A Good Scene

From one of my favorite movies...

Rudy: Maybe I haven't prayed enough.

Father Cavanaugh: I don't think that's the problem. Praying is something we do in our time, the answers come in God's time.

Rudy: If I've done everything I possibly can, can you help me?

Father Cavanaugh: Son, in thirty-five years of religious study, I've come up with only two hard, incontrovertible facts; there is a God, and, I'm not Him.

FYI, my top fifteen favorite movies, not in order:

The Passion of the Christ
Ben-Hur
Lawrence of Arabia
Tree of Wooden Clogs
Little Dorrit
Rudy
The Mission
Gandhi
Lord of the Rings Trilogy
Star-Trek Four
Funny Face
A Man for All Seasons
Becket
King Lear with Paul Scofield, Irene Worth, Cyril Cusack because Scofield is brilliant
Random Harvest

Thinking About Grace Today

If Grace were living today, she would be about 111 years old. She was one of my neighbors a long time ago in a town in Hampshire. My little family adopted her and she adopted us, as our own grandmothers were far away, or had passed away. The "guys" in the family would go watch the World Cup with her as she liked soccer, oops, football. I would make American like snacks for them all to eat.

She and I would talk about England before WWII and even, before WWI. When she was very little, Grace would accompany her dad to Covent Garden.

He dad grew and sold watercress, something for which Hampshire is still famous. Her dad grew the cress in a field of soaked land. He would pick it, and then take it by horse and wagon to London to sell.

Grace told me that as a very little girl, her dad would pick her up and set her on top of the crates of cress. Sitting in the back of the wagon, Grace would go all the way to London with her dad. She told me it took hours to get there, and they would arrive in the dark, about four o'clock, at Covent Garden.

Grace said in the summer she would sit in the wagon without stockings or shoes, wearing just a little chemise type dress.

I can imagine her in my mind's eye, with her bright blue eyes and long, blond, curly hair, wearing a little grey dress and dangling her long, thin legs over the edge of the wagon.

Grace died a long time ago.  Today, as I listen to Ralph Vaughan Williams A London Symphony, I think of Grace. She did not want to go to the rest home near us. She wanted to stay in the two-up, two-down house she had lived in with her husband and children.

But, she got to the stage where she could not go up the steep stairs without taking her cane and wrapping it around the barrister, pulling herself up.

We saw her once or twice in the rest home, but then, we moved away from that immediate area, and in a short time, we heard she had passed away.

Grace, cress, Covent Garden, Ralph Vaughan Williams, Hampshire, Surrey fill my thoughts today.

Thoughts from 2009 Two

The superb head of the philosophy department told me I should be teaching philosophy instead of English as a Second Language. I agree with him. He said that because I want to help young people to think, that philosophy courses are the way to make people think.

I am convinced one can teach thinking in any class, unless that class merely is geared to a test. I introduce thinking skills in paragraphs, and journalling, which makes me unpopular with some lazy students, but the best like these skills to learn.

But, I do not think women should be teaching either philosophy or theology in seminaries, and I have rebelled here against being part of the chaplaincy formation team, which the head of department is. Against Rome...and not appropriate.

Thinking skills can be taught over breakfast conversations....and at my weekend movie and pizza parties. Thinking can be taught to children in chores and in cooking lessons.

Therefore, my philosophy class happens over retro parties and salon type discussions and dinners.

In times like these, thinking must happen in the family gatherings and my sems are my family...

Thoughts from 2009

I am blessed with an incredible memory. Memory is part of who I am and forms who I am to come. This year has been one of the worst and best in my life. I have spent most of it in spiritual warfare working in a seminary which accepts homosexuality, unless it is detected. The hypocrisy is accepted.

I have had two major illnesses, and two operations in one year. Cancer has changed my outward appearance forever, but not who I am. I am me.

I have three lovely cats and much to do. My son is a great joy to me. He is surrounded by excellent seminarian friends.

The me is the identity in Christ given to me at baptism. The me was formed by Catholic parents, excellent Catholic education, for which I am forever grateful and much suffering.

One cannot be a single mom in America without intense suffering-the worst of which is the judgemental attitudes of family and fellow Catholics. So it has been for many, long years, the years of activity, but cancer forces one to reflect. To think of what is truly important.

My chances for a second marriage are now drastically reduced as I have aged and no longer am attractive. This part of my identity is gone, but my Confirmation patron, St. Rose of Lima, limed her face so that no one would want her. She merely wanted to be loved by Christ himself.

This Rose and other roses like her, such as Catherine of Sienna, whose Illuminations I read while convalescing (two weeks) and Teresa of Avila, who I truly understand for the first time in my life, have led me to the realization that to be a woman of God is not to be like other women. To be a woman of God is to transcend the physical, which is why I disagree more and more with Theology of the Body.

We are body and soul and our theology is that of body and soul. When the body decays, becomes marred, changes, ages, the sexual is no longer part of one's identity. No. My identity, standing in front of the mirror in Äugust in my best gown and saying goodbye to part of my female and maternal identity, I did not merely mourn, but rejoiced in that I am more, much more than my body.

When God gives me my body back, hopefully, at the Final Judgement, I shall be like new again. I shall also meet, God willing, those Roses-including my sister, Elizabeth, who went before me to heaven. She is a Pearl of those innocents who gather around the Throne of God, unlike me, who has to take a back place to her purity.

Catherine's Dialog and Teresa's Interior Castle give me comfort, as well as the knowledge that truth prevails despite so much spiritual warfare. But, as I am wedded to Truth, my way is not as hard as those who remain in ignorance,either by choice or accident. God has given me great peace and joy, as well as insight, to continue despite cancer and other things. The joy of living continues...

The Good, the Bad, and the Mediocre-Thoughts from 2010

"There is a higher justice than the poetical, my dear. I don't grieve for the impossible."

Tom Pinch is an example of a really good person in Charles Dickens. In Martin Chuzzlewit, Pinch at first seems weak and basically, a deluded push-over in the household of the completely evil, deceit-filled Pecksniff.

But, Pinch becomes one of the heroes of Dickens by being consistently good, truthful, and standing up for what is just. He does not get "his girl" in the end, but is invited to live with his sister and her husband, one of Pinch's good friends.

He does not get poetic justice. Another quiet hero in Dickens is Joe Gargery in Great Expectations, possibly my favourite character in all of Dickens's characters, numbered between 989 and 1,2oo by various critics. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Dickensian_characters

Joe Gargery is another truthful, good and humble man. He know his place.

Both Tom and Joe are protectors. One can rely on their steady goodness and selfish-less decisions.

Too often in today's world, people want poetic justice, as in Joe getting a sweet wife, Biddy, or Little Dorrit and Arthur Clennam marrying. But, Tom Pinch tells his sister that a higher justice, that is, Divine Providence, rules the hearts and heads of men who are good and worthy, not poetry. Dickens may have been talking to himself.

Those of us who have faced cancer and other illnesses understand that there is a divine justice, a Providence, ordering and inspiring us in our common, daily lives.

Rebellion and pride bring unnecessary hardships. Suffering cannot always bring happiness, but it must bring redemption to the Tom Pinchs of this world.

Too often, I have wanted poetic justice in exchange for the good, moral decisions which I made, shaping my life and moving me from the bad, to the mediocre, to the good. I have wanted the quiet, peaceful, stable life which many women have. This has been denied to me. One must stop and ask Divine Justice for insights and clarity into the soul, which helps one follow Him in all circumstances, with hope. 

Recently, Divine Providence showed me that I have been selfish all my life. One must atone for such selfishness and think of others, think on Christ and His Suffering.

To move from the bad to the mediocre to the good and, finally, to the perfect, is extremely difficult.

This movement of the will is borne on grace and sustained by the Eucharist.

Like Joe and Tom Pinch, all of us men and women have to face the truth of ourselves, our surroundings, our status, our souls. Once we do this, then do we really begin the journey into the Heart of God.  I like to think that Dickens at the end, who could create such good characters, had this goodness in his heart despite a difficult and not so moral life. What is within the heart may surprise people.

Only God knows the heart, and He allows Divine Justice rather than poetic justice to reveal hearts to the weary world.

Etheldredasplace: "I say! You just can't say, 'You want to know', you ...

27 Jan 2012

Some people's minds, and maybe their hearts, are like the Circumlocution Office in Little Dorrit, my favorite book-read it at least four times and maybe five. Their minds are full of anxiety, useless information, fluff. They only want ...

http://supertradmum-etheldredasplace.blogspot.com/

Etheldredasplace: View from the Bridge

25 Apr 2013

View from the Bridge. Posted by Supertradmum. This is the new "Iron Bridge", not the one in Little Dorrit, my favourite book. A complete replica of the old one was made for the 2008 television series. Email ThisBlogThis!

http://supertradmum-etheldredasplace.blogspot.com/

Etheldredasplace: "Wait" and "Hope"

13 Jun 2012

This transportation of the imagination lies in a masterpiece, such as Dante's Divine Comedy, Dickens' Little Dorrit, or E. M. Foster's Howard's End. Few book or poems can carry us into the mind of the maker, who creates for us ...

http://supertradmum-etheldredasplace.blogspot.com/

On Catholic Identity Again

From experience and reflection, I want to share some thoughts on what Catholic identity is and is NOT.

Bear with me while I outline a few ideas here. This is not an exhaustive list and much is repetition  However, one cannot say these things too often.

My mom used this and so did I and there was another one for Lent and Easter.

Firstly, remember that I am old enough to remember what Catholic identity was in the 1950s and 1960s. I have a few posts on the old days of organized community and parish life which most people have never experienced. These ideals can be reinvigorated.

I used this all the time

Everyone knew everyone in the 12% of Catholics in our city of 80% Lutherans and a few Presbyterians.

The Catholic community was not only strong, but vigorous before Vatican II.

Choirs, charities, youth groups, adult study groups, (yes, including Bible study), women and men's groups all happened before the seventies.

Secondly, Catholic identity starts in the home. This identity takes work. Sadly, so many converts who have never experienced mothers baking special cakes for holy days, or name days (saints' days) or having small home devotions do not know what this entails. Christmas customs have been largely lost, as well as Easter ones.

In the 1950s, the parish priest went from home to home and consecrated the families and house to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Usually, there were pictures on the wall bought for this occasion  one of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and one of the pierced heart of Mary. Because of the number of priests, the parish priests could visit houses for sick calls as well. We would meet the priest at the door with lit candles as he brought the Eucharist to the sick person. Every house had a sick call set, and I did as well.

The family rosary was said in our house when I was young in October and May. This custom dwindled later on, but I remember this, and my son remembers his parents praying the rosary out loud at night when he was a baby.

Catholic identity meant studying and my parents did this as well in parish groups. I remember the first meetings which involved using the St. John's Collegeville bible series (some are not so good, and some are). To say that Catholics did not read the Bible is a huge overstated lie.

Fourthly, Catholic identity involved modesty, about which I have many posts, and also a decorum, about which I have written as well on this blog. Catholic children learned to be ladies and gentlemen. We were counter-cultural in our behavior. This was all part and still should be part of the life of the virtues for the formation of children.

A 1950s girls' Catholic choir

Fifthly, Catholic identity meant going to Confession regularly as a family on Saturdays. Daily Mass, if possible, and the awareness that the sanctifying grace of the sacraments was necessary for supernatural life was passed down from mom and dad.

Sixthly, Catholic identity did NOT include dissent, but solemn questioning and examining and finally, conformity with the teaching of the Church at the adult level. It also involved missionary activity with the realization that we had to convert the world, as Jesus commanded. This was not seen as a option or non-politically correct attitude.

From The Mission

What Catholic identity is NOT are these few points.

Firstly, Catholic identity is not part time, but full time. One does not have a split personality of being Catholic at home and secular at work, for example.

Secondly, Catholic identity is not an identity of negativity or argumentation. In other words, it is being for the Church and not merely against the prevailing culture or other religions. A person who identities themselves in negativity or argument will never grow spiritually.

Thirdly, Catholic identity is not the proliferation of devotions, visionaries, medals or statues one collects, but a conforming of the mind to the mind of the Church. Too many people here in England (and some in Malta) think that in order to be Catholic one has to believe any new so-called revelations. Absolutely not.

Even the writings of the visionaries who are saints are not infallible.

Fourthly, Catholic identity is NOT automatic, simply because one's family is Catholic or one's surroundings. It is an interior disposition to holiness and putting  on the Mind of Christ, which is the mind of the Church. As an Irish priest reminded me not too long ago, the Irish loss of faith was a long time happening owing to the lack of adult appropriation of the faith-no study and no effort leads to secular attitudes.

Nuns passing guards on the way to see Pope Pius XII’s body. Photograph by Mark Kauffman. Rome, Italy, October 1958.

Lastly, Catholic identity is NOT being more Catholic than Rome. Extremist groups on both the left and right cannot be truly Catholic, as the Church is one, holy, true and apostolic, and therefore solidly balanced. To fall into liberal camps, such as being a socialist, which one cannot be and be Catholic, or to fall into far-right camps which add teachings to those of the Church, such as cultic dress or following false seers, are not part of Catholic identity but errors of modernism and gnosticism.

I could add more points, but most of these things I have discussed here on this blog in the past. I shall only add that Catholic identity means teaching your children the Faith in season and out of season.

Thoughts in the cold.........

The low tonight is going to 21, that is, Thursday. I am amazed at the cold temperatures this year in England.

I sleep with two duvets, socks or tights, and three sweaters. Really. It is not as bad as 2010, they say.

The ice age cometh.

I saw O'Neill's play years ago.

It is strange.

This weather is strange.

When I was growing up in Iowa, we had feather blankets, which were heavy, huge feather bed like things made by my great-grandma and grandma. If one turned over at night, one had to exert a tremendous amount of energy.

I wish I had one now. I do not know what happened to them.

I always felt like Heidi in the winter, under or between the feathers.

I always slept with my head covered and only my nose out of the heavy blankets.

Sigh, I hate the cold. One can do layers and end up like The Princess and The Pea.

My mother said I was like the princess in that story, as I had to have my bed just right for sleeping.

I am just glad to be warm.

When I was little, I used to call out to my mom after I was in bed, "Cover me" in a little sing-song voice. It was like a bed-time ritual.

I wonder if she remembers that. I was always glad to be warm.....

My dance card is full and young people will not believe this

Talk about generation gaps. The construction of my society growing up is gone, gone, gone. From education to social manners, to identity as a Catholic sub-culture, we had a security in knowing who we were and where we were going.

Talking with Generation Millennials, I have realized over the past few years that what I had for coursework in 7th and 8th grade they had in high school and what I had in high school they have in college or university. What I had in college or university, they get in graduate school.

Depressing. When I was in high school, schools were divided into "terminal degree" high schools and "college preparatory schools". In the second grouping, the high schools were run on three tracks, and students were placed in this tracking according to their interests and abilities. Terminal degree high schools actually taught a skill, such as welding, accounting or business skills, and things where a student could walk out the door and get a job immediately.

In those days, we knew that people were not created the same. I do not have my high school curriculum in front of me, but it would be similar to this. This would be the top layer, or third track of the college prep school. All girls, by the way----

First year-freshman year
Logic
Civics (general and American)
World History first semester; European History second semester
Geography
Algebra I and possibly II
Latin I
English Literature-first semester general; second Shakespeare
English Grammar
Religion-Old Testament first semester; New Testament Second
General Science
Extra-Curricular Studies, such as journalism, choir, art
Sport and Gym Class

Second year-sophomore
Ethics (wow)
Latin II
American History first adn second semester; America Government in more detail second as option
English Literature-Essays-including 18th century ones; second semester Poetry including Shakespeare's sonnets and Mystical Poets
Composition first semester; speech and debate second
Biology all year
Geometry I and II
Religion-Church History, both semesters, but staring with a sacraments section
Extra-Curricular studies, such as choir, drama, art or journalism or all
Sport and Gym Class

Third Year-juniors
Advanced Math I and II; either Trig or another option independent studies; Algebra II; some in Pre-Calculus
French I
Religion- great Catholic thinkers; world religions
Contemporary History (usually from WWI to present)
Chemistry
Extra-curricular choices again including Drama class, choir or above
Sport and Gym Class
English Literature of the Modern Age-novels and poetry
(Optional Typing)
(Optional Driver Training)


One also took college entrance tests in junior year for applying for scholarships. We had up to four hours of homework per night. Ask my dad.

Fourth Year-seniors
Independent studies in History
Advanced Math-Calculus
Religion-marriage prep; modern issues such as Vat. II
Physics, optional
French II
English Literature-drama and world drama; debate as advanced options
Extra-curricullar again like drama or choir or aboves
Free time to take college courses for credit
Research skills
Intro to Philosophy
Sport and Gym

We had some choices for sport.

I may be forgetting something. The mathematics classes varied after Geometry. I took Algebra II and my brothers went way ahead of me in Trig, Pre-Calc and Calc. etc. We had options. I was the feature editor of the newspaper and teen editor for the local city newspaper. I did almost everything-choir, drama, etc.  Yes, we had uniforms very similar to those below except we had to wear black or brown shoes--- and no, I was not a cheerleader.

We were allowed to seek excellence.

Ah, social skills. For our first dances, we had little booklets on which to write who was dancing which dance with us. They had little ribbons so that we could wear them around our wrist and there is a photo of a young girl with one. We called them dance cards. In my Grandmothers' days, these were silver and gold. 

This custom is where the phrases, "pencil me in" comes from....and "my dance card is full."

We had formal and informal dances. We had teas. We had picnics which were planned. We did not have much fast-food. Pizza Hut opened in my home town when I was 16. That was where I went on my first date, with the neighbour boy and his friend who tagged along. I remember exactly what I wore-a white top with large black polka dots and a black skirt;  and the date: January 1, 1965. I turned 16 two days later. My parents had known the parents of that boy since before I was born, and we played together even as toddlers. Still, permission had to be sought and granted. That was how the culture was disciplined and set. It was all very comforting. There was no stress as most people in those stratifications has so much in common to make such socializing relaxed. And, we had no idea about sex. We could just be ourselves, and learn to use our manners, and wait.

Manners helped us, as well as the truly Christian character of the culture at the time. 

The list, taken from the website below, is what we learned naturally in all of these events. We even learned sports etiquette. We went roller skating and ice skating. We played foursomes in tennis. We did not go shopping for fun. That was not done then. One shopped with one's mom. Two of my girls friends had to go shopping with their dad, as he had to approve their clothes. He was an Italian dad. My dad would not be caught dead in a ladies' shop. Good thing, too.

EVERYDAY MANNERS
First impressions Introductions Greeting and shaking hands Paying and receiving compliments Correspondence Telephone manners Family dining Table manners Polite conversation When to rise Doors and coats Sports etiquette
FORMAL MANNERS
Formal dining Party courtesies Hosting a party Receiving lines Eating unusual foods Instructional dinners
CHARACTER EDUCATION
Honesty Integrity Promise keeping Fidelity Caring Respect Citizenship Excellence Accountability Handling peer pressure

All the dances had adults present: the nuns and our parents were chaperones. Sometimes the priests came for a short while. All the parents knew all the other parents in your track, mostly. Dating was strictly controlled by parents. Boys were very polite. My dad reminds me of the Friday night I had one young man at the front day, one at the back door, and one on the phone. I was not that popular. I had a pink Princess phone and a turquoise blue transistor radio with a matching leather case--trendy.  We had plays, concerts, football, basketball, track, wrestling, and all kinds of things. We had cotillions to go to and strict rules on dating regarding times and frequency. We did things in groups. We sang when we went out in groups. We dated in order to find a mate. Mom and Dad were part of the process of dating.

We were also in clubs, such as journalism club, debate club, speech club, YCS, sacristy club, volunteer clubs, tennis clubs, dance clubs, (NOT clubbing), and so on.

We learned how to organize groups and share information. We learned how to become adults. We wanted to grow up.

We had fun. But, things were to change quickly. This was an age of transition. However, the manners lasted well into the eighties in the Mid-West and in England.

I have found an organization on line for teaching children social manners and some character building. Why don't Catholic parents do something similar?

Memories of Candlemas in a Midwest Church in America and Candlemas Bells at Kingston Lacy

In my old parish in the Midwest, where I was baptized, made my First Confession and First Holy Communion and where I was Confirmed, the families would bring the candles to the Church for the blessing from the priest. These were candles used in the house for the prayer corner, or feast days. The children would bring their candles as well. I have not seen this happening anyplace else, but the custom is delightful. I think Catholics in Poland do this, and if other readers have brought candles to Church, they should make a comment.

Especially when I was young, a home visit from the priest involved meeting the priest at the door with lit candles when he came to bring Holy Communion to the sick. Even in the early 2000s, when I belonged to an FSSP parish and I was ill, my son met the priest at the door with our blessed lit candles. Catholics should renew these good customs, as part of our Catholic identity. Candles at this time of year remind us of the Light of Christ, dispelling the darkness of sin and death.

Candlemas for me is also a time for remembering a great day at Kingston Lacy. Near Wimborne in Dorset, my old county, the snowdrops begin to come out at this time of year, depending on the snow and cold. Recently, the latter part of February has been a good time to see the flowers, also known as Candlemas Bells. The flower pushing itself out of the snow seems a reminder that perseverance is a necessary virtue of the Christian. The temerity of these little blooms heralding in Spring gives us courage.

My first visit revealed a vision of white cascading through the trees. I saw a few of the snowdrops at Buckfast Abbey last year, but I had missed the peak time. Candlemas, being the Feast of the Purification of Mary and the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple, should be a time of rejoicing. The snowdrop, being "my flower" for January in old English books, as my birthday is in January, will always be one of my favorites. I, too, bloom well in conditions less than perfect, and look forward to longer days and shorter nights. Candlemas moves us forward to Lent and Easter, as we look towards new life.


And, because of all the stress this week, I thought you all would enjoy this bit of peace and color. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fzivTHH9Em8
Happy Candle Mass.

Among new friends in Dublin...

archived photo of St. Kevin's

I spent a lovely morning at the Tridentine Mass at St. Kevin's in Dublin and then had coffee and such with some of the regular traddies. What a warm and friendly group this is, and I would recommend anyone in the area to check out the beautiful Mass and community there. The conversation over coffee at the hotel coffee shop shifted from politics (and as an Iowan I can match any Dubliner talking politics), to the Latin Mass, to Modernist heresies, to Freemasonry, to the lack of catechesis among adults, to the beauty of Shakespeare. I was in traddie heaven. Sadly, I shall not be able to go for a long time, as the buses do not connect from my village that early and my ride was a one-off. However, one is comforted by the fact that there are wonderful, educated (mostly self-educated), happy, traditional Catholics scattered throughout Europe. I also was "in" a much smaller, but equally good-willed, happy, educated and dedicated group in Malta, but there, without the regular Mass, which here is offered at this exquisite church daily. Plus, the choir was "heavenly". And, the sermon superb (about real marriage, the brave priest mentioning that same-sex unions were not marriages-yippie) and the congregation well-trained in responses and customary rubrics. Sigh, wish I could go every day to such a Mass, or even a low TLM. Join me in prayer, please, that I could be part of a parish like this for the rest of my life...traddie heaven.

For Michael Voris, A Little Encouragement--Can You Imagine This Today?

Or this...