Beneath the Veil: A Headcovering Series

I have a not-so-secret obsession.  I'm fascinated with head coverings in all their manifestations.  It's a natural result of my eclectic tastes in fashion, an interest in different cultures and world travel, and my devotion to a particular and, as the world regards it, old-fashioned religion . . . the Catholic Church.

Head coverings worn out-of-doors as the societal norm, for men and women, were common right up into the 20th century.  My great-grandfather, whom I called Papa, never left the house without donning his favorite hat.  Even if it was only to pop over to the neighbors' or go down to the corner store for a candy bar.  We still have that hat.  To this day, it carries the faint scent of his cologne.

My best guess is that head coverings emerged thousands of years ago to serve the same function as other clothing, i.e. protection from the elements.  But people got creative, as people will do. Wherever there is a need for something practical, it seems, mankind is determined that it should also be beautiful.  It's what separates us from the animals.  Thus, all sorts of forms and methods of hair-covering emerged, from the simple and elegant to the elaborate and foppish.  Shelter and fashion.  Ingenuity and creativity.

The third mark of humanity is meaning.  Headcovering is inseparable from modesty and reverence in many traditions, and in varying degrees.  Some people see covering the head or hair as controversial, even demeaning, others as liberating.  Some don't have an opinion either way.

Not a popular opinion there, Saint Thomas.

My first experience with headcovering was as a little girl admiring wedding dresses and imitating the look with a veil of my own for First Communion.  I often also wore a hat to church, especially at Easter.  We lived in suburban Ohio, and the people there were pretty homogeneous.  I could count the number of black classmates I had on one hand.  Hispanics were even less.  In sixth grade, the opening page of our history unit in the text book showed the famous page of peasants shearing the wheat in Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry.  Both the men and women had their heads covered.  I became interested in the middle ages and their style of dress.  In that same class, I first learned about Islam, which also fascinated me.

Fast forward years and years later.  I was studying abroad in Rome in 2005 and within walking distance of San Pietro to able to attend the papal audiences on Wednesdays.  I noticed that people--especially the old Italian women--put napkins on their heads when the Pope came out on the balcony.  Yes, I remember thinking that . . . napkins.  I'm not sure when I put two and two together; if it was some residual inherited cradle Catholic memory, something I'd been taught along the way, or something I picked up later; but by the time I graduated college in 2007, I was rearing to get my hands on a veil of my own.  This was perfect timing, as Pope Benedict had just granted permission to parish priests to celebrate the Latin Rite without seeking special permission from their bishops.

In 2008, I enrolled for my Master's degree in Bangor, Wales, and since I hadn't left home as an undergrad, this was my first real experience in the university lifestyle.  Bangor was much more culturally diverse, with lots of East Asian and Middle Eastern students.  The hijabis (plural?) stood out, of course, but it was the bohemian, artsy atmosphere of that city that made me wrap up my head in a black scarf and walk out of the dorm room confidently.

My favorite scarf tied in the duchess style.

Meanwhile, I was wearing a veil to Mass, and when my sister-in-law gave me a pretty bonnet she couldn't wear any more after she got her hair cut, I started wearing that to Mass, too.  Because I knew from my humanities classes, leisurely afternoons in art museums, and internet wanderings that throughout the ages, the type of head coverings women wore changed.  And it wasn't that women went out of their way to cover their heads during Mass, but that it was a way of life, to have something to cover with when the occasion called for it--whether it was during bad weather, when in the company of someone important, during worship, or as their stations in life changed.  And this of course, was only a small part of a larger interest and passion that had been growing and gaining strength in me since I was a little child . . . the fact that medieval European life hinged on the seasons and the liturgical year, clicking together like two intertwined gears.

Being back in Wales and near my favorite clothing shops has refreshed my interest in head covering, outside of Mass.  People are more diverse in their clothing tastes, even in Colwyn Bay (which is not a college town and far from diverse).  I feel I could walk more easily with my head wrapped in a scarf than I could in central Florida.  And practically speaking, without sweating out all my fluids!

I like the way pretty scarves look wrapped around my head.  I like that they're old-fashioned and peasant-y and old-world Catholic.  I like that it's an easy way to deal with a bad hair day and hide the frizz.  But I also like the idea of headcovering as a calling, a devotion.  I like that it's meant to show reverence in the presence of the Holy of Holies, at Mass.  I like that it marks the wearer almost, as one set apart, the old meaning of the word anathema; the way we walk around with cross smudges on our foreheads on Ash Wednesday.

So.  I don't think I'll ever become a full-time covered woman.  First of all, my faith (and culture) doesn't deem it necessary.  Second, my intentions are tainted by vanity.  Thirdly, you have to walk before you can run, and you have to crawl before you can walk.  I don't wear skirts full-time, and I'm all about the sleeveless tank top in mid-summer Florida heat.  Last, if I were to pursue all my whims and interests, I'd be dressed like a Japanese doll having a tea party.

Hanbok + mantilla = Christie's name all over it.

But that doesn't mean I can't learn more, or live vicariously through other people.  So I've asked a few friends and acquaintances if they'd like to guest post over the next few weeks about their particular headcovering traditions, and I invite you join in the conversation.  If you, or someone you know, covers, full- or part-time, and would be interested in guest posting or doing an interview for the series, please have them get in touch with me: GreenInkling at gmail dot com.

5 Favorites: Health and Beauty Hacks

1 // Optimize your hair product.

Credit to my BFF Ashley, who wouldn't leave me alone until I stopped spraying product directly into my hair and into my hands instead.

Pump or pour a little bit of product directly into your palm (this doesn't work for hairspray or other staying products, obviously), then rub your hands together, coating both palms.  Run your hands through your hair thoroughly.  You'd be surprised how you save on product without skimping on style.  This technique gets the product into all of your hair and assures that a little bit goes everywhere, rather than a large glob that gets stuck where it's put and is hard to spread around.  You'll notice the stylist at the salon does this as well.

2 // Use hair conditioner to shave your legs (or beards, gentlemen!).

Shaving cream is expensive and not very economical.  This trick saves me packing space as well.  I've never had a cut while using conditioner to shave my legs, and your legs are soft and moisturized afterward!

3 // Get creative with deodorant.

I noticed anti-chafing product at the store in the same containers in which deodorant is sold.  So I went home and tried it with my own anti-antiperspirant.  It works.  And I lived in swamp land!

4 // Take your tooth brush to go.

Best thing since sliced bread.  Especially when I was working.  No water required, no mes.  I would throw some Colgate Wisps into my purse and if I forgot to/didn't have time to brush my teeth that morning, I would use these in the car.  Also good for after coffee, naps, and lunch break.  They're a tad pricey, but keep your eyes peeled at local discount stores for them to turn up or buy an off-brand.  I got them for pennies at Big Lots.

Bonus: they kept Afon quiet for most of Mass and cleaned his teeth!

5 // Use toothpaste on spots.

You've got it anyway, right?  A tap of toothpaste on a pimple before bedtime works just as well as off-brand pimple cream.

♥

Got any health, hygiene, or beauty life hacks?  Most of these were learned word-of-mouth, and I'm always looking for things to make life easier.  So do share!

Yarn Along

This little hat and card arrived yesterday, just in time for mama and baby to come home from the hospital!  I was impressed that it went half way round the world to Alaska in such good timing.  Anyway, it means I can post pictures now without spoiling the surprise.

I more or less made up the pattern for this little crochet hat.  Nothing complex.  I wanted it to look like a little white flower with a green stem.  The recipient won't be able to wear it for a while, but as she wasn't yet born while I was making it, I didn't want to risk the chance of making it too small, so I opted for baby rather than infant/newborn size.

Afon and I are reading The Wind in the Willows aloud at bedtime.  It's a first for both of us, and even though I know he's not really paying attention except for the sparse pictures, I want it imprinted in his memory for when we come to it again.  It really is very much a summer story, something to cuddle up to with the window open and the hint of late evening light lingering in the sky.

I welcomed the Jehovah's Witnesses into my home for their second visit today*, and during a frenzy of cleaning, found these verses from before I was even married (but after I was engaged, as the scrolling signatures practicing my married name attest).  This leaf of paper recently occupied space between the worn pages of my Morte d'Arthur but has since been removed and kindly ripped in three by Sir Afon.  The first lines go like this:

Wales, in places, bares its bones
to wind and time.  The tattered homes
of ancient heroes, nondescript absences
where grass won't

and then were promptly abandoned.  A few lines down, a new stanza beginning a new poem:

Golden Guinevere of the summer wood,
voluptuously ripened in kingdom's plenty.
Echoes in crags of riverbeds sound
the crowning bloom of Arthur's kingdom.
Sweet, full, much for one mouth to contain.
She is honey, stickily clinging to that she touches.
She is the hum of crickets at days end,
a raucous, soothing signal of ending.
She is queen.  She will carry them over,
the flower and the tree.

And then there are some doodles of arrows and leaves.  It was either mid- or late summer when I wrote these lines, not late spring/early summer like it is now, but being here, in Wales, the feeling of what it was to write them is very present to me.  It's interesting to see where my mind was at the time, deeply immersed in writing my Arthurian thesis, in the sun-soaked summer of Wales, mild and fertile.  Looking at them over an expanse of years is eerie and nostalgic, like glimpsing the other side of a riverbank through the fog in early morning.

*Yes, I'm aware they're trying to convert me, even though they say they aren't.  But they don't know that I know.  And they certainly don't know that I'm trying to convert them back!

Today

Feeling // worn out from not one, but two trips to Bangor this weekend!

Seeing // the streaks of gray rain outside the window, first real rainstorm since March!  And this past weekend, the lambs and sheep!

Smelling // rain.

Tasting // lingering baking soda from the scones from breakfast

Listening // to Afon's happy chatter as he draws.  He is a thoughtful artist and pauses occasionally to hold the pen up to his chin or in his mouth.

Reading // The Wind in the Willows, a first time for me and Afon.

Praying // for friends with difficult relatives, friends going through crises of faith.

Working // on the second chapter of the second draft of The Spinning Wheel.  And just finishing a much-loved crochet project!

Grateful // for a safe labor and delivery for a friend's third child.  Welcome, baby Alice!

Hoping // for a productive week.

20/52

"A portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2014."

Afon: in Gradnfather and Nana's garden, he's found a brilliant new "hat."

Still fascinated with hats.  Anything he can balance on his head is a hat to him.  He's filled out a lot, and I don' t know if this is a case of his height having yet to catch up with him, enjoying his father's junk food, or genetics: he has my plump Hispanic genes on the one side, and the hefty Irish docker's on the other.  Regardless, I'm determined not to make a deal of it, now or ever.

May brought warmth and sunshine, more summer than late spring, and we've spent more time outside than in the past few days.  Another weekday excursion to Conway castle seems in order.  And a train ride into the mountains.  And a visit with the cousins who live on the seashore in Anglesy.  I can't wait!

Fresh Flowers on a Budget

I always knew that when I had my own home, I would fill it up with flowers.   I'm not much of a gardener and we don't own any land besides, but one way I've made sure that my life is always bright with blossoms is by keeping fresh cut flowers in vases.

 But flowers are pricey, and we have very little income.  So how do I manage to get all these photos of flowers all over the place without breaking the bank?   Here's how I do it:

1 // Stalk your favorite grocery stores for free flowers

This is how I started keeping flowers.  When I worked at a grocery store, at the end of the night, if the flowers had passed their sell-by date, the managers would "pull" them.  They offered them to employees to take home because otherwise, they would just have to throw them out.  And unlike food, there were no health codes they were in danger of violating by giving away out-of-date stock.

After I learned that, I would routinely check the sell-by dates on the bouquets.  If I were working on one of those days, I would ask to take home a bouquet.  If I wasn't closing, I would swing around right before closing time and pick one up anyway.

At the store I worked at, everyone was really friendly and had good relationships with regular customers.  If you shop some place like that, consider making a similar arrangement to take their throw-away flowers off their hands!  Win-win!

2 // only purchase bouquets that come with flower food

The money stretches with the longevity of your flowers, so, if possible, always purchase bouquets that come with little sachets of "flower food."

3 // make the flower food last

There's enough powder or liquid in each sachet to feed more than one bouquet of flowers.  This works out especially well if you buy two bouquets, one with flower food and one without.

4 // always by the flowers with the tightest buds

You see a brilliant display of blooms in the shop and think, 'I have to get that!'  Look for the same bouquet that is less far along in bloom.  Those tiny buds are their own kind of pretty, and it's not like you'll miss out in the big bloom later on.  You'll just be able to enjoy your fresh flowers longer.  The tighter the buds, the better.

5 // cut off any foliage that falls beneath the water line

This prevents early rotting.  All that should be beneath the water are the bare stems.

6 // change the water regularly

Ever couple of days to once a week is best, to get rid of the water in which mold, germs, and bacteria have settled.  You can tell when this has happened as the water gets cloudy.

7 // take your flowers with you!

It's a waste to put pretty flowers in an empty room!  Pick them up and take them with you!  If I know I'm going to be relocating from the living room to the bedroom, I take my vase of flowers with me.  If I spent the money on them, I'm going to enjoy them!

8 // don't underestimate the beauty of a hand-picked bouquet

Where we live, the most beautiful wildflowers grown in abundance: tulips, poppies, cowslips, buttercups, bluebells, Queen Ann's lace, and forget-me-nots. . .  Pick the flowers as close to the bottom of the stem as possible, then lay them out on your kitchen counter or table.  Pick off the excess leaves and foliage and arrange the stems in a vase, glass, or mason jar, with the shortest stems along the rim and the longest stems in the center.  Add a splash or pinch of your leftover flower food and enjoy!  They're absolutely free!

Where We Write

I rotate between the bed and dinner table; but regardless of where I'm writing, I need a lot of space to spread out all my books, papers, notes, and bric-a-brac.  My work space is always expansive, whether writing, cooking, crocheting. . .

Ideally, I would write on the cliff overlooking the seal-sea, about a mile's walk from home . . . or in the Fairy Glen by the by the riverside, shaded by spring leaves.  But it's difficult to transport all I need into a temporary outside office, so I often end up just jotting down little notes and inspirations, taking a photo or two.

A writer's space is sacred, and I've come to appreciate Virigina Wolf's "A Room of One's Own" more than ever.  I've never seen myself as a feminist, and I despise the second- and third-wave feminisms.  They either reject the feminine altogether in favor of "masculinity" or diminish womanhood to its lowest common denominator, making her little more than a bitch in heat.

But there is still a double standard, especially in the writer's lifestyle.  A male writer is less likely to be frowned upon for his untidy home, and a woman with children is too often expected to sacrifice her identity and her creativity to attend them.

Terri Windling turned me onto this curious and thought-provoking film, titled Who Does She Think She Is?:

I'm intrigued.  Maybe if a few people are interested in it, we can do a little viewing and discussion group.  (And buying through the link above generates income to go toward my own copy, so thank you!).

Still, the most positive and most hopeful outlook on the writing mother was provided and beautifully expressed in this article in Dappled Things: "The Mother's Vocation and the Writer's Life."

Where do you write?  Go here to link up with Masha at Cyganeria.

The Flower of the Imagination: a Case for Dragons

{Please note:  This is a Catholic-interest post, I'm afraid, but that doesn't mean non-Catholics can't chime in and/or enjoy.  Just keep in mind that I write from a heavily Catholic perspective and that a suggestion to dismiss moral value in the arts will be a bit irrelevant to the conversation!}

I've been troubled by a literary trend in the Catholic community that draws severe lines of categorization regarding moral archetypes.*  Harry Potter is the obvious example, an engaging albeit imperfect series with some beautiful moments reflecting Christian truth and values.  But the mere mention of the word "witch" cause some to banish it from their bookshelves forever, without even cracking open the cover.

There is more witchy to Harry Potter than the word, I'll grant, but what about other stories that rename symbols or use the imagery from another culture or civilization?  What about the well-loved A Wrinkle in Time, which merely uses the word "witch" tongue-in-cheek to stand-in for celestial beings, perhaps even angels?  What about the wizard Merlin who appears as a sage and a Christian in C.S. Lewis's That Hideous Strength, who is allowed to use the last bit of pre-Fallen Earth's command of nature to save the world and then to pass on?

In the same type of severity, dragons are dismissed as evil in all literature, and any treatment of a dragon as good is an inversion of truth.  As Catholics, we believe that what is not true comes from the Enemy--that is why he is called the Father of Lies.  But are all symbols so iron and non-negotiable?

In the east, dragons are wise and often benevolent, associated with luck and prosperity.  It's hard to say that this is an inversion, since the civilizations of Asia are far older than those of western Europe, except in the sense that they're symbols are opposite ours.  Which would only make sense, as we are on opposite sides of the globe.

But, people argue, in the Bible the serpent is cursed by God, and should always be associated with evil. Well then, say I, what about Moses's use of the snake on the staff--not even a real snake, but a seeming idol!--to heal and perform miracles?  With this task he was charged by God Himself.  It seems that even in the same cultures, sometimes symbols can be inverted.

There's a similar case for witches.  According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the word witch first appears without any negative connotation; it's not until several centuries later that a second usage appeared that was more or less synonymous with the idea of witches we have today--devil-worshipers or evil spirits (citation as soon as I get back to the library).  Even then, the clear-cut dichotomy of magic being always evil did not exist** and in fact didn't become the majority belief until the {late Middle Ages}.  Before then, the belief in the supernatural other than God lived side-by-side with a deep devotion to the Church.  One need only look at Ireland as late as the first half of the twentieth century.

I have a theory that the reason why no one saw a problem with this apparent hypocrisy was because it was kept in the proper order: God was Lord.  And the other creatures or ways were rendered impotent, with the sign of the Cross or a a consecrated Host.  Dracula illustrates a superb example of the sovereignty of Christ.  Modern supernatural thrillers would be over a lot sooner if they'd just call the exorcist to bring in the Eucharist.

Vampires are another archetype enjoying a great revival at the moment.  Though as far as I know, vampires have in every time and place been on the evil spectrum of archetype, I have no problem with the modern obsession of redeeming them . . . so long as it is done believably and does not indulge in what Flannery O'Connor calls "sin against art."  I think clinging to the original archetype of the vampire as something dangerous, depraved, and hungry for redemption (John 6:54, anyone?) is what makes him so attractive to modern readers--not that the archetype is inverted so that vampires now appear good rather than bad.***  Our generation is all too familiar with the attractiveness of evil . . . aware of the that strong, thin thread of the Holy Spirit, calling us to salvation.

When I was younger, I used to believe that there were far more absolute truths than there actually are.  Absolute truths about what is {beautiful and modest}, what is the proper form of worship, who is in the right and wrong on particular political and philosophical issues, even {absolute truths in parenting}.  But experience and gentle discipline from God have taught me otherwise.

That is not to say that we shouldn't approach our reading material with caution: {those with sound formation have a far greater chance for sifting the truth and beauty from the trash and poison in modern literature}.  Those struggling or with young children have greater need for discernment.  But if we sweep all stories with non-evil dragons, benevolent witches, and less-than-saintly protagonists into the same off-limits categories, we risk experiencing the deepness that is the story of our Redemption.  We skip to the Resurrection at expense of the Cross.  

We must find a way to kill the weed without uprooting the flower.

∆∆∆

*  For further reading, see {A Landscape with Dragons} by Michael O'Brien.  (Kindle version available {here}.)
**  I've twelve months of post-graduate study on Arthurian literature and a Master's thesis under my belt to affirm the ambiguity of the magical figure in the Dark and Middle Ages.
***  I speak with limited knowledge on the subject, as I have not read the grandam of supernatural romance, the Twilight series.

The Kitchen Alchemist: Onion and Potato Stew

"In which I try to make healthful, affordable, easy meals:

in other words, throwing together ingredients in hopes of creating gold."

A remnant from Lent.  I'd had a difficult time finding vegetable stock, out of which I make my staple fasting soups, but I did get some onion-flavored Oxo gravy granules.  It sounds sort of icky, but it's basically a bouillon cube all powdered up.

I started boiling potatoes without any real plan, then saw the onion gravy in the cupboard and added several spoonfuls of it in for flavor, until I liked the color and consistency in the water and the taste (I like it strong).  But I needed a little something else besides potatoes, and we didn't have any other vegetables in the house.  So I added your standard off-brand noodles from a bag and continued cooking until everything was soft and consistent.

You know what?  I really liked it, and so did Afon!  Very hearty and flavorful, and if you like the taste of onions, which I love, then it's a treat for the tongue as well as time-friendly.

Time // B

Ease // A+

Presentation // B+

Affordability // A-

Health // C+

Taste // A-

Not bad!  Health got the lowest rating because of white flour carbs, starchy potatoes and a near intravenous injection of sodium from the gravy granules.  Still vegan, though--hey!

coming soon . . .

The Kitchen Alchemist: Fried Rice and Vegetables

"In which I try to make healthful, affordable, easy meals:

in other words, throwing together ingredients in hopes of creating gold."

If you're just joining us, the idea for this continuing series is outlined very somberly here.  If you're new, it may or may not also be useful to know that during Lent, I give up all animal products except for fish on weekends.  Hence the extreme simplicity of the meal.  (Also, I'm a lazy creative cook.)

This meal was scrapped together from leftover rice and vegetables and turned out very well.  My favorite thing to do is to throw things together in a pan with oil.  So that worked out nicely.  Since they were leftovers, all I had were carrots and potatoes, but a more traditional recipe would use peas and other vegetables.

I always start my "stir-fry" with a glob of oil and chopped garlic.  Then I add onions, and that makes the base.  Since the carrots and potatoes had already been boiled the night before, they didn't need to be cooked through; I just browned them a bit in the pan.  Then I added a bit more oil and the rice--which, again, was already cooked.  It took about twenty minutes for the rice to fry up how I like it, but it was a pretty hands-off twenty minutes.

Vegetables taste especially nice with Worcester sauce (see my "You Know You're in Wales When" segment here), but the fish ingredient means I can't have it on weekdays.  Instead, I used vegan-friendly salt and chutney to punch up the flavor.  We ate it with salad greens and drank cherry brandy for dessert.  It was popular with our friend Glyn, who is joining the Eastern Orthodox Church this Easter, and so can't have animal products either.

Glyn, Afon, and Rupert having fun after dinner.

Report card time:

Time  //  B

Ease  //  A

Presentation  //  B+

Affordability  //  A

Health  //  A

Taste  //  B+

The time would have gotten a B+ or A- because it was pretty effortless, but I took into consideration that it only works if you have leftovers.  If you try this or something similar, let me know.

All Their Wars Are Merry

Chesterton had a remarkable gift for seeing people.  I mean really seeing them, at once, without the veils of ego, stereotype, and assumption.  Such a gift gained praise from the biographers of the greats, such as Thomas Aquinas and Charles Dickens.  In the case of the former, the aneqdote goes that GK had never read Aquinas before, so he had his secretary bring him a stack of books on and by the Church doctor.  He opened the cover of the first book on the top of the stack, read for a few hours, flourished his pen, and immediately began to write what is considered the most comprehensive work on Saint Thomas Aquinas.

His gift of perception not only applied to people but to peoples.  His straightforward way of communicating his clear-sightedness has won him lots of criticism from those sensitive to the persecuted races and ethnicities.  But in my reading (which, admittedly, is not exhaustive), I've never known Chesterton to speak of a person or people without genuine affection, and never with any layer of subterfuge.  It is his innocnecne and clarity, as if he were remarking, very fondly, about the weather, that makes it alarming--almost offensive.  All the more alarming, then, when you find that what he says is true.

Chesterton was a firm advocate of the Irish cause and inspired their leaders to aspire to independence.  In these brief lines from The Ballad of the White Horse, he strikes on that peculiar Irishness that otherwise is difficult to put into words, so I really shouldn't even try.  Suffice to say that as one familiar, through intimate study and some travel, with the Gaels (and their brethren, the Welsh Celts!), Chesterton is right on the money.

I think this attitude of the Gaels offers a glimpse into the mystery of what makes them so Catholic.  It took Saint Patrick a mere forty years to preach to and convert Ireland, a feat only matched (as far as I know) by Our Lady in Mexico.  There is something very Catholic about merry wars and sad songs; the knowledge of the victory already won and the cheerful soldier, the ballads of mourning for a paradise not-quite-remembered.  If the conversion of the Irish was steady and remarkably peaceful, I think it was because there was something in the Irish that was remarkably receptive to Catholicism.

And if the Irish were already, in a profound and unnameable sense, Catholic, then perhaps it's fair to say that every Catholic is a little bit Irish.  c;

Linking up with {Amongst Lovely Things} for Weekends with Chesterton.

The Kitchen Alchemist: Birthday Cake

"In which I try to make healthful, affordable, easy meals:

in other words, throwing together ingredients in hopes of creating gold."

I made this cake for Afon's birthday (the day of, not the party), and googled recipes literally five minutes before pulling the ingredients together from the depths of my parents' pantry.  I picked this one for easiness and ingredients.  But the majority of my family members are squeamish about whole milk (why?), so when I came to that part, I improvised a little.  In addition to the watery, flavorless skim milk, I added two spoonfuls of sour cream hoping to thicken it up a little.  Oh, yeah.  It thickened it all right.

After the cake came out of the oven (not burnt!!), I googled icing recipes, and narrowed down the results by which ones called for shortening.  I'd always wanted to use the innocent and unused vegetable Crisco minding its own business at the back of the spice drawer.  I actually loved this icing.  I'm not that into buttercream, but this had an almost floury taste to it which I loved.  And it was easy to whip up, easy to apply.

When Afon saw me preparing the cake, he took a full two seconds to register what was happening, turned sharply on his heel, went to the cutlery drawer, and came back with a spoon, ready to dig in.  I was able to hold him off with a compromise: he licked the icing and batter spoons, and I kept the cake intact for later.

Three out of five liked my dense, doughy cake; one of them being Afon, who gives two thumbs up to anything with sugar.  My mom and I liked it (also sugar fans).  But my father and sister thought it tasted weird.  Do with that what you will.

Time  //  A

Ease //  A

Presentation  //  A+

Affordability  //  A-

Health  //  D

Taste  //  B

Yep.

Twenty Hobbies

I stole this quote from Sarah of {Little Progress Notes}, and even though I have read it before, it stuck in my flesh like a thorn, sharp, sweet, and chastising, as it did the very first time I read it.  Someone close to me was very upset by this quote at the time, and I couldn't understand why.  Not intellectually.  Intellectually, I could understand how someone, a woman, who aimed for a profession or the perfection of a trade would balk that Chesterton thinks she oughtn't.  But my heart cannot fathom it.

When I read this quote, it's like if someone handed me a translation guide to the language of my soul.  People talk about wanting to be stay-at-home moms, and the majority of that talk revolves around the raising and education of children--which is, obviously, the most important aspect of homemaking if you're blessed to have them.  But there's more to it than that, and I see the fruits of the domestic woman in those who are not able to have children.  They're free to perfect their skills and passions.  They're broadly educated, not necessarily formally.

My own mother is extremely well-informed about current world events; her relatives in high political places talk down to her "narrow" point-of-view and are abruptly put in their place by a southern housewife.  I have a friend university-bound after seventeen years of graduating high school; she speaks with more lucidity and grace than most of my college professors.  My godmother has helped her husband raise the children from his first marriage, run three successful businesses, and start a grassroots ministry addressing the sorely ignored crisis of human sex trafficking.  My favorite women bloggers are, by a landslide majority, homemakers; more than gifted writers, they are photographers, crafters, architects, chemists, seamstresses, artists, philosophers, poets, botanists, activists, farmers, chauffeurs, and cooks.  They're quite literally everything to someone (their families).  And it just wouldn't be possible for them to be that astonishingly versatile in a career.

It's very telling that after a century of liberation, women are choosing to go back to the professions (oppression?) of their great-great-grandmothers.  Instead of being taught in an unbroken chain of mother-to-daughter lore, they're having to re-learn many of those skills that made suppressed Woman so dangerously skillful.  I suppose the feminist movement was necessary because it helped us understand.  For now we have the double benefit of having the freedom to choose and choosing not to be "free."

As for myself, being a Catholic, I have no problem being told what I ought to do and what is good for me.  But then, I believe that the so-called restraints of the patriarchy are not man-made at all, but transcend the world.

I don't think that a woman can't be focused on a single aim to forge a career.  Or that some women are best suited to that lifestyle.  I just know that in my first-hand experience with competent, thoughtful women, and for me personally, that would be sad.  It would be a kind of compromise.

I have so much to offer, so much that I'm passionate about.  God has generously equipped me.  I don't care that my ability to make a dwelling a comfortable home, or the home a place of spiritual peace and healthful stimulation, will go unappreciated by society.  And I grow weary of rationalizing my "career" preferences to that same society.  Like if I don't chose something concrete to achieve and then run it down like a fox, I'm irresponsible or somehow mis-made.  I feel, when I tell the world that I wish not to work formally for a living, a reaction akin to sexism.  If I can chose a lifestyle, God willing--and not without knowledge and acceptance of the sacrifices, as well as the blessings--in which I need not be distracted by the minutiae of the outside world, then that is what I want.  Because this is not a useless, fruitless aim.

Chesterton's logic gives me permission to embrace the scattered person I am; and he gives me comfort by telling me my efforts are not vain, nor shameful.  The domestic woman is unimpressed by the limp equality offered by a world that seeks excellence at the expense of freedom, that considers seclusion oppression and liberality narrow.  Our role model for Womanhood is a virgin and a mother--a handmaid and a queen.  And the domestic woman is the original Renaissance Man.

Thanks to Sarah of {Amongst Lovely Things} for hosting Weekends with Chesterton.

21 Steps to Obnoxiously Catholic

I don't know how I started to first come up with this silly list, but I had a whole lot of fun with it.  Most of these are things I have actually done, thought of doing, or wanted to do at some point in my life.  Twenty steps to obnoxiously Catholic: can you guess which?

1 // Preface every e-mail, journal entry, blog post, written letter, or scrawled note with "Feast of Saint ______ , __th Day of ______ Time."

2 // Wear a Scapular.  Outside your shirt.  Kiss it often.

3 // Insist on referring to every religious-turned-secular holiday with its liturgically historical title, as in Saint Valentine's Day, Eve of All Saints, and Walpurgis Night.

4 // Ask if you can have people's left-over candle stubs, "you know, for the home altar." c;

5 // For your political leanings under the About Me section on your Facebook page, list Catholic. Distributist is also acceptable.

6 // Write the Pope suggesting he make it a rule to see people's baptismal certificates before allowing entrance to Saint Peter's Basillica and the Vatican Museums.

7 // Give your children unmistakably Catholic names, such as Augustine, John Paul, Bernadette, Philomena, and Hildegard.  Also Mary, followed by any traditional name.   (Maria if Spanish.)

8 // Mentally organize your friends and acquaintances under the categories Catholic, Almost Catholic, and Not Yet Catholic.

9 // Spend far too many hours on the internet expounding the deeply Christian aspects of Sherlock, Doctor Who, Harry Potter, and Firefly.

10 // Consider an education in world religion taking your children to an Eastern Rite Mass.

11 // Be the person who has a prayer card on hand--for everything.

12 // Under the second languages category in job applications, circle "Other" and write "liturgical Latin."

13 // Explain to people who stare at or make rude comments about your large family of five under the age of five that, "I'll never have to harass them for grandchildren."

14 // Spam your social networks daily with Catholic memes, Crisis Magazine articles, and the Pope's tweets.

15 // Seek out and hoard first class relics.  Do not be at all shy or ashamed to introduce friends to the decayed parts of (holy!) dead people.

16 // Make sure that anyone who knows you for more than five minutes is familiar with the life stories of Cardinal Newman, Fulton J. Sheen, or G.K. Chesterton.

17 // Tell your three-year-old that "Jesus is in the church, inside His golden box," but that, "Jesus isn't in that church; not as His Bread Self, I mean."

18 // When people ask you if you know someone who can get things done, tell them, "You know the Mormon Mafia?  Well, Catholics have something like that, too.  It's called the Mafia. . . Just the Mafia."

19 // Continually confound people by crying, "Oh, I do hope my son becomes a priest!  Or the pope!  Yeah, 'cause how cool would it be to be the pope's mom?"

20 // During the Eucharistic procession, grasp your girlfriend's arm and say, "Oh my gosh, there He is.  It's Him, it's Him!  Can I touch the cloth touching Him?  How does my hair look?"   Catholic fangirls be crazy.

21 // Consider being called a "close-minded Papist" by your college professor a deeply touching compliment.

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What kind of crazy-awesome things are you known for doing?  If not a Catholic, as something else (a religion, ethnicity, culture, or fan)?  Have I left anything out of the list?

A Book to Read // Little Stories

Today, I am tired.  It could be the ear ache I was diagnosed with last week, as I've been irregular about taking the antibiotics.  It could be the suspected-but-un-diagnosed arthritis, coming with the sharpening plunge of the temperature.  Or the equally un-diagnosed fibromyalgia, as yesterday I encountered a bit of stress involving a toddler leased to a table behind the deli counter.  (Bless him, he was so good for Mama!)  Last night, my body ached, and I was physically weary.  I came home and slept.  Today, I wanted to get up and take Afon for a walk, but something held me back, and as the hours wear on, it grows more recognizable: that feeling of unwellness that follows me around like a ghost, overshadowing me on the bad days, almost forgotten on the good.

So I googled "tired" and "G.K. Chesterton quote" and this one came up.  I don't know where it's from, and I don't recognize it, so it might be from one of the more obscure articles.  It's not exactly what I had in mind when I searched for it, but after a moment's thought, I think it'll do.

Chesterton is one of those rare authors who, for me, is both.  His are the books I am eager to read; his are the books I want when I'm tired.  He is challenging and comforting.  Chesterton, always the paradox.

Wishing today I could curl up with Father Brown; but I think it's going to take all I have just to keep Afon from bringing the building shuddering down; we should call him the {Humanoid Typhoon}!

Thank you for your continued prayers while we continue to fight to find out what's wrong.  Is there anything I can pray for you for?  (It's a Divine Mercy Chaplet kind of day.)

Linking up with {Amongst Lovely Things} for Weekends with Chesterton.

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The Kitchen Alchemist

"In which I try to make healthful, affordable, easy meals:

in other words, throwing together ingredients in hopes of creating gold."

You know I like my fairy tale metaphors.  c;

There are far better cooks and far better cooking advice out there.  And while I can follow a recipe well enough, my attention is often fragmented (the writer's curse!) and my patience strained.  My favorite type of meal to make is one in which I open the pantry, pull out some ingredients I think would be complimentary, toss them in one pan or pot on the stove, and eat it!

So far, my experiments have been mildly successful.  Probably because of their extreme simplicity.  And I've got pictures.  Lots of pictures.

So I'm going to start documenting my kitchen experiments here, on a not-regular-basis.  I say "not regular" rather than "irregular" because even that word summons an inkling of competency that I lack.  It'll go something like this: ingredients, preparation, and then exams, graded on the rubric of  Time // Ease // Presentation // Affordability // Health // Taste.

 Anyway, stick around for more if you're interested.  It's going to be ridiculous.

Bigger on the Inside

Somehow I'm not surprised Chesterton penned the first "It's bigger on the inside!"  (You know what I'm talking about, Whovians!)

This quote is a follow-up and an embellishment on the first one.  Chesterton affirms the Church's teaching that the family is the most important societal institution--more important than any other, though it works on the smallest scale--in the privacy of one's own house, rarely seen or paid attention by the great political players.

As with the "everything to someone" quote, Chesterton balks at the so-called intellectuals who deem the work of nurses and mothers as somehow trivial and mundane, when they themselves put so much time and energy into the goings-on of the nursery.  It's absurd to find the formation of a human being of the utmost importance but ignore the grave importance of the ones doing the forming.  Yet that is what they do.  It's a common problem, even today, when we see that teachers and childcare providers are paid so little, treated so poorly by employers and parents.  Why should they be any less valued than doctors, businessmen, and senators?  All of those people, after all, were taught and mothered by someone.

This quote also offers an insight into the nature of God.  For, like everything He has made, it reflects the One who has made it.  The God-who-became-Man, entering the world quietly and unobtrusively, the same world He brought into being from nothing, still works quietly, privately; not in the public forum, trumpeting vast truths like the popes; or working staggering, undeniable miracles, like the saints.  No, he works in the quiet of the human heart; wooing wills, loving the lonely, doing the mighty work of redemption, which goes by, day by day, as profound and unnoticed as a flower turning a petal.

He takes a simple circle of bread and empties it, only to fill it with Himself; that tiny white Host, which is quite bigger on the inside; in fact, larger than the world itself.

Weekends with Chesterton link-up hosted at {Amongst Lovely Things}.

The Secret of Kells and the Art of Making

The Secret of Kells by Carton Saloon, image {source}

In honor of St. Brigid's Day, I'm sharing an old post from my other (often neglected) blog, {Spinning Straw into Gold}.  Though the holy marriage of fairy tales and the Faith is not immediately obvious, the signs are there for those who pay attention.  I hope, if you like these thoughts, that you'll consider clicking over to Straw into Gold from time to time, where I happen to headquarter my third of our lively Harry Potter book club.

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I've only recently encountered this {delightful animated film} from 2009.  The Secret of Kells is about a boy growing up in the walled abbey in Ireland during the time of the Viking raids, while the Book of Kells was being penned and illustrated.  It was an instant favorite for my family, and we play this song to our little one all the time.

This clip shows the highly stylized animation that evokes traditional Irish art.  Much could be written about these exquisite and deceptively simple illustrations.

The plot is straightforwardly simple, so much so that I was a bit surprised when the credits started rolling.  However, after stepping back from the experience of viewing to examine the whole, a clear theme emerged: that of the perseverance of human nature and its ability to create art in spite of trial.

The Book, not yet known as the Book of Kells, arrives in the abbey fortress with the famed illuminator Aidin, sole survivors of a Viking raid to the island of Iona.  Brendan is told by his uncle Cellach to keep away from the Book, as well as the forest that creeps up to the very threshold of their settlement.  Both are dangerous in different ways.

Cellach's intentions are worthy enough; day and night, he labors over the design and construction of an immense wall, intended to hold out the Vikings and defend the abbey and those who look to it for protection.  But the lure of the Book's mystery speaks to young Brendan.  Once he glimpses the fantastic illustrations, he longs to be a part of its making.  He risks disobedience at Aidin's behest and ventures into the woods to find berries for ink.  There he meets Aisling, a native faerie, who befriends him and teaches him the mysteries of the wood.  As Brendan's knowledge grows in the art of illumination, so does his appreciation for the art of the natural world.

{source}

The Secret of Kells is about pushing through adversity to continue making; about the human soul reaching out for beauty, and the way art transforms, even as men and women transform the materials around them into something new, especially works of art.  

In times of trial, we are tempted to point a finger at the dreamers and idealists; it is hard to see what the value of art is in a world of destruction.  Beauty and utility clash.  What good is a lovely song or a moving picture when death lurks at the end of every day?  This is the abbot's unspoken question in Kells.  Cellach, the abbot of Kells, was once an illuminator himself.  Jaded by hardship and worry, he forsook it and took up the task of building a wall to protect those under his care.  So desperately does he try to preserve life at any cost, he shuts out that which does not directly contribute to that aim.  He banishes his sense of wonder and refuses to acknowledge beauty.  One cannot eat a poem, he reasons.  A painting cannot stave off death.

What Cellach believes will protect him, however, ultimately proves useless.  Only, having shirked joy and the hope inherent in creating things solely for beauty's sake, he has failed to treasure the gifts and talents (and people) he had while he had them.  He has neither safety, nor hope.

Fortunately, the film doesn't end on the wasted Kells and the empty abbot.  Brendan, who, with a child's innocent wisdom, recognized in his own way the importance of the Book, facilitates his uncle's reconciliation with truth and beauty before the end.

It's a well-made, thoughtful movie, and I highly recommend it.  Whether intentionally or not, The Secret of Kells speaks to why we should still tell stories, especially fairy tales.   Our voices matter, and our efforts are not made in vain; just as the aged monk's were not, who could not have guessed the profound richness with which he endowed humanity, when he first picked up ink and quill.

Everything to Someone

You don't have to twist my arm to join a link-up about Chesterton.  You don't have to pay me.  You don't even have to ask nicely.  In fact, I'd probably pay you.  If I'm not reading Chesterton, I'm thinking Chesterton.  A little less successfully, I'm trying to live Chesterton; find the mystical in little, daily things, do what brings me joy, write about that which I find interesting ("there's no such thing as an uninteresting subject, only an uninterested person"--but that's for another weekend!) and which don't fit a genre and aren't aimed for results.  Remember what an awe-some privilege it is to fight the merry fight, though I may grow weary.

Maybe I'll post something every weekend, and maybe I won't.  But here's a start: the quote that named this blog.

As is always the case with anything of Chesterton's--be it a sentence, a paragraph, a chapter, a book--the significance of this simple thought crosses dimensions.  All things are a drop in the sea of his all-encompassing philosophy--which is only, after all, that "old" religion, Christianity.  So also the quote above is bigger that it first appears.  It's not just about motherhood; it's about anything that God has seen good and fit to give charge to us.  Whether that be children, or a husband, or a class full of students; stray cats, the poor, the parish women's club; a small business that makes beautiful, impractical things.  Making our stories, and making them whole; not playing small, compartmentalized roles that everyone expects of us or that modern society forces upon us; but being the multidimensional people He created us to be, with many aspects and complexities, each skill and wound and virtue and failing a strong clear note sounding in harmony.

We are all, everyone one of us, {everything to Someone}.

11 Reasons Why You Should Watch BBC's Sherlock

This was {originally posted here} on Jan. 14, 2014.

1 // Steven Moffat

The man who succeeded Russel T. Davies (hurray Welshman!) in being responsible for rescuing Doctor Who from television oblivion; he's the genius of plot-twist character death, who wrote the "clever, darker episodes."  And weeping angels.  Arguably the scariest things ever invented.  (They scare me even more than dementors, so yeah . . .)  He and Mark Gattiss brainstormed the premise for Sherlock while traveling to and from Cardiff to film Doctor Who.  And with a back-story that delightful, you've got to give it a chance.

2 // the soundtrack

The soundtrack, like a star batter at the bottom of the ninth, is what brings this show home.  It's brilliant without any music at all.  With music, it's sensory brilliance overload.  It plays just the right emotional keys with perfect timing, and is so distinct a melody that you'll never, ever again be able to hear anything like it without thinking,"The game is on!"

3 // Benedict Cumberbatch

If Sir AC Doyle hadn't named the man Sherlock Holmes, his name should have been Benedict Cumberbatch.  I mean, the Englishest of silly English names.  So darn English.

Also, that cupid's bow!  I'm not sure whether this man is the weirdest looking person ever or eerily beautiful.  One thing is for sure, though, and that's that he makes the show, by making the character.  Anyone who can overshadow an iconic figure like that with his own unique incarnation is worth watching.

4 // Martin Freeman

The Office, Shaun of the Dead, Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Hot Fuzz, Nativity!, The Hobbit . . . I rest my case.

5 // metafiction

In today's era of  blogging, Twitter, and Tumbler, instant feedback and free fan-creator interaction have evolved a new dimension in entertainment.  Or maybe just brought back an old one, from the days when we sat around bonfires and shaped stories together.

As when we, the watchers, succeeded in bringing back Firefly for one last hurrah with Serenity; or when fans of Doctor Who grew up to write episodes for their favorite childhood television series; Sherlock is generous with its nods to old fans and new alike.  Episode 1 of season three, "The Empty Hearse," was a veritable homage to all the fan theories that floated around the internet during its hiatus.  It was able to incorporate the metafiction without damaging the plot one tiny bit.  Cause I'm fascinated with storytelling in general, I love this approach.  It's also well fun.

6 // Molly Hooper's side part

Just adorable.  Her hair, not her role.  Though that too is adorable.  Molly Hooper in general is just adorable.

7 // artful, cinematic storytelling

This show is simply beautiful to watch.  I mean beautiful, down to the tiniest detail.  The set development, costuming, panning, montages, chronological framing, method of story-boarding, and plain eloquent cinematography . . . the tilt shift affect used on London's most popular and well known monuments and attractions is the visual equivalent of opening with "it was a dark and stormy night."  Immediately strange but familiar.

The visualization of Sherlock Holmes's intellectual gymnastics is expertly and cleverly portrayed, with knife-like precision.  I love the translation of his mental observations into visual text that exists, not just on the screen, laying flat on it as on a table or classroom transparency, but in the actual dimensions of the set--integrated without merging with it, bouncing off of objects such as lamps, and tracing around the outlines of people.  Watch for it--it's a minor detail but it's one of the things that gives this show a flavor like no other.

But probably the best example of the cinematic brilliance is in the second episode of season 3, "The Sign of Three," when Sherlock interrogates women who have been the victims of a ghost date, without ever leaving the comfort of his own flat.  He's in fact chatting with them via messenger.  The interrogation translates into a visual orchestration in which Sherlock is the conductor, benching and silencing women with each swipe of the arm, until he has ruled out all likely suspects.  I can't do any justice to this scene in words.  You have to see it.

8 // Mark Gatiss's writing

The entire expanse of it, from plot to dialogue.  Humorous, moving, electrifying, intense, thought-provoking, nerve-wracking, and memorable.  My Facebook status the day after watching the British airing of Episode 3, Season 3 (I didn't even wait for it to air on American television): "My emotions were so yanked about watching "His Final Vow" that I swear I woke up sore this morning."

You know when you really start to get into a show or movie and then someone says one little thing that just doesn't sit with the rest of it and kind of bumps it off its tracks and you have to kind of rationalize it or ignore it?  Never happens.  (Please don't ever happen!)

9 // best bromance since Frodo and Sam

(Or maybe before, since Holmes and Watson actually came into being before Middle-Earth.)

Real, genuine platonic love between friends--between men at that.  I'm so grateful, and so invigorated.  Since modern viewers can't seem to distinguish between manly love and same sex erotic attraction, be warned of fandom, the large vocal majority of which is pro Sherlock/Watson pairing--which just sort of proves my point about how desperately needed a wholesome model of non-sexual masculine friendship is.  (Cause there are other loves besides the "I want to have sex with you" kind.  Remember, guys?)

10 // G.K. Chesterton

. . . would be the biggest fan.  Scratch that, he'd probably be hired on as a writer.  As he said of his own detective stories, "I did unto others as I would they would do unto me. I provided them with more stories about crime, in the faint hope that they in turn might provide me with more stories about crime."

11 // the moral sociopath

Cumberbatch's character is an opportunistic jumping board for a dialogue on the existence of a morally ordered universe.  How can such a selfish, scientifcally-inclined, intellect-worshiping man care to do what is right, and avoid what is gravely wrong?  What exactly makes him a detective working against criminals when he could have very well been the world's greatest criminal himself?  Cue Sally Donovan, in the very first episode:

You know why he's here?  He's not paid or anything. He likes it.  He gets off on it.  The weirder the crime, the more he gets off.  And you know what?  One day just showing up won't be enough.  One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there.

I've got to let simmer my thesis for a while before I can make a satisfactory argument.  Meanwhile, do feel free to discuss this in comments!

And the one reason why you shouldn't watch BBC's Sherlock?

It's elementary, my dears.  You will be hooked.  Like a turn-of-the-century detective with an opium addiction.  c;