The Classical Week: Day #3

All Smoke and No Music

Happy feast of St. Francis of Assisi!

When last we spoke, Waxahachie was burning.  We spent the day driving from one place to another, completing various tasks and appointments scheduled for today.  There was no classical music listened to during the day in the car; nor did the children at home listen to classical music.

We had a doctor's visit in Fort Worth in the morning, followed by a visit to the Apple Store in Dallas to figure out why one of the computers keeps signing out of whatever program the children are using.  In the midst of work, the computer will suddenly tell them that the program 'had to end without warning.'

We are getting well known at the Apple Store; you know you have made it when the concierge at the door greets you by name......

During and after our time in the land of Apple, some of us ate Mexican food at a local Chuy's.  All of the Apple employees were agitated in anticipation of the unveiling of the iPhone 4S, but I was out of there with a working computer within 30 minutes.

I spent the time it took to fix the computer building a car on the internet.

We went by a religious bookstore in Dallas to get some gifts for certain children who will be confirmed on Thursday.  While I was there, I bought a copy of the video Of Gods and Men; I reviewed it here on the blog.

As per our routine, we spent too much money.

Next, we revisited the business where we saw the fire up close.  The fire was still smoldering; even worse, it smelled as if it were July 5th in these parts, with the smell of incinerated fireworks permeating the atmosphere.  Thankfully, the odor did not overcome the 'new car smell' that we were also experiencing.

Here is a shot from the same lot where we took pictures.  The Environmental Protection Agency said everything was safe, but with the present administration in charge, why would one trust anything said by a federal agency?

It reminds me of two of the worse things one can hear:

One, "I am from the U.S. Government."

Two, "I am here to help you."

Run if you hear either of them.

I have taken quite a number of interesting pictures with my trusty iPhone.  Around here, the weather has been particularly harsh on trees.  If it is not the ice storms bringing them down, it is heavy winds or tornadoes.  Take a look at the trunk on this tree:

I have seen some other fires as well, especially with the high temperatures and drought we had this summer.  Here is a fire somewhere south of Fort Worth:

Here is another one, up in Grand Prairie:

All these fires around us - there was one bad one a few miles from our house - got me to thinking about how I would evacuate the family in the event of a grass fire.  I recall reading about the Mann Gulch Fire up in Montana, and how a fire can spread so quickly when wind and other factors come into play.

Sobering thoughts.  I'd rather think of music, but I shall provide a few more pictures for your consideration:

 I believe 'Tweeting' is where one sends status updates to people so they can 'follow' what one is doing.  I don't do Twitter because I am just not that interesting, nor inclined to tell everything I am doing all day long.

I took this picture at a hospital.  It makes one think that one should saunter down the stairs and out the exit rather than bolting down the stairs and sprinting for the way out.

The Classical Week: Day #2

What a Long, Strange Trip Today Has Been.

It started out okay, with me on vacation this week and a list of tasks and appointments to accomplish.  First we began by taking some of the children to Mass; afterwards we had a bouquet of roses blessed in honor of St. Therese of Liseaux.

Then things got a little interesting.  Our next stop was to a doctor's office in Fort Worth, and as we started driving there, we noticed this interesting cloud formation to the South/Southeast of us:

That's down where we live; we were about thirty miles from where we live when I snapped this picture.  It was the only cloud in the sky, and I suddenly noticed that it extended all the way to the ground and was also projecting above the flattened top of the cloud.  This was no ordinary cloud; it was the smoke from a fire.  We called home and asked if they could see a fire or smoke, and the children at home reported seeing smoke in the distance to the Southeast of our house.  We continued on our way, confident that we had seen the end of that.

Our visit to the doctor ended before it could even begin.  The office building as well as all the other buildings on that block had a power outage while we waited to be seen.  We decided to reschedule, and took off for our home.  On the way, I persuaded my lovely wife to make a side trip to do a little 'window shopping' at a business down in Waxahachie - which just happens to be Southeast of our home.

As we started on our way, we noticed that the cloud had not dispersed; in fact, it appeared to be growing.  After several close calls with grass fires on top of our drought and 100+ temperatures, we started to think that maybe this was more than just a 'normal' fire.  Here is a picture we took from about 20 miles from the fire, as we unknowingly headed toward it:

Even the little Moose who lives in the front of the van seemed concerned.  We did not know that the fire was very close to our destination in Waxahachie - nor did we know that people were being evacuated from the area because of concerns with the chemicals which were on fire.  We did not have our radio on, as we were complying with our week-long experiment of only listening to classical music.  We continued on, listening to Antonin Dvorak's Symphony No. 9, "From the New World," as we drew closer to the fire.

When we got to our destination, we were surprised that someone did not come out and greet us while we looked around the car lot.  Our children who were with us noticed that the television was still on in the lobby, but no one was around.  The place was deserted; this was extremely unusual for this kind of business.

We were about a half mile or less from the fire, and could see flames licking up out of the mass of confusion on the ground.  To us, it appeared that a lot of the fire trucks were spraying the fire from too far away.  Only later did we learn why they were doing that.  After we finished our window shopping, we headed home.  Upon our arrival, we found out that the area had been evacuated because of concerns for the chemicals burning and forming in the cloud above us.  Great.

Then things got really exciting at home.

If you recall, this whole blog entry was to report on our classical music experiment.  Well, the children at home reminded me that Fr. L- had said that the experiment required listening to Mozart continually, not just any classical music.  Of course, we don't have a lot of Mozart, so that posed a problem.  I argued that classical music was sufficient.  The children then wanted to know what defines 'classical' music.  They argued that Gregorian Chant was not classical; I argued that it was good enough and old enough to qualify as 'classical' music.

Next, I was presented with a piece which I recognized as being written by Andrew Lloyd Weber.  I nixed it as being too modern.  The same went for a classical music piece as played on an Electric Cello.

Music volume was then discussed.  Some argued that it must be loud enough to hear it.  I argued that it should be used as background music.  Several countered that one could not hear it unless everyone remained silent, which was impossible in our house.  I responded that playing classical music loud would make everyone raise his voice to be heard, resulting in a tremendous discordant cacophony.  I could see where I could lose this argument, so I pre-emptively ended it by mentioning that what really bothered me was how nobody had gotten up to do their chores which were supposed to be completed by then.

I shall leave the conversation about what they play when they practice piano for another day.

Here is a video showing why the fire trucks were so far back from the fire:

The Classical Week: Day #1

About a week ago, I attended a Parish Youth Group meeting where the pastor spoke about an experiment using classical music.  In this experiment, Fr. L- claimed, classical music was piped into one chamber, while rock music was played in another chamber.  Connecting these two boxes was a tunnel, and as soon as rock music started playing, all the mice (or was it rats?) would scurry off to the box featuring classical music.  Padre mentioned other experiments, including one where the rock and roll groupies ate one another, but I shall not go into more of that kind of stuff.

What struck my children and I was one experiment where classical music was played as background music.  It had a soothing effect on the people exposed to this music, and made their home a much nicer place to live.  In short, music helped to form the culture of that family in a favorable way.  So last night (Saturday) my children suddenly mentioned that they would like to take part in the experiment - starting the next day.  That would be today.

Carolyn and I were very interested in participating in this experiment.  We have noticed that the children who live at home have developed a hankering for both types of music - Country and Western - and some of it has caused us some concern.  I even started listening to the lyrics and telling the children that some songs are not appropriate for their listening.  Heck, a lot of it is not appropriate for my listening....

Our little unscientific experiment is not about lyrics.  As Father L- said, never mind the lyrics.  A lot of the music is detrimental on a more basic level.  To paraphrase (badly) his thesis, one must consider how Man and Music have parallels in their construction.  For Man, the Intellect informs the Will, which then directs the Body.  This is how one attains an ordered life, where the Body is subject to the direction of the Intellect and Will.  In Music, Melody creates Harmony, which then directs the Rhythm of the piece of music.  This is how one attains an ordered piece of music, where the lower part is subject to the higher parts.  Unfortunately rock music - and even most contemporary country music - put rhythm ahead of melody and harmony, creating disorder.  When Man puts Body before Intellect and Will, an even greater disharmony occurs.

Our experiment will be to see if playing classical music rather than rock or country will help influence our family in a positive way, encouraging all of us to put Melody and Harmony, or Intellect and Will, ahead of Body and Rhythm.

So what's with the aircraft at the top of this blog?  Well, during the Life Chain event at church this afternoon, one of these things flew over.  I had never seen one in the air before, and it stopped me in the middle of an Ave Maria.  I still need a lot of work when an airplane can distract me from my prayers.

For the next week, I shall make some comment on how this little experiment is going.  Stay tuned!

And no, you can't follow me on Twitter!

A Personal(?) Message from the First Lady

Friend -- Not everyone knows how to prepare for a dinner like this. As someone who's eaten countless meals with my husband, I want to tell you the one thing to do if you're selected to join him... Just relax. Barack wants this dinner to be fun, and he really loves getting to know supporters like you. I hope you'll take him up on it before Friday's deadline. Will you donate just $3 today and be entered to have dinner with Barack? These dinners mean a lot to Barack. They're a chance for him to talk with a few of the people who are driving the campaign -- and a chance for him to say thank you. So come prepared to tell your story, and say whatever's on your mind. Don't miss the opportunity to be there. Donate $3 or more today, before the September 30th deadline: https://donate.barackobama.com/Dinner Thanks, Michelle

Contributions or gifts to Obama for America are not tax deductible

Lego and Hello Kitty: Part of a Conspiracy

These are Lego brand 'Hello Kitty' toys which Zelie got for her birthday.

Until her birthday, I did not appreciate just how many things are made with 'Hello Kitty' branded on them.

Even this new addition to the Dallas skyline will surely have that little cat on it somewhere......

Modesty @ Mass

Have you ever noticed how well some of our Separated Brethren dress when they attend their Sunday services?

It is time we Catholics follow suit.  Check this out:



Hat tip to The Tucker Bunch at 'Just Another Day in Paradise.'

Fountain Pen Review: Eine Deutsche Füller

Tonight we consider a German fountain pen, or in German, Füller, made by the Pelikan company.  It is a neat little pen I bought at the Fountain Pen Hospital in New York.  It is called a 'Demostrator' because one can see the inner workings of the pen from the outside.

Behold, the gold-plated fine point nib.  That is my favorite type of nib for a fountain pen. 

It is hard to see the innards
of this pen when I use this primitive iPhone camera, so I stood it up so one can see the ink in the chamber.  The tail end of the pen spins to pull ink into the chamber.

One of my favorite parts of this pen is the cap, complete with the 'Pelikan' logo.  I like it because the pelican is a symbol for Christ.  In folklore, the pelican will take flesh from her own breast to feed her young.  In like manner, Christ gave up His life for our salvation.

It is good to have little reminders of how much God loves us - even those on the end of a German pen.

To recap:  The Pro's of this pen are the fine point, easy filling, and good feel in the hand.  The only real Con is the screw on cap which takes a moment to remove before writing and can get misplaced.

Like all fountain pens, it rarely makes a good enough impression for duplicates like doctor order sheets or anesthetic records, so I carry around a ball point pen as well.  It adds to the 'Geek' image I strive to achieve.

Book Review: Stanley Seagull, by Cathy Mazur

Disclaimer:  I received a free copy of this book as a PDF file from the publisher, and I am receiving no compensation for writing this review.  I thoroughly enjoyed reviewing this book.


Stanley Seagull

by Cathy Mazur

illustrated by Colleen Gedrich

Tribute Books
2011



Kurt Vonnegut allegedly said that any story can be simplified to the point that it is just another version of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. It might take a while to figure it out, but all the basic elements can be rooted out of any composition consisting of complete sentences organized into reasonably-sized paragraphs: dysfunctional family, character flaws, failed relationships, death, and ghosts. Consider the movie Top Gun as a good example of this concept. I disagree with the late Mr. Vonnegut, because he has overgeneralized when he said all stories are rewrites of Hamlet.  The book I review today is not a variation on the theme of Hamlet, but is more than just a children's story. Stanley Seagull, written by Cathy Mazur and illustrated by Colleen Gedrich, is a delightful children’s book which my children enjoyed having read out loud to them. It does have an underlying theme which may not be obvious to the younger reader, but may interest the adult elocutionist.

In brief, Stanley is a seagull who lives somewhere along the northeast coast of the United States. I thought it was along the coast of New York or New Jersey, probably because Stanley hangs out on the boardwalk. Perhaps it is because I have fond childhood memories of visiting the Boardwalk in Atlantic City in the early 1970's. Stanley thinks only of food: where to get it, where to get more, how to get more. Even his relationships with other birds are dominated by the thought of eating and how to satisfy this one single desire. He obviously is an immature bird, as he has not been invited to feed at the choicest feeding grounds. When he does get invited there, he discovers that it is a dump, a landfill along the shore. He is warned to be careful and be ready to flee at a moment’s notice, but he forgets all caution as he gorges on the many delights spread before him. He ends up trapped in a garbage truck, which takes him far from the ocean. He ends up at a city dump, which looks a lot like the landfill he just left: there is plenty of food and seagulls, but it is colder, and there is no ocean. He misses the ocean.

He meets the other birds; one, named Walter, advises him to stay as the journey back to the ocean is too far. He tries to escape anyway. After flying for a while, he spots what he thinks is the ocean but is actually just the wet pavement of a parking lot. He returns to the garbage dump, dejected. Walter advises Stanley that the only way to return to the ocean is to make the return trip in one of the garbage trucks. It is difficult to sneak aboard, but Stanley accomplishes this. He completes the trip back to the ocean and is reunited with his friends, his cousin Seymor, and his beloved ocean.

For my younger children who sat with me while I read it aloud, this was a pleasant little book which kept them interested for a while. They liked the story as well as the illustrations which went along with it. As I looked over the book, I did start to notice a few themes which struck me, and I shall elaborate on each one briefly. Stanley is more than just a seagull when seen through the eye of metaphor and symbolism.

To begin with, I saw Stanley as a Christ figure. Consider that he enters a cave in which he falls into a deep sleep; this is reminiscent of Christ lying in the tomb after His death on the cross. He goes to a place which may be considered Hell, or Purgatory. The occupants he meets are physically taken care of, but they are separated from what is their true nature; namely, to be living near the sea. Stanley breaks out of this other place, once again having to enter the cave and falling into a deep sleep. He returns to his former, preferred life; he is resurrected from the dead, so to speak. What does not go along with Stanley as a Christ figure is that he does not come back to improve the life of the seagulls in either location; in fact, one would think that those birds representing the Just would be liberated from the city dump along with Stanley. Another problem is that Stanley receives more help than he gives to those in what one might consider Hell or Purgatory.

Two other characters in literature fit Stanley even better: Jonah and Pinocchio. All three characters end up in the hold of a vessel of sorts; for Jonah and Pinocchio, it is the belly of a large fish. For Stanley, his symbolic whale is the hold of a garbage truck. All three end up in this type of prison because of their fallen nature: Jonah disobeys God, Pinocchio is constantly getting into trouble, and Stanley fails to avoid danger while he is busy gorging himself. Finally, all three are chastised and learn, grow from the experience.

However, I think the literary figure Stanley resembles the most is actually Dante Alighieri in Purgatorio. In the Divine Comedy, Dante visits Purgatory and sees how the occupants are forced to perform penances which are related to their particular sin (or sins). In Stanley’s Purgatory, he realizes that his love for food has subordinated his love for self-preservation, and that this is how he ended up in the city dump. He must conquer his overwhelming love for food before he can be free again. He has to return to the garbage truck - his own cave - without enjoying any of the delights which are found within in order to find salvation. Helping Stanley discern his plight - and the solution – is Walter, a bespectacled and feathered rendition of Virgil, who is Dante’s guide through Purgatory. Without his explanation, Stanley would have pined away at the city dump for the rest of his life.

Another theme which is briefly explored is the concept of the protagonist coming of age in the story. Stanley is obviously an immature and inexperienced bird awaiting the opportunity to develop into an adult bird. The scene where Stanley watches Seymor steal a hot dog, and when Stanley is finally invited to feast at the landfill along the shoreline are metaphors for the child on the verge of manhood.  Unfortunately, the story does not follow through with this theme after Stanley comes back from the city dump.

In conclusion, Stanley Seagull is a good read for adults as well as children. Whether the author intended to create a metaphor for Dante’s Purgatorio is debatable. What is not debatable is the comment my ten-year old son made about it. He liked the book simply because Stanley found his way back home.

Home.

Back home.

Perhaps it is really a rewrite of The Odyssey?




Stephen M. Donahue
September 7, 2011

My favorite picture from the book: Stanley flying over his beloved ocean.  Illustrated by Colleen Gedrich.


More about this book:

Stanley Seagull web site:

http://www.stanleyseagull.com/


Tribute Books website:
http://www.tribute-books.com/


Book Summary:

Meet a young seagull named Stanley. Follow him as he wanders far from home and tries to find his way back. Join Stanley on his journey as he learns how humans affect the balance of nature.


Cathy Mazur's Bio:

Born in Scranton, Pa., Cathy Mazur is the daughter of Gary and Catherine H. Errico. She was educated in the Dunmore public school system and graduated from Dunmore High School in 1971. She received a bachelor’s degree in Library Science from Mansfield State College in 1975. She received a Reading Specialist Certificate from the University of Scranton in 1978. Cathy was employed as an elementary school librarian for the Mid Valley School District from 1975 until her retirement in 2010. While at Mid Valley, she instituted and coordinated the RIF (Reading Is Fundamental) program for 33 years helping students to develop a love of reading outside the classroom. Cathy served on the Board of Directors for the Valley Community Library in Peckville, Pa. for over 20 years acting as president for one year and board secretary for 19 years. She presently serves on the library’s Developmental Committee chairing various fundraising events. She resides in Dickson City, Pa. with Frank, her husband of 31 years. They are the parents of two children, Gary, 27 and Gia, 19. Now in her retirement, she is focused on writing books for children like Stanley Seagull.


Colleen Gedrich's Bio:

Colleen Gedrich, a lifelong resident Throop, Pa., earned a BFA in illustration from Marywood University in 2002. She is a freelance illustrator specializing in animal-themed work. She enjoys creating her art using mostly watercolor and pastel. As a dedicated animal rights activist and full-time program coordinator for International Society for Animal Rights (ISAR), Colleen lives her dream of joining her passions for animals and art to promote a more harmonious world with a touch of beauty. Recent works produced by Colleen include t-shirt and invitation designs, children’s book illustrations (A Different Kind of Hero), and book covers (With God There Is Hope). Colleen has also teamed up with her very talented artist mother, Kathy Holmes Gedrich, and paints murals for children’s nurseries.

Hardcover
Price: $16.95
ISBN: 9780983741817
Pages: 32
Release: July 2011

Paperback
Price: $7.95
ISBN: 9780983741800
Pages: 32
Release: July 2011

Riding Shotgun VIII?

Something is fishy with blogger today.  Every time I click on the blog, I am redirected almost immediately to a page for something called 'blogrolling.'  It is so confounding that I can't even determine which episode of Riding Shotgun this should be.  For now, it is Riding Shotgun until proven otherwise.

This week we remember two men who died during the previous decade.

The first person is my grandfather, Francis M. Donahue, Sr.  He died shortly after 9/11, which was also shortly after the birth of our son Marcellinus.  At first we did not see how any of us could go to the funeral in Florida until Carolyn came up with the idea of me going with just the newborn baby.

That is what I did.  This was before all the complex security measures started by the TSA.  Instead there were uniformed soldiers hanging about in the airport lobby with M-16's over their shoulders.  It was still rather easy to get onto an airplane, even with a huge stroller and a crying baby.

I recall passengers on the Southwest Airlines flight moving away from us when they saw us selecting a seat.  And the young woman who took the seat next to us had to endure all sorts of comments about 'our' baby until I told the stewardess that she was not with me on the flight.

It was a nice visit and opportunity to pray for the repose of the soul of my grandfather. 

The next man is Fr. Mary Phillip, OCD.  He was at the Basilica of the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in San Antonio.  He was a great preacher and a devoted servant of God.  Along with his many priestly responsibilities, he also worked on the grounds doing edging and weed-whacking.  He had a serious curvature of his spine in the neck which made it appear that he was constantly looking at the ground.

Shortly before he died, he had an operation done to correct the defect in his neck.  One might say the procedure was successful but a common side effect - paralysis from the neck down - also occurred.  He spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair, unable to use his arms or legs.

This is one of my favorite quotes from St. Teresa:

In your mercy of prayers please remember to pray for the repose of the souls of these two men.

May their souls, and all the souls of the Faithful Departed, rest in peace.

Good Quote from St. Vincent de Paul

You will find out that Charity is a heavy burden to carry, heavier than the kettle of soup and the full basket. But you will keep your gentleness and your smile. It is not enough to give soup and bread. This the rich can do. You are the servant of the poor, always smiling and good-humored. They are your masters, terribly sensitive and exacting master you will see. and the uglier and the dirtier they will be, the more unjust and insulting, the more love you must give them. It is only for your love alone that the poor will forgive you the bread you give to them.

St. Vincent de Paul

Sent from my iPhone

Thoughts at 113 Degrees

As I drove toward downtown Fort Worth, with the thermometer on the dashboard reaching 113 degrees Fahrenheit, I was reminded of a passage from C.S. Lewis' book Out of the Silent Planet, when an Earth-bound ship passes almost too close to the Sun:

"And still the thermometer rose.  The walls of the ship were too hot to touch.  It was obvious that a crisis was approaching.  In the next few hours it must kill them or get less.

"It got less...."

It will, in December.

Good Poetry: The Hound of Heaven, by Francis Thompson

I FLED Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbèd pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat—and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet—
‘All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.’
 
          I pleaded, outlaw-wise,
By many a hearted casement, curtained red,
  Trellised with intertwining charities;
(For, though I knew His love Who followèd,
        Yet was I sore adread
Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside).
But, if one little casement parted wide,
  The gust of His approach would clash it to.
  Fear wist not to evade, as Love wist to pursue.
Across the margent of the world I fled,
  And troubled the gold gateways of the stars,
  Smiting for shelter on their clangèd bars;
        Fretted to dulcet jars
And silvern chatter the pale ports o’ the moon.
I said to Dawn: Be sudden—to Eve: Be soon;
  With thy young skiey blossoms heap me over
        From this tremendous Lover—
Float thy vague veil about me, lest He see!
  I tempted all His servitors, but to find
My own betrayal in their constancy,
In faith to Him their fickleness to me,
  Their traitorous trueness, and their loyal deceit.
To all swift things for swiftness did I sue;
  Clung to the whistling mane of every wind.
      But whether they swept, smoothly fleet,
    The long savannahs of the blue;
        Or whether, Thunder-driven,
    They clanged his chariot ’thwart a heaven,
Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn o’ their feet:—
  Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue.
      Still with unhurrying chase,
      And unperturbèd pace,
    Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
      Came on the following Feet,
      And a Voice above their beat—
    ‘Naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter Me.’
 
I sought no more that after which I strayed
  In face of man or maid;
But still within the little children’s eyes
  Seems something, something that replies,
They at least are for me, surely for me!
I turned me to them very wistfully;
But just as their young eyes grew sudden fair
  With dawning answers there,
Their angel plucked them from me by the hair.
‘Come then, ye other children, Nature’s—share
With me’ (said I) ‘your delicate fellowship;
  Let me greet you lip to lip,
  Let me twine with you caresses,
    Wantoning
  With our Lady-Mother’s vagrant tresses,
    Banqueting
  With her in her wind-walled palace,
  Underneath her azured daïs,
  Quaffing, as your taintless way is,
    From a chalice
Lucent-weeping out of the dayspring.’
    So it was done:
I in their delicate fellowship was one—
Drew the bolt of Nature’s secrecies.
  I knew all the swift importings
  On the wilful face of skies;
  I knew how the clouds arise
  Spumèd of the wild sea-snortings;
    All that’s born or dies
  Rose and drooped with; made them shapers
Of mine own moods, or wailful or divine;
  With them joyed and was bereaven.
  I was heavy with the even,
  When she lit her glimmering tapers
  Round the day’s dead sanctities.
  I laughed in the morning’s eyes.
I triumphed and I saddened with all weather,
  Heaven and I wept together,
And its sweet tears were salt with mortal mine;
Against the red throb of its sunset-heart
    I laid my own to beat,
    And share commingling heat;
But not by that, by that, was eased my human smart.
In vain my tears were wet on Heaven’s grey cheek.
For ah! we know not what each other says,
  These things and I; in sound I speak—
Their sound is but their stir, they speak by silences.
Nature, poor stepdame, cannot slake my drouth;
  Let her, if she would owe me,
Drop yon blue bosom-veil of sky, and show me
  The breasts o’ her tenderness:
Never did any milk of hers once bless
    My thirsting mouth.
    Nigh and nigh draws the chase,
    With unperturbèd pace,
  Deliberate speed, majestic instancy;
    And past those noisèd Feet
    A voice comes yet more fleet—
  ‘Lo! naught contents thee, who content’st not Me!’

Naked I wait Thy love’s uplifted stroke!
My harness piece by piece Thou hast hewn from me,
    And smitten me to my knee;
  I am defenceless utterly.
  I slept, methinks, and woke,
And, slowly gazing, find me stripped in sleep.
In the rash lustihead of my young powers,
  I shook the pillaring hours
And pulled my life upon me; grimed with smears,
I stand amid the dust o’ the mounded years—
My mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap.
My days have crackled and gone up in smoke,
Have puffed and burst as sun-starts on a stream.
  Yea, faileth now even dream
The dreamer, and the lute the lutanist;
Even the linked fantasies, in whose blossomy twist
I swung the earth a trinket at my wrist,
Are yielding; cords of all too weak account
For earth with heavy griefs so overplussed.
  Ah! is Thy love indeed
A weed, albeit an amaranthine weed,
Suffering no flowers except its own to mount?
  Ah! must—
  Designer infinite!—
Ah! must Thou char the wood ere Thou canst limn with it?
My freshness spent its wavering shower i’ the dust;
And now my heart is as a broken fount,
Wherein tear-drippings stagnate, spilt down ever
  From the dank thoughts that shiver
Upon the sighful branches of my mind.
  Such is; what is to be?
The pulp so bitter, how shall taste the rind?
I dimly guess what Time in mists confounds;
Yet ever and anon a trumpet sounds
From the hid battlements of Eternity;
Those shaken mists a space unsettle, then
Round the half-glimpsèd turrets slowly wash again.
  But not ere him who summoneth
  I first have seen, enwound
With glooming robes purpureal, cypress-crowned;
His name I know, and what his trumpet saith.
Whether man’s heart or life it be which yields
  Thee harvest, must Thy harvest-fields
  Be dunged with rotten death?
 
      Now of that long pursuit
    Comes on at hand the bruit;
  That Voice is round me like a bursting sea:
    ‘And is thy earth so marred,
    Shattered in shard on shard?
  Lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest Me!
  Strange, piteous, futile thing!
Wherefore should any set thee love apart?
Seeing none but I makes much of naught’ (He said),
‘And human love needs human meriting:
  How hast thou merited—
Of all man’s clotted clay the dingiest clot?
  Alack, thou knowest not
How little worthy of any love thou art!
Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee,
  Save Me, save only Me?
All which I took from thee I did but take,
  Not for thy harms,
But just that thou might’st seek it in My arms.
  All which thy child’s mistake
Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home:
  Rise, clasp My hand, and come!’
  Halts by me that footfall:
  Is my gloom, after all,
Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly?
  ‘Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,
  I am He Whom thou seekest!
Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.’

Riding Shotgun VII

This week we pray for the repose of the souls of two people who died recently; Dr. Warren Carroll and Mrs. Betty Garza.

Mrs. Betty Garza died on July 11, 2011.  She was preceded in death by her husband several years earlier, and we got to know her while we attended Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church in Dallas.  Here she is pictured along with Fr. Paul Weinberger.  Betty never remarried, and never removed her wedding ring.  She was heard to say that she married her husband, Dr. Marc Garza, for all eternity.  She was a wonderful example of fidelity to all of us.

These two folks have one thing in common: neither was blessed with any children, yet they contributed greatly to the common good.  For Mrs. Garza, she suffered several miscarriages.

Both Warren Carroll and Betty Garza are examples of the good all people can do in whatever vocation they are called to.  Both were called to the married life where the blessing of children was denied them.  So they probably never came home to a closet dusted with baby powder - as I just did - but they also missed out on the amusement of watching an 8-, 9-, and 10-year old boys cleaning up the mess.

As a reminder, I include below a holy card of St. Benedict I received from Christendom College recently:

Eternal rest, grant unto them, oh Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon them.


May their souls, and all the souls of the Faithful Departed, rest in peace.

Amyoplasia Congenita Syndrome

Name: Amyoplasia Congenita Disruptive Syndrome

General:

Part of Arthrogryposis Multiplex Congenita
Multiple joint contractures
Two forms:

Neuropathic: reduced number of anterior horn cells; demyelinated motor roots; fewer axons in peripheral nerve roots.
Myopathic: contractors due to lack of intrauterine movement.

Airway:

Micrognathia
Cleft palate

Respiratory:

Hypoplastic lungs
Diaphragmatic hernia
Hydrothorax

Gastrointestinal:

Gastroschisis
Pyloric stenosis

Musculoskeletal:

Scoliosis
Contractures
Joint deformities

Considerations:

Difficult airway
Positioning nightmare
Difficult intravenous access possible
No relationship between arthrogryposis syndromes and MH

Links:

Arthrogryposis Multiplex Congenita
Guerin-Stern Syndrome
Otto Syndrome
Rocher-Sheldon Syndrome
Rossi Syndrome
Congenital Arthromyodysplastic Syndrome
Myodysplasia Foetalis Deformans
Myodystrophia Foetalis Deformans

References:

July 17, 1794

A shining example of fortitude, faith, obedience, and humility.  They died as obedient sisters to the last, asking for permission to die from their Prioress before climbing up to the guillotine.

The Holy Martyrs of Compeigne

Laudate Dominum omnes gentes

Laudate eum, omnes populi

Quoniam confirmata est

Super nos misericordia eius,

Et veritas Domini manet in aeternum.

Gloria Patri et Filio et Spiritui Sancto.

Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper.

Et in saecula saeculorum.

Amen.*

This weekend we remember the Holy Martyrs of Compeigne, who were beheaded with the guillotine on July 17, 1794 in Paris, France.

This is a picture of a small statue of the Blessed Mother holding Jesus, which was kissed by each nun before she climbed the ladder up to the executioner:

The nuns are listed below, or can be found at this website:

• Madeleine-Claudine Ledoine (Mother Teresa of St. Augustine), prioress, b. in Paris, 22 Sept., 1752, professed 16 or 17 May, 1775;
• Marie-Anne (or Antoinette) Brideau (Mother St. Louis), sub-prioress, b. at Belfort, 7 Dec., 1752, professed 3 Sept, 1771;
• Marie-Anne Piedcourt (Sister of Jesus Crucified), choir-nun, b. 1715, professed 1737; on mounting the scaffold she said "I forgive you as heartily as I wish God to forgive me";
• Anne-Marie-Madeleine Thouret (Sister Charlotte of the Resurrection), sacristan, b. at Mouy, 16 Sept., 1715, professed 19 Aug., 1740, twice sub-prioress in 1764 and 1778. Her portrait is reproduced opposite p. 2 of Miss Willson's work cited below;
• Marie-Antoniette or Anne Hanisset (Sister Teresa of the Holy Heart of Mary), b. at Rheims in 1740 or 1742, professed in 1764;
• Marie-Françoise Gabrielle de Croissy (Mother Henriette of Jesus), b. in Paris, 18 June, 1745, professed 22 Feb., 1764, prioress from 1779 to 1785;
• Marie-Gabrielle Trézel (Sister Teresa of St. Ignatius), choir-nun, b. at Compiègne, 4 April, 1743, professed 12 Dec., 1771;
• Rose-Chrétien de la Neuville, widow, choir-nun (Sister Julia Louisa of Jesus), b. at Loreau (or Evreux), in 1741, professed probably in 1777;
• Anne Petras (Sister Mary Henrietta of Providence), choir-nun, b. at Cajarc (Lot), 17 June, 1760, professed 22 Oct., 1786.
• Concerning Sister Euphrasia of the Immaculate Conception accounts vary. Miss Willson says that her name was Marie Claude Cyprienne Brard, and that she was born 12 May, 1736; Pierre, that her name was Catherine Charlotte Brard, and that she was born 7 Sept., 1736. She was born at Bourth, and professed in 1757;
• Marie-Geneviève Meunier (Sister Constance), novice, b. 28 May, 1765, or 1766, at St. Denis, received the habit 16 Dec., 1788. She mounted the scaffold singing "Laudate Dominum". In addition to the above, three lay sisters suffered and two tourières. The lay sisters are:
• Angélique Roussel (Sister Mary of the Holy Ghost), lay sister, b. at Fresnes, 4 August, 1742, professed 14 May, 1769;
• Marie Dufour (Sister St. Martha), lay sister, b. at Beaune, 1 or 2 Oct., 1742, entered the community in 1772;
• Julie or Juliette Vérolot (Sister St. Francis Xavier), lay sister, b. at Laignes or Lignières, 11 Jan., 1764, professed 12 Jan., 1789.

The two tourières, who were not Carmelites at all, but merely servants of the nunnery were: Catherine and Teresa Soiron, b. respectively on 2 Feb., 1742 and 23 Jan., 1748 at Compiègne, both of whom had been in the service of the community since 1772.

I have reviewed the book To Quell the Terror in the past; I strongly recommend this book rather than the fictionalized account of this incident found in the more famous book called The Song at the Scaffold by Gertrude von Le Fort.  Another great reference I found online is this blog.

Before going out to their execution, the Prioress obtained some hot chocolate for the nuns; it was their only nutrition they received for the last 24 hours of their lives.  In honor of them, I plan on making a big cup of hot chocolate to drink in honor of these wonderful women who died 217 years ago this weekend.

Besides, I have to de-scale my coffee maker this weekend.

*Praise the Lord, all nations;

Praise Him, all people.

For He has bestowed

His mercy upon us,

And the truth of the Lord endures forever.

Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit,

as it was in the beginning, is now, and forever,

and for generations of generations.

Amen.

Riding Shotgun VI

This week we shall pray for my brother, Fr. Denis Donahue, who was ordained to the priesthood on May 19, 1990.

He is a good brother and a good priest.  Like all priests, he needs our prayers and sacrifices to help him in his vocation.

22nd Anniversary Video

Here is a video Carolyn made commemorating our 22nd anniversary.  All of these pictures are from the past year.  Thank you Carolyn, and thank you, God, for such a wonderful wife and children.  We are truly blessed beyond measure.

Benches for 13

Riding Shotgun V

I was off last week, so I did not change the prayer cards in the car.

This week, I have two prayer cards along for the ride. One is a prayer before surgery, another is a prayer card for one of the sisters at the Carmelite convent in Irving who died in March.

First, let us look at the prayer before surgery:


I like this picture because it reminds me of places where the Crucifix is placed along a path, inviting the pilgrim to pause for a moment's prayer or reflection. I can think of a garden in San Antonio,or the Grotto in Emmittsburg, Maryland, where one can pray the Stations of the Cross while enjoying the great outdoors. It is a bit more difficult with little children, though.

On the back, there is a prayer for those about to have surgery:


I love the fact that it includes an act of contrition, because God knows that people do die in surgery. It is my strong desire that I would be able to receive the Anointing of the Sick and be able to make a good confession before any operation I might need.

In my profession, there have been times where I have anticipated the death of a patient - especially in the case of trauma patients. At that point, when general anesthesia is more resuscitation than anesthesia, I have actually leaned close to the head of the patient and said prayers for them. I tell them that they are in danger of dying, that God loves them, and then say an act of contrition for them. If there is any chance that they have any awareness of what is happening to them, I hope to help them prepare for the end of their life.

It has been years since I have had to do this, and it saddens me to think of those who have died in the operating room after some act of violence or imprudence.

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The prayer card for Mother Jeanne Marie Ange of the Infant Jesus, OCD, I think also has a medical connection. I have to check with my sources, but I believe that Mother was a nurse and then a CRNA before entering Carmel.


I don't recall meeting Mother, because most of our contact was with the porter - and even that was through a screen. I suspect she was not the one to run and answer the door whenever we dropped something off there. We did see the sisters around All Saints Day, when the children would dress up as saints and the sisters would have to guess their names.

One year, I was a prop for one of my daughters who was dressed up as St. Therese of Liseaux. I just had to stand next to her with a handkerchief over my face; that is what Louis Martin did a lot of around the end of his life. The sisters figured it out, though.



In totally unrelated news, the 'Big Blue' got new shocks and tires. Now it is a smoother and safer ride for the whole family.

For Carolyn

The quote from Proverbs below reminds me of Carolyn.

Here is a picture of St. Frances of Rome. She was a Wife, Mother, and Religious who lived from 1384 to 1440:


On the back is this quote from Proverbs, which is appropriate to recall on our wedding anniversary:

A good wife who can find?
She is far more precious than jewels.
The heart of her husband trusts in her,
and he will have no lack of gain.
She does him good, and not harm,
all the days of her life.
She seeks wool and flax,
and works with willing hands.

She puts her hands to the distaff,
and her hands hold the spindle.
She opens her hand to the poor,
and reaches out her hands to the needy.

Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain,
but a woman who fears the Lord is to be
praised.
Give her of the fruit of her hands,
and let her works praise her in the gates.

Proverbs 31:10-13, 19-20, 30-31

When I first typed this in, I misspelled 'gain' for 'gin,' which changed the sentence above to:

"The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will have no lack of gin."

Well now.

Thankfully God has given me a wonderful wife rather than an endless supply of gin.

Here is an icon I bought at Clear Creek Monastery for Carolyn. It is the Holy Family:

Here we are on our wedding day:


Here are the flowers I sent to Carolyn today. I am so blessed with her, and I thank God for her in my life!

22nd Anniversary Celebration

Here we are, another year in love with each other, and rather than making a new video I shall just re-publish the 21st Anniversary video. I wish we had another new face to introduce this year, but that was not God's will. We are still praying for more children while we care for the ones we have been given by Him.

Here is the link for the video for all of you reading this on facebook.




Here is the link to the Anniversary photograph collection. Watch as the number of children - and their sizes - grow with every year.

I thank God for the blessing of my wife Carolyn, and I pray every day that I can be a better husband for her. She is the greatest gift on Earth to me.