Better Off Outside than In

Personally, I've always found "Baby, It's Cold Outside" to be one really creepy song. The guy in the song deserves to have the snot beaten out of him by an older brother. Here is a rewrite of the song, sans creeper-ness.

Francis and Therese

This thought actually came to me at the beginning of the month, back on St. Francis Xavier's feast day. I was sitting in Mass (this is where the best thoughts hit you -- wonder why?), and I realized that Francis and Therese have a lovely complementarity about them. They are both patron saints of the missions, one of whom traveled from Europe to India and Japan before dying off the coast of China in the 1500s; the other spent all of her meager twenty-four years in France (other than that pilgrimage to Rome). I think this fact beautifully illustrates both facets of any Catholic undertaking. You have to go out and actually do something, yes, but if you didn't have your devoted corps of prayer warriors, you wouldn't get very far at all. Isn't it lovely how the Church manages to coordinate these things? :-) Just one more reason to be Catholic: no matter what your personality, talents or passions, there will be a niche for you.

The Importance of the Habit

Nice article about the importance of the habit in the religious life. Plus, I think it's kinda cool that I recognized the habits from the photo without having to look up the order. Props to the Catholic nerd!

Get Holy or Die Trying

 

“These are the ones who have survived the time of great distress;
they have washed their robes
and made them white in the Blood of the Lamb.”

 

Now go to Mass!

Housewife, Working Woman, or Supermom???

     A lovely lady named Dr. Savage spoke at an event that I recently attended. You can learn more about what she does here. Although I do not wish to plagiarize, I would like to tell you some of the great things she spoke to us about. So, with that preface, these were some of her main points:

     Her own life story illustrated her message. Her peaceful and joyous persona made us want to follow her advice. When she spoke, it was what like an old sage whispering secrets of life, gently correcting mistakes, and confirming previous hunches.
      She was a business woman, who rose quite high in her company. As she began to study church doctrine, she started to implement it into the company, which brought very good results. She got married later in life and then went back to school to get her Master's degree(s?). She currently teaches at the St. Paul seminary. Along the way, she adopted a baby and spent a few years as a stay-at-home Mom. While her life was not perfect(for example, she cried quite often for a few years when she was unable to get pregnant), she had one basic message: women have a place in the world, and it is through their motherhood. She neither wished all women to be unmarried company executives nor banished them all to the kitchen. Instead, she had an uplifting picture of womanhood. She had been happy as a single working lady, a stay-at-home mom, and a professor. Her message included the fact that women cannot "do it all." There is no way that a girl can feasibly raise a family and have a successful career.
     Yet, she did not think that day care was evil or that stay-at-home moms were parasites living off of their husbands (these were two extremes that she brought up). The idea she gave us of the world was more of a concrete and complex world-view. She suggested honestly appraising the situation and placing our role as women of God. For example, this really affects the place of the single woman in the world. While being single is a vocation in the church, it is important to recognize that motherhood is the calling of all women. Of course, this does not mean that every girl needs to have children or even be around children. To truly live our vocations we must examine if they are for ourselves or for caring for others. (This reminds me of the good old Baltimore Catechism which said that no one should be single unless they were caring for an older relative).
    This might seem unresolved, but seriously, its kind of the point of a life to figure out what we should do and how we should do it, right?

Social Networking

Humans are social creatures, and women in particular are fond of conversation and an all-encompassing exchange of information -- who's dating whom, who's broken up with, what they wore and why they did it. We just like to know what's going on in the lives of the people around us. I've just been wondering lately -- when does a normal conversation about what other people are doing and thinking cross the line and become gossip?

There is an obvious divide between talking about the latest social event and a no-holds-barred catfest, but what about the gray areas in between? When do you cross the line between honest discussion and gossiping? It's easy enough to give some universal principle, but the practical application is a far more slippery beast. Thoughts?

The Joys of Confession

(My peeps, I am here to trumpet the virtues of a much-maligned sacrament. Bear with me while I make sweeping generalizations about the human race with little to no apparent scientific backing. Also, my theology is not the most profound.)

Society at large is fond of dissing confession. It tells us that reciting one's personal failings to a man in a dark little room is weird and twisted (then promptly heads off to its therapist's couch). Not so, gentle readers, not so. The human being is wired for guilt when wrong has been done -- it is not the sole province of Catholics. So, after accumulating guilt-burdens in assorted sizes, humans feel the intense need to tell all, whether that be through memoir, drunken family-reunion tirade, or psychologist's probing. Fortunately, we Catholics have a simpler (and cheaper) way out: confession.

It's a basic formula, really. Humans, as the fallen, flawed creatures that we are, screw up. This should not surprise us, sad as it is. We fall, we feel guilty, and, on a purely minimal level, we try to make the guilty feeling go away. Except with confession, it's not just the relief of letting the cat out of the bag, it's also actual, honest-to-goodness forgiveness from someone (i.e. God) who has the power to forgive you. Sure, there are still consequences and penances to be dealt with, but that's as it should be. Warm fuzzy feelings don't fix broken windows.

(No, duh, disclaimer: of course you should regret your wrongdoing because it is a sin against God as well as against your fellow-humans, and if we were all saints, we would all have perfect contrition every time we went to confession [or for that matter, if we were all saints we wouldn't need to go to confession because we wouldn't be sinning. But I digress]. But we're not, and I'd just like to point out the fact that, given that oddly persistent reality that Man is body AND soul, confession works wonders not merely moral [although that in itself is reason enough to go], but mental. This is just the way being human works, people.)

How does this relate to little ol' me and the college life? Because, like I said, confession isn't exactly the most popular sacrament. First Communion cakes, dresses and parties? Check. First Confession cakes, dresses and parties? ::crickets:: Confession naturally precedes Holy Communion. It's like washing your hands before dinner -- elementary and essential. But, because we are human and easily lose track of what is important and what is not, confession quickly falls by the wayside. It can be icky and awkward, although less so than you think. Come on. He's a priest. How many times do you think he's heard the same litany of sins over and over again? Unless you're an exceptionally wicked person, nothing you say will shock or scandalize him. Still squeamish about spilling your less-than-stellar beans? Go read the life of St. John Nepomucene.

Minimal wince factor aside, confession is incredibly liberating. Picture this: you've just made an honest, humble confession, said your penance, and, as you're walking out of church, you get squished by a falling piano. (This could totally happen) What now? Well, unless you committed a sin between penance-saying and piano-squishing, you go to heaven, and, even if no wayward instrument snuffs out your life, you're still on good terms with God and full of grace. This is an incredibly good place to be, and all for the time investment of roughly fifteen minutes. Eternal life for fifteen minutes? I think it's worth it.

only skin-deep

My mother just sent me this beautiful article by Laurel Rae Mathewson:

The year before I was a senior in high school, I went on an exchange to France. I got skinny. When I returned to America, I felt great, looked great, and received high praise. That post-France pinnacle of svelteness is where my troubles with food began in earnest. Any more pounds represented failure, a deviation from "my best self." I began eating emotionally. I gained 10 pounds.

At New Year's I decided to get serious about getting back to the "right" size. In good-student fashion, I read reputable books and magazines and followed all the rules. I was the ideal dieter. I ran and lifted weights. Mathematical tricks of weight-loss became second nature: The calories in an apple (small, medium, or large); which foods satisfy most for the fewest calories (pancakes are great for this). I steadily lost 1.5 pounds a week for eight weeks and was in better shape than ever. My dieting was officially healthy, nutritionally balanced, and utterly obsessive.

During winter quarter I reached the nadir of my journey with food and with God. I felt inadequate and disgusting. I desperately wanted God's help in ending this vicious cycle, but God never seemed to fully deliver. When I was stuffed, bloated, and incapacitated from a binge, I would pray, weeping: Take this from me. Help me. I don't want to be like this. I believed salvation would come from obeying the legalistic idol of strict self-control and self-improvement that I thought God endorsed. As I wrote in my journal:

God did not create me to consume my time worrying about calories. I know how sick it is ... so why don't I stop? Why do I create my own problems? ... Am I afraid of perfect happiness? … Why else would I sabotage all the gifts that I've been given, keep myself from thriving? … My thoughts disturb and distract me in lecture, in church, in conversation. … I count every calorie that goes into my mouth; yet it doesn't stop me from eating an entire package of cookie dough.

Perfect happiness. I thought it was mine for the making—and that God expected nothing less.

Food is a gift from God to be enjoyed, especially with others, creating communion and fellowship. It's not meant to be an idol. Like sex, like work, like material comfort, if we seek to satisfy the hunger of our souls with food alone, we will remain empty. I used food to cope with the spiritual void of an "estrangement" from God, created by my own conviction that I could perfect myself, given enough determination and discipline. Disordered eating was my symptom of accepting neither grace nor my need for it.

Read the rest of the article here. It's so good, I wanted to copy and paste the whole thing, but I felt like that may be slightly unethical (proper internet/blogging citation procedure is still slightly shrouded in mystery to me.) The authoress brings up beautiful points about the struggles of body image, from the unique perspective of a woman of Faith.

One of my favorite lines from her article is: "I was created for a higher purpose than a size 6." It's so true. The flesh is weak-it's easier to become a size 6 than to become a person filled with grace. And in a culture that's obsessed with externals, it's so easy to loose sight of the fact that beauty is not only skin-deep. Beauty is radiated through a smile, through loving eyes, through a kind voice and a listening ear. Not that the happiest girls are the most beautiful girls, but that the most beautiful girls are the happiest girls.

"For beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; for beautiful eyes, look for the good in others. And for poise, walk in the knowledge that you are never alone." --Audrey Hepburn

Shiny

May I have a drumroll and a fanfare, s'il vous plait?

Introducing the new and incredibly improved version of our blog, complete with brand-spanking-new title. Life (and posting) at the blog-formerly-known-as-Garden-of-Violets was lagging just a wee bit, so we decided to spruce it up, and recommit to our goal of examining and discussing the meaning of Catholic womanhood in the twenty-first century. Please bear with us as we continue to tweak and polish during the next week or two. I promise an explanation of the title will be posted shortly. *cough, cough* Desdemona *cough, cough*

Saint of the Day

Here is a charitable saint. His name is St. Thomas of Villanova. He is the saint of the day on AmericanCatholic.org. Sadly, he would be chided or ridiculed in our day as well. However, it is good to see an example of someone who was brave enough to step outside the social norms. On my campus we have started nightly Rosary walks for the conversion of campus. It is an exciting adventure(walking with 20-somethings is also alot faster than a Rosary walk at a church with all ages). Let us pray for the converstion of the world.

Starting Over

The new school year has begun, at least for me, and as we all know, the start of anything is an excuse to wipe the slate clean, conveniently forget any mistakes made last year, and work on implementing the good habits that we somehow never got around to forming the previous semester. Take Daily Mass, for instance. Indisputably a great good for the soul, yes? And yet how often did I excuse myself from that half-hour in the chapel with a list of chores and homework that absolutely-had-to-be-done-right-this-very-instant-and-couldn't-wait-even-two-seconds? The answer: waaaaay too often.

But that's okay because, like I said, it's a new semester, my very first as shiny upperclassman. After two years of college, I've made a fair amount of mistakes and poor choices (nota bene: coffee only takes you so far during finals week), and this semester I'd like to brush up my habits and straighten out my schedule, even if it's only in little ways, like getting to bed before midnight, and not wasting my entire weekend watching movies. I know my Mom's told me this a hundred times, but life, especially college life, really is way easier when you have a plan for balancing classes, exercise, spiritual life, etc., and you stick to it. Eventually, the little and not-so-little choices made every day add up into habits firmly cemented in our lives. A bag of Doritos is not a meal sufficient unto itself, and, yes, you will regret it later. Trust me. Even if it means getting up ten minutes earlier, morning prayer really sets the tone for your day, and maybe with a little heavenly perspective, getting shampoo all over your school books won't seem like quite such a tragedy. You may even recognize that it's sort of funny.

It is what it is.

Here is a video about being human. Enough said.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X4Qm9cGRub0&feature=youtu.be

This came from my past RA, a lovely woman who always strove to be authentic.

Are You Not Entertained?

Last Friday night, some friends and I went to an improv comedy show based on Grimm's fairy tales. Unfortunately, the show itself was a mixed bag. In all fairness, we had been warned. The group's website recommended an audience age of 18+. The warning was all too apt.

The actors were a group of amazingly talented, funny people, who had me shaking with barely controlled laughter for at least half the night. The other half? Spent cringing at raunchy and/or profane humor. Why oh why? These people were genuinely hilarious without falling back on the tired standbys of sex and swearing. The crudity came about equally from audience participation and cast members, and, to be honest, maybe one or two of the off-color jokes were actually funny. But everything else was just the same ol', same ol' -- people trying to shock and giggling at their daring in making naughty jokes. ::eyeroll:: Please. Every sophomore guy in the history of high school has made these kinds of jokes before. You're not actually being that clever by tossing around the f-bomb like confetti. 

There is no imagination in this kind of humor. It has neither the hilarious absurdity of screwball comedies and Jeeves & Wooster nor the sophisticated wit of Jane Austen and Oscar Wilde. It doesn't even aspire to the cleverness of innuendo, which only suggests at something not quite kosher and allows the intellect its own enjoyment at unraveling the veiled hints. 

Ultimately, raunch and swearing are deeply boring and mind-numbing. Let's face it, after the shock of the first few cracks has worn off, there are a very limited number of places you can go before you're merely repeating yourself. I noticed this in the improv performance, and it was only an hour-long show. Compared with the richness of the rest of the English language, curse-words make up an infinitesimal percentage. The same thing goes for sex or potty humor.

Listen to this trash long enough, however, and it has a corrosive effect on your brain. When you only listen to jokes about poop, well, pretty soon that's the only kind of humor you'll find amusing. Like any other attempt to raise your standards above the mediocre (or in this case, the down-right rancid and soul-smothering), it takes an effort to learn to appreciate the higher things, whether they be humor, cooking, painting, literature, science, architecture etc., etc. But do you honestly want to settle for the bare minimum? Even if it takes a heck of a lot more work to improve yourself, physically, mentally and spiritually? This kind of humor is only one of the many ways in which we fail to push ourselves toward something higher and better, looking beyond the comfortable to the truly noble and worthy.

Come on, people, we've all heard these things before. Can't we start acting like adults and stop laughing at fart jokes? Seriously. Why does humor so often descend to the level of the lowest common denominator? Is it because this is the easy humor, the old reliable jokes that have gotten laughs since preschool, or in the case of sex-related humor, junior high? Supposedly, humans ripen mentally as well as physically, reportedly reaching a half-mythic stage of existence called "maturity" where we can have "real" conversations about literature, politics, science, fashion, life after death, and any number of other serious topics that involve some sort of intelligence. Be a lady (or a gentleman) and get your mind out of the gutter and into something worthwhile.

Fashion Friday: Monday Edition

So, as the title of this post indicates this post should really come on a Friday, but I was simply too excited to keep this gem of an article to myself for that long.



Do you ever find yourself pinched by a twinge of jealousy when watching old movies with those glamorous icons of style and elegance *cough* Audrey Hepburn *cough* Grace Kelly *cough*. 'Scuse me. If you are a bloke you will be thinking I have gone a bit dodgy, but if you are a lady you will, I hope, know what I mean. They always looked so polished and elegant regardless of the role they were playing or the place they were going.


Every inch the lady, even on a motorcycle.

In this modern world we live in getting gussied up like that seems too hard and time consuming. However, popping on a one piece outfit, like this strange a wonderful thing called the dress, can be and often is just simple an outfit to shimmy into in the morning as the old reliable jeans and t-shirt. A simple dress can be adapted to nearly any occasion or season just by experimenting with a few accessories. A well matched skirt and blouse can be just as easily adapted for the office, home or special occasion.

Dressing in this way gives the wearer a polished professional look with hardly any more effort than it would take to pull on their sweats. Why should we sacrifice elegance for ease when dressing with style can be so simple?


Who ever said mom's can't look great on the go?

Vive La Revolution!
Apron Revolution - She Sews for the Whole Family

Where Have All the Good Men Gone?

After reading an excerpt from Kay Hymowitz' "Manning Up: How the Rise of Women Has Turned Men into Boys" in the Wall Street Journal, I was intrigued, placed it on hold at the library and added it to my ever-growing summer reading list. It sounded like an interesting premise, and judging from the excerpt, a pretty even-handed treatment of the topic. Did it live up to its promise? Weeeellllllll.... It's certainly one of the most interesting books I've read in a while. 

Hymowitz starts out with her definition of the "preadult", the 20-something who's half child, half adult, stranded between school and a solid career. How did we get to the preadult? Hymowitz lays out two primary factors, the Industrial and Sexual Revolutions. One changed the culture's idea of work and its purpose, creating the free-time necessary for a college degree and its resultant "knowledge economy jobs"; the other completely changed the script when it came to marriage, family and children. From this basis, Hymowitz examines how women have flourished in this new career playing field. Not surprising, since the technological advancements of the Industrial Revolution freed women from much of the domestic drudgery and the Sexual Revolution "liberated" women from children and a husband. Men on the other hand? They've retreated to their man-caves with a beer in one hand and a remote in the other. Think Knocked Up, beer pong, frat parties and Adam Sandler movies, among other things. Why?

Is it because women were the primary beneficiaries of the two Revolutions? Did second-wave feminists raise daughters to aggressively pursue degrees and careers that were once the sole province of men? Or are women just better at the knowledge-based career world that bloomed in the last half of the 20th century? Hymowitz explores all of these possibilities, as well as what the preadult phenomenon has meant for men and women in the boardroom and the bedroom. She ends her book by acknowledging that, while most women seem to still desire marriage and children, the growing bloc of "choice mothers" (those who employ sperm banks instead of the crude child-man) will probably become the norm. She ends by stating that

"men may have lost the clarity of previous eras' script for growing up, but that does not mean that the only alternative is to hang out in a playground of drinking, hooking up, playing Halo 3, and underachieving. They can still choose to keep their eyes on the things that will lead to a meaningful life." 

In other words, it's the guys' fault for not adapting and evolving to fit this new model of society where women don't really need them as husband, father or breadwinner. And yet puzzlingly enough, in the next paragraph, Hymowitz acknowledges that "with nobody expecting anything of them, men get worse." That's right, man, I don't really need you because I am woman, hear me roar. I have a satisfying career, a chic apartment, friends, everything I need. Well, actually I kinda need your sperm cause I want kids. But I don't want you cause you're gross and crude and immature. Somehow, Hymowitz fails to see the connection between the evaporation of the expectations placed on men by the previous societal life-script and the resultant slob who appeared after women decided that they didn't really need men performing in their traditional roles.

One other thing that bothered me: besides Hymowitz' obviously irritating stance that contraception did women a favor by "liberating" them from children, I also threw my hands heavenward over her dichotomy of the guys women date (or don't date, as the case were). She gives the reader two types: the sensitive, so-called-nice guy*, who's thoughtful and in touch with his feminine side, supposedly the ideal man in a post-feminist-revolt world; the other is the man's man (as Hymowitz defines him), the kind of guy who notches his bedpost and uses something called "Game" to score women without a shred of feeling. She sees no middle ground between these two kinds of men, and finds it somewhat puzzling that women don't seem to be attracted to the sensitive man, but are rather drawn to the so-called macho man. I found it most irritating that she defined the manly man, the man's man, as the slimeball in the second example. That is not a manly man; that is a cad (<== lovely, descriptive word, that). Ascribing such things as "respect" and "care" to her "nice guy", Hymowitz paints a picture of the manly man as an arrogant, neanderthal jerk. And that's just not true. Neither of her two options sound at all appealing, and I've had just enough experience with guys to know that there's a third type, the gentleman, and with all due respect to Ms. Hymowitz and her well-placed indignation over the Gamers, that's the kind of man I want.

So while I found "Manning Up" to be a fairly informative if somewhat frenetic attempt to cover all the bases, Hymowitz' failure to offer any satisfying conclusion to the question she poses disappointed me. I did enjoy reading the book. It's not your typical summer read, but it has offered me quite a bit to think about.

--------------------------------

*Nice?! *snorts of indignation* One such "nice" guy that she quotes is miffed because "you [the average preadult woman] ignored the nice guy. You used him for emotional intimacy without reciprocating, in kind, with physical intimacy." Yeah. Cause I call a guy nice when he gives me emotional satisfaction only with the ultimate expectation that I'll sleep with him. Good call on that definition of nice, Ms. Hymowitz

O Modesty, Where is Thy Blush?

O Modesty, where is thy blush? we may ask,
O Nakedness, where is thy shame?
Fast slipping away from the people of God
Till some are mere Christians in name.

O Modesty, thou art a virtue quite rare,
A most treasured gem of each saint.
But where are the women aglow with God's love,
With courage to be labeled quaint?

The world treats unkindly who will not conform
To rules that Fashion declares.
For any who dare to step out from the crowd
Will notice the whispers and stares.


Yes, Fashion is cruel, she has her designs,
For she is the foe of the Lord.
She violates principles God has laid down
In counsel quite clear in His Word.

The daughter of Fashion must pamper her pride,
For meekness would make her too plain.
So vanity leads to all manner of show,
And Modesty's held in disdain.

As Modesty flees, and the goddess now reigns,
Discernment and conscience both sleep.
The church and the world now appear as if one--
How God's holy angels must weep!

O Modesty, waken the people of God
And let us recapture thy grace!
Adorn us with purity, meekness and love--
Prepare us to look on His face!


Moving Toward Modesty

The Power of Skirts

Interesting article that manages to discuss skirts, feminism and communism all in the same breath.

Ladies and Gentlemen...

...may I present Miss Jane Austen! While perusing one of my favorite blogs I quite inadvertently stumbled over this lovely article about why the world needs Jane Austen. More specifically it concerns itself with the examples of true gentlemanlike, as well as ladylike, behavior that Austen illustrates in her characters. As any Janite knows not all of Austen's characters are mannerly and amiable slaves of the social dictates of Regency England. She infuses her stories with a colorful cast of rascals, rakes, snobs, bombasts, twits and last, but certainly not least, those who are truly good. With these characters Austen draws for her readers a very distinct picture of the roles that men and women should play, and the many ways in which one can miss the mark. She shows how to be a true gentleman or lady we must have a strong sense of the moral good, as well as a firm idea of duty, honor and modesty.

Why We Need Jane Austen

Strength: Part I

(NB: This is the first of a 3-part series, examining three pieces of literature with dual female protagonists and how their strengths complement each other by following archetypal patterns .)

Last summer, I re-read the Lord of the Rings trilogy. If you haven't read them, do yourself a favor, and read them. Your soul and heart with thank you for it. If you haven't visited them in a long time, why don't you stop by and call on them again. You'll discover new and exciting things in them each time you read. One of the chief themes that struck me this time around was the relationship- the differences, similarities, and connections between the two main female protagonists, Arwen and Éowyn. (Although, to be technical, I suppose that in the books Galadriel is more of a female protagonist than Arwen. And Galadriel definitely embodies female strength-she's the Wisdom figure. So, we'll touch on that as well.)

Many of the young women I know who are fans of the books find Eowyn the most attractive. Of all the woman role models in the Lord of the Rings, she's appears to be the most active and dynamic. Éowyn is a tom-boy's heroine. She gets out there with the men and gets the job done. However, Éowyn sacrifices a bit of her femininity doing so. Aragorn describes her as an iron maiden. She has steeled herself to endure the fate that faces Rohan. She's frozen her heart, for fear of being hurt. In the Houses of Healing, Éowyn fully recovers. Not only does she recover from her physical battle wounds, she unthaws. The love of Faramir nourishes and heals her-warms her heart once more. The love story between Faramir and Eowyn is so precious. He's not about to tame her-he simply pulls her over to his side. He sees this fierce warrior who, like any good mother bear, will fight tooth and claw to protect her loved ones. If he can win her heart, he knows that her loyalty will be forever his. And he melts her. She hardens herself riding into battle, and it takes the gentle sunlight of Faramir's love to melt the stone-cold statue and find the tender maiden underneath.

Éowyn is an example of the female archetype of the woman warrior. In times of great hardship and peril, a woman takes it upon herself to save. To protect. To challenge evil. Joan of Arc is a real-life historical example of this. Another literary example is Antigone, the heroine of Sophocles's tragedy.

Here's one main point that hit me when re-reading the trilogy: both women get what they want. That may seem unimportant, but it's not. It's highly unusual. Many characters never get what they want in books. Half the characters in Lord of the Rings don't get exactly what they want. For example, all Sam wants is to be with Frodo, and the saga ends with the two of them being sundered by a sea. Éowyn desires honor and valor. She sees her house falling into ruins, and it cuts her to the core. She longs for romance, for love, for brave deeds, a dire fight, fell adventures that will be remembered forever in song, and a life full to the brim.

Arwen wants one thing: Aragorn. To be with the man she loves. And her fight for him is one of endurance and patience. Women, like swans, excel at hunkering down and enduring hardships for long stretches. Swans migrate 3000+ miles. Women make it through 3+ childbirths. The power of women is the power to outlast adversity, to live through horrors, trials and tribulations, and endure it all with calm, equanimity and boundless courage. Calm and quiet, mystery and secrecy-these are at the core of classic feminine strength. Women are also much more relationship focused. Instead of striking out and winning glory and honor for herself, Arwen uses all her power to assist Aragorn on his mission. She is the perfect teammate-thinking only of the one she loves, and working with all her might to make sure he succeeds. She is generous enough to desire his success, because even his success is her happiness. Even though the price of this happiness is her death.

Arwen's more of a mover and shaker-the brains, not the brawn. And that's a crucial theme running through Lord of the Rings-mind over matter. The strength of her will is often remarked on. And there's little said about her, but one feels her power and her strength when she is mentioned. Hers and Aragorn's story is one of two individuals standing the tests of time. They have loved each other for so long. And Arwen is willing to face death in order to be with him. Like Éowyn, this woman has no fear of death. She would rather spend a lifetime with the man she loves than an eternity without him. That takes incredible quiet strength. She is willing to give her life for him. That is love.

Galadriel has a similar strength to Arwen's. She is wisdom and light. She is the Athena-like character in the story. Slightly removed from normal human emotions and passions. Goddess-like, tender and jovial, yet powerful and stern. In the Wisdom books of the Bible, Wisdom is often characterized as female or feminine. Galadriel is the archetypal Wisdom figure in the trilogy.

Recently, Mara and I were discussing Antigone, since I just read it in class, and was caught up in the amazing wondrousness of that play. We compared it to Pride and Prejudice, but as I revisited this blog post, I realized that all three of these pieces of literature have heroines that follow the same archetypes. Thus was born the idea of this series on femininity and feminine strength in literature. Stay tuned for more!

The Simple Joys of Maidenhood

Over spring break, I discovered this little lovely website. Okay, okay, a lot of these reasons are rather bizarre and kind of stupid, BUT I think the idea behind these jokes are valid. Girls (smart girls) bond over the awesome fact that they're girls. Silly girls spend their days griping about how the female sex has been oppressed by patriarchal society or some such nonsense. I don't even know. Okay, okay, I'm being too flippant. I should acknowledge there have definitely been societies throughout history that have been radically downright cruel towards women. And my heart burns with indignation. And there are women in Muslim countries who face untold atrocities, and my heart aches for them. And women who undergo stoning, or mutilation, or enforced rape are being violated and oppressed in the most disgusting and cowardly way possible. But that just proves how great it is to be a woman. Good men appreciate (albeit with a twinge of wry bemusement), and are rapt in awe. Evil or weak men want to bring down women and seek to oppress them. I think it's radically unfair to our Muslim sisters-and all women who face those dangers- to even pretend that we're oppressed. The majority of women in America are fortunate beyond our comprehension. We should be grateful, so grateful for the opportunities and freedoms that we have.

AND we should giggle with sheer delight and joy that we are women. (Heh. I just realized this blog post might not be the most relatable to the gentlemen who are part of this blog's readership. Whoops. Feel free to stop reading now if you want.

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Are you still reading? Awesome.)

Women are a community-a sisterhood. There are so many times I sit at lunch/dinner/coffee/pie with one of my nearest and dearest sisters of the heart and we bond over the fact that we are women, we love being a woman, and begin to list a thousand big and little things why being a woman is awesome. We have solidarity with each other, and when someone attacks our sisters, we bristle with unsounded wrath. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," you know. In fact, playwrights ever since Aeschylus have gotten what a force to be reckoned with an unhinged woman is. Clytaemestra is a ferocious, fascinating, remorseless killer who murders her husband, and has no qualms about taking an axe to her son's head. Euripides tells the story of Medea, who kills her two innocent boys in order to break her faithless husband's heart. Yikes. I feel as though I've digressed by ranting about these insane women, and I feel as thought they're not supporting my point that being a woman ROCKS. Whoops. Well, here's evidence that being a woman rocks. People make songs about it, so dude, there's gotta be something there. Rogers and Hammerstein penned: "I Enjoy Being a Girl," and then there's the classic "How Lovely to Be a Woman," which is one of my personal favorites. Kim sings: "How lovely to be a woman/and smile a woman's smile." There's some sort of delicious, intriguing and solely feminine mystique captured in a woman's smile. And in the very fact of being a woman means your something of a mystery. Mystery and secret are at the core of womanhood, which is why secrets mean so very much to girls. And when someone confides a secret to them, women hold it to their hearts-a bond forms between them and their confidante.

And beauty. Beauty is so, so important for a woman. We are called to bring beauty to the world. Although it is undeniable that men can be incredibly beautiful (I'm sure you ladies can easily think of several gentlemen that prove this point. Ahem.), women have a beauty all their own. I'm trying to attempt to explain it, but I feel like I will fall short of the endeavor. So I'm leaving that subject to sit and ruminate in our minds. We'll touch on that another day.

In conclusion, I enjoy being a girl. That's all this post really is- a thanksgiving and celebration for being a woman. There's nothin' like it, kids.

P.S. Also, stay tuned for a post coming soon-that's been in the works for 8 months now. Yipes!-about Arwen, Eowyn, and womanhood. See how nice a segue this post is for that post? Eh? Eh? Thanks for reading-now get off the computer and go enjoy your day. Bask in the sunlight. Take a walk. Sing a song. Dance in the grass. Feed some birds. Live life.

Old and the New

"Good," said Aslan, "If you had felt yourself sufficient, it would have been a proof that you were not."

The first morning of spring break, my little brother asked me to put in a DVD for him to watch. "Renée," he said, "can you put in the DVD that says 'Prince Caspian and the Voyage of the Dawn Treader'?" I took pause, confused. Then I realized he wasn't referring to the new movies, but to the old-school BBC DVDs. Do any of you remember those? Anyone? With the buck-toothed Lucy, the amazing '80's-esque hair, the 2D animated FX, and the Aslan who couldn't move his mouth? I have very fond memories of them. And to be perfectly frank, I greatly prefer them to the newer movies.

Objection: *scoff* "Renée! You can't be serious! I mean, just look: *points to the cartoon-like special effects* Need I say more?"

I won't argue. The newer Chronicles have production values that are astronomically better than the old BBC miniseries'. But I think amidst all the slick CGI images, and the state of the art visuals, something is lost. The new Chronicles of Narnia don't feel like the Chronicles that I read growing up. Some books you read are sensory experiences in the fullest sense of the word: not only do you see and hear the text, there are certain smells, locations, or foods that remind you of the books, or that you experience while reading the books. The Chronicles are like that for me-there are definitely certain feelings and images that remind me of the Narnia stories. And these are books that have a very definite, tangible aura about them, unlike any other I've experience in a book. Those books defined my childhood, and I think one of the most beautiful aspects of the books is their simple clarity and their gentle spirit mixed in with the epicness. The new movie have lost that simple "homeishness" of the books. I think the old movies capture that spirit beautifully. They've got the wistful magic of pipes playing the opening theme, rather ordinary young children playing the four siblings, a stiff, but somehow majestic and fatherly puppet-lion portraying Aslan. The countryside looks so familiar, yet strange and fairy-tale-ish nonetheless.

But the greatest difference between the old and the new struck me when I heard Aslan tell Caspian that "If you had felt yourself sufficient, it would have been proof that you were not." That line, so full of Lewis' cutting wisdom and deep insight. The new movies lack that essential Lewis-ness. They loose the Christian atmosphere of the Chronicles. Aslan is a weaker character-Father Christmas doesn't credit Aslan for the return of Christmas; the witch doesn't shake with dread at the mention of Aslan's name; Mr. Beaver's line about Aslan not being "safe" is cut, and when the witch cites the Deep Magic, Aslan snarls: "Don't tell me about the Deep Magic! I was there when it was written," as if He was a petulant teenager. They've diminished the majesty and the power of Aslan-they've weakened Him. And by weakening Christ in the story, the story is weakened. Part of the story is lost, and that's tragic.

In conclusion, I was so proud of my baby brother for putting in the old movie. Kickin' it old school. Like a champ. No school like the old school.

Summer Style

My friends, the season of summer is fast approaching. Thus, we enter into a new fashion season.

I am excited to announce to you that long skirts/dresses are the pieces to have.

There were lots of stores at the mall which had long dresses and skirts! Yah!

Even the American Eagle* website, had these skirts:

Let this beautiful summer season begin!

*American Eagle(in my opinion) has not been known for having modest, feminine clothes in the past. In fact, when I have gotten gift cards there I typically have to buy jewelry or some other accessory.

Light Lenten Literature (with a side of Alliteration)

My, my, but we've been actively posting lately. I wonder if it's the weather, or a desire to avoid schoolwork?

Anyhoo, I've just popped in to recommend Peter Kreeft's The Snakebite Letters. Why, yes, it is written in the style of Lewis' Screwtape Letters, thank you for noticing. Screwtape just happens to be one of my favorite books ever (and that's saying a lot, coming from the girl who can't make up her mind whether to go for the caesar salad or the caesar salad wrap), so this book has been sitting on my "to-read" pile for a while now. Since I work in the college's library, I snagged our copy sometime at the beginning of the semester and finally settled down to it a few weeks ago.

Although I didn't find it as engrossing as Lewis' original (in most of the letters, Kreeft tries too hard to be Lewis-writing-for-a-modernish-American-audience, and the cleverly diabolical viewpoint is a leetle forced on his part, but I loved the extravagance of Kreeft's descriptive phrases, as I tend towards that style of writing myself), it was still pretty good. The letters on the liturgy and all of its faults, failures, and flaws (as well as how to look past them to what is really going on during Mass) were especially interesting and enjoyable. So, while I wouldn't recommend running out and buying this book for your Lenten meditations, I would definitely pick it up should you happen across a copy.

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In more-than-slightly-related news, Fr. Longenecker  has a series of (very) short columns at patheos written in Screwtapian (if it's not a word yet, I just made it one) style. Personally, I find his take on the genre a bit more true-to-the-original and...zingy than Kreeft's. First installment here, with a complete list of articles here.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Dreams feel real while we're in them. It's only when we wake up that we realize something was actually strange.

Throughout human history, dreaming has fascinated and mystified humans. One of my friends tells a story of when her older brother was 5. He came down from his bed one night and told his parents: "Mommy! I saw pictures on my eyelids when I slept!" How fascinating and sweet that a small little boy had to be told that the pictures on his eyelids were a different kind of reality.

In a sense, dreaming mirrors the reality of life. When we dream, we enter a different sort of reality that's a part of our larger reality. When we wake from dreaming, we come back to the waking world, the "real world." But, just as dreams end, this life will pass by, when we die will we wake into the reality that we're actually meant for. The illogic of dreams we find jarring when we are aware that there is a greater world we are meant for. When we realize that there is a greater, deeper, more real reality that we are born for, then this world will seem like a passing dream.

Rose, the sanguine young heroine of Shadow of the Bear, ponders, "Have you ever felt that there was something going on in life that not everyone was aware of?...As though there’s a story going on that everyone is a part of, but not everybody knows about—a sort of drama, a battle between what’s peripheral and what’s really important. As though the people you meet aren’t just their plain, prosaic selves, but are actually princes and princesses, gods and goddesses, fairies, gypsies, shepherds, all sorts of fantastic creatures who’ve chosen to hide their real shape...Or have forgotten who they really are." The possibility that there is a deeper reality to our world is exciting and exhilarating. When we shuffle off this mortal coil, we will enter something so real, this world of ours now will seem like a passing shadow.

Now we dream, soon we will awake. That's the hope.

Embarking on Adventure

"An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered. An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered." ~G.K. Chesterton

So, I'm sitting in the basement of my dorm, waiting to find out where I'm going to room next year. And I was grumbling under my breath: " blarrrggghhhhh" And then I thought, "What a major inconvenience." And then I thought: "Correction: what an adventure." And it definitely is an adventure. Coming in freshman year and having your roommate for the year randomly chosen for you is also an adventure. I've been lucky enough that my roomie's been a comfort and a support this year. Who doesn't mind when I accidentally knock over trash bins in the room when I come in at 2:00 in the morning. That's called patience, my friends. And I think it takes a lot of that stuff to live with me.

So, now the adventure continues. So, here we sit. Casting dirty looks at any girls who mention thinking about considering eyeing the rooms where we want to live. Stressing out about how many doubles are left. Fretting. Worrying. And then, at some point, a giant wave of apathy slides over us and we cease caring. Stressing out is exhausting.

That said, it's much easier to stress out about an inconvenience than to turn it into an adventure. It's much a much lazier choice to stress out about life and it's little sorrows and setbacks than to think of them as steps of an awesome journey. Ever since the beginning of the semester, I've felt that God's leading me to a grand adventure. And then I realized: right now is the adventure. All the little triumphs and sorrows of daily life are the adventure. As Jo sings in the musical Little Woman: "My great adventure has begun." My adventure is well-underway. I'm entering into the last quarter of freshman year. This adventure has started. And I'm ready for it.

The Feast of St. Patrick

On this most blessed day which honors that holy man and first bishop of Ireland, St. Patrick, I thought I should share with you some Irish blessings.



An Old Irish Blessing
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.



A Wish for a Friend
Wishing you a rainbow
For sunlight after showers—
Miles and miles of Irish smiles
For golden happy hours—
Shamrocks at your doorway
For luck and laughter too,
And a host of friends that never ends
Each day your whole life through!



An Irish Prayer
May God give you...
For every storm, a rainbow,
For every tear, a smile,
For every care, a promise,
And a blessing in each trial.
For every problem life sends,
A faithful friend to share,
For every sigh, a sweet song,
And an answer for each prayer.




From St. Patrick's Breastplate
Christ be with me
Christ before me
Christ behind me
Christ in me
Christ beneath me
Christ above me
Christ on my right
Christ on my left
Christ where I lie
Christ where I sit
Christ where I arise
Christ in the heart of every man
who thinks of me
Christ in the mouth of every man
who speaks of me
Christ in every eye that sees me
Christ in every ear that hears me
Salvation is of the Lord.



An Old Irish Blessing
May love and laughter light your days,
and warm your heart and home.
May good and faithful friends be yours,
wherever you may roam.
May peace and plenty bless your world
with joy that long endures.
May all life's passing seasons
bring the best to you and yours!

Laughter is the Best Medicine

Interesting article by Fr. Dwight Longenecker over at Inside Catholic.

It reminds me of one of the epigraphs from The Screwtape Letters: "The devil...the prowde spirite...cannot endure to be mocked." -- St. Thomas More

Remind Me Always

Faith

"Remind me always that you have a plan for me, greater than I could ever imagine."

Hope

"Bring me light from where I thought it was dark..."

"It's hard to recall what blew out the flame, it's been dark since you can remember..."

"Hope has a way of turning its face to you, just when you least expect it."

Love

"You really shouldn't say "I love you" unless you really mean it. But when you do, you should say it a lot, because people forget and it's good for them to get reminded."

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in the wrong but rejoices in the right. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the imperfect will pass away. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

~Corinthians 13

Pushing Daisies

"I'd kiss you if it wouldn't kill me."--Charlotte "Chuck" Charles

Sometimes, coincidences are happy, happy things. This lovely young lady sent me a video of Kristen Chenoweth singing from the 3rd episode of Pushing Daisies. I'd heard lots about the show from various friends who are devotees of the clever and whimsical. The video was the final push I needed to behoove myself to Hulu and watch the pilot-or, rather, the "Pie-lette." (See what they did there? See what they did? That's quality, my friends.)

And as soon as I watched the first episode, I was addicted. Never since When Curiosity Met Insanity have I encountered a more adorable, innocent, and endearing love story. Never have I giggled at innuendos as clever and as sharp. Never have I marveled over dialogue as clever and as hilarious. It's a winner. Trust me. Or, if you don't trust me, read on, and discover the reasons why it's so amazing.

1) The Colors

Pushing Daisies is a feast for the eyes. The colors of the world are brilliant and brightly saturated. The world has a quirky, fairy-tale-ish quality. It's endearing and charming.

2) The dialogue. Oh, the dialogue. There are a plethora of quotes that I love peppered through this post, because I simply cannot restrict myself. But in case you, like myself, can never get enough, here are a choice few:

"Just because there's a dead body doesn't mean I have to touch it."--Ned

"Just because there is vodka in my freezer it doesn't mean I have to drink it. Wait, yes it does."--Emerson Cod

"I'm sure it's just the mailman. Or a windmill-to-windmill salesman." --Olive

"That ain't a grain of salt. That's one of those blocks they give cows to lick."--Emerson

“Is it vodka?”—Lily Charles

“Water.”--Olive

“As in Russian for vodka?”—Lily Charles

"You said you wanted to know who killed me so that justice could be served. See, I don't think that "Justice" was on the menu. Maybe as a side dish, but not as an entrée."--Chuck

"It was most definitely an entrée. It was a Special of the Day. Could we drop the metaphor?" --Ned

3) The actors. They're all lovely, adorable, and witty to a fault.

Ned, The Piemaker- played by Lee Pace.

"Everything we do is a choice. Oatmeal or cereal, highway or sidestreets, kiss her or keep her. We make choices, and we live with consequences. If someone gets hurt along the way, we ask for forgiveness, it's the best anyone can do."--Ned

Ned, a.k.a. The Piemaker, is adorable, quirky, and endearingly awkward. Having discovered his unusual and peculiar talent (raising people from the dead) at a tender age, Ned has dealt with the moral ramifications and the consequences (both disastrous and delightful) of his supernatural abilities ever since. His heart is made of pure gold, which keeps him, if not exactly on the straight and narrow, at least on a more or less zig-zag path of morality. His sweet, innocent love for Chuck melts the heart, and makes you want to blubber, giggle, sigh, or hug a everyone and everything in sight.

"You don't know nothin about her except she had soft lips when she was ten!"--Emerson Cod

"That should be enough."--Ned

Charlotte "Chuck" Charles-played by Anna Friel

"I suppose dying's as good an excuse as any to start living"--Chuck Charles

Charlotte, a.k.a. Chuck is as sassy and as sweet as they come. After being raised from the dead by Ned, she's the sweetness and warmth in the Piemaker's lonely life, like golden organic honey in cup of black coffee. Chuck loves Ned, but being fiercely independent, she's constantly working on staring her own life anew, which is difficult, considering that the man she loves is the man she owes her new life to. However, if the man she loved hadn't inadvertantly killed her father, then maybe she wouldn't have died in the first place. Yeah. It's complicated.

Emerson Cod-played by Chi McBride

"In the third grade I did a report on great whites. Discovered we were a lot alike seein' as how we're both misunderstood bad*sses."--Emerson Cod

Emerson Cod: Private Investigator extraordinaire, and a regular at the Pie Hole. What sets Emerson apart from just your average hard-boiled private eye is his affinity for knitting and his hobby of pop-up book crafting. His sardonic humor steals the show and my heart. A perpetual cynic and wise-guy, Emerson slowly (but surely) reveals his soft and cuddly side over time.

"The truth ain't like puppies: a bunch running around and you pick your favorite."--Emerson

Olive Snook-played by Kristin Chenoweth
"I spent so much time praying, I've run out of things to say. I'm having awkward silences with God!"--Olive Snook

Olive Snook. No one sassier. No one more passionate, ridiculous, well-meaning, and downright bewitching. Pipsqueak develops from an tag-along and odd-man-out in the Piemaker-Chuck-Emerson trio to an essential part of the Pie Hole family. Olive harbors a not-so-secret love for Ned. While other men appear in her life throughout the series, they are but little strikes of a match on tinder compared to the flame that Olive holds for Ned. Olive strikes up an unlikely friendship with Chuck's spinster aunts, providing them with a link to the outside world, pie, and lots of tender love.

“Did you tell them I was alive?”--Chuck
“Kinda think that would make their little heads explode. What was that rhyme? "I scream, you scream, we all scream 'cause you faked your death!"—Olive

The Narrator. Voiced by Jim Dale.

"Chuck, you’re the only human being I’ve ever made alive again to stay."--Ned
"He lied."-- The Narrator

Hilarious. Snarky. Sentimental. Amazing.

"In her own way, Olive identified with the plight of the abandoned pie. It was meant for someone who, without a little effort, would never be with the one it was meant to be with."--Narrator

4) The Quirky Combination of a Fairy-Tale and a Whodunnit

"So a kiss is out of the question?" --Chuck

"I've lost my train of thought."--Ned

Think of it as a twist on the Sleeping Beauty tale: only the touch of a handsome prince/piemaker can awake the beautiful princess from her eternal slumber. But, there's a catch. If the prince/piemaker ever touches his true love again, she'll fall asleep again, but this time the prince is out of luck. Nothing will ever awake her again. This fractured fairy-tale is juxtaposed with crime-busting activities, and the solving of slightly gruesome murders, led by Emerson Cod. While Chuck waltzes around in beautiful dresses, and has the disposition worthy of any Disney Princess, she eagerly forces her way into Emerson an Ned's crime fighting gig, and sets out to solve mysteries with the pluck and determination of an Agatha Christie sleuth. Ned is everything a prince in a fairy-tale should be. Except that if he kisses the princess, she'll fall down dead. Ned's and Chuck's happily ever after is happy, but nonetheless teeming with adventure.

"You can't die of evilness."--Emerson Cod

"Happens all the time you do something mean or hurtful to someone like tell a secret... Bang! You're dead."--Chuck

"Or Bang! You're not really dead you're just pretending to be dead while other people who think you're dead are heartbroken"--Olive

"Or Bang! You talk too much and you both go wait in the car. "--Emerson

5) PIE.

"Well, it's pretty much I bake pies and wake the dead. I live a very sheltered life."--Ned

The whole series revolves around a pieshop where a handsome piemaker bakes succulent, picture-perfect pies. Pies are a backdrop, a plot device, and in general a theme for the series. If you're a pie fanatic, then you should love the show already. If you haven't discovered homey comfort and piquant quaintness that is pie, this show will reveal to you all the beauty of pie.

You've had enough convincing. Do yourself a favor, bake a pie, and sit down with a slice to watch Pushing Daisies. It'll make you very, very happy.

"Oh, everyone wants stuff. We wake up everyday with a list of wishes a mile long and maybe we spend our lives trying to make those wishes come true, but just because we want them doesn't mean we need them to be happy." --Ned

"What do you need to be happy?"--Chuck

"You."--Ned