goodbye for now

I'm going offline tomorrow and won't be back on until I get back from camp (end of July). Write me at:

Camp Tapico
2408 Camp Tapico Road NE
Kalkaska, MI 49646

Love is

"...does it sound like I'm thinking straight?"
"Yes. But you're thinking too much."

I've been torn up the past few days: angry, terrified, lost in my thoughts. Not lost the way I get in Genesee County, where if I just pulled over and looked at a map instead of calling home I'd be fine--no, I was truly lost. I didn't have any idea where I was, how I got there or where I was going. I needed to do something, to get out of the house and stop thinking.

It's a bad system: I'm home by myself with my Dostoevsky from when I wake up until when Anne and Mom get home from school. I have to get my reading done but I'm bad at reading and I end up thinking instead. I'd lie on the floor crying and praying for an hour at a time. "Jesus! I don't know what you want me to do. I'm trying to do your will but I'm pretty sure I've screwed up horribly. Is this really the path you want me to follow? Stay with me! I feel like I'm running away from you and I don't want to do that." I was trapped in this and I couldn't get out. I couldn't focus on my reading. A grocery store run helped some, but when I got home I fell right back into it. And thus I got behind on my reading.

I'm anxious to grow up, to get out of the house, to be with people, to get a real job, to get an apartment and pay for it myself. Slow down, Mary. You're still in college. Have patience.

This morning I went to mass and helped my mom with eighth grade graduation practice (sort of). She didn't really have anything for me to do, so she sent me to spread mulch around some of her plants by the school.

While I walked from the church to the school, I finally figured out my problem. I'm willing to give my time, my things, my smile, my ears, my arms, my food, my clothes, even sometimes when I really don't want to. I do a lot of things I don't want to do out of service to other people. But I don't give myself.

How do I give myself?

I buzzed into the office and went to my mom's room to get the mulch. I tucked it onto my hip like a baby and stopped in the hallway.

Art. When I make something, I put my whole self into it. The CD rosary on my ceiling, the St. Michael icon I made for Garrett, the Sir Gawain figure I made for Dr. Jackson and gave to Seth because it ended up looking stupid--I threw my whole self into it, I worked hard and tried some things that might not work. And some of them didn't.

I did a dang good job spreading the mulch. (Even saying that, I run the risk of my mom reading this and thinking "no, she buried the coral bells and put the mulch in the wrong place and now I have to go buy more mulch and take up my own time to go put it where I asked her to.")

This reckless abandon is the way my mother cooks and gardens. "I don't really have any idea what I'm doing," she says (constantly!), but she throws spices into the bowl and nearly all my friends who come over tell me she's an amazing cook.

A few weeks ago, I helped her line a skeletal wire tea kettle with moss. In theory, the moss would allow the tea kettle to hold dirt and we could plant flowers inside and hang it from the shepherd's hook. I finally understood what she meant by "I don't really know what I'm doing." She means exactly that: I don't know, but I'm going to try and see what happens. It might not work. But what the heck. There was a twinge of that "we're not really supposed to be doing this" thrill.

That's the vulnerability of love. "I made this for you. I put my whole heart and soul into it, and I hope you like it. I'm a little nervous because you might not like it. But I love you enough that I'm willing to run that risk."

My mom is so good at this! "Do you want to play rack-o?" She risks that we'll say no (and we often do). "Do you want to go to the dollar store with me to get clay?" "Will you dance?" "Clean your room!"

I suspect that the "obligatory yes" is actually worse than a "no." God gave us the freedom to disobey him in order that we might freely choose to obey him. "I'd love to play rack-o with you" is much better than "fine, I'll play rack-o with you."

Yeah, I remember my mom always telling us to be cheerful. I think I finally get it.

I think my mom is good at this at least partly because she gave birth to five kids. I've never given birth before but it seems to me it's a painful process, and the easiest way to go about it is probably to focus on what you're giving to your child. "I'm not doing this for me--I'm doing this for you, and I really, really hope you're happy." Of course the first thing the baby does is cry.

This part's for you, Jeff--that's something women can do that men can't do. "Don't give me any nonsense about having babies and stuff," you told me, and I'm not. It isn't nonsense. Tell me how difficult it is for a man to be a father (physically). The easiest ways to do it are rape, paying a prostitute, and sweet-talking an easy woman. It is possible for a man to be a father (physically) and not care a bit about his kids. (Good fathers don't do this. Mine loves me a lot.)

It is not possible for a woman to be a mother (physically) and not care about her kids. She can try not to care, she can abuse them and abandon them but she can't honestly not care. She's already put her heart and soul into her kids because of the suffering she's gone through for them, so to abandon her kids is to abandon part of herself, and so it tears her up. (This is why abortion hurts women so bad.)

Dr. Krannawitter said that before no-fault divorce, judges would often rule that the couple can divorce, but the dad gets all the kids--and then the couple wouldn't divorce.

There are a lot of things you men can do that we women can't do or aren't as good at, and Jeff, I'm sure you can list them all. But here's one thing that women are better at: reckless abandon.

Mother Teresa said "It is not how much we do, but how much love we put in the doing. It is not how much we give, but how much love we put in the giving."

Okay, think of the enthusiastic amateur knitter who makes sweaters for her husband. That is love! But she must also be willing to accept that maybe he doesn't actually like these sweaters. They probably look awful.

So when I hug you, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that hug.

When I run, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that run--find out how far I really can go, how hard I really can push, go until I actually can't anymore. (I've done this twice.)

When I eat, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that eating.

When I sleep, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that sleeping.

When I say "no, I don't really want to hold your hand right now," I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that "no."

When I climb the tower, I need to put my whole heart and soul into that climb.

Whether I end up in a convent or community or married to Garrett or married to someone else or hit by a bus, I need to love with that reckless abandon.

Tony told me that in a bible study, Catholic speaker Mark Hart said of prayer: "Love the 'yes.' Hate the 'no.' ABSOLUTELY CAN'T STAND the 'wait.'"

As far as long-term vocation, I'm getting a 'wait.'" So let's think of something to do while we're waiting.

While I'm waiting, I'll practice that reckless abandon.

Maybe you should too.

things I have to do before I marry

WOW I'm growing up. It's weird--my perspective on big things like careers and marriage and kids is way different. It's not a "what do you want to be when you grow up?" thing anymore but a "maybe in the next five years" sort of thing. It's not a "vague future" sort of thing anymore; it's a "wow this might actually happen" sort of thing.

This is not a list of things my future husband must do before he proposes--I've got that list too but it isn't here. These are things I need to do and ways I need to grow up before I marry. This is not a "finding a marriageable man" list but a "becoming a marriageable woman" list. If I've forgotten anything important, I want to know. Some of these I've done or started on already, and a lot of them I can't do right now. But I will get them done. You just watch.

• graduate from college
• get a steady job and live on my own (financially independent) for at least a year. during that time, eat regularly (not forgetting meals) every day for at least a month
• be able to deal with people talking and giggling and gossiping about me
• stop getting really annoyed at being called “cute” (individually or as a couple)
• close my eyes
• meet his parents
• have him meet my parents
• run 8K or break 7 minutes in a mile run
• get approval from parents, grandparents, siblings (including Tony)
• learn how to cook over an open fire
• take a big trip (on a plane or at least two states of driving) on my own or with friends, where I’m in charge or one of a few in charge of what to do and how things turn out
• drive from Tapico to Houghton Lake without getting horribly lost
• road trip of at least 5 hours by myself
• learn how to slow dance with Grandpa
• do something crazy with Emily
• make an important decision in less than four months
• freelance for a daily newspaper
• learn how to cook at least 10 good dinners
• understand cars and be able to at least educated-guess what’s wrong with them
• own a car and pay my own insurance and whatever else goes along with owning a car
• get a credit card and actually buy something with it
• eat a raw tomato
• throw up
• swallow a pill
• tell everyone when my birthday is and if they insist on fussing, let them
• take my photography to an art show or fair or something and sell at least one print
• have a pool party or a beach party or canoe trip or something with a mixed-sex group of friends and dress appropriately, and not spend the whole time assuming all the men are ogling
• go backpacking for at least 4 consecutive nights
• crochet something big/complicated, like a blanket or a sweater or something
• get in a fight with him and resolve it
• wear “everyday” makeup in public for at least seven days, and learn how to do makeup
• turn 21 and drink a whole beer or a whole glass of wine (responsibly, socially) at least 10 different times, at least once at a bar and at least once with dinner at someone's home
• read the entire bible at least once through
• have a solid group of girlfriends to go out with
• wear a skirt in public for something that isn’t a dress-up occasion
• learn to drive a stick shift well enough that I’m comfortable with it
• dress up for something formal and tell all my dressed-up girlfriends that they’re beautiful
• volunteer with missionaries of charity
• change a messy, poopy diaper by myself
• kiss him in front of my parents or in some other situation that would be sort of embarrassing but not morally wrong
• make a final decision on piercings and stick with it
• eat a whole meal with chopsticks
• get a cell phone that actually works (actually, get my own and pay for it myself)
• learn AP style for “whether or not”
• take my Sobe bottle to the bank and change all the coins into cash (or deposit the money)
• successfully and consistently keep track of my cycle for at least 6 months (really keeping track, that is, filling out NFP charts)

"we're not stalkers: we're journalists"

I'm glad I'm a journalist because when I need to find some, I know how to do it.

Kate borrowed my chem book for the second half of the semester, and I thought I had taken it down from amazon.com. Apparently, I hadn't, and Kate still had the book when I got the "sold! please ship within 2 business days" email. I didn't have Kate's number.

I called Katie Rose, the reason I met Kate, but she didn't have Kate's number.

I checked Kate's facebook page (I'm not her friend, but I could see her profile) but her phone number wasn't there.

I went to the Hillsdale student directory and found her address, but her phone number wasn't listed.

I went to white pages on yellowpages.com and typed in her last name and zip code, but again, her phone number wasn't listed.

I went back to her facebook and clicked on the most recent post on her wall. The link sent me to Elizabeth's profile. I don't know Elizabeth, but I checked her profile for her phone number--she probably had Kate's number.

Elizabeth's number wasn't listed, but I saw that she was "in a relationship with Mitchell," and I had Mitchell's phone number--he and a couple other people and I studied philosophy together first semester freshman year.

While the phone rang, I saw that Christina had posted on Kate's wall as well. I talked to Christina over aim quite a bit--she and I were in the same Latin and Greek classes and we sometimes rode to Mass together.

I called Mitchell and started typing a message to Christina. Mitchell answered before I was finished typing, so I asked for Kate's number, and he gave it to me.

I called Kate.

Kate said she'd ship the book tomorrow.

The Adventures of George the Viking

an anachronistic and heartily plagiarized tale mostly by Mary Petrides, about a year ago

Chapter One
How George the Viking Conquered England

Once upon a time there was a Viking farmer who had three Viking sons: Alexandros, Pip, and George. The farmer grew old and died, leaving only his tiny hut as inheritance, so the three sons set out to try their luck.

One day they came to a hill of silver. “This is all I need,” said Alexandros, and he filled his bags and pockets with as much silver as he could carry and returned home. Pip and George continued on in hopes of something better further on.

Later they came to a hill of gold. “This is all I need,” said Pip, and he filled his bags and pockets with as much gold as he could carry and returned home. George continued journeying.
George walked into a great forest that seemed to have no end. He climbed the tallest tree and looked around and all he could see were treetops, stretched for miles in every direction. “Frick!” said George. Wondering where he would stay the night, he exclaimed “what I wouldn’t give for Chinese takeout and double-stuf Oreos!” He climbed down the tree and there on the ground was a tablecloth with the most exquisite Chinese takeout and double-stuf Oreos. Without asking where the meal came from, George ate to his heart’s content. When he was finished, he picked up the tablecloth and took it with him.

He journeyed further into the woods and he came upon a charcoal burner. “Good day,” George said to the charcoal burner. “Potatoes for supper again?” “Yes,” said the charcoal burner, “and though it isn’t much, you may be my guest for supper.” “Thank you,” said George, “but I’ll be treating you to supper tonight.” The charcoal burner couldn’t see how George could fit a supper into his pockets, but George pulled out the tablecloth and laid it on the ground. “Tablecloth, set yourself!” George commanded, and the tablecloth was immediately filled with the most exquisite Chinese takeout and double-stuf Oreos.

When George and the charcoal burner had eaten their fill, the charcoal burner said “what I wouldn’t give for a tablecloth like that! I have a knapsack in my hut that has magic powers, and I’ll trade it to you for the tablecloth.” “First,” said George, “I’ll have to know what those magic powers are.” “When you slap the knapsack, a corporal and six soldiers appear, armed to the teeth, and ready to do whatever you command.” “A fine trade,” said George. He took the knapsack and left the tablecloth with the charcoal burner.

George walked further into the woods. “Let’s see if this knapsack really works!” he said. He slapped the knapsack and there appeared seven men, armed to the teeth, just as the charcoal burner had said. “Go back to the charcoal burner and demand that he give my tablecloth back,” George orderedthem. They soon returned with the tablecloth: they hadn’t asked the charcoal burner; they’d just taken it. George dismissed them and continued on.

Soon he came upon another charcoal burner. “All I have is two potatoes,” the charcoal burner said, “but you are welcome to share them.” “Thank you,” said George, “but I’ll be treating you to supper tonight.” The charcoal burner couldn’t see how George could fit a supper into his pockets, but George pulled out the tablecloth and laid it on the ground. “Tablecloth, set yourself!” George commanded, and the tablecloth was immediately filled with the most exquisite Chinese takeout and double-stuf Oreos.

After George and the charcoal burner had eaten their fill, the charcoal burner said “I have a hat in my hut, and this hat has magic powers. If you put it on and give it one-quarter turn, a battery of guns begins firing. I’d be happy to trade it to you for the tablecloth.” Once again George made the trade, and once again he slapped the knapsack and sent the soldiers back to regain the tablecloth.

George continued walking and saw a third charcoal burner. “You are welcome to be my guest tonight,” said the charcoal burner, “if you don’t mind potatoes.” “Thank you,” said George, “but I’ll be treating you to supper tonight.” The charcoal burner couldn’t see how George could fit a supper into his pockets, but George pulled out the tablecloth and laid it on the ground. “Tablecloth, set yourself!” George commanded, and the tablecloth was immediately filled with the most exquisite Chinese takeout and double-stuf Oreos.

George and the charcoal burner finished eating, and the charcoal burner said “I have a horn in my hut that has magic powers. When you blow the horn, the earth shakes and buildings tumble so that not one stone is left lying on another stone. I’ll gladly trade it for your tablecloth.” “A fine trade!” exclaimed George, who made the trade and promptly sent the soldiers back to retrieve the tablecloth.

“I have a magic knapsack, a magic hat, and a magic horn, not to mention a magic tablecloth,” said George. “I’ll go home and see how my brothers are doing.” He went home and found his brothers living in style in a mansion with gold, silver, and lots of fancy electronics. When his brothers opened the door and saw him in an ugly sweater and green pants, they laughed at him. “You can’t be our brother!” they said. “Our brother passed up silver and gold for better luck! He wouldn’t come in an ugly sweater and green pants!” They slammed the door in his face.
George slapped the knapsack several times until he had whipped up a good-sized army, then he ordered the soldiers to harass his brothers. The king sent his army to counter them, but George slapped his knapsack several more times and whipped up an even larger army. The king sent reinforcements, but they accomplished even less. George demanded to marry the king’s daughter, and the king had no choice but to let him. The princess was highly disappointed to marry George, and George was highly disappointed to find out that she was an ugly Puritan named Buttercup.

They were married nonetheless, but Buttercup was determined to kill George. She took off her ugly Puritanical bonnet and her ugly Puritanical dress and asked George to get rid of his ugly knapsack. “I won’t,” said George. “Why not?” Buttercup asked. “It’s embarrassing to me. It’s ugly.” George suddenly found her beautiful, or at least passable, or anyway, as good as an ugly Puritanical lady named Buttercup was going to get. “My knapsack is my source of power,” he said. “Every time I slap it, a corporal and six soldiers appear, armed to the teeth, ready do my bidding.” “Oh, George!” said Buttercup. She threw her arms around him as if to kiss him, but deftly slipped the knapsack off his shoulders and ran away. She slapped it once and ordered the soldiers to escort George out of the palace. They forced George off the property and obtained a restraining order, but as soon as George’s hands were free, he turned his hat and the battery of guns began firing. The king and his daughter had to let George back into the palace.

Buttercup was still determined to kill George, so again she took off her ugly Puritanical bonnet and her ugly Puritanical dress and asked George what was the source of his power. “It’s my hat,” said George, again finding her suddenly beautiful. “When I turn it, a battery of guns begins to fire.” Buttercup threw her arms around him as if to kiss him, but she slipped the hat off his head and ran away. Again she had George escorted off the premises. George blew his horn over and over again and the castle tumbled down and his brothers’ mansion tumbled down. Not a single stone was left on another stone, and his brothers, the king, and the king’s daughter were killed. George retrieved the knapsack and the hat and got to be king over the whole country.

Chapter Two
How George the Viking Discovered New Lands and Went to Russia

Soon George the Viking became bored of England, so he picked up the knapsack, the hat, and the horn, and, not forgetting the tablecloth, set sail for Russia. George was a clever man and thought to get east by going west. On his way to Russia, he accidentally bumped into Canada, a land which no one had ever seen before. In Canada there lived mythological creatures like elves, dwarves, and meteors. George was deftly navigating his way between the islands of northern Canada when the water froze over, trapping his ship. He slapped the knapsack with his frozen hands and the soldiers appeared. “We’re army men, not navy men,” said the corporal. “Don’t ask us what to do with a ship.” George dismissed them. He was at his wit’s end, not knowing what to do, when suddenly there appeared a draagyn. George whipped out his sword, ready to slay the draagyn. “Wait!” the draagyn cried. “I’m not a dragon! I’m a draagyn, which is very closely related to the dragon, but we’re not the same thing. Draagyns are good; dragons are evil. Don’t slay me!” “Frick!” said George. “I was hoping there was a beautiful princess to rescue!” “No,” said the draagyn, “but there is one in Russia.” “Oh, good,” said George. “I was on my way to Russia. But then I got stuck in the ice and now I’m not sure what to do.” “I will help you if you promise to offer a ride to anyone who asks for one,” said the draagyn. George promised, and the ship sprouted wings and flew off in the general direction of Russia.

Soon, George heard a voice and stopped the boat. “I’m listening to everything in the world, but I need a ride to Russia.” “I’ll give you a ride,” said George. The man who listened to everything in the world climbed aboard the boat. Later, George heard a voice. “I unstrapped one of my legs so that I wouldn’t reach the end of the world in one bound, but I left the leg in Russia.” “I’ll give you a ride,” said George. The man with one leg climbed aboard. Again, George heard another voice. “I can shoot a bird at a hundred miles, and I did, but it’s in Russia, and I need a ride to pick it up.” “I’ll give you a ride,” said George. The man who could shoot a bird at a hundred miles climbed aboard. “I need a great basket of bread for breakfast,” said another voice, and yet another said “I could drink a whole lake and still be thirsty.” “I’ll give you a ride to Russia if you’d like,” said George. “I’ve never been to Russia,” said the hungry man. “Neither have I,” said the thirsty man, and the two of them climbed aboard the ship. Another voice said “I have a straw that makes everything cold, and Napoleon’s about to invade, so I need to go to Russia.” “I’ll give you a ride,” said George, and the man with a straw that made everything cold climbed aboard. Yet another voice said “I’m a tailor with a magic needle. I’d like to try my luck in Russia.” “I’ll give you a ride,” said George, and the tailor with a magic needle climbed aboard. Still another voice said “I’m a perfectly normal person. Can I come, too?” “Frick!” said George. “Normal people aren’t supposed to show up in fairy tales! But I suppose I must give you a ride. Come aboard, then.” The perfectly normal person climbed aboard the ship as well and gave George a squeaking haggis.

Chapter Three
Why It Was George the Viking’s Fault that the Princess was Turned Into a Flower and How He Saved Her

The ship landed in Russia and everyone got out and scattered. George took the knapsack, the hat, and the horn, and, not forgetting the tablecloth, got into a canoe and followed a river to a mystic seaport in Byzantium. Mist swelled and ebbed about the dock, and a distant chorus chanted “unus … nullus … ullus … solus … unus … nullus … ullus … solus.” “Why is there a seaport on a river?” George wondered, but not for long because he glimpsed a beautiful lady with red hair flowing to her waist, skin the color of snow, and eyes green like the sea after a storm. The mist flowed over her and when it moved again, she was gone.

“Who are you!” George cried. “I will tell you about her,” said a voice. George turned and looked and saw a little green alien. “Tell me!” said George. The little green alien began:

“Ich will euch etwas erzählen. Ich sah zwei gebratene Hühner fliegen, flogen schnell und hatten die Bäuche gen Himmel gekehrt, die Rücken nach der Hölle, und ein Amboß un ein Mühlstein schwammen über den Rhein, fein langsam und leise, und ein Frosch saß und fraß eine Pflugschar zu Pfingsten auf dem Eis. Da waren drei Kerle, wollten einen Hasen fangen, gingen auf Krücken und Stelzen, der eine war taub, der zweite blind, der dritte stumm und der vierte konnte keinen Fuß rühren. Wollt ihr wissen, wie das geschah? Der Blinde, der sah zuerst den Hasen über Feld traben, der Stumme rief dem Lahmen zu, und der Lahme faßte ihn beim Kragen. Etliche, die wollten zu Land segeln und spannten die Segel im Wind und schifften über große Äcker hin: da segelten sie über einen hohen Berg, da mußten sie elendig ersaufen. Ein Krebs jagte einen Hasen in die Flucht, und hoch auf dem Dach lag eine Kuh, die war hinaufgestiegen. In dem Lande sind die Fliegen so groß als hier die Ziegen.”

“Lügen!” cried George, and he pulled out his sword and slew the little green alien on the spot.]

“Who will tell me about her?” asked George. “I will,” said a wise old man named Gerontius Senex. “She is a Byzantine princess named Blodwyn, and the her father and an evil tyrant king wants to marry her to a man of wealth. With a sweater like that, you don’t stand a chance.” “What!” said George. “This is my best sweater!” (He was wearing the one that’s gray on top, green on bottom, and has three rows of diamonds and one of zigzags in between.) “Sorry,” said Gerontius Senex. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.” “Then I shall have to see the king!” said George. Gerontius Senex pointed. George looked where he was pointing and saw a castle with walls that rose straight up to the sky. He walked in.

“Your Majesty, I have a squeaky haggis and I would like to marry your daughter,” said George. “Marry my daughter!” said the king. “You’re but a peasant with an ugly sweater! You can’t marry my daughter, even if you have a squeaky haggis! Leave my presence.” George came back the next day. “Your Majesty, I have a squeaky haggis and I would like to marry your daughter,” he said. “Leave my presence!” said the king. George came back day after day until finally the king said “You can marry my daughter if you can accomplish what I’m about to whisper in my servant’s ear.” The king leaned over and whispered something into his servant’s ear. “If you finish before I am done with dinner, you can marry my daughter.”

George left the castle. Knowing there was no way he could accomplish the task, he sat under a tree and read Manga online. Some Japanese martial arts tourists walked by, blurting out “Hic! Haec! Hoc!” when they kicked things. George paid them no mind.

Presently, the man who listened to everything in the world walked by. “Hello, George,” he said. “The king wants you to go to the end of the world and get the healing water.” “Frick!” said George. “I can’t do that before dinner!” “I can,” said the man with one leg, who had found his other leg and was carrying it with him. He strapped it on, ran to the other end of the world, got the healing water, but fell asleep by the bank of the river. The man who could shoot a bird at a hundred miles shot him. He woke up, healed himself with the healing water, then ran back to George. Then he remembered that he’d forgotten to bring healing water for George, so he ran back and got some and brought it back to George. “Thank you,” said George. George brought it to the king. “I can’t have a peasant marrying my daughter!” muttered the king. “I have another task for you.” Again he whispered to his servant.

George went outside and sat under the tree. “The king wants you to eat twelve oxen and twelve tons of bread, and drink forty casks of wine with forty gallons each,” said the man who listened to everything. “Frick!” said George. “I can’t do that before dinner! I can’t do that for dinner!” “We can,” said the hungry man and the thirsty man together. “Jinx!” said the hungry man. The thirsty man slapped him. “Go,” said George. They went. They ate. They drank. Or, rather, the hungry man ate and the thirsty man drank. They finished the meal, though the hungry man choked a bit on the bones and the thirsty man was severely hungover the next morning.
Again, George went to the king. “Your Majesty,” he said, “I have a squeaky haggis and I would like to marry your daughter.” “What!” said the king. “I can’t think of any more tasks, so I guess I’ll have to let you. But first we’re going to burn that ugly sweater of yours.” “No!” cried George, but the servants tore the sweater off him. They were about to light it on fire when the man with a straw that made everything cold put the fire out. The tailor hastily sewed the ugly sweater back together. (The tailor even fixed the holes under the arms with the magic needle, and the sweater almost looked nice.) The king sent an army in to destroy George and burn the sweater, but George hastily slapped his trusty knapsack and turned his hat a couple times, and the king’s army surrendered.

“I can’t have a peasant with an ugly sweater marry my daughter!” said the king, “even if the sweater almost looks nice now.” He turned his daughter into a flower and sent her out into the garden. She was only allowed to become human again during the night. George could save her only by plucking the right flower. If he plucked the wrong one, she would die.

George spent the night on the ground next to the garden. “Blodwyn, Blodwyn!” he murmured. “Here I am,” she called, and there before him stood the princess he had seen at the mystic seaport, only this time, she was much closer much more beautiful. Her red hair flowed from her head to her waist and her eyes shone green like the sea after a storm. Her skin was pale and she stood at about 5'8". She wore a beautiful green dress and a funny Russian hat that matched George’s exactly, except for its magical destructive powers. The two sat in the garden under the moonlight, and when Blodwyn began to get cold, George gave her his almost nice-looking sweater to wear. She was even more beautiful with the sweater on, George thought. A breeze ran its misty fingers through their hair, and George shivered. Blodwyn did not shiver because she was wearing the gray and green sweater, and George was pleased.

At sunrise, Blodwyn vanished and again became a flower. George picked up his sweater and looked at the garden: there were three flowers of exquisite beauty, all three identical in height, color, and shape. “Blodwyn, Blodwyn!” George whispered, knowing one of them was her. None of the flowers responded. George studied the flowers, and finally he knew which was Blodwyn. He plucked it, and instantly the flower was transformed into the beautiful Blodwyn. “How did you know it was me?” she asked. “Dew fell on the other flowers during the night, but since you were up all night, there wasn’t any dew on you,” he said, and kissed her.

Chapter Four
The Wedding and Some of the Events that Occurred Thereafter

George and Blodwyn were married the next day. George wore the gray and green sweater and a pair of red and green striped stockings. Blodwyn wore her beautiful dress. The perfectly normal person presided. (He had turned out to be an Orthodox bishop.) Afterwards, George pulled out his tablecloth and there was a great feast of Oreo and French fry pizza. George and Blodwyn lived happily ever after and had lots of grandchildren.

The end.

on aging

I plan to be beautiful my whole life.

I don't plan to be 20 my whole life, but I plan to be beautiful my whole life.

I will grow old and get wrinkles and gray hairs and stretch marks, but I'll tell you what, they'll be sexy stretch marks.

When it is my birthday, people will ask if I'm 29 again, and I will say no, I'm 67.

I am a fallen woman, and deep in my heart I doubt. I wonder. I ask: "am I beautiful?"

I won't take my question to the world: they will say "no, you are old and wrinkled, and all beauty is vanity."

I won't take my question to my husband, a fallen man. Some days he will say "yes" honestly. Some days he will conjure this required answer.

I will take my question to God, and he will say "I made you, I created you, I know you better than anyone else. Yes, you are old and wrinkled and beautiful. You are a captivating, beautiful woman, desired and loved. Let me wash you with my blood so you can be seen." And deep in my heart, deeper than my doubt, I will know this is true.

I will empty myself and let Him fill me with His love.

And I will go to my husband and say "Look!" and I will not be ashamed of my wrinkles; I will not be afraid. I will be beautiful, and my husband will see my beauty. He will speak and I will hear Christ's voice: "you are truly beautiful."

I have no beauty that does not come from my Creator. To Him I owe infinitely more than I have or am. I deserve nothing. But "deserve" is irrelevant to love. I am empty and grateful.

prayers for finals week

From St. Thomas Aquinas, a noble, dedicated, hardworking student:

Creator of all things,
true source of light and wisdom,
origin of all being,
graciously let a ray of your light penetrate
the darkness of my understanding.

Take from me the double darkness
in which I have been born,
an obscurity of sin and ignorance.

Give me a keen understanding,
a retentive memory, and
the ability to grasp things
correctly and fundamentally.

Grant me the talent
of being exact in my explanations
and the ability to express myself
with thoroughness and charm.

Point out the beginning,
direct the progress,
and help in the completion.

I ask this through Christ our Lord.
Amen.


From St. Joseph of Cupertino, friend of those who don't or can't study:

O Great St. Joseph of Cupertino who while on earth did obtain from God the grace to be asked at your examination only the questions you knew, obtain for me a like favour in the examinations for which I am now preparing. In return I promise to make you known and cause you to be invoked.

Through Christ our Lord.

St. Joseph of Cupertino, Pray for us.

Amen.