came up, it was only in the context of activities -- getting there, coming back, do you have your CCD books, and so on. I was given a children's Bible, but nobody ever read it to me or talked about what it said. That, my parents' unread Bible, and a St Joseph's Catechism were the only spiritual books in the house. I never saw my parents pray outside of Mass or Grace Before Meals. My dad constantly complained if the sermon ran "too long"; we went to 8 AM Mass to "get it over with." My parents occasionally mentioned the "old days, when Mass was in Latin" (which, in 1981, seemed as long ago to me as the reign of Tyrannosaurus Rex -- I had no idea how recently the change had taken place.) But when I actually asked to attend our parish's Sunday evening Latin Mass, they had plenty to say to me about how "holier than thou" I was acting -- what, was I too good to go to Mass with them? and why was I being such a hypocrite wanting to go to Latin Mass when I couldn't even get along to my sister? (They did take me, but I went by myself, and got this lecture coming and going. I got the message loud and clear and never asked to go again.) They also spoke with disdain about other people who were "too religious" ("faith should be private.")

At some point my mother did get the impression that our CCD classes were somewhat lacking in content; she bought a couple of St Joseph Catechisms but then never did anything with them. I guess she just thought we would read and understand them all on our own. I did read them (on the sly) and was drawn to the clarity of the teaching, but I felt confused. The Faith presented in the Catechisms seemed to have nothing to do with the faith being taught in CCD. So if the Catechisms were out of date and it was true that the Church Didn't Do That Any More, then why bother with them? But if the Catechisms were true, then what did that make CCD?

When it came time to pick a saint's name for Confirmation, I was at a loss because I didn't know any saints. I eventually chose St Margaret Mary because I liked the name Margaret and because I thought seeing an apparition of Our Lord might be interesting.

I had no concept of prayer beyond a memorized formula, or of God being the least bit interested in me. To me, Church was like school: it was something you did because you were Supposed To. Even though my CCD teachers insisted that God thought I was special and we were a Church family and Jesus loved me, I thought those were all just platitudes, like the ones served up in school, Girl Scouts, and those public service announcements in between Saturday morning cartoons.

My siblings attend Mass occasionally, but one of them chose a civil marriage ceremony over any kind of church wedding. I don't think any of them gives a moment's thought to the Church's teaching on just about anything.

2) When is the first time you experienced God?

When I was in fourth grade, we moved to Northern Virginia and started attending church at our local parish. (My father was in the military, so up to then, Mass had always been in base chapels, gyms, places like that.) One Lenten Friday, my mother announced that we were going to Stations of the Cross devotions. The solemnity, the Stabat Mater, the meditations and prayers by St Alphonsus Liguouri -- this was different than boring old church.

And then came Benediction. I had never seen that before! The gold vestments, the heavy gold monstrance, the humeral veil around the priest's hands, the Tantum Ergo, the Divine Praises, the incense.... My heart, my mind, and every one of my senses were fully engaged. This was no boring "be nice to others" commonplace. This was something totally different, totally Other, totally beyond the everyday!

If this was God, I wanted more!

3) What was your most significant adult conversion experience?

I fell away from belief in my teens -- or thought I did -- but part of me still wanted to believe, still felt "the twitch upon the thread." By the time I started college, it seemed to me that the question hinged on whether God existed. If He did, the Church was for real; if he didn't, then history was a tragedy and life was absurd. I wanted the former to be true, but I couldn't make that final step of faith.

One October afternoon, as I was outside studying, a tiny little ant crawled across my book. Maybe it was seeing how tiny and complex and perfect the little ant was as he went about his errands, indifferent to me; maybe it was just too pretty a day for callow teenaged existential despair (October afternoons in Virginia do have that effect.) I can't explain how or why. But it was at that moment that I made that last step of faith. Since then I have struggled (especially with the scandal of heterodox parishes and with my own tepidity and sloth.) But I have never lost sight of the Church and, through her, her Founder.

4) How did you meet your husband? Another church story! I was twenty-five, a year out of nursing school, and bored with the single life. It was nothing like the busy, glamorous life I had expected. I was all alone in a new city, I didn't have any friends, and I wasn't doing anything fun. I had had problems with severe depression during nursing school, and though I was recovering, for a long time I only had enough mental energy to get to work and to treatment. And that was it! Go to work, go to treatment, come home, go to bed. I also did shift work, so half the time I was at work when everyone else was going home.

Finally I found myself doing five straight weeks of the 3-11 shift. I caught a terrible case of the flu, and I had nobody I could ask to bring over a bottle of Gatorade. I felt like a ghost, invisible, just floating around in Arlington. I thought, I have GOT to get a life.

So I demanded (and got) five straight weeks of the day shift and sat down to make a plan: I wanted to get married, but in order to do that, I would need to get engaged. In order to get engaged, I needed to meet men. What kind of men did I want to meet? Nice, Catholic, intellectual men who were conservative but did not think the fullness of Faith subsisted in the Republican Party. Where would I meet men like that?

I decided to give the Diocese of Arlington's Young Adult Ministry a whirl. (This was before the Theology on Tap and the Washington Catholic Forums got started -- I had no idea of the Catholic activities that were going on in the city.) Occasionally the YA ministry took a break from volleyball and had a Bible study. That seemed like a promising fishing spot.

So off I headed for the first night of the Bible Study. (At that time it was led by one of the members, whose only qualification for leading a Bible study was being willing to do it.) I found myself sitting next to a young man wearing a green sweater and a cute smile. We were engaged ten months later.

5) How did you end up in the Washington, DC, area? (Isn't your family from North Dakota?)

My mother is from ND, and my father is from New York. Since my father was in the military, we moved around a lot. I really liked the Northern Virginia/ DC area when we lived there, and when we moved away, I knew I wanted to go back some day. So I went to school in Virginia and then in Maryland, and took a job in a D.C. hospital.

Weighted bats:

The Two Sleepy Mommies wonder about this a lot, too.

'Baptizing' Feminism:

...Feminism can be thought of logically in terms of what it purports to be: pro-female. For what is more pro-female than being pro-life since half of all children aborted are baby girls? [actually, more than half -- PM] And what is more pro-female than being against contraceptives which typically harm the female body? And what is more pro-female that proclaiming the fact that the stay-at-home mom has a more important job in raising a soul than a female CEO has in raising profit?

The other night, a local talk radio program did an evening show on some new implantable hormonal contraceptive for men -- it sounds a bit like Norplant for guys. I only caught a snippet of the show -- enough to hear the host (Chris Core, who is a convert to Catholicism) and the callers speaking bluntly about the health risks of the Pill! (Basically, "women have been gambling with their health for years with hormonal contraception, should men be taking the same risks?")

The Social Security Administration has a web site where you can look up the popularity of baby names by year, by state, and by the name itself.

For 2002, the top ten names for boys (from one to ten) were Jason, Michael, Joshua, Matthew, Ethan, Joseph, Andrew, Christopher, Daniel, and Nicholas.

For girls: Emily, Madison, Hannah, Emma, Alexis, Ashley, Abigail, Sarah, Samantha, and Olivia. (Didn't Ashley on The Young and the Restless name her baby Abby, back in 2000?)

I can't remember where I read about this, but apparently girls have been getting faddish names for a while. The Victorians were apparently fond of giving their daughters "creative" names, and would sometime use a theme to name all their daughters. Florence Nightingale was named after an Italian city, as was her sister, Parthenope. Other families went with flower (Rose, Myrtle, Violet) or gem (Opal, Ruby) themes for their daughters' names.

Why, oh why, didn't I take shop in middle school instead of orchestra? I haven't touched a viola since I was fifteen, but I regret that shop class almost every day since we've become homeowners.

Books aren't that much help either, in that they tend to focus on small, typical projects in houses that don't have 1967-era wiring, since modified by other homeowners with more enthusiasm than prudence. And I simply don't have the knowledge base needed to just start experimenting. Unfortunately, my husband has the same problem: no shop class, no natural aptitude, and no memories, either fond or practical, of tinkering in the garage with Dad.

For example, one of the owners wired the house for cable by simply drilling a hole in the exterior brick and the wall board and threading a coax cable through it. So now there's this coax cable all rolled up in the corner. If we get rid of it, how do we close up the hole? How about the passage the guy made by making a 3" diameter hole, sticking a piece of PVC in it, and threading more coax through that? The electrician is recommending that we replace our circuit panel. Is he trying to save us from an electrical fire, or trying to pay off his boat early? And while we're on the topic of electricity, what in the world did Harry Homeowner do with that downstairs receptacle? There's some kind of tan box in there that seems to be wired into the wall.

Less orchestra, more shop. Less calculus, more Aeneid. O my wasted youth!

Gerard Serafin posts a picture of the Holy Father at Pompeii.

A blessed feast of Our Lady of the Rosary to all.

Governor Jeb Bush has filed an Amicus Memorandum on behalf of Terri! (link requires Adobe)

Thanks to Earl at Times Against Humanity for the heads-up.

'Madison' splashes into baby-name scene

Eric Johnson and Bryan Baldwin, of Catholic Light, seems to think so. And I agree.

There are many professions that require higher education, but as Eric points out in his comments box, it seems like students are required to jump through unnecessary hoops to get that preparation. If those hoops were part of a solid, liberal arts education that would be great (wouldn't it be great if lawyers, doctors, and nurses had some solid background in philosophy, ethics, history, theology, and literature?) But not many colleges and universities pay more than lip service to the liberal arts any more.

Twelve Latin Chants Every Catholic Should Know

Thanks to Mr Henry Dietrich for this excellent link.

I just may drop the Post a note about this one:

Pope Cites 'New and Serious Difficulties' With Anglicans (WaPo, marketing questions)

The article is worth looking at for the Holy Father's words to the Archbishop of Canterbury, of course. But the line that rubbed me the wrong way was this one (emphasis added):

The ailing pontiff slurred his words but otherwise appeared alert.

We all know, of course, that for years the WaPo stylebook has dictated that the word "pontiff" shall always be preceded by the word "ailing", whatever the actual topic of the story might be. ("Conservative" is acceptable as an occasional substitute.)

But the thing that angers me about this particular article is the callous assumption that of course the old guy is dozing off -- and the callous and ignorant assumption that people who slur their speech do so out of a decreased level of consciousness. News flash, WaPo -- it's possible to be fully alert, fully engaged, and still speak unclearly. There are all kinds of people out there, with a wide range of speech disabilities, who might slur their words but are smarter and more alert than your reporter.

But as usual, when it comes to covering the Pope, there's only one story that the Washington Post and her media sisters are really interested in writing and only one that they ever actually write: the next conclave -- with the subplot of the battle for the Soul of the Church between the smart progressives v. the troglodyte hard-line conservatives. No matter what the actual story is, that's the story they write. It just writes itself, doesn't it?

Oh, and memo to the WaPo -- don't start planning your conclave coverage just yet. Like many frail elders, the Holy Father is going to have good days and bad days, and a few bad days are not enough to start buying your tickets for Rome. Jeanetta brings us this example.

UPDATE: Secret Agent Man fisks a ghoulish CNN story.

....or, at least make room for it in the Metro section: Confession Rite Evolves To Meet Changing Need (washingtonpost.com; marketing questions)

First, a quibble -- is it "the Rite" that's evolved? Or is it that people are realizing that they're not "too evolved" to go to Confession (unlike those who "left behind" the sacrament, presumably because they thought they no longer needed it?) The option for face-to-face Confession has been around since the seventies, and it is an option -- not the norm. The vast majority of people I talk to seem to prefer the screen, and from what I've seen, it's the screened confessionals that have the longest lines.

I was pleased to see Monsignor Kane quoted in the article. During Lent, he arranged extra time for individual confessions, with four priests available for several hours on a weekday evening. Attendance was, shall we say, underwhelming. The next Sunday he addressed the matter from the pulpit, saying (in almost these words), "We're going to try this again next week and I KNOW we're going to have more people there." (His parishioners took the hint.)

One of my favorite quotes from the article (emphasis added):

The Rev. William Byrne, Catholic chaplain at the University of Maryland's College Park campus, also promotes confession. As a result, "we have pretty solid lines, probably 30 kids on Sundays before Mass," he said.

"The thing that makes me mad is hearing 40- to 60-year-old Catholics talk about 'Catholic guilt' " in the context of confession, said Byrne, who is 39. "I say that's baloney. We're the only ones who have sacramentalized the system of offering absolution and forgiveness for sin. Our emphasis is forgiveness."

Byrne, who goes to confession every two weeks because it "helps keep me honest and on my toes," said that many Catholic students at U-Md. are "tired of this subjective sense of right and wrong. It doesn't match what their hearts are saying." But since many have not been to confession since they were 7 or 8 years old and preparing for their first communion, he passes out a "confession cheat sheet" that explains, step-by-step, what to do.

I get so tired of this "Catholic guilt" wheeze. If you've left the Church and you don't think you've done anything wrong, what are you feeling guilty about?

My husband once had a co-worker inform him that his reservations about disciplining a subordinate too harshly were driven by "Catholic guilt." (When he told our friend Iris, who attends a fundie-leaning Church, the story, her reponse was "If she said that to me, I'd show her my Catholic fist.")

I also get impatient when people start accusing others of "making them feel guilty." Please -- if you don't think you did anything wrong, why should you feel guilty? How can someone else make you feel guilty?

Are all these people complaining about guilt because they're trying to drown out the voice of their conscience?

Like dear Mr Riddle, I find that our blogroll is grown quite large, and wants to grow larger every day! Thanks to all who have linked us recently -- I'll try to catch up with reciprocal links, I promise!

Meanwhile, following Alicia's lead, some inactive blogs will be moved from the roll until their owners start blogging again. (And a hint from them by email would be most welcome!)

I may be scarce the next week or so -- a lot of stuff going on around the Prussian Green Money Pit.

Soon it will be time to start mulching the vegetable garden and putting it away for the winter. I still need to decide where I'm going to try planting some garlic (a friend gave me a couple of bulbs from his garden.)

I still have a few Roma tomatoes that are hanging on bravely. I did have one great tomato success in the Brandywines. That plant had two green fruits before it toppled over. I took the fruit in, intending to make fried green tomatoes, but they started to ripen. One spoiled before I could get it, but as for the other.... I enjoyed two lunches of chicken, bacon, and luscious sliced tomato on sourdough bread.

I had a big basil harvest earlier this week too, enough for eight batches of pesto! We had one for supper and I froze the rest, so we'll have some for the winter.

I picked up some rooting hormone today. My next project is to try to get some of the herbs to root so I can grow them indoors. I hope to get that started this weekend.

his prize for being commenter 100 at our new site!

Today is the feast of the Guardian Angels.

It is also the anniversary of the beginning of the sniper spree in the Washington, DC suburbs. There had been a single earlier shooting, but it was on that Tuesday morning that the snipers drove up and down Connecticut and Georgia Avenues, shooting one person after another, announcing to all that they were on the loose. Many of the shootings took place near my house and in the neighborhoods where I run my errands. This morning I filled up at the gas station where the taxi driver was murdered.

My husband called me from work to let me know what was going on. I stayed home with Hambet for the rest of the day. For weeks, every walk across a parking lot was an act of fervent trust in our Guardian Angels. No more strolling down the sidewalk at Hambet's short-legged pace; no more pausing to let him look at the dogs in the pet store window. My husband takes the bus to work, and I was afraid for him every morning and evening. (He wouldn't let me drive him to the train station.)

Now it's a year later, but I still think of those terrible weeks in October -- it was then that my husband got in the habit of listening to the news on the radio when he went downstairs for breakfast. He'd never done that before. Eventually the shootings stopped, but he stayed in the habit. The last shooting took place only a few miles from our house. That morning we didn't need the radio to tell us there's been another murder -- we were awakened by the sound of helicopters, and the thud-thud-thud went on for hours.

May God have mercy on the souls of the victims, and grant conversion to the murderers.

Around late '99 I experienced a sudden impulse to study up on Saint Therese. I don't know where it came from, but I read her Autobiography and other books about her (and finally began to have a glimmer of understanding about what she was trying to teach me) I enrolled in the Brown Scapular, out of some sense of trying to imitate her, to establish a relationship with her, in some small way. Finally, that winter, I had the opportunity to pray before her reliquary during its worldwide pilgrimage.

In years past, I always had trouble with the idea of "spiritual childhood." I would think back to when I was seven or eight, remember what I was like, and just think "yikes! That can't be right!" I certainly didn't remember any loving trustfulness; by that age I was already well along in developing an attitude of outward compliance but interior alienation: give the teachers and parents what they seem to want so they'll leave you alone.

It wasn't until I encountered Therese on the eve of the Jubilee year that it finally occurred to me that she was talking about little little children: three years, or even younger. Now that I have been given the privilege of being Hambet's mommy, all I have to do is watch him to see good examples of that trusting attitude. Lately it's been medicinal kisses. No matter how hard the bump, how sharp the pinch, Hambet runs up in perfect confidence for a kiss to make it better. The thing that amazes me is that it works! Even when I know he must still be hurting, as soon as he gets that kiss he assures me that he "feels much better." I can even see him working to stop crying and calm himself down.

When I think of Therese, I also think of the amazing example of her parents. Did the loving, peaceful atmosphere they created in their home help Therese develop her spiritual gifts to the fullest?

St Therese, Doctor of the Little Way, pray for us!