Unexpected blessings at Mass on the road...

Hudson River, at Corinth, NY

So I had a lovely experience this past weekend, one of those times wherein you're sort of cruising along on spiritual auto-pilot, and then something comes up and grabs your attention in a completely unexpected way, kwim? To be sure, things haven't been poor for me in the spiritual realm, but it has definitely been a bit dry of late. I think this happens to most, if not all, people, and for me it's quite cyclical. A cycle might go for a year or more in either direction. And for me, it's been "just OK" for a number of months now.

This past weekend, my entire family took a weekend trip together for my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. My 2 sisters live in other states, so we all met in the middle, rented a huge house with a pool through Airbnb, and all 15 of us stayed there together for a few days. It was SOOO nice to see everyone, and to spend quality time together.

Having some time to blissfully talk to my sister Shauna'h in person, we quite naturally navigated over to spiritual topics. Catholic podcasts we both listen to, books we've read, etc. And a book she was using for her morning devotional time really struck a chord with me. In a total teaser, that is the subject of *next* week's post, so you have to wait a bit for the big reveal on this particular book. :-0 But I'm soooo excited about it, and to share it with you! At any rate, she and I were talking about this book, and about prayer routines and scripture study, and it really got the Catholic Nerd in me re-energized, big time. More on this next week. ;-)

And so on Sunday morning, I was really looking forward to going to Mass. I'm going to be honest and admit that lately, Mass is something I attend because I know it's the right thing to do, not because I feel spiritually edified when I'm there. It happens. We must soldier through, and so that's what I've been doing. I was even wondering if we were going to make it, given that many of us hadn't slept well the night before, and things at the house were moving slowly Sunday morning due to an electrical outage.

But we made it. The Google Maps lady got us there safely, and I was feeling optimistic and much more enthusiastic about attending Mass than I have in quite some time. As we were walking into the tiny church for the 10:45 am Mass (open only seasonally to accommodate tourist season in the Adirondacks), a man standing at the door greeting people stopped us and asked Henry if he could help him carry something heavy. Henry, always the first to complain about church being boring, could use a job to do to keep his mind occupied, so I encouraged him to help out. The rest of us bustled into a pew.

Next thing I know, I see the man directing Henry into retrieving the cross from up at the front of the church. In most parishes, the portable cross for processing up the aisle is made of wood, but this one appeared to be made of wrought iron. :-0 Henry got it out, no problem, and carried it to the back of the church. I was pleased to see him being so cooperative.

Within minutes, the man reappeared, and this time he was wearing priestly vestments.

😂

Who knew?! He wasn't wearing a collar before then, so I assumed he was an usher. But I should have realized that this tiny church did not need ushers. At any rate, the opening song begins, Henry and the priest proceed to the front of the church, and Henry efficiently tucks the cross into it's holder and carefully turned it so that Jesus was facing out at the congregation. As he started to walk back to our pew, the priest stopped him, and they had a quick sidebar. Apparently, Henry's deliberate pause at the altar with the cross, waiting for the priest, and then coordinating their bows, gave away his skills as an altar server. Father recruited him on the spot to serve at the Mass. Which is hilarious, because Henry was on the schedule to serve at our home parish that exact same Sunday, and had to find a sub due to our trip. Apparently, he wasn't going to get out of serving on this particular day!

The experience gave the Mass a truly serendipitous feel, like it was meant to be for us to be there for that specific Mass. I loved watching Henry pitch hit on the altar, figuring out the system at this parish as he went along. Afterwards, we chatted with Father for awhile, and it was just lovely. He was thrilled to have an altar server at Mass, as he usually doesn't have one at this particular location, and enjoyed talking to us about our story and where we were from. I left with the happiest feeling of contentment and joy in my chest.

It's little moments like this that cause me to remember that God is always looking out for us, even when we're not adept at recognizing the signs. It was a wonderful experience that has left my faith feeling rejuvenated.

Have you ever had an experience like this one? Just a small God-incident moment? Any good Mass on the road stories from Sundays of travel? I'd love to hear about them in the comments! Also, next week we'll chat about devotionals. 😀

I'm back, safe and sound...

Ok, I have a bit of a phobia about flying, and I haven't done so in many years. This, as you may suspect, is a bad combination. It makes the fear percolate and spread, like a fungus. Thus, on Thursday, I had a difficult time preparing for my trip. I told everybody that I loved them before I left, just in case, you know, I didn't make it back. I'm nuts like that.

I also just HATE traveling by air. The extra time you have to leave for airport hassle, not knowing what will happen to my poor beleaguered suitcase when it's out of my possession, the juggling act (that is the most charitable way that I can describe it) that is now the security checkpoint, the delays, the squishyness that is seating space on the airplane, having to travel hundreds of miles out of your way due to connections where you're then delayed even further, praying that your luggage makes it to your destination, all that good stuff.

Bear with me while I insert a quick factoid:

Travel time by car from my house in western New York to my sister's home in southern Maine - 10 hours.

Travel time by air from the time I leave my house for the airport to arriving at my sister's door in southern Maine - 9 hours.

I'm just saying.

The reason for this craziness is twofold: (1) there is of course no direct flight from me to Portland, Maine. We had to fly to Baltimore first. (2) my dad has tons of free tickets on Southwest (he's a business traveler) and Southwest doesn't yet fly into Portland, Maine. We had to fly into Manchester, New Hampshire and then drive 2 hours to my sister's house. This sucked. But the ticket was free, so how can I complain?

But the bottom line is that unless I'm going to Europe (or MAYBE Hawaii and Alaska; actually, I'm just crazy enough to want to drive to Alaska), I want to travel by car. You can leave when you want, stop when you want, eat and drink what you want, pack what you want, and not have to have someone frisk you. But I digress.

I will say that Southwest is very good. You don't have to pay to check a bag, they solidly have their act together with loading and unloading the plane, and they really try to be pleasant and stay on schedule. Their flights are all full, and I'm glad that their business is good. Although, perhaps they're trying to distract us from the fact that I SWEAR that there is even LESS space on the airplanes than there used to be. Did they add seats but yet not expand the airplane? It seems that way, but what do I know.

Anyway, two things make the travel bearable:

(1) Company. My parents traveled with me, and I was glad to have someone to talk to. It's soothing.

(2) Alcohol. WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THIS BEFORE?! My dad had drink coupons.

*angels sing*

Although, seriously, even for $5, people THIS IS SO WORTH IT. I assumed I would get just one of those teeny tiny bottles, but instead I got a full glass of Chardonnay.

*bliss*

Next thing you knew, I was chatting up a storm and feeling relaxed. Relaxed on an airplane? MAGIC.

The flights were actually pretty painless. 50 minutes to Baltimore, and then 1 hour to Manchester. The suckfest began with the rental car and the drive north to Portland. Ugh. By the time we got in, it was midnight, and I was exhausted. A cruel, cruel reality is that I get motion sickness and cannot read or knit in the car.

Anyway, I glimpsed the babies before we all collapsed into our beds, but they were sleeping so I didn't get nearly the baby time that I wanted.

The next morning, I was up early, bright eyed and bushy tailed, putting on makeup in the guest bathroom, a cat by my side, waiting for any sign of noise to come from my sister and brother-in-law's bedroom.

*click*

BAM! I'm at the door.

"HAND HIM OVER."

There commenced 2.5 days of near constant baby snuggling.

There was always a baby needing to be held, changed, fed, or soothed, which was just fine with me.

The baptism was Saturday, and it was lovely. I just LOVE the affirmation of our baptismal promises and the tenets of the Nicene Creed in the ritual:

"This is our faith. This is the faith of the Church. We are proud to profess it, in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Andrew is my third Godchild. I'm also Godmother to my nephew Nathaniel, who made his First Communion about a year and a half ago, my good friend Irena, who was a full catechumen at the Easter Vigil 2011 when I was 8 months pregnant with Anne and who converted from atheism, and now Andrew. I was also confirmation sponsor for Shauna'h, his mother. It's a very nice Catholic tradition that we have going on. I feel privileged to be their Godmother.

Our family are the last Catholics on my mom's side. My grandparents and aunt and uncles on that side are all devout Christians, but are no longer Catholic.  My dad's side though, has *more* Catholics now than in the past. I am doing my best to pass the faith on to my children and I pray that they do the same.

During the ceremony, the deacon did a lovely job. There were 2 other babies being baptized, and he asked everybody why they chose the names that they did for their child (all had at least 1 Catholic saint name) and asked about their baptismal garments. My nephew Will was wearing a gown that was over 80 years old, handmade by my brother-in-law's grandmother. Babies in the family have worn that gown in each generation since. Another of the babies was wearing an heirloom gown as well.

It all made me reflect on the history of our faith and how it's just as perilous now (when we're not being persecuted and beheaded, all that happy stuff :)) to pass on the faith as it's ever been. Today, it seems as if our enemy is indifference. I hope that I instill in my children and Godchildren how precious and special our faith is, and how we need to hold on to it firmly and passionately.

I very much enjoyed my trip, and the travel back was less bad. I was anxious to get home to my babies. Anne seems to have grown at least a foot since I last saw her, and is talking more than ever. As ever, she's extremely sassy and appears to be once again (please let this be over soon!) getting a new tooth. She HAS to be almost done; it would be inhuman otherwise.

A quick sampling of her new vocabulary:

(1) "Mine!" - Something that is most certainly NOT hers, but that she would like to be.

(2) "No no no!" - Self explanatory.

(3) "Ball!" - The child loves balls. This includes the giant red Target "dots" that they have outside the stores which I'm pretty sure are made of concrete and weigh as much as a herd of elephants. But yet, this explanation fails every.single.time when she sobs that we can't take the "ball" home with us in our car. Sigh.

I'm off the rest of the week, so no blogging for another short stretch. I will return on Monday with Thanksgiving and Black Friday tales. That is Cyber Monday, and is a big yarn sale day for me, so prepare for yarn talk. I actually dreamt of yarn the other day. It was all very cat-like.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Northeastern bound, blogging will be light for a week or two...

Morning all! I'm traveling to Maine today to visit my sister, brother-in-law and new twin nephews. :) Their baptism is this weekend, and I'm Godmother to Twin A, Andrew. :) I'm very excited. I am, however, a very nervous traveler by air, so would you all wing up a prayer for me today? I'm armed with my Kindle, a boatload of yarn and my knitting needles (yes, these are allowed in your carry-on, I already checked; if the TSA tried to take my beautiful wood needles away from me somebody WOULD PAY) and my iPod. I should be fine. But I'm antsy all the same. I'm also going by myself. Mike and I didn't feel like Anne would be a good traveler just yet, so he and the kids are staying behind. I'll only be gone for 3 days, but I'm still very unsettled about leaving them. :( But I know it'll be fine.

I'm staying home on Monday to just be with Anne, but I'll check in with you all on Tuesday. After that, with Thanksgiving, I'll also take a short blogging hiatus for family time. Following Thanksgiving weekend I'll be back to my usual schedule.

I'll regale you all with baptism stories and traveling details next Tuesday. Until then!

Back at work...

So, I'm back. Thank God. The whole experience reminds me of how I never want to fly anywhere ever again and I'll just drive instead. After waiting in the line to check-in our bags at the airport...

"Is that the end of the line? Oh wait, no , it weaves back that way. Is this the end of the line? Oh wait, look, it snakes over there..."

And then waiting in the chaotic line at airport security...

"I think we're in the wrong line. Why is nobody moving? Where are we being funneled? Why is that TSA lady yelling at those people?"

And then waiting at the gate...

"Henry, no, honey, please just sit down..."

And then waiting on the plane...

"Are we there yet, Mommy?"

And then waiting on the runway after landing for a gate to open up...

"Why are we just sitting here? What are they doing? They have to de-ice that other plane? *expletive*"

And then waiting to get off the plane...

*loses oxygen*

And then waiting for our luggage...

"I thought they said Carousel B. It's obviously not going to be Carousel B. Hank, honey, please don't climb on that!"

I wish to never see an airplane ever again. Amen.

Today I'm back at work and I wish it wasn't so. I'm buried under email and my to-do list is a mile long. Inexplicably, the semester begins MONDAY which is just royally unfair if you ask me. Between the holidays and everyones vacations, it's been hard to get any work done between semesters. Sigh. I've managed to wade through most of my email, but this has resulted in 10 more items being added to my to-do list. I'm downright afraid of my to-do list at this point. It's too large to fit in the designated area of my weekly planner, and so items have been squeezed in every which way and it looks very, very scary.

There's one entry on the list that just says: "pile." It refers to a pile of small junk that I need to take care of but I have no notion of when I can get to each of them so I just stuck them in that pile. Once I finish everything else, I must get to the pile. This likely means the pile will still exist come May.

Adventures in Disney World

Well. I'm back from Disney World, and I'm just glad that I survived it :) I know that many people love Disney World, so once again, I'm thinking that I'm the freakish minority. At any rate, where to begin...

When we arrived at the park, I was amazed at the size of the property. The place is a fiefdom unto itself. We took a tram from our assigned parking lot (Pluto) to the main entrance. I was a little surprised to find that we had to take either the monorail or a FERRY over to the Magic Kingdom itself. A ferry? We chose that option, and I was happy to view some laughing gulls, tree swallows and double-crested cormorants on our voyage. As Cinderella's castle came into full view, Hank was trembling with excitement.

After we entered the park, we started off at Dumbo, and Mike took Hank on. They waited for about 15 minutes, and while they did so, I did what I always do in these waiting situations: I whipped my book out. Mike is always amazed at my ability to tuck a book away in my handbag and read at every possible opportunity. Line at the bank? I'd rather use my time wisely and get another couple pages in. Strange, but true.

So I read, Mike and Hank finally got on Dumbo, and everyone was happy. I waved to them as they flew by. We moved over to the teacups, which are one of my favorites. I took Hank on this time, and we only waited for 5 minutes before we were able to get on. We got our own cup and I spun the wheel enthusiastically so we could swirl about. Hank laughed in delight. I think I overdid it, because when the ride stopped, I could barely stumble my way out of our cup. It looked like I had slipped a little something extra into my tea. Hank wanted to go on again, and thankfully, my father-in-law offered to take him. I was still recovering from the first trip.

After that, we headed to Thunder Mountain. We found that Disney has a new system called "fast passes" for the main rides. You register with your ticket, and receive a return time. When you return during the given time, your wait time will be at most 15 minutes. Our return time was about an hour away, so we ate lunch, and headed back. It worked out really well. After that, things started to deteriorate...

We went to the Haunted Mansion. The wait wasn't too bad, under 30 minutes. Hank loved that. That's when things got dicey. Mike and I headed over to Space Mountain to fetch a fast pass, and well... It was only 2 pm, and the fast pass returns were already at 6 pm. By 6 pm, with a 4 year old, we would be long gone. We glanced at the wait time: 60 minutes. Sigh. We probably should have just gotten in line at that point, but not being Disney savvy, we didn't. We did a little browsing at the stores, "$20 for 3 Mickey Matchbox cars? I don't think so..."

We met back up with my in-laws and Henry, and tried to find some more rides for Hank. Everything had a 60 minutes plus wait time, even the little kidde rides. Henry was starting to reach his expiration point, so we formulated a plan. Hank would go with his grandparents to the parade to see Mickey, and Mike and I would wait in line for Space Mountain. I'd never been on it, and since I'm fairly certain that I will never, ever repeat my Disney experience, I wanted to get that in.

Mike and I headed over. The wait time was now 90 minutes. *groans* I persevered though, and Mike, true to his wedding vows, stayed by my side. We waited. We eavesdropped on some conversations in the line near us to pass some time. We chatted. We snaked along. We finally got up to the point that we could see people entering the cars. We still had a ways to go, but I was feeling optimistic. We had been in line for 45 minutes. Then, disaster struck.

Space Mountain broke. I don't know what happened to it, but suddenly, the lights came on and an announcement over the loud speaker informed us that they were "experiencing technical difficulties. Please be patient." We waited for about another 15 minutes, and soon we were nearing the time that we had to meet back up with my in-laws and Henry. We waited for another announcement, and were told that things were still being repaired and we had to continue to wait. Feeling extra cranky, we extracted ourselves from the line and went back outside. The ride was totally closed; they weren't allowing anyone to even stand in line. Not a good sign.

So, I didn't get to go on Space Mountain, and most likely, I'll die without ever having the experience. Alas. I suppose I'll live.

Overall, it was a very, very long day. Mostly, I felt disappointed. Given that it was a Monday, and schools were back in session, I thought the crowds wouldn't be that bad. Naive, yes, it's true. The crowds were overwhelming, and we were only able to ride less than a handful of things in 7 hours. For me at least, a true introvert and sometimes clausterphobe, I can't enjoy myself in those circumstances. Especially when it costs what it does to gain admission. For $80, I want a personal champagne brunch with Cinderella. Or at least, Chip and Dale.

Henry had a great time, and that's what's truly important. For me, I'm happy to be staying in today, reading my next quilt series installment, and packing to head home to the arctic tomorrow. Several feet of snow and counting, just the way I like it...

Feast of the Epiphany...

Today is one of my favorite feasts in the liturgical calendar. I have a patron saint book that markets itself as being a guide to selecting a saint name for your baby. In the 'Tiffany' entry, the author makes the case that my extremely modern name is a form of Ephiphania, and thus today is my patron feast day :) I'll take it. The three Wise Men following the star to find the infant Jesus...this is a good feast. Last year, Mike and I went to Mass together here in Florida on the Epiphany at a parish near the restaurant we went to for dinner. We walked into the church to spot a giant star alit behind the altar. When the priest began his homily, he looked up at it, and said:

"When I came into the church this morning I was afraid I was having a vision. You *do* see this star too, don't you?"

This morning I headed out to Mass with my mother-in-law. I was going to bring Henry with us, but he slept in and I didn't have the heart to wake him. It was 8 am Mass, and since it was "cold" out (below 40 degrees :) the church was less full than usual. Mass was lovely, as it was on Friday. I'm not used to this phenomenon of the church music ministry leaders having the congregation practice the response to the psalm prior to the liturgy beginning. Must be a southern thing.

I'm enjoying our trip very much, but I'm very much looking forward to returning to my everyday life. Last night I had a dream that I had to be a last minute fill-in for a bellydance solo, and I was all excited about it. I miss my regular activities, like bellydance, a LOT. We're returning on Wednesday, and though I'm cherishing our visit and the relaxation time I get here, I'm enthused about my return to the north.

Tomorrow, we're headed to Disney World, and I have mixed feelings about this. I know Hank will *love* it, and that will make it worthwhile. On the other hand, whenever I think of the Disney resort, the word 'exploitation' comes to mind every single time. Everything costs a fortune there, and you're pretty much at their mercy. But we do it for the kids, right? Pray for me :)

Oh! In good news, the chill has taken the edge off the moisture in the air and my hair has returned to some sense of normalcy. This is a good thing.

I shall report in post-Disney...

Checkng in from Central Florida...

Mike, Henry and I are in central Florida, visiting Mike's parents, and are having an excellent time. We arrived, exhausted, on New Years Eve. I was fearful of a terrible flying experience just given the current craziness of our airport security situation, but actually everything wasn't bad. I particularly hate airport security in the winter. Where we're from, at least, winter translates into wet, muddy puddles on the floor from everyone's wet boots. And of course, at airport security, we all have to take our shoes off, which I HATE. I normally love being shoeless, but not with soaking wet socks in the middle of the airport. And then we have the Henry factor, and traveling by air is a big fat wet blanket.

"Are we there yet, Mommy?"

"When are we going to be there, Mommy?"

"Is the plane landing yet, Mommy?"

"Is it time to be there yet, Mommy?"

It's too bad they don't sell valium in those little airplane drink bottles.

At any rate, we arrived safely, and that's all that matters. We had a nice new year celebration, and I went to Mass with my mother-in-law yesterday to her local parish. There's definitely a dearth of traditional Catholic churches down here. Well, actually, there aren't that many Catholic churches here at all. I'm used to the northeast, where the majority of the population is Catholic. There was much guitar strumming and audience practicing of the responsorial psalm prior to Mass beginning, but I can't complain. A girl with a beautiful voice sang accompaniment, the priest had an awesome Irish accent, and the Mass was lovely. I was just grateful to be there.

The only bad thing I've experience so far is the climate. It's not new news that I just don't like the climate here. The summer is excruciating, that goes without saying. But even the winter is just...odd. The air still carries a tremendous amount of moisture, and consequently it's all chilly and damp. And my HAIR; my God, my hair. The moisture in the air is killer on my hair. Did you ever see that episode of Friends where they all go to a tropical island and in each scene, Monica's hair looks more and more ridiculous? People keep asking her what's wrong with her hair, and she keeps saying "it's the *humidity*!" That's me. Every time I look in a mirror, I cringe. Even tied back in a bun or ponytail, little strands manage to curl up and make my head look like a giant Q-tip. It's bad, it's really bad.

Sigh. Tonight, Mike and I are going out to dinner, which I'm excited about. We're having a great time, but I'll be happy to get back to snow and single digit temperatures. Crazy, crazy girl that I am.

The sound that all parents dread...

Yesterday, I left work early to have lunch with my mom and sister Shauna'h, and then go visit my grandparents. We had a smashing time. For inexplicable reasons, our local Olive Garden was jam packed at 2 pm on a Tuesday afternoon. As we relaxed over soup, salad and breadsticks, I noted the time: 3:30 pm. By time Shauna'h and I did our visiting, I'd be getting home later than I usually would when coming back from work. Thus, I gave Mike a call:

"Hi, Honey. We're just about to be on our way to head to my grandparents. I was thinking; how about I swing by and pick up Hank? That way, he could visit with us and you could get a break..."

"YES!! YES, that would be great!"

Mike and Hank have had quite a bit of togetherness lately, so I assumed correctly that it would give Mike a much needed breather for me to tote Hank around for a bit. We went and picked him up, and headed to my grandparents' new senior living complex. Their apartment looked real cute - all unpacked and homey. We greeted, and sat down for some tea as Hank went to explore all of their Christmas decorations.

As we chatted, my grandmother filled an enormous platter with homemade cookies. My mom's side of the family are Italian, second generation Americans; these people can seriously cook and bake. Despite the fact that we'd just eaten WAY too many breadsticks, there was no way I was getting away with not eating a homemade chocolate ball - or two. And then there were the anise cookies, and the cutouts...

With the scent of cookies in the air, Hank materializes and begins to squirrel cookies away into his hands. He's quickly consumed quite a few, and naturally, becomes thirsty. My grandmother asks if he'd prefer milk or juice.

"Juice!"

"Ok. I have Cranberry-Grape."

Whoa boy. My grandmother has her hands busy with tea prep, so I get Hank a small glass of juice. I sit him carefully down *at* the table, push him in gently, and instruct him to be very careful. Clearly, I had just lost my mind. In what universe is asking a preschooler to be careful going to translate into actual careful behavior? I just figured that since he was pushed right up against the table, the cup couldn't possibly fall onto the floor.

Well. I'm certain you can see where this story is going. Within 3 seconds of returning to my seat and beginning to chat again, I hear the exclamation that all parents dread:

"UH OHHHHHH....."

I look up to see Hank seated, with his hands cupped as if around a cup, but the cup is conspicuously missing. A feeling of horror wells up in my throat. I leap up, race over, and sure enough, the cup had managed to go onto his lap, slide to the floor, and splatter all over the cream carpeting. I groan.

"I sorry Mommy. I did not mean to do it."

Aw. Of course he didn't, little pumpkin. I reassure him that it was just an accident. All the same, we've got quite a situation on our hands. Immediately, Shauna'h, my grandmother and I grab paper towel and begin to dab frantically. I take a break from dabbing to whisk Henry's pants off his body.

"Mommy. Now everyone can see my underpants."

Well, that may be true, but it's better than dripping grape juice from your pant leg. We manage to get the juice up real good with the dabbing, and then some sprays of Resolve finish the deal. Whew.

We had a nice visit, and later I was able to get some laundry in as part of my pre-trip preparations. I also had to say goodbye to Shauna'h, who is headed back to North Carolina today. I'm super sad about this; Miss you Shaun :(

Tonight, we have lots of trip prep to do. Taking down and putting away the Christmas decorations and some house cleaning. We can pack tomorrow morning. I'm certain I'll blog from Florida, but I'm not sure which day. I'll be out of blogging commission at least for tomorrow. So...Happy new year everyone!

Weekend adventures and Monday morning whining

So, it's Monday and I'm back at work, book ordering my little heart out. Seems like lately my days at work are consumed with putting out small fires and not getting to larger projects, particularly professional writing. So, for instance, on my agenda for the day are writing a book review (I'm a regular reviewer for a religious library periodical), and then getting back to the book chapter I'm writing on assessment in credit bearing library courses. Right. So, I get in this morning, and discover the following:

(1) 4 messages waiting in the email account I monitor regarding an online library research workbook that all students here are required to take. 2 of them are from faculty wanting me to check on the status of some students for them. The other 2 are from students that contain (a) no identifying name, and (b) confusing sentence fragments asking about information that is clearly stated in the directions. I answer all of them, part of which involves me dragging our assistant into the mess to help out with some of the student status checking. 45 minutes.

(2) Slew of email in my work email account, 2 of which are from desperate graduate students in my new liaison department, American Studies. (very excited about this American Studies thing, btw). Each starts with something like, "oh thank God you're there! I need help." I answer each of those. 30 minutes.

(3) Several phone calls that needed to be made, and forms that needed to be filled out, regarding our benefits. Made those. 20 minutes.

(4) Field a phone call from my mom in which she frets about the doctor that we share leaving her original practice, which is one of the benefit situations mentioned in (3) above that I had to deal with. 10 minutes.

(5) Deal with a handful of questions from people that stop by my office. Go through a pile of damaged books and euthanize most of them. 30 minutes.

(6) Find a forgotten, thick printout from Choice Reviews Online of new books in the subject areas that I collect in. I grab it, and continue my process of selecting and ordering. Still ongoing.

Sigh. I do what I can.

The weekend was rather mixed. Saturday, I attempted to make a crock pot recipe that involved butternut squash. Anybody ever sliced up a butternut squash before? I hadn't. Being my eager beaver self, I quickly chopped up the 2 called for Granny Smith apples and then approached the squash. It didn't take too well to the little knife I was using on the apples. I had to forge into unchartered territory and get the big scary knife out of the chopping block. I do a reapproach. The squash was still intimidating me quite a bit. Finally, I dove in and sliced it down the middle. Know what I discovered? Butternut squash have seeds inside them. Who knew?

I certainly didn't. So I do my best to scoop out the seeds and chop up the squash. As I'm sure you''re unsurprised to learn, I sliced my thumb open and had to bind it off with the only bandaids we had in the house - it was a choice between Dora and Diego. The wound is in a really bad spot too, right near the top of my thumb. I keep bumping it and making it sore. Not good. And I have *Dora* on my thumb. Anyway, the recipe did turn out pretty good, if I do say so myself. But next time, I think I'm going to ask Mike to chop the squash.

After the squash adventures, I took Henry shopping at Target for new clothes. It was one of those shopping experiences in which half the time Henry was an absolute angel and the rest of the time he drove me absolutely out of my mind. Pretty much a typical outing with a 3 year old.

Later, Mike and I escorted Henry to a pool party in which he cavorted in the kidde pool and used up tons of energy. Then he consumed a cupcake and ice cream and got all worked up again. We finally got him to sleep later and were pretty exhausted ourselves.

Sunday, Mike and I traveled to one of our favorite local destinations, Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario. I got to use my new enhanced drivers license, too, to cross the border. I always get so nervous at the customs booth. I don't know why; we're not smuggling anything or involved in any illegal and/or violent activities. I hardly think the suburban couple carrying back 2 bottles of local wine, fudge and homemade jam is top on their list of people to investigate further. But I always break into a sweat whenever we approach that little booth. Must be because you know that the customs people can do whatever they want to you and you really have no recourse.

Anyway, we had a great time. We ate lunch in one of the vintage hotels there, in a lounge that is decorated like a library. Did you ever? We then proceeded to buy and consume homemade fudge and peanut brittle. We then walked to the lake, to walk off the calories... Saw some adorable black squirrels. Went to the jam store. On the drive back we stopped at a winery and picked up a local cabernet and a late harvest riesling that is to die for. I'm a very happy Catholic Librarian.

Heading home soon...

Well, I'm recuperating here, and relaxing, to be sure. My eye is finally looking better, and my coughing is down to a mere annoyance. My allerges are flaring up, but that's par for the course this time of year. We're heading home on Thursday afternoon, and though I'm sad to see our vacation come to an end, I'm really looking forward to getting back to my regular life and routine. I miss it :) Oh right, and out of this stifling heat. How do people live like this? I'm such northeastern gal at heart.

Crazily, the fall semester starts just over a week after I return. I SO have to get my Catholic butt in gear with writing - both an article and a book chapter. We'll get there. Much panic-induced writing will commence on this blog starting next week, I'm certain...

Reporting in from vacation...

Ok, well, things are mixed on my end. We got in safely. This is a good thing. Though annoying at times, Henry was pretty good for the duration of the travel period, which is also good. But my Typhoid Tiffany status only continues to grow, and I'm starting to think that perhaps I've offended God in some fashion, and He's smiting me with His powers in retribution.

The first night, after we arrived from the airport, I was beyond exhausted. Hank was all hyped up on adrenaline fumes, and Mike was a downright chatty Cathy. Me, on the other hand, could think only, longingly, of bed. Oh sweet, sweet bed. With a pillow and a blanket and blissful slumber. I was pretty pathetic, health-wise, but miraculously, I made it through the whole night without coughing.

Well. If you've seen my twitter updates, you know that I also developed pinkeye. The morning of our departure. This made things pretty interesting, and it also made for a pretty surly Catholic Librarian. I was able to secure some drops from my doctor mere hours before our flight, and I've been duitifully inserting them into my eye, so the pinkeye would clear prior to the family picture we were having snapped this morning. I had nearly 2 full days of drops prior to that, so I thought I was good. Then came last night.

We head to bed. All 3 of us are sleeping in one room here, Mike and I in the bed, Henry in a sleeping bag on the floor. Clearly, there's a lot at stake here for me to keep my sickly mouth shut. I cough, and cough and cough and cough, so hard that I do the choking thing again. My mother-in-law provides me with some cough syrup and lozenges, for which I was most grateful.

I loathe cough syrup, and am convinced that it secretly never works and just psychologically makes you feel that you should stop coughing, but I was desperate. Unfortunately, the type of cough syrup that she had in the house was for my father-in-law, who is diabetic. Thus, I was guzzling a substance called "Diabetic Tussin" and sucking frantically on sugar free cough drops. Granted, cough syrup never tastes good, but usually its flavor is somewhat overpowered by a truckload of artificial cherry flavoring. It'll probably give me cancer and kill me one day, but at least the flavor is "somewhat nasty" rather than "I may vomit and die right here right now." Diabetic Tussin has the distinction of tasting like what I can only compare to battery acid. Ain't nothin' can make that s@!# taste better, short of a pound of Splenda. I had to suppress my gag reflex to even get the stuff down my throat. GOOD HEAVENS.

Sheer, sheer desperation, I tell you. About 30 minutes after I ingested the vile liquid, I cease coughing. I quickly proceed to the bedroom and lay down on my mountain of pillows, trying to keep my head elevated. Stiff neck, yes, but risk of coughing is lowered. I doze off...

About 1 am I awaken. I start to cough. Trying to stave the coughing off makes it worse. I grab a sugar free lozenge and stuff it in my mouth. Yes, I was actually willing to risk choking to death in my sleep rather than cough anymore. It was just that bad. It doesn't work. I get up and go into the bathroom, and guzzle more battery acid. I don't think my stomach lining is ever going to forgive me. I actually have to leave the bathroom and go to the kitchen, where I can hack (and cry) without disturbing anyone. It takes at least 30 full minutes for the coughing to stop, and I had to fall asleep with lozenges in my mouth again.

Through all of this, I can see my eyes in the bathroom mirror. The pinkeye has moved from the right eye to the left, and it looks angry. Very, very angry. When I awaken in the morning, *both* of my eyes are sealed shut. I won't tell you the thought that crossed my mind, because it wasn't very nice. Quite un-Catholic, I assure you.

The transformation in the morning prior to the picture took quite some time. It's not easy making "death warmed over" metamorposize into "halfway decent." I managed, but barely. Thank God for retouching.

Anyway, as we approach evening, my left eye does look less angry. Mike and I going to dinner, so I hope that I can be fit to be seen in public by then.

In other news, 1 book down, many more to go...

Vacation preparations

Mike, Henry and I are preparing to leave tomorrow for a week long vacation to visit my in-laws in central Florida. I'm happy about this, but my excitement is dampened a bit by the fact that I just experienced coughing attack #137. Since Saturday. It was one of those wherein you cough so rapidly that you actually cause yourself to choke. While all of this unpleasantness is ongoing, I'm actually in the ladies room. Someone comes in and just casually walks into the stall *directly next to mine* despite the fact that there are *4* other perfectly good stalls that don't involve being next to someone who is so clearly suffering and in need of air. Isn't this against all unspoken but known bathroom etiquette? Is it just me? I avoid being directly next to someone at all costs. It just seems like we're in a place in which extra personal space is particularly imporatant. Anyway, I digress.

We're leaving tomorrow afternoon, and I'm:

(1) cranky,
(2) pathetically sickly,
(3) incapable of a single rational thought, and
(4) utterly exhausted from coughing-induced lack of sleep.

Last night, I was all hopeful. (This is going to be a long post; just prepare yourself now. I'm not capable of shutting off my incoherent brain at present). I talked Mike into staying in bed with me, rather than retreat to the guest room for cough avoidance, because Hank and I were totally cough-less the night before. Sounds ominous, right? Yep. Hank comes in around midnight to bed down on our floor and promptly begins to complain. About what, I'm not certain, because I was totally out of it. I covered him, did a soothe, and attempted to revert back to my sleeping state. Hank starts to cough. He coughs and coughs. He coughs on and off for probably twenty minutes. You know, one of those terrible patterns where he's quiet for a few minutes and you start to doze, and then he coughs again and your eyes pop back open. Finally, he falls asleep and so do I. Mike has slept through pretty much the whole exchange.

About 30 minutes later, I awaken. Immediately, I feel the thing all sick people dread - THE TICKLE. Please God no, not the tickle. I cough. I cough again. I get up and fetch some water, hoping it will soothe my irritated throat. I climb into bed with the agility and concentration of a balance beam gymnast, determined not to do anything to upset the delicate state of my throat. I lay my head upon the pillow, and feel - the tickle. *sobs* I had to go down to the guest room, where I crankily spent the rest of the night, tossing and turning and coughing til morning. I am beyond exhausted, and somehow I have to pack for a week away, for both me and Henry.

When we learned that we would in fact have to pay a charge to check each bag (thievery), Mike declared that maybe we should try to all squeeze into one suitcase. I didn't even justify that suggestion with a response, other then an exhausted snort. But we will be trying to squeeze all 3 of us into 2 bags, so I have that challenge ahead of me as well.

Why a challenge, you ask? Reasonably, I might add. Well, I'm going away for a week. You know what this means. I simply must, MUST I tell you, have more than enough reading material to get me through 2 airport waiting periods, 2 plane rides, and 7 days in which I actually have a ton of time to read since Henry is blissfully distracted by his doting grandparents. Otherwise, I may waste away and die. I have probably 10 pounds just in books to pack. I also have a 5 book Amish series to give my mother-in-law, so we're really getting up there in poundage.

I made a run to the public library recently to obtain a hit for my obvious book addiction, and did quite well. I have to bring with me:

(1) 2 Christian fiction novels;
(2) a fiction novel about a quilting club;
(3) a memoir about growing up in an evangelical Christian home;
(4) a historical romance that I'm reading right now;
(5) an Amish fiction novel;
(6) a memoir about living a Catholic life.

Frankly, I'm not certain that even all of these will be enough. Knowing myself, I'll toss a few things from my bookcase in for good measure. Of course, I'll also need my Bible and Catechism, and prayer journal. It's true, I'm a crazy woman. I also picked up 2 Curious George books for Henry as well as a Bob the Builder compilation and a look-and-find book featuring Lightening McQueen. Henry takes after his librarian, book-loving, mommy and I'm very proud of him for that.

So, I also need to pack clothes. That would help. I need to throw my toiletries bag together, and remember all those little, but crucial, things like my hair straightener and deodorant. Frankly, I'm not quite certain how I'm going to be able to get through dinner and take a shower with the way I feel right now. Sigh.

I'm not sure when I'll be posting while I'm away, but most likely I will. I'll need to complain about the sheer torture that it now entails to travel by air and successfully make it through airport security, so you'll have that to look forward to. Until then :)

The nerdy Catholic Librarian prepares to travel...

For most normal people, preparing to go on vacation means that they pack sunscreen, their bathing suit, and put their carry-on toiletries into those ridiculous little 3 oz. containers and subseqnent ziploc bag that the airline industry subjects us to. What does the Catholic Librarian do, you ask?

(1) Go to the public library and obtain a small army of romance and religious fiction, and Catholic non-fiction to read.
(2) Charge up my beloved iPod Nano, Max, (Mike claims I love Max more than him) and synch him up with some new French music Shauna'h gave me.
(3) Use super speedy librarian powers to find a free rosary podcast through iTunes, and subscribe happily. I am now loaded up with the Sorrowful Mysteries.
(4) Refresh my Vatican Radio podcast list so that I'll have a few to listen to at the airport; this, of course, is assuming that Hank is unconscious or something. Otherwise, how on earth would I be able to listen to anything?
(5) Make sure that my binoculars and east coast bird reference volume are in the "to be packed" pile. I've spotted many a snowy egret from the car on the way back from the airport.

So, I think I'm ready. I'd rather sleep in the same clothes for three straight days then not have a book with me or anything to listen to. I shudder at the thought.