3.69

I can live with that.

I can DEFINITELY live with that :)

WOW

Thank you, God.

Time to fall on my face in thanksgiving.

:P

Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you couldn't laugh?

Not just at other people, but at yourself.

What if you couldn't sit back and realize how utterly ridiculous you can be sometimes?

Would we get maniacally depressed?

Or just excessively bored?

Thank goodness for man's risibility.

And for Aristotle, who taught me what that word meant, early in freshman year.

Life is so good.

So is God.

What would we do without either?

Absolutely nothing.

St. Joseph

I have recently fallen head-over-heels in love with St. Joseph. The reason why is something that stays with me.

This song, entitled "Joseph's Lullaby," makes me cry. The beauty of fatherhood... the love present there... Can you imagine holding a tiny baby boy, knowing that He is the prince of peace? Knowing the prophecies about His future (especially Isaiah...), how could his heart help rejoicing, but break at the same time?

Go to sleep my Son
This manger for your bed
You have a long road before You
Rest Your little head

Can You feel the weight of Your glory?
Do You understand the price?
Does the Father guard Your heart for now
So You can sleep tonight?

Go to sleep my Son
Go and chase Your dreams
This world can wait for one more moment
Go and sleep in peace

I believe the glory of Heaven
Is lying in my arms tonight
Lord, I ask that He for just this moment
Simply be my child

Go to sleep my Son
Baby, close Your eyes
Soon enough You'll save the day
But for now, dear Child of mine
Oh my Jesus, Sleep tight

Awkward!

Dominic was sitting on my bed, hands on my waist, trying to pull me into his lap. I had my arms around Chris's neck, trying to avoid Dominic's lap.

How did I get here? Funny story, that...

I couldn't breathe. My back was a tangled mess, not allowing my lungs to expand properly. I was lightheaded, nauseaous, and kind of scared. To make matters worse, I wasn't in my dorm, but sitting outside the boys' dorm next-door.

Dominic and Chris insisted on helping me back to the dorm. I wasn't too resistant to that suggestion, aside from the fact that Chris had a concussion. The whole "blind leading the blind" did not sound incredibly appealing. But it was only a hundred feet. What could happen?

We got to the gate of the dorm without event. Given the strict no gender-mixing in the dorm, they tried to hand me off to a couple of girls. Then I passed out: a lack of oxygen does eventually get to you. I woke up, with a bruised tailbone, a horrendous pain in the middle of my back, and the wind knocked out of me. I sat, curled up on the ground, crying. The guys looked at each other and then back at me. "We'd better get a prefect."

Prefect permission having been granted, they heaved me back up and dragged me inside. Most guys on campus joke about getting into the girls' dorm, but I don't think many of them really want to. I can imagine it's rather awkward, especially at ten pm. They hollered, "man in the dorm" as they went through, me muttering directions between gasps for air. In the room, they realized that they shouldn't try to get me onto my bed, which is four feet off the ground. Instead, they decided to lower me onto my roommate's bed, which is situated on the floor.

Which brings us to the awkward place that I began. Dominic sat down on the bed, trying to lower me down. Even in my pain and disorientation, I distinctly did NOT want to sit in Dominic's lap. Chris was holding me up under the arms, slinging my arms around his neck, trying to ensure that I didn't collapse again. To avoid lap-sitting, I kept trying to scoot myself forward, which consequently squished me into Chris's stomach. He was alarmed by this, to say the least. "What ARE you doing??? SIT DOWN!"

Looking up at him and realizing there wasn't any way to explain or avoid it, I sat. In his lap. Oh, the awkwardness.

Dear, dear, sweet boys.

Walking out of the dorm, Chris walked past Nathan, who happens to be a prefect. Chris quickly explained that he had permission from a prefect to help someone to their room. Nathan assured him that he had been curious, but not terribly worried. He inquired which person it was who required the assistance. His response after hearing Chris's reply:

"I figured."

I'm beginning to be predictable. Oh my...

Nothing new under the sun...

"Fallacies do not cease to be fallacies because they become fashions."

A timeless bit of wisdom from Chesterton.

It reminded me of something that came up on the philosophy exam this semester. After finishing the first two essays, I perused the ten questions at the bottom of the paper. Aside from the required essays, which I had just completed, we had to pick one of the other topics to write on. One jumped out at me as something that would be interesting (and not only fairly easy) to write about. Aristotle presents the opinion of others:

"All men aim at the apparent good, but have no control over the appearance."

This opinion he refutes by arguing that every man really does have a substantial amount of control about what he believes to be and chooses as good. He argues this from the nature of virtue as a habit and such. But his post isn't specifically about Aristotle's refutation of the false opinion. What struck me on that rainy Friday morning was that this idea has never died. It is, in fact, alive and well in society today.

How many times have you heard this:

"Don't blame me! It wasn't my fault!"

Fingers are pointed at parents, upbringing, culture, work -- anything to avoid the harsh reality of responsibility, guilty, and culpability. No one wants to accept that they might have done something wrong.

Funny to think that we have the same fallacious tendencies that Aristotle dealt with in ancient Greece. But not really that funny. After all, human nature hasn't changed...

What We Deserve

"But it isn't fair!"

A phrase we hear repeatedly. I myself have heard it countless times since I first began to understand speech. It is a phrase usually accompanied by a drawling whine, a stomp of the foot, a crinkled forehead. It may be followed by stormy tears or a prolonged pout.



Unfortunately, more often than not, the mouth I heard it issuing from was my own.

I had this vision of getting what I wanted, thinking that I only wanted what was just. It's rather painful to admit, but it's true. I didn't recognize how very, very wrong I was at the time. I don't even know if I completely recognize it yet.

But I am starting to understand how very, very, very little I could ever deserve. In fact, I don't actually deserve anything. At all.



The only way in which I could possibly say that a good belongs to me by right is through that wonderful, mysterious, and almost unutterable reality of grace. By nature, through the fall, my being is so utterly wretched and undeserving. I can do no good thing by nature. All good comes from God. All beauty, all goodness, all perfection, all sanctity comes from God.

This isn't to say that each creature isn't good in itself. It is only to say that each creature is not good through itself, but rather through another. In that way, we can say that there is both one good and many goods. God is good, but He causes goodness in other things. He is the source of their individual goodness. Mind blowing.

So no, it isn't fair. But I have learned to thank God for that. I thank Him for not giving me what I deserve, but so much more than I could possibly imagine or even want on my own.



The blessings I have received in friendships are no exception. As C.S. Lewis stated: "Friendship is not a reward for our discrimination and good taste in finding one another out. It is the instrument by which God reveals to each the beauties of all the others."

Things on the floor

It had been a long, awful, absolutely exhausting week at school. It had been filled with a sinus infection, class, math homework, choir practice, more choir practice, a trip to the urgent care, even more choir practice, and finally the performance of the Play of Herod. (Being in the college choir is a rewarding experience, but is proving to be a bit of a trial junior year.)

After the concert (during which I actually fell asleep while I was supposed to be merely pretending), one of the sophomore guys invited a few of us up to the guest trailers for a surprise party for his little sister who was visiting. I was incredibly drugged up and tired, but I thought I'd pop in for a couple of minutes to be friendly and hospitable and all of that sort of thing.

After being fed a piece of cake (and everyone was very insistent that I be given one and only one piece of cake), I placed the plate on the floor. Nathaniel picked it up to throw it away. Someone jokingly commented about the fact that his question "Are you done?" came across as much more of an authoritative "You are done." In his defense, he said, "Well, it was on the floor!" Peter, quick to come to his aid, insisted, "Yes, Bridget only puts things she's done with on the floor."

A little light bulb illuminated over Kim's head as she registered all of this. She looked at me and then at Jeff who was sitting near the foot of my chair. "Oooooh," she said, getting a mischievous look in her eye, "Is that why Jeff's on the floor?"

Cue absolute, rib-cracking laughter.

Grandma

I was sitting on the sofa in the front room, playing with my six year old cousin. My grandmother walked in and sat down on the rocking chair next to me. We had only just arrived a few hours earlier, so I expected her to start up the usual "catch-up" small talk. What really happened was entirely unexpected.

Grandma: "What is morse code?"

me, after a puzzled pause: "A series of dots and dashes." (cue my sister making beeping noises)

Grandma: "Oh. What is a code?"

me, suppressing a giggle: "A series of signs, established by convention, which signify something to the intellect."

Grandma: "Really? Is that all?"

She sounded disappointed. After about thirty seconds of thoughtfully clicking her tongue, she got up and went back to her crossword.

I love my family. :)

Boy Crazy

Yesterday, I proved the fickleness and changeability of women.

At about eleven o'clock, I was helping my sister look over photos from a wedding she recently shot. She has been looking at them for months now, so they've all sort of become a blur (not literally, of course: they are all quite well-focused). All I mean by that is that when she looks at them she doesn't see them. She did quite a nice job with them though... the things I was picking out were minor and just little details that my critical eye spotted. Looking at a picture of one of the groom's brothers, grinning broadly, dancing with his new sister-in-law, I declared something which should have remained in my head. It was silly and nonsensical and oh-so impulsive:

"I want to marry him."

Fast-forward to about three o'clock in the afternoon. I was sitting in the van with Mum in the vet parking lot. Then I catch a look at an incredibly handsome, kind-faced young man, assisting the vet inside. Whoa. Mum, not realizing that I have already caught sight of the guy, points him out to me, noting how wonderfully kind he is. Apparently, he has been the assistant during the last couple of appointments that Mum has had. He is, in her words, "a really great guy." Forget the young man from earlier, this is the guy I now need to marry.

Or is it? The man I spent a whole two hours watching last night was amazing. He has dark hair, beautiful eyes, a charming accent, and an incredible love for his mother and sisters (heart melting to see in any guy...). The downside? He's fictional. WHY must Edmund be a character from a book that was recently put onto screen? I love him.

The End.

Maybe...

I Love HOJAM

Last night the fam-damily packed up in the van and headed to St. James. Why? Because our beloved HOJAM boys were putting on an Advent concert to raise funds for their trip to Madrid next summer for WYD. It was absolutely beautiful. A few parts incited quiet giggles, but the overall solemnity of the readings made it a very prayerful and peaceful evening.

PLUS, I got to see my "brother." In honor of the rare occasion, we took a "family" photo. :)

My brother, the orange

We're eating dinner tonight, chatting comfortably about something pleasant. The tv was on in the family room, not because anyone was watching it, but because everyone was too lazy to go turn it off. Suddenly, Scott breaks into the conversation, urging us all to be quiet.

Scott: "I love this commercial!"

I turn around and see an orange, hanging from a tree, dripping with dew, gentle music playing in the background, etc.

me: "Um, okay. Why?"

Scott: "It always makes me want to be an orange... it's so... peaceful."

LOL

It. Is. Over.

This is something that I said rejoicingly every single day this week. Why? Because it was finals week this week.

Saturday was our music final. I didn't study for it. I looked over my notes once the night before and then started looking over Theology. It was probably the first and last time that I won't be worried about a final. It was easy. Yay!

Monday was the theology final. Tough to study for, hard to execute, but I think I did a decent job. It's just hard to talk about God without constantly worrying that you're being a material heretic.

Tuesday was the day from... well, not heaven, that's for sure. I struggled so much with math this semester. Here's hoping and praying that I didn't fail it. (If looked at reasonably, I don't think I did. When I get tired, I start panicking that I did)

Wednesday was a fun final: seminar! It's our only oral final that we take. Twenty minutes with the tutor in his office, talking about general themes in the semester. It's pretty relaxing and fun.

Thursday was the laboratory, or as it is now called, natural science final. For us juniors that meant Galileo, Descartes, and Newton. Yay for physics! It was actually pretty straight forward, just kinda detailed to study for. But I love my tutor and worship the ground he walks on.

Friday was the philosophy final! It was long, but awesome. I filled an entire blue book... first time since freshman year!

And then we were done. DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE. To top it off, I got my theology paper back from my very tough tutor: A-. I can live with that :)

Blue & Green

My best friend asked me about my upcoming paper topic. I began explaining to him that it was about the importance of the distinction of St. Thomas' first and second ways to prove the existence of God. He, being a sophomore, wasn't sure exactly what that meant. Trying to get some fun out of the situation, he quipped, "Oh, you mean blue and green?" and nudged me jokingly with his elbow. "Oh, yes," I replied. We both laughed and he went into his classroom and I into mine.

On the way home from school for this break, I decided to have a little bit of fun myself. I spent about a half an hour writing a paper entitled "Blue and Green." I haven't proof read it or anything, so please forgive any silly errors. I hope you enjoy this nonsensical bit of silliness :)

"One might consider that proving God’s existence using the color blue is redundant after proving the same thing using the color green. This, however, is not the case. The two proofs are deservedly discreet if one properly understands the nature of the two colors as distinct substances.
Descartes asserts that substance is extension. He argues that this is manifest from the fact that when something changes, its qualities all change. The quantity of any given substance, however, remains constant. So when we identify anything as a “this thing” it is based off of the shape. With this reasoning, he reduces even color to shape. Since each color is a distinct shape and shape is equivalent to substance, each color is a distinct substance. Under this consideration, it would be unreasonable to assert that the existence of God can be proven using the color green in such a way that would be inclusive of the color blue. Each substance has it’s own unique properties; just because one substance necessitates the existence of God does not mean that any other does.
So to prove the existence of God from the color green, one must proceed from its characters. It is only found in other objects, but those objects are of a certain type. The most common instance of green is found in plants. The existence of green in these plants indicates that the cause of the plants also has green in it. This is because causes always pass their attributes on to the things that they cause. Anything found in the effect must be in the cause. If one adds to this reasoning the necessity of an uncaused cause, one can see that the first cause must have the substance of green in it in some way.
The argument from the color blue is manifestly different. The objects in which the color resides and the conclusion differ. Blue is not found in concrete bodies except artificially. The blue that we see in the sky is not really a quality of a body. If one were to take any sample of the atmosphere, there would be no traceable “blueness” in it. The blue seen, then, is merely a mirage or trick of the eyes. The blue found in the uncaused cause of nature, therefore, must be in it in a similar manner. It is not an accident in things the same way that green is; therefore, it cannot be in God the same way that green is.
The two arguments have two different conclusions: one proves that God must have the substance green in him as an accident adhering in a body while the other proves that He must appear to have accidents which it does not have properly. To equate the two arguments, then, is clearly an irrational decision. The End."

Tom Turkey

Over the past years, I have been involved in the preparations for Thanksgiving dinner to various degrees. The general tendency of the variation of these degrees is an approach to greater involvement. This year's dinner was a bit of a culmination of my culinary experiences.

I spent thirty minutes wrestling with the turkey.

First, I removed the various parts that are, for some odd reason, stored in the various cavities of the bird.

Second, I washed it thoroughly. After getting the large things back on the counter, I patted it dry.

Third, I salted the inside.

Fourth, I stuffed it. I spent a very long time with my hands up a turkey. There's something satisfying and rather fun about it, if you don't take any time to think about exactly what you're doing.

Fifth, I plopped it in the pan.

Sixth, I oiled it.

Seventh, I slid it into the oven.

Ta Da! Several hours later, I had a golden brown, moist, and tender turkey. I am very, very proud of myself. :)

Junior Year Kerfuffle

Patience is a virtue. I can say this, despite the fact that Aristotle has not defined virtue up to this point in his "Ethics." However, it is a virtue I do not have, but God seems to be quite determined I should acquire this year.

First cause of distress: Personality friction in section. A certain individual just irks me. Sometimes this someone actually has good things to say, but no matter what it is, the way she says it just makes me annoyed. It's a bad thing that I very much need to work on.

Second cause of distress: I had the perfect seminar section... until a week ago. Due to the severe illness of one of the tutors, classes got rearranged and my dream section got blown-up and dispersed among four other mediocre sections. I thought I was done with my seminar curse. A thing of the past. But no. Not at all. Here's to year three of seminar frustration.

Third cause of distress: I threw out my back really bad. Not helpful. Ouch.

But there are always miracles worked by time. All three have the potential to be resolved. Here's hoping! :)

Thank you and Goodnight

This summer has been quite nice. The first half was rough, I'll grant that. I whined and complained, but it did eventually end. The rest was filled with my wonderful family and fantastic friends. I am going to miss every single one of them every single day. Thanks for being there for me... I'll be back soon. I promise :)

TAC-land, here I come. You ready for me?

Blunt Observations

In the second Anne of Green Gables movie (possibly called "The Sequel"), Anne tells Mrs. Harris, mocking her rolled "r"s, "You can cr-r-riticize everyone we pass by." Mrs. Harris reprimands her for the uncharitable idea (even though Mrs. Harris is so very fond of criticizing). I would have fallen victim to Mrs. Harris' reprimands while walking up and down the shore today.

Beaches are full of unseemly sights. Not the glorious wonder of nature, but the people. Creations with more dignity inherent in their beings are exposed to more censure than the inanimate water, sand, and sun. People, would you please look at yourself in a mirror before you leave the house? Leaving aside the obvious problem of indecent exposure, which runs rampant among the young ladies, my problem was more with the bad choices for personal body types. Ten year old girls should not be wearing suits cut for more mature figures. Even more mature figures should not wear suits that were cut with young teenagers in mind. Men should not wear incredibly tight, short shorts, especially ones that sit well below their waistline. Nor should they scrunch their swim trunks up their legs to expose more to the sun. (To be fair to American men, it seems that it is mostly the European tourists who engage in the last faux pax)

These observations have nothing to do with the characters of the individuals, but merely their style choices. Consult an honest friend before going into public, please. I implore you.

Novel Logic

In response to a good friend bemoaning the absence of her siblings, I gloated that her loss was my win. She is going to miss her siblings and I get to enjoy their company. :) A young man weighed in on the discussion. He is in the same predicament as the young lady: his brother will also be attending school with me. He complained that I should bring my "winningness" elsewhere, but when I did, he still wasn't satisfied. Here's the actual text of the exchange, provided for your amusement.

Me: I WIN!!! (happy now?)
Alex: No.
Me: I tried. You are simply ungrateful ;)
Alex: No, you're ungrateful because you don't appreciate having my brother within a 5 mile radius of you
Me: Wait, what? That's why I win! If I didn't appreciate it, how could I win?
Alex: That's the point. You don't win
Me: I am so confused... I lose because I'm happy to see your brother?
Alex: No, I would be more happy to see him so therefore your comment about how I'm ungrateful is foolish and untrue therefore making you an ignoramous
Me: Ohhh, I see. I won't pretend to outdo brother love. This way we both lose

Interesting logic there. I lose by inferior affection, I guess :)

In response to this exchange, I posted a new status

Me: I lose. The End.
Alex: The END

and his status

Alex: All I do is win
Me: yes, sir =D
Alex: I think she's finally getting the concept

Ohhh, that boy. So much like his older brother...

3 more days

Do some laundry.

Pack some stuff.

Afternoon swim.

Episode of "Psyche."

PT appointment.

Random necessities.

Final goodbyes.

Junior year at TAC.

Wow.

LADIES ONLY!!!

I am absolutely serious. This story will shock and appall any male readers. So stop reading right now, if you value your peace of mind.

I was in physical therapy today and one of the other patients was stretching. The aide asked her to scoot down on the table a little bit. Then the aide starts talking:

"This reminds me of gyno (her slang for gynecology) appointments. You know when you have your feet in the stirrups and the guy asks you to slide closer. I always think it would be funny to beep, y'know, like a truck when it's backing up. It would break the ice. Because, as you know, it's rather personal and awkward. It would make everyone laugh."

My therapist disagreed: "If my doctor started beeping at me, I'd get up and leave."

I was just giggling at the whole thing. I could see the humor in it... but depending on my comfort level with the doctor, it could be rather strange. :)

Beep, beep, beep

G034

Sitting on a hard, plastic chair, I stared at the floor. Thoughts whirled through my head: Why am I here? Why did I do this to myself? Why are these people so slow?

"Now serving G zero two zero," droned a grating automated voice.

I shook my head in frustration. Fourteen more people before me. I had been in this spot twice before and, through a series of choices, had ended up here again. At the DMV. Waiting to take a permit test.

When I got my first permit, I was mentally and emotionally not ready to drive. I was scared silly and not motivated to learn. The second permit went better, but before I had a chance to take my license test, I had surgery on my right ankle. I also was away at school, where I have neither the means nor really the opportunity to drive.

Two hours after walking into the DMV, I had passed my test. Mum and I headed home, this time with me behind the wheel. Third time's the charm! :)

Picture Thoughts

For Good

Last night, after saying goodbyes to some very, very dear friends, this song wormed its way into my head.

"I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good

It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine
By being my friend...

Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you

Because I knew you

I have been changed for good"

While leaving for the coming school year is not as serious and somber as all of that (I do sincerely believe that I will be seeing these people many more times in this life), there are some things that ring true. They have been true friends, who, for better or worse, have had a hand in writing my life story by being in it. I love every single one of them so much and thank God for them every day...

KaBoom!

It's what happened to my room. Yesterday was the annual before school shopping trip. I have some new hangers, the necessities for personal hygiene, a book bag, and some school supplies. And they are all scattered about my room at present. I have discovered an unfortunate truth: things get much messier before they resolve to cleanliness. I need to figure out what to pack and what to put away. I'll be honest and own up to the fact that I have never been incredibly good at putting things away. Clean clothes tend to be placed in semi-neat stacks about the room, books don't get re-shelved, and I justify leaving various items out by the fact that they will be used again in the near future, especially during the summer months. My room stays in this sort of limbo state... I don't completely settle in but I don't live out of my boxes either. It is slightly painful to my neat-freak side, but I am, at present, too lazy to do anything about it. *sigh*...

Heads Up!

I changed the header and info part of this blog to more accurately reflect the state of its being... 10 days until it once again lapses into more or less deadness! :)

The Curse of the Females

As a member of the more needy half of humanity, I find myself in "need" of many things before the start of the school year. Last summer I stocked up on new cute shoes. My old ones had been literally worn thin and with a dress-code that requires dress shoes the majority of the day, I found my wardrobe lacking. Shiny department store bags in hand, I left the store very conscious of the nearly empty wallet. I easily justified it by the fact that I had not purchased new dress shoes in more than five years and hopefully would be able to go the same length of time before the same splurge was made.

Fast forward twelve months. I'm standing in the store with a shoe salesman, wearing the cutest, most comfortable shoes I have ever worn. Five minutes later, I have purchased them and am headed out the door. What happened to the five years between shopping trips? Ankle surgery happened. My incredibly cute shoes from last summer are slightly impractical. One pair has heels. The second pair has an ankle strap that cuts across both incisions. The third pair was worn so often that I killed the poor shoes in the course of the nine month school year. The pair that I have been wearing during this later part of the summer are ten dollar ballet flats from Target. While sufficient for two hour jaunts out of the house for Mass, these are quite inadequate for long days of walking around my beautiful, anything but flat campus. Now I'm quite ready to take on the world. I kid you not, these shoes are fantastic.

The other purchase was a bit of an impulse by. I have always loved Anne Taylor clothes. Comfortable, classy, and durable, they are delightful additions for any wardrobe. Such features do not come without a price, however. I could not help but pop into the store, just to peruse. But then, lo and behold, I saw it. It was pink. And on the sale rack. The $100 dress had been reduced to a mere $30. What girl in her right mind can turn that down?

So I am now in possession of a few less greenbacks, but got a good return on them. This girl is not above admitting that a new dress and new shoes put a smile on her face.

Tears

"I will not say, 'Do not weep,' for not all tears are an evil."

Gandalf says this to the hobbits at the end of Return of the King, as he is departing for the Grey Havens. It gives rise to the question, "In what cases could be tears be an evil?"

Epictetus holds an extreme view of emotions. He instructing his students not to be attached to anything that is outside of their control. When you kiss your wife, he says, remind yourself that she could be taken away at any time. This prevents the student from feeling any sadness. If you are not attached to anything, you won't wish to hold onto it when it is gone. You will never bury a loved one, for the horribly depressing reason that you don't really have any loved ones. His philosophy is one that attempts to separate all things which could potentially cause pain to the person.

This attempt to separate one's soul from one's body and everything around it is impossible. Being creatures whose souls and bodies are parts of a whole and not in conflict, we cannot hold the outside away from us. Pain and pleasure are experiences which are proper to the unitive whole of a human being. Epictetus is wrong, then. Tears cannot always be a bad thing.

But when are they a good thing? St. Augustine holds that crying at the death of someone dear to us is not always proper. He says that we should weep for our loved ones, if we believe death brought them to a place of pain and punishment. If, however, we believe them to be enjoying the bliss of heaven (or even the pains of purgatory), we should rejoice for them and their freedom from this sin-riddled world. Care must be taken, however, not to take the words of this saint to the extreme. St. Augustine himself was quite shaken when both his mother and his best friend died. Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus.

What I believe we must take from St. Augustine's teaching is that we must be moderate in our mourning, for it is not sympathy for the other, but it is, rather, selfish. We are weeping for ourselves. Friends are to be enjoyed and loved insofar as they lead us to God. In losing a good friend, we lose one of the gifts that God gave us to use to get to Him. We mourn for ourselves and our loss, and this is right and proper. We should not, however, be carried away by grief to a state of incapacitation. To be debilitated by our tears would be an evil; it would carry us away from God and towards ourselves, contrary to His will for us in providing the dear friend.

Death is an evil, yes. It entered the world as a consequence of sin. Corruption of our bodies is unnatural, and the departing of a fellow human being is a reminder of our fallen state. So you should cry, because it is sad and a real loss.

Not all tears are an evil.


Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei

Don Quixote

On page 850, I don't want to read Don Quixote anymore. Unlike most of the public, I greatly dislike Cervantes great work. It drags on and on. Don Quixote and Sancho Panza engaged in many crazy adventures, but they are all of a similar nature. He's tenacious, I'll give him that. But the book could have been six hundred pages shorter. Maybe I'm missing the point.

I felt this way at page 300 as well, but a little pep talk from Mr. Lehman before class got me 550 pages further. The additional problem is that now I feel guilty when I don't read it. I don't enjoy reading it and I don't enjoy not reading it.

Only 140 pages left... I can and will do this... it's just a matter of time :)

I'm crazy

I'm pretty sure I'm crazy. When I reread last night's post, it just proclaims "insanity" to me.

I'm looking forward to this evening. We're having an old friend (not that he's old, but that he has been our friend for a long time) over for dinner and then we're going to go see "Inception" together. There will be lots of laughter and joking and general frivolity. In anticipation, I baked something called "candy cakes." They're kind of like reese's peanut butter cups, only they have cake in them, too. You make little cakes and then put peanut butter and chocolate over them. In the picture, they are these cute little cakes that are very neat and tidy looking. Mine, by contrast, sort of look like they were made by a three year old. The taste tester gave them a high rating, however (that's what little brothers are for). So, once again, my cooking will taste better than it looks. :)

But this cooking project further proves my insanity. I should really learn not to bake things that involve standing over a hot stove in the middle of summer. I am now very toasty warm.

BEACH

We went to the BEACH today. It was very exciting. I have not been to the beach since I got home from school in May. I got my boot and sock very sandy. And very wet. I was wearing a skirt, which was very detrimental to uninhibited frolicking. Especially since it is a denim pencil skirt. It got wet and uncomfortable. But my sandwich was tasty. So was the rum cake.

I think reading shakespeare has materially damaged my mind. I now write like a five year old in some sort of weird counter-action. Short sentences. But the shouting match in class today was fun.

Me

I haven't posted in quite a while, but things have been pretty busy! Some highlights:

- We cooked a massive dinner for the Eudist priests and pre-seminarians at their house in La Mesa. It was a crazily ambitious meal, but we put it on the table at precisely the right time.

= We cooked dinner for some good friends and then made a delicious chocolate cake afterward. We added mint to the frosting, which was given mixed reviews. It was more or less pleasant, unless it hit the back of your throat. That resulted in that burning sensation that occasionally arises from toothpaste.

- I mailed a batch of cookies to "my freshman boys"... one half to MI and the other to OR. That made them happy :)

- I started my Shakespeare class with Mr. Lehman. After the first day of class, he told me that he really appreciated my presence in the class and he thanked me for my perspective and experience. I was very pleased with myself ;)

- I got sunburned while eating lunch and swimming with friends after class yesterday

- I got sunburned while at the choir party this afternoon

- I encountered a very not-subtle young man at the Greek cafe. As I was walking out, he "up and down"ed me, and then grinned. I don't think I've ever been checked out that overtly before. I'm not offended or flattered, really... mostly amused. :)

July

It's been awhile. That might be because there hasn't been anything to write about. Life has just been rolling along at a gentle speed.

I've been given the green light to start walking again. Unfortunately, it's not that simple. Walking cannot just be done. I have a PT appointment tomorrow, at which they can (hopefully) give me some help. In the mean time I continue to hobble.

My mouth is all better, too. I think the incisions are all healed up and I am pain and swelling free. Yay!

I don't have anything to complain about, really. Unusual. I guess I can continue being happy now :)

A World Full of Surprises

I am in a very whiny mood. Even if I was physically capable of smiling, I don't want to. I am fed up of sitting here on this couch all of the time. Mum is taking pity on me and taking me out later and I just stood in a spot of shade in the backyard for a half an hour. It could be worse. I could have taken some people's advice and gotten both done at the same time which would have meant six weeks of no moving at all. There would have been no showers, no standing, no outings, no nothing. I am so glad I listened to my better judgment (not to mention my mother and the doctor). That would have been a stupid thing to do.

But I did have two nice surprises today. The first was that team USA won their soccer game this morning. It was a tense 90 minutes, with no scoring (except a disallowed goal, but that was bologna, because he was totally not off-side). Then in the four minutes of extra play, we scored! It was either minute 91 or 92, I'm not sure... I was too busy screaming. So we're going to the next round!

The other surprise is that I should be able to begin walking again next Tuesday. I have been anticipating it being on Thursday this whole time (all of my appointments have been on Thursday), but I found out today that it is two days earlier! Yippee!!! The silly scheduler tried to rebook it for July 13th, but Mum put her foot down. That would be another two weeks and I am NOT doing that. Nope. No way. Not happening. It's on TUESDAY!!!!!!

The Irony

A month ago I had major ankle repair surgery. Yesterday I had my wisdom teeth out. Strangely enough, the teeth have been worse. My face looks funny. I can't talk, smile, or laugh. The world is all awry.

Only one and a half more weeks of no walking! :)

Twilight Sleep

The anesthesia they used today wasn't general, but something called "twilight sleep." You don't go entirely unconscious. Unlike general anesthesia, you retain your dreaming faculty. This was mine.

The real world faded out and the doctor and the assistants were replaced by some of my good friends. Michelle was the doctor, with Manly-Hanley working as her assistant. Michelle was quite the pro and Jeff was as helpful as he could be while fighting the urge to pass out. In the corner, Chris 1 and Chris 2 stood, laughing at me, cracking all sort of jokes about how funny I looked while unconscious. At my head stood Jacob, wearing his Neo costume from Halloween and holding a large gun. He was protecting me. When I started to wake up (enough to open my eyes, but not be mentally present), they tried to get me to stand up. A man grabbed me, stood me on my feet and when I started to topple, he placed a wheelchair under me and ushered me to the recovery room. Or so they tell me. What I remember (in that sort of way that you remember things, but know they were dreams) is a bad guy grabbing me by the arm, and shaking me so violently that I began to fall down. Then Chris 1 and Chris 2 came to my rescue by scooping me up and running me out of there, Jacob covering us with his large gun. He got those bad guys good.

My heroes *sigh* ;-)

whoa

Pain medication has re-entered my life. whooooaaaa. But I can't really talk. My mouth doesn't really open very much, so when I do talk iih souwns ike iiss. Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Today

Today, Sunday the 20th of June, has been interesting. Life is sometimes called a roller coaster, but today could be qualified as one all by itself. :)

At 12:05 am, I was lying awake. Wanda the dog was curled up in the middle of my bed, on top of the covers. This left me on top of the covers as well, and curled around her in an odd fashion so that I might make use of the available bed space. I don't usually let the dog sleep on my bed. Usually she's gated off in a separate part of the house. Last night, however, the neighbors were playing a loud game of soccer in the street which drove our hyper-sensitive dog crazy. At 10:30 she had climbed onto the bed, shaking. I just couldn't say "no." The game ended at 11, which allowed her to calm down. But then she fell asleep. And when Wanda falls asleep for the night, it takes serious man-power to get her to move. Unfortunately for me, the only people with such man-power had gone to bed. This is what brought me to five minutes past midnight. I hear creaking down the steps and realize Dad has come down for a snack. "Daddy?" No answer. "Dad, help." That got his attention. He dragged the dog off of the bed, but then she wouldn't move. She just crouched there, resisting the collar-pulling. So Dad had to pick up that 60 pounds of golden retriever and put her where she was supposed to be. Kind of fitting that Dad had to rescue his daughter only five minutes into Fathers' Day.
When I woke up later, I wished Mum and Dad a happy wedding anniversary and proceeded to get ready for Mass. When we got home from Mass, I was feeling very blue. Like the type of blueness that needs a banana, chocolate, and a hug. I was tired of just sitting down all day, reading, watching movies, and wasting my life on facebook. I had a little (very, very little) cry under the pillow. Then Scott decided to try to cheer me up.

He fetched his sword, which is a replica of Aragorn's in LOTR. He then proceeded to slash up my mostly deflated "happy birthday" balloon. I was quite fascinated by this. We were then struck with the idea that we could extend this fun by blowing up some of the balloons that we keep in a drawer in the kitchen and pop them. Scott did the first one, and then let me do the rest. I picked up the sword (oomph!) and he gently tossed the balloons at me. I experienced epic failures on my first couple of attempts, but I eventually got the hang of it. I just poked 'em gently and *POP* they went. Of course, I squealed in shock every time; it would have been uncharacteristic of me not to. We then had a little photoshoot with the weapons. I got the sword and Scott pulled out his bow and an arrow. 'Twas fun, as you can see.




After going out to the grocery store with Mum (going to the store is better than staying at home), I was settling back down on the bed and the phone rang. It was handed to me and the voice on the other end caused a grin to erupt all over my face. (sounds kind of violent, doesn't it?) Shelle put the phone on speaker and Chris starts the conversation with, "So, your mom says you're being cranky today." uhhhh. I qualifyed the sentiment as more of a stir-crazy, frustrated, blahhhh kind of day. "Denial" was their response to this. I couldn't help but laugh at the two of them. Those two absolutely, hands down, made my day. I haven't really stopped smiling. Apparently, Mum had sent a note to Chris earlier in the day, telling him that I required cheering up. As always, he and Shelle stepped up to the plate. :) I love them!!! (but not in a creepy way)
I am now back on the bed, after having eaten a tasty spaghetti dinner. The rest of the family is out walking the dog, and when the get back we're gonna eat angel food cake made by my sister, topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. yummm. I'm enjoying chewing while I can: tomorrow morning I get my wisdom teeth removed. hmmmm.

Marriage

A slightly comical observation about marriage from P.G. Wodehouse, but it has elements of truth:

"The fact of the matter is, marriage today is made much too simple for a man. He finds it so easy to go out and grab some sweet girl that when he has got her he does not value her. I am convinced that that is the real cause of this modern boom in divorce. What marriage needs, to make it a stable institution, is something in the nature of obstacles during the courtship period."

Un-birthdays

There is a up-side to having one's birthday in the summer: you never have to go to class or worry about homework while celebrating it. The down-side is that you don't get to celebrate it surrounded by your friends. That is why God invented un-birthdays.

Both Bridget and I have our birthdays in the summer months. Last year, to celebrate her birthday at school, I made cookies in late April and a group of us hiked up to the painter's shack to watch a movie while we ate them. This year, the planning was a little more extravagant: we went off campus. Not only did we leave campus, but we went somewhere, too. Three places, actually. Our first stop was the movie theater where we watched, "How to Train Your Dragon." The rest of the group had already seen it, but it was the only movie out worth watching. Jacob decided to place me in the middle of the group of us, so they could all watch my reactions. (In case you didn't know, I am a very animated movie-watcher). I enjoyed the movie... they enjoyed the movie and me. :-) Our second stop was U-Yogurt, which is one of those popular self-serve frozen yogurt places. Last, but not least, the boys wanted to stop at In-N-Out to ease their budding hunger pains. (College boys are always hungry)

My favorite part of the evening (measured by the size of the grin that dawns upon my face at the thought of it), was the singing of "happy birthday." Jacob, Chris, and Michelle decided that it needed to be sung to both Bridget and I, and, oh my goodness, was it sung with gusto. Jacob started off in that marvelously bassy voice of his, making use of his loud, operatic abilities. Chris, not to be outdone, used a funny accent to serenade us. As for poor Michelle, it was all she could do to sing at all between the giggles that the boys were inspiring. In my opinion, those were the best thirty seconds of the night. =D

Sophmoronic Question

When you buy fabric from the fabric store, is it clothing in first or second potency?

As far as I can figure, unless I wear the blue sparkly fabric as a seamless toga (in other words, don't alter it at all), it's first. It has the ability to become clothes, but it isn't clothes. If it was clothes, but wasn't actually being used as clothes, then it would be second.

I think I'll make a pretty dress for the Christmas formal with it.

Man in the dorm!

Bridget and I have a bit of a tradition for the Saturday night after graduation: packing her stuff. For the past two years, she has left very early Sunday morning for the airport. For the past two years, we spent Saturday evening/night/early morning packing her stuff. Calling it a challenge might be an understatement. The students of TAC are very lucky because, unlike most universities, they allow us to leave a few boxes of stuff in a storage container in one of the parking lots for the summer. Girls, however, need more than a few boxes... especially girls like Bridget. She collects a lot of stuff and brought a lot of stuff from the get-go. Freshman year, we were up til 4 am packing, but we weren't quite done with the boxes. She had to get up at six, however, so I insisted that we go to bed and I'd finish it up the next day. Sophomore year, we were up til 3 am packing, and were actually done packing. The furniture still needed to be moved and the room needed to be cleaned, but I told her that I'd find some boys to help me with that in the morning.

The rules of our campus are very clear when it comes to boys in the girls' dorms: a strict no-no. Move-in and move-out weekends, however, the rule is bent to allow the girls some borrowed arm muscle. It must be cleared with a prefect and be between the hours of 10 am and 5 pm, but it's nice that they allow it at all. So Sunday morning, after Mass and brunch, I wrangled my God-brother and "big brother" (both conveniently named Chris) into helping. Wrangled is the wrong word; I asked, they acquiesced.

(For clarity, I will, hereafter, call my God-brother "Chris 1" and my big brother "Chris 2")

I met Chris 2 outside of Monica's dorm. He was very confused. "Why are we here?"
"Uh, because you said you'd help me move boxes."
"But don't you live in Therese?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then I repeat, why are we here?"
Cue little lightbulb over my head. "Because we're moving Bridget's stuff, not mine."
He laughed. "Oh, that explains things... I was wondering why you were referring to yourself in the third person."
I walked him into the courtyard and led him up the stairs. I told him to wait a minute outside. I popped my head in, looked around, shouted "Man in the dorm!" and waved him in.
"This is really awkward. I'm in a girls' dorm. Ahhhh."
"Don't worry" I told him. I popped my head in the bathroom to shout again. "We expect it during these weekends. Just keep talking and they'll hear the man-voice and stay in their rooms if they aren't properly dressed."
A look of mild horror/amusement crossed his face. "Er, I guess that's a good thing."

We got to Bridget's room and I propped the door open. I explained to him what needed to be done and that Chris 1 would be driving around the back of the dorm in a minute to pick up the boxes to be dropped off in the parking lot. Michelle walked in at this point. Chris 2, impatient to start helping, started moving furniture around. I protested at first, wanting him to wait for Chris 1, but he insisted. We started sliding the bed so it would be in a good position to re-bunk it. My phone rang. "Hello? oh, hi, Mum. You're on campus? I can't hear you, my signal is terrible..." Chris 2 was still pushing the bed and I became caught between it and a pile of stuff on the floor. The bed stopped moving due to this obstruction. "I'll be down in a few minutes, we're moving Bridget's... OW!" Chris 2, not being able to see the obstruction that was causing the bed to not move, had given it a hard shove and knocked me over with it. "Watch it, buddy!" I shouted at him. "No, not you, Mum, you're fine. Chris just knocked me over with a bed. I'll call you back." I untangled myself from the mess of stuff I had fallen into, he apologized, citing a deficient line of vision, and I went outside to check if Chris 1 had showed up yet. He had, right on time.

I walked out so I could escort him in, shouting about the presence of a man. I brought him to Bridget's room, where Chris 2 and Michelle were waiting. Chris 1 and 2 high-fived each other. "Yes, we did it! We got in to a girls' dorm! Yeah!!!" Michelle and I laughed at the boys and we all finished up the stuff. We arranged furniture, vacuumed, and got the boxes to storage. It provided many amusing moments... one of which was that while they lifted the top bunk up, Michelle and I pulled the pins from the bottom posts. Michelle, naturally, picked this side her brother was on. To reach the far pin, she had to scootch between her brother and the posts. That meant I had to scootch between Chris 2 and the posts... slightly awkward. Of course, being immature college students, jokes were made about it. Other jokes were made... about how we were weak inferior females and needed men to do the real work... about how men couldn't vacuum... about the amazing amounts of stuff girls have...

Those two are very silly boys... love them both (but not in a creepy way)

Outsmarting Max

After many sleepless nights, bruises, aches, pains, itches, and general discomfort, I have finally figured out how to get the better of my new ankle stabilizer. At first I just tried putting an old cloth diaper around my foot - wasn't big enough. Then I put a receiving blanket around my ankle and leg - that didn't solve the problem, either. I tried icing it until it was numb before bed, ibuprofen, lying on my back, on my left side, right side - you name it, I tried it. All of these things were planned and executed without achieving the desired results. Most of the irritation was coming from the edging surrounding the air pockets in the boot. The air pockets are there to allow for greater stabilization of the joint. I didn't really need that feature, so I haven't been using it. Until, that is, a thought struck me yesterday: if I inflated the air pockets, that would push the tubing away from my ankle. Ta da! I didn't get to excited about my new plan, just on the off-chance it didn't work. But it did work. I only woke up three times last night due to discomfort, but only needed to make minor adjustments. Fingers crossed it wasn't a weird fluke and that I now can be friends with Max. :-)

A Slice of Humble Pie

Very frequently, humility comes from outside circumstances. A verbal slap to the face, an embarrassing situation, or drawing a complete blank on a test are all ways in which we are reminded of our human condition and its limitations. The way that humble pie was most recently served to me, however, was a bit different. It is in some ways more difficult to swallow when the situation is self-inflicted. At the moment, it's my right lower leg and foot.

You may laugh at such a silly thing, but it's really very revolting to me. Since getting Max, I have had the chance to examine my calf muscle. It's pretty much completely gone. When I say it's the size of my forearm, I am exaggerating, but not by much. Then there is the reality of the layers of skin that are peeling off. I have incisions and bruises all around my ankle and foot. It's absolutely disgusting to look at and to admit that that ugly thing is me.

Happy Day!

This day couldn't get much better.

Item #1
I got an email from Dr. Connolly, president of JPCU this morning, telling me that I could audit the Shakespeare class being offered this summer quarter. This is AWESOME news!!! First, because I am bored silly right now and can't wait to do something academic. Second (and more importantly), MR. LEHMAN, one of the most outstanding, brilliant TAC tutors is teaching it! I. Am. So. Incredibly. Excited. Since he will be commuting and then teaching at TAC come August, he is shortening the class to five weeks. It's once a week, from mid-July to mid-August, and most of the days have 7 hours of class time. But it'll be worth it. :)

Item #2
It's Sunday, so I'm going to Mass. Not only am I going to Mass, but I'm doing downtown to Our Lady of the Rosary, where Mass is celebrated in Latin on the second Sunday of the month. It's nice to go back to it.

Item #3
My family has a tradition of going to In-N-Out after this particular Mass. I love it. Can't wait.

3.9244444444444446

The above is my GPA my sophomore year at TAC (and coincidentally my GPA freshman year as well). My second semester grades came in the mail this afternoon. I will admit that I couldn't bring myself to open them until Mum had. She assured me that I didn't get anything below an A-. Four As and two A-s to be exact. Whew. That always makes me so nervous. I know I did my best and the tutors are generally fair (if someone arbitrary), but I always hate the thought of not getting straight As. I know there's nothing shameful in Bs or even Cs from some TAC tutors, but I would be so disappointed with myself if I got Cs. Does that make me excessively proud? I hope not.

Meeting and Manipulating Max

Max is stout, but short, black, and kinda fuzzy. He's a pest, a bother, and a pain. I don't like him at all. He is superior to Fred and Albert, however, because he allows me to be separated from him for short periods of time. His hold on me is somewhat more relaxed. I still don't like him, though.

Max is a "boot," or a walking cast. It weights approximately twice as much as Albert did. This isn't a problem for the average patient, who acquires this cast when they are able to walk. This little patient isn't quite so lucky. The doc allowed me to have Max so that I might be able to shower properly, but under the strict understanding that I would behave, i.e. not walk or put any weight on it whatsoever. However, Max is not designed to be lugged around in this fashion and he tends to slide down my leg. My heel then ends up hanging out, unsupported, which is rather painful. He also applies uneven and often uncomfortable pressure to various parts of my feet. I am much like the Princess in the story about the pea... I'm very delicate and sensitive.

I acquired him yesterday morning. My day was rather adventurous. My appointment was at 8:30 in the morning and it's an hour away. So after dragging myself out of bed a bit earlier than usual, we scooted out the door. The cast man cut Albert off from around my leg and then the doctor looked at it. He decided that my stitches could be removed. Mum had warned me that it felt weird. She said I should lie down (advice that I didn't take) because I would experience a weird "pulling" sensation. I later learned that she just didn't want to scare me.

The cast man started pulling out my stitches. Ow. The world then started to spin, fade out, and all the sound went away. I then woke up, lying on my back on the exam table. I was sweating and shivering and feeling very strange. I looked over at the doctor and my mother and the cast guy... no one had noticed. Despite the fact that I fainted, there are two sources of consolation: the first is that I'm subtle when I faint and the second is that I've always thought it would be rather interesting to pass out due to pain/stress/being overwrought. All of the elegant females of old literature do it... I guess I do too. So, I'm either an old-fashioned elegant female or a modern wuss.

We went home after assembling and attaching Albert to my leg. By the time I got home, I was in immense amounts of pain. My foot was tingling and cold and it hurt, like someone was stepping on it. So we drove back. This is where I feel like an idiot. The cast guy just un-velcro-ed it, adjusted my foot's position, and strapped it back up. It had just slid out due to the aforementioned excessive weight. Mum and I wasted two hours driving around for nothing. To stay comfortable, I have to adjust Max several times a day, at different intervals, dependent upon how much I'm moving around.

Oh, Max... I must learn to love you since I'm stuck living with you for three weeks.

Sports

Due to an incredible lack of anything to do, I have become a sports fanatic. Obviously not to play, but to watch on television. I haven't watched many sports in the past because I generally have something more productive to do. I could never reconcile myself to sitting in front of a television screen for that long. Now that all I ever do is sit (in the room with the television, no less), I no longer need to justify it to myself.

It started with baseball. I think I was attracted to the sport because 1) there are lots of games on and 2) it's very mathematical. Baseball is all about statistics. There are numbers for every player: batting averages, hits, runs, runs batted in, etc. And I love math. The commentators didn't just talk about stellar performances, but they could quantify those performances. That aspect appeals to me greatly.


On top of this, the World Cup starts today. I missed the first game (since it was on at seven this morning), which was between Mexico and South Africa. It was a tie game. I watched the World Cup last time with quite a bit of interest, and I've always enjoyed watching and playing soccer. Baseball appeals first to my intellect and second to my emotions. Soccer is just the reverse.

Noonan Strikes Again

An excerpt from Peggy Noonan's article in the WSJ about the epically controversial game on Wednesday night. Definitely worth reading.

"It was Wednesday night of this week, and it was a heartbreaker, and you have seen the videotape. Comerica Park in Detroit, the Tigers vs. the Cleveland Indians, and on the mound is Tigers pitcher Armando Galarraga, 28. In his brief Major League career, he has not pitched a complete game, never mind a perfect one but here he is. He's retired 26 straight batters. It's two outs in the ninth with just one to go, one out between him and history. Indians shortstop Jason Donald is at the plate. Donald hits a grounder between first and second. Miguel Cabrera, the Tigers first baseman, fields it as Galarraga sprints to first. The pitcher takes the throw from Cabrera and steps on the base. Donald crosses it just a step later. Galarraga gets this look of joy. And the umpire blows it. He calls Donald safe. Everyone is shocked.

It's everything that follows that blunder that makes the story great.

When Galarraga hears the call, he looks puzzled, surprised. But he's composed and calm, and he smiles, as if accepting fate. Others run to the ump and begin to yell, but Galarraga just walks back to the mound to finish the job. Which he does, grounding out the next batter. The game is over.

The umpire, Jim Joyce, 54, left the field and watches the videotape. He saw that he'd made a mistake and took immediate responsibility. He went straight to the clubhouse where he personally apologized to Galarraga. Then he told the press, "I just cost the kid a perfect game." He said, "I thought [Donald] beat the throw. I was convinced he beat the throw until I saw the replay. It was the biggest call of my career."

Galarraga told reporters he felt worse for Joyce than he felt for himself. At first, reacting to the game in the clubhouse, he'd criticized Joyce. But after Joyce apologized, Galarraga said, "You don't see an umpire after the game come out and say, 'Hey, let me tell you I'm sorry.'" He said, "He felt really bad." He noted Joyce had come straight over as soon as he knew he'd made the wrong call.

What was sweet and surprising was that all the principals in the story comported themselves as fully formed adults, with patience, grace and dignity. And in doing so, Galarraga and Joyce showed kids How to Do It.

A lot of adults don't teach kids this now, because the adults themselves don't know how to do it. There's a mentoring gap, an instruction gap in our country. We don't put forward a template because we don't know the template. So everyone imitates TV, where victors dance in the end zone, where winners shoot their arms in the air and distort their face and yell "Whoooaahhh," and where victims of an injustice scream, cry, say bitter things, and beat the ground with their fists. Everyone has come to believe this is authentic. It is authentically babyish. Everyone thinks it's honest. It's honestly undignified, self-indulgent, weak and embarrassing.

Galarraga and Joyce couldn't have known it when they went to work Wednesday, but they were going to show children in an unforgettable way that a victim of injustice can react with compassion, and a person who makes a mistake can admit and declare it. Joyce especially was a relief, not spinning or digging in his heels. I wish he hadn't sworn. Nobody's perfect.

Thursday afternoon the Tigers met the Indians again in Comerica Park. Armando Galarraga got a standing ovation. In a small masterpiece of public relations, Detroit's own General Motors gave him a brand new red Corvette. Galarraga brought out the lineup card and gave it to the umpire—Jim Joyce, who had been offered the day off but chose to work.

Fans came with signs that said, "It was perfect."

It was."

Cute Cousin Clara

I got this in the mail. The artist is an adorable, incorrigible, curly-haired, exceptionally tall five year old. She expressed to her mother a wish to send me a "get well" card. "Well" and "good" haven't achieved distinct definitions yet: telling someone to feel better is just the same as telling them to behave. It translated to, "Bea shore to be good" in the mind of this little girl. She even addressed the envelope herself. The mailman should get an award for interpretive skills. :-)

Genius in a Dirty Disguise

People talk about things not being what they seem. They talk of hidden realities or false appearances. There are similes, analogies, and parables used for the education of the masses. They are, therefore, not necessarily negative. A certain amount of the unrefined seems permissible if the bad is not actually damaging and it achieves a real good.

Hollywood scriptwriters, producers, directors (aka, the film industry) seems to be willing to sacrifice so much good and subject it to being placed in a shell of dirt and filth. Messages of heroism, triumph, and values are debased by "the common" way they are portrayed. We hear that they touch the hearts of the poor individuals who are just generally down on their luck. Fair enough. I agree that you can't sell movies about rich kids succeeding and achieve the same thing that you can achieve by selling a movie about poor, basically illiterate Hispanics who live in East L.A. However, I believe there is a fine line between touching hearts and corrupting people.

Humans are creatures of imitation. That's how we learn. We even teach by imitation; we teach the subject in the same manner we learned it. Presented with beauty, we strive for beauty. Presented with ugliness, we stop striving for that beauty and start down the path of darkness and despair. Maybe it isn't that dramatic of a switch. You don't go from being a saint to a heartless wretch in a day (at least, that's incredibly uncommon). You try toeing the line. "It isn't really that bad..." until it really is that bad. To make a long story short, one must redeem the story with an ugly beginning with a beautiful end. The bad must cease to play an over-archingly influential role in the hero's life. Otherwise, the lesson learned is one which does not lift the individual to the true, good, and beautiful.

This rant is brought on by the movie I just finished watching: Good Will Hunting. Great story, great actors, etc. It's about an young adult who has no family, no money, and no education, but has an incredibly genius mind. He is brilliant like Albert Einstein. The story is about this man and his troubles. He has run-ins with the law which end up with him in a psychologist's office. Drama ensues, things get really bad, but it ends in happily ever after. But some of that happiness was lost on me because of the f-words that were in every sentence. I kid you not, I don't think the main character, his psychologist, or his buddies had the ability to not say that word. (Refreshingly, his girlfriend didn't swear as much. She did, but not to the distracting excess that the guys did.) There was no real turn around for this kid. He "found what he wanted" and that was supposed to be that. He had some healing from his past. Good stuff. He decided he actually loved the girl and wanted to be with her. This meant following her to California where she was going to medical school. Meh.

Why, why, why does the story have to be tainted with so much of the negative stuff from our culture??? Why can't it be a story of conquering sin and temptation, rather than getting through some of it and wallowing in the rest??? I do not understand this. It could have been a movie I loved. Instead, it was a movie I enjoyed moderately, but don't have any desire to watch again. Can anyone tell me, honestly, that having that many F-words made is a more touching movie? I thought not.

The Wanda Saga

Our dog has a fake eye. Yup, you heard (or rather, read) right. She visited the "doggy ophthalmologist" today and was diagnosed with severe glaucoma. Our two options were extensive treatment using prescription drugs or removing her eye. The latter was cheaper and had a higher success rate, so we picked that one. They gave her a fake eye for the sake of upholding appearances. Poor girl :( I hope this doesn't traumatize her too much.

Pretty in Pink

Aren't we cute? :-)

The Three Musketeers

Even though there is a stereotypical TACer, that does not negate the wide diversity of personalities that one encounters there. Even if they are not eccentric, you can have rather odd relationships with them. One prime example of this is the interaction between me, Nathan, and Conor. Mr. Dragoo, our latin tutor this past year, called us the "three Musketeers." He called us a few other things, too, but that's the nicest one ;-)

Nathan and Conor by themselves are a hilariously amusing dynamic duo. They go everywhere together, say and do ridiculous things, and are rather cynical - or as they prefer, realistic. The three of us in combination were a strange combination. My joyous optimism, which they pegged as naivete, was in a constant opposition to their life-view. I called Mr. Berquist a "cute old man"; their response was to look at me incredulously and pull out the dictionary and look up "cute." They liked to prove me wrong. In nine months, I think we all three of us learned things from the other. I learned to temper my happiness and they learned to not squash every little blossom of hopeful happiness they encountered. We argued and we will continue to do so, but I can honestly say that they are two of the kindest and most caring guys I know.

I sometimes wondered whether or not they considered me as a friend. Sure, we hung out together sometimes and had interesting conversations much of the time, but I wondered if they were being authentically friendly or if I was their charity project; perhaps talking to me was their one good deed for the day. I came to learn through various circumstances that it was the former.

One instance of their extraordinary was one particular afternoon wherein my knee was hurting an incredible amount. My kneecaps tend to slide off sideways, which causes both pain and instability. After lab class, I could barely stand, let alone walk. Nathan and Conor expressed concern about it, but I shrugged it off, promising to only walk the necessary places. I hobbled out, my knee buckling every step. I managed to get through the commons and to the mail room where I clocked in for work. I walk out of the mail room and almost ran into Conor. He was holding a banana (why I remember that little detail, I don't know) and Nathan had a wheelchair.
"Get in." he said
"Oh, come on, Nathan, I don't need a wheelchair."
"Yes, you do. Get in. Now."
"Nathan, really..."
"Stop being an idiot, Bridget. You're getting in whether you like it or not."
"What are you going to do, force me?"
("Not a bad idea" mumbled Conor)
"Bridget, please."
Alright, I thought. Fine. I was embarrassed 1) because I had to ride in a wheelchair and 2) that Nathan and Conor were being so insistent. I hobbled over and got in. "Thanks, guys."
We started wheeling out. Nathan says to Conor, "After we drop her off at work, I want a ride." Conor rolled his eyes, but didn't disagree. I, trying to negate some of the humiliation I was experiencing, started waving at people we passed.
"Stop it."
"Why?"
"Do you think you're the only one who's embarrassed here?"
Oh, right. I hadn't thought about that. I guess it could be rather embarrassing to be pushing me around campus in a wheelchair, especially with me waving like an idiot. Then someone across campus waved at me. I waved back.
"Seriously, Bridget, next time you do that I'm going to run you into a wall."
I laughed. "Yes, that would be taking care of me stupendously." I looked up at him and grinned.
Nathan and Conor then started complaining about me to each other. This is a favorite tactic of theirs when I become too illogical or aggravating to deal with directly. ("Why does she do that?" "I don't know, maybe because she's a girl." "I guess they do silly things sometimes." "Good thing we never do.") This is never meant seriously or insultingly, but they're trying to get me to see their point. I usually do.

They are both great guys who are good friends to me. Seeing me every day in class, they came to see how physically breakable I am. All of our section did, for that matter. One day I was limping as I went to collect my math test from her and she asked if I was okay. Nathan replied, "Never ask her if she's okay. The answer is never 'yes,' but only varying degrees of not okay." But we came to understand each other pretty well, even when others couldn't. Mr. Augros called me the translator of Nathan-and-Conor-speak. They did the same for me, but since it was less frequent, it was less noticeable to him.

I'm going to miss having those two in section next year... :-)

Senility

Wanda is 11 years old. She is nearly blind and becoming more and more infantile by the day. Don't worry, she's a dog. This onset of insanity isn't ludicrously premature :-)

As I type this, she is staring at me, threatening to pull the same naughty stunt that she has been pulling the past few days. I spend most of my time sitting on the sofa-bed in the family room. The furniture is arranged much differently than it normally is and I more or less live in here. Both of these things are wayyyy out of the routine that our dear golden retriever has settled into. To make up for this bizarre situation, Wanda has decided that she belongs on the bed with me. This would be fine except for how she wants to do this.

I started out sitting on the left side of the couch, merely because that was the side I collapsed on when I got home from the hospital. Wanda got used to climbing up on the right side. She wasn't incredibly smart about it, though. She inevitably would end up trying to sit in my lap and/or jumping over the back of the couch. The former was simply irritating, while the latter was frankly dangerous for the silly dog. I don't know why she thought it was a good idea to make that jump... I'm blaming her cataracts.

Now I'm sitting on the right side of the bed. This move was made due to logistics; it just makes more sense. But now Wanda is super confused. She still tries to get up on the right side of the bed, i.e. on top of me. She gets up and I have no option but to have her continue walking over me until I get her onto the vacant half of the bed. There isn't enough room to have her turn around and get back down. If she was a puppy I would have no qualms shoving her off backwards, but an 11 year old dog? That doesn't seem prudent.

I was able to make her happy the other day by lying on my stomach and cuddling with her. Like so:

Out on the Town

I suppose Sunday Mass doesn't really count as being out on the town, but it's only the second time that I've left the house in 10 days. It was wonderful to get out of the house for a bit. As difficult as crutches are to move about on, it's better to move than not. It was especially nice because I was going to one of the best places that I can go. I wasn't able to get to Mass last weekend (I was still way too drugged up) or at any other point since surgery. I'm spoiled at school, where I have four different options for Mass times. Barring extraordinary circumstances, I am able to get to Mass every day, so two weeks without it was difficult.

When I went this morning, I decided that I would sit on the end of the pew to give myself the most foot room (my cast, Albert, is quite bulky) and exit options if necessary. The one part of this plan that was not ideal became apparent at communion. Distance between pews is designed for space efficiency, not someone on crutches. I had to pick my way rather carefully. Even then, I had a couple of snags and almost falls. By the time I got to the center aisle, I had caused a bit of a traffic jam. I went as quickly as I could to the priest. Before giving me Communion, he whispered with a big smile, "Roller blades work marvelously, you know." I was so kerflummuxed by my little trip that I forgot to say, "Amen" (which is acceptable, although not the modern convention). Fr. Hal just patted me on the cheek.



My feet, as I play the piano at home before Mass. The drastic mismatch of my footwear made me laugh. I have to pedal with the wrong foot as well :-)

Fickle Pickle

I am very fickle. I am not a pickle. But I wanted a word that rhymed with fickle. I generally don't think of myself as a fickle individual (disagree if you want to), but last night I was definitely being an inconsistent little nincompoop.

In the space of about an hour, I went from being mildly irritated to hopping mad. That isn't too unnatural of a jump, but I didn't stop there. I next went to a state of feeling really bad about being mad, so much so that I was crying. After a few minutes of that, I started happily talking about baseball. (Did you know that the Detroit Tigers are the only American League team to have dropped three consecutive World Series? They did, between 1907-1909)

I am not an angry person. I am a very happy person. Just not post-operatively: then I am incredibly emotionally fragile. *sigh* I wish this would be over soon. One week down, five to go :-)

And really, how could you be mad at boys like these for long?