How I Spent My Day

Woke up at 8:30 hating the world having gone to bed at 3-ish, met up with people for a 10:00 am Eamon Duffy reading/discussion group. We dispersed at 12:15, and Kolya convinced T. and me to bring our books and accompany him to the Toronto Islands for a picnic lunch and studying on the beach.

This being Toronto, where the weather will very soon be not-so-nice, and because T. and I have spines of Jell-O when being pressured to procrastinate, we acquiesced.

So we took a ferry out to Ward's Island, settled ourselves on the beach, and spent the afternoon wading, enjoying the sun and air, and reading selections from our history reading to one another.

Then I went home to make dinner and prepare for the evening activity-- movie watching and beer drinking with Celticist Roommate and our PhD friends at Massey College. Movies watched: Anchorman and The Lion in Winter. Yes.

(Imagine a more elegant transition.)

One side effect of the time spent on the beach was a conversation about proper names, in which it was revealed that Kolya has a middle name that he finds embarassingly preppy, I have The World's Most WASP Grandmotherly Full Name, and T. was named neither for the character in medieval literature nor for the character in opera, but for the young, gadabout veterinary student in All Creatures Great and Small.

One of my fondest memories of second year is that of spending time in the kitchen cooking with Mary Claire, quoting James Herriot at one another. Do any of you Breckie/Comptonite readers have contact info for Mary Claire H.? I haven't spoken to her in months and months, but I'd love to share that little story with her because I know she'd get a kick out of it.

A Post About Beer

So, I kinda knew that this was going to be a hard, unpleasant week, and as all I really wanted to do on Tuesday night was sit in my room, eat british cheese, and have a beer, I went to Kimbark to get the second of those two items.

They were out of Anchor Steam and I almost had a crisis of faith and called my Dad, but then decided *not* to burden my father with my great sense of injustice in the universe (my roommate's boyfriend is storing his (loud, male) cousin in our living room, the group presentation on writing and illuminated letters in Medieval manuscripts that I'd worked so hard on was hijacked by one of the group members and became an hour-long lecture on the history of music notation, and there's no Anchor Steam at Kimbark!) and instead just bought Newcastle Brown.

So, a story about beer to explain my, well, un-feminine tastes in beer:

I grew up in a wine-drinking household, but when we had beer around it consisted of: 1) Guinness, 2) Newcastle Brown, 3) Anchor Steam. Going out to Chinese food, my parents would order Tsingtao. Going out to Mexican, they'd order... I don't remember, because sometime in High School my father decided that he'd had enough of this multiculturalism and would just order Anchor Steam everywhere.

So, we had an organic garden, and we had a snail problem. Mom didn't want to put out snail bait because we had kitties and bunnies and me running around, so she decided to use the age-old (?) trick of putting out saucers of beer for said snails. Snails, you see, are attracted to the beer, but then they drink it, get tipsy and drown.

Problem: we only had Guinness in the house.

Moral of the story: Snails don't like Guinness... or maybe God decided to punish us for wasting it by wreaking molluscian havoc on our garden.

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Many of you know that I am addicted to Cute Overload. What you probably don't know is that the comments moderator, Theo, runs his own weblog where he is tracking the growth of the foster kittens his family is raising. My favorite video so far is this one.

You will get no work done until you watch them ALL! Multiple times!

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Oh, and my Mantillas arrived! Expect future post explaining why this non-Rad-Trad feminist likes the tradition of covering one's head in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament.


Next step: getting up the (humble) courage to wear one to the Bishop's mass on Sunday.

Why don't they make brown mantillas?

The traditional white=maidens, black=wives dichotomy for chapel veils does not match the color scheme of my wardrobe. (Yes, yes, vanity, vanity...)

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"Asterisks? So soon?"-- E.B. White, "One Man's Meat"
In other news: check out the sexy updates to the sidebar! The webcomics section is...embarrassingly long.

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In other, other news: today was the feast of St. George. Being part Welsh and part Scottish, my general reaction was, "you want me to celebrate what, now?" But this was before I learned about the Catalan traditions surrounding the feast. In their story, after George has saved the fair maiden from the dragon, the dragon's blood turned to roses. Therefore, men traditionally give their sweethearts red roses on the day. In return, honoring the death of Shakespeare, Cervantes, and another famous writer, women give their sweethearts books. Books! This is a saint's day tradition for the University of Chicago.

In the talk I attended, "The Never-Ending Catalan Middle Ages," there was an offhand remark to England (like Catalonia) being a country with a "chivalric" ethic. So I thought I'd share some of that chivalry with you. From Rhygyfarch's "Lament":

Why have the blind fates not let us die? Now the labors of earlier days lie despised; the people and the priest are despised by the word, heart, and work of the Normans. For they increase our taxes and burn our properties…The honest man’s hand is branded by burning metals. A woman now lacks her nose, a man his genitals…Serfdom is brought to the neck with a meat-hook, and learns that nothing can be had at will…O unhappy and lamentable fate; slothful in seeking peace, slothful in taking up arms. O Wales you are afflicted and dying…An alien crowd speaks of you as hateful…O country deserted by God…What is now left for you but to weep excessively?

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In the "Yes, we have these conversations" department:

A: I really should learn to drive, though, in case some day one of my kids needs to be driven to the hospital in an emergency or something.
C: Or to soccer practice.
A: I don't think that I would have very athletic children. Dance class, maybe, or choir practice... they could probably ride their bikes to the library...
C: The library? Won't they have their own library? Aren't you going to raise them on Cicero and Shakespeare?
A: Well, you can't do that too early. Otherwise they end up like John Stewart Mill, and nobody wants that.

Christians are Ruining Scripture.

I know that some of my less messianic readers are saying, "well, obviously," but I'm being serious here. If anything is going to drive me from the faith, it is going to be the idiotic commercialism with which we peddle Holy Writ-- but I get ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning of the story. Thesis: Catholics don't read the Bible, because it's so damn hard to buy a Bible.

As some of you know, my lovely little Catholic RSV bible with its burgundy cover never made it home from Bangor, Wales. I was left with my "New Jerusalem Bible: Saints Devotional Edition," which is nice for finding little passages written by the saints, but far too hefty for actual reading.

And then there is the problem of translation. Allow me to present a (fictive) conversation between myself and the owner of a Christian Bookstore.
Worker: What is your preferred translation?
Yrs Truly: Vulgate.

So you see the problem. The New Jerusalem Bible is out because it uses "Y-hw-h" throughout the Old Testament, a sad attempt by Catholics to pretend to be Jewish which just ends up doing injustice to both traditions. The King James, while beautiful (and what I grew up with) isn't Catholic, the Douay-Rhiems isn't sold for under $100. We're just going to pretend that "The Message" doesn't exist. The NIV is too modern and too Protestant, and the Council of Catholic Bishop's translation (the NAB) is... well... let me demonstrate.

At the turn of the year, when kings go out on campaign, David sent out Joab along with his officers and the army of Israel, and they ravaged the Ammonites and besieged Rabbah. David, however, remained in Jerusalem. One evening David rose from his siesta and strolled about on the roof of the palace. From the roof he saw a woman bathing, who was very beautiful. (2 Samuel 11:1-2)

Siesta? When I had to read that passage for mass at Calvert House, I broke out giggling.* Everyone thought that I couldn't handle the adultery, but really: siesta?

So, this leaves a RSV or NRSV translation, in a Catholic edition. I refuse to buy any Bible that claims to have "Apocryphal" books.

That brings me to my next question: Why, at Borders, are there so few Catholic bibles? And why, on the shelf, do they come after books about the Gnostic gospels?

Looking for a Bible at Borders, however, gives one plenty of reasons to a) be glad to be Catholic,** b) be ashamed to be Christian, c) start wondering if we should be fasting in reparation for all the harm done to our holy texts. Amazon.com will help me make my point.

It all started going wrong when they came out with a Woman's devotional bible. Now, there's The Bride's Bible ("Preparing Spiritually for the Most Important Day of Your Life"-- oh, and don't feel left out. There's a Groom's Bible, too, available at Borders but not Amazon.) There's The Adventure Bible, for kids. There's Immerse: A Water-Resistant New Testament and The Duct Tape Bible ("Experience the latest rage - the complete Everyday Bible wrapped in durable duct tape! Take this Bible anywhere you want to go - camping, hiking, mission trips, school, even church youth group.") Oh no! Not the Church Youth Group!

There's A bible that comes with a companion purse. There's "God's Story," presumably for teens who are too cool to read an actual bible. For the WASPy brats in your life, there's God's Little Princess Devotional Bible-- don't miss the tiara. There's the "Drink Deeply" Bible, which comes packaged in a plastic case that really just looks like a Nalgene bottle. If that's not health-conscious enough for you, there's the following "BibleZine,""Divine Health", and if you're really *that* concerned about your health, it might be because you're ready for this book, whose title I first misread as "The Menopause Bible". (It's actually "The Message: Pause")

There's a few problems here. The first is this idea of a special bible for a special group of people. This was discussed more eloquently by a protestant blogger who specializes in Jesus*** Junk & Kitzch, but I can't find his blog right now. If you know it, shoot me the link and receive my eternal gratitute. Second is the blatant commercialization of the faith, discussed rather well here. Third is the fact that this is just embarrassingly kitzchy. This goes beyond Catholic kitzch (think glow-in-the-dark rosaries) to a whole new ballpark.

So what did I end up with? An NRSV from Harper Collins, Catholic Edition. And what, exactly, makes it Catholic?



BY THE WAY: I don't feel so bad about disagreeing with Fr. Orthometer anymore, now that I've seen him take part in egregious copyright infringement of Questionable Content (Scroll down, left-hand side). I'm hoping someone sent him the banner, and that he's not responsible for it.

EDITED: For scriptural errors rooted in my past as an autodidact.

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* And this is why I'm glad we're not under a Benedictine rule, and don't need to do penance for misreading a line.
** Or, as Sukie would say, "I'm really very glad we have a Pope."
*** You may think that you're free from this burden, but you're not.

Having seen "Dialogues of the Carmelites," I've been thinking about my own past vocations qualms. Here's a news clip about The Dominican Sisters of Mary, Mother of the Eucharist, an order I was very much interested in joining at an earlier time in my life.



Diolch am y Holy Whapping

Good Questions.

...Although one hopes Fr. Orthometer didn't mean to encourage apostasy, but rather the acceptance of church teaching. I may go so far as to say that such an attitude has the opposite effect on me.

Being a good Catholic by definition entails believing all that the Church teaches to be true. Why be a Catholic if you don't believe in what the Church teaches.

A: Because leaving, I fear for my soul. Staying, I fear for my sanity.






ADDENDA: He does continue to amuse me, however. Because it should still be done right. And no, we don't have anything quite that bad in the Calvert House sacristy.

While doing this, I found an artifact of pure liturgical evil. I don't know what it is called. I don't want to know what it is called. All I know is that it was used to inflict folk Masses on innocent people.

YES I SHOULD BE WRITING MY BA THESIS NOT READING CONSERVATIVE CATHOLIC BLOGS I AM HERMITING MYSELF AT JAS' DESK WITH TEA, MY BOOKS, AND ST. NICHOLAS THE MIRACLE WORKER OK BYEBYE.

The History of Spirituality Hurts My Brain

Unfortunately, that's what I'm writing for my BA

But the concept of discipleship here has two meanings. The first is that of an imitative following of Christ, while the second denotes a Pauline participation in him. Spirituality therefore has two poles: one is local, rooted in our own specific cultural, historical and psychological situation and is visible as diversity, while the other is universal, located in the person of Christ himself, and is unified. The first pole expresses the way that the Gospel acts upon us in our own unique situation, while the second points to the supernatural and open-ended character of our discipleship as we are increasingly drawn into the mystery of the Church, as the mystical Body of Christ. The unity and integrity of Christian spirituality is guaranteed therefore by the unity of Christ, while its forms will be as diverse and multifaceted as is human experience itself and the human person.

-Oliver Davies, "Celtic Christianity in Early Medieval Wales

Have a Most Dolorous Lent!

Hmm, so looks like I'm giving up facebook and sweets for Lent. I was thinking of giving up the menfolk, but...yeah no. Beer was also suggested, but it's looking more and more like I'll be in Aber for Spring break (pending finding a couch/floor on which to sleep), and if there's only so many times in my life that I'll have a chance to drink Felinfoel, I'm not giving one of them up.

I'm also not giving up the web-logs. As demonstrated by my miserable failure of a sabbatical, the logs keep me sane. They are my place to vent.

"Logs?" you say. Well, yes. Like Geoff, I have a slightly-more-serious log for writing about... writing. It is very, very new. I needed to do something different.

Today's quote:

Garett: "Isn't that what you do in History, you make things up? I mean, you turn things into dragons, and Neil's writing about giants, and Mordu is writing about Parliaments...all these fictional creatures!"

I'm not actually writing about dragons in any way, shape, or form, but I was amused nonetheless.

We Interrupt This Regularly Scheduled Sabbatical...

Because once I say "I don't have anything to write about," I start coming up with things to write about.

For example: I was browsing web-logs the other day, and I came across one in which the author recounted, "It is -25 C out today. My tea froze between Sid Smith and Emmanuel College (ten minute walk). In the thermos."

Where is she studying? University of Toronto. Oh, heh. I, um... think I want to go there...wimpy Californian that I am...

I do recommend that journal, by the way, for two reasons. One: It will make you feel really, really guilty about all the writing you should be doing. Two: Spectacular lines such as, "Then I came home and did my writing, which according to Rousseau is not attractive, so I suppose I shall never score with either Kant or Rousseau. I am not crying."

"So, Alice," you may ask, "What did you do with your weekend?"

"Well," I might say, "on Saturday night, Veronica and I stayed in and made posters about the English Monarchs."

"Excuse me?"

Well... perhaps I should show you:



Those three pictures are from Veronica's poster. I really wanted to do one of the Welsh Kings, but 1) it was too complicated for one sheet of posterboard, and 2) The English Monarchy is actually more useful for my BA, because I can see what dynasties were interacting with the Welsh at different times. However, my poster was done in its own...Celtic...idiom.




There is an egregious error in this last picture, and I'll find some sort of a reward for you if you find it. Emily, my dear, you are ineligible for a reward because you do this in grad school. You may still scold me for not paying attention.


Sunday was January 28th, so we had a dinner party for St. Tommy A, just like last year. To refresh your memory:

This year looked pretty similar:

I made Penne with Portobello Mushroom Rago from The Best Recipe, which I highly recommend, and Steph made a (also highly recommended) irish cream chocolate cake. Steph also brought a "special guest" to the dinner, having semi-absconded with Calvert House's statue of St. Thomas. Here's her account.

Oh, and Friday I went to a "Jersey Party" dressed as the token California Hippie, but I went home early because I wanted to finish the book Emily sent me for my birthday more than I wanted to dance. Nota Bene: you know you're a medievalist when you're reading a historical mystery and, coming across the line "it was instant chemistry between them," you think, "well, that's anachronistic!"

"If you will not communicate for your own sake, the communicate instead for Jesus Christ. To communicate for Jesus Christ is to console Him for the neglect to which the majority of men have abandoned him; it is to confirm His wisdom in instituting this Sacrament of spiritual sustenance; it is to open the riches of the treasures of grace which Jesus Christ has stored up in the Eucharist only that He may bestow them on mankind; nay more, it is to give to His sacramental love the overflowing life it desires, to His goodness the happiness of doing good, to His Majesty the glory of bestowing His gifts. By receiving Communion, therefore, you fulfll the glorious purpose of the Holy Eucharist; for if there were no communicants, this fountain would flow in vain; this furnace of love would inflame no hearts; this King would reign without subjects."

"Something divine will then come to pass in the one who communicates; man will labor, and Jesus will give the grace of labor; man will keep the merit, but to Jesus will be the glory; Jesus wil be able to say to His Father: 'I love Thee, I adore Thee, and I still suffer, living anew in My members.
"This is what gives Communion its highest power: it is a second and perpetual incarnation of Jesus Christ; between Jesus Christ and man it forms a union of life and love; in a word, it is a second life for Jesus Christ."

-St. Peter Julian Eymard, Holy Communion

Last Week of Break:

6:10 am flight to New York. Used bookstores and pizza with D Robes, Veronica, Greg et al. "Alfred Hitchcock Presents". The Met Costume Institute w/ Vee & Gaby. Vegetarian Chinese, McSorley's Ale House, NJ Diner. Pretz-Reboredo Wedding (!!!) Train to Massachusetts. Vanessa. Sukie's family's New Year's Eve party. Many many members of Tom's family, and home to Chicago.

Some Quotes:

On the Phone:
Samantha, to Veronica: Alice is like, 'I'm Catholic...and I'm bad-ass.' She's Catholic... with a little bit of Jewish.

At the Ceremony:
A: I didn't bring enough tissues.
Margaret: I know. Amanda has a big thing of tissues.
Amanda: I have 45 tissues. We each get nine.

At the Reception:
Margaret: My wedding will be peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on my parent's front lawn.
Alice: This is an improvement. My first year it was, "I'm going to elope. Alice, what would you do if you received an invitation to my elopement?"

At the Lawler's
Sukie: Did you know that in (I forget which language), 'suki' means bazaar? ...Not the adjective, bazaar, like a market.
Alice: Oh. I was going to say...that sounds about right.
Rosie: I knew there was a reason I liked you, Alice.

Alice: What part of [the gingerbread train] did you make, Bridget?
Bridget: The circus car.
Alice: Are those lions in there?
Bridget: They're ligers.
Alice: Even better.

Saunders Lewis breaks my heart.

Even in translation.

About women no one can know. There are some,
Like this one, whose pain is a locked sepulchre;
Their pain is buried in them, there is no fleeing
From it and no casting it off. No ebb
Nor tide of their pain, a dead sea without
Movement upon its depth. Who--is there anyone--
Who will take away the stone from this sepulchre?
--Saunders Lewis, "Mair Fadlen"
(trans. Gwyn Thomas)

It's the Fifth of November...

And I direct you here for the 1917 Catholic Encyclopedia's coverage thereof.

In other Catholic news, the four "Golden Calves" described here are extremely pertinent to some of the discussions we've been having about Calvert House (and the American Catholic Church in general). I'll just quote the three most pertinent here.

Politicized faith -- "I can look back also and see that my own intellectual pride helped me build a weak foundation for my faith. When I converted to Catholicism in 1992 . . . it was a sincere Christian conversion. But I also took on as my own all the cultural and intellectual trappings of the American Catholic right."

Churchcraft as a hobby -- "I had become the sort of Catholic who thought preoccupying himself with Church controversies and Church politics was the same thing as preoccupying himself with Christ. Me and my friends would go on for hours and hours about what was wrong with the Church, and everything we had to say was true. But if you keep on like that, it will have its effect."

Clericalism -- "Without quite realizing what was happening, I became a Professional Catholic, and got so caught up in identifying with the various controversies in the American church that I began to substitute that for an authentic spirituality. This is nobody's fault but my own. Part of that involved hero-worshipping Pope John Paul II, and despite having a healthy awareness of the sins and failings of various bishops, exaggerating the virtues of bishops my side deemed 'orthodox.'"

From Kevin Knight writing about Rod Dreher's article on his conversion to Eastern Orthodoxy.