Today is my niece's 11th birthday. I wanted to switch up the normal Friday school routine, so when she came for school I let her pick a craft from one of our dust-covered crafty books.
"Stained Glass Leaves."
Hm... wax paper, fall leaves, iron... it looked innocuous enough.
Thinking ahead, I put newspaper down on the table so the wax paper wouldn't melt onto the table. Everything was so under control.
"Why don't we craft every Friday, again?" I asked myself.
I cut out the wax paper with an X-Acto knife, the girls found and arranged the leaves, I ironed the leaves between wax paper over newspaper, and had a fairly good looking project to show for it (not "wow!" but not "eeew").
Then I surveyed the damage.
The newspaper ink had heat-sealed itself onto my table and the X-Acto knife had left gouges in it.
Ah!!! Help!!
So I remembered rubbing alcohol removes ink, and quickly gave it a wipe-over. It worked!
But apparently rubbing alcohol also removes tarnish.
Aah!! Help!!
Mayonnaise removes watermarks... maybe it would undo my bleaching.
Well... it'll take a few hours before I know if that worked or not.
In the meantime, I unthinkingly set down a letter to my sister on the table, and now it's covered in grease stains.
Maybe this is why we don't craft every Friday.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
How NOT to Flirt
When I was about 13 or so, my family went on a road trip. I don't remember where we went, but I know it must not have been a usual destination, because we had to use a phone book to find a Catholic church for Sunday Mass.
Well, I had a thing in those days for altar boys. I had a crush on several high school altar boys at our parish... even then I knew the good catches were the active parishioners.
So anyway, here we were at a strange parish, far from home, and I thought one of the altar boys was uncommonly cute. Knowing I'd never see him again, I thought I'd test out my flirting capabilities. So, bypassing recollected devotion and forfeiting all grace, I spent the First Reading, the Responsorial Psalm and the Second Reading trying inconspicuously to catch the eye of the albed assistant. Finally, during the Gospel (Lord, forgive me!), I made and kept eye contact.
I strained to remember every bit of etiquette my mother had been trying to instill in me since birth... I wanted to appear a gracious lady. I filed through the mental catalog. "Keep your shoulders back, don't slouch, fold your hands over your lap, the fork goes on the left..." check, check, check, n/a... oh! Yes!! Now for the crown jewel. "Open your eyes wide -- it makes them prettier."
I tried it. Suddenly, the altar boy looked more interested. Schweet success! My fledgling flirting skillz were sharp.
A minute or two into the homily and my eyes were starting to ache. How long did I have to keep this up?
Then I discovered, undoubtedly an inspiration for the salvation of my soul, that if I lowered my brow I could keep my eyes wide open without any strain.
The altar boy smiled.
I blinked my eyelashes delicately, and picked a new eyes-wide-open-brow-dropped position.
He laughed. "I think he's really into me," I thought. Then he nudged the other altar boy and nodded in my direction. The other altar boy erupted in laughter and quickly smothered it into a cough.
Things were getting dangerous. I was drawing far too much attention to myself... "I must be really hot stuff," I thought, feeling a little guilty for being so alluring in Church, so I backed off. The homily came to an end and besides a few eyes-wide-open moments scattered throughout the rest of Mass, I laid low.
It was only when we got back to the hotel that I went into the bathroom and tried out my foolproof man-catcher glances in the mirror.
Semi-normal smile with eyes a little more open than usual (during the Gospel).
Pin-in-the-rear-end "my eyes are wide open" look (which garnered a smile).
Ultra-creepy "eyes-open-brow-dropped" look (which got the laugh).
Crazed fugitive on the run "eyes-open brow dropped look" (got his buddy to laugh).
I was thoroughly self-chastised.
I didn't come out of the bathroom for another half hour, and I never flirted again.
Well, I had a thing in those days for altar boys. I had a crush on several high school altar boys at our parish... even then I knew the good catches were the active parishioners.
So anyway, here we were at a strange parish, far from home, and I thought one of the altar boys was uncommonly cute. Knowing I'd never see him again, I thought I'd test out my flirting capabilities. So, bypassing recollected devotion and forfeiting all grace, I spent the First Reading, the Responsorial Psalm and the Second Reading trying inconspicuously to catch the eye of the albed assistant. Finally, during the Gospel (Lord, forgive me!), I made and kept eye contact.
I strained to remember every bit of etiquette my mother had been trying to instill in me since birth... I wanted to appear a gracious lady. I filed through the mental catalog. "Keep your shoulders back, don't slouch, fold your hands over your lap, the fork goes on the left..." check, check, check, n/a... oh! Yes!! Now for the crown jewel. "Open your eyes wide -- it makes them prettier."
I tried it. Suddenly, the altar boy looked more interested. Schweet success! My fledgling flirting skillz were sharp.
A minute or two into the homily and my eyes were starting to ache. How long did I have to keep this up?
Then I discovered, undoubtedly an inspiration for the salvation of my soul, that if I lowered my brow I could keep my eyes wide open without any strain.
The altar boy smiled.
I blinked my eyelashes delicately, and picked a new eyes-wide-open-brow-dropped position.
He laughed. "I think he's really into me," I thought. Then he nudged the other altar boy and nodded in my direction. The other altar boy erupted in laughter and quickly smothered it into a cough.
Things were getting dangerous. I was drawing far too much attention to myself... "I must be really hot stuff," I thought, feeling a little guilty for being so alluring in Church, so I backed off. The homily came to an end and besides a few eyes-wide-open moments scattered throughout the rest of Mass, I laid low.
It was only when we got back to the hotel that I went into the bathroom and tried out my foolproof man-catcher glances in the mirror.
I was thoroughly self-chastised.
I didn't come out of the bathroom for another half hour, and I never flirted again.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Our Love Story, Part XII
[Read Parts I-XI here.]
There was no call when I got home; I didn't expect one, and I wouldn't have answered it if there had been, anyway. I was mad.
After that Summer, I wanted to forget everything about Mr. Amazing and put my silly crush to an end, once and for all. But try as I might to forget, everything reminded me of him. Suddenly I was seeing sage brush everywhere. I saw his name written on websites, in stores, and in books. The low point came when I saw his exact likeness in a plate of mashed potatoes. Something had to be done.
So I did what any good Catholic girl would do. I started a 54 Day Rosary Novena, for guidance and clarity. Nine days, I thought, was child's play; I needed to prove I was serious about this guy.
By this time I had confided in my little sister and a few other close friends. Most of them urged me just to call him or write him and spill my heart out. But I was determined not to do that. If he was worthy, he would approach me. I'd provide ample opportunities for him to do so, of course, but I was adamant that he would have to make the first move.
It was about Day 31 or so, and I'd heard nothing. My prayers were being answered, I thought, and the answer was clearly, "no." I'd hit my nadir, one day, and was about to throw in the towel when I told God, "I know there are 23 days left to go, but I'm fed up with this. If I don't see some movement today, I'll take it that I already have my answer and be done with it. I don't even need clarity -- just let him contact me! Phone, e-mail, letter, carrier pigeon, smoke signals... anything!"
I half expected lightning to strike, or perhaps the phone to ring. But, of course there was silence.
As was my Sunday custom in those days, I was settling in for my long late-morning nap, when the phone rang.
"Hello?" I said at last, a little annoyed by the intrusion.
"Hi," answered a deep rich jovial male voice.
I almost hung up the phone in amazement. It kind of sounded like him. I gulped hard... it's hard to determine anyone's voice by just a "hi." The next line would make or break me.
"How are you?" I asked, feigning recognition and clearing my throat about 3 times in the process.
"Oh, I'm doing fine! But I have a question."
It WAS him!! Yes, of course I'll be your one true love!! Though you could've asked me sooner!
"I teach CCD classes and I'm trying to remember the Greek name for the Holy Spirit. I remember Logos, but that's the Word -- the Son."
Well, that's hardly what I was expecting, but it was something! Of course in that instant I had forgotten everything I'd ever learned about Theology. I stalled.
"You teach CCD?"
"Yes... the 9th grade."
I didn't know that. This was good... keep stalling.
"It's so good to hear from you! How is Miriam?"
"Oh, she's doing very well. How are you?"
I'd be a lot better if you'd tell me how much you missed me, and how you had tried to call me every day but just hadn't been able to reach me.
"Oh, doin' great," I fibbed.
Finally, after all of the formalities of checking up on everyone's health, and after exhausting all possible queries about the weather, and after intense mental strain and powers of concentration, I had remembered something!!
"I know that in Hebrew the term ruah was used, for breath or wind. But in Greek..."
"Ruah?" he said, as though taking notes. Oohh... this was good. Time to lay it on thick.
"Yes, as in... 'Veha'arets hayetah tohu vabohu vechoshech al-peney tehom ve-ruah Elohim merachefet al-peney hamayim.'"
That's the only Hebrew I know (Genesis 1:2), but it sounded good.
"Wow. That's pretty neat. But do you know the Greek word?"
Blast. I was afraid he'd ask that. I closed my eyes and searched hard.
At last, "Oh! Yes! I do remember. It's pneuma or hagion pneuma." I felt as though I'd nailed the final question on Jeopardy.
"Ah! That does sound familiar. You're right! Thank you so much; I thought you might know it."
I could get used to this phone thing. He couldn't see me blushing... or fist pumping and dancing around the room.
"Well, I'd better get back to planning my lesson. Thanks so much!" he said, hurriedly.
WHAT!? That's it!!? Now's the time to proclaim your deep and undying love for me! Gratitude, buddy, gratitude!
Before waiting for me to give much of a reply, I heard the fatal click and the icy cold dial tone. I stared at the phone wondering... what just happened?
To be continued...
There was no call when I got home; I didn't expect one, and I wouldn't have answered it if there had been, anyway. I was mad.
After that Summer, I wanted to forget everything about Mr. Amazing and put my silly crush to an end, once and for all. But try as I might to forget, everything reminded me of him. Suddenly I was seeing sage brush everywhere. I saw his name written on websites, in stores, and in books. The low point came when I saw his exact likeness in a plate of mashed potatoes. Something had to be done.
So I did what any good Catholic girl would do. I started a 54 Day Rosary Novena, for guidance and clarity. Nine days, I thought, was child's play; I needed to prove I was serious about this guy.
By this time I had confided in my little sister and a few other close friends. Most of them urged me just to call him or write him and spill my heart out. But I was determined not to do that. If he was worthy, he would approach me. I'd provide ample opportunities for him to do so, of course, but I was adamant that he would have to make the first move.
It was about Day 31 or so, and I'd heard nothing. My prayers were being answered, I thought, and the answer was clearly, "no." I'd hit my nadir, one day, and was about to throw in the towel when I told God, "I know there are 23 days left to go, but I'm fed up with this. If I don't see some movement today, I'll take it that I already have my answer and be done with it. I don't even need clarity -- just let him contact me! Phone, e-mail, letter, carrier pigeon, smoke signals... anything!"
I half expected lightning to strike, or perhaps the phone to ring. But, of course there was silence.
As was my Sunday custom in those days, I was settling in for my long late-morning nap, when the phone rang.
"Hello?" I said at last, a little annoyed by the intrusion.
"Hi," answered a deep rich jovial male voice.
I almost hung up the phone in amazement. It kind of sounded like him. I gulped hard... it's hard to determine anyone's voice by just a "hi." The next line would make or break me.
"How are you?" I asked, feigning recognition and clearing my throat about 3 times in the process.
"Oh, I'm doing fine! But I have a question."
It WAS him!! Yes, of course I'll be your one true love!! Though you could've asked me sooner!
"I teach CCD classes and I'm trying to remember the Greek name for the Holy Spirit. I remember Logos, but that's the Word -- the Son."
Well, that's hardly what I was expecting, but it was something! Of course in that instant I had forgotten everything I'd ever learned about Theology. I stalled.
"You teach CCD?"
"Yes... the 9th grade."
I didn't know that. This was good... keep stalling.
"It's so good to hear from you! How is Miriam?"
"Oh, she's doing very well. How are you?"
I'd be a lot better if you'd tell me how much you missed me, and how you had tried to call me every day but just hadn't been able to reach me.
"Oh, doin' great," I fibbed.
Finally, after all of the formalities of checking up on everyone's health, and after exhausting all possible queries about the weather, and after intense mental strain and powers of concentration, I had remembered something!!
"I know that in Hebrew the term ruah was used, for breath or wind. But in Greek..."
"Ruah?" he said, as though taking notes. Oohh... this was good. Time to lay it on thick.
"Yes, as in... 'Veha'arets hayetah tohu vabohu vechoshech al-peney tehom ve-ruah Elohim merachefet al-peney hamayim.'"
That's the only Hebrew I know (Genesis 1:2), but it sounded good.
"Wow. That's pretty neat. But do you know the Greek word?"
Blast. I was afraid he'd ask that. I closed my eyes and searched hard.
At last, "Oh! Yes! I do remember. It's pneuma or hagion pneuma." I felt as though I'd nailed the final question on Jeopardy.
"Ah! That does sound familiar. You're right! Thank you so much; I thought you might know it."
I could get used to this phone thing. He couldn't see me blushing... or fist pumping and dancing around the room.
"Well, I'd better get back to planning my lesson. Thanks so much!" he said, hurriedly.
WHAT!? That's it!!? Now's the time to proclaim your deep and undying love for me! Gratitude, buddy, gratitude!
Before waiting for me to give much of a reply, I heard the fatal click and the icy cold dial tone. I stared at the phone wondering... what just happened?
To be continued...
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Halloween Candy Pizza
It's election day. Decisions, decisions, decisions.
Actually most of the ballot was a no-brainer. When you vote by Catholic principles, the fuzz of extraneous issues is wiped away and the most fundamental principle of civilized society reveals itself in bold black and white: does this person support murdering the nation's most vulnerable citizens, or does he protect innocent life? If he can't get the most foundational idea right, why would I trust him with the others?
Something I've been having more trouble with, however is... what to do with the Halloween candy? Should I get it all out of the house? Do I hide it and bring out a few pieces every Sunday? Do I leave it out in the open and come up with reasons to walk past the counter (I know I left something on the other side of the room... I'd better go inspect)? Or do I celebrate All Souls day by concocting a whole new sugary substance?
I saw this recipe a long time ago and have been looking for excuses to make it. I think today is as good a day as any to celebrate! Happy Feast of All Souls!
Halloween Candy Pizza
Idea from French Knots
The basic idea is to make a chocolate chip cookie dough crust, bake 15-17 minutes at 375°. Then, spread the warm cookie with 1 cup melted chocolate chips, mixed with 1/2 cup peanut butter. Top it with a mix of all of your chocolate Halloween candy, chopped.
Repeat on Easter, with Easter candy. Repeat on St. Valentine's Day with Valentine's candy. Repeat on Election Day with Halloween candy. Repeat on birthday with birthday candy. Repeat... well... you get the idea. It's just a fun use of candy.
What are you making? (By the way, thank you to everyone who participates in this meme! I really enjoy your recipes and stories, and have made several of them.)
Monday, November 1, 2010
Monday Musings
This weekend... I spent a lot of time with my husband at the farm. I kept him company and got some exercise by walking with him while he did the awful but necessary job of killing gophers. You drop some poison in their holes so there's never any contact with the creatures themselves. I used to object, but when I saw how much damage they do to the fields and the crops I realized it must be done.
Yesterday (Halloween) we spent most of the day (before the evening Mass) at the farm. Mr. Amazing and I teamed up against his mom on a game of Scrabble, and still only eked out a win by 3 points. The woman is a Scrabble genius.
I'm sad to say we shut the front porch light off and closed the blinds when we got home to dissuade any trick-or-treaters. I'm kind of ashamed. I wanted to wear my PJs without interruption, and yes... I wanted to keep our bag of candy intact (I know, I know!). As we were driving home from Mass, though, we noticed that most of the trick-or-treaters were teenagers and adults! So I don't regret it, too much.
If I find some time for myself, I want to... start making my husband's Christmas gift. I'd also really like a nap.
Special prayer intentions for the week... for pro-life leaders to be elected... and thanksgiving for my father's retirement.
Something that makes me smile... my husband's boyish inability to stay out of the Halloween candy.
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