These are some of my Lenten resources:
The Little Black Book for Lent 2015
There Will Be Bread – my friend, sponsor and godmother
Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth by Reza Aslan
Jesus: A Pilgrimage by James Martin, SJ
These are some of my Lenten resources:
The Little Black Book for Lent 2015
There Will Be Bread – my friend, sponsor and godmother
Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth by Reza Aslan
Jesus: A Pilgrimage by James Martin, SJ
As I find myself observing my first Ash Wednesday since my baptism into the Catholic faith (I observed two before today), I am hesitant to choose that one something to give up. There are truly so many things available to me, not necessarily bad habits that need eliminating or rectifying or sins that need reconciling, but between candy and dessert, soda and McDonald’s Breakfast Burritos, television and internet, the present list goes on like a persistent gnaw at my subconscious, and I’m not sure where my Lenten (or should I say life -) priorities should lie.
In addition to giving something up, what do I add to my day to encourage me in my spiritual contemplation, the new awakening to my continuing faith journey? In the past, I’ve committed to a daily reflection. Unfortunately this has lasted about two days. Maybe I’ve taken on too much, been overly ambitious, trying to publish a missive rather than a thought.
Should I pray more?
Should I give myself some extra alone time in the morning to reflect and ruminate? Perhaps use as a model the Daily Examen of St. Ignatius?
Everything I’ve mentioned and thought about for this Lent looks good and interests me, but so far none feel right; none feel faithful.
None fit.
They all feel forced, a put-uponing rather than a release, a lethargy of excuses rather than an arousing of spirit or a growth to carry me through these next forty days.
I am at odds with myself and it all feels muddled; a disarray of good intentions amid the clutter of listlessness, torn between excessive piousness and not enough, walking the fine line of knowing who this Lent is for – my outer self or my inner soul.
As I spend the rest of today in G-d’s grace, I’m hoping He will show me which direction to take at this Ash Wednesday crossroads.
Just a reminder that you can LIKE Griffins and Ginger Snaps on Facebook too!
All of the posts here are linked there and I have some new things planned for the Facebook page in the coming year.
If you’re on Facebook, join me.
Bob Simon, a news man I respected immensely, has died tonight in an automobile accident in NYC.
For me, Bob Simon is one of those voices that has always evoked trust and integrity, from a very short list that includes the likes of Martin Fletcher, Peter Jennings, Tom Brokaw, and Walter Cronkite.
Even in the winter, in the midst of the storm, the sun is still there. Somewhere above the clouds, it still shines and warms and pulls at the life buried deep inside the brown branches and frozen earth.
– Gloria Gaither
This week’s news cycle put me over the edge. It started with the continuing anti-vaccine debacle, and went downhill from there. The final straw was the kangaroo service animal in Wisconsin. I might have been more open-minded if this occurred in Australia, the kangaroo capital, but nope.
Remember this moment.
Kangaroo service animals pushed me off the cliff.
Since forever, I’ve been political. When twenty-four hour news programs began, I rejoiced. Keith Olbermann. Joe Scarborough. Chris Jansing. Chuck Todd. All day. All night. It was amazing. I lived and breathed politics and current events. I stopped after the 2012 election. I realized how stressed and tense it made me, but that is another story.
I had opinions on civil rights, women’s rights, abortion, labor laws, Miranda, sex, gay rights and issues, money; opinions, thoughts, insights.
Believe it or not, I didn’t express all of them.
After my friend was murdered in 2011, I became an advocate. I wanted everyone to know about her murder, and the domestic abuse and violence that led to it. I made it my mission to bring awareness everywhere I went.
I wrote about marriage equality.
I explained what transgender was and was not to a friend when she mistakenly misgendered someone.
I fought with my school district over unnecessary vaccines (and I’m pro-vaccine), and respect for non-Christian religions.
I advocated.
This week that changed.
I’ve always wondered what makes an activist. I always used to clarify: I’m not an activist; I’m an advocate. Was it less passion? Was it commitment? Fear? Was it PTA-suburban-soccer Mom induced embarrassment?
I think it was all of those things and more.
When someone asks me when did you become an activist, I will now be able to answer: February 2015, Kangaroo Service Animals in Wisconsin.
Here are some things I’ve heard this week:
Getting measles are better than the vaccine for them.
I don’t care if my kids make yours gravely sick. (This was from a doctor)
Employees shouldn’t have to wash their hands after using the bathroom. (US Congressman)
A woman was upset that her kangaroo service animal wasn’t allowed in a Wisconsin McDonald’s.
A Utah congressman unironically asks if it’s really rape if the sex is with an unconscious person.
Today I went against my conscience. I defended Jenny McCarthy. I defended her over this sentence: “…a prestigious medical journal and a Playboy Playmate of the Year made strange bedfellows in laying the foundation for the anti-vaccine movement.”
There are two options that I see here. The Jesuit priest pursuing his doctorate in public health chose his words carefully and intentionally and made the word play of Playboy Playmate, bedfellows, and lay, implying that the “prestigious medical journal” was by comparison above reproach or he did this unintentionally, thereby illustrating the deep seated misogyny and rape culture we live in and don’t realize it. How many of us giggled in reading that?
Was he intimating a higher moral high ground; prestige vs. Playboy?
Maybe I’m being overly sensitive.
Maybe not.
So this prestigious medical journal took the word of a fraud and a fraudulent study and that’s equivalent to a mother (who happens to have a large platform) who is trying to protect her son. She’s not an expert. She’s not supposed to be. She’s doing what we tell all parents to do: be informed. She’s a mother, trying to find answers and being given them by a fraud who was validated by a prestigious medical journal.
But she’s to blame for the anti-vaccine movement, right?
It’s disgusting.
I’m disgusted.
And I’m speaking out.
For the rest of this month, I’ll be using the hashtag #savemefromthestupid and I will be sharing links to articles with all of the stupid I find. I won’t go looking for it, but I have a feeling there will be plenty to post.
This is only the sixth of February; not even a full week in the shortest month and every incident I mentioned above is from this week.
Today would have been my parents’ 50th anniversary. They were married on February 5th, 1965.
My mother is in the center, wearing the pink suit with my father to her left. Deanne and Gerald.
Just to her right is my grandmother, Sadie and over her shoulder is my grandfather, Richard or Mo as he was known (short for Moshe), her parents. Going out right and left from her are my father’s parents, Stanley (who was from Canada) and Celia (whose brother I’m named for), and the short woman closest in the picture, I believe is my great-grandmother, Bubbi.
In this picture her hair looks reddish, ginger, but I honestly have no idea what her actual hair color was. I think it was brown, but I never saw it. Growing up she dyed it (what we thought of as crazy colors, but nowhere near the “crazy” of today, and she wore wigs. Wigs and headbands; they were a very popular accessory in the 70s. I know that a lot of her friends did the same with their hair.
This is one of two or three pictures that I have from their wedding day. They were married in Laurelton, NY at the Jewish Center and the reception was at my grandmother’s house. I don’t remember that chandelier, but we were at that house every weekend (and the other half of the weekend was spent at my other grandparents, my father’s parents.
Visiting my grandparents seems like yesterday; it’s hard to believe that this photograph is fifty years old.
We lead a very different life now. Our kids see their paternal grandmother once or twice a year instead of the once or twice a week that we saw ours. There were family gatherings with more extended family than my kids can imagine. We had “cousins” and I still have no idea how we’re “related”. Cousins of cousins, aunt’s siblings’ kids’ kids. We went to dinners and birthdays.Next week, we are traveling a couple of hours for my cousin’s daughter’s sweet 16, and for a few hours it will feel like thirty years ago despite the missing faces.
I am Facebook friends with my Dad’s best man’s wife.
My Mom’s favorite aunt and uncle are in their nineties, long retired to Florida, and married over seventy years.
Just last year, we celebrated my Dad’s brother’s 70th birthday. In fact, he turned 71 two days ago.
My parents would have been 77 and 72 on their next birthdays.
These are one of those bittersweet days, remembering the joy and the fun and the sadness that they aren’t here to celebrate this momentous milestone.
This second picture is the walk back from the wedding to my grandmother’s house for the reception. It looks like my Aunt Shirley and Uncle Carl leading the way with Bubbi and my parents, newly married pulling up the rear.
I can’t get over the hats, the cars and the eyeglasses.
It all makes me smile
.
This third photo is from my wedding in 1994.
Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad.
Always together and missed everyday.
I’ve been saving these and thought this snowy week when many are snowbound was a perfect time to share them:
These 48 Trans Women and Men Changed the World
LGBTQ Children in Catholic Families: A Deacon’s View on Holy Family Sunday
8 Ways to Get Rid of Paper Clutter
9 Lists to Keep Updated, And Keep Handy
52 Things, Ideas for Writers 2015
The Playboy Conversation: Patton Oswalt and Wil Wheaton
The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck
Wartime Secrets of the Female Codebreakers of Bletchley Park
Transgender Man has Private Audience with Pope Francis
Most Important Thing on TV this year is this Super Bowl PSA
Simeon, Anna, and Phil and The Many Facets of the Second of February
Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you.
~Maori Proverb
I don’t always listen to music when I write but there are certain songs I need, need, need to have on my Kindle or MP3 player…just in case.
I pushed shuffle and these are the first five six songs I played through. They are perfect to describe how this week has gone as I change and adapt my little corner space here:
Move You – Anya Marina
One Way or Another – Blondie
If I Ever Stray – Frank Turner
Spirit in the Sky – Norman Greenbaum
You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet – BTO
White Blank Page – Mumford and Sons