This week was derailed by my husband having a root canal done (and handling it better than really anyone has a right to, I think, though I am very grateful that he’s doing so well), and so in lieu of a second post (which let’s be honest would probably still have been about potage, as I made a triple batch yesterday in order to get us through Soft Diet Only week), here is a small collection of links. Small, but all of the highest caliber.
THINGS TO THINK ABOUT
Hank Green with a brilliant and scathing analysis of how and why the mainstream media has lost millenials.
An outline of seven steps towards achieving financial stability despite a variable income.
A retired Army general in favor of making a year of service more available, if not straight-up mandatory? Yes please.
A brief reflection on suffering and death, or, why we don’t euthanize people.
An article that summarizes key differences between Christianity and Islam, with the aim of arguing that the latter is more violent than the former. On the one hand, it’s a nice narrative; on the other, I feel sure there are some gaps, but don’t know enough to say one way or another.
An excellent breakdown of allegedly gendered things you can do and still be a feminist.
THINGS TO ENJOY
My friend Katherine has turned her blog into a let’s-make-period-recipes-as-close-to-the-original-as-possible blog, and it looks like it should be a lot of fun.
A helpful illustrated guide of 27 things you should never do to a baby.
And finally, Two minutes of babies going through tunnels and freaking the crap out.
See y’all next week!
This is not a food blog, but.
I studied abroad in Angers, France, the fall semester of my junior year of college. The classes generally weren’t too hard, which was nice, and I lived with a host family, which made community-craving me very happy. My host parents and their youngest daughter (about a senior in high school) were absolutely lovely and helped ease some of the homesickness that inevitably comes from being far away from friends and family, especially in a foreign culture. Granted, it was a foreign culture I generally loved, but when you’re mostly on your own for meals sometimes you just want to be able to go to the grocery store after 2000.
And sometimes you’re not able to, and your host mom graciously shares her potage with you.
When I was a kid, we had a book on tape (complete with finger puppets) about the story of Samuel (1 Samuel 1-3), starting with Hannah’s prayer and ending with his calling. We listened to it many, many, many times, and I can still hear the narrator’s soothing voice, the deep call of “Samuel! Samuel!” It’s always been one of my favorite stories, in part because it is a story, a narrative with dialogue and everything, and in it we hear very human reactions to the trials of life and to God’s call in the midst of them. And we hear people answering that call, making that choice and understanding it means both joy and sorrow, humility and greatness.
Sunday morning I was all ready to make a post talking about how since the new translation I’ve noticed a trend in churches to just do whatever psalm setting is in the missalette for the day rather than incorporating the wide variety of psalm settings available, but then I went to Mass and lo and behold they did Rory Cooney’s setting of Psalm 40, which happens to be exactly the psalm and setting we used at our wedding, so! I tried to find you a version to listen to, but as is so often the case with church music finding a recording that matches what you actually hear at Mass (as opposed to a talented-if-sometimes-trying-too-hard soloist with a backup band) is downright impossible, ESPECIALLY if you’re also looking for one that actually has the harmony parts. (It’s four-part. It’s gorgeous. It’s not on Youtube. I looked.)
Recently, Meg over at Pierced Hands confirmed something I was aware of but had never articulated: on Sunday, while the first reading and the Gospel almost always correspond, the second reading follows its own track. This caused me no little amount of grief as a teen lector, when I would spend hours practicing to proclaim the epistle only to have it ignored in the homily because it didn’t quite fit with the other themes. This past Sunday’s readings followed the same pattern, but all the homilies I saw floating around focused on the second reading, the “Don’t you know your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit?” one. Which, I mean, okay, March for Life is this week, it’s an important message anyway, that’s fine. So today I wanted to talk a little bit about the other two readings.
Part of “being military,” or at least being part of a marriage whose employment rests on transience, is learning to settle yourself in a new place as quickly as possible. You get a good head for how to adapt your furniture to your new rooms so that you can start unpacking right away; you have a couple of boxes of those little trinkets that are yours, and you set them up and hang up a few pictures so that the walls are a little more your house and instead of new house. You spend hours digging through boxes labeled “kitchen” and cram as much into the dishwasher at one time as you can so that you can have real plates to eat off, even if the dining room table is still covered in, say, your liquor collection. (We really need to find a place for those, come to think of it.) You make yourself go to the non-mandatory welcome events and pick up all the brochures and calendars (and free swag at the information fairs) and write the more interesting opportunities down on the calendar in an effort to remind you to make the effort to get out and start getting involved.
And, for us at least, you try to find a church.
This morning I awoke, completed my morning rituals, and yawned my way out to the living room, fully expecting to find my dog sitting on my recliner looking out the window and preparing to scold her profusely for it.
Except she wasn’t on the recliner. Or the couch. Or in her crate.
She was, however, the source of that strange snuffle-lick noise that dogs make when they’re going through your garbage, and there she was in the corner of the kitchen, having accessed the garbage bag inside the garbage closet (apparently the door was not secured last night) and having found, amidst all the other treasures, two Lindt milk chocolate bunnies that we had found while unpacking, gone “how old are these?” and promptly tossed.
(Is there any way to work an Oxford comma into the last bit of that sentence? I don’t think so. Tragic.)
Tags: the dog
It has been not quite a month since my last post, but oh, what a month. It’s funny to think I started this blog off posting about moving things and people, as we’ve just undergone another move in which I tried to be more relaxed about my things and have been rewarded by having some of them go missing. As for people, well, we made good good-byes of it, I think, but my personal tally of people I needed to say goodbye to was…generously, seven or eight. Which is strange, because so much happened while we were at our last post, and yet very little of it happened at that post.