Laughing While Fasting

The scene here this morning:

Me: Anne, hey, it's time to get up.

Anne-with-an-e: If I can't eat, what's the point?

~~~~~~~~~~

A Blessed Triduum! I'll be back after Easter. 

Thoughts on Giving It Up and Getting It Back

I'm not sure why it is, but I don't seem to have much to say lately. For awhile, I blamed it on the book I was writing, but now that I'm coming down off that writing ledge, I'm not sure what to blame it on.

Lent has been fruitful, so maybe that's behind the silence. I've been busy living Lent, but not writing about it. Pondering but not expounding.

I'm your basic sugar addict. One of the things I gave up this Lent was sweets. So, yeah. I missed them. (At first, I started compensating, but then I knew I needed to cut that out, too.) But, as I said to Ramona the other day when we had a little talk about sacrifices, the great thing about Lent is that even though I think it's going to be impo-o-o-ossible (cue my childish whining) to give up the things I've discerned, the things I crave, the things I think I'll die without, God swoops in and comes to my aid. And I always realize a couple of things.

First, that it's pathetic, given the state of hunger in the world, that I have a hard time giving up sugar (or insert other addiction here.) Second, even though I don't like giving up delightful comforts, I can do it. No matter how inconceivable it seems, He gets me through it. He strengthens my will, shows me I can live without stuff. That's why I give things up.

As I said to Ramona, I know that on Easter I'll welcome sugar back with open arms, just as in the past I have reunited with coffee or chocolate or other consumable objective goods. I will give sugar a hearty pat on the back, invite it in, tell it how much I missed it, and ask it to sit down and stay awhile. "You know," I told Ramona, "I didn't have to give up sugar to love God, but isn't it a good feeling to know that I can?" Ramona nodded sagely, considering her own ten-year-old level of sacrifice.

Beyond knowing I can survive without certain comforts, I also love returning to them with a different perspective, a more discerning heart. More detachment. A willingness to consider my life and its cushiness in a new light.

But mostly I return to this: I emerge from the cocoon of Lent secure in the knowledge that, yes, sacrifice is hard, but I'm capable of executing it. With His help, I can do this, whatever "this" is for me -- in this moment, on this day, this year, in this life.

"I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me." ~~ Philippians, 4:13

Poetry Friday: Great Things Have Happened

Great Things Have Happened
by Alden Nowlan


We were talking about the great things
that have happened in our lifetimes;
and I said, "Oh, I suppose the moon landing
was the greatest thing that has happened
in my time." But, of course, we were all lying.
The truth is the moon landing didn't mean
one-tenth as much to me as one night in 1963
when we lived in a three-room flat in what once had been
the mansion of some Victorian merchant prince
(our kitchen had been a clothes closet, I'm sure),
on a street where by now nobody lived
who could afford to live anywhere else.
That night, the three of us, Claudine, Johnnie and me,

 ...

(Read the rest here, at The Writer's Almanac.)


Greg has the round up at Gotta Book.

Harry Potter Read-Alouds (and Edit-Alouds)

Ellie and Beth asked, after this post (in which I mentioned editing dark portions of the fourth Harry Potter book for Ramona) about how editing an HP read-aloud works.

To fully answer the question, I'd have to apparate back to the era when I first read the books to Anne-with-an-e and Betsy. But rather than do that (because my memory's a little feeble), I'll focus on how we're handling it right now with Ramona.

To answer a couple of their specific questions:

1. Yes, Ramona knows I'm editing. And she's glad of it. She knows she's more sensitive than some kids are, and she really doesn't want to hear anything too scary. So there's nothing covert about the operation. We're on the same page, so to speak.

2. If I remembered all the books as well as my teens do (or reread them as often), I might indeed decide beforehand what to cut. But the truth is, I don't always remember the scariest parts, so I wing it. But, my older girls are a huge help. They love the books enough to hang out and listen in as often as they can while I'm reading to Ramona, and that way, they're able to give me a heads-up as we dive into a hair-raising chapter. So this time around, the Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire read-aloud was a combination of pre-planning (thanks, girls) and winging it (which I failed to do perfectly.)

The failures usually arise when I'm getting too much into character, or am so absorbed in the story myself that I forget to edit. I have to remind myself not to read on auto-pilot. Auto-pilot can be an easy default position for me, even if I'm reading in accents and character voices. If I do start to slip, Anne and Betsy are great at reminding me to slow down and be wary of what's coming. And, Ramona herself will tell me if something's starting to get a little too scary. (Some scenes at the Quidditch World Cup, for example, needed to be toned down, and I didn't catch that right away.)

The main things we skip are descriptions of violence, and any situations that seem too disturbing (I've learned a lot about what might be disturbing from raising other sensitive girls, though, as mentioned above, I don't have a 100% success rate.)

None of this makes it as difficult as you might think to keep up with plot points. When I skip over something, I simply summarize it, so Ramona can stay abreast of the unfolding story without hearing every detail. For example ...

... and if you're one of the three people in the world who hasn't read the books yet ...

... and you don't want spoilers ...

... please don't read on ...

... and I will allow plenty of scroll space ...


.... before I continue ...


...with this post ...

Okay?

Okay.

For example, in Goblet of Fire, there are about three consecutive chapters that can be summed up with, "Voldemort did a spell and he has a body again, and he also had Cedric killed." Yes, there are details in those chapters that are important and will play out later, but by the time Ramona's old enough to read the next books in the series, she'll be old enough to know what happened in those chapters, too (and to do her own re-read.)  At this point, she can often handle the facts, she just doesn't want them played out dramatically before her eyes (or ears, with my bad British accent, as the case may be.)

What about you? How do you handle read-alouds with sensitive kids?

Top Ten Reasons I Haven't Been Blogging About Papal Predictions, the Conclave, or Pope Francis

10. I'm terrible at predictions.

9. Gambling has never been one of my temptations.

8. There are loads of other Catholic bloggers who specialize in things like predictions.

7. Anything I had to say about the conclave would have been a reposting of someone else's idea about conclaves. I have no original ideas about conclaves (see #8.)

6. I didn't have time to blog about the conclave -- the minute it started, it was over. So. Fast.

5. I felt no sense of urgency, anxiety, or worry. I felt calm. ("Calm" = "boring blogging.")

4. I trusted that the process would work. (We humans do mess up a lot, but God has proven capable of putting some things into motion that we can't seem to derail.)

3. I got a new vacuum cleaner last week. I've been busy cleaning.

2. Atticus and I discussed the following: as people who already strive to live the teachings of the Church, a changing-of-the-pope doesn't actually affect our day-to-day lives in a substantial way. That's the beauty of ancient, unchanging Sacred Tradition (see #4.)

1. Pope Francis appears to be awesome. He doesn't need me to tell you that.

ETA:

All of the above said, I have to add that when Ramona and I returned home early Wednesday after an activity of hers that was unexpectedly shortened, we tuned in to see what was going on with the announcement of a new pope. She and I sat together, and watched Pope Francis appear for the first time. I was immensely moved by his manner, his words, his request for prayer, the sudden silence of the crowd. I was moved by this enormous work of the Holy Spirit, the way he continues to, despite all of our efforts to undo goodness, put holy men at the forefront. It is God's huge work that allows me to get on with my small work. (See #2.)

If you don't love Billy Collins, I don't think we can be friends.

Okay, no, not really.

I have plenty of friends who do not share my love of Billy Collins, or even my love of poetry.

But, honestly, if you can read this poem and not be the slightest bit moved by Billy's (I get to call him Billy because I've blogged about him excessively), powers of observation and endearing existential angst, well, then, I just don't think we can spend Poetry Friday together.


Passengers
by Billy Collins

At the gate, I sit in a row of blue seats
with the possible company of my death,
this sprawling miscellany of people—
carry-on bags and paperbacks—
that could be gathered in a flash
into a band of pilgrims on the last open road.
Not that I think
if our plane crumpled into a mountain
we would all ascend together,
...

It's just that the way that man has his briefcase
so carefully arranged,
the way that girl is cooling her tea,
and the flow of the comb that woman
passes through her daughter's hair ...

(Read the whole poem here, at The Writer's Almanac.)

~~~~~~~~~~

Check out the round up today at Check It Out.

Ramona Is Spot On

Ramona, sifting through a couple boxes of old toys and stuffed animals the other day, happened upon Chicken Dance Elmo.

Yes. I said "Chicken Dance Elmo." I don't understand it either, but that's not the point.

Chicken Dance Elmo is a battery-operated, singing toy. Enough said.

Ramona's observation:

"When I was little, this provided hours of enjoyment for me, and hours of Up-the-Wallment for everyone else."

Epilogue: He's going back in the box.

Book Review: My Sisters the Saints

The cover looks a little dreamy. Muted and golden, the image hints at cozy chats, secrets shared in hushed tones, feminine confiding, and a tidy faith. In the distance, the light beckons. Ah ... all is well.

Not so fast.

All was not well, and Colleen Carroll Campbell knew it as early as her junior year in college. While nursing a hangover one autumn morning, she realized that a vague unease had settled over her, pricking at long-held assumptions, picking at a skin that had grown over unidentifiable feelings. Why did she feel such melancholy? Why was her freedom -- freedom from commitment, freedom in her career -- not forging the way to happiness?

As a young woman who grew up with feminism in her bones, in "the air she breathed," Campbell was puzzled. She was embarking on the kind of life she'd always assumed she would have, and yet something was missing. What was it?

In My Sisters the Saints, Campbell chronicles a years-long spiritual journey. Much more than a pious treatise on saints as role models, the book is a portrait of a living, breathing community that is all the more interesting because much of the community is dead. That's the ironic wonder of the communion of saints, and Campbell does a fine job of showing us how it works without pounding us over the head with its inner theological gears.

As she struggled through genuinely painful and challenging events in her life (I don't want to give them away, as they are at the core of the narrative), six saints -- Teresa of Avila, Therese of Lisieux, Faustina, Edith Stein, Mother Teresa, and Mary, mother of Jesus -- found her, or she found them. And in them, she unearthed strength, ideas, and inspiration that helped her piece together the puzzle that was her circumstance and worldview.

These are some of the very saints I was drawn to early in my conversion -- they helped me in strikingly similar ways. I was a feminist looking into the Catholic Church, and initially, those two things seemed incompatible: feminist freedom? And Catholicism? Please. I struggled to figure out how to be fully Catholic, fully a woman, fully a human being, in the context of marriage, work, children, life, and faith. Campbell did, too. Her journey unfolded in the high-power world of Washington, D.C., but the questions and conflicts are the same, whether you're an East Coast player or a midwestern middle manager: work or family? His job or mine? Children or not, and when? How do we do all this?

I especially loved the honest little details that made me laugh; I could relate. When Campbell accepted a friend's offer to speak at a women's luncheon, she was hesitant. She had attended the same luncheon the previous year, and felt painfully out of place:

The keynote had focused on faith and fashion - not a gripping topic for someone who still wears shirts she bought in high school and typically jumps on trend bandwagons just as everyone else is jumping off. I cringed when the speaker began by congratulating her audience on choosing the season's hottest new pastel-colored flouncy skirts and pumps over dark hues and pants, a sure sign that they cherished their femininity. There I was at the head table, sporting a five-year-old black pantsuit with dowdy flats and feeling like Bella Abzug trapped at a Tupperware party. Things went downhill from there. 

I think I've been at that Tupperware party. In the same flats.

I read My Sisters the Saints in one Sunday. It was surprising, touching, and edifying. In the end, the muted, golden cover fits after all. All is well, and the journey to golden is worth braving.

~~~~~

My Sisters the Saints is on a virtual book tour. If you'd like to follow along, you can find the full schedule, including previous stops,  here, at Image Books. Upcoming stops include:

March 9: Prints of Grace

March 10: Feminism the Catholic “F” Word

March 11: Catholic Vote

March 12: Snoring Scholar

March 13: Maria Shriver

March 14: This Cross I Embrace

March 15: Catholic Mom 

Not really strange. We all know that in this case, "raisin" is spelled "c-o-m-p-e-n-s-a-t-i-o-n."

Me: "Strange how I want raisins on my oatmeal now that I've given up sweets for Lent."

Ramona: "Well, Mommy, they are nature's candy."

School and Unschool and Everything In Between

What we've been doing:

* For Ramona's book club we just finished reading Marie McSwigan's Snow Treasure. It was slow going for her at first, but once we got into the meat of it, she enjoyed it. Here's a link to my quick review from 2006. (That was waaaay back when I read it to my then 10- and 12-year olds, and Ramona was just a pre-schooler. And here's a link to loads of other WWII related reading for younger readers.)

* Ramona has a new pen pal. Snail mail lives! We use this stuff called paper, pen, envelopes, and stamps. If you haven't tried them, you should give it a whirl. It's revolutionary!

* Science for Ramona right now is mostly National Geographic Kids and Kids Discover. These also dovetail nicely into the "social studies" category. Also under the social studies category is being ten years old and living with teenagers ... all kinds of opportunities for viewing those creatures in their natural habitat and discussing their anomalies with your mother.

* Finished reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire to Ramona. (I edit the icky, dark parts late in the book.) All past bloggy-things-Harry are here.

* Dragon Box is still a hit around here.

* Ramona also likes several of the math games she's tried at Sheppard Software.

* Betsy, who's taking a French class at the college, is reading Pride and Prejudice on the Kindle -- in French. She's also re- (re-re-re-) reading a hard copy in English, so if she gets hung up, she just jogs her memory with that. She's surpassed me and the little bit of French I took many years ago. I do still remember how to ask what time it is and the location of the nearest bathroom. Vital stuff.

* Anne-with-an-e loves spring break almost as much as she loves dissecting things in her zoology class.  Or is it that she loves dissecting things almost as much as she loves a leisurely spring break? Either way, she's having a lovely week.

* Lent rolls along. Our Lamb of God is beginning to grow fuzzy. I can be heard occasionally complaining that I really want to have something sweet. Sugar! (Eeek...How spoiled am I? Really!?) I caved one evening, the Saturday night we were out of town for the girls' Winter Ball. I gobbled some regifted chocolates that night. (That is a story too long to go into, but suffice to say that I do a Christmas gift exchange with a friend each year, and I always give him oatmeal cookies, and he always gives me regifted chocolates, and this was the first time we'd seen each other since Christmas. A sad excuse, but the only one I've got.) Back to Lent: we have lots of talks about sacrifice and hardship, hunger and plenty, waste and abundance, sin and repentance. We talk about weakness and chocolate and first world problems.

We got ourselves to confession. We'll plan to get there again soon.

* We've started doing Night Prayer with the girls. I've used iBreviary for myself for some time now, and love it. Atticus and I also use it for Morning Prayer, and now Ramona is enjoying taking charge of scrolling us through the Liturgy of the Hours before bedtime. It's loverly.

Farewell, Papa

I have known only two popes since I became a Catholic.

Pope John Paul II was our beloved Holy Daddy, as Ramona called him, and I learned to love the Catholic Church in no small part thanks to him. He taught me not to fear. In 2006, I wrote:

"Behold, God is my salvation. I will trust and not be afraid, for the Lord is my strength and my song, and He has also become my salvation. Therefore with joy you shall draw water from the wells of salvation. On that day you shall say: Praise the Lord, call upon His name; among the nations make known His deeds, proclaim how exalted is His name. Sing to the Lord, for He has done glorious things. Let this be known in all the earth. Shout with exultation, O inhabitant of Zion, for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel!"

~~ Isaiah 12:2-6 

Any time I hear the words, "Be not afraid" I think of our dear, departed Papa, John Paul II (or John Paul the Great, as I'm sure he will be known in years to come.) The first words of his pontificate were, "Be not afraid!" I return to these words so often: in times of trial, in times of anxiety, in times of uncertainty.

When I fret about our homeschool, or about my abilities as a teacher:
Be not afraid.
When I worry about not having another child, or about having one:
Be not afraid.
When I pay the bills and stew about money:
Be not afraid.
When I despair about the world:
Be not afraid.

Fear is not from God. He doesn't want me to waste my precious days, hours, or even minutes in worry and fear. And who am I to replace the good He has in store for me with worry of my own making?

And so, "I will trust and not be afraid, for the Lord is my strength and my song, and He has also become my salvation."

For the last eight years, Pope Benedict XVI has been our holy daddy, and I think I must move at the same glacier-pace as does the Church in some matters, because I still sometimes think of him as "our new pope." (I don't, ahem, always adapt well to change.) Our new pope touched my heart from the first moment -- I  remember hearing that he had been looking forward to retiring, to long walks, and writing books. And then... this. The papacy. What a privilege, yes, but what a burden. Unimaginable weight.

And yet, he accepted. Of course he accepted. With humility and obedience to God, he accepted. It was not what he wanted, but he said yes.

Now he has resigned. He told us that after repeatedly examining his conscience he had come to the conclusion that this was the course he must take. In his resignation I see the same humility and obedience that Pope B16 displayed when he said yes eight years ago. He gives us -- has always given us -- a supreme model of prayer. We all, including holy daddies, must pray, listen for God's response, and pay attention once that response becomes apparent.

Our lives are not our own.

Pope John Paul II showed us that when he stayed, a suffering servant, in the papacy until his death. He prayed, he listened, and he obeyed. Pope Benedict XVI showed us the same thing when he resigned. He, a different kind of suffering servant, also prayed, listened, and obeyed.

Obedience looks different in every life.

Both of these holy men taught me invaluable lessons in love and obedience, trust and faith.

"And so I say to you, you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, 

and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it." 

~~ Matthew 16:18