50-47 – Niagara Falls

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I can’t remember how many times I’ve been to Niagara Falls. It is the one place that I’ve been to in almost every place of my life. I went as a kid with my parents and siblings, I went with my husband while we were dating, we brought my young son right before he started kindergarten, and we recetnly went with our whole family of five.

The city iteself changes, and over the last forty years or so, the Falls have even changed, but yet, they still remain the same.

I recognize the crowded streets, the carnival like atmosphere, the bright lights, the cold spray from the Falls, the huge ferris wheel that we could see from our hotel room window.

Parking was worse this last time, and I had trouble with my knee, but overall it was a lasting memory that we will enjoy for a long time.

Standing across from the Falls, my hand on the cold stone wall that kept me from falling down the hill to the sharp rocks below. I would stand there and stare, occasionally taking pictures, occasionally closing my eyes and just standing there, listening to the wind, the water hitting the bottom. I couldn’t feel the spray from there, but I could see it.

We wanted to take the kids on the Maid of the Mist, but the boats had also changed. Maid of the Mist only docked on the American side. The Canadian had a new tour from Hornblower Niagara Cruises. The boats were red trimmed, and the ponchos were red and biodegradable. The boat was less choppy and I liked it much better than when I was a kid.

When I was a kid, I refused to go on until my family came back safe, then my Dad took me alone. Since they didn’t drown, I figured it was okay for me to go. The anxiety is strong in me. At that time, you couldn’t keep the rain jackets. They were much heavier, rubbery, and hot, so very hot.

This boat still rocked and we were drenched from going under or close enough to the falls that the spray was heavier than any torrential downpour I’ve ever been in.

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Advent Reflections

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This is the first week of Advent, the four or five weeks culminating in the Nativity and the birth of Jesus. It is a time of waiting, of searching, of journeying, always moving forward but not forgetting what and where we’ve come from.

My church gives out a small meditation/reflection book for Advent (and also for Lent), and it is the perfect size for a five minute read. As I mentioned on Sunday, it is the opportunity to either read it and begin your day or take a longer time and meditate on it, perhaps discover your own reflection.

I won’t guarantee a daily reflecton, but as I read each day’s pages, I may write some thoughts down and share them here.

This week is the first week of Advent, but it is also filled with other meaningful days: Today begins the Novena of the Immaculate Conception, the nine day prayer period that concludes with the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. In addition to a holy day of obligation, this is also my church’s patron. I read the prayer for the today’s first day, and will pray it each day until the feast day. I will also pray the rosary, one of the links to the Holy Mother.

We also have a series of half days from school, the penultimate episode for the mid-season of The Walking Dead, mid-season finales of all our other shows, my niece’s Sweet 16 birthday, my daughter’s winter concert with chorus, and my 50th birthday in four days.I have four more of my 50 Reflections to complete before then, and a wonderful birthday surprise to share that my family gave me this past weekend. (I mentioned some of it in my reflection called Adventure that posted on Sunday.)

Today’s Meditation Questions/Suggestions for discernment from the Robert F. Morneau book, pictured above:

What happens to your heart when you are looked at in a loving way? When you look at others is it a stare and critical analysis, or is it a childlike look of affection?
I find myself doing both the critical stare and the look of affection at various times throughout the days. I enjoy watching my two youngest children sitting side by side, one on their tablet, the other reading a book with three other books piled next to her, not fighting, not yelling, not arguing. There are even moments that we need them to do a chore or errand, and we leave them be because it’s so nice to have the brotherly and sisterly peace that is so often missing at their ages as they compete and try each other’s patience.

It’s important to be able to recognize the critical stare and sort out if it’s warranted, even in a small way. I try to pull myself back from that judgment and look away, then start again for a more compassionate thought process.

I know that with our current political climate, I am having a much more difficult time not being judgmental and angry, but I have been walking away more, and instead of 24/7 cable news, I’ve been picking a few programs for a few minutes a day to catch up on breaking news and I save important articles to read before I post or make comments. I’ve only had one breakdown/rant and I refuse to go back to where I was as a political junkie in 2012 when I quit cold turkey. I plan on being politically active and advocate for my beliefs, but in keeping that critical stare at bay, I can think more, discern more, let G-d lead, and act more.

Advent is waiting, and waiting is okay. It is the time we need to gather ourselves, both physically and spiritually to greet this new year, to collect our thoughts, meditate on what’s important, and meet Jesus in his birth. G-d will meet us where we are; we need to meet him as well, and then journey together.

First Sunday of Advent

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One of the things I became re-acquainted with when I began to attend Mass at the Catholic Church was the liturgical calendar. I had never realized that just like an Asian New Year and a Jewish New Year, there was also a Catholic New Year, and it begins with Advent.

Once Thanksgiving is over, many move into Christmas mode. After all, it is the Christmas season.

There is the misconception.

The Christmas season doesn’t actually begin until Christmas Eve, the Vigil of the Nativity. The song, The Twelve Days of Christmas…well, those twelve days begin on December 26 and conclude on January 6, also known as Three Kings Day, Los Posadas, Epiphany, and Twelfth Night. That was the traditional day to receive presents. When I was involved in medieval re-enacting, we often gave gifts and celebrated Twelfth Night.

After Thanksgiving, begins the season of Advent, the time of waiting; waiting for the birth of the Christ child. Like Lent it is an anticipatory time. We reflect on the past year that’s concluded. We begin a new Gospel cycle. This is the A year – Matthew. I am very fond of Matthew. It was his Gospel year when I first joined the church and I took a great lecture series on his gospel. I learned a great deal and so I became very attached to him.

Today, our church gave out a Daily Reflection book for Advent and Christmas. This one is compact and gives you something each day to read. It takes about five minutes or so, and you can meditate longer if you have the time and the inclination. Personally, I’m going to try and sit quietly with a cup of tea while I read and reflect.

I read the Introduction and then turned the book over to read the description on the back. The blurb recommending the book at the top caught my eye, and then I realized that the blurb was written by my godmother. A surprise that brought a smile to my face.

Front of the book given out by my church for the Advent Season.


Back of the book with the description and a blurb about the author, Bishop Robert F. Morneau.


There are many Advent resources offered in paper form, online or as e-books. I will sometimes buy the e-book of whatever the book is that my church gives out so I can read it on my Kindle, only if the price is reasonable.
One of the things I love about these little books is the change and the challenge to do a daily meditation as well as the Introduction to a book that I might not have ordinarily found on my own.

The Advent wreath is up, the banners are changed, the colors are purple, the incense is fragrant. Now the waiting begins, and a new search for something wonderful on this Advent journey.

Later in the week, I will share some other resources for your Advent journey.

Adventure

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I may have mentioned this once or twice already, but my birthday is next Saturday; a mere six days away, and I will be 50. I’m honestly not sure how I feel about it, but I’m approaching it positively. It’s a big milestone, and I don’t want to ignore it and regret that later. I skipped having a big thing for my fortieth becuase my daughter was turning 1 four weeks later, and I wanted her to have her special birthday.

Money is still tight, but I did actually ask for something for my birthday since it was a special one – a new model Kindle. That will be next week or sometime before Christmas since we’re trying to divide the paychecks for bills and Christmas gifts and holiday festivities.

My husband has been planning a birthday surprise for today. He has been going over logistics for weeks, finally deciding on Thanksgiving weekend rather than my birthday weekend.

My idea of an adventure is getting in my car and seeing which Starbucks I end up at. The one two towns over? The one inside the Target? Crap! It’s Monday; there are no lunch sandwiches. (The truck comes on Tuesday.)

I don’t do adventure. Or really, I do it slowly and quietly, and then I congratulate myself on a spontaneity well done.

I’m also not great at not being in on the plans.

I’ve decided to ignore my comfort zone and my instincts to try and find out what’s going on today.

There have been very few clues, and I have been uncharacteristically nonplussed. I haven’t tried to weasel it out of my kids. I haven’t checked his browser history. I’ve asked no questions.

It is truly a birthday adventure. I don’t know how to dress or what jacket to bring or shoes to wear. I will check with my husband but I will probably end up wearing my favorite outfit even though I wore that for Thanksgiving a few days ago. And my boots. I love my boots.

The clues I have received are as follow:

It will be a couple of hours in the car. At least two hours from home.[I have not checked a map to see what falls within a two hour radius of home.]

We are leaving at 9:30 in the morning.

The place closes at 4, I believe.

There is no meal involved; we will have to eat afterwards.

I will need to find our camera and charge it. I’ve been told this is very important.

It was more money than he would normally spend in advance, but I don’t know how much money. [I have also not checked the credit card bill.]

I need to bring all of the family’s passports. [I believe this is a red herring to keep me on my toes, but I will still comply with the request.]

I had a dream last night that my surprise involved live turkeys, driving up stairs, Napoleonic wars re-enactment, war monuments, costumed men on horseback, Ben Franklin, but the size and demeanor of a leprechaun, Philadelphia, Canada, although I don’t know that there actually exists a place. There was also a bridge overflowing with water shaped like one of those tubing waterslides. It was frightening in many, many ways.

I’m going to guess that my dream was way off from the reality. At least, I’m kind of hoping it is.

I’m looking forward to whatever it is. I’m excited because my family is so excited to have kept the secret for so long, and for me to find out what it is.

I will post about it late tonight or tomorrow. Who am I kidding? It will probably be tomorrow.

Fandom Patriarchy – The Walking Dead Edition

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I was watching The New Rockstars on YouTube, and they were reviewing Season 7, episode 3 of The Walking Dead, The Cell. They are one of the good reviewers/commentators to watch for a lot of their analysis. They have good ideas, good observations, and ask good questions to keep in mind as the season progresses.

In The Cell, we get a glimpse of Negan’s world in Sanctuary, his home base. We see the men and women who he trusts, the ones who work for points, the security, the loyalty, etc.

Make no mistake: Negan is G-d. He made that clear in the premiere episode by giving Rick the same sacrificial request as G-d gave Abraham in Genesis. I wasn’t the only one to notice this. Then there’s all the kneeling and head bowing. He not only runs the show, as he says, his is the only way. He’s the only game in town. And if you cross him, he exacts revenge. Death might be better in some cases.

In the comic books, the episode, and the New Rockstars video, there is much said about consent in having sex with the women.

There doesn’t seem to be any room for non-cis, non-straight people. If there are any, they are very firmly in the closet; at least, that’s how it appears at the moment.

One of the rewards offered to Dwight by Negan is his choice of any of the women. Except his wife, of course. Dwight can have sex with any of them, but only if he has consent, only if they’re willing.

Which sounds like a very enlightened attitude for the sociopath that Negan is.

The comments were made that the point of offering Dwight a night with his wife who went with Negan to save Dwight’s life was a way to hold it over Dwight’s head and show him who was in control. It also reminds Dwight that his wife went with Negan willingly. Kind of. So, yes, technically she consented, but really she didn’t have a choice. She was coerced. And the whole trying to get her pregnant thing with Dwight being encouraging… –  not cool.

The entire commentary is on the emasculation of Dwight where there is no mention of the continued rape of Sheri or of the other women.

It doesn’t surprise me that Negan, the narcissist would focus on the man pain and have no regard for the autonomy of the women, while at the same time feeling that he’s a good leader by giving them a false choice. I’m just not sure if this is a plot point or a latent bias by the writers to ignore the women except where they relate to the men.

I also realize that a zombie apocolypse would bring us back to basics, but I’m just not sure that the equality that women have earned is something that would just disappear overnight.

We do see women in positions of authority, carrying guns and giving orders, killing, being leaders to the men, but I have a feeling those are not the same women offered into sexual encounters as rewards for the men in authority.

If you’re offering youself sexually to save your life, or to protect your spouse and/or children, there is no valid consent. Denial would be enough to lose privileges and risk your life. Coersion is not consent.

Thoughts?

A Thanksgiving Reflection

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Cornucopia. Colored Pencils. (c)2016

Today is the first Thanksgiving Mass that I will be able to attend. I’ve looked forward to it. There is a tradition at my parish to bring a non-perishable food item to donate. 

At the time of the offering, instead of passing a basket around the pews for a monetary collection, parishioners process to the altar and leave food items. It was a really profound experience, everyone giving what they could, wishing the others a Happy Thanksgiving when they passed one another.

At the end of the Mass, each family was given a small loaf of bread to bring to mind the Eucharist we had just received to share with our families. Breaking bread is a tradition followed by nearly every culture across the globe.


Our parish has a very active St. Vincent de Paul Society who collect food for Thanksgiving and Christmas baskets for those that request them. They also provide Christmas gifts to those less fortunate so that the kids will still have a memorable holiday. They also work throughout the year. They ask for nothing in return. My son and I volunteered one year to help load the Thanksgiving boxes/baskets and it was an exuberant, lively, joyous crowd, bending and lifting, filling boxes and organizing food and household items like paper towels and toilet paper. One of the things that amazes me when I see the men and women volunteering for the Society is the compassion and positivity they come to their ministry with.
I am still surprised when I do something for someone else with no expectation of reward, although every time I’ve volunteered or done something extra or special, I have received a reward: a smile, a thank you, but most importantly, a swelling of my soul that feels so much better than receiving a gift myself.

We all want acknowledgment for our good deeds. It doesn’t have to be much; a simple thank you or smile will suffice. But seeing a child with a huge smile as they receive a winter coat or a pair of boots or sneakers. An extra pudding or lollipop. Bright eyes shining with joy.

During the homily, which was of course very G-d centered, it made me recall the first thanksgiving. Not the holiday proclaimed by President Lincoln, but the very first one. While both the Pilgrims and the Native Americans had their beliefs and would have expresed their gratitude to, there was also much more to that day and fall season for them. Today should be a reminder of that cooperation, the beginning of that friendship. The Native people welcomed the new immigrants, refugees even, from religious persecution. There was the language barrier and the difference in customs, but they muddled through.

And we can all muddle through with the challenges we’ve been given and thankful for the blessings we receive.

Thanksgiving is a good reminder to look around and smell the flowers. Take a little extra moment to look at your family as they’re playing with cousins, watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, taking a hike or playing in the snow, and sitting around the table, passing dishes that we’ve eaten every year since forever in our families.

I make my friend’s sweet potato pie or a sweet potato casserole.

I make my grandmother’s green bean casserole, which is really French’s recipe. My grandmother always made it without milk to keep it kosher in her house.

We rely on 1950s convenience: Heinz gravy, DelMonte French style green beans, Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom Soup. We make mashed potatoes from scratch, but my mother used to use a box mix of potato flakes. My sister’s husband would only eat mashed from scratch. He never noticed the difference. (I’d leave a few lumps in it for him.)

Think about what you’re grateful for and try to remember it the rest of the year. One way is with a gratitude journal. Or a jar to add slips of paper to for the year. I did this one year, and it was a joy to sit on New Year’s Eve and read through that last year of good moments. Whatever you come up with, find something that works for you and your life.

This year had some really difficult times for our family, and we’re still struggling with them: my mother-in-law’s death this summer and the election of Donald Trump as our new president, at best a wariness as we wait to see how his administration forms. I already have some issues, but this is not the forum. Suffice it to say, we are all waiting to see where we go from here, and we should all be praying for our next president and our country. I would encourage that to be the first thing we do.

If I learned anything from this past Year of Mercy, it is that mercy is everywhere; we just need to simply accept it when it’s given or found.

For my part in being aware of my blessings and my gratitude, I will be planning on incorporating a gratefullness to a weekly writing blurb.

In the meantime, I look to my family, my extended family, my friends, my church, and my support network to continue moving forward in my writing and my life.

I will spend tomorrow being grateful for what I have and how far I’ve come.

Bless you all on this day of thanks.

50-46 – Sweet Potato Pie

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I met a woman at my first job after college who was from New Orleans. She brought a level of multiculturalism to the curriculum that reflected our clients – the children of the US military. We were in their child development program and I learned more there than I had ever expected.

She held a multicultural night for the staff and we each brought in something from our cultures to share. Food is the best way to come together.

I brought latkes. I have a vague memory of a table filled with fabric covers representing cultures and foods placed carefully on top. What I remember most of all, though was Sylvia’s sweet potato pie. It was the perfect consistency with beautifully browned marshmallows on top and it was amazing. I can practically taste it now.

From that moment on, I made that sweet potato pie for my family’s Thanksgiving feast. The only problem was my mother refused to believe that it was a dessert, and she served it warm and as a side dish. I could never convince her otherwise.

That was twernty-four years ago and it has remained a family tradition. I make it, not only for Thanksgiving but also for Christmas and Rosh Hashanah, sometimes even Passover. It is a family favorite. The last couple of times, I haven’t wanted all the bother of making a pie, so I’ve used the recipe, or my version of it without the graham cracker crust and called it a sweet potato casserole. It tastes just as good.

Warm or cold, side dish or dessert, I could eat this every day.

Here’s my variation of the recipe that I’ve used the last decade or so, and will be making it to bring to my sister-in-law’s on Thursday. This is our first year without my mother-in-law and as tough as that is going to be, I want my kids to have something that they’re used to having at her house.

Cook one large can of sweet potatoes or cut yams. Bring it to a boil and then drain. Mash it smooth and add one stick of unsalted butter. Mix thoroughly.

Mix in about 1/4 cup of brown sugar. Add more if you like it sweeter.

Add cinnamon and nutmeg, about a teaspoon each, although I don’t really measure. I add it directly by grating over a microplane.

Pour into a pie crust or a casserole dish and cover completely with mini-marshmallows. If I use a crust, I use the Keebler graham cracker crust that serves two extra people.

Put in a 350 degree oven and bake for about 30-35 minutes. Take out when the marshmallows are melty and golden-browned.

If it’s a pie, let cool a little and cut with a cake/pie slicer. If casserole, scoop out with a large spoon.

Personally , I like it right side up, with the marshmallows on top. My family doesn’t usually care, and it drives me crazy.