Book Smart in DC

The Best Gift

2012-02-15T17:43:00.001-05:00

Yesterday Frank gave me perhaps the best Valentine's gift I could have received, and he didn't even realize it until later.

You see, dear readers, there is something I haven't told you about in all the happiness and excitement over my relationship with Frank. Something has been bothering my heart. A little thing, but enough to cast a dark and persistent shadow over our sunny joy.

Frank isn't Catholic. Or rather, he is a Catholic in what he jokingly calls "very bad standing." Frank was baptized Catholic as an infant but his parents left the faith when he was a toddler. He was raised in a Protestant church.

But my Frank is a seeker of truth and a passionate lover of Christ. And as you and I both know, the place where Christ and the Truth intersect is in the Catholic Church.

Before he had even met me, Frank began his journey home. Independently of the rest of his family, Frank left the church of his childhood. He read the early Church Fathers and became Anglican. Before we even started dating, he was reading Catholic authors and conversion stories. His eager mind was seeking the place where his faith in Christ could finally come to rest.

When we first started dating three weeks ago, his mind was not made up. And I was full of hesitation. My faith is so important to me. It's central to who I am as a person. I had always promised myself that I would never marry someone who wasn't Catholic. Was it safe to even date someone who didn't share this most fundamental thing with me?

He too had his hesitations. Can you imagine how hard it would be to get used to Mary and the saints if you didn't know them growing up? And the Real Presence in the Eucharist? What about the supremacy of the Holy Father? It must have bewildering for him. I'm sure it sometimes seems to him as though I'm speaking a strange and foreign language when I talk about my faith. Novena prayers and Tridentine Masses and patron saints and Memorare campaigns - we Catholics live in a whole different religious universe.

But my Frank is as brave as he is smart. He has read and studied and prayed. I have prayed a whole lot too, and beseeched my friends and family members to pray. I asked all the saints in Heaven and especially Matthew for their intercession. And yesterday, he said it. He's made up his mind. It's official. Frank is going to enter the Church.

John Henry Newman, Frank's patron

Readers, I don't even know if I can convey to you the measure of my happiness today. I hoped for this, I prayed for this, but I hardly dared to let myself imagine it. I wanted it so badly but didn't dare assume it would come to pass - and certainly not so quickly. Yet here it is. Before yesterday, it seemed unfair to Frank and me that God would make us so compatible and then separate us because of our religious difference. And now it looks as though that religious difference will be no more.

Of course the process is just beginning. There is a lot that Frank has yet to learn, although he has already covered so much ground - the things he knows and does never fail to impress me. For example, he actually went and bought himself his own Daily Roman Missal, just like mine, so he can learn about the Liturgy and do the daily Mass readings too! But despite his studying, we both know the process will be a long one. He has to make his First Confession and First Communion, and he needs to be confirmed. He might have to go through RCIA. This is all so new. We're not sure yet where to start.

But for now, all I know is that he said it. He desires it. He is willing and eager to return to the Faith. We will be able to go up to Communion together instead of me leaving him in the pew week after week.

I know the road ahead is a long one and there is still a lot he will have to overcome. But readers, all I can think of is that line from the Bible, a line so old, beautiful and true - "I have told you this... so that your joy may be complete." And today, it is.

Happy First...

2012-02-14T12:03:00.002-05:00

I am feeling a little spoiled today. Roses did indeed come to my desk at work, and part of me squirmed a little over what Auntie said about that subject, but that quickly subsided into a huge smile and feelings of gratitude. This girlfriend thing is still so new that I haven't yet had a chance to sink into relationship smugness - and I hope to goodness I never do. Those of you who know me in person, please notify me immediately if I ever get smug, and I'll give myself a stern talking-to.

With the roses came a note, my favorite line of which was, "Happy First Valentine's Day." The first. Yes. Exactly.

My primary feeling on this holiday of love, and for the past two weeks, has been one of profound wonder. I feel amazed. Although we had been friends since July, Frank's love came into my life very suddenly and unexpectedly. Yet so quickly I have found in him a "kindred spirit," someone I feel I can trust completely, someone who understands my quirks, someone whose goodness inspires me and who opens my mind to vast and unexplored horizons. I can't help feeling undeserving of this gift. It feels exactly like it was described in this article. I know I didn't do anything to merit this or to make it happen; God in His infinite kindness simply dropped this into my life, in His own time and on His schedule and plan. The whole thing is rather a mystery to me, and a source of great joy.

I sent this little image to Frank the other day and we had a good laugh over it. I think in a way it symbolizes our love. We both have spontaneous, adventurous spirits - we enjoy quoting Chesterton's line that "An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is an adventure wrongly considered." When I'm with him, I can't help feeling that our great adventure is just beginning.

Carefree Timelessness

2012-02-13T13:58:00.000-05:00

This was a fairly quiet but very fun weekend.

On Saturday I got together with my friends Ruth and Mary for a delicious tapas-style brunch. We had so much fun that we decided to make Saturday brunch a regular tradition. What is it with me and traditions? I love them! Maybe because my family had so many little traditions growing up, like praying the rosary together on Sunday nights, and doing made-up plays for my parents' birthdays (the plays were always terribly dramatic, and I don't just mean the performances).

That evening, Lee and I drove up to the Adams Morgan area for dinner at an Irish pub with my friend Kelly's little sister Claire and Claire's friend Rachel. It was so much fun! They are such bright, articulate girls with strong opinions. I really enjoyed how fearless Claire was about expressing her ideas. She has had to fight a lot of battles as a pro-life Catholic girl at a big state university, and she's quite feisty as a result. The two girls are both juniors, which made me really miss my little sister Cathy, who is also a college junior and is far away in Spain for the semester.

After that, Lee and I went back to Arlington for a friend's concert at a restaurant. We met up with Joey there and then went to another party after that. It was funny because the three of us went to two different events with lots of other people at them, but we only talked to each other! In all fairness, it had been several weeks since I had seen Joey and we had a lot of catching up to do (as he put it when I complained about not seeing him in a while, "You're the one who went and got a boyfriend!"). It was pretty funny though. Do you ever do that at parties, just stay with the people you came with? Especially now that I'm dating someone, I don't really feel as much of an incentive to meet new people, or at least new guys. I like just hanging out with the people I'm already friends with. Of course, I still love making new friends, but I'm less focused on networking and socializing than I used to be.

Yesterday Frank and I kept up our Sunday "tradition" for the second week. He picked me up at 10 am and we listened to beautiful sacred music in the car. We went to 10:30 Mass at St. John the Beloved (my favorite) and then the grocery store to buy food for brunch. We discovered an interesting little fact about me: as spontaneous as I usually am, I apparently can't handle going into grocery stores without a plan, which was revealed when I had a minor freak-out in the dairy aisle over what to buy for brunch. It was kind of hilarious and once I calmed down we laughed about it. Frank looked me in the eyes and promised very seriously never to take me grocery shopping without a plan again, which made me laugh even more.

We invited Lee plus some out of town friends over for brunch. By the time they left it was after 3 o'clock! So we had a quiet afternoon and evening - Frank did some homework, I did some reading, then he cooked a delicious Italian dinner for us. We skyped with each of our families so they could get to know each other a little bit. We had some good conversations and just enjoyed spending time together.

I read a great little post today about the art of "carefree timelessness" - doing unplanned, leisurely things with people you love. I think this whole weekend, especially Sunday, has been an exercise in carefree timelessness, and I feel very lucky for that.

I've added this picture for no other reason than that Frank reminds me of Gilbert Blythe.

The Best Love Poems

2012-02-11T08:00:00.000-05:00

In honor of Valentine's Day, I compiled a list of the best love poems, tailored to various situations. I hope you enjoy them!

For the light and playful love which is built nonetheless on a sturdy foundation... Sonnet 18 from William Shakespeare.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

For the lovers whose souls are intimately, inextricably intertwined... Sonnet 17 by Pablo Neruda.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

For the lovers who must be apart from each other, because of distance or time... i carry your heart with me(i carry it in by e e cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

For the high-minded and noble love... How Do I Love Thee? by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

For the one who foresees suffering and troubles ahead, but is confident that Love will last... Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare.

SONNET 116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

For the fanciful, fairy-tale-like, and rather excessively dramatic love... Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe

[excerpt]
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

For the lovers who have been married to each other for many years... John Anderson, My Jo' by Robert Burns (see here if the words don't make sense to you).

John Anderson, my Jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo!

John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;
And monie a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.

For the lover who is fighting for a greater cause... To Lucasta, on going to the Wars by Richard Lovelace

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not Honour more.

For the lover who keenly senses that time is fleeting... Bright Star by John Keats

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient sleepless eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors;
No yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever or else swoon to death.

For the wife who feels well-satisfied in her choice of husband... To My Dear and Loving Husband by Anne Bradstreet

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay;
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let's so persever,
That when we live no more we may live ever.

For the man who has a tendency to idolize the woman he loves... She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that 's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

And finally, I will close with a quote from my very favorite play of all time, Cyrano de Bergerac, discussing "What is a kiss?"

After all, what is a kiss? A vow made at closer range, a more precise promise, a confession that contains its own proof, a seal placed on a pact that has already been signed; it’s a secret told to the mouth rather than to the ear, a fleeting moment filled with the hush of eternity, a communion that has the fragrance of a flower, a way of living by the beat of another heart, and tasting another soul on one's lips!

These Past Days

2012-02-10T11:20:00.001-05:00

I've been battling a cold that has put me a little out of commission. But I'm working away on my writing and hoping to get some big things published soon!

I got back from Yale on Tuesday night. Frank picked me up at Union Station and we stopped by the local grocery store, Harris Teeter, to buy supplies for a midnight feast back at my place. Then he left and I collapsed into bed.

On Wednesday, I was exhausted. The past two days had been so taxing. I was sick, and still pretty sleep-deprived. But there was a big event going on at the CIC and I didn't want to miss it. Frank had too much homework to go out that night, so I convinced Lee to accompany me instead.

But as it turns out, that goofy Lee and a sleepy me are not the best combination at serious events. He found a rack of greeting cards with rather cheesy, emotional sayings on them. At especially solemn moments in the discussion, when everyone around us was attentive and quiet, he would hold up a card for me to see that said something like, "I think of you so often during the day, my friend." Then we would both collapse into muffled laughter, earning the baleful stares of everyone standing near us. It was hilarious.

A lot of people I knew were at the event, but considering my silly mood, I decided not to stay and chat - especially after I accidentally walked into someone and then hit another person with my lunchbox. It turns out that when I'm tired, I don't get grumpy or quiet - I get unusually klutzy. So I corralled Lee and our other good friend Patrick and we all went out for dinner at one of my favorite Arlington restaurants. We even got cupcakes, which put me in a much happier mood.

Yesterday I finished up my big article about Yale, turned it in to the editors, and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Than Frank picked me up from work so we could go to a Scotch & Cigars event in honor of the big conference going on this weekend.

But when we got there, it was packed with so many people that we could hardly move. All the cigar smoke started to bother Frank's lungs. On top of that, almost everyone there was male. There were seriously like 3 girls in the room besides me. There was a time when those odds would have thrilled me, but last night they just made me feel tired. I only wanted to hang out with Frank.

We exchanged a wide-eyed glance. "Want to leave?" I asked. "Yes!" He responded immediately.

So we hit the road and went out for dinner at a barbecue restaurant instead. It was awesome - there we were in our fancy outfits, digging into a rack of ribs, potato salad, corn pudding and french fries. We had so much fun playing hooky from the conference. It was yet another confirmation (as if I needed one!) that this man and I are really on the same page, in so many silly and awesome and ridiculous ways.

My mom called me on our way to dinner, so I let Frank talk to her on the phone. Then he talked to my little sister Angela for a while. She found it highly suspicious that he knew what her favorite poem was. Turns out that he really listens to the stories I tell him about my family. He told me again and again how excited he is to meet all of them. I'm excited too. Family, I think you will love him.

After dinner we decided to go for a walk and ended up at a church near me, St. Agnes. We sat on a bench outside the church and had a long, serious, yet gentle conversation about the role faith plays in our lives. It was awesome.

We decided that we want to create some little traditions for ourselves. Specifically, Sunday traditions. Last Sunday we went to Mass together, cooked brunch at my apartment and then did "homework" together in the afternoon - I put "homework" in quotation marks because he actually did homework, while I worked on writing a letter to my little sister Cathy who is studying abroad in Spain. That day was so much fun that we've decided to try to do it every Sunday, if we can.

And now, it's Friday! Hurray! Frank and I are going to a reception this evening and then back to my apartment to get work done (seriously. I know, so lame to be working on a Friday night. But we're doing it together and that makes it sound kinda fun). Happy Friday to you!

Adventures with Frank

2012-02-08T13:15:00.001-05:00

I'd like to introduce you to Frank and share some of the fun adventures we've been having.

I've told you before how I don't really partake in the typical activities of a 22-year-old. It turns out that Frank doesn't either! To my utter and complete surprise, it turns out there actually are other people in the world who think like me. Crazy, right? Those other people's names are Frank, in case you were wondering.

On Tuesday Jan 31, we went to the National Portrait Gallery and he showed me his favorite painting and even taught me some things I didn't know about the American painters featured. I never thought I would meet a guy who is as enamored with art as I am!

On Saturday Feb 5th we got all dressed up and went to a Mardi Gras party. Frank has read all of the Anne of Green Gables books (no I know) and he channels Gilbert perfectly.

I think we looked pretty dapper, if I do say so myself.

Now, the last picture is our crowning glory. I have to tell you a story leading up to it so you get the full effect.

Back in December, I was going on a long car trip with Frank, and I wanted to bring my knitting along for the drive. I almost always knit on car trips. It's a fun, productive activity that you can do while carrying on a conversation with your fellow passengers.

At that point, though, we weren't dating yet. I didn't even have a clue that he liked me yet. I wanted to make a good impression. So before we left, I got on Skype with my sister and my best friend Maggie.

"Should I bring my knitting along on the car trip with Frank?" I asked.

They met my suggestion with howls of protest.

"He'll think you're a grandma," said Maggie.

"Don't you dare," said Lillian, "unless you never want to date him."

Because I am a very contrary person, I wanted to prove them wrong. So I promptly text messaged Frank: "Would you mind if I brought knitting on the car ride?"

He wrote back, "Not at all."

But when the time for the car trip came around, I chickened out. I couldn't do it. I brought my knitting along but I simply left it in my purse. I didn't want him to think I was a grandma, after all.

But as it turns out, my boyfriend likes girls who knit.

We went to a Super Bowl party on Sunday and I brought my knitting along in my purse. When I got bored watching football, I simply pulled out my little project and knitted contentedly. Frank sat next to me, equally contented. And just to prove my point, I took a picture and sent it to Lillian.

He knows the real me, the girl who knits and swing dances and memorizes poetry and likes to pretend she's a Jane Austen heroine. He loves the real me, just as I am.

I don't know if it can get any luckier than that.

A College Visit

2012-02-07T18:28:00.001-05:00

Sorry for the silence these past few days. I have some interesting news to report:

1. He's officially my boyfriend now, and his name is Frank. Pictures to come.

2. I spent the past two days at Yale covering a news story. They were two of the most emotionally draining days of my life. More details to come.

3. I'm on the train on the way back to DC now. Thank goodness!

Hope you are doing well!

Falling For Him

2012-02-03T13:35:00.002-05:00

To round out our "7 dates in 7 days," the Man in My Life and I decided to go see the final episode of the Catholicism series at the CIC.

He greeted me after work holding a copy of his law school's newspaper. (Did I mention he's in law school?)

"What's this?" I asked

He held it up proudly. The headline article - above the fold! - was about him! He and his friends are starting a new law journal, one of the first of its kind. I was so proud of him. He gave me a copy of the paper and I showed it off to Laura and my roommate after I got home.

Yesterday I felt really sick so I decided to stay home from work. He showed up on my doorstep around noon with a bouquet of flowers and a hot cup of chicken soup with bread from Cosi. Once I got over my embarrassment about being seen in my feverish, grungy state, I pretty much melted. He is so kind.

This song has been ringing in my head for the past few days.

Today I showed him this quote:

And he said, "Oh wow. That's our quote." Because (we both agree) we have the most mutually compatible weirdness I have ever seen.

p.s. A post I wrote for another blog has been getting a lot of attention. Feel free to read it and let me know what you think!

Hold Onto This Feeling

2012-02-02T09:30:00.000-05:00

Individuals of the male persuasion, turn your eyes away from this post. Thanks!

Two weeks ago I babysat for a family of three.

There's something about babysitting that tugs at my heart strings. Here I am, a single woman living on my own, but for an evening I get to play mommy. I get to take care of the most beautiful little children. I get to play with them, feed them dinner, kiss their little cheeks and tuck them into bed. I never want it to end.

When I babysat last week, the baby was scared of me at first, but in no time at all she was clinging to me. I love those little baby hands that tug at my hair, that pull at the buttons on my shirt. They are so tiny, so endearingly helpless. I put the baby down on the floor as I cooked dinner. She crawled over and held up her little arms to be carried. Every part of my heart melted as I scooped her up with a hug and kiss.

I stood over the stove, the baby on my left hip and a spatula in my right hand, entering the zen state I'm always in when I cook while holding a baby. I must be the strangest 22-year-old ever, because I love that feeling. It's the most maternal, creative, nurturing feeling in the world.

I channeled my inner Mary Poppins for the two older children. "We have three minutes until the toast is done," I told them. "Do you think you can clean up the whole living room in that time?" They nodded eagerly. "On your marks," I said with mock seriousness. "Get set. Go!" They finished just in time for toast, and did a decent job too.

We snuggled cozily on the couch for reading, two children on my lap and one nestled firmly by my side. We were contented, even when the baby fussed from time to time. I was amazed at how happy I felt. I don't think there's any feeling in the world that's better than reading to children.

I used the "You have just one minute..." trick to get them into their pajamas and in bed. I tucked them in tight and crossed my fingers that they would stay put. Then we read more stories and I snuggled the sleepy infant until their mom and dad got home.

What a blessed evening. Full of chaos and confusion and some crying from the baby, but also full of affection, smiles, games, laughter and many hugs.

Sometimes when I'm babysitting, I can't help but imagine what my life would be like if, some day, God calls me to serve Him as a wife and mother.

I know mothering is hard. This article compares it to climbing Mount Everest. I don't have kids and I don't know what that day-to-day, endless, repetitive, self-giving and self-sacrificial experience must feel like for moms.

But I know this: When I get to babysit, when I surround myself with little children and immerse myself in their worlds and their points of view, I'm so happy. Even at its most exhausting, I never get tired of it. I want to do it forever.

Will I still feel this way, if I'm ever a mom?

Will my heart beat a little faster when a baby wants to be held - if it's my baby? Will I enjoy cooking dinner if I have to do it every single night - for my children? Will I treasure story time as much and want to read as many books - when I'm reading them to my babies?

I don't know. I haven't been in that position yet.

But if I ever am in that position, I hope I'll remember how magical mothering felt, when it was something I only got to do occasionally.

I hope I'll love it just as much. I hope I'll remember this feeling, and keep it alive. I hope I'll treasure every moment, if God ever lets me be a mom.

Feelin' Lucky

2012-02-01T11:47:00.001-05:00

Last night we went to the National Portrait Gallery. Then we went to Trader Joe's and bought groceries. Then we went to my apartment and cooked dinner together, chicken tikka masala with salad, asparagus, naan bread and ice cream for dessert. This brings us to a total of 6 dates in 6 days. And tonight, if things work out according to plan, it will be 7 in 7.

Some day I will share with you the story of what is going on behind the scenes right now. There is only so much I can put on this blog, especially since he doesn't know this blog exists. I don't want to share too much without his consent. But let's just say, these days I'm veering closer and closer to deliriously happy.

Morning Dates & Sing-alongs

2012-01-31T10:58:00.002-05:00

Yesterday morning I had my weekly "date" at 8 am. I hadn't been to Adoration in almost a month because of Christmas and then because of all the visitors I've been having. I missed it. It was just what I needed to start the week off right.

Today I had another morning date, this time with a guy I know. We met at the metro station at 7:30 am and made it to St. Matthew's Cathedral just in time for 8 am Mass. After that, we went to Caribou for coffee and scones.

There's just something about going to Mass with someone. Do you know what I mean? It's the most connecting, uniting feeling in the world. One of my friends likes to say, The family that prays together stays together. I think the friends that pray together have a special something going on too. It was the most perfect way to start the morning. After I said goodbye to him, I was humming happily to myself the whole way to work.

In other incredibly good news, Laura got the job! She starts work on Monday. She hasn't found a place to live yet so she's staying with me this week while she apartment-hunts. She gets in tonight, and I can't wait to see her!

Last night I went to Theology on Tap in Arlington with my new friend Julianne. Have I told you about Julianne? She came to work in my office right before Christmas. She's only a year older than me, and we share a love for Oxford and literature, among many other things. We hit it off right away. As I often say, having her come to work here is the best thing that's happened to my work life. It's so much fun to have someone to eat lunch with regularly, and with whom to attend happy hours after work. She lives close to me, so sometimes we even commute together. It's pretty much the best.

Anyway, after the event yesterday, we caught a ride home with some guy friends who were also there. One of them put his ipod on, and Julianne and I were very impressed with the selection of music. Frank Sinatra, Michael Buble, and even some favorite Disney songs. We started to sing along, and before long the three of us were belting out the lyrics as loud as we could the whole way home. It was awesome.

I think being 22 is the most fun year of my life. Is that fair? It's only been four months. Can I judge it this early on? How about if I say, "Being 22 is the most fun year of my life so far"?

I hope you are having a lovely Tuesday too!

Weekend Update

2012-01-30T15:38:00.001-05:00

I never seem to have the time to blog on weekends, probably because I don't use the internet much when I'm not at work. Anyway, here's what I've been up to these past few days!

This was the first weekend this month that I haven't had visitors. I finally got everything put away from the last visit and I cleaned the whole house. Although I really really miss having my friends here, it was nice to get everything back in order!

On Thursday, I went to this event with a bunch of my friends, and lent my camera to the event organizers. Now I have a bunch of funny shots of us pretending not to notice the camera.

"Candid" photo: Lee, me, Serena

After the event, I went for a long walk with A Certain Gentleman. We walked to the White House and sat for a while in its garden, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather.

On Friday, my friend Evan came over to learn about my Friday Night Project. You see, part of my job entails doing a big software project every Friday night. I jokingly call it my "Friday night homework assignment." Ironically, I never did homework on weekends in college, which makes me suspect that this weekly task is pure karma. Evan is also a journalist so he was very interested in learning about the process.

On Saturday, I met for coffee with a new friend, Caitlin. She works in communications and has the most fascinating life story - she earned her master's at a university in Rome, for one thing, and her uncle is a celebrity. She met her husband while they were both living in Rome and they're expecting their first baby. She told me that she's not staying in her job for much longer, and recommended that I apply for it. I'm hoping to look into that some more.

In the evening, I got a bunch of people together for swing dancing! It was awesome. None of the guys had much experience (except Evan) but they were all good sports about it. I think they ended up having more fun than they expected (at least, they said they did!).

On Sunday, Lee and I drove to downtown DC to meet Joey and Joey's friend Joel for Mass at a "Gospel Choir" church. I was a little apprehensive about it but was pleasantly surprised. The service was very reverent and actually quite traditional - for example, there were some songs in Latin.

Sunday evening I went out to dinner and the movies. It had been months since I'd last been to the movies. It was a lot of fun.

Well, that was my weekend! What did you do?

Do I Dare to Dream?

2012-01-27T09:00:00.001-05:00

I've trained myself so well in the ways of being single.

I'm cautious with my eyes, my smile. No sense in giving encouragement to men I'll never see again.

I watch my thoughts to stop myself from daydreaming. It's silly to make an imaginary hero out of a guy I barely know. I try to keep from picturing a family, and home life, because sometimes I want these things so badly that even just dreaming them hurts.

I've learned not to get my hopes up. So what if we talked literature at a party and I gave him my email address? I won't hear from him again. I've come to accept this.

I know how to do this "singles" thing. I know how to curb my crushes. I know how to keep myself from loving.

But now. I've met this man.

And I can't help looking forward to seeing him. I catch myself dressing up and wearing lipstick when I know he'll be around. When I'm with him, I don't want him to leave.

I can't help thinking of him when I'm walking to the metro. He creeps into my thoughts as I eat lunch at work. Falling asleep at night, he's the last thought on my mind. Thinking of him brings happy dreams.

When I realize this, I rebuke myself sternly. Don't daydream about him, I tell myself. Daydreaming is bad luck. Daydreams don't come true.

But what am I to think when he seeks me out, day after day? When he whispers to me, "You're beautiful"? When he teases that I'm "perfect" and I see that a part of him believes it?

I've taught myself so well to have low expectations, to hide my hopes, to keep secret my private dreams. After all this careful training... Do I dare to let myself hope? Is it safe to dream?

My #1 Hero

2012-01-26T11:19:00.002-05:00

Recently I read this great article in First Things about what we Catholics in the United States need to do to "keep the Faith" in the new year.

The author laid out four main "practical objectives": the ending of abortion; the return of large families; the renewal of classical education; and the building of better churches.

Wow, I thought. These objectives are exactly what our world needs. And then I began wondering, What can I do to help meet them? It's not like I'm in a position of power, or even at the head of a family. I'm just one little unknown Catholic girl.

As I thought about it more, I had a moment of stunning insight. I actually know someone who works every day to make each of these objectives a reality. How did I not see it right away?

Someone I know and love is already working towards these goals. In fact, she's spent her life on them. She's the greatest role model a girl like me could ever have. She's my mom.

How did I get so lucky to have a mom like mine? Let me tell you how she's spent her life working towards these objectives...

1. The Ending of Abortion.

The first time I prayed at an abortion clinic was with my mom, who taught me to pray the Rosary and explained to me in child-appropriate terms what abortion is. And Mum doesn't just talk the talk. She walks the walk, volunteering her time at a crisis pregnancy center and using her fluency in Spanish to reach out to minority women who need help. My mom is the grassroots of the pro-life movement, and she's doing a great job.

2. The Return of Large Families

My mom had 7 kids and would have had more if she could. Now that her kids are growing up, she is a role model and mentor to younger moms who need encouragement when they're not sure they can do it all. She has a big family, and she makes it look like fun. She's the best advertisement for motherhood I've ever seen.

3. The Renewal of Classical Education

She started her own school to make sure my siblings and I were getting a proper classical education. 'Nuff said.

4. The Building of Better Churches

My mum is a pillar of our local parish. She helps out with the marriage prep, she is the most stalwart visitor to the Adoration Chapel, and even the priests rely on her for her example. She's building a better church, just by living out her vibrant faith every day.

So I realized, I know exactly how to make those objectives happen. I just need to be like my mom and do what she does.

This might sound silly, but I can't help thinking - what kind of world would we live in if every woman worked towards these objectives like my mom does? What would Western Civilization look like if it was built by women like that?

She's just one woman, my mom. But a world full of women like her? Imagine it. That would be a beautiful world indeed.

Sometimes

2012-01-25T09:30:00.000-05:00

Today I'm playing a cute game inspired by a blog I love. Want to play too?

With my lovely friend and "name twin" Theresa in Chicago over Christmas break

Sometimes...

It's hard for me to accept that I can't go to every social event I want to!

I'm reminded of how much I love my sister when she laughs at the stuff I say (and write).

I feel self-conscious when I have to walk past the whole office to go to the bathroom. Every single day. It's been six months and I still feel so awkward about it. (I know, I know, I need to just get over it!)

I am mildly dishonest when I pretend that I cooked something I actually bought at the store, yet I do it every now and then when I'm short on time. Shhh, don't tell ;)

I can't imagine a world without tea. Mmmm.

I'm surprised that I still can't for the life of me get up before 8:30 am.

I get a little too easily wrapped up in reading mommy blogs.

I indulge in guilty pleasures like stopping randomly at Red Velvet for cupcakes with my friends.

I wish all things in life were as wonderful as getting a good blog comment. Best feeling ever.

Love,

Tess

March for Life Weekend

2012-01-24T14:41:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I feel as though I live in an alternate universe from the rest of the world.

Not one single blog that I read regularly had a word to say about the March for Life yesterday. Not one news site I frequent mentioned it.

But in my life? Oh man. How do I even begin to tell you what the March for Life means for me?

Shall I tell you about the March for Life party I went to Saturday night? So many of my friends were there, people I hadn't seen in months or even years. Ridiculous amounts of hugs were exchanged. Cider was drunk and marshmallows were roasted. I had the joy of introducing some of my oldest friends to some of my newest, and watching them really bond.

Shall I describe the serious debate my girl friends and I had, late one night, over which of my DC guy friends would make the best boyfriend? Every girl had a different pick, but in the end, we all agreed on the same one - a most unlikely one too.

Shall I attempt to elaborate the state of my kitchen? Every plate, bowl, cup and wine glass was used. The crockpot more than came into its own. We feasted and celebrated, and my kitchen looks it. And do I even need to say, that the mess was more than worth it?

Shall I talk about the conference on Sunday, and Lillian's and my glorious return to our favorite place in the universe, the Midnight Mug? Or the ongoing devouring of Georgetown Cupcakes? What about the Mass for Life that Maggie, Frank and I went to on Sunday? It was the longest Mass of my life and nearly did us all in. But the sacrifice was so, so worth it.

Shall I tell you about seeing my little sisters, and hugging them, and squeezing their cheeks? How I miss those sweet little sisters of mine! Thanks to the March, they came right to my town.

What about seeing old friends from college, and even the president of my university? Marching with my favorite campus priest and some old friends from Campus Ministry? Shall I describe for you the chaos on the National Mall, the way all the streets were blocked off, and how it took me hours of searching to finally track down Lillian and Maggie in the crowd?

Shall I tell you about the dozens and dozens of police officers, and how I tried to thank at least a few? About the cute little nuns holding banners? About the singing, the praying, and the ever-present, effervescent, all-surrounding JOY?

Shall I relate each gleeful reunion? How friend after old friend appeared like magic in the crowd, and we ran with happy shouts (or squeals in my case) into each other's arms? For me, the March for Life is a reunion of every person I've ever known. It's a magical, happy, friendship-renewing day.

Shall I tell you about those things? I wish I could, but I don't think I can do them justice.

Just take my word for it. I live in a crazy, pro-life, alternate Catholic universe. It's the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I'm so glad I do.

Thank you, Jeff Bethke

2012-01-19T16:04:00.000-05:00

This video has been making the media rounds lately - it's by a young man, Jeff Bethke, who says he loves Jesus but hates religion. Given my views on being religious, you may be surprised to know that I actually kind of liked this video.

I don't agree with huge parts of it, such as the silly notion that Jesus came to abolish religion (and here's an excellent defense of why not). But in general, Jeff Bethke makes a very important point that should cause us Christians to sit up and take notice. You see, I've met so-called "Christians" who practice a sort of rigid, legalistic piety, yet lack any kind of compassion for their fellow man. I've seen people forget that it is God, not we, who is in charge of doing the judging. And, I'm ashamed to admit, I've seen myself act like that kind of person.

When I was in college, I knew a girl who I quickly came to dislike. She was a real party girl, going out and getting drunk seemingly every night, and never attending church. Although I don't think I ever spoke to her, I privately judged her rather harshly.

Years later, this girl and I happened to attend a Campus Ministry retreat at the same time. I was surprised when I saw her name on the list, because it seemed unlikely to me that she would be interested in practicing her religion.

She changed my life that weekend. Without going into too many details, I discovered that her mother had died very suddenly only a week before I met her. What I had interpreted as shameless behavior was this poor girl's attempt to dull the pain she was feeling. All the time that I was judging her, she was privately bearing a dark and heavy grief, and reacting to it in the only way she knew how. She needed understanding and friendship, not judgment and condemnation. When I realized the truth, I was in shock, and I don't think I've ever felt more ashamed of myself.

Mother Teresa once said, "If you judge a person, you have no time to love them." How easy it is to forget! When we focus too much on the rules and regulations of our religion, we easily fall into the trap of judging how other people measure up, when really we should only ever think about how we measure up. We have to remind ourselves again and again that it is God's place, not ours, to judge.

What is the purpose of our religion, after all? It is first and foremost about love. Our God is Love. The world will know that we are Christians by our love - not by whether we eat meat on Fridays, wear a scapular, or can quote from the Catechism. I am reminded of Therese of Lisieux, who was glad she never had time to read serious books of theology because "They would only have got in the way." Knowing doctrine matters too, of course, and has its place. But when we focus on those things at the expense of loving other people, we miss the whole point of our faith. We emphasize the letter of the law and ignore its spirit.

Teresa of Avila liked to remind her followers that "Christ has no body now on earth but yours; No hands, no feet on earth but yours." Put in a more modern light, we are Christ's PR team. What kind of a job are we doing at representing Him if this is what people think of religion?

That's why I liked this video, and am grateful to Jeff Bethke for making it. I don't hate religion; in fact, I love it. I don't think Jesus came to abolish religion; in fact, I think Christ established the Catholic faith to carry on His work here on earth. But I think those of us who devoutly practice a religion can use these little reminders to live with love and not with legalism. Thank you, Jeff Bethke, for helping us all to wake up a little bit.

Being A Religious Person

2012-01-18T10:46:00.000-05:00

Last time I visited home, I had a funny conversation with my little sister, a sophomore in high school. I confided in her that I try to offer up a different day of the week for every member of our family. “I think you’re the most religious person I know,” she teased me.

My little sister and I

At the time, I shrugged this off as a silly remark. Of course I’m not the most religious person she knows. Just for starters, our parents are daily communicants, something I aspire to but have not yet achieved.

But over time, something else occurred to me. I may not be the most religious person my little sister knows. But when she and others know that I practice my faith, I represent to them what a religious person looks like and acts like.

That led me to another thought. What’s the popular stereotype of a religious person in our society? I thought of Frollo from Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame. I thought of the mom from Hairspray who screams “Devil child!” at her daughter for going out without permission. What ugly images! Pop culture often depicts religious people as loveless, joyless and judgmental.

Yet I know that religion, truly practiced, brings happiness, peace, true love and lasting joy. Blessed John Paul II said, “We are the Easter people and Alleluia is our song.” Why doesn’t the culture seem to understand that? Instead, so many people think that “religious” means judgmental, legalistic, and unwelcoming.

And so, I concluded, I have a responsibility to those around me. If I’m the most religious person my little sister knows, then I should also be the most loving person she knows. I should try to be the kindest person she knows. I should be the most joyful person she knows, drawing her closer to the love of Christ.

Our faith is hard enough for people to accept without us presenting it in a grim and dour fashion. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, after all. If we have a God who is Love, and we have Him in our hearts, ought not all our words and actions to be a manifestation of that?

Weekend Wrap-up

2012-01-17T15:50:00.001-05:00

Having Alex and Laura in town was so much fun. I wish they would both move here so we could hang out all the time!

Alex and I got up bright and early Saturday morning to tour the National Gallery. We had lunch and then I took her to visit the CIC. Considering how much I had built it up, I'm not sure if it managed to live up to expectations, but she certainly seemed to enjoy it quite a lot. I was so glad.

In the evening I cooked dinner and we had friends over to eat. I even put the extra leaf in the dining room table so there was room for all of us - my favorite. I love having a house full of people.

We all hung out at my apartment for the evening, the boys watching football while Laura and I knitted like the premature grandmas we are. Lots of good conversations too.

On Sunday, Joey picked us up and took Laura, Alex and me to my favorite church. That guy, I tell you. What a trooper. Then Laura's brother John invited us over for brunch so we sojourned up to CUA (where he's a grad student) for a meal with his roommates that included bacon, real Southern grits, and the most delectable mimosas (the quintessential brunch drink, in my opinion). It was fabulous.

Laura has a hilarious habit of egging me on in my eccentricities. Somehow it came up that I have a hobby of memorizing poems, and so of course Laura incited the table to make me recite one for them. I was pretty much dying of embarrassment but the whole thing was actually kind of fun, and definitely pretty entertaining. Laura's brother and his roommates are just as eccentric as I am - apparently John met one of his friends because both men were sitting on their porches smoking pipes at the same time. I hope to see more of those guys in the future. On the way home, Alex and Laura decided they wanted to memorize poems too, so I taught them this one by ear - one of the first ones I ever learned.

After Laura and Alex left on Sunday, I went to a party at Serena's house and spent the night there. It never ceases to amaze me how Serena and I are so different - she a gentle, soft-spoken introvert and me an outspoken extrovert - and yet we get along so well. As she says, we complement each other. I love that.

On Monday, I had part of the day off, so I went to Target and bought a bookshelf for the living room. I assembled it and arranged all my novels on it. It turned out looking great and helps to fill in the room a lot. I'll post a picture soon, along with some other little home improvement projects I've been making.

The rest of yesterday was spent prepping for this weekend's visitors. I cleaned the whole apartment and set up beds for the guests. I also spent some time planning meals for their visit. The menu leans toward warm winter foods - chili and cornbread, ribs and mashed potatoes. It's funny - when I was younger, I used to get bored listening to my mom plan meals. I was like, "Who cares whether we have pork or chicken?" And now I spend so much time doing the same thing myself! Alex was laughing at me, because while we were falling asleep on Friday, I kept asking her things like "Should I make rice or couscous tomorrow?" How the mighty have fallen!

Tomorrow evening, my first installment of visitors arrives - Lillian and Maggie. I can't wait!

Job Perk

2012-01-13T11:07:00.001-05:00

Father Schall's lecture last night was great. He is a fount of knowledge and wisdom, and also of book recommendations, as he urged many titles on us. He particularly recommended Ten Universal Principles by Robert Spitzer, calling Spitzer, a fellow Jesuit priest, "one of the finest minds in the Society."

After the lecture, Laura, her older brother Joe, Serena, Frank and I went to dinner. Frank and Joe got along like a house on fire. They were arguing politics and comparing drink recommendations in no time. I was amazed, and impressed with Frank. Then Laura and I went home and sat on the couch chatting with Sarah until 1 am. Lillian called at one point and we put her on speakerphone to join in the fun.

This morning I got to work and found a large package with my name on it in my office mailbox. I remembered that last week I wrote a letter to Ignatius asking if I could review some of their books. I ripped open the box and was overjoyed to find The Father's Tale, Extreme Makeover, Mother Teresa of Calcutta and, yes, even Ten Universal Principles. I couldn't believe it!

I think today is shaping up to be a very lucky day indeed.

By the way, some of you may know that I also blog for The Catholic Young Woman. My latest post has inspired quite a discussion in the comments section. I'd be honored if you would read it and give me your opinion!

Visitors, Round 1

2012-01-12T14:54:00.002-05:00

Last night I went to see an episode of Father Barron's Catholicism TV series at the CIC. My friend Meg was also there and I invited her back to my house for dinner. I whipped up some salad and whole-wheat quesadillas with chicken, spinach and cheddar cheese. Then we had ice cream for dessert and large mugs of tea, and over the tea and the ice cream, we had a nice chat.

After Meg left, Laura L. arrived with her brother. They drove in from Charlotte, NC. Laura's in town for a second job interview and staying at my apartment. I am so hoping that she gets the job and moves to DC! There's nothing better than having old friends live near by, as I've learned from the gift of having Joey living in DC.

From Laura's last visit in December

This morning Laura and I had a leisurely breakfast of cereal and then I went to work and she to prepare for her interview. We'll meet up again tonight to go to a lecture at the CIC, given by the inimitable Father Schall, one of the greatest philosophers of modern times (in my opinion, anyway). Talk about a celebrity sighting! I couldn't be more excited, and even if it does make me look like a fangirl, I'm determined to take a picture with him.

Speaking of being a fangirl, can we take a moment to notice how often I go to events at the CIC? I think it's time I owned up to being a CIC groupie.

Tomorrow my dearest darlingest most beloved Alex will be arriving to stay with me for the weekend! Talk about excited!

Reuniting at Princeton two months ago

I am going to give her the biggest hug of LIFE and then monopolize her all weekend! (Just so you know what you're getting yourself into, Alex). I still need to get the air mattress set up. How fun to be using it for the first time! This is the trial run for next weekend, when I will have SIX girls staying with me for the March (six! I still can't quite wrap my head around that). Hopefully that air mattress behaves itself.

My little baby sister Cathy flew off to Spain two day ago to spend her semester abroad. I wished her the most wonderful of adventures but my heart was a little heavy. Going abroad was a really rough time in my life. Of course it was a lot of fun and I made some great memories, but I was painfully homesick and lonely too, and sad a lot of the time. I think that is the dark secret of studying abroad, that for some reason nobody ever talks about. I hope it will be better for Cathy. I think it helps that her boyfriend will also be in Europe, so they can get together and hang out. It will help to have that piece of home. I also mailed a "Have fun in Europe!" letter to her new dorm in Spain and I'm crossing my fingers that it gets there before she does.

Have a lovely Thursday!

Nerdy Pick-up Lines

2012-01-10T16:43:00.001-05:00

Just for fun, I made these up... Enjoy!

"Your eyes shine as brightly as the constellation Andromeda. No, Cassiopeia. Orion's Belt?"

"I hope you don't mind... that I added you on Google Plus."

"Do you play for Team Plato... or Team Aristotle?"

"Will you be the Penelope to my Odysseus? The Beatrice to my Dante?"

"It's hard to pick just one reason why I like you, but your resemblance to Arwen Undomiel is definitely up there."

"I don't know how to tell you this but... I've read Goethe's Faust... in the original German."

"Logic tells me that if I'm cute, and you're cute, then we should get together. Q.E.D."

"I know that right now you think of me as a Luke, but I'm hoping to get you to see me as more of a... Han."

"I've been stalking your Facebook pictures."

That was all I could come up with off the top of my head. Do you have any more suggestions? Leave them in the comments and I'll add them to the list!

New Year Post

2012-01-09T13:33:00.003-05:00

I'm a procrastinator for sure but I finally got around to summarizing the events of the past year. They have been very exciting! Here is the link in case you want to check it out.

And an extended version here.

We're a week into the New Year and I'm wondering if it's even worth posting at all. But if you can excuse my lateness, here is a ~~belated Christmas letter~~ Happy New Year letter for you!

2011 was the year of greatest changes in my life that I can remember. A few things I did...

Graduated from college

Started my first real, full-time, grown-up job

Moved twice (first to Silver Spring, Maryland, and then to Arlington, VA)

Spent spring break in Israel!

Getting ready to visit a mosque in Bethlehem

Went on a few dates, here and there...

Took part in an 1800s-style ball during my last semester of college

Spent an April weekend in Wisconsin shooting guns and playing with a baby duck

His name is Sir Percival Blakeney

Got really into swing dancing (and placed second in a swing dance competition on December 30th!)

Lost my friend Matthew, a graduate of Thomas Aquinas College, and one of the best people I've ever known

Got really into Walker Percy novels and a band called L'Angelus, a combination that made me desperately want to visit New Orleans (anyone up for driving?)

Dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood for Halloween

Tutored inner-city girls on Saturday mornings

Started three knitting projects and completed none

Met many of my favorite writers and personal heroes: Father Robert Barron, George Weigel, Mary Eberstadt, Michael Pakaluk, Amy Bonaccorso, Mary Ann Glendon (pretty much the most adorable human being ever), Francis Cardinal George of Chicago, Michael Novak, David Brooks, and the inimitable Ross Douthat

Ross Douthat, my favorite journalist

Whew!

I also went to see some plays and operas... Marriage of Figaro at Notre Dame, and Tosca, Les Miserables, and Lucia di Lammermoor here in DC. I even went a little wild and bought season tickets to the opera!

I strengthened my faith life with a more regular prayer schedule and efforts to go to Mass every day.

I freelanced for this online journal, this magazine, and of course, for The Catholic Young Woman.

That was my 2011. I think 2012 will only get better! As Van and Davy would say, "If it's half as good as the half we've known, here's hail to the rest of the road!"

How was your 2011?

Sunday Walks

2012-01-08T17:23:00.001-05:00

Last night was... lovely.

The play was so clever. It was set in 1930s Cuba, and as some of you may know, I happen to be Cuban. So the songs, scenery, outfits and cultural references reminded me so much of my family. It was one of the most fun experiences I've ever had at the theater, and that's saying something.

We had a great conversation over dinner. I discovered that he is fluent in ancient Greek, and has even translated part of Plato's Republic. Is it silly that I find that enormously attractive? I'm such a nerd!

Today I went to church with Joey, my stalwart Mass buddy these days. He's a champ. We decided to go to noon Mass, which happened to be in Latin... and which didn't get out until 1:45! I know Tridentine Mass (old-school version of Mass) is usually longer than Novus Ordo or "New Order" Mass (which is more modern and usually in English). But such a long service really shocked me. Almost two hours in church? What are we, Mormon? Ha! But the music was exquisite and the experience was beautiful, so it was worth it.

After Mass and lunch, I had an appointment with a lady who wants me to babysit her little girl. My dear friend Ruth introduced me to them. The little girl was adorable! It was so nice to meet them. I'm excited to start babysitting regularly. I miss having little kids in my life.

After the meeting, I stepped outside and pondered what to do next. It was a lovely, sunny, unseasonably warm day. The family lives only about 2 miles from me, and between us lay my favorite part of Arlington. So I decided to walk home.

What a fun walk! I must have passed a dozen cute puppies and two dozen adorable babies in strollers or strapped to their parents. I stopped to pet the puppies and smiled at all the babies. I also ran into two girls I know from events at the CIC, and we had a nice chat on the sidewalk.

I went to Whole Foods and bought some groceries, including a few new boxes of tea. Lillian and Maggie love drinking tea so I'm stocking up for their visit.

Speaking of their visit, I'm happy to learn that our friend Claire is coming down for the March too! We all went to the same high school together and have been close friends for a long time. Three other girl friends I know from college are coming too and probably staying with me. That brings my total count of house guests that weekend up to... 6! My goodness! It will be a full house. I can't wait! And I'm so glad I bought that air mattress!

After buying groceries, I stopped in Crate and Barrel to admire their wares. There were a bunch of dads wandering around holding a baby and looking sort of lost while their wives shopped. So I waved at all the babies and then the dads started smiling too.

Finally I came back home, after making plans to meet up with friends this evening to watch the first episode of Season 2 of Downton Abbey. Have you ever seen Downton Abbey? In full disclosure, I have not - not one single episode! Hopefully I won't be too confused. I hear it's pretty much the best show on TV so I'm looking forward to it.

Happy feast of the Epiphany! I hope that you too are having a wonderful Sunday!

Tomorrow

2012-01-06T22:39:00.002-05:00

I know Christmas is over, but I saw this adorable video (and this little background story about it) and I just couldn't resist sharing it. It made me laugh and laugh!

And in a way, it's fitting to share it now because today is the feast of the Epiphany - the end of the Christmas season. Goodbye, Christmas! I love you so much! See you next year!

Tomorrow is an exciting day. First I'm getting together with my dear friend Ann-Therese for brunch at a restaurant called Busboys & Poets. Doesn't that sound like fun? They have some sort of open mic event and we agreed to bring poems to read. Although, I'm pretty sure I can just rely on my memory for some good ones.

Anyway, there's another reason I'm excited for tomorrow. I'm going on a First Date! I just love first dates, don't you? They hold so much mystery, intrigue and excitement. We're going to see the play Much Ado About Nothing - one of my favorites. He's someone I've known for a little while now, and whose company I very much enjoy. It should be a good night.

Have a lovely weekend!

How to Read Brideshead Revisited

2012-01-04T11:28:00.000-05:00

If you've read this blog for any time at all, you've heard me rhapsodize about Brideshead Revisited. It's one of my all-time favorite novels. I think it's one of the most beautiful books ever written and ranks high on the list of great Catholic works.

However, I have a confession to make. The first time I read it, I didn't like it. Nope, not one bit.

You see, Brideshead Revisited is a difficult book in a lot of ways. For one thing, it's tragic. For another, it has a lot of questionable moral content that makes it unsuitable for a younger audience. Finally, its appeal for Catholics is very subtle, and you might miss it if you're not playing close attention. I missed most of it my first time around.

The thing is, Evelyn Waugh wasn't writing for the casual reader. Waugh was a master literary stylist whose eloquence with the English language was nearly unrivaled. Furthermore, he really "got" human nature and depicted his characters very realistically, in all the complexity of their sins and prejudices and sillinesses. As his greatest work, Brideshead Revisited needs time, patience, and close attention to be really understood.

On top of that, there is no traditional happy ending in Brideshead Revisited. There are no unequivocally "good" characters, and in fact there are very few likable ones. Everyone in the story is deeply flawed, or else a little flat. Everyone makes really awful mistakes and most of the characters suffer deeply. There is a lot of beauty, but there is also a good share of ugliness and a lot of sorrow.

If you prefer clear-cut "good"/"bad" characters and obviously happy endings - and I don't blame you if you do, I often do myself - you might have a hard time liking Brideshead Revisited.

If, however, you are up for reading what Father Robert Barron calls "the best Catholic novel of the twentieth century," here is my unofficial and non-academic guide on how to get the most you can out of it.

1. The first step is to set the scene for the chapters on Oxford, in the first half of the book. Read a little about Oxford's Mercury Fountain and the Bullingdon Club for context.

Those Wikipedia pages are shockingly lacking in the juicy details, by the way. The Mercury Fountain has a small statue of the god Mercury in the center of it (no surprise) which the occasional Oxford undergraduate tries to pull down when inebriated. It has been pulled down three times, and legend has it that each man who got it down went on to become Prime Minister of England.

Despite the threat of a heavy fine, Oxford students still regularly jump in Mercury when drunk and have a go at downing old Mercury. As the statue is now welded to its base, however, this feat is a lot more difficult than it was in years past, and I don't know anyone who has succeeded (although I do know someone who cut his foot on the pedestal while attempting to ensure his future career as Prime Minister. Shhh, don't tell!).

Also, the Bullingdon Club is the most ridiculously exclusive group in British undergraduate life, and probably in the world.

Among other things, they are notorious for destroying restaurants/hotels/clubs that they party in. They leave the place an absolute wreck and then pay the damages, which as Wikipedia accurately notes, makes it "prohibitively expensive" to join.

Of course, being in Bullingdon pretty much guarantees that you'll eventually become Mayor of London or Prime Minister of England. Members of the Bullingdon Club excel at getting into positions of power.

They also excel at sitting around the place looking pensive in fabulous waistcoats.

2. Having set the scene for the Oxford portion of the novel, my next recommendation is that you read the chapter on Brideshead Revisited in George Weigel's excellent book Letters to a Young Catholic (most of that chapter is available online).

Warning: the chapter contains plot spoilers. So you may prefer to wait until after you've read the book to read it. But it offers a great philosophical explanation of Brideshead, so I recommend reading it first as a framework for understanding the book properly.

3. My final recommendation is about the way you ought to approach the story. Ultimately, the main actor in Brideshead Revisited isn't actually any of the human characters; it's Divine Providence itself. The book is essentially an extended exploration of how God's grace works - slowly, subtly, and very strangely - on one dysfunctional British Catholic family. It's brilliant and beautiful, and completely imperceptible to non-Catholics, who will absurdly claim that the book is actually about the First World War or something similarly inconsequential to the plot.

As a side note, if you can, try to read it slowly and really savor the language. Waugh wrote so beautifully! It blows me away sometimes. Even some tiny passages, such as the description of a certain wine drunk at dinner in Paris, are evocative, powerful, eloquent, haunting. What Waugh did with the English language was no small feat. I can only dream of someday writing half as well as he did.

Finally, make sure you read the epilogue, and especially the final few paragraphs. They gently convey the point and theme of the entire book.

Anyway, a lot of people whose opinions I respect don't like Brideshead at all, and I can see that their criticisms are valid. It's difficult to relate to many of the characters. The book is sad, sometimes awfully so, and a lot of characters play fast and loose with morality. It's certainly not for everyone.

Perhaps, like me, you really won't like it the first time you read it. In that case, please wait a few months, or even years, and try it again. It worked for me. Perhaps it will work for you too.

And then, please come back and tell me what you think about it.

Special thanks to Brandon, whose question inspired this post.

Also, here is a lovely little reflection on Brideshead Revisited and Catholicism by my sister, Lillian.

The Weather Outside is Frightful

2012-01-03T14:40:00.002-05:00

I got back to DC yesterday morning. Frank picked me up at the airport, because he is very kind and thoughtful that way, and I treated him to lunch at Panera in thanks.

Then we went to Target and I bought all the items on my list: an air mattress, a crockpot, command hooks and clear nail polish. What a random list, eh?

The reason I bought most of those things is because my sister Lillian and best friend Maggie are coming to visit in a few weeks for the March for Life.

Have I told you about Maggie? She's getting married in August, to a Marine. Isn't that dreamy? I'm going to be Maid of Honor, along with Lillian (we're the "co-MOHs", as we like to say). Maggie has the most gorgeous color palette picked out for the wedding.

The bridesmaids are wearing rose-colored dresses, while Lil and I are supposed to wear gold, with pearls and nude heels. Could it get more elegant? I'm so excited.

Anyway, the weekend of the March is going to be utter madness, of the best kind. A lot of my friends are coming to town for it and everyone I know is throwing a party. Maggie and Lillian will sleep on the lovely big air mattress I bought for them, and hopefully my crockpot will be immensely useful in cooking lots of meals for the three of us, plus any other friends who happen to show up.

But isn't it beautiful?

After the trip to Target, I spent the rest of the day at home and had a lovely, quiet afternoon.

Santa brought me a real, live, big-girl tea kettle for Christmas, so I embarked that tea kettle on its maiden voyage and made myself a nice pot of tea.

I love having a real tea kettle instead of using the microwave. It seems so much more authentic. And the endearing, plaintive little wail of the tea kettle whistling - could there be a homier sound in the world?

Then I sat down with Brideshead Revisited, one of my favorite books of all time, which I've been rereading lately. Evelyn Waugh writes so beautifully that it almost hurts. I suppose that's rather the point of beauty, isn't it?

My family had a big dinner together on Sunday night. At one point I turned to my dad and asked him, "So what are your major intellectual preoccupations of late?" My sisters started laughing at me for asking such a funny question, but Dad had some interesting answers.

Is that really such an odd question? I don't know. It seems to me that I'm always focusing on some particular intellectual issue. At one point it was the relationship between joy, sorrow and happiness. At another it was whether men and women can really be friends (the jury is still out, although I'm inclined to think that yes, they can, if they are cautious and not too close emotionally). At another it was whether personal happiness and professional greatness are mutually compatible. And on and on. I don't miss school much, but I do miss having a forum in which to share and examine these ideas.

This morning was the coldest it's been in DC yet. I bundled up in my "Michelin man" puffer coat but still shivered all the way to the metro. As I prepared to get off the train and walk the 10 minutes to work, I knew a strategy was needed. No way could I make it all those blocks without some kind of distraction.

I thought about the bitter wind whipping past, so cold it brought tears to my eyes. I considered the struggle to keep walking straight into that wind for block after block. And then I knew what I had to do. I needed to channel my inner Ernest Shackleton.

I've always admired Shackleton's courage and endurance in exploring the coldest part of the world. God graced me with a mighty imagination, and even at age 22, I'm still adept at playing make-believe. I think it's part of why I get along with kids so well. So I pretended to be Ernest Shackleton all the way to work, and made it unscathed.

We even look alike - ha.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, my whole bob-sled made it too.

The Wonders of His Love

2011-12-23T19:42:00.002-05:00

I arrived home to Chicago at 9:45 Wednesday morning, full of apprehension.

The reason I asked to come home early is because of my cousins from London. There are two of them, Tatiana and Andrei, age 7 and 5 respectively. With their little British accents and sunny dispositions, they're two of my favorite people in the entire world. I very rarely get a chance to see them, owing to the distance. When I found out their mother was bringing them for a brief pre-Christmas stop in Chicago, I decided I couldn't miss their visit.

Angela, Andrei and Tatiana at our favorite Turkish restaurant Wednesday

When I studied abroad in London, those two became my fast friends. I remember many nights brushing Tatiana's hair and reading her stories before she fell asleep. She is so bright and eager, a good conversationalist, and we had a lot of fun together.

Andrei was a little younger but he too completely stole my heart. He is probably the most affectionate child I've ever met, and so good-natured that it's impossible not to get along with him. In London, I fell in love with him on sight. He was only three years old but we had so much fun spinning each other around in his dad's office chair for hours and playing similarly goofy games.

Occasionally when I slept over at my aunt and uncle's flat, Andrei had bad dreams and would wake up in the middle of the night crying. My guest bedroom was closer to his room so I could hear him before his parents did. Wanting to help my aunt and uncle out, I developed a habit of going to his room and soothing him back to sleep before his crying could wake them up.

In a way, those nights were a little sad for me. You see, I really loved that little boy, but I knew that soon I would have to leave him to go home to the United States. Tatiana was old enough to have memories of our time together, but Andrei was only three years old, barely more than a baby. So as I cradled him and sang him to sleep, my heart was heavy.

Is he even going to remember me after I'm gone? I thought. Is it worth spending all this time and love on someone who won't remember a moment of it? I decided that yes, it was. All I could do was hope and pray that somehow, in some incomprehensible way, Andrei wouldn't entirely forget how much his cousin loved him.

So when I got off the plane Wednesday morning, I was more than a little nervous. It would be my first time seeing the little British cousins since I had been at their flat in London, almost two years ago. I was excited and very nervous with the happy anxiety of seeing a loved one after a long separation.

First I spent time with Tatiana, as my mom took the girls of the family to the American Girl Place for lunch. To my joy, Tatiana and I hit it off right away. We had a happy, laughter-filled lunch with my sisters and mom.

Then we went to the Children's Museum to meet up with my dad and aunts, who had taken charge of all the little boy cousins for the day. When we got to the museum, I was busy for several minutes going around to kiss all the aunts, cousins, and family members who I hadn't seen in some time. I kissed my little brother Joseph and then managed to spot Andrei climbing a tractor.

I called out to him and he came over, a little hesitant. But after a few introductory minutes, he became my own little Andrei again, climbing all over me and giving big kisses. He wanted to ride on my back and sit on my lap. He wanted me to carry him forever and never put him down.

It was as though we had never been apart. As I told my mom, "I don't know if he actually remembers me, but he's definitely doing a good impersonation of it."

Me and my Andrei, right before he left this morning

I didn't think I would get to come home early - and yet here I was on Wednesday morning.

I was afraid Andrei would forget me - and now we are faster friends than ever.

I had fascinating conversations with my brilliant, beautiful aunts. I hope to be as lovely as they are when I grow up.

I competed in an intense round of decorating "gingerbread" graham-cracker houses, took dozens of pictures with my cousins and laughed every day until my stomach hurt.

I've never been so happy in my life as I was these past three days. There was always a little one to hold or snuggle or dance with. I had my darling cousins and siblings and family all around me, and we had endless amounts of fun. The trip has done much to relieve the sadness I've felt since Matt's death.

This afternoon I went with my mom and little Angela to drive my aunts and cousins to the airport. The prospect of saying goodbye was weighing on my heart, so to cheer myself up, I led the under-seven crowd in a Christmas Carol singalong.

We enjoyed funny British favorites from Tatiana and Andrei - one went, "A New Year's resolution is a wonderful thing to do, until you break it" - and pulled out a few Spanish tunes in accord with our shared cultural heritage. Finally Angela and I began singing "Joy to the World," and the lyrics struck me as they never have before.

"He rules the world with truth and grace
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His Love..."

Perhaps the nations need to prove the glories of His righteousness, but of His love no proof is necessary. It is evident in every element of this season, in our families and homes and faith. God is good. Of that I have never been so sure.

Wishing you a very merry Christmas!

Quickly

2011-12-22T23:00:00.000-05:00

Because my boss is the most wonderful human being in the world, he let me go home two days early. In a quick last-minute decision I sprung for a flight home Wednesday morning.

Coming home early was a good decision. Especially after Matt's death, this extra time with my family was exactly what I needed.

These days have been even better than I imagined them to be, and I couldn't be happier.

Hostessing

2011-12-20T11:30:00.000-05:00

When my sister came to visit me two months ago, I threw a Meet-the-Twin party in her honor. Afterward, she told me how much fun she had. "You know what your party reminded me of?" she said. "A French salon."

I remember being fascinated by the concept of the salon when I studied French history in high school.

These fabulous parties would bring together people from all parts of society to mix and converse. Any salon worth its salt featured a star-studded guest list, scintillating conversation, and booze that flowed like milk and honey.

But the thing that really fascinated me about salons was that they were hosted by women.

Frank and I preparing drinks at my Christmas party

Women at the time didn't have any formal political power. But they were able to affect real advances in literature and philosophy. They did their part to change the world. And they did it by throwing fabulous parties.

I didn't consciously plan it at the time, but the idea of salons lodged in my brain. What an awesome, fun way to educate yourself and other people. Without even thinking about it, I hoped that I would someday throw salons of my own.

And now I have my own apartment. I have chairs and tables. I have money to buy appetizers and drinks, and candles. Lots and lots of candles. Because what's a salon without mood lighting?

Snacks on snacks at my party. Note the home-made candlesticks, fashioned from an old cupcake box.

One of my favorite bloggers writes about how mothers set the tone of their home. She is the "master of energy," she says, and her mood affects how everyone else feels.

In a much smaller way, I think that hosts have this same kind of responsibility when guests come over. After all, if I'm not pressing drinks into people's hands and making absurdly flattering introductions, who will?

So here is my hostessing philosophy in a nutshell:

I believe in inviting lots of interesting people from every different area of your life.

I believe in ample sustenance and libations to spare.

I believe in good conversations about things that matter (in other words, the topics of religion and politics are perfectly welcome).

And I believe in building friendships by introducing people who have never met before but who have a lot in common. I love it when people meet a new best friend or get a date at my parties (it's happened!).

I secretly kind of hope that by throwing parties, I might even be doing a tiny part to change the world. At the very least, I'm having a lot of fun. And I'm learning to do what Catholics do best - celebrating this brief, beautiful mortal life and how wonderful it truly is.

On that note, Merry Christmas!

The Difference between DC and South Bend

2011-12-19T21:16:00.002-05:00

On Thursday I went to a talk at the CIC by the lovely Professor Glendon.

She was fabulous. Witty, kind and truly lovely. It was a pleasure to hear her, and I enjoyed the socializing before and after the talk too.

I hitched a ride home with my friend Joe and his pals Cole and Adam. The guys were pretty hungry. The appetizers had been good, but they didn't constitute a full meal.

So one thing led to another, and before long we had a plan. I had a lot of wine left over from my party on Thursday, so we stopped at Five Guys for some burgers and then brought it back to my apartment to enjoy with vino.

I couldn't believe how nice the weather was. It was the most glorious night I've ever experienced in December.

When we got to my apartment, the boys took a look at my balcony, and then took a look at my dining room table.

"I bet we can get the table out on the balcony," they said. They promised to put it back too.

The table out on the balcony, pre-feast

I cracked open a bottle of red and we enjoyed our burgers in style.

I still can't get over it. Imagine eating a meal outside in December! This would never have been possible in Chicago, where I grew up, or in South Bend where I went for college.

My parents kid me because I make Virginia sound like heaven on earth, like it's the best place to live in the world. But seriously... you can eat outside in December.

Mum, Dad, I rest my case.

That Lady Thing

2011-12-17T11:23:00.000-05:00

There were many very lovely and memorable quotes in De Profundis, and I hope to talk more about some of them later. But for now, let me give you a new favorite.

It's a sweet little vignette of a person Oscar Wilde knew and loved. I don't know who the woman described here is; I only know what he said about her. That is enough.

"I remember talking," Wilde wrote, "once on this subject to one of the most beautiful personalities I have ever known: a woman, whose sympathy and noble kindness to me, both before and since the tragedy of my imprisonment, have been beyond power and description; one who has really assisted me, though she does not know it, to bear the burden of my troubles more than any one else in the whole world has, and all through the mere fact of her existence, through her being what she is - partly an ideal and partly an influence: a suggestion of what one might become as well as a real help towards becoming it; a soul that renders the common air sweet, and makes what is spiritual seem as simple and natural as sunlight or the sea: one for whom beauty and sorrow walk hand in hand, and have the same message."

Reading that, what's your reaction? This is probably rather odd, but I had the same reaction I had when I heard that Meatloaf song and when I read about Melanie Wilkes in high school. This was my reaction: I want to be her.

Isn't that funny? Of course I know how far I am from that ideal. But it is my dream to be someone like that. I know it will take me the rest of my life to get there, and I like to save quotes like this one for inspiration when it seems impossible. To remind me why I'll keep trying. Because, here's hoping, someday that description will fit me.

Family Christmas

2011-12-16T11:00:00.000-05:00

I saw this video on one of my favorite blogs yesterday, and I loved it so much I had to share it with you.

The two girls remind me so much of me and my twinsie, Lillian (haha, I just called you twinsie!). Everything they do is totally something we would do... from wearing cute skirts, to hitting each other with pillows, to draping tinsel around ourselves like a shawl, to finishing off our hard hard work with a box of chocolates.

In other words, I can totally relate.

With our Mum on our 22nd birthday

I was lucky enough to be home for Christmas-tree-trimming this year. My family always gets our tree on the Sunday after Thanksgiving, which is often the first Sunday of Advent. Decorating it is a whole-family affair. We play Christmas music, watch some cheesy claymation movies and bask in the holiday spirit.

That video made me all kinds of homesick for my Mum, Dad, Lil, and the five littler munchkins who bring so much happiness to my days. Not to mention snuggling. We are a snuggly family, and here in DC there's just no one to fill the snuggle-sized hole in my heart. Why, I haven't had a good snuggle since Thanksgiving!

What I'm trying to say here is, I miss my family so much, really every day.

I'm so grateful that I get to go home and spend Christmas with them.

Just one more week!

Sisters of Life

2011-12-15T12:45:00.000-05:00

I want to let you know about the most beautiful order of nuns I've ever heard of: the Sisters of Life.

I read an article about them in the WSJ over the summer and I've been fascinated ever since.

Their charism is just so beautiful!

And (judging from this picture at least), they are too!

My dear friend Alex sent me this picture recently. Alex lives in NYC and I think has actually met some of the Sisters before. Could their chapel be any lovelier? It reminds me of something you might see in England, perhaps at the Oxford Oratory or at good old Farm Street.

I miss Farm Street so much, by the way. I dream of going back.

More and more, my thoughts turn lately to Europe. I've had so much fun every time I've been there and there are still so many more places to see. Can you believe I've never been to Paris? Why, I haven't even been to France at all! I've also never been to Scotland, or Venice...

I know, I know, I'm so lucky to have traveled as much as I have. But every now and then that traveling itch starts up and I start daydreaming about foreign lands. Sometimes I even start searching for jobs in London or Madrid, so eager am I to return.

Hopefully it won't be too long before I get to go back. Until then, Farm Street, I'll see you in my dreams!

Last Night

2011-12-14T12:10:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I met up with Maria F. for dinner.

Maria is cousin to Rob and John, both of whom have made frequent appearances on this blog in the past (without knowing about it). She is awesome. We have pretty similar interests and senses of humor. It was our first time really hanging out and we had a great time.

I mentioned how I'm looking to meet new people and she stopped to think about that.

"Hmm..." she said, "You've got to meet some of the guys I'm friends with. Actually, now that I think about it..."

She whipped out her phone to double-check.

"Yes. There's a party tonight, at a bar near Georgetown. Want to go?"

It seems that one of her guy friends was getting people together for a late happy hour. It was supposed to run from 9 to 11 pm, and Maria lives very far in the opposite direction, so she actually opted to go home. I was hesitant to go without her but I got the number of a mutual friend who was going, and I decided to attend.

I know, you are all shocked to hear that I went to a bar, and on a work night too. Even more amazing, I had fun!

Maria's friends were just as awesome as she promised. I didn't pay for any of my drinks, which to me is the sign of a good night. On top of that, I had a lengthy discussion with one of the guys there about Brideshead Revisited! And with another guy about Pride and Prejudice! (What?!)

The whole thing was absolutely unusual, and absolutely fun.

I'm so glad about the new friends I've been making ever since I moved here. It seems that every time things start to get a little slow socially, I meet a bunch of new people and a whole new friend group opens up. It's really the best.

And that's pretty much all I have to say for today!

Snapshot of Life Lately

2011-12-13T12:06:00.002-05:00

Pretty ornaments for sale at the Kennedy Center gift shop

Christmas is coming! I love this time of year.

I had a Christmas party at my house on Saturday. The theme was "It's A Wonderful Life." At least thirty people came. I was so happy to fill the house with so many friends.

Special thanks on this occasion to Frank, who helped prepare mulled wine and hot chocolate with Bailey's and rum for the occasion. Oh, and egg nog. With brandy. It was quite delightful.

He also loves to cook. We've been brainstorming ideas for fabulous parties we can throw. I hope to throw a Pioneer Party in honor of Laura Ingalls Wilder's birthday in February. He suggested an English pub party. I love that idea even more.

I successfully managed to get the whole house cleaned up by Sunday night, which was no mean feat, let me tell you.

Last night I went grocery shopping at the new Trader Joe's that just opened by my house. That store is an absolute blessing in my life right now. I buy everything there now, and it's all so good!

When I wasn't in the mood to cook much last week, I practically lived on the frozen chicken tikka masala from Trader Joe's. Best frozen meal ever. It's a real lifesaver.

One of my guests on Saturday brought a box of TJ's delicious dark-chocolate-covered peppermint Joe-Joe's, and oh my gosh, they're out of this world.

And yesterday I bought TJ's hummus for the first time. It was a revelation. I texted at least three people, "TJ's has the best hummus of my LIFE. How have I lived without it for so long?" I like to narrate my food choices, preferably via text message.

After groceries, I had a quiet evening ahead of me so I decided to finish reading Oscar Wilde's De Profundis. It had been billed as the most beautiful reflection ever written on sorrow. So I sat down in my favorite armchair with a glass of white wine and a print-out of the text.

It certainly lived up to its reputation, and I had so many thoughts on it, some of which I will be sharing at some point.

At one point in the reflection Wilde referenced the Nichomachean Ethics, Aristotle's great work on happiness, virtue and friendship. That got me nostalgic for the good old days in PLS.

I remembered that one time when an older PLS major told me that I wouldn't ever find time to read the Ethics anymore now that I'm done with college.

And if you know me, you know that I never like being told what to do. That was my inspiration.

So I went and rooted out my copy of the Basic Works.

And, my friends, I read the Nichomachean Ethics.

That's what I do for fun on quiet nights at home. So now you know!

There's an Awful Lot of Knowledge...

2011-12-12T12:46:00.000-05:00

...that you never learn in college." Did you ever hear that old jingle?

I ran across this quote recently and loved it:

‎"I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you at school. They don't teach you how to love somebody. They don't teach you how to be famous. They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don't teach you how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer. They don't teach you how to know what's going on in someone else's mind. They don't teach you what to say to someone who's dying. They don't teach you anything worth knowing."
— Neil Gaiman

I've been thinking about that quote a lot lately. There are so many things that have a huge impact on our lives that we don't study in school, let alone really understand. There's a great and funny (and long, sorry folks) article by David Brooks about this.

Once in high school I told my mom that I think anyone who's smart and observant is a "natural psychologist." I might have meant "philosopher," if I had really thought about it. The point is that the most important things we will ever know are learned through experience, through human interaction, through trial-and-error and through paying attention. School doesn't really teach us all that much compared to what we learn on our own time.

Here are a few things that I wish I knew, or that I wish I had known earlier, and that school didn't teach me:

What to say to somebody who is grieving

How to fall asleep on time and wake up on time

How to raise plants that don't die after two weeks

What to do when someone says something rude/mean at a party

How to keep your temper in the face of the above predicament

What you're really supposed to do with your life (your vocation)

How to reject a guy so that you don't hurt his feelings or embarrass him

How to cook and feed yourself healthily on a serious budget

How to pray

The best way to clean a bathtub (I've tried several and none have been entirely satisfactory)

How to make other people feel good about themselves

How to tell if you're in love with someone

How to have really good hair all of the time

The dream lives on.

Those are just a few ideas. What do you think is really important to know that you didn't learn about in school?

To My Friends In College

2011-12-11T17:48:00.000-05:00

I was really worried about the "real world" a year ago. Heck, I was worried about the real world six months ago.

Like all of us, I'd been in school for as long as I could remember. Leaving that safe and familiar environment was a scary prospect.

But the real world is lovely. It is oh so lovely.

Part of why I keep this blog is to share that. To say that my life is more wonderful now than it has ever been. That I am so happy. That there is life after college - glorious, goofy, wonderfully fulfilling life.

I saw this posted on Pinterest recently and it cracked me up.

Of course this is oversimplified. But it's so funny because it's so true.

I read it and I realized what I wish someone had told me a year or two ago:

"Don't worry. Don't be scared.

You can handle adulthood. You will do fine in the grown-up world.

In fact, you will do more than fine. You will do great."

And that is true for us all.

Why Do I Blog?

2011-12-10T11:00:00.000-05:00

Lately I read this post on a blog I follow. The author was talking about how embarrassed she used to be that she kept a blog.

Blogging is a pretty weird hobby, now that I think about it. I write down the random ramblings that pass through my brain in the hopes that someone, somewhere out there, will need to read them. In the hope that what I think and say and believe can affect someone else. Also to amuse my sister, who is my #1 blog reader. And also for myself to remember - it's so much fun to look back at some of the things I wrote in London or at Notre Dame and to ponder how much I've changed and grown.

But I will admit, I'm pretty embarrassed about my blog sometimes. I really worry about people reading it who don't know me in real life. "They will probably think I'm crazy," is my general fear, "or at least excessively weird." It's hard to represent yourself properly on the internet.

Lately I've been thinking about putting a link to this blog in the "About Me" section of Facebook. But honestly, I'm way too chicken. There just seems to be so many ways that could go wrong.

Anyway, there isn't really any big noble reason that I keep a blog. Unlike Auntie Seraphic, who dispenses wise advice that makes her a superhero to young single Catholic girls, I'm not really helping anybody or giving much wisdom.

But sometimes, something I write cracks someone up.

Sometimes, something I write makes someone tear up.

And sometimes, every now and then, once in a blue moon, I get an email or comment or Facebook message that says, "Thanks for what you wrote." Or even better, "I like what you wrote."

Then I grin from ear to ear for approximately 8 hours.

I think that's a pretty good reason to blog, don't you?

Friendship

2011-12-09T15:00:00.000-05:00

I would like to pause for a quick commercial break in which I comment upon how grateful I am for good friendships.

Me and Alex visiting Princeton

Yesterday's post talked about the insights I gained from a conversation with Joey. His moving to DC is really one of the best things that's ever happened to me. There are obvious reasons, like his generosity in driving me places and the fun times we have together doing nerdy things like going to lectures and museums and theater performances.

Joey and I after our graduation

Mostly I'm happy he moved here because he and I are lucky enough to have an Aristotelian friendship of virtue, which primarily manifests itself in really long conversations about exceptionally random subjects. Recently I sent Joey this article, which we are both absolutely obsessed with, and the following quote from it seemed to perfectly describe our friendship:

Introspection means talking to yourself, and one of the best ways of talking to yourself is by talking to another person. One other person you can trust, one other person to whom you can unfold your soul. One other person you feel safe enough with to allow you to acknowledge things—to acknowledge things to yourself—that you otherwise can’t. Doubts you aren’t supposed to have, questions you aren’t supposed to ask. Feelings or opinions that would get you laughed at by the group or reprimanded by the authorities.

Joey, Sam and Me

This is what we call thinking out loud, discovering what you believe in the course of articulating it. But it takes just as much time and just as much patience as solitude in the strict sense. And our new electronic world has disrupted it just as violently. Instead of having one or two true friends that we can sit and talk to for three hours at a time, we have 968 “friends” that we never actually talk to; instead we just bounce one-line messages off them a hundred times a day. This is not friendship, this is distraction.

Joey is definitely not the only person like that in my life. In the past week alone, I've had similarly long, excellent conversations with Serena, Laura L. and Frank. There are many other friends like this in my life, people I met at Notre Dame or in high school or through ISI or just through random places.

Emily, Laura L. and Me

But Joey in particular has helped me keep the spirit of PLS with me after college. Through discussions with Joey, I've clarified my own positions and views. I've grown as a person. I've gained some of my greatest insights.

I'm sorry if this is making people jealous. I don't want to do that at all. I just think it's truly amazing that I'm done with college but I still get to learn, and think, and contemplate and philosophize every single day, and I'm so grateful to have a friend here in DC who will philosophize right along with me.

On Joy

2011-12-08T11:00:00.001-05:00

I went to Matthew's funeral yesterday. His family planned the most beautiful Requiem Mass for him, complete with a "schola" (or liturgical choir) singing beautifully in Latin. It was the most honorable farewell I could imagine.

Today is the feast of the Immaculate Conception, one of my favorite days of the year, and a beautiful Marian celebration. This year my friend Alex and I did a novena together leading up to it.

At least half of my friends' status updates on Facebook were about the feast day, which sort of makes me feel like I'm living in a Catholic compound. But I digress.

I have a lot of things to say about joy. It's one of my great intellectual preoccupations at the moment. I'm not sure this post can even remotely do it justice. But I'm going to try, and I would love to hear what you think about it too.

This question of how a person can love God and live their faith without being happy had puzzled me for a long time. I was also very puzzled about this odd phenomenon of sharp pain that came with the sight of great beauty (something that many of my favorite authors described). It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I finally figured out both questions, and understood how they were connected.

The answer came through a conversation with my friend Joey - who is awesome, and whom I will post about tomorrow.

He showed me a book he was reading about the humor and joy at the heart of faith in God. Now, this book is hardly the first to point this out. Chesterton even ends his great book Orthodoxy with the speculation that Christ's great secret as a human being was His wonderful sense of humor - His "mirth."

But the book Joey showed me had an interesting definition of what joy really is.

"In a secular context," the book said, "joy is generally understood as a kind of happiness." It is seen as a particularly strong or long-lasting delight.

But from a spiritual perspective, joy is something radically different. "Joy is not simply a fleeting or an evanescent emotion," the book told us. "Religious joy is always about a relationship. Joy has an object and that object is God."

Even more extraordinary, Christianity teaches that joy is compatible with suffering.

"What characterizes Christian joy in contrast to happiness," the book said, is "its ability to exist even in the midst of suffering, because joy has less to do with emotion and more to do with belief."

A person is almost never happy while suffering. But a person can suffer and remain truly joyful throughout.

Joy "does not ignore pain in the world, in another's life or in one's own life... Rather, it goes deeper, seeing confidence in God as the reason for joy and a constant source of joy."

Wow. So joy is very different from happiness. Happiness is a passing feeling which is incompatible with sadness. But joy is a belief. Joy is trusting completely in your relationship with God. Joy is knowing your place as a creature of God and being confident in God's plan for you.

In other words, if you trust God, joy never leaves you.

This also explains the strange pain that joy brings. Our longing for full union with God can never be completed on this earth. So when we are most conscious of our relationship with Him, we feel that sharp longing for an otherworldly reality, for a glorious home we will not reach until after death.

The past two Sundays at Mass, the choir sang a hymn that I had never heard before.

"Lift up your heart, lift up your voice," they sang. "Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!"

I sang along with them, but privately I contemplated what a strange refrain it was. The hymn was actually commanding us, not asking us, to be joyful.

That command doesn't make sense unless you consider joy from a supernatural perspective. If joy is just a really great type of happiness, how can you command someone to be joyful? Feelings come and go; happiness won't always be possible.

But if joy is the result of a relationship, if joy is an inner confidence arising from belief in God and His providence, than it seems that joy is the natural duty of every believer.

So that hymn was onto something. We have an obligation to be joyful. Even when we are sad or suffering, we are called to trust in God and draw inner strength from our relationship with Him. That's what joy really is.

This past week has been a time of mourning. For the first few days after Matthew died, I felt a little bit like a zombie. My boss must have thought I was crazy, because I spent the first few days after Matt died staring off into space or putting my head in my hands.

I won't say everything is 100% back to normal yet. But I will tell you this: I've started smiling at strangers on the street again. I've started greeting cashiers and vendors in my usual friendly voice. I'm chipper when I answer the phone.

Happiness is coming back to me. But joy never left me. It was always there, a generous gift from Him. And for that I am truly thankful.

The Consolation of Religion?

2011-12-06T12:12:00.001-05:00

I don't really like it when people say that "my religion makes me happy!" because that's not what religion is supposed to do.

We don't go to church and worship God because it makes us happy but because it's the right thing to do.

If you only practice your religion because it makes you happy, then what happens when you're unhappy? What if you're sad for days and weeks at a time? What if you're even depressed?

Does that make your religion false?

Catholics have a phenomenon that we call "the dark night of the soul." It is something that happens to very holy people, in which God takes away all spiritual consolation from them, so that religion gives them no happy feelings at all. This dark time can last for decades.

It's very rare, fortunately, but Mother Teresa, St. Therese of Lisieux, St. Paul of the Cross and many other great saints experienced it.

The person undergoing the dark night is no longer practicing his or her religion because it gives them positive feelings and spiritual rewards. Instead, they practice their religion as an act of will. They choose to believe in God and to worship Him despite any evidence that He cares or is listening.

Doesn't that sound awful? But the dark night of the soul is actually a gift (allegedly). It is a test of faith that purifies the soul of the one suffering it, helping that person to increase in holiness.

Although these people are some of the holiest there are, their religious faith isn't making them happy at all. Religion is not a consolation. It worries me a little when people think it is.

But if our religion doesn't make us happy, what does it give us?

It brings us joy.

Joy is different from happiness, and I didn't figure out the difference until quite recently.

I had heard joy described, of course. I've read Surprised by Joy and of course A Severe Mercy. These books puzzled me, because they described joy in a way that I had never experienced.

When the protagonists of A Severe Mercy first meet early in the book, they find that they both feel pain when they experience great beauty. This is something special they share that draws them to fall in love with each other. Lewis too describes joy as a "stab," as some weird painful longing that comes with the experience of great beauty.

The heck? Was my reaction to this. Why would beauty be painful? It just made no sense.

But one day, I was walking across God Quad at Notre Dame and I saw a young dad playing with his baby boy. It was one of those perfect fall afternoons that made me so grateful to be a student there. All of campus was awash in glory. The sun shimmered through the leaves and turned the child's hair to gold.

As I watched, the dad tossed the little boy up in the air. They both laughed with the sheer fun of it. The dad drew the baby close to kiss him, and I found that I had to look away. The moment was too intimate. I felt a strange, sharp, sweet pain shoot through my heart, even as I vicariously treasured the beauty and happiness of the moment.

I didn't know it at the time, but I was experiencing joy.

To be continued in Thursday's post on Joy...

Things I Liked About This Week

2011-12-05T11:11:00.001-05:00

Lately I've been thinking a lot about this great post I read a while back on signs, which in turn was inspired by this sad but beautiful story. It's been the kind of week where I wish I had a sign: "My friend just died. Please be gentle with me." It's been a rough few days.

But as my dad says, "Even a broken clock is right twice a day." Even the worst week ever had its redeeming moments that offer wonderful memories. So here is a little list of some happy times from the past week.

Story Time with Michelle

On Thursday I went to the Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony at the White House with my roommate. We enjoyed some great performers and even listened to Mrs. O reading 'Twas the Night Before Christmas with Kermit the Frog.

As we were waiting for the performances to start, a local news anchor came on stage to get the crowd riled up.

"Are you ready for this to start?" she chirped.

"YYYEESSSSS," went the crowd.

And one guy behind me called out merrily, "Quite, quite!"

The lady said again, "I can't hear you! Are you all ready?"

And as the crowd responded, the guy piped up again, "Indeed, sir!"

It was hilarious. I had a good laugh and then tried to think of more funny responses. I was hoping he would keep going with "Rather!" and "Indupitably!"

Sharing What I Love

PALS went really well on Saturday (that's the program where I tutor inner-city girls once a week). We had a good discussion about poetry and we took turns reading poems out loud. The girls seemed to really like it and I think some of them got quite excited about poetry by the end. Victory!

Meeting Kindred Spirits

Saturday evening, I went to a party at Jackie's apartment and made a great new friend. His name is Tom and he appears to have my exact personality, especially the sociability and happy exuberance. He also has the sweetest girlfriend named Nicole. We hit it off right away and I'm really looking forward to getting to know them better. As Giselle would say, "It's always nice to make new friends."

Shops and Walks on Sunday Afternoon

On Sunday, I had spent the afternoon with my lovely Laura L. First I took her to my favorite coffee shop in Arlington. Her brother and his friend gave us a ride there, and then decided to come in and hang out with us for a while. It was really nice talking to those boys. Then Laura and I went for a long walk through the cute shops of Clarendon. We scouted out the goods at several stores and I bought a new wine glass to replace one of mine that broke. Such a simple, delightful afternoon.

So there you have it. Rather a nice week after all. What did you do this week?

PLS Pride

2011-12-03T10:30:00.000-05:00

This video is a little old but I'd like to share it with you.

If you read this blog, you know how proud I am of my major. I describe it as my family. It's one of the first things I mention in my self-introduction. In person, I talk about it all the time.

Why am I so obsessed with my major? You know, that's a good question.

I didn't plan to be a PLS major when I came to college. I didn't even know what PLS was. In fact, I planned to study English and Spanish literature, and I declared as an English major in the first semester of my freshman year.

But on the March for Life in January that year, I had a short little conversation that lit a spark in my mind. I was in DC, coincidentally enough, staying at the very same church where I now go for Adoration.

I was talking to a guy I had just met, a new friend of my sister's. He was a year older than us and very sweet.

"What are you planning to major in?" he asked us.

"Business," said Lillian. I still don't really understand why she decided to study business. She didn't stick with it, obviously.

"English," I said.

"I don't know about Business, but English..." he said, half to himself. Then he turned to me and asked, "Have you thought about doing PLS?"

It was my first time experiencing the fierce PLS loyalty and the constant efforts of its members to recruit. Heady stuff for an indecisive freshman. He told me a little bit about it, and I left intrigued but unconvinced.

Soon after that came the Majors Fair. Every department at the university set up a pamphlet-laden booth and sent professors to recruit new freshmen.

I went to Majors Night with my high school friend Claire. We were both pretty sure what we would choose - English for me, medicine for her - but were willing to flirt with other options. You know, let the other disciplines try to woo us intellectually, that sort of thing.

One thing really stood out to me that night. Friendly professors stood behind every booth, prepared to answer questions about their fields of study. But one table didn't have any professors at it. Students stood at the PLS booth - not behind it but in front of it, around it, eagerly talking and answering questions and distributing pamphlets. It was clear that the PLS students owned their major in a way that other students did not. I mean, students from other majors weren't even there.

I responded to the PLS students' efforts by assuming they all must be insane.

"Woah, Claire, look at all those crazy PLS kids!" I said in excitement. "Oh my gosh let's go talk to them! They look like nuts. We can pretend we're interested in PLS!"

"I don't really want to pretend," said Claire, who is in med school and is a lot more sensible than I am.

"No come on, it'll be hilarious," I urged. "Look, that guy even has a piercing!"

She was extremely reluctant but I dragged her along. I don't remember if I ever talked to the PLS kids that night, however, because as soon as I got to the booth they dropped something in my hands.

It was a list of all the books PLS majors have to read. I looked down at it and scanned the names. That was the moment when my life began to change.

Teresa of Avila. Augustine. Don Quixote. Socrates. Pride and Prejudice. It was every single book I had ever wanted to read in high school, but didn't know if I would ever find time for. And you know what a book nut I am.

"Wow..." I breathed. "Claire... look at this book list."

"Um, that's a lot of books. No thanks."

I walked back to Badin in a trance while trying to figure out a logical equation in my head.

I really want to read all those books, I thought. If I do PLS, I'll get to read all those books.

But there was a catch. I don't want to do PLS.

I could tell that something wasn't adding up. I've never been very good at logic, though, so I decided to postpone thinking about it in true Scarlett O'Hara fashion.

But PLS kept sneaking into my life.

I was in two English classes at the time, neither of which impressed me much. In particular, I didn't like how randomly our reading assignments were chosen. It was essentially just whatever the professor felt like teaching. Yes, we got Shakespeare's Sonnets, but we also got some obscure modern novels that I didn't much care for.

I kept daydreaming about that PLS book list.

I heard about a PLS info session in CoMo, right next to my dorm. I went and listened to a few alumni speak.

"I majored in Theology and PLS," said one girl in particular. "I studied theology because I wanted to know what it means to be Catholic. And I studied PLS because I wanted to know what it means to be human."

What it means to be human. I never forgot that.

The perfect storm raged on all semester. Day by day, it became clearer that English wasn't for me. One by one, each of my doubts about joining PLS were stilled.

Every little thing that happened that spring pointed me toward being a PLS major.

Without getting too carried away, I think it was a little bit like what it must be like to figure out that someone is the person you're supposed to marry.

Finally, the deadline to apply for PLS rolled around. I applied and was accepted.

Now, four years later, I understand the cult-like aspect of PLS that arises from having so many classes with the same small group of people. I understand the absurd loyalty and the desire to tell everyone you meet about it.

I don't think PLS is perfect. In fact, I could go through and give you a long list of its flaws.

I'd like to say I never looked back, but I did. Even now, I sometimes wonder if maybe I should have studied English, or Anthropology, or even Psychology or Political Science.

I still think PLSers are crazy, myself included.

But for all that, I'm so proud that I chose it. I'm glad that my flighty 18-year-old self had the sense to see that this was something I should stick with. That this was the best possible fit for me.

When all is said and done, I'm glad I did PLS.

From Heaven

2011-12-02T17:23:00.001-05:00

Sorry, this whole blog has been sort of hijacked by grief lately. I actually do have some very positive thoughts to share on joy at some point, and specifically the ways that tragedy and sorrow can bring about a keener appreciation of joy.

But first I wanted to share this video, of a little boy who died at age 12 of a rare genetic disorder. It is incredibly beautiful, not to mention his accent is pretty much the cutest thing I've ever heard. Watching it was a great comfort to me today as I continue to process the grief of Matthew's death.

Tonight my dear friend from college, Laura L., is coming to visit. She is spending the weekend with me. We were both PLS majors and we studied abroad in London together too. I'm so excited to see her!

The Lord Giveth

2011-12-01T10:31:00.001-05:00

Matthew is dead.

He died last night.

I went to bed early last night because I was exhausted, so I didn't find out until this morning, when my mother called me. I am lucky, in a way. That was probably the kindest way I could have found out.

When Declan died last fall, I decided to prepare my mind for future deaths I would have to face by stockpiling certain lines from Scripture that I thought would be relevant. And so my first reaction, when I found out, was to say this:

"The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord."

Then I crumpled on my bed sobbing. It is hard to bless the Lord's name when someone you love has been taken away.

And yet, later this morning I whispered a thank you to God. Because He gave me the chance to know Matthew. Isn't it a little incredible that I only knew him for four months, and in that time Matt saved the day for me again and again? He is a hero.

My guy friends in college used to make fun of me for the way I incessantly compliment people I'm fond of. Dan would call me "a natural butterer."

In fact, I realize now that I'm very lucky to be able to express affection so easily. I was especially grateful for it this morning, when I re-read the text messages Matthew and I sent each other before he got sick.

"You are my savior!" I declared in one message, after he agreed to go pray at the clinic with me. I then dramatically declared, "Matthew, I genuinely think you are the greatest blessing in my life today." In another I told him, "I am praying for God to send you every possible blessing."

Of course, I was being over-the-top and dramatic, as I always am. But I'm so glad that he knew how much I appreciated him. Especially now that he is dead, I'm so grateful I had the chance to tell him.

The whole time Matthew was sick, I was confident he would recover. I even had a specific vision in my mind of what we would do once he got well.

One time, before Matt was sick, I had him and his roommates and Colleen over to my house for dinner. It was my first real dinner party. I had planned it as a way to thank Matt for always driving me to Mass on Sundays.

I made Matt's favorite meal, pot roast and mashed potatoes, with brownie sundaes for dessert. It was delicious. Matt loved everything and ate it all, which warmed my heart, as I love feeding people and cooking things that people enjoy. It was such a happy night.

So while Matt was sick, I kept picturing him coming over to my house for dinner again.

"When he's better," I would think, "he and Colleen will come to visit me. They'll sit at my dining room table. I'll cook something delicious for them to eat and they'll love it. Matthew will finish it all."

What a silly little image! But that was my dream. That was all I wanted to come true.

This, I suppose, is the part of the post where I say, "But it was not to be. He'll never sit at my kitchen table again. He'll never eat my cooking."

But that's just not true.

This morning Lillian called me after I texted her the news. She reminded me of a lovely line from one of our favorite books, in which C.S. Lewis says, "Christians never say goodbye."

After I got off the phone with her, I thanked God, again, for my faith. Because it's true. This isn't a goodbye.

I will see Matt again. We will sit down together and break bread together. Only we won't be doing it on this shadowy superficial mortal earth.

Until I see you again, Matthew, please pray for me.

Just Judgments

2011-11-30T16:09:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry to do two sad posts in a row, but the situation here is desperate, and I am begging for your prayers. My friend Matthew is at the point of death and needs your intercession.

Let me explain to you who Matthew is. When I moved to DC in June, I didn't know anyone, and I was moving in with two girls who were total strangers. This could have gone badly, but I was lucky. They turned out to be two of the nicest, loveliest people I've ever met.

Colleen in particular became my close friend. We were only a few years apart in age and shared a love for English literature. She is such a kind, good-hearted person with heaps of common sense. Before long, I was asking her for advice about all kinds of things. I jokingly called her "the big sister I'd never had."

It wasn't long after I moved in that I met Colleen's boyfriend, Matt. He's one of the funniest people I've ever met. He would reduce us to tears of laughter with his goofy stories and witty comments. Colleen adored him. You could see it in her face every time she looked at him.

As I began planning my move to Virginia, we discovered that my new apartment would be right down the street from Matthew's. We were delighted. I would have a friend nearby, and Colleen would have a place to stay when she came to visit him. We began planning fun shenanigans for us to do with Matt's two roommates after the move.

In the first few months after my move, everything began going as planned. Matt and Colleen came to my housewarming party and my birthday party. She slept over a few times and I began hitching rides to church on Sunday mornings with Matthew. I already loved Colleen, and over time, Matthew too became a dear and close friend. Again and again, he was there for me when I needed him.

When the hurricane came to DC, it was Matthew who drove my mom and I to buy water and nonperishable food and carried it all into my apartment too. On the very crowded elevator ride to my floor, he taught us how to make the elevator go directly to our stop. "I learned this trick from an old fireman," he said. "Now that I've taught you, use this power only for good."

The night of my birthday party, I discovered to my devastation that I had lost my credit card. I needed to be on a plane to Chicago at 7 am the next morning, and I didn't even have money to pay for a taxi. Distressed, I mentioned my predicament to Colleen and Matt.

"What time is your flight?" asked Matthew. And just like that, after spending a night celebrating my birthday with me, Matthew also offered to wake up before dawn to give me a ride to the airport.

But the next morning, I slept through my alarm clock. I would have slept right through my flight too if Matt hadn't shown up and started pounding on the door of my apartment. He woke me up and got me to the airport just in the nick of time. He saved the day, twice.

Then there was the time I signed up to pray for an hour outside a Planned P-hood, only to discover that no one else had signed up for my time slot. I couldn't face the thought of doing it alone. So at 10 pm that night, I frantically sent out text messages to at least ten different guy friends. "I just found out I'm the only person scheduled for my shift tomorrow! I don't know if I can do this alone :("

Some of them didn't respond. Some sent excuses. Only Matt wrote back, "What time and where?"

He got up early to pick me up and drive me there. Then we prayed the Rosary together for an hour, outside in the cold. He didn't sign up for that, but he came anyway, because he knew I needed him.

That was so Matthew. He's one of the best people I've ever known.

We had a little Sunday morning ritual when Colleen and his roommates were around. We would go to the 10:30 Mass at our favorite church, St. John's, and then we would stop at Starbucks on the way home. When the others couldn't make it, he would still kindly offer me a ride (minus the Starbucks), since the church was several miles away and I didn't have any other way to get there.

One Saturday night in mid-October, I was sleeping over at Serena's house so I texted him that I wouldn't be needing a ride to Mass the next day.

But on Sunday morning, he texted me. "I'm in the hospital. Pray for me."

That was October 16.

Forty-seven days ago.

He has been in the hospital ever since. What started out as complications from pneumonia morphed into a life-and-death situation as he has had every medical complication known to man. He has been in and out of a coma almost continually. His lungs, his liver, everything is under assault. The interior of his body is slowly ceasing to function. There is a Facebook group to pray for him and it has over 1,600 members.

Last night we learned that the doctors have given up hope. There is nothing more they can do.

I came to work this morning with a heavy heart. Matthew has suffered so much. Colleen has suffered so much. And now, this horrible setback.

I didn't feel very friendly toward God this morning but I forced myself to go to Mass. For Matthew, I thought. The whole walk there, I fought back tears. Kneeling in the pew, I fought back tears. I sort of went through the motions, not really paying attention, wrapped up in my own thoughts and sorrow.

But the psalm response caught my attention.

"The judgments of the Lord are true, and all of them are just."

Whattttt???

I sat there, stunned. I couldn't even repeat the response after the lector. All of the judgments of the Lord are just? I thought. Yeah right.

But the congregation repeated it again, and again. I forced myself to say it too. And to think it. The Lord's judgments are just. All of them. Even that my young, strong, funny, kind friend has been struck down with debilitating illness and is at the point of death.

I don't see how this is a just judgment. I don't see it at all.

But I know that it must be.

And I believe that someday it will make sense.

God has a plan here. I have to trust.

It's so hard to do!

But if Colleen can do it, so can I.

And as long as he is alive, there is still hope.

No matter what happens, he will always be one of my dearest friends.

So that's why I ask, please, if you are reading this, please say a prayer for my friend Matthew.

My People Cry Out for Freedom

2011-11-29T09:30:00.000-05:00

I don't usually write about current events or political things on my blog, but an article I read today is crying out to be spread and shared.

I don't think I've ever written about my family history here on this blog. I'm Cuban-American. I don't know if that means anything to you so let me explain.

To be Cuban-American is to be the child of two countries. One is free, open and just. The other is a country in chains.

My grandparents on both sides fled their homes in Havana and Holguin as newlyweds. My maternal grandfather was a political prisoner. He barely escaped with his life, and it took years more for him to get his wife and daughter - my mother - into the United States.

My grandmother tells me how she got on that plane with her baby girl, the clothes they were wearing, the money in her purse... and nothing else. Behind her was the town she grew up in, with the movie theater where she watched Gone with the Wind when it first came out and the convent school where my grandfather used to walk her home. Behind her was the school where she taught as a young woman, my grandfather's law office and their first home together.

She didn't know where she was going to live. She had no idea if she would ever go back to Cuba.

Forty years later, she has never gone back.

I myself have never been to Cuba. I was born in Miami, the daughter and grand-daughter of refugees. But I am a Cuban still, because we are a people in exile. We didn't want to leave but were forced out by tyranny and oppression. Cuba is our homeland and always will be. We wait for the day we can return to reclaim our country, our people, our heritage.

Cubans traditionally eat pork, yucca, black beans and rice on Christmas Eve. Every Christmas my great-grandfather used to say, "Next year, we'll eat pork in Cuba."

He has been dead over twenty years.

He never went back.

That is what it's like to be a Cuban-American. Every member of my family has a story. Many of my uncles and great-uncles made daring escapes, some of which read like an action novel, with secret journeys in the dead of night, disguises and tricks and sleight-of-hand. Anything to reach American shores. The stories sound adventurous and they were certainly terrifying to experience. But that's what they went through, my brave ancestors, to give me and my family freedom.

That's why the article I read today spoke to me so strongly. A beautiful woman, Laura Pollan, was martyred for freedom in Cuba. Her husband was unjustly imprisoned by the communist government. She prayed and protested and spoke out for his freedom - until they silenced her.

My grandfather too was unjustly imprisoned by the communist government. My grandmother too prayed for his release. They were lucky enough that, somehow, he got out quickly and soon.

When I look at the face of Laura Pollan, I don't just see a brave woman who fought against tyranny and dictatorship. I see my grandfather, who was cruelly treated much like her husband was. I see my grandmother, who was once in her situation. I look at her and I see my country, my people, and my family.

I don't know if you've ever heard much about Cuba before. You might be totally ignorant of the situation there, and I don't blame you if you are. Cuba doesn't get much media coverage. Those who live there must feel as though the world has forgotten them.

If you're reading this, and you understand what I'm trying to say here, please offer a prayer for Laura Pollan and her family.

Please offer a prayer for the Ladies in White, Las Damas de Blanco, that their cause will succeed and their prayers be heard.

Most of all please pray for my country, for Cuba, that it will be free again someday.

Viva Cuba Libre!

The Oddity of Weekday Mass

2011-11-28T10:30:00.000-05:00

My morning takes place firmly in the twenty-first century.

A cell phone alarm wakes me up. I eat Special K cereal for breakfast. I commute to work on the metro and spend the morning on the computer, using Word, Chrome and Entourage.

Then noon time rolls around.

Down the busy street I go and wait for the light to change so I can cross at the intersection. Around the corner and cross the street again. This time I shamelessly jaywalk because I'm running late, and there are no cars coming.

Up the steps and into the vast, dark, marble-paneled hall. Kneel for a moment to the tiny gold box in the corner. Step into the pew just in time for the first reading.

I'm only there for half an hour. In that time, I hear ancient Hebrew texts, telling stories of a hot, sandy, rocky land many thousands of miles away, and of the people who lived in them millenia ago. Nothing like my cold, windy urban jungle.

I see enacted before me the Sacrifice at Calvary. In a stunning instance of time travel, I am present at the side of Mary and St. John, witnessing His bloody and painful death in an unbloody and peaceful form. It's enough to take my breath away.

I eat His flesh, living and real. I drink His blood, a strangely vampirical act, yet mystically sacred. How is it possible that I have become a Tabernacle for His living body? Walking back to my pew, kneeling quietly to pray, I carry Him inside of me. There is another soul present in my body, like a mother bearing an unborn child. Two people reside within my one flesh, Him and I. Would that He would reside there always.

And then - it's over. I go outside and walk back to work, waiting for the traffic light like any normal modern woman. They don't know, the people passing by me on the sidewalk, that I'm not just me. That He is with me too. That I have spent time at Calvary today. That I have paid a visit across an endless space and time to a certain Friday afternoon in 33 A.D.

What a funny thing it is to be a Catholic.

My Dream School

2011-11-26T10:30:00.000-05:00

I didn't apply to Princeton for college.

Daughter of a Harvard man, I applied there instead. Princeton was hardly even on my radar.

After my sophomore year of college, however, I went to Princeton for a summer seminar at my favorite institute in the world.

And my life changed.

At the seminar, I met some of the best friends I've ever had in my life: Josh, Jake and Alex K. It amazes me how we still keep closely in touch, more than two years later. We are pen pals and cheerleaders and mentors, passing on job opportunities and travel plans and introductions to important people. We support each other.

Whenever we talk about it, we all agree that that time at Princeton was magical.

How else can you account for the fact that we were only together for two weeks... but our friendship has endured afterwards for years? We called ourselves "the Fellowship," and indeed, there was something special about what happened there. As Jake once wrote to me in an email, "I don't think I realized how good [the two weeks in Princeton] were until later. There was literally nothing in the world to worry about except having fun. And our little group was a hilariously perfect combination..."

I've been back to Princeton four times since then. In fact, I'm the only one of the Fellowship who's been back. And every time I go, it almost feels like a pilgrimage.

My most recent trip back was just two weeks ago. Being there without the rest of the gang broke my heart a little bit.

Every corner of campus and especially of the theological seminary is rich with memories, exquisite, golden, blurred only a little by the passage of time and made all the more beautiful for the blurring.

I annoyed the people I was with because I couldn't help but cry out with excitement as each beloved place came into view.

"Look! The fountain where we went swimming and splashing one night... and walked home dripping wet and barefoot, in the dark, looking like a bunch of hobos."

"There's Aquinas House, where we used to walk in the mornings for Mass, and where the interns performed Much Ado About Nothing the last night. It was my favorite Shakespeare performance I've ever seen." (still is)

"There's the street where we used to 'go for a wander' with one of the boys... what long, lovely, rich discussions would arise."

"The book store where we got to know each other the first day..."

"The quad where we would lie outside on blankets and watch clips of Brideshead Revisited from our laptops..."

"Our classroom building..."

"The Yankee Doodle Taproom where we would go for drinks after class..."

Some of the places are too fraught with memories and emotion for me to even describe to my companions. When we drove past the Stone Circle, where we said our goodbyes that last night, I could only clutch my heart and whisper, "The Stone Circle!" I almost wanted to cry. Realizing how silly my emotion looked to the people I was with, I sternly told myself, "Pipe down, Tess!"

The thing is, I really love Princeton.

I met Serena's boyfriend Anthony while I was there last. He is a Princeton graduate student, in the physics and engineering department. I think he must be a genius - not least because he's dating my best friend.

I began to rhapsodize to him about how much I love his campus. How much I adore Princeton. He laughed, not unkindly.

"I don't get to enjoy it very much," he explained, "being a student. I'm always so busy."

And I realized, I don't actually want to study at Princeton myself. Because then when would I get to enjoy it? No, I just want to be able to walk around the campus every day, go to events at Witherspoon, pray in the gorgeous old campus chapel (which has a Catholic tabernacle in it - one of my very favorite things about the place) and relish in its beauty.

I called my mom and informed her of this.

"Well honey, it sounds like you should marry someone who teaches there," she said.

And I thought to myself, you know, that's not a half bad idea.

The Only Problem

2011-11-25T11:04:00.000-05:00

I have a lot of really weird hobbies for a 22-year-old.

For example, I have season tickets to the opera. They were pretty expensive, especially for someone like me who is in an entry-level job fresh out of college. But I love the opera, and even more than that, it was important to me to be the kind of adult who has season tickets to the opera. So even though it meant not buying any new clothes for two months, and cooking almost all of my own meals too, the tickets were a worthwhile spending priority for me.

Here I am at the Kennedy Center. See? Season tickets! To the opera!

For another, I like memorizing poetry and reading it aloud in my special "poetry reading voice," for which my friends make fun of me. What can I say? Poetry just does something to my soul. Rhythm is built into our human natures. It's older than any spoken language. The rhythm of poetry awakens something in me. The words bring truth and the rhyme offers beauty. I really love it.

For a third, I am really into swing dancing. You might read that and say, "Plenty of young people are into swing dancing." To which I respond, "Have you been to a swing dance night?" Plenty of girls are there - nice, normal-looking girls. The guys, on the other hand, are either deeply weird or creepily old. I say this as someone who has been to her fair share of swing dance nights. I think that normal guys are capable of swing dancing, but they just don't prioritize it as an activity, at least not if they're single.

Then there's the books I choose to read. Normal young people like to read, oh I don't know, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo? The Help? I actually read The Help and I thought it was forgettable. Definitely over-rated. Instead, I find myself furtively reading things like Evelyn Waugh's Sword of Honour trilogy and P. G. Wodehouse on the metro. Normal people my age don't read stuff like that, and they definitely don't stay in on weekend nights to read it either. Like I said, weird.

I could go on and on. There's a reason this blog is called "book smart," ya know? I don't watch TV. Seriously, at all. I like moseying around art galleries at a snail's pace, reading every single plaque and explanatory sign, so that I'm exhausted before we're halfway through. I really really like knitting. It doesn't get much more grandma than that.

You can't see it in this picture, but I totally had knitting needles in my purse. At a football game.

Now, these are all great hobbies. I personally love 'em. They'll come in handy if I'm ever 80 years old and need to teach all the other little old ladies in my nursing home how to cast on stitches, or the difference between La Traviata and La Boheme, or why Bartolome Esteban Murillo is the greatest religious artist of all time.

But there's just one tiny little problem with all of my preferred hobbies.

Most guys don't do them. Like, at all. Or at least, not the guys who seem cute and normal and cool.

Cool guys, I imagine, go to bars. They watch sports games. They probably go clubbing on the weekends and to happy hours during the week.

I go to bars... for Catholic trivia night. The coolest guy there was the parish priest.

I watch sports games... from the safety of my couch, where my roommate (who miraculously understands baseball) can explain these things to me.

I go clubbing... wait, that's a total lie. I tried clubbing in college and absolutely hated it. You couldn't pay me to go back.

And happy hours... intimidate the heck out of me. They're scary enough when I'm surrounded by my friends. But going to a place where I hardly know anyone? Trying to meet guys? In a crowded bar full of people? Oh my gosh. It's a fate worse than death.

So you see, I love the things I do, but they are not the kinds of things at which one meets boys. At least, not the kind of boys one wants to date, especially if one prefers good looks and a sense of humor and doesn't care how much he knows about opera.

Thus I say with total confidence that if I ever manage to meet a guy I like and who likes me, it will be a true miracle, and I will take my hat off to my matchmaking angels. You all are my witnesses.

Thankful For

2011-11-24T14:29:00.000-05:00

Mum, Dad, Lillian, Cathy, Maria, Caroline, Joseph and Angela. And Skippy.

That I get to be with them today. Finally. I've missed them so much.

That my dad shaved his mustache. That thing looked awful.

My job. I love it and I'm so lucky to have one.

My friends. I have so much fun with them, old and new.

My God, who hears my prayers and answers them.

You. Thank you for reading!

Persistent? Who, Me?

2011-11-23T10:05:00.000-05:00

On Sunday, I had plans to see a student production of Suor Angelica at CUA.

I was meeting my new friend Ann-Therese there. She's a Ph.D. student in philosophy, has the most fascinating life stories of studying in Rome and of her sister who's a nun, and she's wickedly funny to boot. I was so excited to officially hang out for the first time - before, we'd only ever seen each other at our Saturday volunteer service project tuttoring inner-city girls. And the opera? Ooh, I love opera.

But when I got to the theater, there were dozens of people waiting in line for a handful of tickets. Ann-Therese was far enough ahead of me that she managed to snag one. By the time I made it to the booth, however, they made an announcement: "Sorry, folks. We're all sold out."

With a collective sigh and disgruntled mutterings, all the people waiting for tickets left... except for me. Ann-Therese was already inside and texted me that she could see an empty seat. I considered pretending that I already had a ticket but had been in the bathroom (a tactic I've employed before) but my conscience got the better of me. There were still a few will-call tickets on hold. I lurked optimistically in the vestibule.

One by one, people showed up to claim their will-call tickets. I could hear the opening strains of music as the show began. The number of remaining spots dwindled and shrank. Other patrons checked in for last-minute tickets and were turned away. No one else waited. It was just me, hanging out in the lobby, with my ham sandwich (conveniently stowed in my purse and now pulled out for a pre-theater snack).

The opera started at 2 pm. I asked the guy behind the counter, "When will you stop holding the will-call tickets?" "At 2:20," he said. I checked the time. 2:11. Well, as long as there was even a hope of getting in, I wasn't going anywhere.

So I waited. And waited. Finally, at 2:18, the ticket guy gave in. "Here," he said, "I have two will-call tickets left that haven't been claimed. You can have one."

Hardly daring to believe my luck, I handed him ten dollars before he could change his mind. I slipped into the darkened theater and dashed to the only open seat left - in the very first row. Luckily for me, the opera hadn't started yet, just an introductory prelude. The show was beautiful and the story very sad. I loved every minute.

Afterwards, Ann-Therese and I headed over to the campus Starbucks for some delicious holiday beverages. It's not Christmas til you see those cheery red cups. We sat for hours in the student center, having what she called a "mind-meld," as we discovered how much we have in common. (So much, in case you were wondering.) Don't you love meeting kindred spirits?

The talk turned to my pre-opera ordeal. "You're so persistent," she said, impressed that I had waited for a ticket until I got one. That brought me up short.

"You think so?" I said, surprised, because in general perseverance is my hardest virtue. I wish I were persistent, but in general, I give up on things pretty easily.

But I thought about it, and I wondered what made this time different. I waited as long as I did because of hope, plain and simple. As long as there were tickets, there was hope. And as long as there was hope, I wasn't going to give up. I think that maybe I usually give up on things so easily because I lose sight of my end goal - I lose hope that it's attainable. So the real project here, I guess, is learning to find reasons to hope and to make hope last.

Right?

2011-11-22T10:50:00.000-05:00

Does anyone else feel like this sometimes?

Praying for My Friends' Boyfriends

2011-11-21T10:00:00.000-05:00

I was running through my usual prayer intentions recently when I noticed a funny pattern.

"God please bless Mom, Dad, [insert my six siblings' names], [insert my cousins' names], all my friends... Please especially bless Colleen's boyfriend, because he's been sick... Please especially bless Serena's boyfriend, because he's been having a hard time with school and is getting really tuckered out... Please bless Natalia's boyfriend, since his sister has passed away... Please help Anna's boyfriend to find a job..."

That's funny, I thought. Since when did I spend so much time praying for my friends' boyfriends?

I don't know how it started, that my girl friends began asking me to pray for their menfolk, but I'm glad it has.

When you're single, it can be easy to create in your head a romantic and totally unrealistic ideal of The Boyfriend. The magical person who will ride in on his white horse and solve all your problems. He will be a superhero who never does anything wrong. Right?

His hair will look like that too.

If I ever date again, of course my boyfriend will be my superhero. I mean, I'll definitely treat him like one. But I also know that he won't be perfect. No matter how much I love him, we will get into fights. No matter how wonderful he is, he will go through rough times.

And so praying for my friends' boyfriends is a helpful little reminder that boyfriends get sick. That boyfriends suffer. That boyfriends struggle with work and school. That boyfriends aren't perfect, but are fallible human beings too. That a boyfriend isn't going to solve all your problems, and that instead, you and he will have to work very hard together to create the kind of life you want. And that, in all honesty, you will have to save the day and be there for him... just as often as he will save the day for you.

I know that I will pray for him after I meet him even more than I pray for him now. And some day when the chips are down and he's reached his hour of greatest need, I'll probably ask my girl friends to pray for him too. Because I know, based on my own experience, that they will be happy to.

On the New Mass Translations

2011-11-20T11:15:00.000-05:00

I saw this painting at the Dublin National Gallery when I visited Ireland for St. Patrick's Day 2010. Ever since then, I've been looking for an occasion to write about this picture, and finally decided to just go for it.

I loved this painting on sight. Irish families gathered in simple love and devotion to celebrate the Mass, in an intimate setting like that of the Last Supper. Nothing could destroy their constant faith - not devastating famines nor English persecution.

I love that I'm part of a religion that calls families "the domestic church." I love that our church leaders place so much trust on mothers and fathers to raise their children well, to be their primary educators, to catechize them in the faith.

I love that poor humble peasants like the ones in this painting worship the same God before Whose name high kings and queens kneel down. I love that in God's eyes, there is no distinction between peasant and king, and that we are all worthy to eat and worship the same Eucharist, the same Body of Christ.

Now, about that Eucharistic celebration. One week from today, the new English Mass translation will go into effect. The Mass that I have grown up with will change irrevocably.

I am so excited for the change, but I would be lying if I didn't admit that I'm a little afraid too. The words of the Mass, as they are now, form the fabric of my soul. I lisped them as a little child when I could barely even form the words. I've prayed them almost every day since my early teens. They're comfortable. They're familiar. And for me, any change, no matter how good, is always unsettling.

Yet, the new translation will go back to the literal meaning of the Latin words. It will be more true to the ancient texts, and will conform to what our brethren in other countries pray.

Looking at this painting, I see that the new Mass will recall us more closely to a form of prayer that these Irish peasants would have recognized.

The new translation will bring us more fully in line with the faith of our fathers. It will draw us more fully into the communion of the saints. And I know that that, despite my hesitations, can only be a good thing.

And so, with only a little nervousness, I'm prepared to joyfully welcome the wonderful new translations. One more week!

Post-edit: I just read this great article about living liturgically and thought that this little description seemed to go perfectly with the picture above:

"Everywhere vigil lights flickered in homes of the Irish emigrants who began the custom in penal days when priests were being hunted. Telling of the custom in The Christmas Book, Father Francis X. Weiser, S.J., writes:

The people had no churches. Priests hid in forests and caves and secretly visited the farms and homes to say Mass there during the night. When Christmas came the faithful placed burning candles in the windows so that any priest who happened to be in the vicinity would be guided to their home through the dark night. Silently he entered and was received by the devout with fervent prayers of gratitude that their home was to become a church during the Holy Night. To justify this practice in the eyes of the English soldiers, the Irish people used to explain: ''We burn the candles that Jesus and Mary looking for a place to stay will find their way to our home.'' The English authorities finding this superstition harmless did not bother to suppress it."

A Reckoning

2011-11-19T13:34:00.000-05:00

This week, I made it to Mass all five days in a row. That's never happened before. Hurray! I did it!

This week, I was late to Mass all five days in a row. I was also late to work... all five days in a row. Yikes. So now you know.

Little victories. Little defeats. The stuff my life (and yours?) is made of.

My goal for next week: Be on time for work. All five days in a row. And... maybe?... be on time for Mass all five days in a row, too?

Wish me luck. Or better yet, say a prayer for me. I'll need it!

Being A Lady

2011-11-18T10:30:00.000-05:00

Man, I'm on a nostalgic kick lately. This post is also going back to that fateful day when I first visited Notre Dame, and that car ride home.

Dad was playing music from his ipod, and I remember one song in particular that came on: Bat out of Hell by an artist with the dubious name of Meatloaf.

Doesn't that just sound like the kind of song that's well suited to contemplation?

There was a lull in the conversation and I found myself paying attention to the lyrics. Meatloaf was singing something to a lady friend.

"Oh baby, you're the only thing in this whole world
That's pure and good and right.
And wherever you are and wherever you go
There's always gonna be some light."

Wow, I thought. That's beautiful. And right then and there, I decided I wanted to be that kind of woman; someone who stands for something, and whose life points the way to a higher reality.

Isn't that funny? Bat out of Hell, giving me a new purpose in life. Who woulda thought?

This story goes back to a theme that sort of obsessed me for the latter part of high school: being a lady.

When I was 16, I read Gone with the Wind. Most girls who read that book, it seems, have a real thing for Scarlett. My mom told me that she was fascinated by her.

But not me. I couldn't get enough of Melanie. What an odd person to be obsessed with! Plain, quiet, shy, humble little Melanie. But that was exactly why I adored her. She was "as simple as earth, as good as bread, as transparent as spring water." And above all, she was a Lady.

I will never forget the description of Melanie as a hostess:

"The little house was always full of company. Melanie had been a favorite even as a child and the town flocked to welcome her home again. Everyone brought presents for the house, bric-a-brac, pictures, a silver spoon or two, linen pillow cases, napkins, rag rugs, small articles which they had saved from Sherman and treasured but which they now swore were of no earthly use to them. Old men who had campaigned in Mexico with her father came to see her, bringing visitors to meet 'old Colonel Hamilton's sweet daughter.' Her mother's old friends clustered about her, for Melanie had a respectful deference to her elders that was very soothing to dowagers in these wild days when young people seemed to have forgotten all their manners. Her contemporaries, the young wives, mothers and widows, loved her because she had suffered what they had suffered, had not become embittered and always lent them a sympathetic ear. The young people came, as young people always come, simply because they had a good time at her home and met there the friends they wanted to meet. Around Melanie's tactful and self-effacing person, there rapidly grew up a clique of young and old who represented what was left of the best of Atlanta's ante-bellum society, all poor in purse, all proud in family, die-hards of the stoutest variety. It was as if Atlanta society, scattered and wrecked by war, depleted by death, bewildered by change, had found in her an unyielding nucleus about which it could re-form. Melanie was young but she had in her all the qualities this embattled remnant prized, poverty and pride in poverty, uncomplaining courage, gaiety, hospitality, kindness and, above all, loyalty to all the old traditions. Melanie refused to change, refused even to admit that there was any reason to change in a changing world. Under her roof the old days seemed to come back again and people took heart... When they looked into her young face and saw there the inflexible loyalty to the old days, they could forget, for a moment, the traitors within their own class who were causing fury, fear and heartbreak... It never occurred to Melanie that she was becoming the leader of a new society. She only thought the people were nice to come to see her and to want her in their little sewing circles, cotillion clubs and musical societies."

Even now, reading that, my heart beats a little faster. Melanie was such a beautiful human being. When she dies at the end of the book, Rhett says that she was "a great lady," and one of the few real ladies he had ever known. I decided, at impetuous 16, that I wanted to have the words "A Great Lady" on my grave. More than that, I wanted to really be one.

Now, I know that the concept of being a lady really bothers some people, including my beloved Auntie Seraphic. Even one of my dearest friends scolded me when I brought up the topic. "In the words of my ever knowledgeable little sister," she told me over gchat, "when somebody told her to be a lady, 'well... it doesn't sound like very much fun.'"

I think that the term "lady" has been very ill-treated for it to be getting such bad press.

I don't know what people told you a lady is supposed to be, but here's what I think it means: putting others at their ease. Seeing the good in everyone and taking care not to mention the bad. Having a sense of humor that is kind and never hurts others. Making the best out of unfortunate situations. Making sure everyone else has a piece of pie before you take one yourself. Being on time. Being gracious and welcoming, no matter how tired or cold or grumpy you are. Being patient. Keeping your temper. Treating every person you meet, from the homeless man on the street to the president of the United States, with the respect and reverence owed to them as a human creature. Doing all of these things because you want to, and not because any one else has told you to.

In other words, just about everything I have a ridiculously hard time doing for even a minute.

Does that sound like fun? No, of course not. Being a lady isn't supposed to be fun, I think. You don't do it because it's fun but because it's the right thing to do.

And oh boy, is it harder to do than I ever thought at 16. After I read Gone With The Wind, I decided that I wanted to be a great lady... by my 17th birthday (which I chose because Melanie was 17 at the start of Gone with the Wind) (I was really obsessed). That gave me almost 10 months. Plenty of time, right?

Ha. Six years later, I feel as far from that ideal as I was at 16. Being a Lady is harder than I ever imagined, and I think it will take me several decades, if not the rest of my life, to even start to achieve it.

That doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying.

How to be Happy

2011-11-16T11:00:00.000-05:00

I'll never forget the day I first visited Notre Dame. It was September 29, 2006. I've written about it before, on a different blog, but I've never before written about the car ride home afterwards.

Did you know that college visits are a great time to talk to your parents? They were for me, anyway. That afternoon in late September, we had a 2 hour drive ahead of us. Just me, my dad and my twin sister.

We talked a lot, as my family is known to do, and most of the discussion escapes me. I do remember that, at one point, the conversation turned to celebrities. How their marriages seem to end so quickly. How so many of them seem so unhappy.

"I think I know why so many famous people are unhappy," I said hesitantly. I was still trying to figure out how to put this. "It's because so many of them seem to live only for themselves."

I took a deep breath as I put into words what I had been thinking for a long time.

"I think the only way to be happy in life is to serve other people, and try to make them happy before yourself. Because if you just live for yourself... you'll never be happy. Right, Dad?"

Sometimes I'm amazed by how much I knew when I was younger. My dad agreed with me, and said he was glad that I had figured that out.

Ever since that conversation, I've sort of always held that as my gold standard. Not that I come anywhere close to sticking to it. But in general, if I notice that I seem restless and unhappy, that I'm being a regular old grump, it's probably because I'm not loving other people enough.

Of course I've lost sight of this goal many times in the past, and I'm sure I will lose sight of it again in the future, but I always try to come back to it.

By the way, my dad texted me Monday morning to remind me that it's just 10 days until I come home. I can't wait to see him again and have another one of our good conversations. I never expected, when I took this job in DC, that I would miss my family so much!

Love's Austere and Lonely Offices

2011-11-14T14:16:00.001-05:00

Last night I went to a party at Serena's house. It was a "Culture and Communio" party, so everyone brought food to share, and after that we read poetry aloud. Almost everyone brought a poem (or three) and as there were several dozen people there it took a while to get through them all. We even had an intermission halfway through, during which I snagged some mulled wine. Yum!

Me and Serena

I was introduced to some truly lovely new poems and to great poets I'd never heard of before. I also enjoyed appearances from a few poems that are old friends. One really stood out to me this time - Robert Hayden's "Those Winter Sundays."

"What did I know, what did I know," the speaker asks, "of love’s austere and lonely offices?"

Austere and lonely? What kind of love is this? Isn't love supposed to be warm, effusive, expressive and emotional?

Yes, I know that "Love is a choice," as I was told many times growing up. But what does it mean, this "Love is a choice" business? There was a time when, in my immaturity, I thought it meant choosing to date someone I didn't love just so I could make him happy. Although now I know that's not right, I'm still not sure I understand it. What do I know, myself, of Love's austere and lonely offices?

I spend a lot of time, these days, thinking about preparing for my future. I'm not sure yet what God is calling me to.

Perhaps I will be a religious sister. Perhaps I will enter a convent, take the veil and live a life of service to the Church.

Perhaps I will be a wife and mother. Perhaps I will unite with one man for life, wear a white dress and veil for one day, and live a life of service to a family.

What will those vocations demand of me? Either way, Love will call me to austere and lonely offices. Love will demand hard things of me.

And I, so fickle, impulsive and headstrong? How will I be ready when Love calls? Do I have the strength of character to fulfill offices of love, however harsh and lonely?

I hope so, although I won't really know until I'm there. Ultimately, though, it doesn't matter if I can do it or not, whether I'm strong enough and good enough or not.

I already know I'm not. Nobody is. That's what grace is for.

I know that I can start to prepare in little ways for the hard things I will someday face. Very little ways, but worth doing.

And here is the thing Hayden forgot to mention. Perhaps he didn't know. Fulfilling those offices, however austere and lonely, brings the deepest, the truest and the most lasting joy.

Real Life

2011-11-12T14:07:00.000-05:00

On Wednesday night I had a revelation.

I was standing in my kitchen emptying the dishwasher and sort of pondering life in my head, as one does when one is sorting the silverware and bowls, and thinking how much fun it was to be standing in my cute kitchen with my pretty dishes playing house like this. Just like I used to play when I was a little girl. La la la.

Then a sudden thought rocked me, like thunder from on high. I'm not playing house this time. This is for real.

My eyes opened wide and I shook with the terror of it. Like someone in a horror movie, I stared at the glass in my hand like I was seeing it for the first time. The dishwasher, the fridge, the oven - I stared at all of them with fresh, wide eyes. This is my kitchen, I thought. My inner 7-year-old rebelled. How is it possible that I own a kitchen?

It was all just too much for me so I went and sat down in the living room and called my mom.

"Motherrr!" I wailed. "I just realized that this isn't a game, I'm not playing pretend, I am a real grown-up now, and I own things like kitchens!"

My mother laughed at me, as any good mother would do. "You just noticed that? Oh my goodness, sweetie. Just wait until you have kids. You'll be calling me at midnight to say, 'Mom, I'm still cleaning the kitchen!'"

I would have none of her logic. "But Mum. It gets even worse. Right before I cleaned the kitchen, it occurred to me that I should probably make my lunch for tomorrow. I didn't want to make lunch for tomorrow. But then I thought, if I don't make my lunch now, I'll have to make it in the morning and then I'll be late for work. So I should make it now."

Then I told her the worst part.

"And Mum, then I went to the kitchen and made my lunch! An egg salad sandwich and a salad! I'm falling into habits and routines and being responsible... like a grown-up."

The whole thing was throwing me into a fit.

Mum laughed some more and then pointed out, "Honey, you are a grown-up, and it's a good thing that you're being responsible." She did not add "finally!" although she might well have.

After I got off the phone with her, I walked around the house and went back to my kitchen. Those dishes still needed to be put away, after all. I thought about what it means to be a grown-up, to own a kitchen and silverware and a couch.

It's a little scary, that's for sure. I mean, who gave me permission to have an apartment and a real job? Who said I can cook myself dinner every night? The whole thing is a little ludicrous, really.

At the same time, I spent probably half my childhood pretending I had my own house and my own kitchen. I remember the playhouse in the backyard when I was a kid... how I would spend hours pretending to set the table and do the dishes. And guess what, the real thing is even more fun than pretending.

Those matryoshka dolls are measuring cups. My kitchen even looks like a playhouse!

I'm living the life I always imagined when I was little. Is it weird that my childhood dreams involved doing dishes? Well they did, and now I get to do it for real everyday. Sure, it's a little scary. But when all is said and done, I don't just like being a grown-up.

I love it.

Making Friends

2011-11-10T13:44:00.000-05:00

My guy friends make fun of me for my habit of making friends everywhere I go.

There was that time on my birthday when I was supposed to meet Luis, Leo and Lee at a bar for drinks after work. I showed up with a girl named Meg in tow. "So how do you girls know each other?" Luis asked, and I looked sheepish. "We actually just met today... at daily Mass." The guys couldn't get over that.

Then two weeks later I showed up to trivia night (at the same bar, coincidentally) with Ruthie. Luis said, "Don't tell me you just met Ruthie today at Mass, Tess." I looked sheepish again and admitted, "We did just meet today, but not at Mass. We met... online." Turns out Ruthie lives in DC and reads my other blog, so after exchanging some comments on the interwebs, we had decided to meet and hang out in person.

Later that night, a random girl and guy who go to BYU showed up to join our trivia group. "Ok, Tess, how do you know them?" Luis asked quizzically. I laughed and tried to think how to explain it. "We just met on the street outside this bar." It's true. Nicole and I are good friends now, but we originally met because I stopped to look at her dorm (which is next to the bar), and struck up a conversation with her sitting in front of it.

I could tell you probably a dozen stories like this. I've picked up half my good friends in DC at a bar... going to Conservatism on T. You already know the story of how I met Emily at Sunday Mass back when I lived in Silver Spring. It's really funny and the boys have every right to make fun of me for it, because seriously? Who does that?

Today I went to noon Mass at St. Matthew's, as I often do during the week. Lately I've been seeing Sarah there from time, which always brightens up my afternoon. Today as I sat down, I spotted Sarah across the church, and then noticed a girl in a Notre Dame jacket sitting in the row behind me. I stared shamelessly but didn't recognize her. Hm. No matter. I would find out our connection soon enough. I kept my eye on her all through Mass.

After Mass, Sarah sped over to me. "Do you know that girl?" she whispered. "No," I said. "Let's go find out who she is." So we followed her out of the church and flagged her down on the steps outside.

Turns out her name is Mary and she didn't go to Notre Dame but to Steubenville. She and I have about 10 mutual friends (definitely checked Facebook to gain that knowledge). We talked for a few minutes, exchanged contact info and parted ways as new friends.

And I thought, "I've done it again. I picked someone up at church."

On Growing Up Catholic

2011-10-27T12:05:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I read this really excellent article from Leila, a Catholic blogger and mom of 8. It's really long but I forced myself to read the whole thing, and I'm so glad I did, because it was so worth it.

It made me think about the way I was raised. The entire generation of post-Vatican II Catholics - my parents' generation - were raised with very watered-down, liberal catechesis. As one of my favorite professors is fond of saying, they were poorly catechized. For example, my mom went to CCD her whole life, but she didn't even know about the Real Presence until she was in graduate school. Doesn't that just break your heart? That's the way it was for a whole generation of American Catholics, millions and millions of souls starved of the truth. And just think of their children - totally deprived and ignorant, through no fault of their own.

Ignorance of the Faith is being passed on to my generation too. But for me and my high school friends, not so much. We were taught Church doctrine, on philosophy as well as on matters of faith. I remember one time that a college professor asked the class, "Who can tell me what freedom is?" "Choosing to do what's right," I shot back, and he gave me a funny look. An elderly fallen away Catholic himself, he was old enough to have been raised in the pre-Vatican II faith, and he knew his catechism as well as I did - well enough to be amazed that I was practically quoting it.

"Wow, someone drilled that into your head, didn't they?" he asked quietly. At the time I thought his response was a little rude, implying as it did that my ideas were not my own, but since then I've come to see it as a compliment. Unlike pretty much every other student he had taught in recent years, I was well-catechized. I'm part of a fortunate and shrinking minority that actually knows what the Church teaches. And I'm part of an even smaller minority that loves it.

So I'm lucky, very very lucky. I emphasize lucky and fortunate because my moral and religious formation is something I was given as a generous gift, and that came to me through absolutely no virtue of my own. For those of us who were well-catechized, it's good to remember the parable of the Pharisee and the tax-collector. We too are sinners, often the worst sinners in fact, since pride is the greatest sin. What an easy trap it is to fall into too. So we have try to stay always on our guard against it, although of course we fail at that often enough, being human. Thank God for His grace and for the sacrament of Confession, amiright? So that's one thing to watch out for.

It's also good to remember what my friend Catherine pointed out once. "God only sends people as many trials as they can handle," she said. "I was raised in a loving Catholic family and have never been seriously tempted to stray from the Faith." She paused and said, half-joking and half-serious, "God must not have thought I could handle very much!" Exactly. We have it comparatively easy. Maybe us cradle Catholics should remember that from time to time.

Finally, I always try to keep in mind that Christ gave us fair warning: "From those to whom much has been given, much will be asked in return" (Luke 12:48). I'm one of the fortunate few who was taught the full truth of the Faith from an early age. With that power comes a great responsibility. God is asking a lot from me. He's asking everything. What exactly is He asking? I'm not sure yet. I'm still waiting for my marching orders. All I know now is to be ready when He calls.

A House Tour

2011-10-26T12:05:00.000-04:00

This blog has been pretty devoid of pictures for a while now so I think I'll start adding some more. To start off, I'm going to give you a nice little tour of my new home (if anyone besides Lillian is still reading this, which I highly doubt. Hi Lillian!). First of all, here's my dresser next to my bed.

Aren't the flowers pretty? I like to keep my home regularly stocked with fresh blooms. The mirror is from Urban and goes really well with my French-chic theme. I look very untidy in this picture, and that's because I had been cleaning the kitchen right before taking this. I didn't have the courage to put this pic on Facebook, but I figure if I can't put it on my blog, where can I put it?

This picture is no longer entirely accurate, because since taking it, I've hung the mirror and the crucifix up on the walls instead. So my dresser looks a whole lot less churchy now, which is good. How sweet is the view out my window? 17th floor whadduppp. I go out on the balcony at random times to enjoy the weather and no one else is ever outside. Seriously, no one. Isn't that weird?

You'll notice that this only shows one small part of my bedroom and not the whole thing. There's a reason for that, and it's called half the clothes I own are in piles on my bedroom floor. They're there because I undertook a massive wardrobe reorganization project recently and haven't finished it yet. One of these days.

Hello, dining room. This picture is pretty much my pride and joy. I love my blue and white dinnerware set, and I really love setting tables. Did I ever tell you about the time I won a table-setting competition in high school? Did I? Those were good times.

My fabulous living room - nice and big, which is perfect for hosting parties. The armchairs are not only ridiculously cozy, but they also lean back. It's pretty awesome. The one on the right in this picture is my favorite. I sit there in the mornings to pray, at night to read, and pretty much every other chance I get. We still need to figure out something to do with the wall behind the couch...

My lovely map, the joy of my heart, which I purchased from Craigslist and drove all the way to Alexandria to pick up. Isn't it awesome? It makes the whole room look that much classier.

And, minus the kitchen and bathroom, that's my apartment!

Monday Mornings

2011-10-24T12:06:00.001-04:00

This morning started out the way so many Mondays do.

Hit the snooze button at 7 am. Hit it again at 7:15. Finally roll out of bed at 7:25, with a bleary look at the time. Darn it. Only 10 minutes til I have to leave.

Run to the kitchen to make a quick cup of tea - the only thing to keep me awake through the morning hour headed my way. Leave it sitting on the counter to cool while I change into jeans and pull on a hoodie over my t-shirt. No time for make-up. Jesus won't care anyway.

Dash back to the kitchen for my rushed breakfast, a slice of homemade cornbread covered with apple butter. I gulp down the tea and rinse my mug. Stuff my keys, cell phone, Magnificat and Rosary into a bag, and throw in Story of a Soul too, just for good measure.

7:40 and I'm out the door, 5 minutes late. That's ok because it means I'll have to power-walk, which I kind of enjoy. The first few moments out the door are the hardest, when the cold is new and uncomfortable. A few minutes of walking and I feel better. Time to start singing, which I start doing to make myself feel better about being up so early. I hum quietly to myself when people pass me on the sidewalk, but when I'm alone, I let forth a loud and merry tune unabashed. It works; before long I'm smiling and enjoying the walk.

Straight up Quincy Street, past the high school and over the highway. Left on 17th. I say good morning to my favorite sight of the walk, a cute little picket fence with trees and flowers spilling over it in wild abandon. It's so quaint and the little gate is always open. I daydream about walking in some time to what must surely be a magical wonderland garden.

Nearing the church, I'm delighted to see I'm 2 minutes early, thanks to my power walking. That means I have time to stop and give some love to the pink roses by the sidewalk. They smell divine.

I go in the back door and sign my name on the Adoration sheet. "Time in: 8 am." I'm so proud that I can write this honestly this week. Last week it was definitely 8:05... whoops.

Then the best hour of my week - sitting face to face with the love of my life. Is that cheesy? That's too bad, because it's true. We have a lot to catch up on and I end up not using the Rosary or opening Story of a Soul, although I do make copious use of my Magnificat.

I'm the only adorer signed up for the 8-9 am shift but I'm actually only alone in the chapel for a few minutes. Most of the time, older parishioners are coming in and out, pausing here to pray for a while. It's a nice convivial feeling, having them there. Happily I only get drowsy once, unlike my first time here, when I fell asleep for several minutes. I'm so glad I drank that tea this morning.

When my phone tells me it's 9 am, I leave, pausing on my way out to say good day to the roses again. Back down Quincy. More singing and happy humming. Getting up early is actually kind of fun, I reflect. At home, I take a quick shower and pack myself a lunch. Then take the train to work.

And that is my Monday morning.

Feeling Free

2011-10-20T15:23:00.002-04:00

Lately I've been thinking a lot about the importance of peace and quiet. Just like when I was an undergraduate, I always seem to forget how important these things are. Tuesday night I had a big party at my house for a group of Notre Dame students who were in town over fall break (what a lovely group of students - I'm sad I didn't get to spend even more time with them). That event, fun as it was, left me pretty drained by the end of it. Then on Wednesday, I went to report on a protest downtown. I followed the marchers through DC. I somehow managed to interview half a dozen of them as they swirled and shoved around me, police officers corralling us into line so that cars could pass us, rain dripping on my notebook and smearing my roughly scribbled notes. Then I went back to the office and wrote up an article about it. I was supposed to go participate in a PP clinic protest that night, and then a discussion and prayer night at the Dominican House of Studies, but something inside me snapped and wouldn't let me go. For the first time in my life (or the first time I can remember), I decided to skip an event (two events!) in favor of some me time.

And folks, it was awesome. I went home and heated up some dinner. Then I cleaned my whole kitchen, put a load in the dishwasher and hand-washed a mountain of tupperware that had been sorely in need of it. I went for a run (did I mention I'm training for an 8k? Wish me luck!) and took a shower. Then I sat in my living room and read Walker Percy, cozy and comfy in my fluffy pink bathrobe. Sarah came home and sat in the living room with me, checking email and Facebook on the couch, the two of us sitting in contented, companionable silence. (I really think chummy silence is under-rated, don't you?).

Before I went to bed I poured myself a tall glass of water and went out on the porch to admire the night. It was a little wet and very pretty out. I couldn't see stars but I could see the bright city lights and feel a wild, boisterous wind blowing fresh and cold against my face. Mmmm. I don't know when I last felt so free. This year in DC has been a gift beyond my expectations. My life is so different from anything I ever wanted, and yet better than I dreamed. So full of happiness. So blessed. I marveled at it, on the balcony last night before I went to sleep. Who knew 22 would be this good?

Will you remember?

2011-10-13T11:49:00.000-04:00

Ten years from now, will you remember this morning?

Will you remember how you woke up and realized we were out of orange juice, and, knowing it's Sarah's favorite in the mornings, you went down to the first-floor deli to buy a new carton? And once down there, surprised yourself by buying milk and cheese and hummus too?

Will you remember that you wore a white shirt with navy pinstripes and ruffles on the front? And the gray pencil skirt that is exactly like the black pencil skirt, each of which you wear to work at least once a week? Will you remember that you think of this as your "uniform," like in high school, which is pretty hilarious considering you never liked your uniform in high school?

Will you remember that it was gray, and rainy, and cold today, and despite remembering your umbrella and trenchcoat you wore highly impractical black cloth flats? Damp, but cute. Will you remember how you stuck a vase from the kitchen into your Urban Outfitters lunch bag as you left the house, and upon exiting the Farragut West Station, bought a bouquet of white carnations from the little flower stand you've been wanting to buy something from for two months? And the whole way to work, you smiled with fond pride over the little bouquet, and pondered how it's impossible to feel unhappy when carrying flowers (much like cupcakes). They're such pretty little carnations. You spent the first 15 minutes of work this morning cutting their stems and arranging them in the vase, and now they're sitting next to the printer on your desk, hiding those ugly cords that have been bothering your aesthetic sensibilities for four months. Will you remember how you smile every time you look at your merry little carnations? Take that, rainy day. I make my own sunshine.

It's just one day like any other. Living the 20-something life in your own Tess way. Twenty years from now, fifty years from now, will you remember this morning? Will you remember this life? I hope you do, because it's beautiful.

Someone To Swing Dance With

2011-10-10T23:37:00.002-04:00

Recently, a nice guy friend said something to me along the lines of, "You're more mature and ready for marriage than most girls," which I think is patently untrue as the current state of my untidy bedroom would prove. Besides it's not what I want right now. My life is pretty near to perfect as it is. I like being young, healthy, and comparatively well-off, living in a beautiful city, with my own apartment, many friends, and a happy, busy, wholesome social life. I'd like to do this for a few more years. Right now, I'm not looking for a boyfriend, much less a husband. But every now and then, when the lonely blues strike, there is something I wish for.

I'd like someone to dance with. I recently found out that the Kennedy Center offers free swing dancing lessons every week, and I thought, Well that sounds just about dreamy. I love swing dancing and I especially love free. But the problem is, who could I go with? Sure, I could get a group of guys and girls together, but we would inevitably have more of one gender and it would be awkward, plus that makes it such a general experience. What I would like is to go to the classes regularly, maybe every one if I could, with the same person, and get really good at dancing with him. But there isn't a person like that in my life right now. Just an endless parade of passing faces, people who are completely replaceable, transitory, ephemeral, and gone.

Friday Night Music

2011-10-08T00:43:00.000-04:00

Friday nights are the busiest time of the week for me, funnily enough, because I have the job of uploading my magazine onto our website. My favorite thing to do during this time is listen to music. Sometimes I turn to my Pandora station - Frank Sinatra's Fly Me to the Moon is the usual choice - and sometimes I youtube random songs that have been in my head lately. And sometimes, I'm lucky and a friend or two stays up late with me and sends music suggestions.

Tonight I hit the jackpot - Bart sent me music up til midnight, and when he went to bed, Lee conveniently happened to be online to pick up the slack. Bart is into old country music, the kind of thing my dad raised me on, and sends light Irish melodies with names like "Pretty Fair Maiden." Lee likes more modern stuff, Coldplay and U2 and Keane, mellow tunes perfect for night turning into early morning.

Music gets me going through the late night, and when I say music, I really mean friends.

The Problem with Dating

2011-10-07T14:49:00.001-04:00

Truth.

Keep A Poem in Your Pocket

2011-09-16T11:32:00.000-04:00

I like to memorize poems for fun, which is a pretty weird hobby, and has no practical applications besides boring people at parties. But because of this hobby, I often will print out poems and carry them around with me, repeating stanzas over and over till I've got them down pat (memorizing poems is not easy for me, oh no. I work hard at it).

My mom visited me in DC a few weeks ago and while she was here this little thing named Hurricane Irene blew through and left a muddy, wet mess in its wake. Owing to the weather, and the fact that I had neither a raincoat nor rain boots in my possession, my mother took me to the Burlington Coat Factory where I found the most fabulous, snuggly warm trench coat from London Fog. And whaddya know, it was so fabulous a trench coat that Mum decided she wanted the same one. So now we have matching trenchcoats, and I text her sometimes to inform her that I'm wearing it, "so we can be twinsies!" Which cracks me up every time because I have an actual twin, so twin jokes are sort of ironic and twice as fun (ha).

Anyway, fall arrived in DC overnight this year. On Wednesday, I walked home from work and felt warm and comfy the whole time. It was still summer. Then on Thursday, I stepped out of my office building and began shivering in the chill. I still can't believe how cold it is now - I've been pulling out the sweaters already.

So this morning, I walked out the door looking incredibly incog in my black matching trenchcoat and dark sunglasses. You can just call me Bond, etc. As the wind swept round the corner I stuffed my hands in coat pockets to keep them warm, and guess what I found. An old print-out of Annabel Lee that I had been trying to memorize at one point, and had forgotten about. So I pulled it out and read it the whole way to work, savoring the words and the way they sound so that they will stick in my head for good (and oh, I can't wait until I have Annabel Lee memorized! It's such a beauty of a poem).

And I thought, what a lovely surprise to find a poem in your pocket. It brightened up the whole way to work. I think I shall keep one in my pockets always.

p.s. I spotted peonies today. They were staring me in the face on the subway, being printed large-and-in-charge on the side of a lady's grocery bag. What can this mean??

Practical Blessings

2011-09-14T18:19:00.001-04:00

Last night I slept over with my dear friend Serena, and as we happily bunked down in her large and cozy bed for the inevitable pillow talk that is the best part of any good sleepover, I confided in her a secret.

"Have you ever seen White Christmas?" I asked. "You know that part when Bing Crosby says that the thing to do when you can't sleep is to count your blessings (instead of sheep)?"

(start the video at 1:30)

"That's what I try to do each night, and especially when I have insomnia," I explained. And now for posterity, here are the very first blessings I always think of:

1. Thank God that I have a pillow. When I first moved to DC, I didn't bring a pillow with me because I planned to buy one here. But one thing led to another, and I had been living in Silver Springs for nearly 2 weeks before I finally had a pillow to call my own. I didn't realize how hard it had been to fall asleep without a pillow until I had one again, and let me tell you, I will never again take pillows for granted.

2. Thank God for my mattress. Same thing as above - I went through a (mercifully brief) mattress-less period earlier this summer, when all I had was my bed frame and the boxspring. I don't know if you've ever slept on a bed without a mattress but it's high on the scale of uncomfortable experiences I hope not to repeat any time soon.

3. Thank God for my blanket... are you beginning to see a pattern here? I actually did bring a blanket with me so I've never yet had to sleep without one (thank God) but it just seems to follow naturally from the first two, especially knowing that there are people in the world who don't have a blanket to sleep under at night.

I think it's pretty funny that these are always the first three things I thank God for, of an evening. I'm sure there are much more eloquent things I could be grateful for, in a life that so far has included "blessings without number and mercies without end." But somehow I always start out with those three. It really is the little things, isn't it?

And just to round it off, a few other little blessings of late...

The security guard in my office building, Shawn, had a baby girl last week! She was showing me pictures of the little beauty on her cell phone. As Mammy would say, "the happiest days are when babies are born."

Making friends with Bart and Frank, who are very sweet and funny, and pretty much make me feel like the queen of the world whenever I'm with them. Not to mention they keep me very entertained. What more could one ask for in friends?

Last night I met a boy...

2011-09-07T13:53:00.001-04:00

I think probably 90% of my blog posts could start that way. It seems like every day in this fair city, I meet a dashing new gentleman who has a lot to bring to the table. But always, there is something lacking. He isn't Catholic. He isn't funny. He reminds me of an ex-boyfriend. He reminds me of a polar bear. The list could go on. Everyone seems to be a trade-off, a choice between options like "cute and great with kids, but unemployed" and "funny and smart but arrogant and self-satisfied" No one is just right. Am I not just right? I always keep an eye out for that eventual "perfect match" who I expect to come along, but maybe there is no perfect match? You see. These questions go back and forth. It's enough to make any reasonable girl want to head for the nearest nunnery rather than play the dating game any longer.

It helps to remember that it is, after all, a game. Not in the sense of "playing games" or anything manipulative like that, but that it's supposed to be fun, playful, and light-hearted. He (the boy from last night) wrote his email address on a napkin. It was a daring gamble, throwing down his dice to see if I'd take the bait (how's that for a mixed metaphor?). I emailed him after a decent 15-hour interval. I thought that perhaps I should wait longer, but the game is still new to me and I wasn't sure. He wrote back right away. Now it's my move again, and I'm holding my cards and considering the next play. First I have to read the poems he sent me. We're talking about poetry, by the way, because he majored in English. He loves the post-World War I period of American ex-pats in Paris. He's bringing me his copy of A Moveable Feast next time we meet (I haven't read it yet). My sister loves that period too and A Moveable Feast is her favorite book. What does this all mean? Am I looking for someone like my sister? Or maybe this guy would get along better with my sister? I don't know. Right now he seems so nice but I barely know him, and I am fairly sure that with him, as with so many other guys, the pleasant first impression masks something I don't know and don't want to know, coyotes lurking hidden in the sunny field, waiting to scare me away from wanting to enter and build.

That doesn't sound much like a game, does it? I don't know what's up with me today. Actually, yes I do. It's the weather. Grey and stormy, a wild and windy day. I am most unhappy to be outside of my cozy bed when the outside is rebellious like this.

I suppose what I am trying to say here is that it doesn't matter. So maybe this guy will turn out to be really weird and undateable, like so many before him. Then he will be gone and the next one will come along faster than a train on the DC Metro. In a way sometimes I think that guys are like Medea's dragon teeth army, popping out of the ground like daisies, replacing each other immediately - and all seeming to be exactly the same. The game will go on, I guess, until someday one of them isn't exactly like the others. Doesn't have hidden coyotes that scare me away from dating him. Until one of them is real, and worth it, and here to stay.

Post-edit: One of my friends emailed me to ask if I want to go see Oklahoma! tonight. So now we have plans for dinner at her place and then this delightful show. I am quite excited, and no longer in such a glum mood. What little things can turn a whole day around!

Homesick

2011-09-02T16:31:00.000-04:00

The infamous Jump down, Mama! statue

Wow, I never thought I would say this, but I really miss Notre Dame right now.

This morning I was talking to someone about my interest in the pro-life movement. "The dignity of the human person is the foundation of my personal philosophy," I told her. "I evaluate everything in terms of whether it affirms or denigrates that standard."

She said she was impressed by how thorough my rationale was, so I explained, "I studied philosophy at university. And I've read a lot of Alice von Hildebrand and John Paul II." That's when the trouble started.

All summer long I've lived in a happy daze of freedom from school. I never liked homework and I generally did as little of it as possible throughout high school and college. I never liked tests either - can you say stress? - and I only liked writing papers on those extremely rare occasions that I did them ahead of schedule (I think that happened twice during my entire undergraduate career. Not surprisingly those were two of the only papers that earned a perfect grade). So ever since graduating from college, I've spent plenty of time thinking gleefully to myself, "No more homework ever again! No more tests! No more going to class!" I also make a point of regularly informing my little siblings that I'm done with all of these things forever, which usually leads them to groan with envy and anguish over the fact that they're still trapped in the constricting world of full-time school. What a nice big sister I am!

Anyway, along with this attitude of joy over being done with formal education forever (I hope) came a feeling of deep relief that my time attending Notre Dame was over. I never liked late nights at parties or bars either - in fact, I generally found those situations to be even more stressful than taking tests - but as an undergraduate, the peer pressure to attend those kinds of events was constant, insidious, and unrelenting. As I am very very susceptible to peer pressure, I spent four years being abjectly miserable on most Friday and Saturday nights for the sake of looking cool and making my friends happy. Part of me wants to say "If only I had done it differently!" but who am I kidding? If I were back at college now, I would do the same thing again. It was what I had to do to finally figure out that I never wanted to do it again. I firmly believe that God will let you do the same stupid thing over and over until you finally learn your lesson, and my lesson took me four years to learn, but I wouldn't trade that experience even if I could.

I hope you are getting the idea from all this that I was deeply relieved to be done with college. When you are a real grown-up, I reasoned, you can go to bed at 11 pm on a Saturday and no one will care or judge you, and you won't feel like a loser when you hear other people down the hallway and outside the window loudly going to parties (because real grown-ups have jobs and kids and don't go out til all hours. Or if they do, they don't do it right outside your window). I found this realization to be incredibly freeing and I pitied the people who were still in college and still had to deal with the pervasive peer pressure. When underclassmen friends posted statuses over the past few weeks that said things like, "Moving back to campus!" I still felt nothing but relief that I was not among them. What a stressful, intimidating experience move-in weekend always was! As though corralling the family and fitting everything I'd ever owned into a room the size of a shoebox weren't enough, there was the terrifying prospect of convincing the other dorm residents that I am actually a pleasant and acceptable person, despite the small children howling in the background because they had fallen off my bunk bed (true story). I shudder just thinking about it. Oh I was never a fan of moving to campus, never ever ever. Not even for a single second. Not once.

So my conversation this morning was a splashing shock to my system as I realized just how much I really did like about my undergraduate days. How could I have forgotten the wonderful, dearly beloved CEC? Why, I wouldn't even know who Alice von Hildebrand was if I hadn't started attending its events! Then I found out that its fall lecture series this year is on Victorian Catholic Writers (swoon) and the first speaker is the legendary Ian Ker, author of only the greatest biography of Newman ever written, intellectual giant and total genius??? I practically started crying with jealousy that I couldn't be there. I began looking around on the Notre Dame website to find out more about this lecture series, and next thing you know I was remembering what I really did love about college: the intellectual life, the lectures, the discussions after movie nights, and most of all the conversations about interesting things that never seemed to end (and in some cases still haven't). Because as much as I hate homework and tests and going to class, I love learning. I adore it, especially when Oxford and England and the Victorian Era and the Catholic Church are involved. Notre Dame is where I learned about the Oxford movement, about the British Catholic Revival and the Southern Catholic Renaissance, about the privilege of being a woman and the I-Thou moment. I read (and adored) Confucius and Dante and Faust and Tolstoy. I also read and hated Nietzsche, Heidegger, and even good old Kierkegaard because he was so dang boring (a classic example of homework I hated). But for a curious girl who likes to think and learn, just not in school, Notre Dame had so much to offer.

I began remembering other things I loved too. Remember the movies at the DPAC? Some were weird and sketchy, true, but many were hilarious or profound, and a few became new favorites. If I were an undergrad again, I would go to more movies at the DPAC, because I never went to nearly enough. The plays, too, were generally superb. I loved the Notre Dame opera performance every spring, and PEMCO productions never disappointed either. Oh how I loved those shows. One PEMCO production was worth a dozen awful nights at crowded dorm parties, I would say. Then there were all those conferences, but I don't need to talk about those, because I'm pretty sure anyone who's ever talked to me knows how much I adore conferences, and I think I did a pretty good job of attending the good ones. And most of all there was the availability of the sacraments. I really loved Law School Mass and always will, and I'm grateful that I attended it so often senior year.

So here it is. I miss college. I miss Alex and Vanessa and the handful of other friends who read this blog. I miss the CEC lectures, the discussions, the conversations. I miss the ways I had of learning for which I never received a speck of course credit. And ok, I'll be entirely honest here, even though I hated it at the time, I'm even grateful for some of the homework I did (although I don't miss it, oh no!) because I surely loved some of those books. I still can't believe I'm saying this. Who knew I would ever miss anything about college? In spite of my protests, I do love Notre Dame and the good old CEC and the intellectual formation I received there. It will stand me in good stead for the rest of my life. Although I will never, as long as I live, for even a single second, miss taking tests.

Oh, and that last picture? Lord help me if I didn't just make it my desktop background.

On Faith in your Twenties

2011-08-29T12:09:00.004-04:00

It's not easy to have faith in your twenties, I have concluded (after almost one year of being in my twenties. Talk about expertise). There is something about religion that appeals to the weak, the broken, the needy. Perhaps it's the offer of unlimited love, or the promise of a glorious Heaven that will make up for the sorrows and sufferings of this world. Christ told us that he came not to call the righteous but sinners, and truly, those who are broken by sin often love the Faith in a way that is not easily understood by those who are comfortably in control of their well-ordered lives.

When you feel like you have it all together, I'm starting to think, it's easy to forget that you need Christ. There are certain times in life when the sacramental vision - seeing the deeper spiritual truth behind every human reality - comes as easily as breathing. For example, as a child, I believed in fairies and in good old Santa Claus. If you truly believe, as I did at that time, that pixies live under the rock at the bottom of your garden and that a chubby fellow wearing red takes trips down chimneys for your express benefit, it's very easy to also believe that God has assigned you your own personal angel to be your friend, and that His pretty mother in blue makes a habit of appearing to children in caves. (NOTE: I very much believe in guardian angels and in the Marian apparitions, and I think there is overwhelming evidence to prove the existence of both, and I am in no way denigrating these important beliefs or say that they're on the level of children believing in fairies. I'm also not saying that the latter is remotely a part of having a sacramental vision. I'm simply trying to make the point that the things Christians believe in can be hard to accept and can seem silly to those who don't understand them). When a person is old and many of her loved ones have died, that promised Heaven where they are waiting for her probably seems very near and easy to believe in. When a person is in fear or in pain, the act of crying out to God for help - De profundis clamavi ad te Domine! - is a natural, almost instinctive, response. But when a person is young and strong, healthy and successful? It's harder to believe in all the difficult truths of the Faith. Especially if a person is intelligent and used to wrapping her mind quickly around new concepts, the mystery of the Trinity or of the hypostatic union are so hard to accept. It isn't easy to put complete and total faith in things you can't see and understand.

That's why I rejoiced to read the Holy Father Benedict XVI's address to young people before World Youth Day earlier this month. In it he talks about how he had doubts as a young man - doubts about what was true and doubts that he should be a priest. Can you imagine that the pope once had doubts about whether God was calling him to the priesthood? That blew my mind and gave me so much more respect for him. We have a brave and honest Holy Father all right.

And I knew just where he was coming from. Because I do have doubts. I do struggle to believe. Some days I look at my faith and think, "How can anyone believe all this crazy, contradictory, paradoxical stuff?" Faith means standing on the very cliff's edge of your human intellect and looking out at what seems to be an endless and terrifying abyss - and jumping. What happens after you jump is only between you and God, and I'd be lying if I didn't say that some days I'm afraid to take the leap. Some days, of course, I look at my faith and see that it is the only way to make sense of this world, that it's the one thing that is entirely reasonable and beautiful. But the thing is, faith is a gift. I can't entirely choose which days I'll believe and which days I won't. What I can do is ask for faith, and there are many, many days when I pray, like the centurion, "Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief." Because even on the days when it's hardest to believe, I want to have faith. And that, I think, makes all the difference.

How about that Steve Rogers?

2011-08-24T11:28:00.005-04:00

Let this be a cautionary tale to me not to go getting my hopes up about a guy I spoke to for only about ten or 15 minutes. First impressions, I have discovered, can be awfully deceiving.

I will not go into all the details of why I have decided, in what I believe to be an act of stunning common sense, never to see our acquaintance from yesterday again. Suffice it to say that he talked about himself for almost 3 hours straight, allowing me maybe 2 sentences in edgewise. Those of my readers who have met me in person are well aware that few things in this world or the next can halt my talking, yet for one of the first times in my life, I had almost nothing to say as I listened to him drone on and on about himself. I do occasionally have the problem of finding guys boring and last night's event could be categorized as Exhibit A on the list of reasons why. I believe it was the second worst date I have ever been on, the first being a fiasco in London of which we generally do not speak. On the other hand, I did get a delicious dinner out of last night (at a very nice restaurant too) and I finally saw Captain America, which I enjoyed and would have enjoyed even more if not for the company, so the proverbial silver lining appeared in this as it does in so many situations.

Tonight I have a dinner party scheduled with the ISI girls: Cathryn, Serena, Marjorie and Tyler, at Tyler's apartment. Sarah (my roommate) will probably stop in later. It should be a lot of fun; I'm excited to regale them with stories of recent events, and to hear their own adventures along similar lines. And on Thursday, my mother arrives for her weekend visit! I can't even wait. Among other things, I know my apartment will become exponentially prettier and more elegant after she's been through it with her magic decorating touch.

Now a final word about Captain America. Two of my more cynical male acquaintances referred to it as "an insult to the intelligence," which I thought was taking a rather dim view of things, albeit that the film did require lengthy stretches of completely turning off one's brain. But come on. This is Captain America, not a philosophy class, right? It was still a worthwhile watch. At any rate, my favorite moment in the entire film came near the beginning, and was entirely predictable if you know my thoughts on quiet heroism in guys. In the scene, a grenade is thrown at a group of American soldiers; most of them run for cover, but our hero Captain America doesn't hesitate to jump on that grenade, clutch it to his chest and yell for everyone else to get away. As I watched that, I clutched my hands to my heart, eyes shining, not even trying to hide how impressed I was. That kind of instinctive self-sacrifice is perhaps the quality I admire most in a man - yet how can men like that be found? True heroism becomes apparent in a tense moment of danger, but in the normal course of everyday living, heroic virtue is often much harder to recognize. I am trying to develop my ability to recognize heroic virtue, even if it is hidden below the surface, not readily apparent to most passersby. I'm trying to learn how to accurately read other people. If I'm being honest with myself here, if the disappointment of last night was any indication, I have a long way to go.

First Dates and Earthquakes

2011-08-23T11:42:00.005-04:00

Could anything be more exciting, more fraught with potential, than a first date? I'm going on one tonight and this, dear reader, is such a rare occurrence that I thought it deserved its own blog post.

I'll give you the back story. At my housewarming party on Thursday (which I still haven't blogged about... sorry), I started talking to new friends Ed and Joe about where they plan to go to church on Sunday. Being new to the diocese, I still haven't settled down at any one parish. Ed said that he attends a Melkite Rite Catholic church, which is in full communion with the Pope but celebrates a slightly different Divine Liturgy rather than Mass. As it turns out, Joe's family is Byzantine Rite, so they were planning to attend church together that Sunday.

I've only ever been to a few Eastern Rite liturgies in my life (mostly while I was in Israel or shortly before the trip), but this sounded like an adventure to me. Before long we'd made plans for the three of us to attend Divine Liturgy together on Sunday morning, along with my friend Tyler who lives downstairs.

Sunday morning came, Joe picked us up right on time, and before long I found myself esconced with awe-stricken eyes in the ritual and pageantry of the Eastern liturgy, in a church draped with icons and fragrant with incense. The whole experience seemed so foreign to me that I was amazed to recognize the family behind me - the parents had spoken at a CIC event earlier this summer, and I recognized them and their adorable chubby infant right away. The dad kindly let me hold the baby for part of the liturgy, and after church, we gathered to socialize in the parish hall.

As we chatted, the family's two older children were growing rambunctious. The 5-year-old in particular kept running around, pulling at her dad's legs, and generally causing a ruckus. I noticed a tall, broad-shouldered man come up and start playing with her. She loved it. He was throwing her in the air, having a great time. As I watched, my heart melted. This guy was so comfortable playing with the little girl. He was so confident, so calm. When he came over a minute later to introduce himself, I was all smiles, ready to meet him.

"I'm Theresa," I told him.

"Beautiful," he said. "My favorite girls' name. I'm Manuel."

Wow. That's the middle name my dad and brother share, my uncle's name, my cousin's name - a name that goes back in my family for generations and that I've always loved.

"That's my favorite guys' name," I replied in wonder, not even meaning to flirt.

But flirting happened anyway. He too is Hispanic, it turns out, although tall and white-skinned like me. We talked together in Spanish, laughing, and after only a few minutes I could already tell I liked this guy.

This is so easy, I couldn't help thinking. He was so sweet, so funny. And the kids loved him. Another little girl came up, entwining herself around his leg.

"Who's this?" I asked with a smile.

"My daughter," he said, and my heart plummeted to my knees.

His daughter??? My cheeks turned red. Have I been flirting like an idiot with a married man?

But I checked, and there was no wedding ring. He must be a widower, I thought.

When he asked for my number, I gave it to him, willing to give the benefit of the doubt. I can't remember the last time I had such instant chemistry with someone. Sure enough, he texted me the next day. We had some fun back and forth, and he asked me to dinner and a movie with him tonight. I said yes. He also mentioned dropping his daughter off at her mother's house.

I'd be lying if I said I'm not nervous, and for more reasons than the usual first date. I really want to know why he has a daughter and a baby mama, yet is obviously a single, practicing Catholic. I want to get to know him better too. Please say a prayer for tonight.

In other news, we had an earthquake in DC today. My entire building shook for several seconds, and I can't remember the last time I've felt so afraid. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball under my desk and have a good cry. But instead, I went to a bar with my co-workers, and discovered to my delight that a gin and tonic was an equally powerful restorative.

Finally, I have a big project in the works that I'm very excited about. More information on that to come.

Random Encounters

2011-08-22T13:29:00.004-04:00

The scene: Wednesday, walking home from the Whole Foods, I was lugging a huge paper bag of groceries on my way to the metro station.

As I walked past a bar with stairs leading up to its door, the bouncer leaned over the railing, looked at me, and flashed a big smile. "So what did you get me?" he said.

Of course I blushed to the roots of my hair (I'm not used to bouncers flirting with me, and probably never will be!) and shocked myself by having the presence of mind to shoot back, "Everything!" It was such a sweet little ego boost. Super cute.

Next scene: Thursday, at the Harris Teeter (my local grocery store. I know, weirdest name ever). An adorable little old lady with white hair is pushing her walker next to my cart. I was surprised when she turned to me and said, "I like your sandals."

I looked down with amusement at my brown sandals and answered, "Thank you! I got them at Urban Outfitters."

"Hm," she said thoughtfully. "Never heard of it. It must be a specialty store."

I spent the rest of the day amusing myself by imagining that sweet little old lady going into her local Urban Outfitters in search of sandals. Could you imagine?

Have a happy Monday!

Everything Happens at Once

2011-08-18T15:26:00.003-04:00

Have you ever noticed that? Life will be quietly trucking along, nothing remarkable, when suddenly a bunch of different things all come together at the same time. It's wild.

Back in the spring, my dear old friend Alex K. applied to Notre Dame Law School. When he told me this, I responded with the usual impetuous energy of my go-getter nature. I emailed law school professors and students, set up meetings with the former, raked in advice from the latter, and did everything I could to help make his application strong. Then he got wait-listed. I contacted admissions counselors, I gave him even more advice. Finally there was nothing else I could do but pray. So I went for that with equal gusto, adding Rosary to Rosary and Mass to Mass, all for the heartfelt intention of his law school admittance.

As summer drew to a close, I began to change my attitude. I did not give up hope, but instead of begging God, "Please let Alex off the wait-list and into law school!", I instead just said, "May Your will be done. If he will be a happier and holier person by going to a different law school, then let it be so." But the prayers continued. With no news from Notre Dame, Alex went ahead and enrolled at Emory, where he had been accepted, and where he was due to start this week. So while I was home last week, I knew it was crunch time. I even had little Joseph and Angela saying prayers and lighting candles at daily Mass. And through it all, one constant theme: "I trust you, God, that Alex will end up where he's meant to be."

Trusting like that is not the easiest, but boy does it pay off. Yesterday he got a phone call from the Dean of Admissions at ND Law, and the message was confirmed this morning. Alex got in. Countless prayers have been answered "Yes" at last. There is a lot of rejoicing going on here in my life, and no doubt in Alex's too.

As if that news were not enough, I found out earlier this week that my all-time favorite blogger, Stephanie Nielson, is pregnant at last after her accident three years ago. She has wanted a baby for so long, and I, along with countless others, have offered many prayers on her behalf. God is good, that's all I have to say.

And everything else just keeps getting better and better. Tonight is my housewarming party for my new apartment, and I managed to get the bathroom finished - which is crucial for me, because I always judge a place by its bathrooms. Mine is dreamy in golds and creams, with the most beautiful gold-edged hand towels from Bed Bath & Beyond, plus I snagged the very last of the elegant pale gold shower curtains that were on sale. A scented candle and matching bath mat finish off the look. I'm sorry, no visual, but I promise to put pictures up soon! We don't get internet in the apartment until this weekend so until then I'm hampered.

This is my first time throwing a party all by myself, so I'm pretty nervous, and it didn't help my nerves that my roommate was planning to show up late herself. The idea of prepping everything for the party by myself seemed pretty intimidating. But then, last night, one of my dear old friends from college (oh yes, college. Remember those halcyon days, so long ago?) texted me that she'll be in town for the weekend, and she's coming to my apartment early - so I'll have her merry company as I party plan. I'm awfully happy about that.

Party, pregnancy, law school - this week is full of excitement. I wonder what's coming up next!

Nesting in Virginia

2011-08-15T15:40:00.003-04:00

Welcome to the 17th floor!

On Saturday I made my big move, after staying up til 4 in the morning hanging out with Kateri (love that girl). Packing went fairly quickly and I was happy to catch even a few hours of sleep - until my phone started ringing at 8 am. I answered it blearily only to discover that the girl who is moving into my old room was 15 minutes away, with her dad and all her stuff in tow, and hadn't bothered to tell me she was coming until that minute. Inconsiderate to say the least, but I rallied admirably and made coffee for everyone, plus oatmeal for Kateri and me. Yum. Then I sent the girl and her dad off to Ikea, bid farewell to Kateri, and hastily finished packing.

Carlos showed up around 11 to start moving my stuff. Have we discussed Carlos? I met him at the CIC, at the happy hour following the PP Protest. Upon discovering that he owns a massive pickup truck, I pulled out my best damsel-in-distress, I'm-just-a-helpless-female-who-can't-drive-a-Uhaul routine, and to my eternal gratitude, he bought it. I was worried we'd have to make two trips, and that it would rain on my wood furniture (and my mattress!), but we got really lucky. Not only did Carlos manage to fit every last bit of my possessions in the truck, but we made it to my new apartment before the rain started. Hurray! And not gonna lie, I'm pretty proud that I managed to fit all of my worldly possessions into one pickup truck (although I'm not sure if I own very few possessions, or if it's just a truly massive truck).

You decide.

My new roommate, Sarah, met me at the apartment with her parents, and Patrick, a fellow Notre Dame graduate, arrived to help with the move. We transported everything inside and then took off for lunch at a Mexican restaurant. Later that day I set up my bed, bought some essential groceries (like toilet paper and a shower curtain) and finally collapsed into bed exhausted at 10 pm.

Yesterday was an adventure. Being new to the neighborhood, I didn't have the moral stamina to go to a new church by myself, so I finagled Patrick into accompanying me to Mass. We went to the closest church to me, St. Charles Borromeo, which left me deeply underwhelmed. As though the all-female altar-serving staff and cheesy hippie songs weren't bad enough, the priest felt the need to pontificate on illegal immigration instead of offering a morally substantive homily.

Is it a church or a townhouse?

It was unfortunate, but Patrick and I got a good laugh out of it as we headed to the grocery store for brunch food. He helped me lug groceries back to my place, where we made ourselves a fine meal of mimosas, ham-and-cheese omelets, and croissants. We did have a few funny mishaps - lacking an oven mitt or dish towels, I was forced to use my beach towel to take the croissants out of the oven and to dry the dishes. We also forgot to buy salt, so the omelets were a little bland. Other than that, though, it was quite a fine first meal in my new home.

Now Sarah and I are getting down to the serious business of home-making. It's amazing how expensive things can get; I must admit that I'm jealous of people whose first home is after they get married, so they have the benefit of a bridal registry to help pay for all the new duds. I wish I could make a "new adult" registry, but I don't think that would fly. We're having fun already with the decorating, though. She is more practical and big-picture, attending to things like installing a TV and buying a couch, while I'm concerned with the details of how to make it all pretty - a mirror and pretty table in the foyer, hooks and a chalkboard in the kitchen, theme colors for the bathroom (gold and white, in case you were wondering). My motto is, "Have nothing in your home which you do not know to be useful and believe to be beautiful." It's going to be lovely when it all comes together. Pictures to come!

Stealing Time

2011-08-11T13:00:00.005-04:00

I was supposed to have flown back to DC today but I moved the flight back a day to give me more time at home. Considering I have to pack everything I own for the move on Saturday, this might not have been my most responsible move ever, but I'm glad I did it.

My visit home has been stellar so far. Tuesday night was a big ole girls' night at Maggie's house, with Anna and Mary also in attendance. I've been good friends with all of these girls since high school and getting together with them is just good for my soul. I truly admire and respect each of them so much, and love to hear about what they're each doing. Anna had good news to share about a possible (amazing!) job opportunity for her boyfriend, Mary updated us on her travels (Boston, LA and Spain in one summer!) and Maggie plied everyone with endless amounts of home-made deliciousness. They are the kind of people you can tell about your most private thoughts and dilemmas, and they will give you a listening ear and the best advice. As much as I love the new friends I've made in DC this summer, I feel truly blessed to have had that golden evening with some of the girls I love the most.

Yesterday Alex came over for breakfast, and ended up staying until well past midnight as we went to see Peter Pan in downtown Chicago and then got horribly lost on our way home. It was so much fun though, even the ridiculous driving around through unknown and sketchy neighborhoods. For some reason the country station (aka my favorite station) was playing nothing but Taylor Swift last night, which just added to the hilarity. Alex is another great friend. The story of our friendship really makes me marvel; I met him when I did that seminar at Princeton over 2 years ago, and we're still very close, as we are with other seminar participants Josh and Jake. Those boys are some of the best friends I made in college, despite only being together for two weeks over two years ago. What a stroke of luck to have them in my life.

This is not even remotely what the actor I saw looked like. It's also not what Alex or Jake look like. Maybe Josh.

On re-reading, this post seems awfully chipper, with much talk of feeling "lucky" and "blessed" about everything. But what can I say? I really feel so dang blessed right now, especially with this extra day at home I've managed to steal. And now, I should probably go pack!

A Visit Home

2011-08-09T14:34:00.001-04:00

As I write this blog post, I have so far been interrupted by Joseph chasing Angela through the computer room with a large stick (which I confiscated) and Mum coming in to lead the kids in praying the noon Angelus (which I joined in rather reluctantly - I'd be lying if I said I'm always excited about praying). Now the children are getting ready to go to the pool down the street and I'm racking my brains to think of something to write about in the 5 precious minutes I've managed to steal with the family computer.

Last night I went over to Lillian's new apartment. We had dinner with our old friend Claire and got dessert at the cutest little 24/7 diner, where we practically gave the waitress a fit because of how long it took us to order (crepes and blueberry pie ultimately won the day). After Claire left, Lillian and I sat in our car until 2 in the morning, hashing out a number of topics dear to our hearts that just couldn't be said over the phone. It was bliss, pure and simple, even when we disagreed. Maybe I shouldn't write on a public blog that I love her more than any other human being I've ever met, and I never get tired of being with her (even after almost 22 years together!), and I hope that (if God gives me the grace to get married) I'll someday find a man half as interesting and lovable as she is - but well, I love her, and I don't care who knows it! In other words, it was the best.

Now I am going to the mall with my mom to buy professional work clothes, so that next time I'm invited to the Capitol, I'll have something to wear. Did we discuss what happened last time I went to the Capitol for a news conference? Besides the parts where I impersonated a representative from Maryland at a security guard's recommendation (I'm not kidding) and got ~~kicked out of~~ politely asked to leave the upper hearing rooms, I also discovered at the end of my eventful visit that the chic, sleek gray dress I was wearing had a big hole in the back - right over the seat! I pretty much died of embarrassment. And so, off to the mall we go.

Bye!

Haunting Me

2011-08-06T04:59:00.001-04:00

Sometimes I'm haunted by certain songs, poems or stories. They resurface again and again in my thoughts, seemingly out of nowhere, and only after a long time do I realize their significance for me. In fact, there are some stories that have haunted me that I still haven't figured out the meaning of. They're just there, molding my thoughts, and perhaps I won't know why until I get to Heaven and see all my life spread out before me, and all the threads tied up and loose ends resolved. All this is to say, here is a lovely part of King Lear that has been haunting my thoughts this week. I don't know why.

"We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage:
When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down,
And ask of thee forgiveness: so we'll live,
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too,
Who loses and who wins; who's in, who's out;
—And take upon us the mystery of things,
As if we were God's spies..."

Praying for Peonies

2011-08-05T16:58:00.001-04:00

What a busy few weeks I have coming up. Tomorrow I'm flying to Chicago to visit my family for 5 days. I'm so excited I can't wait! I think I'll have to hug Joseph and Angela for at least an hour each before I put them down, and let's not even talk about how long I'm going to hug Lillian. Gosh I miss my family!! I have so many fun things planned out for the trip in my mind... actually, mostly just sitting around reading fairy tales and poetry with Joe and Ang all day. I love reading to them and they like listening (I mean they might just be pretending they like it to be nice, but I don't think they're that good at acting, or that polite either haha). I'm dying to grill Cathy about her summer teaching inner-city students and living with a bunch of my friends. Lillian's new apartment is just crying out for me to come visit and stay on her couch. And Maria is getting ready for college, so she will need to hear all of my best college advice. Pointer number one: Don't go to frat parties! (Something tells me she's not going to listen to anything I say... do little siblings ever?)

Then there's all the friends I've missed too. I haven't seen Maggie in a good two months, and as her Maid of Honor, that's just unacceptable. How can she ever make a single decision about the wedding without me?? She needs me there. Mary, meanwhile, is gearing up for her last year of college and I can't wait to hear about her trips to Boston and LA this summer. Not to mention how much I want to talk over with her all the ups and downs of my life; she's pretty much the most sensible person I've ever met and her life advice is simply golden. I want the updates on Susie's life before she heads off to be a FOCUS missionary, Claire is sure to entertain us all with her funny escapades, and I'm eager to hear about Anna's latest adventures before she jets to NYC for her senior year of college. Mary and I have already started planning the girls' reunion for Tuesday night. Seriously, is there anything better than old friends? I think not.

One small hitch: I haven't started packing for the trip yet. Ah well, no matter. I shall not think of this subject again until approximately 10 pm tonight if I can possibly help it.

When I get back from Chicago, a whole new adventure begins: my move to Arlington, VA. My wish for the move and the start of this new chapter is that God will send me peonies. I don't know what their technical meaning is, but to me these beautiful flowers symbolize love, hope, beauty, faith, and comradeship. I want to find all of those things in my new home and in the friends I'll gather round me. If the summer so far has been indication, my peonies are right around the corner.

The Thankful Girl

2011-08-04T13:53:00.001-04:00

You know the other day when I was all upset, and I went to that Mass near work and things got better? Well, going to that Mass was providential in more ways than one. At the end of the service, the priest announced that the next day's Mass would be followed by a rosary procession to the nearest Planned P-hood (or PP, if you will) clinic in the area, and a prayer vigil in front of it, to be followed by a happy hour at the CIC. Prayer + protesting PP + party? That is definitely my scene. (And how did you like THAT alliteration?)

So yesterday I left work right at 6 and walked to the PP to wait for the other protestors. Not wanting to linger in front of the PP, I stood at the end of the block, chatting with my mom on the phone until I noticed flashing lights from police motorcycles heralding the arrival of more than 50 people trailing behind the banner, "Pray to End Abortion." I happily pulled out my rosary and jumped in line.

Here is what we did: marched all over downtown DC singing hymns and praying. Knelt on the street in front of a PP clinic for the Sorrowful Mysteries. Stood at the fence right in front of the White House to pray a Chaplet of Divine Mercy. It was one of the most powerful, spiritual experiences of my life.

Here is what I tried to do: Thank each and every cop for their service in shepherding our groups down the streets. Apologize when we blocked people from getting past. Smile and nod at every person staring at us, because you know what, that kind of joy can be contagious and can get them to join our side. There's nothing more satisfying than seeking out a person who is giving your group a look of bemusement or scorn, staring that person straight in the eyes, and smiling like the dickens at them. Those frowns turn upside down right fast and they begin to see, as Brother Chad would say, that our side has more joy. I call it my "apostolate of smiling" and it works.

Then we went back to the CIC for wine and fabulous snacks (you can always count on the CIC for that). The profiteroles alone were a revelation. I made a few new friends, including one who offered to help me move next week. One guy came up to me and said, "You're that girl who was thanking all the cops." I laughed and said, "Well I figure, why not make a few easy allies?" Cops and other working-class people are usually on our side already, so it makes sense to treat them like friends. For the rest of the night that guy kept calling me "the thankful girl." And you know what, I like that. I really do.

Haters Gonna Hate

2011-08-03T10:50:00.002-04:00

Yesterday morning I was happily engaged in my usual pre-lunch routine. Most mornings, after I get to work and check Mr. F's mail and messages, and my email, I go through all my favorite blogs and websites to see the latest happenings in the online world. This usually takes me through the first hour of work, after which I start working on articles, or reading RealClearPolitics, or gchatting Sam, etc. Useful stuff like that. Anyway, yesterday I did what I do every morning and typed this website into my search engine. But when I got there, things were not alright.

I first discovered that website when I was at a happy hour at my beloved CIC. I met a cute blond-haired girl who had just started her online journal for Catholic women, and as I'm a Catholic woman writer, I promptly offered to freelance for her. Our collaboration led to this article, which was for me the fruit of months of thought and discussion about this difficult topic. I put a great deal of effort and research into the piece and was proud of the outcome. I posted it on my Facebook and got some nice comments from friends.

Then things started snowballing. Last Tuesday, I discovered that the article had been featured on RealClearReligion, a massive honor, so I told my co-workers about the article. They linked to it on our website's blog as well, and before long it was getting hundreds of hits. Because I'm naive (book smart, remember?), I was thrilled and happy. Hurray, more readers! I thought. More discussion!

Until yesterday morning, when I discovered two mean, nasty comments that had been left on the piece. Instead of actually engaging with my arguments and answering my questions - they were questions, not definitive statements - both commenters simply offered cruel ad hominem attacks. Both accused me of not knowing what I was talking about. One of them accused me of being ungrateful to our military, which is so egregiously false that it made me want to scream.

At first I just sloughed off the comments, thinking, "Well you can't please everybody." But as the day went by, I couldn't get them off my mind. Those people were so mean. How could they say such nasty and unkind things about me, instead of actually reading the piece and seeing that I'm asking these questions with a genuine desire to know? Why don't they actually answer my questions instead of criticizing me for asking them? I began to get more and more unhappy, thinking about how easy it is to make enemies as soon as you start voicing controversial opinions in public. I don't want to make enemies, I thought. I just want everyone to like me. Then an even more awful thought struck. Maybe I'm not cut out to be a journalist. It was a dark hour.

Despite my best efforts, I began to feel as though I might start crying right there at my desk, so I decided to run down the street to 5:30 pm Mass rather than sit in the office any longer. The walk to Mass was a grumpy and dismal time. I felt as though a storm cloud hung over my head, and I made dour faces at people instead of smiling as I usually do. I sank into the back pew of St. Matthew's and buried my head in my hands. I can't do this, Lord. I just can't. I can't deal with the world hating me. Fear of failure, of public dislike and censure, had taken hold of me, and a bad case of discouragement had me in its grip. I felt so alone.

But around the time I received Communion, I remembered this: "If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first." I recalled with stunning clarity, and with awe that I had forgotten, the simple fact that I am never alone. And I knew that even if the whole world should turn against me, while God and my conscience stood firm, I could go on alone.

So on the way back from Mass, I called my sister and told her of my realization. "Haters gonna hate," she said. "You can't let it bother you." And all I have to say is, true that. I don't intend to let it bother me again.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

2011-08-01T17:38:00.000-04:00

On Saturday I went to a museum with a very lovely boy, one of the best male friends I've made in DC so far. He is really funny and easy to be with. And he, it seems, is a wisher by nature.

We walked past a lovely restaurant. "I've always wanted to go there," he says. True to my character, I said, "Let's go right now!" "No..." he said, and I wondered. Do some people get more enjoyment out of wishing for something than actually having it?

I'm a go-getter. Always have been by nature. I thrive on crossing items off my to-do lists and I secretly kind of like having too much to do. I can't understand people who spend their lives wishing. That seems so counter-intuitive to me.

But sometimes us go-getters find that there are some things we can't just go and get. God has dealt me a hand right now that means I have a thing I want very much, but can't get, and can't even come close to getting. What do I do with that? I don't know. But maybe it's helping me to appreciate another way of being and another kind of thinking. Maybe I can see the value in wishing and not having, even if it's counter-intuitive.

Kindred Spirits

2011-07-28T13:30:00.001-04:00

I spent Saturday at the CIC, also known as My Favorite Place in the World. A man came in who hadn't been to Confession in a long time; I showed him to our confessional and a waiting priest. A girl came in who's thinking about converting from Lutheranism; I took her to our oratory, pointed out the Scott Hahn section, and when she left, gave her a big hug (we also exchanged numbers and are new friends. Her name's Svetlana.). It was the most beautiful, powerful experience, taking people directly to sources of God's grace and to instruction on the Catholic faith. I began to understand why Mormons like being missionaries so much. Bringing people closer to God feels great.

After volunteering, my co-worker Sheila and a guy I know from Notre Dame (Patrick) went to the Shake Shack for dinner. The meal was primarily spent wondering aloud how Patrick and I didn't get to be friends sooner. We didn't even meet till Senior Week, but he's so fun and legit, and obviously such a good person, that I wish I'd known him all four years. Also, the milkshakes were delicioussss, of course. I'm so happy Shake Shack has opened in DC (my figure is not so happy about it haha).

Sunday morning, I woke up late and just barely made it to the start of Tridentine Mass. As I hurried into the nearest empty pew, adjusting my veil and squirreling through my bag for my Magnificat, I saw that the other end of the pew held a girl who was also sitting by herself and who looked about my age or a little older. After Mass, we both sort of stood there awkwardly outside the church, trying not to make eye contact with each other, but both evidently wanting to make friends. Finally I bit the bullet.

"Hi, I'm Tess," I said.

"Hi! I'm Emily."

We started talking, and it turns out she just moved here too, from somewhere in the Northeast (Delaware? I forget). We sat together at the coffee social, where I discovered that she's been working as a nanny for the past two years, and has come to DC to live with her brother, his wife, and their 5-month-old baby (I'm so jealous!). She doesn't know anyone else in the area yet. As we chatted, an adorable elderly lady came up to us with a smile.

"Which one of you is Julia?" she asked.

"Um, I'm Emily," said Emily in confusion, and we explained that neither of us answer to that name.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" the old lady explained. "One of our young parishioners is getting married next week and I've so been wanting to meet and welcome his fiancee. He told me she would be at the coffee hour. I thought for sure it was one of you."

We had no sooner bid her farewell than another old lady came up.

"Are you Julia?"

"No," we replied in unison, as a third lady came up to the second one.

"You found Julia!" she exclaimed, and Emily and I burst out laughing.

After determining that we were not, in fact, the elusive Julia, the second lady stayed to chat. Her name was Mary Pat, and she wanted to know our names too - and how to spell them. She began to write them down in a little notebook.

"This is where I write down all my people to pray for," she said. "I pray for everyone I meet." As we thanked her, she added, "You never know when it could come in handy!"

Emily and I made plans to meet up again in the afternoon, and then I betook myself to the Metro station and down to Eastern Market for brunch with Beth, a fellow Notre Dame girl who accompanied me on my Jerusalem pilgrimage. We went to the absolutely divine Le Pan Quotidien (Lillian, I'm totally taking you there when you come. Wait till you see their board of fine cheeses), where I had an omelette and a mimosa, the quintessential brunch drink. Then we sauntered down to the market, which includes an artisan arts-and-crafts section, and also a food market with such a feast of free samples that I began to regret the omelette. Finally I headed back to Silver Spring to meet Emily again, where we saw Tree of Life at the most awesome theatre ever. My roommate Colleen met up with us after that for Coldstone, and we sat in a local park for a long time after finishing our ice cream, talking and observing passersby.

I got a lot of insights from my conversation with Emily and Colleen. I've been so lucky in my DC life so far. Colleen is like a big sister already, who listens to me gripe about difficulties, and celebrates the good things with me too. Emily is one of the sweetest and most naturally likable people you can imagine, and it was clear from our conversations with other parishioners after Mass that she attracts friends very easily. Emily related how she discovered the secret to dealing with little kids, in her two years as a nanny to baby twin boys (who are now two and a half) - just don't let them get hungry or tired. As long as the boys were rested and fed, she said, they always behaved beautifully. I realized that I, too, am happy as long as I'm not hungry and tired. I think all people have a little bit of the two-year-old in them.

I don't really know what else to say about my weekend except that I'm so happy. Life is really good right now. Soon I'll post about this week, which has been marvelous and fun and even better than the weekend.

Here's what I think: post-grad life gets better and happier every single day. At this rate, I'll be in Paradise by age 30. :)