Yurodivi: Der Gottesnarr

O bleib' bei uns, du kühner Sänger!

2008-02-03T00:59:00.000-05:00

Posting tonight from Auburn, Alabama, home of the Saint Cecilia Schola Cantorum at Saint Michael's. This is a church that definitely knows beetle grubs from chocolate chip cookies!

The cliinician, Wilko Brouwers, was excellent. He is conductor of the Monteverdi Kammerkoor Utrecht and has a host of other credentials as well.

He was challenging in the chant repertoire because he is not a thrall of Dom Mocquereau. Well, to the folks who had been to this workshop before, that was somewhere between heresy and blasphemy, at least at first. I was fairly shocked myself, but over the course of the workshop I thought about it a bit more and realized that Solesmes doesn't necessarily have all the info just because they own most of the MSS. I mean, they're not the Chant Police.

And, to be fair, whenever I hear a recording of the "experts" singing this repertoire, it's always disappointing from the vocal standpoint. One pictures the singers with half-aprons and carrying a drinks tray with one hand and the Liber Usualis in the other. And the rules seem very limiting at times, for instance with regard to the treatment of the podatus. There are definitely times when the stylized "liquescence" on this neume gets in the way of the music; so I am going to loosen up my rules a little as well.

Ah, now I get to go back to real life . . . alas. But hey! Ash Wednesday is coming up in a couple of days, and that means lots of solemn music for the duration!

Yurodivi is not entirely displeased.

PS. Still working on the "what the heck happened?" posts. Sorry. Not like that many people are checking in here, and that's probably OK!

Why rescue dogs ROCK

2007-11-04T16:36:00.000-05:00

All you need to know, you can see right here.

All I can say is, it's a good work to rescue animals. After all, they have souls, too; and some of us are too damaged, if you will, to be happy amongst regular old human beings.

This family is obviously very glad they adopted . . .

Er kehrt zurück!

2007-10-27T16:39:00.000-04:00

long time, no post.

A lot has happened.

Starting tomorrow I will be posting updates as to what all has been going on the last two years, ever since I quit posting regularly . . . and what is going on now.

Thanks to those of you who asked after me while I was "away" all this time. You know who you are!

More soon.

How you know when you're doing the right thing

2007-05-07T00:04:00.000-04:00

So, since I last wrote, we've been doing a lot more chant in our music program. In fact, we have done the seasonally appropriate Kyrie settings for Lent and Easter.

A couple of weeks ago, a sixty-something lady came up to me after Mass with a copy of the music handout. We had done several Fauxlk pieces that day such as One Bread, One Body or similar (all those pieces run together after a while). The lady explained that she was from Somewhere Up North (don't remember exactly where), and she was coming to thank me for doing "traditional music."

Thank you, I said, it's always good to hear that our work is appreciated.

Fortunately another thing I have learned is to give the vaguest possible thanks for a compliment. You never know what somebody's about. I soon heard more than I wanted.

We used to have a great choir at St. N., she went on, but then they got a new director and we started getting all of this kind of [expletive]. I played my poker face, and she jabbed a bony, nicotine-stained finger at the Kyrie Lux et Origo on the bulletin.

I smiled and let her go her way. But all the time I was thinking:

Get used to it.

More later on why I have not posted in, oh, a year or so. Suffice it to say, as Florence King might say, a lot has happened.

Reason number a zillion and two . . .

2006-09-25T22:40:00.000-04:00

. . . why I'm glad to be Catholic.

The Holy Father hasn't allowed himself to be mau-maued into giving an insincere apology to the Mohammedan fanatics who (let's face it) proved Manuel II Palelogos's point by committing violence in the name of their religion.

How dare you say my religion is violent? I WEEL KEEL YOU!

Nothing more need be said. Benedict is a true blessing.

Heard at Temple

2006-09-25T22:23:00.000-04:00

So did you hear the one about George W. Bush and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad?

Ahmadinejad calls up W and says, "George, you won't believe the dream I had. I just had to call you and tell you about it."

W says, "What did you dream?"

"I dreamed I saw banners in Farsi and English all over Washington, DC and New York City, and people cheering in the streets."

"What did the banners say?"

"They said, 'United States of Iran.'"

"Well, I'm glad you called," says W, "because I had a dream about you too."

"What did you dream?"

"I dreamed I saw people dancing for joy in the streets of Teheran, and they were holding up banners and signs too."

"What did the banners say?"

"I don't know," says W. "I can't read Hebrew."

Relief and Gratitude

2006-03-21T18:12:00.000-05:00

Today Mrs. Yurodivi had an appointment with her oncologist and also had a report from the pathologist. (Aside: I never hoped to know this many '-ists' in my life.) The oncologist was encouraged, having talked with the radiologist already but having no concrete results. But the best news came later, when Mrs. Y talked with the pathologist: the results were completely clear; nothing but scar tissue and fluid.

So thank you all (I know at least one of you read this; I understand my comboxes are messed up, and I'm working on that) for your prayers. They mean a lot to both of us. And now all there is to do is to get ready for the next 10,000-mile checkup.

Liveblogging the tests, secunda pars

2006-03-20T10:40:00.000-05:00

This morning we are at another hospital (but still one with an excellent wireless access point). Mrs. Yurodivi has already been taken in the back, where they won’t let me go with her, so that she can have a biopsy and several other tests performed.

We’ve been through this before, of course, but every time she feels a lump or any other minor change, it all comes flooding back: the uncertainty, the fear, and the sense of ineluctable doom. Yes, I believe she will go to heaven if she dies, but I am not ready for her to go just yet. We are just getting started on recovery. We’re walking a good bit in preparation for a long walk we’re planning to take this Fall, and also trying to eat better. We’re not going out for lunch together any more, but taking (gag) Lean Cuisines or similar. (Yes, I know they’re bad. But they also have far fewer calories than your average restaurant lunch).

And it seems cruel that this could all be interrupted, not to say stopped, by a recurrence or a new instance of the disease. But things all happen for a reason, and usually it’s for reasons I don’t understand.

So, fellow Catholic bloggers, if you can spare a prayer for Mrs. Yurodivi today, I believe St. Agatha and the Fourteen Holy Helpers would be good people to talk to on her behalf. Our problems aren’t that bad compared to lots of things I’ve read about in St. Blog’s: we have good insurance and we’re not likely to go hungry or lose our jobs or our house or transportation. The bills have been difficult, but fortunately I can do extra gigs and make money to help cover what the insurance doesn’t.

All the same, though, I really don’t want to go through this again, especially if the outcome might be a long, slow and painful death for Mrs. Yurodivi. I can’t believe I have actually written those words, but that’s my real fear. You married ladies know that nothing frustrates a husband more than for his wife to have a problem that he can’t fix; this is like that, only more so.

Thank you all for your prayers on our behalf, and may God bless each and every one of you in your daily lives and henceforth.

Prayers Still Needed

2006-03-15T22:38:00.000-05:00

Yesterday Mrs. Yurodivi went and had an ultrasound and mammogram. She had found a lump in the area of the previous surgeries, and obviously she was very concerned.

The radiologist yesterday said he couldn't tell whether the tissue he was seeing was cancer or just scar tissue. So he referred her to the surgeon who did the work last summer. Then today Mrs. Y got a call from her oncologist's office saying that the onco wanted the mass removed, but would defer to the surgeon's judgement.

So off we went to the surgeon's office. He probed and prodded the affected area, and his face appeared to relax. I'm sure you can imagine that I was studying his aspect intently for indications of a prognosis. Fortunately, he said that it was extremely unlikely to be cancer, but he referred her to a different radiologist -- one wo would not issue any indefinite opinions like "I think it's this" or "it's probably that," but would give a definite diagnosis.

So we need your prayers some more -- you've always been very generous to pray for Mrs. Y. I'm invoking the Fourteen Holy Helpers some more.

Thanks again for your prayers. It is a comfort to know that you are inteceding for us.

More on that Chant Workshop

2006-03-14T09:47:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago I remote-blogged from Auburn, Alabama, the site of the St. Cecilia Schola Cantorum Chant and Polyphony Workshop. The experience was a beautiful one, and I hope to repeat it next year, possibly including some of my choir members or the members of my new Schola. Unfortunately I had to leave early in order to be home at a decent hour, since I had to be up at 6:00 AM on Sunday. It was raining buckets all the way home, and I really didn't want to be driving in the rain and the dark.

Of course, I can’t disclose the location, etc. etc. of my church, but suffice it to say that we’ll be having some chant at the Saturday Mass before too long. Intriguingly, a number of people who have expressed interest in joining are not even Catholic – some are even non-Catholic clergy. So the Saturday Mass might be the best time to do that in order to avoid conflict with their professional obligations.

If anyone objects to the addition of chant to that liturgy, I’ll just have to point out how much shorter Mass is when you don’t sing a bunch of [non-Catholic] hymns. Hymns are a lot longer than your average Introit, Communion or Offertory chant, and they may or may not have anything to do with the readings. All these years we’ve been using the last option (hymns) as the default, when it ought to be the chant first and the hymns as a last resort. I’m ready to put on my Don Quichotte bedpan helmet and tilt at the hymn-mill, one liturgy at a time.

One of the most intriguing things about the workshop was the early Saturday daily Mass. The assembled singers assisted at that Mass, and I expected we would significantly outnumber the congregation. I was wrong about that.

On a frigid Saturday morning in the middle of the winter, a good-sized crowd of people showed up for that daily Mass. They were in for a treat, because there were nearly a hundred of us in the chant workshop, and the singing was beautiful. We sang the old hymn-tune version of Panis Angelicus as a Communion hymn and sang all the Mass parts in Latin (except for the Gloria and Credo, which were omitted).

Assembled in that cupcake-shaped church, in the last place I would have expected to hear chant, and singing the song of the Church together with all those other singers -- that was priceless and beautiful. And I hope to be back next year, assuming things go okay for Mrs. Yurodivi.

Thanks to Jeffrey Tucker and Arlene Oost-Zinner for doing such a brilliant job assembling this workshop.

Live-blogging the tests

2006-03-14T09:45:00.000-05:00

This morning Mrs. Yurodivi is here with me at the Breast Cancer place, having a mammogram, ultrasound and maybe a biopsy. They won’t let me go in the back with her for any of the tests, so I’m taking advantage of the hospital’s free wireless access.

For the last few days she has been feeling a lump in the same area as the previous surgery, just above the scar -- in the same area where she had the radiation therapy. She’s had some pain and soreness as well. Now, I know doctors will tell you there’s no pain associated with breast cancer, but Mrs. Y had sharps pains in the affected area for months before she got a diagnosis, so of course we are worried.

She has been worried for a little while, and even though she has an appointment with the oncologist next week, I suggested she might not want to wait. So yesterday she called the oncology place and talked with the nurse. The nurse asked her, “Is it hot to the touch?” Sure enough, they had her scheduled for these tests within half an hour. That doesn’t inspire confidence in the outcome.

All this means that we may be back in the woods for a while. Maybe forever. So I would really appreciate your prayers. It would be a good time to invoke the Fourteen Holy Helpers, St. Peregrine, and Saint Agatha.

And now for some happy news . . .

2006-02-24T21:59:00.000-05:00

I'm remote-blogging from the Chant and Polyphony Workshop in Auburn, Alabama. It's being hosted by the Saint Cecilia Schola Cantorum.

The guest conductor is a director of music at a very traditional Catholic parish up north. He's an excellent conductor, and I've already picked up a few tips just from watching him rehearse.

It's distressingly easy to slide into a rut as a choral conductor. If you don't go out of your way to sharpen your skills, you only see yourself rehearse, and you can lose perspective. The guest conductor is very, very good about being relentlessly positive, and it's a trait I could really stand to emulate.

Tomorrow morning we're assisting at the early daily Mass (8:00 AM) and then the rest of the day is dedicated to chant. This is what I really came to hear, but I'm enjoying the polyphonic stuff as well.

Chant is definitely the direction we need to go, and it's the direction of the Church as a whole. No matter how many people might prefer beetle grubs, it's best to give them the real music of the Church.

More after tomorrow. I highly recommend this place, this organization and their publications.

WHEN LAWYERS ATTACK!, continued . . .

2006-02-02T22:58:00.000-05:00

This case just gets sadder and sadder. Here we have a fine, upstanding member of the community; but because of one tiny mistake, one misjudgement, he might still be alive. And no, I'm not talking about the lawyer.

Consider this little gem from the defense attorney:

"The witnesses, as I indicated in court, are employees at what we can call at best a strip club, so consider the source," he said.

Oh yeah. And lawyers never, ever lie. Heaven forfend!

It reminds me all too painfully of the "nuts and sl*ts" defense used against anyone who had the temerity to suggest Bill Clinton had done anything undeserving of canonization.

I have a prediction to make about the trial: Next year, about this time, the defense attorney will pursue a guilty-but-insane verdict; OR, if he thinks he can bamboozle the jury, he will try to get his client acquitted because he was just so sensitive, and nobody understood him [or his need to have extramarital sexual experiences in the middle of the night while his wife was out of town]; and the poor baby is bipolar [meaning, in this case, that he likes clubs with two stripper poles rather than just one].

What's that you say? They have him on video, caught in the act? Well, who are you going to believe -- me, or your lying eyes?

OH, THE TIMES, THEY ARE A-CHANGIN'

2006-02-01T23:38:00.000-05:00

Many parishes are struggling with divisions between spanish-speaking and english-speaking members. The divide usually results in a kind of voluntary segregation in which an Hispanophone will not go to the Anglophone Mass unless it's the only way to fulfill his Sunday obligation, and vice versa.

As a practical matter, the use of Latin could solve the problem at one stroke. Conduct the proper and the Ordinary of the Mass in Latin; keep the homilies brief and, if possible, bilingual; and give the announcements (if there REALLY need to be read at Mass) in spanish and english. Hey presto! No more language troubles. Or, more accurately, everyone is equally uncomfortable and has to look in the missal to see the translation of the Latin.

Anyway. That's my proposal and I'm sticking to it.

WHEN IGNORAMI ATTACK

2006-02-01T23:36:00.000-05:00

Or, No Good Deed Goes Unpunished.

Some people just never learn, do they?

It seems a teacher in a rural Colorado school showed a video of Gounod's opera Faust to some young schoolchildren in her class. In fact, it was a half-hour video of an old children's series featuring Joan Sutherland and some talking puppets in a few excerpts from the opera. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. But here's the catch: you remember who the real star of this show is, right?

Yep. It's the very Devil himself!

This turns out to be a BIG problem for some of the good folks of Bennett.
Casey Goodwin, whose 9- year-old daughter also saw it, called it a "satanic video" during a phone call. Asked about that in a later conversation, she said, "I think it glorifies Satan in some way, yes."

Okay, maybe she's never heard of Charles Gounod. That's understandable for the average philistine. And she's probably never heard of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe either, even though he seems to be fairly popular in Denver, just a half hour away. But it's quite a stretch to think that Faust "glorifies Satan."

I have to concede that Mephistopheles is the most engaging character in the show. He's witty, and he cuts off that bore Wagner and his stupid story about the rat. Then he serenades the, ahem, unwed mother Marguerite with a very nasty little song. But he loses in the end. In Germany, this show is known as Marguerite because the focus is so much on her that Germans feel it loses most of the theme of the original. Of course, Goethe never had to satisfy a demanding audience's need for a prima donna character.

First of all, the themes of Faust are high and lofty. Second (and I realize they didn't watch the whole show, or even the whole half-hour digest), but in the end, Marguerite asks forgiveness of her sins from Jesus, then dies and is taken into heaven by the angels. How does that "glorify Satan"?

I am reminded of the words of the great Mel Brooks:

"You've got to remember that these are just simple farmers. These are people of the land. The common clay of the new West. You know . . . morons.
-- Gene Wilder in Blazing Saddles

Sadly, the music teacher in question, who was trying to do a good thing by opening up the ears of the philistines, now says she will "have a hard time staying in Bennett." I bet that's an understatement. What was it Jesus said about pearls and swine?

A SIDE NOTE ABOUT GOUNOD

2006-02-01T23:26:00.000-05:00

Contrast this entry from the Catholic Encyclopedia of 1914:

One of the most distinguished French musicians and composers of the nineteenth century, b. in Paris, on 17 June, 1818; d. there, 17 October, 1893.

With this common musicologist's joke:

Q: How can you tell Faust wasn't actually written by Gounod?
A: Because it's too good.

Ba-dum-BUM!

The Catholic Encyclopedia entry also contains this interesting nugget about Gounod's sacred oeuvre:

Gounod was a child of his time and of the France of the nineteenth century. His temperament, emotional to the point of sentimentality, his artistic education and environment bound him to the theatre and prevented him from penetrating into the spirit of the liturgy and from giving it adequate musical interpretation.

This may give us some insight into Leo XIII's words urging against "false sentimentality" in sacred music. Many modern composers might take the same advice today!

Frohen Geburtstag, Franz Peter!

2006-01-31T23:23:00.000-05:00

Two hundred and nine years ago today (at least it's today for the next few minutes), Franz Peter Schubert was born in Vienna. He was the only member of the so-called First Viennese School actually born there; Mozart, Haydn and Beethoven were all born elsewhere.

Schubert's musical output was vast, and one hesitates to go down the track of the what-ifs, but I can only imagine how much more he would have written if he hadn't died at age 31. Of course, he might also have "retired" at age 38, like Rossini, and spent the rest of his life writing trifles and living off his royalties. But alas, we'll never know!

So happy 209th, Franz, and thanks for all the beautiful music! I hope they play your Masses in heaven.

PISTOL-PACKIN' GRANNY

2006-01-31T23:22:00.000-05:00

HT: The Rat. Thanks to Eve for linking to Ratty, a constant source of wry amusement.

The headline refers to this story about a woman who slew her ex-grandson-in-law. Now, I realize that this story happened in Califor-Nie-Ay, but are we sure Abuelita isn't southern? Down here, most of our womenfolk can clean and reassemble a gun, too.

I can't say I agree entirely with what she did, although it seems like a favor to society, but it's a shame she doesn't live in the South. Down here, "he needed killin'" is a valid legal defense!

When Dogs Attack . . .

2006-01-31T23:20:00.000-05:00

. . . or, Why there's always more to the story.

It was a textbook dog-biting case: unneutered, ill-trained, charged-up dogs, with a history of aggression and an irresponsible owner, somehow get loose, and set upon a small child. The dogs had already passed through the animal bureaucracy of Ottawa, and the city could easily have prevented the second attack with the right kind of generalization—a generalization based not on breed but on the known and meaningful connection between dangerous dogs and negligent owners.

Go and read the whole thing. HT: Arts & Letters Daily.

A while back there was a thread on Amy's place about a woman who had stupidly left her 12-year-old son locked in the basement while she went to the grocery store. Unfortunately, the family pit bull, a dog they knew was dangerous, got loose and got into the basement, where it mauled her son to death.

Who's the real problem in that case? It sure isn't the dog. It's the STUPID mother who kept a dog she KNEW was dangerous around her kid, who should have been her first priority. She should have gotten rid of the dog. Instead, the dog got rid of her son.

LAWYERS GONE WILD

2006-01-30T23:40:00.000-05:00

It's not very nice to make fun of this situation. In fact, let's be honest: it's not nice at all. Unfortunately for everyone, I can't resist.

The thing that gets me about this story is the reverent tone of their discussion of the nature of the establishment where the tragedy occurred. I'm sorry the fellow lost his life (lawyers can be dangerous), and he seems like a decent guy just trying to get by. I sympathize with his need to make a living, and I'm sure there are worse places one could work. For instance, Johannes Brahms had an early gig playing piano in some very seedy places. But in their coverage, you would think (except for the lead-in) that this business was like any other bar or restaurant. You can see the reporterette make puppy-dog eyes and adopt the mien of heartfelt TV mourning.

I note, however, that they didn't interview any of the club's (ahem) featured employees. I suppose that wouldn't have made good TV. After all, it's not a Fox affiliate!

Finally, if this fellow isn't strung out on drugs, I'll be extremely surprised. Talk about your lost weekends!

CHANT WORKSHOP CONTINUED

2006-01-30T23:36:00.000-05:00

The Chant Workshop is coming up in Auburn in a couple of weeks. I printed out the booklets (one for chant, one for polyphony) and uncharacteristically for the world's laziest choir director, began looking them over. I don't want to show up unprepared (or even underprepared).

The more I look at it, the more excited I am about the possibilities. Now I just have to decide which part I'll sing -- bass, tenor or alto. A lot of choral groups today use male altos (or a mix of male and female altos). Just in case, I'll learn all the parts. I'm a choral director, so that should be my default setting anyway; and any choral director coming to this conference will probably do that as well, not just learn his own part.

The chant booklet is harder. Of course I learned to read Gregorian notation in music school, but I don't use it that often; it's obviously much easier to read modern notation. I can't keep the neumes straight -- who can really remember the difference between a proclivis and a podatus? Maybe if I had to read them more often, I would be able to remember. But a few paragraphs of the explanatory section in the Liber Usualis and I'm nodding off, or thinking about Rachmaninoff or something.

And how sad is it that in my 20-plus years as a Catholic musician I have never had to know how to read the neumes, except on my own initiative? If I hadn't gone to music school, I would never have had to learn that skill.

Unfortunately I have to attend an event at my church on Thursday the 23rd, so I'm going to have to leave for Auburn early on Friday morning. It's a drag, but that's all I can do now.

That reminds me . . . I need a hotel! Anybody know a good place to stay in Auburn?

Thank you…

2006-01-27T21:07:00.000-05:00

…for all your prayers. Mrs. Yurodivi's mother has pulled through. Pneumonia, yes, but not yet death.

Thank you all again!

Dear Blogfriends:

2006-01-25T19:44:00.000-05:00

Please say a prayer for Mrs. Yurodivi's mother, who is in the hospital in critical condition.

Sadly, she has been ill for a number of years, even though she is young; it is likely she will go to her eternal reward before sunrise. She received the sacrament of the anointing of the sick (the Lutheran version, anyway) not too long ago, so I believe she is prepared. I pray that God will provide grace in her suffering and bring her home to his fold.

There is a Jewish prayer that is said when someone has died: Blessed art thou, Lord, our God and God of our Fathers, the Just Judge. And I always think of the passage from Wisdom:

2:23-25 For God created man incorruptible, and to the image of his own likeness he made him. But by the envy of the devil, death came into the world: And they follow him that are of his side.
3:1-9 But the souls of the just are in the hand of God, and the torment of death shall not touch them. In the sight of the unwise they seemed to die: and their departure was taken for misery: And their going away from us, for utter destruction: but they are in peace. And though in the sight of men they suffered torments, their hope is full of immortality. Afflicted in few things, in many they shall be well rewarded: because God hath tried them, and found them worthy of himself. As gold in the furnace he hath proved them, and as a victim of a holocaust he hath received them, and in time there shall be respect had to them. The just shall shine, and shall run to and fro like sparks among the reeds. They shall judge nations, and rule over people, and their Lord shall reign for ever. They that trust in him, shall understand the truth: and they that are faithful in love shall rest in him: for grace and peace is to his elect.

That passage has been a mighty comfort to me in some pretty dark days over the years.

Mrs. Yurodivi has already been through a lot the last year or so, and this news is hard news; so please say a prayer for her and for her mother. This would be a good time to call on the Fourteen Holy Helpers.

Woo hoo!

2006-01-21T22:23:00.000-05:00

Or, considering the subject matter, perhaps I should say e u o u a e.

Hat tip to Father Tucker.

Also attending: Gashwin Gomes. At least, he wants to go. I hope to see him there.

Any other bloggers attending?

Condolences

2006-01-02T16:13:00.000-05:00

To Mark B, the owner of Luna. My friend, we have never met or even corresponded, but I sympathize, and I can only say that I hope to see my dogs again in heaven, and that helps motivate me to try to get there myself.

Eventually the pain diminishes, and you can talk about them without getting teary-eyed; but even if you get another dog, the pain never really goes away -- it just recedes into the distance of the back of your mind.

Hat tip to Jonah Goldberg, a true mensch of a dog owner, and the rescuer of a shelter animal.

Ex ore infantium

2006-01-02T15:59:00.000-05:00

So yesterday, even though I was sick, we did some good music for church. The choir sang a renaissance Ave Maria at Preparation of the Gifts, and another song about Mary before Mass. At Communion I sang (as part of the World Day of Prayer for Peace aspect of the feast) the Charles Gounod setting of Tennyson's poem Ring Out, Wild Bells.

A friend was sitting in the congregation, and he said there was a little about four years old sitting in the pew in front of him. The boy had been squirming all through Mass, but when I started the solo, he seemed to be transfixed. After the last note had sounded, the little boy looked up at his mother and said, "That was beautiful!"

I always worry that operatic singing will scare children, because to many people it's a bit of an acquired taste. But maybe there's a budding Cacciaguida in my congregation.

As for the song, it's interesting that Gounod omits the fourth and sixth stanzas of the poem. He does a similar thing in his setting of The King of Love my Shepherd Is, whose text you can see here: he omits the penultimate verse, "Thou spread'st a table in my sight . . . " But Gounod was not a native speaker of English, although it seems likely he understood the language well. Anyway, I only dust off that song every few years, but it's perfect for the Mass on New Year's Day.

Bleccchhh.

2006-01-02T15:47:00.000-05:00

I hate being sick. That's at least one reason I haven't been posting -- that, and I've been on vacation since a couple of days before Christmas. And now I have to go back to the office tomorrow, and probably still sick . . . oh well.

Master and Margarita

2006-01-02T15:40:00.000-05:00

Story via Father Tharp, who says he doesn't know whether the film is a good sign or a bad one.

All I can say is that Bulgakov's personal story is a true inspiration to the power of the human spirit. And this novel is not exactly a "cult novel" -- I read it in a class at my out-of-the-way southern university twenty years ago. And it is a fascinating book. I highly recommend it to anyone who has a dark sense of humor, as I do.

In fact, I seem to remember writing a column that quoted from this novel: Manuscripts don't burn.

New (Liturgical) Year's Resolutions

2005-12-19T21:52:00.000-05:00

Remember these?

So far I am at least blogging a little more regularly. Not every day yet, but I hope to get there sooner or later.

I am not eating better or getting in shape. That will have to wait until Winter Ordinary Time. But what can I say? It's almost Christmas. I'm exhausted from the preparations for the concert and for all the stress of the holidays in general, and I can barely wait until Christmas Day is over and I can get some SLEEP. I'm so sleep-deprived I can barely stay awake at all, especially in these long days at the office. I am working extra long hours this week so that I can take next week off -- and I need the rest.

But I am practicing more. I sang a Handel aria yesterday morning for church, and a song to the Blessed Mother by Gounod. And I have had to practice organ more because I am playing some very important Christmas stuff next week, and I want to sound good.

I have tried to stay in better touch with friends, but haven't really connected with my numerous siblings so far. I am still debating whether to have a big post-Nativity dinner thing for them all. Of course, if I commit to it now, I'll go through with it; otherwise, we will find reasons to rest instead!

So that's my progress so far. I'll continue to report on these throughout the rest of Year B. (I presume the 'B' stands for Blog.)

Christmas Concert Postgame Show

2005-12-19T21:49:00.000-05:00

Okay, without giving away too much, last night we gave our Christmas Concert at the Church to be Named Later. We had the best crowd we've had in years, thanks to a parishioner who stepped forward, recognizing my lameness in the publicity department, and took on the responsibility himself. I told him he's already hired for the next gig.

Most things went well. There was one small, potentially embarrassing gaffe during one of the baroque pieces, but I doubt anybody much noticed in the crowd. Let's just say I'm pleased enough to cancel the weekly rehearsal -- our Midnight Mass music is going to be a subset of the concert music anyway, and it's all fairly well rehearsed.

Dang! I wish I could write in more detail, but if I tell a few things about the concert, like what we sang, or about our church, I'll be ready to BURN. And I am not ready for that just yet. But maybe one day . . .

One of the great things about blogging . . .

2005-12-19T21:46:00.000-05:00

. . . is that you encounter some very nice people.

I first ran across Rachel's blog a few months ago when she was writing about her poor dog. Of course I was instantly hooked because, well, you know how I am about dogs. I have a soft spot for them -- okay, let's be honest, it's as big as I am. And that's big.

Today, though, via Julie's blog, I read a hilarious story about Rachel's performance with her four young sons in a reenactment of an Advent wreath. Go, read.

Rachel isn't all that far from Yurodivi's digs. But I'm not telling exactly how far, nor in which direction, lest someone surmise too much. I'm still not ready to BURN (Blog Under Real Name), and as long as I work for the Church, I doubt I ever will be.

The Composer's Mating Call

2005-12-13T22:08:00.000-05:00

Another interesting artice in today's Torygraph. If you saw A Night at the Opera, you have seen this lady: she plays the nice soprano, the love interest of Allan Jones. Well, she's still living, 70 years on from that memorable film, and has plenty to say about the Marx brothers.

"George Gershwin asked me to marry him, but I knew he didn't love me, so I said no. He was sweet and vulnerable, successful and good-looking with an instant appeal. So terribly boyish. But he needed constant approval. So he had constant ladies. Whenever he met one, he pretended that he had written a waltz, just for her, that moment. He'd always use the same lyric and just put her name in the blank space. It was his mating call."

Via Arts Journal, a recommended daily stop. They do such a good job at digesting the British papers, which no one has time to read.

I confess: I once recycled a piece I had written by adding a dedication to a girlfriend. She loved it, and things were good. I never told her it was an existing piece, because even Yurodivi is not that big a fool.

Writers . . .

2005-12-13T22:01:00.000-05:00

. . . what do you do with them?

Orwell, by his own admission, was unfaithful to his wife, but it was a durable relationship, characterised, at least by the male half, (Eileen's views are not recorded) as "a proper marriage", by which he seems to have meant one involving rows and disagreements but always redeemed by the underlying bond.

Go and read this fascinating article about George Orwell's first wife, who passed away tragically young, and who has always been a bit of a puzzlement for Orwell's biographers. It seems a cache of her letters to friends has recently been brought forward, and their content sheds a great deal of light on Eileen O'Shaughnessy.

Interesting detail: she signed all her correspondence with her husband as "Pig." There's got to be an interesting family anecdote behind that.

Hat tip to Arts and Letters Daily.

Las Apariciones Guadalupanas

2005-12-13T21:58:00.000-05:00

This past Saturday, the hispanic community (which has grown up seemingly out of nowhere in the last ten years in my church) held their annual party for Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. I have to admit, I didn't know too much about the story, but the hispanic community addressed that need at the Saturday vigil mass: they gave a little ten-minute pageant in English to educate the Anglos about this very beautiful story.

I am baffled and slightly apprehensive about miracle stories. After all, there is no greater miracle than the consecration of the Eucharist, but still we want more. These stories often put me in mind of the story of the beggar Lazarus and the rich man who "opened up his eyes in Hell," as the KJV used to put it. Here is the relevant passage from Luke 16:

I pray thee therefore, father, that thou wouldest send him to my father's house: For I have five brethren; that he may testify unto them, lest they also come into this place of torment.

Abraham saith unto him, They have Moses and the prophets; let them hear them.
And he said, Nay, father Abraham: but if one went unto them from the dead, they will repent.

And he said unto him, If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead.

If we're not willing to live by the Word when we see, taste, and absorb the Body of the Living Christ at Mass, will we really listen when the Blessed Mother appears and performs a sign?

On a lighter note, it was pretty interesting to sing all that Spanish -- I'm very glad I learned to elide my vowels in Italian class. But now I have the dreaded earworm -- I can't stop hearing Las Apariciones Guadalupanas in my head. The (Mexican) cantor had a really nice voice, if a bit brassy, and she speaks English quite well, so I'm going to try to recruit her to the cantor program and to the choir. And we're going to start incorporating more Spanish-language music into the regular program as well.

One other observation about the Guadalupe story:

Does anyone who has spent time around the chancery feel as surprised as I do that the bishop would actually get up off his cathedra and kneel in awe of the miracle? I certainly would be astonished by that behavior in any modern, American bishop. Maybe that is the real miracle. Maybe not all of their skulls will wind up paving the floor of hell, as Saint Athanasius is supposed to have said.

Look, my eyes are dry, part deux

2005-12-13T21:54:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I’m profoundly slack. Last week or so I promised more about my charity gig for the free clinic here in town. But I never finished writing about it.

Just a few observations.

First, I’ve known a number of doctors who were also musicians of some degree of accomplishment. In fact, when the earth was young, and the heavens were a formless void, and I was in music school, the best pianist in my class was a medical student. He played with seemingly little effort and great ability. He made us all sick, as a matter of fact, because he never seemed to practice.

So this charity thing featured a number of local physicians, performing music for the benefit of the generous. I was there to help a doctor friend of mine, because he wanted to sing, and couldn’t find a physician accompanist, so I jumped in.

Second, in my small city, among the medical population, the Sons of Israel are more heavily represented than in some other professions. So what, in their infinite wisdom and consideration, did the caterers serve as the only meat choice?

Yep. You guessed it. The national dish of the South[east]: Barbecued Pork.

Fortunately many of the attendees were apparently Reform or non-observant, and they didn't raise any objections; the dish was labeled "barbecued pork," so one may be assured that no one violated his religious dietary regulations through ignorance. But come on -- how aware do you have to be to realize that you shouldn't serve pork to a gathering of doctors?

And finally, it was interesting to see (and hear) the other doctors perform. They were all very enthusiastic performers, but none of them were really of professional caliber. I guess it goes to further proof of what I wrote in my Thanksgiving post: a lot of people would give their eyeteeth to be able to play music or sing. I'm thankful my eyeteeth were not required of me to receive this talent.

Yes, Virginia . . .

2005-12-12T21:21:00.000-05:00

. . . God really does have a Mother.

From the writings of Saint Cyril of Alexandria:

That anyone could doubt the right of the holy Virgin to be called the Mother of God fills with astonishment. Surely she must be the Mother of God if our Lord Jesus Christ is God, and she gave birth to him! Our Lord's disciples may not have used those exact words, but they delivered to us the belief those words enshrine, and this has also been taught us by the holy fathers.

The divinely inspired Scriptures affirm that the Word of God was made flesh, that is to say, he was united to a human body endowed with a rational soul. He undertook to help the descendants of Abraham, fashioning a body for himself from a woman and sharing our flesh and blood, to enable us to see in him not only God, but also, by reason of this union, a man like ourselves.

It is held, therefore, that there is in Emmanuel two entities, divinity and humanity. Yet our Lord Jesus Christ is nonetheless one, the one true Son, both God and man; not a defied man on the same footing as those who share the divine nature by grace, but true God who for our sake appeared in human form. We are assured of this by Saint Paul's declaration: "When the fullness of time came, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law and to enable us to be adopted as sons.

This is going in the pile of things to send my Evangelical brother when he tells me we are blowing all the Mary stuff out of proportion.

Vesper anlässlich des Hochfestes der ohne Erbsünde empfangenen Gottesmutter Maria

2005-12-12T20:54:00.000-05:00

Or, as we call in English, Vespers for Immaculate Conception. The name of the feast is actually clearer in German, though: High Feast of the conceived-without-inherited-sin Virgin Mother of God.

As has recently been discussed, many Catholics (especially the devout ones) think that the Immaculate Conception was the conception of Jesus in Mary's womb. If we said it the way they say it in German, well. . . okay. It's awkward. Plus, it's in a foreign language. But it makes a whole lot more Catholic sense.

This Vespers was beautiful. There was a long prelude, including the Trumpet Voluntary by Purcell, or Clarke, or whoever. I can't be bothered to look that up, and frankly no one knows who really wrote it!

They sang Anton Bruckner's Ave Maria, and the Psalmody with verses sung without accompaniment by a cantor, and the antiphon accompanied by brass and organ.

One amusing moment happened when the microphone failed Cardinal Schönborn at the beginning of the reading. I could hear him whispering to his assistant. Apparently the amplification wasn't working, but the recording/broadcasting was. It's slightly comforting to know that sound problems bedevil the Big Guys too.

The Vespers was beautiful, dignified and joyful all at the same time. Really makes me want to do similar stuff at my church, but oh! for the money it takes, not to mention the people's insatiable lust for beetle grubs.

Sometimes I wonder how many more years I can keep up doing two and three jobs. But something keeps me coming back to the church job(s), and it isn't the money, that's for sure. Deep down in my cynical heart there is a kernel of hope that things can be better for Catholic music, and if I quit fighting the "long defeat" (as Elrond might say), then who will take up the banner?

End note: The link to the Vespers service above goes to Saint Stephen's Cathedral in Vienna. They have a very cool radio station that you can listen to over the Web. Since they're six hours ahead of us, it's a great way to get your mind right for an evening liturgy.

Look, my eyes are dryyyyyyyyy. . . . .

2005-12-01T23:28:00.000-05:00

Old theater hacks will recognize the title of this post. The words come from a song that, while it is very affecting in the context of the show, is one of the most often abused audition songs. If I had a nickel for every time I've had to sit through it, or (worse) play it, while some teenaged person with incongruously high self-esteem warbled her way through it, I'd be rich.

That said, tonight I have to play some show music. But that's okay -- it's for a good cause. There's a free medical clinic in my small southern city that offers basic medical care to the indigent. Frankly I'm only doing it because the singer, who is one of the doctors who donates his time, asked me. I had no idea there was a free clinic here because I'm one of the fortunate and have never needed one. The doctor is doing a couple of solo numbers, and then All I Ask of You with a female colleague. The lady said she was "a little uncomfortable" doing this steamy love duet with some guy she's not married to, but hey -- that's showbiz!

Aside: the creepiest rendition of All I Ask of You I ever heard was sung by a Father and Daughter. You may all get the willies now, just thinking about it. Let's just say it was reminiscent of the scene in My Father, the Hero where Gérard Depardieu's daughter has just told everyone he is actually her boyfriend, and unwittingly he sings a zesty rendition of Thank Heaven for Little Girls.

So this afternoon I'm exhausted and sleep-deprived because Mrs. Y and I have stayed up way too late every night, like a couple of high school kids, and I'm steadfastly trying to avoid getting sick before Christmas, because The World Will Stop Turning if some people don't get to hear me sing O Holy Night at 11:55 PM on Christmas Eve. But I'm doing this gig anyway, for no fee, because . . . because . . . well, let's just say it's

what I did forrrrrr luuuurrrrrrvvvvvvvve.

More in the morning.

Earworm (you're welcome)

2005-12-01T23:27:00.000-05:00

I bet you have that stupid song stuck in your head now, don't you?

I know I do. And I don't like it one bit!

Self-important Opining about Music

2005-12-01T23:26:00.000-05:00

One of my more annoying traits (just ask Mrs. Yurodivi) is getting "hooked" on a certain piece of music and listening to it over and over again. Last year it was Lohengrin. Then it was Die Walküre. Then a CD of Bach harpsichord concerti ("like skeletons fornicating on a tin roof," as Sir Thomas Beecham is reputed to have said).

Right now it's Schubert's string quartet in d minor, D. 810, Der Tod und das Mädchen. The first two movements are so brilliant, so fresh, after nearly two hundred years -- it's astounding to listen to it.

Schubert's music has an air of sanctity to it -- not churchy, exactly, but deeply felt and elevated, as if he had existed on another plane. The beauty of the melodies is one thing, but even Donizetti and Bellini wrote nice tunes; and the startling harmonic shifts (bordering on Gesualdo-style craziness) are another. But it's the whole package, a talent so huge that the mind boggles to imagine what he might have accomplished had he lived longer than 31 years.

If only he hadn't contracted syphilis…

New (Liturgical) Year's Resolutions

2005-12-01T23:13:00.000-05:00

You know, anybody can make regular old New Year's Resolutions. These are new liturgical year's resolutions.

Lose weight and get in shape.

Help Mrs. Yurodivi do the same. Moderate exercise actually decreases the risk of recurrence for breast cancer.

Practice piano, organ and voice more -- okay, at all would be an improvement over last (liturgical) year.

Blog more often, even if it's about nothing much. A writer writes, right?

Stay in better touch with friends and family -- even (maybe even especially) the ones I can't stand.

There. That should be easy!

In fact, I think I'll start the New Liturgical Year's Resolutions Meme!

I tag Penni, Julie and Piff.

There's a new sheriff in town.

2005-11-30T23:49:00.000-05:00

Commenting has been updated.

Why, you might ask, do I have to enter that text in the little window to verify my comment?

Because some nuisance keeps spamming my comment threads with adverts for products I don't even use. I'm not going to mention what products, because I don't want to draw searches for the terms to this blog.

So sorry for the inconvenience. I might disable it in a few weeks if things settle down.

The week-later Thanksgiving postgame

2005-11-30T23:46:00.001-05:00

Inspired by Julie of Happy Catholic.

Things that went well over Thanksgiving

The food. The food was good.

Things that went ill (or at least less well)

The company. They showed up an hour early while I was still in the midst of cooking and Mrs. Yurodivi was finishing up the cleaning. Thank goodness we were already dressed.

But about the food:

I put out the usual good things for Thanksgiving, with a couple of additions. First, I brined up a turkey breast and roasted it in the oven. For some reason, no one in Mrs. Yurodivi's family cares for dark meat, and I'm not going to sit down and eat both thighs and both legs at once, so it was best to get the all-white version for this year.

I also made (okay, baked) a ham for the first time. I got the cheapest kind I could find that wasn't a "shoulder picnic" and just baked it according to the directions on the outside of the bag. I didn't do anything to it like pour a Coke over it or slather it with mustard and brown sugar.

Not that there's anything wrong with either of those things, but I had never prepared a whole ham before (other than a failed country ham, and that was a real disaster), and wanted to keep it as simple as possible. I also had to bake it Wednesday night because Familiya Yurodivi has only *one* oven, and I knew that I wouldn't have time to do both the ham and the turkey before lunch on Thursday.

I wound up carving the ham at 12:30 in the morning because I miscalculated the time required to bake it. It didn't matter anyway, because we were still cleaning and getting stuff ready for the company at that hour.

How have I lived in the South for forty years, and cooked for twenty-plus of those years, without ever having baked a ham? I don't know. We didn't eat that kind of ham at home -- my family actually preferred the thin little sandwich slices of boiled ham that didn't require cooking or carving. But I'm pretty sure it won't be my last one, because it was really, really good.

It was even good cold -- I carved it late at night, plattered it, covered it with foil, and put it in the fridge. After I took out the casseroles the next day, I turned off the oven and stuck the whole platter in there to knock the chill off it.

The usual sides also appeared: cornbread stuffing (the kind preferred in my part of the South) with nothing but the packaged dry stuffing, butter, broth, and finely diced celery, onion and bell pepper, baked in a casserole. I know using the bagged stuffing is a big cheat, but I didn't have time to bake my own cornbread and croutonize it. Besides, my dad used to make it that way, and if you can't have some traditions at Thanksgiving, when *can* you have them?

Macaroni and cheese -- I made the casserole variety, baked up with loads of colby-jack, sharp cheddar, milk and eggs, just like in my mother-in-law's old cookbook from 1953.

Gravy -- since I roasted the turkey breast in a saute pan, the pan drippings were already in there; all I had to do was get rid of most of the fat, make the roux, and add the chicken broth to make a really nice pan gravy. I also made some rice because Mrs. Y wanted it.

Sister-in-law brought a congealed salad for her toddler and a pumpkin pie (homemade except for the crust) for her seven-year-old. She also brought a lovely green salad with blue cheese and walnuts with a balsamic vinaigrette dressing.

There was plenty of everything, and no one went home (or to watch the football game) hungry.

Why I'm thankful this Thanksgiving

2005-11-30T23:46:00.000-05:00

I realize these sorts of posts were supposed to be done last week, but what can I say? We were too busy cleaning and cooking for me to do any blogging. That said, I still felt strongly enough a week after the fact to post this list.

I'm grateful Mrs. Yurodivi has finished her treatments and appears to be cancer-free. Her skin is recovering really quickly from the radiation burns, and the oncologist has more or less cut her loose. Even though she'll have to have checkups for the rest of her life, at least she seems to be cancer-free.

I'm also grateful that Mrs. Yurodivi seems to be suffering no side effects from taking Tamoxifen, which has been known to cause all sorts of distress among patients, mostly in the form of hot flashes, although it can also cause DVT and other sorts of problems. She has really been dreading the side effects, and so far, so good.

I'm grateful that relations with my numerous brothers and sisters are better than they've ever been. My mother was manipulative, malevolent and just plain mean, and her treatment left scars on all of us. I'm glad we can put a lot of that stuff behind us and just accept one another.

I'm grateful that (at least so far) I don't have cancer or any other serious health problems. I can still walk without much difficulty, I can see, and I still have my taste buds.

I'm grateful for the various talents God has given me, although it seems like a bit of a cosmic joke to give them to someone with so many emotional/mental difficulties. Still, He knows best. I'm also grateful that I have the opportunity to put those gifts to work in His service. I don't want to sound vain here, but here goes: I'm not much to look at, I'm not generally very nice or much fun to be around, but I have talents and Mad Skilz that a lot of people would give their eyeteeth to have. That's very humbling when I consider it. Lord, what is man, that you should be mindful of him?

I'm also grateful for my sweet little dog. She was a rescue dog, and I'm pretty sure she's grateful to be with us; if someone hadn't adopted her, she would still be at the shelter if she hadn't been put down. I'm really glad that God put her in our family. Especially because we don't have children, she occupies a place in our hearts that children would normally fill -- at least part of it, anyway.

I'm grateful that I have plenty of employment and income and that we both have good health insurance through our jobs. Without that, we would have had to sell everything we own to pay for the cancer treatments. I often think I would like to be a full-time professional musician, but then I lie down for a minute and it passes.

I'm grateful for the online friends I have made through this blog (and your blogs). While you don't actually know who I am, you probably know me better than a lot of real-world people know me. I appreciate your prayers and good wishes, and your kind words and counsel. There are very few people I know in real life with whom I could have these kinds of conversations.

Well. There's plenty more stuff for which I am grateful, but I can't get too personal here in the blogosphere. I imagine anybody who knew me in real life and happened across this diary would recognize the real-life Yurodivi within a few paragraphs.

Ich bekenne…

2005-11-30T23:37:00.000-05:00

Nobody tagged me with this one, but I confess that I have to do it anyway. I certainly understand why nobody tagged me -- I rarely post!

I confess that I hate holding hands during the Our Father at Mass. I avoid it steadfastly. Of course, since I direct the choir, that's easy enough to do. This is rooted in one of many many faults, which is that . . .

I confess that I don't like people very much. I try to be sociable, but it's a drag. I have yet to ascertain whether people don't like me because I'm unfriendly (or visually unappealing), or I don't like people because they treat me like dog poop.

But I also confess that I was at a public venue when JPII came to America in 1987, and I remember the joy I felt when he asked everyone in the stadium to hold hands and recite the Our Father together. That may be where the whole hand-holding meme got started, because so many of the Catholics who were there didn't realize they were at a "prayer service" rather than a Mass, so they naturally wanted to recapture that feeling the next time they said the Our Father. In many cases, that was also the next time they went to Mass.

I confess that I love my dog more than I should, but she's such a joy! I like her a lot better than I like most people I know.

I confess that going to the Latin Mass, while I find it aesthetically beautiful and all that, doesn't do a whole lot for me. Listening to sacred music is a much more spiritual experience for me, even though it should be the other way around.

I confess that I don't pray enough or often enough, and that when I say the Rosary it's usually when I'm driving to church, or when there's a huge crisis in my life that can't be resolved any other way than through prayer, like when Mrs. Y is having an operation or the dog is dying.

I confess that I am way too easily distracted by aesthetic or grammatical issues during Mass, like when the lector mumbles or stumbles over the words (for Pete's sake, can't you read the readings ahead of time and learn to pronounce the proper names before you have to READ THEM OUT LOUD?), or when the organist plays all seven verses of "Ye Watchers and Ye Holy Ones" with the EXACT SAME REGISTRATION. GRRRRRRRR.

I confess that I am the laziest person I know. The Mills brothers could have written Lazybones specifically for me.

Finally, I confess that I really don't like going to confession. I mean, do you go tell your boss everything you've done wrong? I know that I'm really confessing to Jesus, but I can't get over being in the boss's physical presence. That's why I usually go to a different church to do it. And it's one of the things that most makes me want to get out of Church Show Business.

I'm not tagging anybody on this one, because this meme has mostly already made the rounds. But if I had to, I would tag Stephanie.

Beautiful and Touching

2005-11-03T21:57:00.000-05:00

Go and read this excerpt from a WSJ article at Kobayashi's place. I won't spoil it for you.

Even more touching, however, was the funeral oration he gave for his late brother, may he rest in peace. Go. Read (if you haven't already). And don't spare the candles for Kobayashi's family; I have no doubt that it is we exsules filii Hevae, who have it worse than those who have gone on to their reward.

Lux eterna luceat eis Domine
cum sanctis tuis in eternam
quia pius es.

Department of Unfortunate Headlines

2005-11-03T21:50:00.000-05:00

This story had a different headline a few days ago when it first ran. It read:

Nutt to start Dick instead of Johnson against 'Cocks

Can you imagine why they changed it? Beats me.

Those low-down, luminescent, gamma-radiatin’ blues

2005-11-03T21:30:00.000-05:00

So, as I mentioned below, Mrs. Yurodivi is nearly finished with her radiation treatment.

Let me tell you this: radiation treatment is better than death. It’s also a lot better than chemotherapy, generally speaking. But what is really getting her down at the moment is the life-draining fatigue. It accumulates through the course of the treatment and lingers for four to six weeks after therapy, so she’ll be spending the next, oh, seven weekends crashed on the couch.

They say that exercise is helpful in fighting off the fatigue, but now she has a slightly twisted ankle, and the opposite knee is killing her. So no treadmill for a few days. Sadly, the fatigue will likely linger through the upcoming holidays, and those are already bad enough for her; she has lots of unhappy memories from early family life associated with Christmases and other holidays. Honestly, it reminds me of the line in Cavalleria Rusticana: A te la mala Pasqua, spergiuro! (“I hope you have a Bad Easter, oath-breaker!”)

Those of you who have been around radiation therapy probably also know that it isn't overly kind to one's skin, especially in, ahem, a sensitive area, so Mrs. Y has been treating the burning with lavender and with natural, local honey, both of which seem to be helping retard the burning of the skin. The ravages of radiation on the skin, we are told, will likely last upwards of a year. That's a long time to walk around with a burnt bosom.

The worst of the whole situation is that, even though the doctors have told her that the prognosis is quite good, cancer is never really cured, no matter what they say. The conditions that caused you to get it in the first place may make it come back despite the treatment. So the only things we can do are 1) pray and 2) exercise and eat better. And I’m trying on the “eat better” front: make more veg, less fat, less pasta (except the whole wheat kind), and lots of garlic.

I never imagined that it would come to this. But I would rather have a few more years, even if she might die any minute, than to be parted from her before she is ready to go on. It seems only a short time since we met and got married after knowing each other only two months. If she only has a little while, then I’m going to try to make her remaining days (and years, I hope) as healthy and fulfilling as I can.

Off to the Salt Mines . . .

2005-11-03T21:22:00.000-05:00

In the Army they have a saying: P***-poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part. Daddy used to use that one a lot with us.

So today I had to bring some work home from the office. Well, that isn’t really accurate – someone at the office had to E-mail it to me, because I had to leave early to take Mrs. Yurodivi to get zapped. Mrs. Yurodivi: Only FIVE MORE TREATMENTS YAYYYYYY! So the guy who had to send me his stuff to format into a Gantt chart E-mailed it around six in the evening, and here I sit, listening to Bayern Vier on the Internet radio, thanks to the magic of streaming audio, and doing these stupid charts.

When do they have to be presented? Tomorrow morning.

Too bad I’m the only person in the place who knows how to use the charting software.

Katelyn Sills -- AKA Joan of Sacramento

2005-11-03T21:18:00.000-05:00

This young woman is a fine example of what happens to you when you do good for Jesus' sake. They say no good deed goes unpunished, and here Miss Katelyn and her mother are living out that truism.

Stop by her blog and read; she's an excellent writer, especially for one so young. But don’t bother yourselves with the comments; while a number of faithful Catholics have shown up to defend her (and the Church) against the slings and arrows of the various catholidiots (who mostly post from behind the fig leaf of anonymity) who have been trashing them, sometimes in really disgraceful, gutter language.

Fortunately, someone else has done a lot of the heavy lifting. His fisk of the comments of “loretto girl” is priceless. However, I would give anything if it had proved unnecessary; if the girls of Loretto had sided with the Faith against the insidious Ms. Bain (or should that be Bane?); and if the school had actually taught the Faith from the beginning. As Elton John once sang, it’s a sad, sad situation, and it’s gettin’ more and more absurd.

Pray for Katelyn and her mother, that they continue to receive the grace to stand up to these assaults. They’re strong, yes – but they will need ever more strength in the days to come.

Extremely Sad News

2005-10-12T06:08:00.000-04:00

Via Julie D of Happy Catholic.

Even though things were looking very bright for Kobayashi Maru's brother Ed recently, it seems his time is come to return to the Lord, his Creator. May Kobayashi and all his family find peace and comfort in this time of loss.

It isn't scriptural, and I am annoyed by some of the poet's other works, but this work still gives me chills when I read it. I quoted from it for the family of another friend who died from leukemia back in 1997, and it is still fresh for me today.

Excerpt:

Weep not, weep not,
She is not dead;
She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.
Heart-broken husband--weep no more;
Grief-stricken son--weep no more;
Left-lonesome daughter --weep no more;
She only just gone home.

Please continue to pray for Ed as he takes his leave from this life. There is not a soul that leaves these jars of clay behind without some regret, some unfinished business; I am overjoyed to hear of Ed's conversion and reception into the Catholic Church.

Blessed is the Lord our God, ruler of the universe, the Just Judge. May the memory of the righteous ever be for a blessing.

Cancer Update

2005-10-12T06:06:00.000-04:00

Sorry not to have posted in so long. (I feel as if I were talking to my own personal diary here . . . ) Things have been very, very busy, what with Mrs. Yurodivi's medical stuff and my own extra musical gigs on the side.

At the risk of giving away my location and identity, I can no longer conceal my long-time involvement with the Sons of Abraham, so to speak, but I don't want to put the more common name by which they are known, because it attracts all sorts of kooks on the Web. So you'll just have to figure out who I'm talking about from context.

What do I do with this shadowy cabal, whom many accuse of divided loyalties (kind of like Catholics, I suppose)? Well, I sing. I sing a lot over a period of ten days at the beginning of their calendar year, of which this is the beginning of the 5,766th. To be perfectly honest, it's the only religious gig I've ever had where I haven't been asked to sing softer. They actually like robust singing.

Penni of Martha, Martha was kind enough to write and ask how Mrs. Yurodivi is doing. The short version is, she's currently undergoing radiation therapy; she's at the beginning of the second week of a six-week protocol. In fact, she just forwarded me an E-mail from a work colleague telling her she looked better, and she responded, "Yes -- the radiation is making me GLOW!"

So anyway. She's doing well with the treatments, and getting on the treadmill every day or two because that's supposed to help you feel better when you're being nuked every day. The unfortunate part of the whole thing is that it supposedly breaks down your skin to the point where no plastic surgeon will want to do reconstruction; however, it's possible that in the long run it will return to normal. Your prayers are still appreciated, and we can only hope at this point that she will be okay in the long run. Just today there was an article on Sky News about the fact that two thirds of women diagnosed with breast cancer today will still be living in 20 years' time. That's a good thing, even compared with survival rates from the early 1990s. Read the whole thing.

Of Dogs, Babies and Sterility

2005-10-12T05:41:00.000-04:00

Yesterday at Amy's place there was an interesting post about the latest trend among pet owners: the "Bark Mitzvah."

Look: I love my dog. And, as you can tell from the vitriol directed at "childless couples" in the comments box, I'm exactly the last person anyone wants to hear from about this. Of course, that rarely prevents my speaking my mind (or blogging it, as the case may be). So I am prepared to opine.

First of all, as I commented at Amy's, animals don't need religious rituals, other than the occasional (and optional) blessing. They don't sin. Even though I know full well that my dog knows acceptable from unacceptable behavior, she doesn't have the knowledge of good and evil that is a prerequisite for sin. What's more, making a dog a bar mitzvah makes a mockery of the ritual. Jesus even said something about the distinction between dogs and children.

Still, it galls me to be told that spending money on my dog is wrong. One combox expert at Amy's even expresses resentment that people spend perfectly good money on surgery to save their pets when there are starving children in India. (Okay, she doesn't say that literally, but the idea is there.) I am reminded that it was Judas who complained about money being wasted when it could have been given to the poor. I don't want to be in that kind of company if I can help it.

It galls me more to be castigated by the fruitful for failing to have children. To those who think we should be ashamed, I am reminded of Hagar and Penninah shaming their rivals because of their barrenness. I can only say: We tried. God has other plans for us, apparently. And I have every confidence that, in taking in this little dog from the shelter and giving her a good home we have done a good work in God's eyes. That good work is not diminished by the undoubtedly much nobler and greater good works of others.

But I suppose the thing that galls me the most is this false dichotomy: either you love children and are a good person, OR you a selfish, materialistic and barren person who places animals above people. Well, it isn't that simple. Some of us animal-lovers would like to have children. But at age forty, after a good many years of trying, and now that Mrs. Yurodivi has (or, we hope, has had) cancer, it just isn't going to happen for us. In fact, seeking to have children now would be a major threat to her health, and it would also be pretty reckless to have children knowing that there was a significant chance their Mama wouldn't be around to see them graduate from middle school. It is written, do not tempt the Lord thy God. Trust is one thing, but insouciance is another; I'm not picking up any adders or gargling with lye anytime soon, either (although I have kinfolk who have done both of those things at church).

Some of my faithful readers (maybe both of them) may be turned off by this post, and lump me in with the selfish animal elevators. That's their prerogative. Believe me, if I had my choice, we'd have a houseful of kids, and they'd be doing the yardwork instead of me.

But you know what?

a) God has His plans.

b) I am not God (for which I am truly thankful).

c) I assume that my little family -- the wife, the dog and I -- all fit into those plans somehow.

End of rant. As a famous Roman governor once said, Was ich gescrieben habe, das habe ich gescrieben.

What a relief!

2005-09-16T20:11:00.000-04:00

Thanks for all your prayers and concern -- it looks like Saint Agatha has come through for us again.

Mrs. Yurodivi got a call from the radiologist's office today, and the biopsy came back as "benign breast tissue." There's no need for further surgery at this point, and now it's down to the results of this coming Monday's CT scan. If that's clear, the radiotherapy begins next week.

So I guess this should be a lesson: cancer is forever, whether you get a clean report or not. It's always a shadow at the edge of your vision, creeping up in your thoughts when you least expect it; and it never goes away. That's why you have to be thankful all the time, for the time that you have, and the blessings that you have.

You can't take a single day for granted.

Thanks again for your prayers!

Here we go again!

2005-09-15T14:06:00.000-04:00

Waiting…again.

Well, where to start?

Last week we thought we were out of the woods with Mrs. Yurodivi, or at least that we could see the edge of the woods from where we were. Her oncologist called her back and told her that, after examining the test results and conferring with colleagues, she didn’t think chemotherapy was worth the risk of the side effects. So she set Mrs. Y up for a radiology consult, and that was that.

At the radiation consult, one of the doctors suggested she have an ultrasound of the other breast. Sure enough, there’s another mass there. It looks a lot like the one they found the first time.

The radiologist who performed the test said, “It’s probably nothing. It looks like fibroadenoma.”

Mrs. Y reminded him that fibroadenoma was also his sage pronouncement at the first ultrasound, and that turned out to be cancerous.

So right now Mrs. Y is in the back of the medical facility while I wait out here, taking advantage of the free wireless while she gets biopsied again. Mind you, I pleaded with the first radiologist to examine the other breast with the ultrasound machine after he found the lump, but he said, “Oh no, that’s so rare. You never get it in both breasts at the same time.

We'll see about that, I suppose. Probably by this time tomorrow we'll know whether she'll be going back for another round or two of surgery. So please keep Mrs. Y in your prayers.

First Choir Rehearsal

2005-09-15T14:01:00.000-04:00

Last night we had our first choir rehearsal of the new season. I can’t get too specific about why we started too late in case someone reading this actually goes to my church, but suffice it to say I would have started several weeks ago if it had been possible. Heck, all the kids started school the first week of August, so there’s no point delaying till September, most of the time.

We’re lucky to have what we have; there’s no doubt about that. But I would really, really love it if I could have more than one tenor in the choir. And if that tenor could be below Social Security age, that would be even better.

So I’m shooting for the moon this time. I have been kind of phoning it in at the church ever since the cancer thing came along, and I would love to take a full-time music job, but I just can’t, especially not now that we have medical concerns. So I’m trying to do the best job I can and be thankful to have the jobs I have.

Decisions, decisions . . .

2005-08-31T16:45:00.000-04:00

Yesterday Mrs. Yurodivi went to see her oncologist. I went along to hear what the doctor had to say.

The doctor is a tall, vaguely condescending woman with a butch haircut and a pound of slap; I guess she's probably in her early 50s. We'll call her Dr. B. She first ordered me to sit down, then turned her back completely to me and addressed Mrs. Y., acting as if I were not present.

So the last time we were there, she recommended chemotherapy, and Mrs. Y understandably has some misgivings. For instance, the two drugs the doctor is planning to use have a very high risk of serious side effects, including leukemia and "severe heart damage." But at the same time she recommended chemo, she also ordered a test called the Oncotype DX; Mrs. Y's score was a 6, and anything lower than 17 is considered low risk.

Now Mrs. Yurodivi is weighing the options and trying to decide whether the risks of severe heart damage and leukemia are worth the possible reduction of the risk of recurrence, which apparently is already quite low.

Any input you all might have would be welcome. Of course it's ultimately Mrs. Y's decision, but we are praying for guidance about what to do. Please continue to pray for her, if you can spare a moment after praying for the hurricance victims and those helping them. We sincerely and deeply appreciate all your prayers up to now.

Thanks be to God!

2005-08-28T21:24:00.000-04:00

Go, read, and weep with joy, because a miracle appears to have occurred in the case of Kobayashi Maru's brother.

Via Julie D at Happy Catholic.

I can't help thinking that we should also thank the Fourteen Holy Helpers for their intercessions.

Meantime, Mrs. Yurodivi is going back to the oncologist on Tuesday morning to see what the future holds, at least in terms of treatment, so please invoke those same helpers on her behalf! We need all the prayers we can get.

Zecher Tzadik Livrachah

2005-08-28T20:01:00.000-04:00

Uncle Bill was a bit of a free spirit, but he wasn't afraid of hard work. He held seemingly dozens of jobs, starting with truck driving, served in the US Army during World War II, ran a chain of auto repair service stores, and sold recliners. He was a real fixer, and he was social beyond belief. He had half a dozen children and dozens of children, and some great-grandchildren as well. The Rabbi said that he had led "a Biblical life," and certainly his descendants will be like the stars in the heavens.

Bill remarried late in life, and the second wife was nearly forty years his junior. Many tongues wagged and made dire predictions about their short-term prospects. Of course, people sometimes surprise you, and it's unwise to bet against love. Bill and his young wife had been married over 23 years when he lost his fight against cancer.

At the memorial service this morning, the Rabbi referred to Bill's wife as a "true woman of valor." As much as she tended to his bodily needs, and suffered with him in his final struggle, I am inclined to agree, and I am praying for her recovery. She looks exhausted, poor thing, and I can't begin to imagine what it must be like.

And yes, I did say "Rabbi." Bill's bride is Jewish, and her family belongs to one of the older synagogues in the South. The Sanctuary is beautiful. I don't want to go into too much detail, because someone might recognize the place, or know my uncle; he has lots and lots of friends. I am still officially anonymous here on the Web, but I should point out that I have a lot of experience at singing in Hebrew, and have done so for a long time. So I volunteered my services to the widow, and the family told me afterwards that having me sing the 23rd Psalm (in English, but on traditional Hebrew melodies) was "a beautiful way to bring the two halves of the family together." So I'm glad that I was able to put my gifts to work in God's service that way. Even though I had to get out of bed at 3:00 AM to drive the four hours to the other city, it was worth it, if only to know that it helped the widow and the rest of the family.

The Rabbi gave a beautiful, erudite and witty homily about my uncle, who spent a great deal of time and effort on fixing things at the synagogue. He and his wife volunteered for the soup kitchen and manned the homeless shelter there at times. The homily was touching without sentimentality, and he handled the possibly delicate situation of having a roomful of evangelicals (and at least one Catholic) with tremendous grace. My siblings and I came away from the service feeling satisfied, though we were sad to say farewell.

In the Temple they have a saying: Zecher tzadik livrachah, or May the memory of the righteous ever be for a blessing. Rest in peace, uncle, in the bosom of Abraham, and may I receive the grace to meet you there.

Guilty Pleasure: Trashy TV

2005-08-26T19:52:00.000-04:00

I was prepared to dislike him, but Tommy Lee seems like he might be a decent guy.

As a musician, I was impressed to see that he practiced seriously enough to get into the marching band. Anybody who studied at a football school like Nebraska (or any school in the South, for instance) knows that they take marching band very seriously.

In fact, it's an unspoken secret that the best brass players in most of the great opera houses of Europe are Americans. Why? Because of FOOTBALL. Without football, there would be no marching band, and far fewer children would be exposed to brass instruments. In Europe, on the other hand, children are pre-selected by around age 11 to determine what they're going to study, and even what they will be when they grow up.

Although our educational system has many flaws, I'll still take it over the European one any day.

But back to Tommy Lee. The show humanizes him in a way that seeing some of his antics don't. Again, I never imagined I would like it, but so far I'm enjoying this show.

Recipe Moment: Clarifications

2005-08-26T19:36:00.000-04:00

About those recipes . . .

The Sweet and Sour Pork is not actually deep-fried. It's more like pan-fried. You should give it a shake about halfway through cooking to brown the other side.

The Green Beans really do need to be deep-fried. The quick cooking gives them a wrinkly skin and makes them very tender, but not limp.

The Burritos de Pollo al Horno Tostador can be made with the smaller "soft-taco" size tortillas. If you do this, you can serve two per person. If you make them with the big tortillas, they would be great with a little more salady garnish and a little arroz y frijoles.

Hope everyone enjoys these! I'm planning to give Julie's Doboschtorte a try next weekend; I think it will take most of Labor Day weekend to make it!

In praise of the Toaster Oven

2005-08-26T19:29:00.000-04:00

Eve links to this site to point to my recipe-blogging, which is about all I can think of to write these days, other than cancer. Thanks for the link!

Meanwhile, she also lists a recipe for a goat gouda sandwich that sounds like a quick and tasty meal. Incidentally, it was prepared in a Toaster Oven -- an appliance no home cook should be without, especially if you have a small family or no children (as we have). It's small, it uses less electricity than the big oven that holds up your stovetop, and it is really, really good at broiling dishes like the aforementioned sandwich, nachos, and anything that needs to have browned cheese (yum!).

It's also good, I've found, for making small batches of biscuits, smallish pizzas (even frozen ones), and things of that nature. Mrs. Yurodivi bought some frozen par-baked baguettes a while back, and the toaster oven is the perfect place to bake one or two of those -- really all the two of us need.

The model we bought is a Euro-Pro (made, incongruously, far to the East of anything that could be construed at Europe). It has a rotisserie feature as well, which is pretty cool.

And on top of all this, the toaster oven also makes excellent toast, up to six slices at a time, so it displaces the conventional toaster. Also, as Eve points out, you can actually see the food while it's cooking, so you can tell when it's done.

In short, this is an appliance every kitchen should have.

Recipe Moment: Sweet and Sour Pork

2005-08-24T16:46:00.000-04:00

Okay, yes -- I realize that everyone has a recipe for Sweet and Sour Pork. The recipes have been floating around the States since the Second World War. And everyone has seen the woeful shortcut that passes for S&S Pork (or chicken, or whatever) at the local Chinese mega-buffet: dried-up pellets of fried chicken with poofy-crisp batter, to be slathered in a clear, red sauce of brightly colored corn syrup.

Well, this recipe isn't like that! It has fresh ingredients and loads of flavor, plus contrasting textures -- a big deal in Asian cooking. It's not that time-consuming, although it will certainly look that way. It's just really, really hard to write down Asian recipes with any precision, because the style of cooking tends to be somewhat extemperaneous; and of course you have to adjust flavors on the fly when you cook anything, but esp. Asian food. So here goes!

Ingredients

The Dish

A good pound of pork, cut into 1" cubes

1 large red, yellow or orange pepper, diced about the same size as the pork

11/2 cups fresh pineapple, cubed about the same size as the pork

2 cloves garlic, minced fine

1 tbsp Kecap Manis (Dark, sweetened soy sauce)

1 splash of Chinese cooking sherry (You can find this and other ingredients at your local Chinese grocery store, but I'll link to pictures so that, if you're not familiar with them, you at least have an idea what they look like)

1 tbsp. Sambal Oelek

Kosher salt or sea salt

1.5 c. flour

1/4 c. cornstarch

The Sauce

1 clove garlic, minced fine

1 tbsp. Kecap Manis

1 tbsp. Sambal Oelek

2-4 tbsp. tomato paste

1/4 c. vinegar (I usethis brand of rice vinegar)

1/2 c. dark brown sugar (light will do if that's all you have)

pinch of kosher or sea salt

A few tbsp. of chicken broth

1/2 tsp. cornstarch

Utensils and Vessels

bowl for flouring pork

Half-sheet pan with cooling rack, x2

Chinese "spider," or wire skimmer, for breading and for rescuing stuff from the frying oil

Chan or large, metal spatula

Instructions

Preheat oven to 200° F.

In a good-sized bowl, add the pork, garlic, sherry, salt, Kecap Manis and Sambal Oelek; stir to combine.

Combine the flour and 1/4 c. cornstarch plus a generous pinch of salt.

Bread the pork by dredging it in the flour mixture. Shake off the excess over the bowl using your Spider and put the pieces in another (dry) bowl. Let it sit for a few minutes while you do the next steps.

Combine all the sauce ingredients in a bowl and stir well; you must make sure the cornstarch is well dissolved.

Chop the pepper and pineapple into the appropriate size pieces (if you haven't already).

Heat enough oil in the bottom of your wok to be able to fry a few pieces of the pork at a time. When the oil is good and hot (at least 350°), deep-fry the pork in batches for three to four minutes. Drain the cooked pork chunks on the other cooling rack and place the pan in the oven to stay warm.

When you're finished with the frying, wipe out the bottom of the wok to remove the burnt crumbs of the frying mixture and return it to the burner on high heat. Add a few tablespoons of oil and swirl to coat sides.

When the wok is very hot, add the peppers and stir-fry for thirty seconds or so.

Add the pineapple chunks and continue stir-frying until it is warm. It's okay if the pineapple gets a little browned on the outside; that tastes good as long as it isn't totally carbonized. If there's pineapple juice left in the bowl where you had the pineapple, add it to the sauce bowl and give it another stir.

Make a well in the middle of the pan and pour the sauce into the bottom of the pan. Stirring Let it come to a boil and begin to thicken. This shouldn't take long if your burner is reasonably robust.

Take the meat back out of the oven (Remember to use a potholder unless you have a very high pain threshold!) and tip it all into the pan. Stir to combine everything, being sure the meat is well coated in the sauce.

Tip the whole thing into a large serving bowl. If you're making other dishes besides this one, make this dish first, because it will hold reasonably well for a little while.

Serve with steamed jasmine or basmati rice. This dish is substantial enough that it can be a one-dish dinner when served over rice, but it is also good as a compliment to a spicy dish like the chile beef dish I'll post in the next week or so.

Get some water in your wok so the sauce doesn't bake on.

Notes

I had a good friend from the Mysterious East who taught me this and a few other dishes and (more importantly) some guiding principles to apply to Asian cooking. One of the most important things in this style is the contrast between still-distinct flavors and textures. In this dish, that would mean the crunchy peppers, the heat, sweetness and sourness of the sauce, the strong yang of the meat, the crisp batter, and the sweet-tangy pineapple. Really, when you make Sweet and Sour anything this way, you can see why it was so popular, and it will make you shake your head in sage disappointment the next time you go the Golden Royal Dragon Palace Mega-Buffet. The stuff you get there just ain't the same.

If you would like to make this with other meats, I would just say: don't bother. Chicken is naturally sweeter and softer than pork, and shrimp is also rather sweet. If you make it with chicken or shrimp, make a crispier batter; otherwise it won't be quite as wonderful.

Enjoy! I would love to hear about it if you try any of these recipes.

Recipe Moment: The Best Green Beans Ever

2005-08-24T16:40:00.000-04:00

Okay, perhaps that's boastful. But after you try these, you may be tempted to agree. I certainly prefer them to the waterlogged, disintegrating olive-drab specimens one gets with the average hamburger steak.

Ingredients

1.5 pounds of fresh green beans, cleaned and trimmed of stems and that little string thing that sometimes gets caught in your teeth

4 cloves of garlic, minced fine

2 tbsp. dark sesame oil

2 tbsp. premium oyster sauce

1 splash dark soy sauce

1/4 c. chicken broth

1 tsp. Sambal Oelek

1 green onion, sliced

1/4 tsp. cornstarch

1 pinch of salt

Tools

It really, really helps if you can use a deep fryer. I have never made this dish any other way, in fact, since the time I juggled it between two woks and nearly set my church's kitchen on fire.

Deep Fryer, heated to 375°

Wok, preheated

Tongs

Half-sheet pan with cooling rack (if you can't fry all the beans at once)

Serving bowl filled with hot water to pre-warm it

Instructions

This couldn't really be much simpler. A word of caution, however: if you're making multiple dishes for a big meal or for guests, make this last. It will get cold in a hurry.

And another word of caution: this goes really fast, so make sure everything is ready and within reach. You won't have time to do anything after you start frying.

The first time I made this dish, I was in a complete tizzy because I had only ever seen these beans on the Mega-Buffet, and I had never seen them 'on the hoof' in the kitchen, so to speak. But the second time I made it, the beans were great. Don't try to skimp on the fat and do them steamed: the texture of the beans will be completely different and far less satisfactory.

Clean the beans (if you haven't already done so). Get them as dry as you can, because water and hot oil aren't on very friendly terms.

Mix the sauce ingredients together, combining thoroughly. (By 'sauce ingredients,' I mean everything but the beans.

Get the wok on the fire.

Fry the green beans in your deep fryer for no more than 25 seconds. If you have to do it in batches, which you probably will, let the beans drain on the cooling rack while you do the next batch.

Dump the water out of the serving bowl and wipe it dry, then set it next to the stove.

When you have finished frying the beans, toss them all into the wok and add the sauce. This will make a very impressive, Iron Chef-style cloud of smoke and steam, so I hope you have a good exhaust fan!

Toss the beans in the sauce. Because the pan is hot and there isn't all that much sauce, it will come together in a matter of seconds.

Tip the whole thing into the serving bowl and serve it right away, before the beans get cold.

Recipe Moment: Chicken Burritos

2005-08-23T19:26:00.000-04:00

Full name: Burritos de Pollo Asado al Horno Tostador.

(serves 2-4, depending on how hungry they are)
No! It has nothing to do with horned chickens.

This was another fridge-cleaning moment for Yurodivi. On Sunday I grilled a batch of chicken breasts seasoned with adobo, and this seemed like a good way to use up a couple of them. I make zero claim for authenticity in this recipe; I'm not Latin, I know bupkiss about Latin cooking, and I don't have an easy time following recipes. That said, here's what I did.

Ingredients

2 chicken breasts (seasoned with the Adobo of your choice) and grilled over charcoal, cubed into 1/4" cubes

1 can of Ro-Tel Tomatoes and Green Chiles

1 handful of grated mild cheese, divided (I think I used about 4 oz.)

1 can of refried black beans (more on that later)

4 large flour tortillas

1 handful of shredded lettuce

1 medium tomato, sliced

sour cream

the salsa of your choice

1 9" x 9" Pyrex pan.

Instructions

Preheat oven to 375 (I used our toaster oven, which saved some kilowatthours)

If you don't have a can of refried beans, you can do this:
1. Open a can of black beans or pintos.
2. Rinse them well in a strainer and put them in a pot
3. Add some chicken broth or water, enough to cover, and cook them until they're good and soft.
4. Mash them with the back of a spoon (or other blunt instrument), cover and set aside.
5. Did I mention this was not rocket science?
Rinse your strainer and pour the Ro-Tel into it. Mash the tomatoes and green chiles with the back of a spoon to press out most of the liquid.

In a bowl, combine the chicken, the Ro-Tel, and about half the cheese; mix until combined.

If the tortillas are cold, nuke them for a few seconds to loosen them up.

Spread the tortillas out on a cutting board and smear them with refried beans toward one side. Save a little of the beanage to use for glue.

Divide the filling among the four tortillas, placing it atop the refried bean smears.

Smear a little dab of beanage on the opposite edge of the tortilla from where you started and roll them up, closing them at both ends if possible. The bean substance will act as a glue to hold the burritos closed.

Spray the bottom and sides of your baking dish with non-stick cooking spray, then lay the burritos in the dish. They will crowd together, but that's okay. If your burritos have a large personal space, use a larger pan and separate them.

Spread some salsa over the top of the burritos, then sprinkle the remaining grated cheese over that.

Bake until they look ready and the cheese is browned. If you warm the ingredients in the microwave before you stuff the burritos, this won't take very long.

Let the burritos rest for a few minutes. While they're resting, make a little salady garnish on one corner of the plates with the shredded lettuce, the sliced tomatoes, and a dollop of sour cream on top. If the tomatoes aren't very flavorful, you might want to salt them a little to perk up the flavor.

If your family aren't terribly hungry, you might serve just one of these for each person and add some chips and salsa. This made too much for the two of us, and we had the leftovers (about half a burrito each) for breakfast.

God as our Debtor?

2005-08-20T13:30:00.000-04:00

Julie D at Happy Catholic posts a fascinating reflection by Saint Alphonsus Maria de Liguori. Go. Read. Digest.

Recipe Moment: Quick Shrimp Fried Rice

2005-08-20T12:16:00.000-04:00

When I started this blog, I thought I would post recipes from time to time, because food is (ahem) an interest of mine – in fact, too great an interest. But when I referred to MamaT’s post about the pork chili, I realized I had totally neglected it here online. So here’s a recipe for a quick shrimp fried rice that I made the other night with leftover basmati rice from the fridge.

Fried rice is super-easy anyway, but this one is even easier because you don’t have to spend any time marinating and chopping up meat. Yes, I know it’s cheating, but as my Asian friend taught me, Asian cooking is all about improvisation. This particular recipe used up an onion, a pepper, a handful of frozen veggies, and some other stuff.

If you don’t have a wok, use a non-stick frying pan and turn it as best you can. Woks are cheap: I got mine at the Chinese grocery store for $13.00, and I’ve never looked back. I admit it’s hard to use a wok if you don’t have a gas stove, but if you have a turkey fryer, you can use that instead. Just be careful not to singe your eyebrows with the turkey fryer!

Ingredients

1 bag of cold, leftover cooked rice (about five or six cups)

1 cup pre-cooked salad shrimp (thaw them if you use frozen, as I did)

3 eggs, lightly beaten

1 medium onion (red onion is nice, but I used yellow), sliced vertically

1 red pepper, sliced in thin strips

1 medium tomato, sliced into wedges (remove seeds if you like)

½ cup frozen peas-n-carrots

3 or 4 green onions, sliced

Dark soy sauce

Sambal Oelek (chile paste)

Light soy sauce

Fish sauce

Instructions

First of all, it’s important to get everything prepped in advance and put into little bowls or piles to get ready. Otherwise you will never have time to cut anything up while you’re cooking this stuff. It just goes way too fast.

Splash some fish sauce and a few drops of dark soy sauce onto the shrimp and the onions, then turn them to coat. Since the shrimp are cooked, you don’t need to let them sit for too long.

If the rice is clumpy, “massage” it between your fingers through the bag. The less you have to separate it in the pan, the easier it will be. Try to get the grains as separated as you can.

Preheat the wok until it is very hot; then add oil and swirl to coat the sides. (I usually use virgin organic coconut oil, but peanut oil is pretty good too, and a whole lot cheaper.)

When the oil is hot, fry the eggs until firm. It’s okay if you “scramble” them in the oil. When they’re good and firm, remove them to a bowl and set aside.

Toss in the onions and stir-fry for about a minute.

Add the peas-n-carrots and the peppers and continue stir-frying for half a minute or so.

Add the rice and press it down with the chan (or spatula), then turning it and stir-frying rapidly. Try not to let it sit still for too long. Splash on dark (and/or light) soy sauce and generous amounts of fish sauce to taste while you stir-fry.

Add the shrimp and continue to stir-fry. Since they’re cooked, you only need to get them warmed through.

When it looks right, add the cooked eggs, the tomato and the green onions and stir-fry for another half-minute or so, making sure the ingredients are fairly distributed within the rice.

Serve family style in a big bowl while it’s still hot. For seasoning on the table, put out a small dish of Sambal Oelek and the bottle of light soy sauce.

I made this whole thing in about half an hour, only five or six minutes of which was actually spent cooking, and served it with frozen food-service egg rolls that I heated in the toaster oven. It made a nice Friday night meatless meal.

If you wanted to add chicken, you could dice a chicken breast and marinate it with salt, dark soy sauce, garlic and sambal oelek. You should stir-fry it after the egg and before the onion. Chicken and shrimp mix well together in fried rice.

Note: You can get all these sauces a lot cheaper at the chinese grocery store; for instance, the 8-oz. jar of Sambal Oelek is $1.99 at the one in my neighborhood. Just be careful if you go to one that's Korean-owned, because the sauces are different.

Please Pray . . .

2005-08-18T20:53:00.000-04:00

. . . for Kobayashi Maru and his brother.

How could I, having enjoyed the blessings of your prayers and of God's rich blessings, fail to pass on the request to intercede for Kobayashi and his brother. This is a dreadful situation -- the sort of situation that can only be helped by God and the Saints.

Thanks to Julie D for making us aware of this situation. This is the perfect time to invoke the Fourteen Holy Helpers, whose collective feast was celebrated on 8 August until 1969.

O God, who didst miraculously fortify the Fourteen Holy Helpers in the confession of the Faith; grant us, we beseech Thee, to imitate their fortitude in overcoming all temptations against it, and protect us through their irttercession in all dangers of soul and body, so that we may serve Thee in purity of heart and chastity of body. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Yum!

2005-08-16T20:29:00.000-04:00

MamaT at Summa Mamas has a terrific recipe for Adobo-Style Chili. She says it is more delicious in winter.

I haven't tried this recipe yet, to be honest, but it sounds a lot like something I had at a little restaurant on the Western Slope of Colorado (the desert part, not the mountains-and-snow part). The place looked like a dive from the outside, but every socio-economic level of vehicle was represented in the parking area, all up and down the street, from Beemers to 18-wheelers to beat-up pickup trucks.

They called the dish Special Pork Chili, and they only made it on Tuesdays and then reheated it all week long. It was spicy on Tuesday night, but by Saturday night it was darn near inedible. You could see grown men at the tables eating and crying from the heat!

Beyond the heat, though, the flavor of the dish was outstanding, and now I'm eager to try MamaT's recipe. But to be honest, I'll be waiting until it gets a little cooler around here: the "heat index" was 105 today, and all I feel like is salad and a tall, cool beverage or two.

For you German-readers . . .

2005-08-15T21:19:00.000-04:00

. . . and -speakers:

Possibly the coolest site on the Teutonoweb. It's the entire Missal, complete with readings, in German.

Kind of makes me nostalgic. It's too bad that when I was actually there for a year, I was going through one of my low-faith periods, and I didn't take advantage of being near the Church. How I regret that now!

Thanks, Saint Agatha!

2005-08-15T21:11:00.000-04:00

Allmächtiger Gott, auf die Fürsprache der heiligen Agatha vermehre in uns den Glauben, für den sie das Leben hingab, durch Christus, unseren Herrn.

Almighty God, through the intercession of Saint Agatha increase in us the Faith for which she gave her life, through Christ, our Lord.

Thanks be to God!

Finally, some good news: Mrs. Yurodivi and I met with her surgeon again today, and he showed us the path report. The "sample" was all clear; that is, there was no sign of any cancer at all, not even at the margins. The doctor said it was "highly unusual" to find nothing where previously there was something.

So anyway, Mrs. Y is not out of the woods yet; in fact, she's nowhere near halfway through them. But knowing that, at this point, there's no cancer in the surgical site is a good thing, and we are profoundly thankful to God and to all those of you who prayed for us.

To show our appreciation to Saint Agatha, this coming February 5, I'll be sure to put out Agathenkerzen against fire, which you can read about here.

Allmächtiger Gott,
du hast die heilige Agatha
zur Jungfräulichkeit um Christi willen berufen
und ihr die Gnade des Martyriums geschenkt.
Höre auf ihre Fürsprache
und hilf uns, in aller Bedrängnis auszuharren
und dir in Lauterkeit und Treue zu dienen.
Darum bitten wir durch Jesus Christus.

Amen.

Almighty God, you called Saint Agatha to virginity through Christ's will, and gave her the grace of martyrdom. Listen to her petitions and help us to persevere through all troubles and to serve you in gladness and faithfulness. We ask this through Christ, Our Lord. Amen.

Liveblogging the Operation, Part II

2005-08-11T10:46:00.000-04:00

Mrs. Yurodivi is out of surgery. The surgeon says he took a "large margin" and hopes to have gotten a clean margin as well. She'll be leaving recovery in an hour or so, and then we'll be ready to go home by noon-ish.

Thanks for all your prayers! We still need more; we're meeting with the surgeon again on Monday to review the pathology report, and then decisions will be made, and we'll meet with the oncologist again in a week or so.

Liveblogging the Operation

2005-08-11T09:19:00.000-04:00

Anyway, speaking of waiting, this is the first time I have liveblogged an operation, and I hope it’s the last. Mrs. Yurodivi is in the operating room even as I write, where the good doctor is performing a re-excision. The doctor said this one shouldn't take more than half an hour, so I won't have as much time to get nervous.

The extent the doctors go to these days to avoid mistakes (and the attending lawsuits) is pretty impressive. Every nurse who has come in has asked her to recite her name, rank and serial number (so to speak) and made her tell what procedure she’s having, and where. And they make sure that all matches what’s on the chart and what’s on the bracelet.

Even the surgeon, even though he’s thoroughly familiar with the case, came in and made a mark on the affected area. I thought it kind of looked like his initials, but Mrs. Y thought it looked more like a swastika — which seems vaguely disturbing, unless you’re a Hindu, in which case it could be a blessing.

So, in between prayers and supplications, here I sit in the canteen room of this large Southern hospital, right outside the surgical waiting room, taking full advantage of the institution’s free wireless Internet access. If the circumstances were less dire, I would think that was pretty cool; as it is, I’m just grateful to be able to communicate with all of you.

Thanks again for your prayers; please continue to pray for her, because she’s going to need all the grace she can get.

Heilige Agathe, bete für uns!

Waiting

2005-08-11T09:16:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, waiting is the hardest part. Waiting to get tests. Waiting to get test results. Waiting to see the doctor. Waiting for the surgery, and then waiting for more test results. Then, after you get the test results, waiting for more surgery.

Waiting would try the patience of even the most patient saint.

Now, after today, Mrs. Yurodivi will be waiting for even more test resultsfrom the re-excision. The surgeon says this procedure will be less traumatic than the first operation because he won’t be digging around her armpit in search of cancerous lymph nodes. No, they’ve already discovered that her lymph nodes are clear, thanks be to God, so that won’t be necessary.

We have both been overwhelmed by the support and the love that Mrs. Y has received since her ordeal began. She has received cards and phone calls from friends and relatives she hasn’t heard from in years. Even her family have been supportive, even though she doesn’t really get along that well with some of them, at least under normal circumstances. And frankly, maybe this is all part of what Father means when he says that God gives grace in suffering: not just God Himself giving comfort, but his Holy Spirit moving others to give comfort of their own.

We are also grateful to you fellow bloggers and blog-readers for your prayers and concerns. It means a great deal to us to know that you are praying for her.

Update on Mrs. Yurodivi

2005-08-03T21:47:00.000-04:00

Sadly, this situation just gets more and more frustrating as time goes on. While the doctors made rosy predictions out of the gate, and we approached the surgery with relatively little trepidation, it has now transpired that she will require a second surgery (known as a re-excision, not that I ever wanted to know that term), and after that surgery has healed, the one thing Mrs. Y dreaded almost as much as a mastectomy:

Chemotherapy.

Yes, chemo. Along with the nausea (we can manage that much better than before, they tell us) and the perilous destruction of her immune system (what was that Viet Nam thing about destroying the village in order to save it?), she will certainly lose her hair, which is an emotionally daunting proposition. And after the chemo, she'll need a couple of months of radiation therapy.

People tell us we should be glad, or grateful. Objectively, I can understand that: she found the tumor fairly early (but not nearly as early as they told her to start), and at this point it looks like she won't need a mastectomy (or a double).

But on the emotional level, I'm P***ed! Why did the doctors and nurses spin her all this happy talk if they knew it was likely to be more serious? Did they think she would refuse the treatment? Honestly, it's as if they don't consider patients adults.

Anyway.

I'll calm down in a few days. The second (and, we hope, final) surgery is scheduled for next Thursday, so we really need your prayers. I should not have been so optimistic, I suppose; and I shouldn't have let up in my supplication so soon.

In case anyone is wondering . . .

2005-07-25T22:23:00.000-04:00

. . . how I was able to post while Mrs. Yurodivi was still in the hospital, it's this: the hospital has free wireless Internet. You just start your browser, an the network interrupts you and makes you enter your E-mail to log in as a guest.

This was the only silver lining to the cloud, because I was able to read off the right prayers for the day at Universalis. And I was able to write to all my siblings and not spend a fortune on cell phone calls.

Plus, it really annoys me to see the Serial Yakkers in public, honking away on the cell phone, completely oblivious to all around them. And I didn't want to be one of those people, so I made my cell calls outside and just fired up the laptop to send E-mail and read.

Maybe I posted too soon . . .

2005-07-25T22:15:00.000-04:00

. . . because we met with the surgeon again today, and he says Mrs. Yurodivi still has a small amount of cancer. While the first tumor they discovered was an Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, the remaining trace is in another duct, and it is known as a Ductal Carcinoma in Situ. It tends to be less aggressive than the other kind, but let's face it: any cancer is not good.

Next week we get to meet with the oncologist, who will meet with the surgeon between now and then. They both sit on the High Council of What To Do with Cancer Cases at the regional medical center. So next week we will know more; and in the meantime all we can do is pray and wait.

So we need your prayers again, and still. Sancte Agathe, ora pro nobis . . .

O Bless the Lord, for he is good . . .

2005-07-20T15:35:00.000-04:00

. . . for his love endures for ever.

Mrs. Yurodivi is out of surgery. She's still sleepy, and recovery will be uncomfortable, but it could have been much worse if she had not discovered the ominous lump three weeks ago. The surgeon says everything went very well, and that the cancer has not spread.

For all your prayers, I thank you and am much in your debt.

Yurodivi der Gottesnarr

Prayers Urgently Requested

2005-07-18T20:58:00.000-04:00

Dear Fellow Catholic Bloggers and Blogreaders:

On Wednesday, 20 July, around noon EDT and lasting for several hours, Mrs. Yurodivi will be undergoing surgery to remove a tumor from her breast. Yes, she has been touched by the Pink Monster; and all the sappy, saccharine commentary I have seen on the local TV news over the years pales beside the rush of emotions we felt when she got the news.

It has all come on very suddenly, from her discovery of the lump two weeks ago to the pathological diagnosis this past Monday, to the surgery the day after tomorrow.

If you like to ask the saints to pray for these kinds of issues as well, you might want to give a shout out to Saint Agatha and Saint Peregrine Laziosi. They might be very helpful at a time like this.

Since Mrs. Yurodivi got the news, both of us have been astonished at the tales we have heard from survivors of the disease; it seems everyone knows several someones who have had it and lived to tell the tale. Sadly, many also remember loved ones who succumbed.

So your prayers are sought! We'll be at the hospital all day Wednesday, but the operation is scheduled at midday. Please remember Mrs. Yurodivi if you have time. And don't worry; she knows that name and even answers to it; and I'm sure God and the Saints know who you mean.

Sincerely,
Yurodivi der Gottesnarr

On the sensitive subject of legacy

2005-06-13T21:08:00.000-04:00

That's the title of my latest article at Spero News, just released this morning.

Go, read, comment.

If only . . .

2005-06-13T20:51:00.000-04:00

. . . Babdist preachers were allowed to marry, this sort of thing would never, ever happen again!

Oh, what's that you say? They can?

Never mind!

How to know your diction is poor

2005-06-13T20:48:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I threaten my choir with doing something like this, but they don't take me seriously -- probably because they know the church doesn't have the money!

Seriously -- do they really need surtitles when they sing in English? I could understand if they were doing the shows with an all-native-Uzbek cast or something, but one would hope that English singers would be able to sing in their mother tongue.

About that Bach manuscript . . .

2005-06-13T20:45:00.000-04:00

. . . that was recently found -- it's very exciting. I'm sure there are still a few dusty MSS lying around private libraries in Germany.

This goes to reinforce my opinion that great masterpieces usually come to be known during the composers' lifetime; I can't think of a single great masterpiece that was discovered moldering away in a trunk, years after the composer's passing.

Still, it's pretty exciting stuff when it does happen! I can't wait to hear it.

Remember the Book Meme?

2005-06-13T20:35:00.000-04:00

Okay, I realize I am the last blogger to do this meme, not counting Zorak, who said she wasn't doing them. That said, here are my answers. Thanks, Cacciaguida, for the tag!

Total Number of Books I’ve Owned.

As Bridget Jones said, in assessing alcohol units: Oh, thousands.

Last Book I Bought.

The How-to Book of the Mass by Michael Dubruiel.

Last Book I Read.

From cover to cover? Probably Here. Now. by Amy Welborn.

Five Books that mean a Lot to Me.
1. The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien. Need I say more? In retrospect, it was one of the main keys to the opening of my mind and heart to the Catholic Faith.
2. Collected Poems by George Herbert. This is probably cheating, because it’s really a bunch of poems that are meaningful to me individually, but there they are.
3. Collected Stories and Poems, Edgar Allan Poe. I had a very negative childhood, marked by alienation and a desire to become not-alienated. Poe’s Alone pretty well sums it up. I also share Poe’s fascination with the “dark side,” so to speak, but fortunately not his dipsomania or his, ahem, preoccupation with teenaged girls.
4. Confessions by Saint Augustine, one of the greatest minds in the history of the Church (or of the world, for that matter). I think I had better not say too much about why this means so much to me; like Augustine, I will leave the details vague.
5. Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady by the inestimable Florence King. Like her, I have a pretty low regard for my fellow human beings. This book, however, is told with good humor and a high regard for the eccentricities of Southerners, and that is a subject about which I know uncomfortably much.
Tag five others and have them do this on their own blogs.

Hasn’t this meme pretty well run the cycle? Every blog I read has already done it or (in Zorak’s case) refused to do it.

This is so lame. I can never remember all the books I've read.

. . . and speaking of terrible puns . . .

2005-06-07T21:21:00.000-04:00

Her last words to her husband were reported to be, 'So long, old chum.'

Ba dum BUM!

A really terrible music joke . . .

2005-06-07T21:06:00.000-04:00

. . . courtesy of Aristotle.

Such a concatenation of puns is crying out for me to return the favor, so here goes:

Once upon a time, there was this guy who had a problem with drinking. He came home drunk three or four times a week. So one night, he came home drunk again (this is starting to sound like a country song!), and his wife gave him an ultimatum: Come home drunk one more time, and I'll toss your sorry butt out in the street.

So everything goes swimmingly for a while. He stays on the wagon for week after agonizing week, until one day he gets a promotion at work, and he goes out to celebrate with the boys. One thing leads to another, and before he knows it, he's three sheets to the wind.

When the evening winds up, he begins to feel remorseful, and then downright scared. He thinks and thinks as he walks home (hey! at least he isn't drinking and driving, right?): I've got to think of something! Some excuse! Just then, he walks past the display window of a music store, and the idea comes to him like a thunderbolt!

He staggers home, and his wife is furious. She threatens to throw him out then and there, but he says, "Honey, wait! I went to the doctor today, and he told me I have syncopation. He says it's incurable, and I didn't know what to do."

"Honey! you should have told me sooner," she says. And things are fine until the next afternoon, and when he comes home, he sees his clothing and all his possessions lying in the grass on the front lawn.

"Honey, what's wrong? I told you I had syncopation!"

"Oh yeah," she says. "I looked up your syncopation, honey. And the dictionary says it's an irregular rhythmic movement from bar to bar!

A fantastic story . . .

2005-06-07T21:04:00.000-04:00

. . . from Aish ha Torah (Fire of the Law).

There's nothing like a conversion story, is there? This guy epitomizes Jesus's story of the Prodigal Son.

Amusing dictionary . . .

2005-06-07T21:00:00.000-04:00

This reference work would have been awfully handy if I could have read it before I went to Europe back in the day.

Sample entry:

treacle n. What we in the UK call treacle, Americans call molasses. I prefer "treacle" - "molasses" makes it sound as if the stuff is made out of the rear ends of small animals.

Via the Mighty Eve Tushnet.

Thank you for the Links!

2005-05-26T21:15:00.000-04:00

Special thanks to Julie D, Epiphany, Martha(m2), Amy, Cacciaguida and Eve for linking to my conversion story. I also appreciate all the thoughtful comments from readers, both known and anonymous. If my story can help one person, then all this gut-spilling is worthwhile.

Reader Mail

2005-05-26T21:08:00.000-04:00

A reader writes in response to my conversion story:

A small observation - I know exactly what you mean about confession. Can you understand why so many Catholics ignore the sacrament of reconciliation? I cannot get over it, as it is one of the most attractive parts of the Church to me. My Catholic relatives think I am crazy to go as often as I do, and I think they are making a big mistake for not turning to it more often! I was an agnostic for many years, and the idea that you can confess sin and be absolved was something I (unknowingly) was searching for.

Very perceptive. And I stand by my assertion that I have never heard a priest of my Diocese give a homily about the benefits of the Sacrament of Reconciliation. The only times I have heard it mentioned from the pulpit have been by visiting priests from other Dioceses.

To me, this is sheer folly. Here we, as Catholics, have a powerful, life-altering gift, a healing that cannot be bought or sold, and the doctors who administer this treatment won't mention it to the sick for fear they might offend the sinful! It truly boggles the mind.

Bad Boy!

2005-05-26T20:59:00.000-04:00

And I'm not talking about the dog.

Seriously, I've been hungry before, but I've never been quite that hungry.

If they change one more thing…

2005-05-24T21:20:00.000-04:00

Sympathies and condolences to our separated brethren in the Anglican Communion.

UPDATED TO ADD:
A reader comments that this woman is not an Anglican priestess. Thank God for small favours, I suppose. But her story, linked in the comments, is rather sad.

Broken people need love too.

2005-05-24T21:16:00.000-04:00

This post at In Our Midst is a welcome dose of honesty, and it also asks the unanswered question: Is the Church a hotel for the holy, or a hospital for those sick with sin?

Via Emily at After Abortion.

Conversion Story - in Five Vast Posts!

2005-05-23T21:09:00.000-04:00

For anyone who's interested, but too short on time to browse through the archives, here are the links to the five parts of my Conversion Story. The Conversion Story has become a real staple of the (converted) Catholic blogosphere!

Part I: I was born in the House my Father built…

Part II: Yurodivi Goes to College

Part the Third: Conversion means more than a Change of Address

Part the Fourth: Dangerous Flirtations

Part V: What Now?

Thanks again to all who have read and commented.

My Conversion Story, Part V

2005-05-23T20:28:00.000-04:00

The Final Chapter: Now What?

Niemand ist nutzlos! Man kann immer als schlechtes Vorbild dienen. — German folk proverb

So, if you have already read parts one through four below, you know that I am a fool. In fact, the more I think about it, the more resonance the name Yurodivi has for me, although I chose it somewhat cavalierly when I started my blog. No matter how deeply I have sunk in sin and despair, however, I have never completely ceased to believe that God existed. Unfortunately, that didn’t keep me from despair or any other sins, but perhaps it has helped to keep me from running headlong off the precipice.

Now, however, I’ve been a denizen of the blogosphere for several years, and I have learned a great deal. Availing myself of online educational resources, I am now able to have intelligent discussions (without losing my cool or resorting to name-calling) with my brothers and other Evangelicals because I know more about the Faith and what it means to live as a Catholic in a hostile world. Unfortunately, I also know what it means to be a hypocrite and to point to standards I was not then willing to live by. All told, the learning process has taken a long time, kind of like water soaking into the middle of a rock.

What’s that you say? Water doesn’t soak into rocks? Well, with a few exceptions, that’s true. But my head (and heart) are slightly more porous than quartz, thank God; and finally his words are sinking in with me.

Now, look: I know nobody ever finishes reading a sentence that begins with my therapist says… — but bear with me: because of the way certain things that happened in my childhood, I adapted by developing an unfeeling exoskeleton. like a clue-excluding force field, if you will, it kept me from ever seeing myself clearly enough to appraise my own character or personality. Now I find both sorely lacking; and I am extremely disappointed with my use of the forty-odd years I have walked this earth. I’m sure many others are disappointed with me as well; and I hope, with God’s help, to do better.

Granted, the circumstances of childhood and biochemistry are beyond my control, but that’s no excuse for the things I have done. There is even less excuse for things I have done since becoming Catholic, because I should have known better. But I guess that’s what being the Holy Fool is all about, and now my mission in life is to become more Holy, and act less like a Fool.

I find myself facing middle age, but finally getting some more aggressive treatment (drugs plus therapy) for my various mental issues, and holding down several jobs. Because of choices I made earlier in life, we have no children, and we are old to be starting; and I couldn’t blame Mrs. Yurodivi if she just decided she didn’t want to bring any more Yurodivis into the world, especially if they might be anything like me. This is the bleakest part of the story; because I have been a terrible fool all these years, I have not only damaged my own life, but I have made her terribly unhappy and cost her the best years of her life. In fact, if I lived to be a hundred, I don’t think I could begin to make up to her the things I have done wrong.

As for the mental-health issues, I suspect most people who know me have always known that something was not quite right about me. But I believe every form of madness involves an act of will, no matter how minute, and I am resolved not to go on being sick. There are lots of remedies for depression, including some chemical ones, but here is one of my personal favorites:

The Dawning

George Herbert (1593-1633)

AWAKE, sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns ;
Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth ;
Unfold thy forehead, gathered into frowns ;
Thy Saviour comes, and with Him mirth :
Awake, awake,
And with a thankful heart His comforts take.
But thou dost still lament, and pine, and cry,
And feel His death, but not His victory.

Arise, sad heart ; if thou dost not withstand,
Christ’s resurrection thine may be ;
Do not by hanging down break from the hand
Which, as it riseth, raiseth thee :
Arise, Arise;
And with His burial linen drie thine eyes.
Christ left His grave-clothes, that we might, when grief
Draws tears or blood, not want a handkerchief.

So, now what?

What do I do now, now that I wake gradually from the sleep of forty years’ wrongdoing and oblivion?

The answer lies in prayer, repentance, charity, frequent confession, and trying to discern and live God's will for my life; also investing in my family life at home, and putting my talents to work outside the home. (If we can’t have children, at least our pets love us.) That said, here are some things that have finally begun to sink into my skull:

I have gone looking for the wrong things in my relationship to God. I went looking for social acceptance, success and happiness, when I should have been offering myself to Him whole and unreservedly, and accepting whatever He gave me. (According to Saint Francis de Sales, this is a pretty common problem.)

Just knowing the rules and the facts doesn’t make me a good Catholic, or a good Christian of any kind. After all, even the Devil can quote Scripture.

Saying you’re sorry is not the same as living out conversion in your daily life; and if you keep repeating the same offenses, whether against God, or against your wife, or against your fellow man, you need to examine whether you’re really sorry enough, or if you’re just mouthing the words in lieu of a real apology. Are you sorry enough to quit doing whatever it is you like, and start doing what’s good and right?

You don’t have to keep repeating your destructive behavior. If you truly surrender to Christ, you can change, and then things can be different. But until your heart is converted, it’s pointless even to try.

Sarcasm is like arsenic: a small dose isn’t fatal, but over time it builds up. Its effects on a relationship are much the same; it builds enmity and resentment and kills trust and joy.

And finally, to translate the motto at the top of this entry: No one is useless! You can always serve as a bad example. That’s one of the main reasons I posted this story, so that others might learn from my own foolishness and lead happier lives.

Thanks to Julie D., Epiphany, Anastasia, and all those who have read and commented on this story. I appreciate all your input and the links.

Thanks also to Amy, Mark, Eve, Cacciaguida, and all those from whose blogs I have learned these last several years. Without my palantír looking into the Catholic universe, I don't know whether I would be here today.

Profound stuff…

2005-05-23T20:23:00.000-04:00

…from Father Tucker:

Almost everyone believes in God, in one way or another, since even the unaided human mind can discern His existence.

Go. Read. And pray for more priests like this one.

Dogs: What can't they do?

2005-05-23T20:22:00.000-04:00

Posted without further comment:

Dog licks man's leg, saves it from amputation.

American Idol: the final two

2005-05-18T22:59:00.000-04:00

Well, I got my wish: Bo has survived into the final round, where I imagine he will trounce Carrie. I still can't believe he sang that a capella song in the first place, much less that he sang it again.

Best of luck to both of them! And I was sorry to see Vonzell go. She seems like a very sweet Southern girl, and she has a monster talent; I hope she'll go far in her career, regardless of the order in which she finishes in this competition.

My Conversion Story, Part the Fourth

2005-05-18T22:47:00.000-04:00

Part the Fourth: Dangerous Flirtations

In 1999, I went into therapy for the second or third time. My therapist at that time was a good man, a very serious Evangelical who taught at the local Evangelical college and also worked in the mission field. He worked on me a lot. At that time, I hadn’t been to confession in 14 years, and I was consumed with guilt. And he had me on the edge of reversion. In one session, I related a story about attending the funeral of a well-known priest, a beloved, grandfatherly figure who had received me into the Church in the 1980s.

Now, I still assumed that priests were all perfect, as in Chaucer (If Gold rust, what shall Iron do?). However, when I went to this funeral, I went into the rectory with the rest of the choir, and another well-known and beloved, grandfatherly Monsignor was weeping openly and standing at the head of the receiving line, receiving condolences from everyone. Again – I was clueless about what that meant. However, during one of the eulogies, it transpired that the Monsignors owned a cozy bungalow together and had been assigned within a stone’s throw of each other for over fifty years.

Are you getting the picture? The one that was just beyond Yurodivi’s grasp?

Well, the thing that tore it for me was the erotic inscription on Monsignor’s tombstone. Then the dawn from on high broke over my dim understanding, and I perceived what everyone else in the church already seemed to know: i Monsignori were husband and husband, so to speak; and that meant the man who had given me extensive penances for minor sins had been carrying on the whole time.

This was on top of the revelation the preceding year that a priest in the diocese had run off with his best friend’s (adult) daughter. You know the sad part about that? I was relieved that at least it was a heterosexual affair instead of ephebophilia. So at that time, I was in a tailspin with the Faith. I was coming to think the whole thing was a fraud, that nothing really mattered, and that the Eucharist was just a symbol. But I kept up my musical duties at the church, first enduring a parochial vicar who was in his eighties, then an aging-hippie priest from Out West Somewhere who was installed as pastor.

Now, this new priest was a mixed blessing: Everyone Loved Him because he was witty and affable. Those people didn’t object to the way he neutered the words of our sacred liturgy, improvising his own non-gender-specific prosody. They didn’t seem to be bothered by the way he would give announcements before saying the post-Communion prayer, basically turning the announcements into a stand-up comedy act — Father Seinfeld, as it were. Few people saw his other side — the side that screamed obscenities in the Sacristy whenever the Bishops reinforced any teaching he saw as ‘conservative;’ the side that said, ‘You know, Yurodivi, if we’re going to let women have their civil rights, it’s wrong not to ordain them. They have a right.’

On the positive side, he was pretty good with the brick and mortar side of things, and he actually read his homilies from a script — in fact, he treated them a lot better than he treated the Sacramentary. This was an improvement on the previous priests, who preached extemporaneously (that is, they didn’t bother to prepare). Unfortunately, the average Catholic in the pews would rather hear feel-good drivel delivered in a dramatically satisfactory fashion than be challenged by Christ’s teaching, just as they would rather have beetle grubs than listen to Gregorian Chant.

It was the last year of the second millennium, and I was really at the nadir of my faith in the Church. My wife and I had been going through a lot of problems, including a serious illness suffered by her mother, and the loss of two beloved pets to cancer, plus a miscarriage shortly thereafter. I trudged through my musical duties at the Catholic Church, phoning it in for some time, because my heart was truly not in the work any more. Thoughts of suicide were a continual presence, lurking like a specter in the attic of my soul.

Just then, a position opened up at a large Protestant church in town, and the position was perfect for my abilities. I began to read some of the founder’s writings, and within weeks I was right back into my Babdist mindset, believing the anti-Catholic calumnies: that the Church taught “works salvation,” that we worshiped Mary and the Saints, and that the authority of the Pope was extrabiblical, as was the rest of Catholic theology. In the state I was in at that time, it’s a wonder I didn’t revert on the spot.

Fortunately God had other ideas. God had other instruments, other servants to reach down into the miry clay and put my feet on the solid ground.

First, the protestant church rejected me. Although they didn’t cite this as a reason, I doubt they wanted a Catholic, even a nearly lapsed one, in their church leadership. Furthermore, they probably perceived my depressed mindset despite my efforts to conceal it and “put on a happy face.” So my efforts to jump Peter’s Bark came to naught, because I couldn’t just quit my job at the Catholic Church and go off on my own.

Second, I started to do some research about the foundations of the Church. One of the first places I landed on the Internet was a site called In Between Naps. One post, a post I seemed predestined to read at that time, mentioned a talk the Blogmistress had given at which she had been heckled by an older woman (maybe even a nun, if memory serves) who insisted that Amy “admit” that the Catholic Faith was not based on the Bible. Amy refused, instead demonstrating how it is based on Scripture and on Sacred Tradition.

Now, when I first became Catholic, I had been fairly comfortable with the idea that the Faith was extrabiblical; but here was an idea I had never considered: that it was both Biblical and traditional.

SO, gradually, over the course of months, I read, and read, and read, and prayed. I felt as though I had been wandering in the desert and had stumbled into the oasis of knowledge, and I was determined to drink all I could. Eventually, I even took the vital step of returning to confession after 17 years. Yes! A cicada’s age, as I said before; and I regret those years in the wilderness.

But sometimes, just as the Shepherd may break a wayward lamb’s legs to foster the bond with the Shepherd, God lets us suffer — usually, in my case, because of my own misjudgements — to draw us to Him. And I had to endure those trials to help my unbelief.

Coming tomorrow, the final chapter: What Now?

My Conversion Story, Part the Third

2005-05-17T22:16:00.000-04:00

Conversion: it's more than just a change of address

As I wrote above, I was born into a house where Joy was only a dishwashing liquid, so you might expect that I would have some challenges not only growing up, but as an adult. And you would be right about that.

When I was received into the church, I was singing in the choir of a large Catholic Church in my small southern city. I had been singing there ever since I left the Babdist church, and all along planning to hop the Tiber and come home. In retrospect, it seems that the speed with which I was allowed to come into Full Communion with the church was a problem, because I didn’t have to go through the process with a group of catechumens and make a real self-examination to get in.

I was basically stamped and greased, so to speak, and cut loose. I was never told to continue my religious formation, and I thought that just being received was enough. Furthermore, no priest in my Diocese has ever, in my presence, given a homily about the Sacrament of Reconciliation or even mentioned it as an important part of the Faith.

No, none of that guilt and sin stuff. And every Sunday, practically the entire assembly streams forward to the altar to receive the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ. Of course, I’m not fit to judge anyone’s disposition to receive the Eucharist, but the confession line on Saturdays, when the Sacrament of Reconciliation is offered for an hour (only an hour!) at my church, is rarely more than half a dozen souls. I have a hard time believing, as often as I sin, that all those people are really all that clean. That’s why, most Sundays, I refrain from Communion in order not to received unworthily, eating and drinking damnation to myself.

How I regret all the times I have received the Body of Christ in an unworthy state! I tremble at the thought, calling to mind Aquinas’ words:

Sumunt boni, sumunt mali:
sorte tamen inaequali,
vitae vel interitus.
Mors est malis, vita bonis:
vide paris sumptionis
quam sit dispar exitus.

(Both good and bad partake, but with unequal fates, either death or life; Death to the bad, life to the good; how different are their ends!)

And our priests never mention that Communion is not an all-you-can-eat buffet for all and sundry. No! They told me repeatedly that receiving Communion was "a matter of conscience," and it was up to me to believe or not believe in the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

I am thankful that even my unworthy reception can be washed away! I have struggled with my own sinfulness for many years, and I have not conquered my sinful nature; indeed, I never will, except in death. But I am thankful for the hope of salvation, the free gift which I do not and cannot merit.

That brings us back to the conclusion of Part the Second, in which our Holy Fool (mostly fool, not much Holy) had entered into full communion with the Roman Catholic Church. And this post is already so vast (thanks, Eve!) and the hour so late, and I have still so much to say.

So let me put it this way: it is impossible for me to describe, even from the putative safety of pseudonymity, the things I have done wrong since I became Catholic. It calls to mind Evelyn Waugh’s pronouncement that he was, indeed, a very bad man, but would have been even worse without the Catholic Faith.

When the chance came to live up to my Baptismal promises, I said, I know Him not, and ran to do evil, again and again and again; sometimes, like Augustine, just because I could (wish I’d read his Confessions sooner; it might have made a big difference in my life). And sometimes, if I'm honest, it has been because the sinful choice is more convenient, more expedient, and more socially acceptable -- even among Catholics.

All I can say is, my Guardian Angel must have been working overtime all these years: I’ve never been in trouble with the law. I managed not to get hooked on drugs or alcohol, or even cigarettes (though I do enjoy a cigar once in a blue moon), and with my family background, I was at high risk for all those things and then some. So maybe the good doctor is right about the Guardian Angel.

They also say God watches out for fools, drunks and little kids, so maybe that’s part of it too; I’ve certainly been all three of those things, sometimes two at a time.

The saddest thing of all, though, or the most confounding, is that I wallowed in sin all those years, not going to confession once between roughly 1986 and 2003. Yes - a cicada’s age. I am reminded of John Donne’s masterpiece:

A Hymne to God the Father

WILT Thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done;
For I have more.

Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sins their door?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallow’d in a score?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done;
For I have more.

I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
But swear by Thyself that at my death Thy Son
Shall shine as He shines now and heretofore:
And having done that, Thou hast done;
I fear no more.

So, what drew me back to the Faith?

Come back tomorrow for Part the Fourth: Dangerous Flirtations.