Catholic Nerd... Children?

We all know what a Catholic Nerd is (You know you're a Catholic Nerd when you think it's really romantic to switch rosaries with your boyfriend... you have nightmares about invalid masses... you want a bumpersticker that says "I don't break for Marty Haugen... you have a bumpersticker that says "Eucharist is God: Jesus, Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity....you gave your boyfriend a "Eucharist is God" bumpersticker... you know who St. Gaspar del Bufalo is... you chortle when someone mentions the Angelicum... etc.)

But what would the children of two Catholic Nerds be like?

Daddy, can I be St. Sebastian for Halloween?

Ok, now it's time to play Christians and Pelagians!

But Mommy, why don't they make lunchboxes with the Pope on them?

Mommy, Mary called me a Jesuit!

In other news, my cousin Sarah, writes:

Dear Aunt Fran,

Daisy wrote a rock song for Grandma, urging her to get in touch with
that inner rocker. It's never too late.

I hope Alice's boyfriend meets parental approval--I'll bet he's a nice
Catholic boy. Daisy had a crush last year on Ross Wilson who was the
brainiest, coolest boy in school, so at least I know she has good taste.
Cecelia, on the other hand thinks all boys are "annoyin'" and couldn't
be bothered.

I thought that Cece was the sister who resembled me the most, as she is, after all, the one with the smart mouth. Clearly I was mislead.

As for that nice Catholic boy, late Monday night I returned from seeing him in his mathy element in San Luis Obispo. I stayed in a room with the only girl in the math program, and met several of his friends. They're all rather obsessed with playing cards- some with making up games, others just with betting on them, and Matt with shuffling the cards. I suggested it might be an addiction.

"Yes," he said, "but as far as addictions go, it's a relatively harmless one."

"That's what you think, until the papercuts start."

We ate quite a bit of good food, walked around downtown until we were thoroughly bored of it all, except for the kittens in the adoption center window. I liked the grey tabby, but Patrick went with the "pugnacious" black kitten who would quite willingly fight the larger ones. "Tell him that those kittens grow up to be like Gwynn," my mother said.

We saw some bellydancing... accidentally. We didn't know that the Mediterranian Restauraunt had entertainment after 7pm. "At least it's not Bilal," Patrick said, comforting himself in his embarrassment. We also accidentally went to a bilingual mass at the Mission.

How do you feel about having studied German now, hm?

Unfortunately, the Mission, unlike Mission Carmel or the Old Mission Dolores, just stinks of renovation and modernization. On one hand, it is nice that it has been in regular use. On the other hand... *sigh*. It's just not the same feeling when you walk inside.

We went on a picnic, twice, once to a park out at the edge of town, and once for breakfast in the Mission Plaza. There we ran into a black cat named Nitzsche ("Dog is dead," says Patrick). Of course, the best part of the trip was getting to spend time with Patrick on a walk to the downtown (my two favorite signs: Carmel Lutheran Church and Tri-Counties Blood Bank: Serving San Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara Counties), or sitting on the couch in his apartment, or throwing a book at him as he tells his father that the mass was in "Hindu and Sikh."

I got some writing done, too.

Three weeks from today, I will be in St. Charles, Missouri, seeing Patrick again. My parents will fly home out of Kansas City, but I will stay in the midwest a few days longer. Patrick has been referring to this trip as "Alice in Boringland," but I can't wait to be there, with Patrick, who I love.

I have a headache. I'm going to go take some painkillers, and then go up to the cafe up the street to have a Chai and try to write.