hmmm

So yesterday was memorial day. A day to commemorate those soldiers who fight and die for our freedom. We remember them and thank them for the sacrifice they make willingly on our behalf. Remembering them in this way is a solemn occasion. Our culture tends to make a party out of it and forget about the authentic meaning of the day. It trivializes our heroes.

But don't we do that every day? To the most wonderful Hero that has ever been?

The one who died for all of us.

A death that He did nothing to deserve.

A death by which He gained nothing, but only benefited mankind.

A most horrible, excruciating, painful, torturous death.

One that was added to by the weight of every sin committed by men throughout all time.

Every single day of our lives, a memorial is offered. A living sacrifice that we so often neglect. Not everyone has the time or resources to go to Mass every day... but we should never forget it. We should never trivialize it.

But we do. Christmas, Easter... Catholic celebrations filled with light and real joy are trivialized and commercialized into something unworthy of the name "holy day."

"Do this in memory of me."

Every day should be memorial day.

Memorial Day

To commemorate the holiday, the SMYA group went to three of the local convalescent homes to sing patriotic songs to the residents. At every location, we asked if there were any veterans or veteran's wives in the audience, and what branch they belonged to. My brother and I would then sing (with characteristic gusto) the anthems of the various branches. They loved it all. The singing. The attention. The young, enthusiastic people.

As I made my way around the room to visit with all of the people individually, one man grabbed my arm and pulled me down low. He was wearing a red polo shirt, which I noticed had "U.S. Marine Corps" embroidered on it. He held tight onto my hands and half-whispered, "Thank you."

This man, who had fought four long years in World War II for his country, sacrificing his time, energy, comfort, happiness was thanking me for singing to him. This man, who would have given his life for his country, was thanking me for coming to see him on that beautiful Sunday afternoon. For a moment, I was at a loss for words. My often-repeated, "You're very welcome, I'm glad I could come sing for you..." speech seemed inappropriate for the occasion. I thought for another moment and said, "No, thank you. I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you did for me." He smiled and said, "Well, little miss, we wanted to do it for you. It was really our pleasure."

So to those men and women who knowingly and willingly lay their lives on the line every day for me: thank you. It isn't enough to say it. You deserve so much more. But thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

words to live by...

"The means for maintaining perfect love is to accomplish frequent acts of love. Fire is kindled by the wood we cast into it and love is enkindled by acts of love."
~ St. Alphonsus Liguori

BerrfdayPikturz

My "vintage" look while baking birthday cake.

Gotta taste test :)

A fabulous dinner (note the glass of red wine) :)

21 candles

(: YUM :)

Legal

Geez, I'm old. I'll be 21 tomorrow. Yikes.

But really, not much has changed since I was little. Here's a picture from my 4th birthday party:

I still can't eat chocolate cake without getting it all over my face. And I still love tiaras.

I'm still me! :)

Excerpts...

You're better than the best
I'm lucky just to linger in your light...

Nothing can compare to where you send me
Let's me know that it's okay...

You make me smile like the sun...

You make me dance like fool...

Buzz like a bee...

Oh, you make me smile...

Even when you're gone
Somehow you come along just like a flower pokin' through the sidewalk crack
And just like that
You steal away the rain...

Don't know how I lived without you
'Cuz everytime that I get around you
I see the best of me inside your eyes...

Oh you make me smile :)

(You Make Me Smile, by Uncle Kracker)


:-) :-) :-) :-) :-)

Wanda

Our favorite fluffy golden doggie had a vet appointment this morning. She's such a love - very sweet, very excitable, very happy, and very, very, very spoiled. The first thing she did upon getting to the vet office was to jump up onto the cushioned benches. I got her off, but apparently, she's allowed up there. And she was so much happier up there... goosey dog. :)




Oh, Wanda the one-eyed wonder dog... :)

Life Is Like Dessert

I got a little seedling planted in my brain this morning. A little seed of another person's (Ann Voskamp, "One Thousand Gifts") thought that ripened into a bit of a reflection on life.

Life is like dessert.

Dessert is sweet. Every bite is something to enjoy. It brings joy when savored. Many recipes are made better by contrasting flavors, some less sweet than others. By adding nuts or marmalade or rhubarb, you add to the layers of flavor that make the whole more enticing.

Life is the same way. There are days that are so sweet that you couldn't ask for any little bit of them to be better. But the days that aren't quite so sweet, that have pain and struggles and sadness in them, add to the overall flavor of life as a whole. No one would want every day to be entirely comprised of hard knocks, just as no one would want to munch on plain rhubarb. But the perfect combination is the most satisfactory of all. The sun shines clearest and brightest after the darkest clouds.

Dessert is short. It is a little crown to the meal, a brief moment of exceptional sweetness. It shouldn't be wolfed down or eaten with half-attention. It's too short for that. We all want to hold onto it. Those who want more dessert are simply those who didn't savor those first bites. Seconds are simply a way of making up for that rush.

Life, too, is brief. It ends so fast. I didn't understand this as a child. The two days before Christmas seemed like an eternity. The time span between birthdays was an infinite void that wasn't able to be traversed by mere mortals. But now it goes by so fast. Too fast. One day to another, one task to another, and then, all of the sudden... it's over. We always want more life. More days. More time. Could it simply be that we didn't slow down enough to enjoy it? To really, truly experience it? To savor it? That request for more seems to be a compensation for our missing it the first time around. We want a second chance, even if we don't realize exactly what it is we missed.

Dessert isn't strictly necessary: a cook doesn't have to make dessert to complete a meal. But it is made simply for the enjoyment of those partaking in the meal. A gift given from a desire to please beyond what is strictly necessary for nourishment. It makes people happy.

Life, the gift we're given moment by moment, isn't strictly necessary either. God, in his infinite power, glory, knowledge, simplicity, being, and essence does not need to give life to anything. His being is the same as His essence. He is wholly self-sufficient, not reliant on anything outside of Himself. He lacks nothing. But yet, here we are. Each one of us, every created thing, has been given life as a free gift. It allows us to be happy. The search for happiness, which is common to all men, is made possible by the life we're given. God can only have created us for our good alone: we give nothing to Him that He does not already have. But he wanted, willed, desired to create us for our good. Our life, our existence, is not strictly necessary. But it's given to us to make us happy.

Life is like dessert.

Now for something completely different

A year ago I had ankle surgery. Not exactly a year ago (I'm about 4 days late...), but still...

I couldn't walk a year ago...

I couldn't get up stairs, feed myself, or go swimming...

I was on a LOT of pain meds...

This summer is going to be so completely different!

It's going to be... FUN! :))))

Kerfwump!

I was peacefully sewing at the table in the school room. Humming to myself, gently pushing the fabric through the machine, I wasn't expecting to have any "episodes" of klutziness. But somehow (and I have absolutely no idea how...) I fell over backwards.

One minute, I was sitting on the bench. The next, I was on the floor. I didn't even just gently slide backwards. It was almost like I was catapulted off, heels over head.

I don't know how it happened. At all. HA! :)

Wet Water

The beach is a beautiful place. There's smooth sand under your feet, warm sun on your face, a gentle, cool breeze blowing, and the rush of water nearby. And then it hits you. Quite literally.

There was a distance of about thirty feet between the edge of the gently lapping water and the 50 foot cliff face. Mum and I were standing in the middle of it, contentedly letting our feet sink into the sand. Suddenly (and I mean suddenly) this HUGE wave came racing toward us. I shrieked and turned around. The water splashed my back, but my front remained dry. It remained dry, that is, until the water hit the cliff and bounced back at us. Then I was all wet.

So was Mum. And Mum's purse. Mum's phone? Absolutely dead.

Gotta love being us - we have the strangest luck and it seems to be genetic ;)

Silly me

I have this tendency to try to do too many things in one day. I didn't think today would be one of those days.

Silly me.

And I have a question for the universe: WHY must I learn how to drive? And, granting that there is a reasonable answer to that question, HOW is a girl with no depth perception and a very high-strung personality supposed to learn?!? I don't understand this... I can't resolve it to a plug and chug formula like math or fit it into an excel spreadsheet... it's too unpredictable, flexible, and hideously frightening. I thought this would be simpler!

Silly, silly, silly me.

To-Do

My Saturday:

Get up and curl Andrea's hair for Joan's wedding

Brush Wanda

Clean my room

Clean the kids bathroom and the half-bath downstairs

Cook dinner for Neil and Anna

Enjoy dinner and N&A's company!

It's REALLY out there

Apparently...

there's ice cream...

named after...

(you're not going to believe this...)

Superman.

It was the source of slight contention early first semester. A few of us had gone out ice skating and decided an ice cream treat was in order. My best friend suggested this outlandish notion of superman ice cream.

"Superman ice cream?!" I repeated back to him, incredulous at the mere suggestion of such a nonsensical idea.

"Yeah... it's blue and red and yellow, all mixed together. It's good. It's... superman ice cream."

We looked for said ice cream, but to no avail. We settled on vanilla or some such prosaic flavor. I soon forgot about it... why would a girl with a dairy allergy remember such a silly trifle as an ice cream flavor? I completely forgot the occurrence. Put it out of my mind entirely.

Until today.

Apparently, it does exist.

really, truly, and emphatically.

Or, at least, to the extent that you can really, truly, and emphatically believe things to exist that you haven't actually seen with your own eyes, but have seen in pictures that were telecommunicated to you from Michigan.

I was sent a picture of a bucket of the stuff by that dear boy. He, apparently, hadn't forgotten my incredulity. I am still slightly incredulous. Not disbelieving about its existence, but why? Why does red, yellow, and blue ice cream exist?

So I did what any self-respecting member of my generation would do when faced with an unknown: I googled it.

APPARENTLY (I've been using this word very, very much in this post), it's a Michigan thing. It's an obsession, as it were. There's a blogger who's alias is "Superman Ice Cream." People have searched high and low for the concoction once they have moved away from Michigan, looking for the favored treat of their childhood summers. It can't be found... anywhere! Well, nearly anywhere. One can find it in about five locations outside of the hand state. Apart from that, it isn't to be found.

Michigan people... gotta love 'em :)

But superman ice cream?

really?

Friday Night, TAC style

Friday nights are absolute blank slates on our campus. For the unimaginative, unenthusiastic, and lackluster among us, they are horrendously boring. For the individuals over twenty-one who have access to a car, they usually involve somewhat unideal behavior. For the rest of the student body, who possess creativity, enthusiasm, and youthful impetuosity, the blank slate presented is ripe with opportunity for fun.

But for this little missy, fun somehow translates into horrendous injury. Let me explain by way of an example...

Sean needed to be shoved into the ponds. He was being an incorrigible imp and he deserved punishment. Our deal to even the score? I would get to shove him into the ponds not one, but three times. (As a side note, I don't "punish" people when they really deserve it. I only take this tack when it was harmless fun and I'm pretending to be highly incensed. If the action was really offensive, I just let the individual know and walk away. This tactic is especially affective with this particular young man because it makes him think about it for himself) Friday night was the date and time settled on to carry out this punishment. I met him with a couple of other girls on upper campus and traipsed down to the first pond.

We chose the first pond for two reasons: one, it is the shortest walk and two, it is generally the warmest. However, this was March, early March at that. Standing behind Sean, I almost backed out. After all, he didn't really do anything wrong and that water was freezing! He wouldn't have any of that, though. He stood there, quite staunchly, waiting for me to give him a shove. Michelle and Kim did not share my scruples and were encouraging me to push him without hesitation. A couple of minutes later, I screwed my eyes shut and shoved. I didn't open my eyes until I heard the splash of the tumbling Sean. The expression on his face when he came up was one of extreme shock and mild pain. "it's c-c-c-c-cold!!!"

He climbed out and stood to be shoved in again. Now that he was shivering and wet, I had fewer qualms about shoving him into the water. In fact, the faster I did it, the less time he would spend wet and shivering. So, in he went again. But watching him clamber out a second time, I couldn't see myself doing it again to him. I began pleading with him to go change and get warm. Two times was more than sufficient and he would catch a cold if he stayed out any longer. But he's more stubborn than I am. I gave him a very lackluster shove, but this time, my feet didn't stay on the ground. I tripped backwards, fell off the sidewalk, and tumbled into the bushes behind me, giving myself a horrendously sprained ankle in the process. Sean was pretty confused when he emerged from the water. Kim and Michelle were off in the bushes and I was nowhere in sight. He pulled himself out and scrambled over to see what was going on. I didn't tell him because I knew the massive panic that it would produce in him.

I was helped up by the girls and tried to minimize the limp as we walked back up the path. It very soon became apparent that the walk up the hill behind the chapel was a no-go. Sean's solution? Find a wheelbarrow to put me in. :)

After a highly undignified ride, part 2 of the catastrophe happened. I was being helped across the field by the girls and I fell into a gopher hole with the other foot. Two sprained ankles in the space of 15 minutes. Oh, the indignity of it. Walking was now out of the question, so Sean's carrying solution was to pick me up and set me sorta sideways on his hip. It was uncomfortable to say the least. After a few protestations on my part, he finally relented and gave me a normal piggy back ride.

But that was my Friday night. It started out with a bit of harmless fun and ended with me being paraded around in a wheelchair. I should just stop trying to have fun :P

1000 Words

Dress shopping

So I bit the bullet and went to David's Bridal yesterday to shop for my bridesmaid dress. I was armed with the list of dress options that the bride had sent and a firm resolve to be patient, firm, and dignified.

I walked into the dressing room with seven dresses, two of which were deemed "acceptable" by myself, my sister, and my mother. Three of the other dresses occasioned me to wonder what the fashion world was coming to on two levels: first, the lack of decency and second, the horrendous quality of the seamstressing. The zippers didn't work, some of the seams were crooked, etc. When you go shopping and you realize that you could do a better job yourself, it discourages you from buying the product, especially when it is priced outlandishly.

The two dresses that I ended up waffling between each had their own unique charms. The first was a boatneck in the front and a deep v down the back, but it didn't fit me right. It wasn't that it was too big or too small, it just didn't fit. I looked sorta like I was wearing a sack for potatoes. The second one covers a bit less of me, but it fit perfectly. I found a jacket (which I would have worn with either dress, at least for Mass) that made it quite presentable. It's a little lower than school dresscode would allow for, but still within my comfort zone. I went with the cute one that didn't cause me to resemble something found at a grocery store.

And I'm happy with it. Best part? It has POCKETS! What girl could be unhappy with a dress that has pockets?!

Mom (as opposed to Mum, of course)

My brother, the problem solver

I was telling a story from school that involved boy-girl drama. In a girls' dorm, whenever there is that sort of drama, people end up staying up til three in the morning talking about it. More often than not, it's blown out of proportion, but that's what girls do in the wee hours of the morning when they're talking about boys. My brother's solution?

"Sometimes I wonder why God didn't just make a special drinking fountain for women to have babies."

Little Blessings

A hot cup of tea on an unseasonably cold May evening.

Food without dairy or soy.

Unpacking 5 boxes.

Knowing that friends are getting home safely.

No homework.

Sleeping til 10.

Watching fairytale weddings of real people.

Walking around the block with my sister.



Having confidence that things are in bigger hands than mine.

Let's make it official

I always figure that if I write something down, it somehow becomes an infallible truth, especially if it is written in pen. While I know that this medium is not exactly indelible ink, I'm going to use it similarly, hoping against hope that it will accomplish the same end. What, you may ask, do I want to come true today? I want it to be true that, by dinner, I will have unpacked at least 3 of the oh-so-many boxes that are now piled in my room.

It will happen, I guarantee it.

See? what could go wrong now? :)

Home

So tired.

Unbelievably tired.

Must sleep.

and then...

UNPACK

Hello, summer!

:)