Lovely Lace

St. Andrew is one of the patron saints of lacemakers. The painting is by Vermeer.

St Andrew the King

Three weeks and three days before Christmas begins.

So goes the rhyme tying St. Andrew's feast day with Advent.

We will light the first candle of our Advent wreath and sing our favorite Advent songs:

O Come, O Come Emmanuel
On Jordan's Bank the Baptist's Cry
Savior of the Nations, Come

We will begin our Novena:

Beginning on St. Andrew the Apostle's feast day, November 30, the following prayer is recited fifteen times a day until Christmas.

Hail and blessed be the hour and moment In which the Son of God was born Of the most pure Virgin Mary, at midnight, in Bethlehem, in the piercing cold. In that hour vouchsafe, I beseech Thee, O my God, to hear my prayer and grant my desires, [here mention your request] through the merits of Our Saviour Jesus Christ, and of His blessed Mother. Amen.

We will pray for you, that you may have a peaceful and holy Advent.

On Thanksgiving, We Were Blessed

Thanksgiving proved a great experience for our aspiring homemaker. With lots of support, she triumphed in the kitchen and was thrilled by the whole experience. The meal was tasty and beautiful. We all wanted to kiss the cook. After the meal was over and the kitchen cleaned, she and I curled up together on the couch and fell asleep!

Her first task that morning was to make the stuffing. Then Emma donned plastic gloves to stuff the turkey.

By watching the Martha Stewart Thanksgiving video, Emma learned how to truss the turkey.

Grandma Haught showed Emma how to make a sling out of kitchen twine.

Armed and dangerous: Grandpa Haught wields a cue stick and a camera.

This cheesecloth was soaked in butter and white wine, then draped across the turkey. Emma basted the turkey every 30 minutes with the butter-wine mixture.

Vastly relieved that all the messy parts are over, Emma presents the turkey in the roaster.

Grandma Haught supervises as Emma pours on the sweet potato syrup.

The candied sweet potatoes are ready for the oven.

The homemade vanilla ice cream is ready to go into the deep freeze until time for dessert.

Emma completes the braiding for the pumpkin pie crust.

She brushed the completed braid with egg before baking.

Martha Stewart said to "decorate" the pecan pie with pecan halves, so Emma meticulously placed each one and seemed to derive enormous satisfaction from it. She finished the crust with a little bowtie. (Correction: Emma says it is not a bowtie; it is a "girly bow".)

Pleased as pumpkin. Emma removes the first pie from the oven.

Grandma Haught teaches Emma how to season mashed potatoes.

Voila! The cooked turkey smells and tastes fabulous. Emma was a little disappointed about the dark spots that were caused by contact with the electric roaster. She wants to cook the next one in the regular oven to avoid that.

Emma prepares the Brussels sprouts in lemon vinaigrette. They hopped around in the pan like popcorn popping. Luckily, they didn't leave the pan.

The grandparents visit while waiting to be called to the table.

Let's eat! Emma made a centerpiece out of a bowl filled with water, lemons, cranberries, and a candle.

Happy Thanksgiving!

We are thankful for grandparents! This picture was taken this past June, but the Haught grandparents are here again. Nathaniel and Emma are really enjoying them. We took two cars out to eat last night. Herb, Grandma Haught, Emma and I got to the restaurant first. When Nathaniel and Grandpa drove up, they were both laughing about something. Too cute!

Emma is working on preparing the Thanksgiving meal. She didn't get to follow the Martha Stewart Thanksgiving planner because of circumstances beyond her control. That is life, though, and just as important to learn as the rest of it. Because she was behind schedule, she had a small nervous breakdown on Tuesday when she was making her shopping list. But she recovered nicely. Yesterday she ran down to Grandma Somerset's to learn how to make Grandma's cranberry salad.


Last night Emma worked on perfecting the technique for braided pie crust. I made her go to bed before it was finished!

Today, in addition to cooking the turkey, etc., she will work with Grandma Haught to learn how to make Grandma's yummy candied sweet potatoes. More pictures later!

Non Serviam!

When we first moved back to the Houston area four years ago, I was stunned by a waiter's greeting at a Chili's restaurant.

He said, "My name is X, and I'm going to help you out today."

I thought to myself, "Help me out?! This fellow wants me to think that he is doing me a favor by taking my order."

What was I expecting? I was expecting him to say, "Hello, my name is X. How may I serve you today?" or something to that general effect.

I recovered from the surprise, reassuring myself that this was an isolated incident. It wasn't. It has happened countless times since then with both male and female "servers".

Worse than the "help you out" greeting is the way they frequently treat you. It seems to correspond with the oft-repeated, "lex orandi, lex credendi"--the law of prayer is the law of belief. In other words, how you pray affects how you believe. In this case, don't expect attentive service if the server thinks that he is doing you a favor.

Dr. Alice von Hildebrand put my experience in perspective when she discusses the unwillingness to serve in The Privilege of Being a Woman:

One further deplorable consequence of this secularistic view is the claim that "service is degrading." It is viewed as antidemocratic. It is humiliating. Humility is a virtue that finds little favor in the secularistic world. It is only puzzled and confused by the words of Psalm 118:71: "it is good for me that I was humbled that I might learn your statutes." Once again, this error inevitably leads to a denigration of women whose mission traditionally has been to serve--following thereby our Lord who said, "I have not come to be served but to serve." How can anyone meditating on these words come to the conclusion that to serve, which is a form of love, is degrading? The most glorious title of the Holy Father was introduced by Gregory VII who called him servus servorum Dei (the servant of the servants of God), for authority is given to the pope, not for his personal advantage, but for the benefit of those confided to his care.

After reading that, I realized that the bad experiences I was having at restaurants were just another symptom of the secularization of society.

There is one place where my experience has been that every employee consistently offers to serve. Surprisingly, it is a fast-food establishment: Chick-fil-A. Even at the drive-through, the response is, "It is my pleasure to serve you at the window." At least that is my experience at the local franchise. Is it surprising to learn that the chain is actually closed on Sundays? On the company website, one of the FAQs is:

Q: What is the Corporate Purpose of Chick-fil-A?

A: To glorify God by being a faithful steward of all that is entrusted to us. To have a positive influence on all who come in contact with Chick-fil-A.

It is a great testimony.

The Vocation of Wife and Mother

When I married, I did not know how to cook. When I had Nathaniel, I did not know how to care for a baby. I especially did not know how to care for a baby and cook and clean at the same time. I did not know how to be happy at home. I had prepared to be a career woman, not a homemaker. All my failures are my incentive for teaching Emma now how to cook, clean, sew etc. Reading Why Motherhood is So Much Harder Than it Ought to Be brought back a flood of memories and renewed my determination to prepare Emma as best I can for a life at home.

Wikipedia and Truth

Eric Jones waves a yellow flag.

God Must Read My Blog

He found out how much the last lost puppy cheered us up. This time he sent two. Their mama visited early this morning, trying to chomp my chickens for breakfast. I chased her off not knowing that she had two puppies with her. I saw the puppies shivering in the cold by my parent's front porch. I scooped them up and put them in the bed with Nathaniel to get incubated.
They belong to the neighbor across the street. Nathaniel drove them home after they had all napped together.

Lost Dog Cheers Us Up

Emma found this puppy in our barn yesterday while I was at the store. He whined unless he was being held. I rocked him to sleep in Emma's bower while she was sewing there with our neighbor. He was a good, warm, cuddly kind of dog.
The puppy was really good for Herb, who was feeling sad. Emma discovered a flyer in our mailbox late in the afternoon describing a lost Black-mouthed Cur. We think the dog liked us and wanted to stay. He tried to eat the flyer.

Herb called the number and talked to the owner. Herb asked him how he lost the dog and found out that it had jumped out of the back of his truck. Arranging to meet the owner at our gate, Herb waited down there for more than 20 minutes, cuddling the puppy the whole time. When the owner arrived, a young man and his wife, Herb told them not leave the puppy in the back of the truck anymore. Then he handed it over.



I hope he comes back to visit sometime.

When John Died

It was raining. It had rained all night and part of the day before. It caused the worst flooding we have had at our house since we moved in four years ago. Herb was in Florida to pick up an RV-6 airplane from his folks. Emma was re-creating the fun she had after Hurricane Ike. Nathaniel was at school. I was taking these pictures when Herb called to tell me about John.

Herb left my truck at his parents' house and drove them to Beaumont in their motorhome. It was such a blessing that he could be there for them. I drove straight to Beaumont to be with Susan and the children. Our driveway was completely under water, and I could hear it lapping on the sides as I inched my way toward the road in Herb's Honda. I rolled down my window and told Emma, who was standing in the yard, to yell if it looked like the water was going to get in the doors. It didn't, but the next day the inside of the car smelled like a putrid swamp. Wherever the water was trapped, it evaporated, because the smell was gone the next day.

It is a peculiar thing about being a wife that you feel responsible for your husband's health. You feel like you must answer for it to his parents. I have been aware of this feeling the past year as Herb struggled with many health issues. It makes you feel like a bad wife, like you have let down his parents, who entrusted him to your care.

Pray for the Dead--"Let Thy Voice Rise Like a Fountain"

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere:

“Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?

Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?

For now I see the true old times are dead,

When every morning brought a noble chance,

And every chance brought out a noble knight.

Such times have been not since the light that led

The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.

But now the whole Round Table is dissolv’d

Which was an image of the mighty world,

And I, the last, go forth companionless,

And the days darken round me, and the years,

Among new men, strange faces, other minds.”


And slowly answer’d Arthur from the barge:

“The old order changeth, yielding place to new,

And God fulfils himself in many ways,

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?

I have liv’d my life, and that which I have done

May He within himself make pure! but thou,

If thou shouldst never see my face again,

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer

Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice

Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

For what are men better than sheep or goats

That nourish a blind life within the brain,

If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer

Both for themselves and those who call them friend?

For so the whole round earth is every way

Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.

But now farewell. I am going a long way

With these thou seëst—if indeed I go

(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)—

To the island-valley of Avilion;

Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,

Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies

Deep-meadow’d, happy, fair with orchard lawns

And bowery hollows crown’d with summer sea,

Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.”


So said he, and the barge with oar and sail

Mov’d from the brink, like some full-breasted swan

That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,

Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood

With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere

Revolving many memories, till the hull

Look’d one black dot against the verge of dawn,

And on the mere the wailing died away.

From The Passing of Arthur--Alfred Lord Tennyson

John Edward Haught 8/30/1959 - 11/12/2008

We buried my sweet brother-in-law, John, on Saturday. He was a knight with a poet's heart who, overcome with a desperate sadness, took his own life in the dark and the rain.

A chapter in our family story has ended, and none of us wants to turn the page. How will we deal with the new pictures, the pictures without John? I have always treasured the ones of my husband and his three younger brothers lined up in birth order: Herb, John, Bruce, and Michael.

John's friend and mentor, Lou Schofield, said at the wake that John was the most honest man that he had ever known and not only that, John didn't have to work at it--it just came naturally. John was known far and wide for being kind to everyone. He was so modest that Herb and I never heard about his recognition by Texas Monthly or the Houston Chapter of the American Board of Trial Advocates until after he was dead.

John's Obituary


John E. Haught, beloved husband of Susan and father to Katie, Drew, Kelsea and Charlie passed away in Beaumont, Texas November 12, 2008. John was born August 30, 1959 to Herb and Joan Haught in Riverhead, New York. He grew up in Fort Walton Beach Florida where he met the love of his life, Susan. They were married in 1982. He was a proud graduate of Florida State University. John received his law degree from South Texas College of Law in 1988 and joined the law firm of MehaffyWeber where he became a shareholder in 1994. John was a gifted trial lawyer who tried more than seventy-five cases to verdict with the vast majority ending in favorable results for his clients. He was recognized in Texas Monthly magazine as a Super Lawyer and was recently inducted as a member of the American Board of Trial Advocates, Houston Chapter. John was loved and respected by other attorneys and judges and the members of the Court staff throughout Southeast Texas. He was loved and admired by his colleagues and the entire staff of MehaffyWeber. He was an honest, ethical and smart attorney with exceptional skills.

However gifted an attorney he was, John was an even better father and husband. He was proud that he and Susan recently celebrated their 26th wedding anniversary. He talked about his children and their accomplishments all the time. He was so proud of them and saw the strengths of each one. He loved being with his family and enjoyed his time with them whether listening to Drew’s band or watching Charlie’s ballgame. He was so pleased that Katie has embarked on a teaching career and recently enjoyed presenting Kelsea at the Symphony Ball.

In addition to his wife and children, John is survived by his parents, Herb and Joan Haught; his brothers and sisters-in-law, Michael and Phyllis Haught, Bruce and Cecila Haught, Herb and Wendy Haught, Jr., Pamela Burns, and Carol Ridenour; his mother and father-in-law, Charles and Catherine Keeler; nieces and nephews, William, Olivia, Nadine, Riley, Nathaniel and Emmaline Haught, Colleen Marshall, and Jamie Sears; as well as many, many friends.

A Mass of Christian Burial will be celebrated 10:00 a.m. Saturday, November 15, 2008 at St. Jude Thaddeus Catholic Church with burial to follow at Forest Lawn Memorial Park under the direction of Broussard’s, 1605 North Major Drive, Beaumont. Herb Haught, Bruce Haught, Michael Haught, Joe Broussard, James Peacock and Keith Foley will be serving as pallbearers. A gathering of his family and friends will begin at 4:00 p.m. with a Christian Vigil at 6:00 p.m. Friday, November 14, 2008 at the Mortuary.

Memorial contributions may be made to the Haught Children’s Education Fund at Capital One Bank.

USCCB Puts Freeze on ACORN Funding

An article on CNN.com says that the USCCB "froze its contributions" to ACORN in June. Phyllis Schlafly's column that I quoted yesterday says that in June the USCCB approved more than a million dollars in grants to ACORN for the cycle beginning July 1. I don't know which one is true. Maybe they are both true: approved but frozen. The USCCB gave $7.3 million dollars to ACORN over the last ten years.

Two Wolves, a Sheep, Some Catholic Bishops, and a LOT of CONFUSION

Phyllis Schlafly of Eagle Forum hopes to rebuild the "conservative" movement after the disaster of the Bush presidency.

That sounds awful good. I admire positive thinking. I just don't know if you can rebuild anything without first developing a clear definition of what the thing is or what it was supposed to be. Clearly, the word conservative means a lot of different things. Just looking at the Republican candidates for the presidential nomination this year gives you an idea of the problem. From Ron Paul to Giuliani to McCain, they were all at some time described as conservative.

The other word we need to tie down is "Catholic". Good grief! Pro-abort politicians Edward Kennedy and Joe Biden are called "Catholic". What does it mean to be a Catholic conservative? Maybe it means you're a follower of pro-abort Rudy Giuliani. Who knows? Maybe dissenting Catholics could be distinguished with a lowercase "c", like this: catholic.

Add to this confusion the mealy-mouthed writing of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. Trying to read their voter's guide was like trying to swim in a vat of marshmallow cream. Now, after reading Schlafly's "The Catholic Connection to Barack Obama" , I'm wondering if the bishops really wanted Obama elected after all. Schlafly says that Catholics who put money in the collection plate for the Campaign for Human Development (CHD) "would probably be shocked to learn that the money donated. . . does not go for charity but for radical Obama-style community organizing."

She goes on to explain:

Over the last 10 years, CHD has given $7.3 million of Catholic-donated dollars to the Saul Alinsky-style group called ACORN (Association of Community Organizations for Reform Now). When in 1998 some Catholics complained that CHD grants were not used for Catholic charity but were actually funding groups opposed to church teachings, CHD changed its name to Catholic Campaign for Human Development (CCHD).

The name change did not redirect the flow of money. In 2007 alone, CCHD increased its support of ACORN, giving it 37 grants totaling $1,037,000.

During 2007 and 2008, ACORN and its affiliated organizations were aggressively registering what it claimed were 1.3 million poor people. ACORN focused on new registrations in the key toss-up states of Ohio, Michigan, Pennsylvania and Florida.

You can listen on YouTube to clips from ACORN's national convention and decide for yourself how partisan it is.

CCHD knew how ACORN spent its money. CCHD's executive director, Ralph McCloud, admitted to Catholic News Service that "some of the funds that the Catholic Campaign contributed to ACORN in the past undoubtedly were used for voter registration drives."
Even though the pro-Obama political activity of ACORN had been widely reported, and employees of ACORN and affiliated organizations like Project Vote have been either indicted or convicted of submitting false voter registration forms in 14 states, in June 2008 CCHD approved grants of $1.13 million to 40 local ACORN affiliates for the cycle beginning July 1, 2008. Those grants were ratified by the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops at its June 2008 meeting.

So as recently as this past summer the US bishops gave more than a million dollars to ACORN. Talk about the smoke of Satan! And somebody took the batteries from the smoke detectors! As my Missionary Baptist grandma used to say, "Lord, help us and save us."

Then there was this quote from the Downsizer Dispatch this morning:

Quote of the Day: "Democracy must be something more than two wolves and a sheep voting on what to have for dinner."-- James Bovard, Source: Lost Rights. The Destruction of American Liberty (St. Martin's Press: New York, 1994), p. 333

I think the problem is worse than two wolves and a sheep. Consider this:

If 86% of America's children attend public schools, and one of the purposes of public education is to teach "loyalty to the state", and the state for all intents and purposes is a wolf pack. . .

Oh, well. Never mind.

Sing a Song in Martinmas Time

In honor of St. Martin's Day, a traditional ballad:

Bonny Barbara Allan

IT was in and about the Martinmas time,

When the green leaves were a-falling,

That Sir John Græme, in the West Country,

Fell in love with Barbara Allan.


He sent his men down through the town,

To the place where she was dwelling:

“O haste and come to my master dear,

Gin ye be Barbara Allan.”


O hooly, hooly rose she up,

To the place where he was lying,

And when she drew the curtain by,

“Young man, I think you’re dying.”


“O it’s I’m sick, and very, very sick,

And it's a’ for Barbara Allan:”

“O the better for me ye’s never be,

Though your heart’s blood were a spilling.


“O dinna ye mind, young man,” said she,

“When the red wine ye were fillin',

That ye made the healths gae round and round,

And slighted Barbara Allan?”


He turned his face unto the wall,

And death was with him dealing:

“Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,

And be kind to Barbara Allan.”


And slowly, slowly raise she up,

And slowly, slowly left him,

And sighing said, she could not stay,

Since death of life had reft him.


She had not gane a mile but twa,

When she heard the dead-bell ringing,

And every jow that the dead-bell gied,

It cried, Woe to Barbara Allan!


“O mother, mother, make my bed!

O make it saft and narrow!

Since my love died for me to-day,

I’ll die for him to-morrow.”


They buried her in the old churchyard,

And Sir John's grave was nigh her.

And from his heart grew a red, red rose,

And from her heart a brier.


They grew to the top o' the old church wall,

Till they could grow no higher,

Until they tied a true love's knot--

The red rose and the brier.

Homeschool Moms Unplugged

At the mother-daughter campout:

I was inspired by a recurring comment: "I liked (hurricane) Ike. We stayed home; we played board games," etc.

I was sobered by the talk of preparing for persecution.

I was moved by the prayers that we not lose our freedom to homeschool.

My Twisted Humor Explained

Emily G commented on my "Pun on a Bun" post and made a good point: "Sometimes, sad as it is, a joke can really only be enjoyed by the person who made it."

I think that is true because our life experiences/worldview play into what we find humorous. I spent a few minutes considering how this affected me when I laughed yesterday about "French cooking" and the "Bilderbergers".


This is what I came up with:

First, I consider French cooking to be an art that developed because of France's role as the eldest daughter of the Church. It is a result of Catholic culture. It is slow food; its preparation and consumption based on relationships. Hospitality, flavor, and quality are more important than price.


Second, I consider fast-food "burgers" to be the symbolic American food. They are fast, poor quality, and are often eaten in the car, alone. Profit is the most important factor. I am indebted to Dr. Marian Horvat for her essay, "Fast Food is Protestant". It was a revelation to me when I read it.


Third, I see the battle between the Catholic church and Satan.. The Church is represented by French cooking and Satan is represented by the New World Order, whose executive officers are the Bilderbergers.


So when Emma presented me with a choice between reading about the Bilderbergers or Mastering the Art of French Cooking, I laughed.

Would You Like a Pun on a Bun?

This morning, after fixing a cup of tea, Emma stuck her nose in The Catholic Family News.

I said, "I want you to start reading Mastering the Art of French Cooking."

She said, "Don't you want me to finish reading about the Bilderbergers?

I laughed.

Are you?

French cooking/Bilder burgers. Get it? Pitiful, I know. As my children say, "Mom's cracking herself up again."

Scenes from a Mother-Daughter Campout

Here is our cozy tent for two by the lake of shining waters. We arrived Friday afternoon and left Saturday afternoon. We packed light--no cooking stuff except a hot pot for making hot chocolate and coffee. We lived on bread, cheese, ham, apples, grapes, bananas, carrots, and chocolate.
Emma had just taken out her braids early Saturday morning to reveal BIG HAIR. It wilted, thank goodness, as the humidity rose during the day.
Emma and a friend enjoyed a chat over cups of hot peppermint tea--on the rocks. Later, this rock barrier was where Emma pretended to be a mermaid as she brushed her hair--"a mermaid on the Irish coast who was modest," is how it was explained to me. Her beret and shawl came in handy for skits.

After it warmed up a bit, the older girls explored the park. . .

all the way down to the horse stables.
Too bad I didn't get any pictures of the girls posing as ships' figureheads. "It was fun," Emma assured me.

Pretending to be orphaned sisters in Ireland: Eileen and Irene. They had the Alan Breck character from Kidnapped rescue them. He (she) took the picture. On Friday night, they had acted out a rescue scene from Quentin Durward, where a fainting damsel in distress is rescued by Quentin from a chapel in a castle.

The water is just irresistable.
To infinity and beyond!

Our group's tents are in the background. We also occupied several screened shelters.

After walking, biking, acting, and playing tag, it was time for a relaxing game of cards in the shade.

And what did the moms do during all this time?

Talk, talk, talk.

He Leadeth Me

I really enjoyed this post from A Maiden's Wreath blog about marriage as a kind of dance. I have been a partner in the marriage dance for the last 29 years. I have a great lead, but I am just learning to avoid stepping on his toes.

Born in 1960 and publicly schooled, I was steeped in the feminist culture as I grew up. I didn't even realize it. My mother tried to show me the right way, but I would have none of it. After I married I remember her trying, on many visits to my parents' home, to get me to "fix Herb a plate". I thought that was ridiculous, and I would retort, "Let him fix his own plate!" I would not serve.

He, bless his heart, sided with me.

The years rolled by. The children came along. My husband, my children were all Catholic, and I was Nothing. I went through the Novus Ordo RCIA program and converted. Becoming a Catholic was like waking up in someone else's clothes that were several sizes too big. There was always a lot of extra fabric flapping around that I didn't know what to do with. This may have been because I had spent a year in the RCIA program without being taught one thing about practicing the faith. I started learning it along with the children as I homeschooled them.

Eventually, our family found its way to the traditional Mass, and I was confronted with a "no pants, no bare heads" dress code for women. This was no problem for me, but as I read more about the reasons for the dress code, I realized that I wanted to dress that way all the time. The book, Immodesty, Satan's Virtue, was a tremendous help to me. Emma and I both read it and gave up our "trousers" together.

Wearing dresses made me feel different. I had read that it would. I had not really believed it. After a couple of years it even changed the way I saw other women. I would feel cheered when I saw another woman in a modest dress. I saw with new eyes that blue jeans were a kind of uniform, and actually unattractive on most women. It shocked me to realize it, as I had worn them almost exclusively for years, topped with a t-shirt, my feet shod in Birkenstock sandals. At this point I began to realize that a lot of the dresses I was wearing were not much more than glorified jeans. Emma and I talked it over, and we began a slow transition toward finding feminine dresses. Somehow this change in my outward appearance was working a change on the inside. I also had the benefit of good sermons on modesty and on the husband's headship of the family.

I joined a Yahoo group book club for traditional Catholic women. One of the books we read was Fascinating Womanhood. I was leary of the book at first because it is not Catholic, and I was afraid that I would have to be constantly on my guard for conflicts. That was not the case. There were really just a few places that were problematic. Overall, the book was an eye-opener for me. A lot of it I found extremely difficult, but the groundwork in my heart had been done, and I was finally able to actually embrace my role as a traditional wife. The last vestiges of feminist plaster cracked and fell away. I'm by no means perfect, but at last I realize it when I am messing up the dance.

Now, I can't wait to do things for my husband, to kneel at his feet and listen as he tells me about his day, to look for ways to pamper him, to serve him and find such joy in it.

Making Connections

Update: Emma read this post and thought that it needed modification. I have made the changes that she requested.

Emma and I are reading The Privilege of Being a Woman by Alice von Hildebrand. I alternate her assignments in it with assignments in Catholic Morality by Fr. John Laux. For some reason I thought that I would lead the discussions on Privilege. What was I thinking?

Emma had just started reading Part III, when she said, "Mom, listen." She read,

"The world in which we now live is a world whose outlook is so distorted that we absolutize what is relative (money-making, power, success) and relativize what is absolute (truth, moral values, and God). Power, riches, fame, success, and dominance are idolized; humility, chastity, modesty, self-sacrifice, and service are looked down upon as signs of weakness."

She paused and looked up at me.

"Wolf Larson," she said.

"Who?" I asked.

"Wolf Larson. You know, the captain in The Sea Wolf." She explained how the passage quoted above, when taken to the extreme, reflects Larson's philosphy of life, a philosphy in which there is no God and people have no souls.

This was the beginning of a 20-minute discussion. The discussion was not led by me. I read The Sea Wolf. . .in 1972. Emma didn't come right out and say it, but I think I have homework.

Time to Learn French Cooking

It took me a month, but I finally bid on and won an ebay auction for a two-volume set of Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle, and Simone Beck. It arrived in the mail yesterday, a 1979 printing. That's a good year--the year I married! Also, I figured most of the typos/errors had been fixed from the original publication dates of 1961 (Volume 1) and 1970 (Volume 2). I didn't want to get too new, because I feared the fat-free craze might have impacted the recipes by that time.

I received a wonderful surprise when I opened Vol. 1 this morning. It may not be a shower of roses, but I was proud to get it just the same, a pressed purple pansy, perfectly pleasing.

I've read the foreword and am delighted to find that Mastering the Art is what I was hoping, a book that teaches techniques for homestyle French cooking. The goal is to get to the point where you no longer need the recipes. It teaches "such fundamentals as how to saute' a piece of meat so that it browns without losing its juices, how to fold beaten egg whites into a cake batter to retain their maximum volume, how to add egg yolks to a hot sauce so they will not curdle, where to put the tart in the oven so it will puff and brown, and how to chop an onion quickly."

The recipes were created with American supermarkets in mind. I read in My Life in France that Julia Child sent copies of recipes to friends and family in the US to test and had them report which ingredients were available at their local grocery stores. The authors even had American flour shipped to France to practice with. It was quite different from the French flour, and recipe adjustments were made accordingly. Another adjustment had to be made in calculating how many servings a recipe would produce. Because the French typically eat six courses, each one is necessarily smaller. Americans generally eat three courses, so the authors increased the servings produced to about twice the size of what is typical for a French dish.

There are ten chapters in Vol. 1, plus introductory information on Kitchen Equipment, Definitions, Ingredients, Measures, Temperatures, Cutting, and Wines. The chapter I'm really looking forward to is Chapter VIII--Vegetables, but I haven't read enough yet to decide on a plan of attack. Although I do want to learn French cooking, my main motivation is to help Nathaniel and Emma learn it, so probably I will end up going straight through the book with them. On my own, I may leap directly into Chapter VIII.

I have no idea how long it will take us to work through the first book. Someday, though, I hope we'll get to Volume II.

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Catholic Joy

Receive, O Lord, all my liberty. Take my memory, my understanding, and my entire will. Whatsoever I have or possess Thou hast bestowed upon me; I give it all back to Thee and surrender it wholly to be governed by Thy Will. Give me love for Thee alone along with Thy grace, and I am rich enough and ask for nothing more. --St. Ignatius Loyola

I called for the Lord yesterday, and he came. I am renewed. Deo Gratias!

I am resolved to commit myself anew to the three places where I can actually make a difference: home, home, and home. Political parties can not return us to Christendom. Christendom will return when we as a people pick up the cross of Christ. Instilling the desire to pick up the cross is done at home. Christians are handmade at home. I have work to do--joyful, important, sacrificial work.

What Next America?

Today, as I try to put into perspective where our country is going and if there is some way that I can disembark, I am reading again two passages that I have been pondering for the last week.

(Actually, maybe the problem I need to solve is "How can I avoid being forced to board this runaway train?")

I am, as ever, grateful for good books. I realize how lost I would be without their "conversation". I do not crave the news that comes from the mainstream media; I crave understanding, and that seems to be anathema to them, whether it is so-called "conservative" talk radio or "liberal" MSNBC. I gain nothing but frustration from their programs, in which the reporters hardly let their guests complete a sentence, much less express a coherent thought, whereas a really good book may, in the piercing light of some truth revealed, bring tears to my eyes, a contraction to my heart, a fervent "Yes!" from the depths of my soul.

I need that kind of inspiration right now. I feel tired and empty, drained. I need to pray but can't, except a feeble, "O Lord, make haste. . ."

Here is the first passage I have been studying:

"Our Lord explains in the Parable of the Sower that the seed of his love will only grow in a certain soil--and that is the soil of Christian Culture, which is the work of music in the wide sense, including as well as tunes that are sung, art, literature, games, architecture--all so many instruments in the orchestra which plays day and night the music of lovers; and if it is disordered, then the love of Christ will not grow. It is an obvious matter of fact that here in the United States now, the Devil has seized these instruments to play a danse macabre, a dance of death, especially through what we call the "media", the television, radio, record, book, magazine and newspaper industries. The restoration of culture, spiritually, morally, physically, demands the cultivation of the soil in which the love of Christ can grow, and that means we must, as they say, rethink priorities."--John Senior, The Restoration of Christian Culture


The next passage is from an old, secular English literature textbook that we are using this year that I picked up at a thrift store for $1 years ago.

"Although our present-day civilization has grown directly out of medieval civilization, life in the Middle Ages was far different from what we know today. To begin with, medieval society had a secure foundation and framework of religion. Everyone was a son or daughter of the Church and on his way to Heaven or Hell. Fierce and powerful rulers could sometimes be seen walking barefoot to do penance for their sins. Everybody, from the highest to the lowest, was conscious of being on trial here on earth. Of course people misbehaved then as people did before and have done since, but then they knew that they were misbehaving and that they were miserable sinners. This world to them was like a transparency through which gleamed the fire of Hell or the bright blue of Heaven.

"The Church was responsible for the spiritual life of all Christendom, linking together all the kingdoms, dukedoms, principalities, and free cities of western and central Europe. In Latin it had a language common to all educated people. Its chief scholars and philosophers, like the famous Thomas Aquinas, moved freely from university to university and from country to country. Its abbeys and monasteries were not only the chief centers of learning and the arts in the period before the establishment of the univresities of Oxford and Cambridge in the thirteenth century, but, as economically self-sufficient units, they were also often immense farms, places where all manner of handicrafts were taught and practiced. In addition, monasteries also fed the poor and served as hotels for travelers. The great Gothic cathedrals, those impressive and noble creations of men's minds and hands, were built during this period. England has some of the finest specimens of these astonishing buildings, which are poetry and music in stone.

"The greatest single achievement of the Middle Ages was the idea of the commonwealth of Christendom, a kind of spiritual and cultural empire uniting men of different nationalities, but speaking many different languages and enjoying many different regional ways of life. In our own day science and invention have given us things that would have seemed to the medieval mind like so many strange miracles and the marvels of sorcerers. However, we have not yet achieved our own equivalent of the commonwealth of Christendom, a whole society, a civilzation and a common culture, united under God." J. B. Priestly, Adventures in English Literature, published by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc.

No, we clearly "have not yet achieved our own equivalent of the commonwealth of Christendom" because we do not desire to cultivate "the soil in which the love of Christ can grow."

We prefer mud, and we must wallow in it.

See You at the Polls

Herb and I are working as judge and clerk at a precinct today. Please pray for us, that we may fulfill our duty well.

Chanting the Melody of Friendship

About three years ago, I told my husband that I was going to talk to our church choir director about the possibility of Nathaniel joining the schola. "Then I will join, too," Herb said.

I was shocked. He had never before expressed any interest in the choir or schola and did not read music or Latin. Nevertheless, he and Nathaniel joined and started studying Gregorian chant notation, first with the Square Notes workbook, then singing along with the Schola Bellarmina Chant CDs in the "Liturgical Year in Gregorian Chant" series that is available from Angelus Press.

Fr. Stanich directed the schola, and Mickey, who learned to chant in seminary, intoned. As he improved, Herb began telling me how his voice and Mickey's voice blended together perfectly. Then, Fr. Carl Pulvermacher was hospitalized and not expected to live. The schola began intense practice for his funeral Mass. The experience proved to be a turning point. Herb now considered Mickey's right side to be "his place". Their friendship bloomed.

Saturday night we visited Mickey and feasted on his superb cooking: pickled herring, sauerbraten with gingersnap gravy, red cabbage, green beans, potato pancakes, and some awfully good Texas wine from Messina Hof. Then we adjourned to the patio for coffee, apple cake, and a wondermous fire.
It was a truly lovely evening, though too short. I didn't get but one decent picture of Herb and Mickey and none of Mickey's Liber collection. Two of his are on loan to seminarians. That's Carmen in Mickey's lap.