Hippie Muffin

Having just bought a long, sweeping denim skirt and three very simple tops to go with it, I started to think about the stereotypical long-skirt lady. Well there are a few stereotypes there. There’s the prairie muffin (stay-at-home-mom who bakes her own bread on a homestead), the hippie chick (do I need to provide a description?), the pentecostal holiness/apostolic lady with her hair piled as high as her skirt is long. And then there’s me. I’m none of these but maybe I pinch off a bit of each. Maybe I’m a hippie muffin. I don’t have a homestead and my kitchen forbids my baking bread since it has no oven and a tiny amount of counter space. But my dream is to be a stay-at-home wife and I find the prairie muffin’s lifestyle is something to be admired.

Well, where does the hippie part come in? Let’s see… I’m very crunchy. I’ve sinned against my principles lately out of sheer convenience and lack of patience, but in general I run a tight organic ship. I am very interested in being kind to the planet and also very against corporate takeover in our country, so in every way I can I try to make do, do without, or make it myself. And yes, I love patchouli and incense, though we don’t happen to have any at the moment. The whole point of all this is that I love this sweeping denim skirt, and even though it isn’t handmade, it has the look and right now, in my convenience-focused life, that’s ok with me. It helps me feel like my true self- a hippie muffin, I suppose! Now it’s time for tea. You know, the skirt also gives me a nostalgic (is there a better word??) feeling because I almost became a nun, and the nuns wore long, full skirts as well. So even though I massively failed God’s call on my life, I do feel a closeness with my sisters-who-never-were through wearing clothes like this. In fact, I thank God for helping me find this skirt among the myriad others at the thrift store. And I thank Him too for the three simple shirts that all fit (I’ve gained weight) and all look well with the skirt. It’s good to thank Him for everything, even things you don’t think you need to thank Him for. It’s good because all things come from Him, He made it all. Tonight’s tea is David’s Green Passionfruit. Yum.

What's number one?

For all the grief I gave my sweet mom over the years for her imperfections, I am truly sorry. I have discovered that I have inherited her beginner level of housekeeping abilities, her simple desires, and her simple joys. She never complained or wanted much (that I didn’t inherit), and God bless her for it. I am learning to embrace my simplicity, whether it be in the caretaking of my home or in the ways I spend a free evening. I embrace it because I miss her, and I feel proud that she is a part of me in so many ways. This is just the latest, really. I have been noticing my mother from my inside out for awhile now. I think I’m actually a good mix of each of my parents; some parts of me which are more precise and painstaking are certainly from my dad. But the rainbows-and-unicorns part, which just wants everyone to get along and enjoy a simple laugh together, that’s my mom. Dad too was a peacemaker, but he didn’t do it in the same way as she did. Her way irked me, as it was thinly veiled, just shy of a retort. But I think that was her anxiety or low self esteem; she felt like she could not just ask for what she wanted, she had to couch it in something more aggressive for it to count. She couldn’t have been more wrong about that, but I find myself doing it too, by golly. I don’t have the same issues as my parents did, well… I don’t exactly have the same issues my parents did, but I use their techniques to deal with the issues I do have. Number one is the under-the-carpet sweeper. Absolutely. Nonconfrontational? That’s my favorite flavor of ice cream. Subpar housecleaner? Sure, that’s me. Do I think I could improve? Sure do. Am I going to bust my patootie over it? Nope indeed not. Anyway, when I get down on myself for the things I could do better, I stop and remember my mom. She was a Mary, not a Martha, and I think I try so hard to be Martha and lose my focus on what is the most important. For mom, it was Jesus. And other people. Dad too, that was his number one. Loving the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen, that’s the kind of person I want to be.

The Nutty Bag Lady

I have been diagnosed as bipolar with panic and OCD. Whatever it is, I feel completely nuts. I can’t even type with the same accuracy as I once did. My anxiety has overtaken me, and it feels as though I am capable of absolutely nothing at the same level of ability as before this all started. When I try to speak, my thoughts feel like they are squeezing through a layer of molasses before they surface. I often can’t place the right words. When I am not speaking, my thoughts are all over the place.

I’m at a low level of anxiety at all times, but it peaks when I’m alone. The deep depression (the same which started all of this) isn’t really gone, though I do have more frequent positive moods. Thank goodness. Currently, I feel depressed because of my debilitating anxiety, yet anxious because of the deeper reasons I am depressed. Sometimes I think I’m anxious for no reason at all. Mostly, I’m sick and tired of feeling this way, but when I make moves toward going back to my pre-crazy state, I spin my wheels, panic, or implode. I second-guess nearly every thought, and am left constantly wondering, how did I do all this before?

I used to walk alone for miles. I used to be able to take public transportation. Heck, for awhile there I was even driving. I was able to stay home alone happily homemaking and journaling. I can currently do none of these. My life has shrunk to almost nil. I don’t even want to start talking about work, that’s probably the worst of it all with my constant derealization and panic attacks. I don’t know what happened in my brain to make me so neurotic. I am praying to God to make me like I was before. Please God, let me go back to normal, or even halfway normal. Anything but this. Anything. I am afraid my husband will leave me, I will lose my job, and be a homeless crazy person, the nutty bag lady. I am not kidding. I don’t feel capable or competent.

I sometimes talk and don’t recognize my own voice. It’s not uncommon for me to feel distant from the face in the mirror. I have gained weight and don’t recognize my body. I love my husband but often feel numb around him. I sometimes can’t tell what’s real and not real- is it my medication or would I be like this even without it? I often get the feeling that I’m shrinking into tunnel vision and/or am melting into the floor. Also, I often don’t feel connected to my body or my surroundings. There are many other weird things I am dealing with that I just don’t want to go over; I’m so weary of it all. The decline in my typing is what really gets me; editing for others was something I took pride in. I used to be an incredibly fast and accurate typist; typos are among my greatest pet peeves. And now I frequently end up second-guessing my spelling and typing some words over and over because I can’t get it right. I was a spelling bee champion and now am stumbling over common words. I don’t even feel connected to the hands typing this. Please God get me back to normal.

I want to wake up tomorrow and just be myself again. Let the nutty bag lady just fade away.

Our devotion to Mary

This is for anyone, Christian or otherwise, who doesn't understand or misunderstands our (Roman Catholic) relationship to Mary, the Mother of God:

http://catholicbridge.com/catholic/mary_do_catholics_pray_to_her.php

Also, more good information about Mary can be found here:

http://www.cmri.org/94prog9.htm

http://www.callingallconverts.com/answers-to-questions/mary-2/

Harpies, Shrews and Amazons

I first heard the phrase "Angel in the House" about seven years ago, perhaps longer. I wish I could remember who exactly wrote the article in which I found it, but it was a lady blogger's reference to the type of woman who generations ago was the angel in the house. The blogger's description of such a woman gave me the impression of a sweet, innocent yet strong and loving caretaker, a God-fearing homemaker such as my own beautiful mother. I would go so far as to say my mother was the angel in our home. She was selfless, caring, patient and long-suffering. She was devoted to God and her faith and devoted to my father. She sacrificed herself for me in my faults, illnesses and rebellions. Neither I nor my father were particularly easy to handle all the time, and she put up with us with grace and kindness. She wasn't a perfect cook or housekeeper, but her "angelic," loving disposition made up for it beyond measure. At the moment, my mother is terminally ill, and could leave us at anytime. I am convinced that she already has a toe in heaven, if not a whole foot. I truly believe that she is in purgatory right now, suffering as she is, and maybe even started the journey through fire when I was born. I am only half-joking.

Anyway, I've been longing to be as good as she, and though I daily fall short, I keep the phrase "the angel in the house" in mind every time I shake off the dust of my failures and try again. So I did a teeny bit of internet browsing on the subject. What I found was a tad disappointing: feminist rants against the original poem (written by Coventry Patmore about his dearly beloved deceased wife Emily) where the phrase originated, feminist conjectures about the damage done to women by the poem's influence on Victorian society, etc. Having read the poem and finding nothing untoward in it, I firmly uphold the idea of the wife and mother as the angel in the house, just as religious sisters would be the angels of God's house. It's not a bad model at all, even with the flowery language and idealistic imagery.

It got me thinking about the ranty, angry feminists. What are they in their homes, if they are in their homes at all? I am not there, so I can't say, and I don't hear enough about feminist homemakers to know, but what I see in the public square is a horde of harpies, shrews and amazons. Screeching, hollering, nitpicking, blaming, whining, blustering, elbowing, stomping and walking/talking over others. That's what I see and hear. I'm speaking generally. Not every woman who believes in feminism behaves in such a way, and many women might consider the feminist philosophy to be the default "correct" moral position and haven't given it much additional thought. I'm not writing about them. I'm writing about the ones who are loud, proud, even the ones who are only moderately loud and proud: The women who wear the feminist label with a capital F, regardless of their noise level. 

I am repulsed by it, frankly. It's the total opposite of what God calls women to be in His word. It's the opposite of what anyone should be, really, but women in particular are called to be kind, gentle and bearing an undisturbed spirit. That's what the "gentle and quiet spirit" means. How thoroughly stressful and exhausting to be a ranting feminist. What inner peace dwells there? What gentleness?

I have no love for the picture of "the modern woman." She is masculine, jaded or angry, self-righteous and self-seeking. Just because it's "now" doesn't mean it's good. To me, "time" is something that only exists on this temporary earth. It means nothing to me that "times have changed." God is eternal, and His instructions are likewise. I don't care what people think if I take bits here and there from various periods of the past as my own interests, standards and goals. I don't care what they may think if I want little or nothing to do with new-fashioned values, "culture" and time-wasters. I find myself distancing from some people and from certain situations. I don't feel it's needful or edifying to always be in the thick of conversations, events, or other such noise. It doesn't mean I'm not there for people or willing to help others. It simply means I try to guard my tongue, ears, eyes and my time. I want my life to consist of honest work with my hands, pure and lovely conversation, wholesome, high-value music, and time spent with God. It's important for all Christians to uphold pure, holiness-minded standards for clothing, music, movies, entertainments and other such outside circumstances. I digress.

The angel in the house is not a poor, helpless prisoner of a misguided patriarchy of the past. She is a lady of faith and substance interested in learning the gentle way, the way of my dear mother, and the way of the Blessed Virgin Mary. If there ever was an angel in a house, it was the Blessed Mother. Why don't more Christian women seek to emulate Her, the woman conceived without sin so as to be a pure vessel for the Son of God? The one who said to the angel, "May it be done to me according to your word," and was the example of humility and selfless charity? Even non-Catholic Christians couldn't argue with that. She is the model which my mother took for herself; Mom has a great devotion to Mary. The fruits are evident, and I wish I had that same gift for grace and patience to be like them both. I continue to pray for the grace to be like my earthly and heavenly mothers. And I certainly pray for my inclination toward shrewish behavior to be transformed into angelic sweetness, for the sake of my soul and that of my husband. 

Silence the MPC in your life.

I can't remember where I read it, but I did read recently that humans are meant to exist in quietude, or even silence, for far longer periods in a day than we modern folk are currently doing. There are scientific studies and much written about the topic, though our present modern maladies- anxiety, for one- are enough for me to believe it. I know the Holy Scriptures teach that God is found in stillness, and in secret, in silence. 

I am so relieved right now to be in a quiet place. I am alone at home, and all I hear are birds singing, the whoosh of cars on the road nearby, and the hum of my furnace. It's not silence, but it's peaceful.

I know that Christians are called to cultivate an inner stillness by the grace of the Holy Spirit, but I am convinced that we also have the choice and responsibility to avoid noise pollution in our daily lives, to the extent that we have control. It's healing for our spiritual selves but also to our whole human system, especially the nerves. It's a serious issue with me; I've suffered from anxiety from the beginning. My mother tells me I was a fitful, tearful baby. My poor sister concurs, her early adolescence shot through with my shrieking and fussing, night and day. I contributed to noise pollution before I knew what it was!
Noise is not necessarily sound- it can be our own frantic thoughts, or it can be a lack of mindful quiet. It's the static of constant yet erratic motion, constant busyness, constant restlessness (here St. Augustine helps us with his famous line: "Our hearts are restless, O Lord, until they rest in you."). Noise can also be idle talk, idle occupation, a steady stream of useless information cluttering up the space of our minds and hearts. 

I am convinced that modern popular culture is the breeding ground for little ungodly noise-lets, seemingly harmless (as we've become accustomed to them as the background of our contemporary Western existence), to multiply and eat up our peace, our mental health, our spirituality. It's the devil's playground for certain. I don't care how that makes me sound. It's not a healthy place to be, but most of us are submerged in it. I speak of "modern popular culture" as an entity- MPC- partially because I'm too tired to explicate and categorize, but also because it really is all one big sham.
The whole shebang- TV, mass media, the big internet corporations, the big chain retailers, the mainstream entertainers, all of it is connected and it is collectively rotting our minds and robbing our souls of the quiet which we need to hear the voice of God and discover who we are in Him. 

Some people in difficult circumstances, through no fault of their own, can hardly find a moment's peace away from noise. But most of us have some control over it. I believe that it's not a cultural priority to break away from the noise-web. More likely, it's quite the opposite. I've had it with MPC, frankly. I want no part of it. I don't even feel like logging in to Facebook. I only check it periodically to see if our daughter's parents have updated her page with photos or a video. Other than her family-only page, Facebook is a headache waiting to happen. I grit my teeth whenever my husband turns on the television. Our agreement is that it is for soccer games and the occasional movie on Netflix. Thankfully, he doesn't do it often.

I love to hear the radio- I enjoy certain public radio shows, the jazz and classical stations, and Immaculate Heart Radio. But it's not something I like to have on just for background noise. Believe me, the less you tune in, the better you'll feel- I have less anxiety, more time to process my thoughts, and I am definitely more sensitive to disturbances which means I have more discipline in this regard. I have an easier time simply saying "No" to things that aren't needful, edifying, or appropriate for whatever reason. The clarity of mind that comes with increased periods of silence is like a calm, still pond in which all the pebbles, sand and weeds have settled to the bottom, there in plain sight for all to discern through the clear water. 

Increasing my time in silence has also increased my inclinations toward gentleness. I seek gentleness in the people around me, in the sounds around me, and I too desire to be gentle to match that sweetness found in God's presence, in the stillness. I don't mean to say I'm floating around like an angel on a cloud, but the edginess in my behavior and my demeanor has softened. I am far from perfect but I ardently desire the life of God which cannot be attained by participating in the clatter and clamor of MPC or any other common distraction.

In seeking God's life, I often catch myself thinking of the early Christians and of our mother Mary. Whenever I try to discern the value of any given modern thing or behavior, I imagine for a moment our Blessed Mother and the apostles taking part in it. If I absolutely can't envision that, forget it. It has no place in my life. It's a good thing to always say, "What Would Jesus Do?" but also helpful to compare ourselves to His earliest followers who were just like us, created by God. They were the first examples of Christianity to those who would believe without having seen. They are good models for us. I think it's a pretty helpful test, anyway. 

Read books. Read the Bible. Listen to wholesome and interesting radio. Take a walk, ride a bike. Look people in the eye. Be aware of your surroundings. Pray through all of it. Sure, you'll still see me on a train with my earbuds in, but I can almost guarantee it would be to listen to Catholic radio or classical music. Even that is something I'm still not convinced I should do and I try to lessen the times I do it. It's disheartening when I take my eyes off the little screen to find every other passenger staring into their own. Makes me glad I put the little bugger away for a minute. I digress.
Look for opportunities to cultivate silence and cut out the noise. You will be happier, and you will be open to God's little gems of grace.

The struggle

Put you on the armour of God, that you may be able to stand against the deceits of the devil. For our wrestling is not against flesh and blood; but against principalities and power, against the rulers of the world of this darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places. -  Ephesians 6: 11-12 [Douay-Rheims Bible]

I can't for the life of me keep up with my own standards. I do a good job in standards of dress and behavior; I'm not wearing mini skirts and bustiers and going out on the town every night. But the little things are where the struggle is. I have a hard time with gentle speech, patience, and refraining from judging others. I also have a hard time being consistent in prayer, Mass attendance, and have miserably failed at my goal of saying the Rosary. My sins are often sins of omission: what I'm NOT doing, as opposed to what I am doing. I am terrible at getting my hands dirty for the Lord. I remain awfully self-concerned.

In a nutshell, I'm human. But that's not an excuse, it's a reason to remember the power of the Lord in my life, and His power against the attacks from you know who. Truly, this is an invisible fight, and to non-believers it doesn't even make sense. On my own, it's totally unwinnable. With the grace of God, I can win it for Him. 

It's funny; I started out with the intention of writing another rant post. I hadn't even figured out the subject of my rant, since I had more than a few niggling annoyances bouncing around in my head today. And it has just occurred to me as I type- if we just go about doing what are asked to do on a daily basis, God will supply us with little golden nugget opportunities to do His work. I very much felt that way at my job today; every hour or so I felt like this or that could only be the work of God. Not every day blesses us with so many nuggets as were produced for me today, but they are there if we have the senses open to detect them.

Seeing them helped me to recognize that God wants me at my job right now, even if I don't want to be there. I still hope to be a homemaker one day, and I sincerely hope that He wants me to come home as well. But I must accept the possibility that, thanks to a broken society, it may not happen and God will put me where I am needed instead. In a Judeo-Christian nation, I might have a better chance of coming home. Our nation is not. I don't care how many people insist upon it. Whatever our country was when it was founded, it is not so at this time.

Anyway, God is there when we are failing. I think I probably beat myself up over my failings more than He would. Who knows.  What I do know is that this struggle is going to be there, and it is going to be difficult. I will continue to fail in the little battles, but I pray that God will lead me in winning the war, which is the salvation of my soul. 

I hope that my little influence at my job can help save someone's soul. I am a piss-poor evangelizer. I take comfort in St. Francis' instruction to "preach the gospel; when necessary, use words." I talk my way into more paper bags than out of them, let's just say. Foot-in-mouth disease is another affliction I carry. So I wake up every day and do what I do. And hope that God can do something with it, and that I am doing what He wants, even in the little things.

A Word About Phone Calls

I'm feeling a bit ranty... Probably neither ladylike nor gentle, but here it is: I appreciate friends, but I don't appreciate a friend's constant calling on the phone. By constant, I mean by the standard of this day and age. Nearly every day, sometimes twice in a day, if I haven't answered the first time. No need!

This friend is a single mother, so I can understand the desire for more frequent adult conversation. However, I sure don't want to talk to anyone after being at work all day. She knows my work schedule. She'll call when I just sit down to begin to eat my lunch. She'll call right when I clock out for the day. In her mind, I'm guessing it makes sense to call me when I'm finally available. In reality, she calls me when I'm finally able to have a quiet moment, eat, or drive home, check the mail, change my clothes and collect my thoughts. My husband too will be coming home shortly after me. He is the one deserving of my attention at that point.

No other friend calls me this frequently; one calls me about once a week, and others about every other week at most. For this one frequent caller, I answer perhaps one out of every five calls. You'd think that would send a message! Pun intended. I do enjoy our conversations, though they can be draining at times. Her weakness has always been truly listening to the other person, whether it's me or someone else. But when it's good, it's great. The main trouble is the frequency and timing. I could deal with her interesting (if rather one-sided) conversation every now and then, but every day? I cannot.

Again, the rant... She just calls to talk! Nearly every day! It's none of it urgent! If I answer, I just hear "Hey," on the other end. (Likewise, after I answer one of her texted questions, she often sends a text stating, "Oh." I continue to be flabbergasted by that one.) We aren't in high school anymore. I don't ever remember my mother nor any other grown woman in my family taking or making calls in that manner, for no real reason.

I guess my ultimate point is, adults should be considerate of the lives of others. And phone calls "just to talk " should be few and far between. Save those calls for your mother or your sister, or a dear aunt, or for someone you haven't spoken to in a very long time. Take clues from your most recent communication with someone. Say someone sends a text mentioning that they have company; don't call them an hour later! If you notice a pattern, say someone doesn't answer whenever you call between certain hours, perhaps it would be wise to call at a different time of day. Don't risk being a nuisance and endangering a friendship. I haven't figured out how to tell my friend that this is bothering me. I sometimes feel that it would be unkind of me, and it's better to simply take a deep breath when the ill-timed calls come in, and just answer when I can. She seems to be satisfied thus. I don't want to end our friendship, but it certainly makes me less desiring of her company; I believe it is damaging our relationship on some level.


Respect your friends' time and schedules, use common sense and common courtesy. And for heaven's sake, don't be an adult adolescent, calling just because you can. There are so many valuable ways of using your time and energy, for the glory of God and the good of our hearts, community and families. And for the good of friendships.

The Joy of Long Dresses

My recent venture to a second-hand store has yielded two new long dresses for my wardrobe at a teeny tiny price. I also gained a skirt and top, but the dresses are what excite me. I've already worn them both a few times. What I love about them... what can I say? I am comfortable, covered, and effortlessly coordinated, all at once. One is a long blue knit dress, made by a "travel" brand, that doesn't wrinkle easily. I wear it with cardigan sweaters and pretty scarves. The other is a long denim jumper dress, the options for which are endless and I'm sure I don't have to explain. I have never felt more "together," more lovely and more in tune with who I really am than since I started wearing them. It's like God left them there for me on the racks to find, just for me. Wearing the dresses, I feel equipped to handle anything that comes my way. They're like my uniform for battle, but deliciously comfortable and pleasing to the eye. Best of all is the modesty factor. I don't have to worry a bit about showing anything inappropriate by moving the wrong way or anything like that. Remember my musings on gentleness? It's certainly easier to remain soft, calm and gentle in a long dress. I'm reminded of the flowing robes of the saints, of our dear Blessed Mother Mary. She should really be our "fashion model," and I admit that I feel close to her wearing clothing that is more in line with hers. The blue doesn't hurt either, it being her color and my own favorite. There really is joy in a beautiful dress, and as you can see, it's not just for vanity's sake. The Lord sees to it that we are not to worry about what we are to wear, for He'll provide just what we need as He did with my perfect, modest, comfortable and affordable dresses.

Please, for Pete's sake...

Things that need to disappear:

Hashtags on Facebook

"______ shaming"

The unregulated, freewheeling creation of what I call "reverse gerunds!"  I'm sure there's a technical term for it somewhere. Also known as "verbing," which is itself an unauthorized reverse gerund...

Terms like "mansplaining and manspreading."

What are we, America, twelve? All of us?

I propose we are not, but to the rest of the world we sure appear to be. If I could find a better country to migrate to, I would. The whole world is a mess, so I suppose I should continue to feather my nest where my eggs have hatched, but we're a far cry from the greatest country in world. More like the "least bad."

And it's possible there's a better one. I haven't really done my research.

Satisfied

Today I want to talk about being satisfied in accomplishing the small things in life. I am gloriously happy spending a quiet solitary day cleaning, walking, praying, observing the natural world and being mindful of all the little good things in my material life. Maybe it's because I'm an introvert, maybe because I'm inclined toward contemplative Catholic spirituality, maybe because I get easily overwhelmed by sounds and crowds.  Maybe because of all three. I don't feel obligated to fill my days with noise, clutter, or a "social life." God isn't concerned about whether I have a certain number of "friends" or make efforts to keep up with the pace of the secular world.

I'm sure God doesn't want me indulging my desire for solitude as much as I do, because unregulated introspection can quickly become self-righteousness or plain old selfishness. It can become good works left undone.  But I do feel that in our modern world, the more of us who can learn to stay quiet long enough to hear God's voice, the more of us who can turn off the noise of the world and find contentment in the daily necessities of life, and the more who can adopt a habit of introspection, the better.

I am satisfied that I have done a load of laundry today. I am satisfied that I sent my husband to work having had coffee and an egg, with a sandwich to eat later. I am satisfied that I cooked a healthy dinner almost completely from scratch. I am satisfied with my walk to the marina park, where two species of coastal birds were on display. I am satisfied in my buying groceries for the week. I am happy in these mundane tasks, for in them I find the glory of the Father who provides them for us- work for our hands, two strong legs for walking, the beauty of his winged creatures, the abundance of healthy food where I live, the clean water I use to make tea, wash clothes, and cook vegetables.  I am grateful and content, and I experience peace. How often can we say that?

I recognize my privilege- I don't have to scavenge for food, work in a sweatshop seven days a week, walk miles for water, or live in an ultra-polluted wasteland (including noise pollution).That is the grace of God. By that grace I also inherit the responsibility of "living simply that others may simply live."  Regardless of a person's spirituality, one can find contentment by that rule and sleep in good conscience, without expending energy worrying about fashion, social media, or superficial social obligation.

I don't mean to say I don't use Facebook or make social calls. I do. But those things are extras for me. Honestly, I'm truly not interested in it half the time, but there is a time and place for all that.

As a Catholic wife, of course, my home and husband are my priorities after God.

But I recommend to anyone a greater focus on mindfulness, quietude, and contentment in the little things.