Day-Maker #10

The speed limit on I-295 around Richmond is now 70mph. I can go fast.

Day-Maker #9

The Hospitality (read: large meals and parties) Board Member and I went to Trader Joe's to pick out pumpkins for the Halloween party. Picture two small girls moving digging around in large boxes of pumpkins, searching for 8 of the perfect shape and size. We found them.

Day-Maker #8

Sitting at the coffee shop on campus with two men in Roman collars.

Brick Fail

Getting Mondays off is conducive to cleaning house and running errands; not so much to a social life. Except that Percy teaches night classes, so having Mondays off is conducive to late morning and early afternoon adventures with him.

Earlier in the year, we discovered that the brickyard in CW has helpers : tourists who decide that a part of their ideal vacation includes stomping around in mud. I'm not sure that would be part of my ideal vacation, but it certainly makes the 'burg a cooler place to live. Percy and I decided to spend a Monday churning clay into mud with our bare feet for the purpose of creating bricks.

On our first foray into brickland, the nice lady in the hoop skirt and bonnet told us that they had just fired up the kiln, and it was too hot for anyone to go near the brickyard. She advised us to come back after September 20th. (I have discovered that the nice people who work there are very good at telling people to come back for things.) So this past Monday, Percy and I came back.

When we walked into the brickyard, I saw the two pits that were obviously used for mud stomping. And these two pits were obviously dry. As the friendly brickmaker told the crowd (which consisted of two families with small children, plus the pair of us) they were done with the brickmaking until the summer. Now they just had a stack of bricks waiting to fire.

So Percy and I learned about bricks and brickmaking and the bricks that the friendly brickmaker is making for Mr. Jefferson's school up the road. And planned our next trip to the brickmakers -- next summer. Unless I decide to go back for the firing of the kiln on December 8.

Alma Mater Hail

When Julia, Wendy, and I were freshmen, we took the bus to Target on homecoming weekend. As we came back, we saw the crowds of alumni of various ages spreading from the Alumni House and stadium into the wider world of campus. Ever since that day, I have looked forward to the day when Wendy and Julia and I would reunite at Homecoming.

I never expected that, for my first Homecoming, both Julia and I would be living here. Unfortunately, Wendy could not make it down, so I have to wait at least another year for visions to come true.

Homecoming #1 went down with no Wendy, but I did manage to have an amazing time. I had Benjamin and Annie (no, loyal readers, you have not met her yet; but she will reappear) under my roof, so I had no lack of good friends... not even counting the people, such as one of my favorite apartmentmates, with whom I spent several wonderful hours on Saturday.

Friday night I devoted to friends from freshmen year; Saturday I spent more with CCM alumni. I think that since I live here, I had a different experience of Homecoming. Lots of awesome people were coming home to me, but I wasn't going anywhere. My normal social lines were suddenly redrawn and my spheres redivided.

And then Sunday, the people whom I knew and loved and wanted more time with started to trickle out, until dark and early Monday morning, I drove Benjamin to the airport and my normal life began again.

These Things Will Change

One common question I've received about my volunteer year is: "How have you changed?"

Because I process things slowly, and self-change is often difficult to measure, most of the time I stumble and bumble my way around that question. The other day, however, I discovered one answer : I look over my shoulder more often.

Ours is a safe campus, and, during my time here, I didn't hesitate to walk across campus at 9 or 10 at night. Once the clock hit 11 or 12 or later, I would hesitate, but I would also walk a mile from CCM to my apartment before calling Campus Escort. Not the wisest choice, and certainly not what they tell you during Freshmen Orientation, but the only 2 times I've felt uncomfortable by random people on campus at night, I've been in a group.

From safe campus to St. Louis I go, where I hesitated to walk out to my car late at night. (That was probably just paranoia. Our neighborhood was generally safe.) Some neighborhoods were off limits at night; some streets were off limits during the day. I became much more aware of the people on the streets around me. At sundown, I felt unsafe standing outside our school.

Back on campus, I found myself with half an hour to kill before an event that started at 8pm. During my time as a student, I would not have considered it late. It would not have occurred to me to be vigilant during my walk. It wasn't even eight at night! Yet I found myself wondering if I should be walking alone, if this was safe.

When I became aware of these thoughts, I had two reactions : 1) Beth, you are being ridiculous! and 2) But it's true! This person walking towards you could be anyone!

I processed the second reaction. Yes, she could be anyone. However, I would assume that she was a part of the College community, which makes her part of "us" rather than "them." Especially if I am a student, she is "us," not "them." And being part of one community means that we are, to some extent or another, invested in each other. Which mean that, unlike on the streets of St. Louis, on the paths of the College, I don't encounter just anyone. And they (for many reasons) are safer.

Please note : I am well aware that the College is no magical place where bad things don't happen. I am well aware that anyone can walk on the campus, not just members of the College community, and that not all members are committed to the common good, or others' individual goods. Still, I am also aware that the campus is much safer than where I was last year.

Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy

More of an Idiot: Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy: "In case you are wondering if I've fallen off the planet for the past month... No, I have not. I've been working my way through one thousand pages of Anna Karenina. I expected it to be difficult, but I found it much less dense than expected, very engaging, and maybe a new favorite. Apparently I had the 'wrong' translation; I found the translation very accessible, but apparently the best one has purple flowers on the front cover.

The novel opens with an glimpse in the house of Stepan Oblonsky and his wife, Dolly, the morning after she has discovered that he was having an affair. These two characters serve to connect the other main couples: Oblonsky's sister, Anna Karenina, and AlexeyVronsky, who is not her husband; and Dolly's sister, Kitty Scherbatsky, and her suitor, Konstantin Levin. These four are the "main" characters, but the novel sweeps through a diverse cast of Russian nobility of the late 1800s.

The novel encompasses at least as many themes as characters, but both themes and characters kept me turning page after page, as Anna reacts to Vronsky as he seduces her; as Anna interacts with her husband as Vronsky seduces her; as Anna raises her son as Vronsky seduces her. They kept me turning pages as Kitty and Levin's relationship grows and blossoms. Passion and love, fidelity and honesty, personal and social responsibility, faith and religion all have their respective places in this novel, along with vast social commentaries on Russian noble and agricultural life at the time.

Two years ago, I wouldn't have made it through the entire novel, but I would have missed out. I highly recommend Anna Karenina to anyone who loves reading... in spite of my sub-par post to describe it."

Day-Maker #7

Before I made my bed, the comforter and blanket were shoved towards the middle of the bed. Grace Kelly hopped up to investigate, poking her head deeper under the covers until eventually all of her was hidden. She made herself a cave and hid there until I finally had to make my bed and start my day.

The Stuff of Legends

After being gone all weekend for retreat formation, I took a few days to visit Mr. Jefferson's school up the road. I have a cousin who did his undergrad there and is now in his third year of law school, so I had a couch with my name. My mother also got her bachelor's from this school, three of my siblings applied there, and, in general, it's a big deal in my part of the world. And yet, somehow, I had never before set foot on its campus. Or the Grounds, as they call it.

I received a quick drive-through of the town, a briskly paced walking tour of campus (my cousin averages the same walking speed that I do), and an introduction to the group of Catholic law students on campus.

Sometimes I go to places and I don't understand. I don't understand what the big deal is, what the people who love it find so compelling. At Mr. Jefferson's school, I got it. I understand why people love that school and why it forms students into the people who come out of that school.

I decided that if I ever become a professor, I want to teach there and live along the Lawn. In Mr. Jefferson's first idea, the students and professors all lived along the Lawn. Students have little rooms and professors have larger "Pavilions." Classes took place in the professors' homes. While I am certain that I chose the right school for me, I love that original plan and I like the idea of living in community with students, so that the university is centered around a strong academic community.

As an end/side note:

I also decided that I really do like law students. Every time I meet them, I tend to think they are awesome people and want to be their friends, and I met so many this weekend, that I decided as a general rule, law students are cool. I don't want to be one however, so I will content myself with being their friend, roommate, and family.

The Face of the Planet

In case my loyal readers are wondering if I have fallen off the face of the planet, the short answer is, yes. I have. This past weekend, I fell off the face of the planet into the mountains. I had retreat formation to prepare student teams for diocesan-wide retreats next semester. I went on my first retreat when I was a freshman and teamed each subsequent year until I graduated, so these retreats are very near and dear to my hearts.

I could use this post to describe my love of the mountains, but I'm afraid that my effusions, while bringing me joy, would not make an arresting read. I could use this post to describe the strangeness of going back as an "adult" to a place that had been mine as a "student" and still felt as though it should belong to me. But I think that sentence sums it up fairly well.

So instead, I will share with you my experience of karma. Or perhaps God's humor.

For the past few weeks, whenever I have spoken with my youngest sister, she has described to me, in detail and with high emotion, the stink bugs on her campus. First, they were in her window. Then they were in her room. They looked gross and she couldn't ignore them. Now, I am the girl whom others call to rescue them from bugs. I am the girl who carries spiders outside rather than killing them. So I made a less-than-perfect audience for these woes.

Walking into my room in the campus minister's building, however, I discovered that I had more roommates than my human-sized one from another campus. They were small and brown and flew! I flushed a few before I decided that killing them was a losing battle. I'd ignore them, I thought, and sleep.

Wrong. I couldn't get to sleep and the bugs kept crawling or flying onto my roommate, making her jump or scream. It was a long night... and I thought of my sister the whole time, with a lot more sympathy.

Latin!

Last night, in his weekly Catholicism seminars, Father Dude spoke about the new translation of the Roman Missal. For all questions you have now or after reading this post, I refer you to USCCB's page on the new translation. I have found it very user-friendly.

Being a classics nerd, I find the new translation very exciting, and of course it will change the way the Mass sounds. Still, technically, the Mass is the same. In a nutshell: when Vatican II happened the Missal was re-written, i.e. we had a "new Mass." This new Mass was written in -- guess what? -- Latin! Different bodies of Church officials then translated this Latin Mass into their respective vernaculars. These translations received Vatican approval and became the commonly celebrated Mass.

Recently, however, English-speaking bishops have gone back to the original Latin that came out of Vatican II and re-translated it into English. They ended up with a translation that resembles the Latin more closely than what we use now.

After explaining to us about Missals and translations and the history of our current translation, Father Dude handed out excerpts from the new translation, including a few prayers with the original Latin, the current translation, and the new translation side-by-side.

I'm 93% certain the people sitting near me thought something was seriously wrong with me when I started reading the three-part handout. Seeing the Latin next to the English made me realize just how much of the beauty of the language of the Mass we are missing right now. We lost so much in translation and I am so excited to get it back.

Here, for example, are a few lines:

Latin: Populo tuo, quaesumus, Domine,

adesto propitius,

et,quem mysteriis caelestibus imbuisti,

fac ad novitatem vitae

de vetustate transire.

Per Christum.

Current: Merciful Father, may these mysteries give us new purpose

and bring us to a new life in you.

Grant this through Christ our Lord.

New text: Graciously be present to your people,

we pray, O Lord,

and lead those you have nourished

with heavenly mysteries

to pass to a new way of life from the old.

Through Christ our Lord.

Can you see and hear and feel the difference? I am very much a language-oriented person, and, seeing the Latin and the new translation, I have to admit that I feel rather cheated by having the current translation. I realize that the Mass is holy and valid as it is right now, and that the Eucharist is the Eucharist and all the prayers, no matter the language or translation, are the unworthy expression of the great Mystery that makes up our faith. But I process and filter most of my existence through language and words mean a lot to me. And to me, the difference in translation is the difference between a cheap reproduction and the real work of art. I see the same image in both, but one is so much more clear and beautiful.

Apparently there is much outcry about this new translation, because it changes a lot of the people's responses during Mass. Which affects not only what we say, but also what we sing, giving musicians a special task and challenge starting very soon. I sympathize with musicians, but I don't have the gut reaction against change that many others exhibit. Instead, I find myself eagerly awaiting November 27, 2011.

Day-Maker #6

I went to get my car inspected earlier this week. In spite of the fact that the mechanic who performed the inspection was much taller than I am and had to move the seat to get into the car, I found the driver's seat exactly where I left it.