...here it is.
p.s. I've been getting a few emails about what's up with the light blogging. Combination of new baby (doing well!) and kids getting the flu, that's all. No worries, people, but I expect the blogging will pick up in a few weeks. In the meantime, I'll post when I can (once a week? more?).
HT to The Deacon's Bench...from ND Magazine, where you should read the whole thing. To be admitted without review by committee: children under the age of 12, sixth-grade teachers, the mothers of triplets, janitors, nuns (all religions), nurses, all other mothers, loggers, policemen with more than 10 years of service, Buddhists (see Appendix A), bass players in rock bands, librettists, gardeners, cartographers, eighth-grade teachers, cellists, farriers, veterinarians, magicians, compass-makers, firemen and firewomen, rare-book-room librarians, cobblers, anyone from the former Gilbert Islands in the South Pacific, breakfast cooks in diners, philologists, proofreaders, administrative assistants and secretaries, sauciers, mapmakers, cartwrights, cartoonists, essayists, people who manufacture thimbles, and Presbyterians (see Appendix B). To be admitted after cursory review by committee: archaeologists, Catholics, Jews, doctors (except orthodontists; see Appendix C), plumbers, taxi-drivers, boatwrights, soldiers actually engaged in defending their clan or country from attack or threatened attack, undertakers, popes without children, longshoremen, tugboat pilots, coaches of any elementary-school sport whatsoever (precedence for basketball and Australian Rules football coaches), all other teachers, cellists, anyone who ever worked on an auction for a nonprofit, scuba divers, publishers of children’s books, people from Finland, people who sell life insurance (it turns out life insurance is something really, really close to the Director’s heart), anyone who ever took a tango lesson, hotel doormen, people who brew beer in their bathtubs, child-care-center directors, emergency dispatchers, detectives, monks, anyone in the peanut-butter industry.... p.s. Bloggers!!! Where are the bloggers???
Quick note: The baby was born Oct 7, late morning, and mom (IC) and baby boy (chic #4) are doing pretty darn well; an uncomplicated birth. Family well also. Lots of adjusting and tiredness now. But God is good. Off to nurse all night now.
p.s. 9 lbs 9 oz!
If the Americans were as expert in spiritual matters as they are in business affairs, all of them would be saints.
(Oh, please be nice. This is from my diocese and I know quite a few of the priests here. I'll reveal the context later; it will make sense. OK, here it is: this is a photo from our diocese's Harvest Mass; the priests and bishop are getting transported to concelebrate. My diocese is overwhelmingly agricultural.)
...And as I promised a few folks I'd let them know when this is up...I guess that involves outing myself. But I prefer not to use my real name on this blog. You can call me IC, folks.
Lizzie, the Pirate Wench, has been listening to The Theology of the Body CDs is wantin' to become an honest woman this year. In honor of Talk Like A Pirate Day 2009, mateys.
Lizzie: Ahoy, Fath'r! I be needin' some spiritual view from the mizzenmast.Fath'r: Aye, Lizzie, what need ye?Lizzie: I be thinkin', Fath'r. Ye know that me and Jack have been caboodlin' in the anchorhold fer some time now.Fath'r: (countenance darkening) Aye, aye, 'tis known.Lizzie: I be realizin' that Jack be usin' me for me wenchful looks. I just now be reading that "theology of th' body" stuff and am thinking we may be in a "walkin' the plank" relationship.Fath'r: Aye, what yer doin' dunna invite fullness of life, lassie.Lizzie: I jus' not be knowin' what to do now, Fath'r. I love the scurvy buccaneer, but I be a pirate wench all me bleedin' life.Fath'r: Lizzie...ye dunna strike me as a lily-livered lass.Lizzie: By the powers, Fath'r! I dunna care if you be a holy priest, there be no need to be insultin'! I can take a cutlass to ye wit' the best of the scallywags on this here ship!Fath'r: Me hearty, 'tis a compliment. Ye need be takin' your fearlessness and tellin' Jack about the beauty of the married state. Wit'out the cutlass.Lizzie: (defeated) But Fath'r, Jack be a swashbucklin' gentleman of fortune livin' life on the account. He be more willin' to part with all the hands' pieces of eight combined than walk down the marriage aisle. I never be hearin' of a married pirate. 'Tis unnatural.Fath'r: Lizzie, me daughter, thinkin' yourself as nothin' but a pirate's wench be unnatural. Ye be a lass of God. Ye be created fur more than this. And what ye be doin' wit' Jack now--'tis like a life on the worst grog, lass. Ye deserve the wat'r of life.(long silence)Lizzie: Arrrr, Fath'r--I see we be placin' the black spot on ourselves, now, aye?Fath'r: Aye, Lizzie. 'Tis the short route to Davy Jones' Locker. Spiritually speakin'.Lizzie: (nods decisively) I go now and talk to Jack. The biscuit eater will respect me or I be settin' me sails. (runs off)Fath'r: That be looking lively, lass; Godspeed! God loves the bucko even more than ye do....(shouting to the whole deck as she picks up speed) Ye not be marooned by Christ! All hands who hav' ears t' hear, let 'em hear!(follows swiftly to belay the weapons in Lizzie's confrontation) .
This priest is, of course, Fr. Leo of Grace Before Meals--which I have plugged here before as both amusing and a great idea. He got challenged by Bobby Flay of the Food Network to a Throwdown (food prep competition show)--and Fr. Leo won it with his Fajitas. Congrats, Padre!
