Because I announced last week that Fr. Hopko would be visiting our parish the first weekend in December, I should say that due to health concerns in his family, he wont be able to come. I don’t know how public the health concerns are, so I’ll just ask for prayers for his family. He hopes to reschedule sometime next year.

Since Thursday, George has been in Pennsylvania for his mother’s 70th birthday celebrations with extended family that he has not seen in a very long time. He surprised his mother by his visit, and I know that having her oldest son, her only child to move more than half an hour away, staying at her house was a great blessing. Sons should not forget to visit their loving mothers. And I can tell by his voice that this visit has been good for him too. Texas is very a long way from Pennsylvania.

This morning he attended the Hours, which began at 8:15, and some of the Liturgy at the Old Believers Church of the Nativity in Erie, before going to his mother’s Assembly of God Church where she wanted to introduce him to her friends. He took his niece and nephew along. Last year when our whole family was up there, we all, including the nephew, went to the Church of the Nativity (I’ll see if I can find the link). The 13yo seemed to like his first Orthodox Church service. I asked George to pay attention to the chanting style this morning, as I’ve really enjoyed getting to know it on the Church’s recording of The Canon of St. Andrew. He said he recognized it in one of the male readers. There’s a young girl who chants the Hours in a more plain style.

While he’s been gone I’ve had a pretty full weekend with various activities, including the Liturgy for the Theotokos’ Entry into the Temple yesterday morning. Now the scheduled things have finally stopped, except for one more pick up. Now that it’s quiet, I just miss George. His plane gets in in 2 hours, then he has to drive another hour and a half to get home. One of the points in About a Boy, which I watched last night, is how kids and single parents need backup. Weekends like this remind me more than usual, not that anything really stressful happened. Even on normal days I’m counting the hours until George gets home from work and I wont be the only one in charge any more. Though the kids are older now, I’m still responsible to make sure their activities are wholesome. I have to constantly listen and be alert to what they are doing and how well they are doing it. When George gets home I can finally let my eyes, ears and will relax. I know he doesn’t worry as much as I do about what they’re doing, but I also know his different eyes and ears are tuned into things mine aren’t, so I am glad to have his input, which is usually more fun than mine. It is also sometimes nice to open the door to the possibility that being more relaxed about some things wont necessarily cause the world to stop turning either. However, I usually know how much it will slow down while I’m tuned out, and therefore guage my time off duty to not let it slow down enough so that things will start flinging into space.

Childcare is of course not the only reason I miss George. He’s strong and big enough to let me lean on him. I don’t let myself lean on other people, so it’s nice to have someone who I want to let me.

(with a Texas twang)

He’s a rock that’s not very hard,

He’s got socks that get lost in the laund

ry and likes fresh ground cof

fee and cream.

He’s a steady hard work

er that everyone respects

and looks at because he goes at his own pace

like his dad.

He is nice like his moth

er and really likes his salad

that he chops up himself

because I don’t make each piece uniform enough.

He doesn’t like to talk

but he likes to listen

and when I ask how he likes what I write he says

it’s good.

And I don’t know what I’d do without him because I like to lean every now and then and if too long went by and he wasn’t there I’d fall down

overwhelmingly hard.

When the new kitten, Rosie, arrived at our house I think a little less than a month ago, our Corgi did a some barking and chasing. Thankfully, she was old enough and coordinated enough to outrun him and find safe places on surfaces over 2 feet tall. Initially I was worried that her unusually laid back personality would be altered by the new threat in her new environment. I think her ears have a new rigidity to them. But just yesterday, to my great astonishment, Pippin (the Corgi) slowly approached her as she timidly stayed put on the carpet. She neither ran, hissed, nor swatted him even when he touched her nose with his nose! Afterward he looked at me seemingly for approval and slowly walked away. I think it’s going to be okay.

I on occasion worry a bit about Pippin’s psychological health. We got him from a dog breeder farm that also raised Shetland ponies and gave people pony buggy rides when they came to see new puppies. When we all descended out of our van, a wave of adult Corgi’s surrounded our ankles up to mid calf. The owner could direct them by voice to different locations. They were so sweet that we were instantly sold on the breed. There were probably 20 puppies in the pin where the owner selected the dog she thought could stand so many children. This was 6 years ago when all 6 kids lived constantly at home. About a year later, we decided that he missed having short companions all around him, so we went to the Pound and got the sweetest, shyest little Corgi mix girl to be his playmate. They were inseparable. They would wrestle gently during the day, and even slept curled up together.

One fall night, when we returned from taking them on a trip with us to Branson, Mo. so that I in particular (not the dogs) could hear Andy Williams, we let them out of their crates in the back of the van at 2 am. We heard the roar of a neighborhood young person’s pickup truck speeding without a muffler through our street, and found Punkin’s body the next morning in our neighbor’s yard. We buried her in the rain in our back yard.

Pippin was a lot less energetic after that. A few months later we got another dog from the SPCA. Cinnamon was a year old, a few inches taller than Pippin, and very shy and withdrawn. We were told she had been abused. She let us pet her though. It took about a year for her to get over her shyness. Pippin was glad to have a new playmate, and resumed his gentle wrestling and ear nibbling habits. Cinnamon played along at first. Over the course of a year she became more and more aggressive and the wrestling matches got louder and more intense. She started to pin Pippin and even drew blood on occasion. We had to start breaking up the fights, and once I put my foot between them and her canine incisor pierced 1/4 inch into my foot, leaving a scar. Pippin started to get withdrawn and would spend all day in my closet to avoid her. We took her back to the pound to find a home with no other pets.

Pippin seemed very relieved after that. He looked like 10 dog years were taken off his face. But he still spent a lot of time in my closet. A few years have gone by and now we have the new kitten. Mostly he’s ignored her with at first about once daily barking and chasings (but no biting). Now he’s spending more time out of my room and seems a little more perky in general. They aren’t really playing together yet, but I hope that will come soon. I think he’s still worried that she’ll turn on him.

Fr. Thomas Hopko’s AFR podcast On Sadness and Grief in Human Life critiques appropriate and inappropriate, selfish and godly, tears and sorrow. He gives an easy to remember alliteration to keep in mind. Unworthy grief is a desire for Pity and/or Praise. He does not advocate stifling tears however, which can lead to psychosis.

May God make the right adjustments.

PSA: Fr. Hopko will be in Fort Worth Dec. 4-6, Friday through Sunday at St. Barbara Orthodox Church in America.

On Friday night, December 4 (St. Barbara Feast) from 7-9 pm, Fr. Thomas will speak to us about, “The Work of God’s People.” On Saturday, December 5, from 10 am to 4 pm, he will speak for most of the day on, “The Real Jesus.”  And then on Sunday afternoon from 4-6 pm on the campus of Texas Christian University Fr. Hopko will speak in Carr Chapel on the topic:  “Christ in Orthodox Spirituality.” After each talk questions from attendees will be addressed.  Refreshments will also be served.  The following donations are requested: $10 for the Friday talk (light refreshments), $20 for Saturday (includes lunch), $25 for both Friday and Saturday.

Limited Seating. RSVP by Tuesday, December 1st

Registration Form

I try not to be too critical about Orthodox personalities on this blog. I can think of a couple that I’ve kept mum about mostly because I think criticism can become toxic and out of proportion, or it’s just not my business to judge what’s going on in other people’s jurisdictions when there is already plenty of criticism about it. But I did write a certain critique about the background classical guitar music on the Ochlophobist’s post on the way prayers are read on Ancient Faith Radio. There are two reasons why I did it. One, what I said over there. Two, though I think in general some of his criticisms are a bit over the top, I think being overly offended by it can be arrogant, and I wanted to show solidarity by writing a corresponding opinion of mine.

I am surprised that my critique made it to the tail end of Fr. Patrick’s Pastoral Ponderings.  He sarcastically targeted the Ochlophobist in particular along with many of the critical comments on that post. I think not too long ago I would have been pretty embarassed by it, but maybe I’m getting more rebellious or dispassionate, or maybe it’s the witty way that Owen framed it and at the end, said what I said better, because right now I think it’s pretty funny. It’s made my year. Not about my comment contributing to his defensiveness, but at how defensive F.P. is to the whole thing. It’s not that I don’t think AFR’s an important witness either. It just wasn’t what brought me to Orthodoxy. Since I don’t commute much, I don’t listen to many podcasts which is when I would listen to them. I think it’s more important to listen to what my kids are tuned into, so I don’t listen to music at home very much either. When I do drive I listen to a mix of Orthodox A Capella chant and John Denver, who plays a lovely guitar. But I wouldn’t want him playing for Valaam, nor do I equate the two spiritually. I’m pretty calm about this opinion even though I’ve had a high-profile Priest make fun of it. I think I’ve come a long way, baby. What if all this has given me a ‘no-guitar on AFR’ smile, then I’m probably being  too happy clappy. Maybe so.

And in case some don’t know one of my convoluted references , which I can’t explain, from the second link above, it’s from here:

Okay I’ll try.

I think F.P is characterizing those who criticize AFR, as smooth-talking public inciters like the Music Man above. As if Owen is making people  more prudish than they should be. However I think there is a problem with the way the prayers are presented on AFR, but I’m not expert enough to explain it. Okay I’ll try. It is too schmaltzy and put on, which ironically also relates to “Trouble in River City”, and to what Och said.  I believe that the monks and nuns in the monasteries are genuine and correct when and how they pray, and even when they make recordings for the public. I think of Church when I hear the prayers. And guitars aren’t supposed to be there. One could say that AFR is bringing Church out to the streets, which is fine for their instructional podcasts, but I don’t think that’s the purpose of prayer. Prayer lifts us up to the heavenly places, which is why it is supposed to be done in front of icons of Christ and Saints in heaven, like in Church, sans guitar if we can help it, and I think that much at least can be helped.

Say Goodnight, Gracie.

WordPress statistics provide the google search word or phrase that leads people to certain posts. It can be interesting to compare what they  were looking for and what they happen to find on the blog. I am particularly taking note of a search phrase that was repeated 12 times on Saturday, which I take as a message meant for this blog. I do not know who googled it though.

“How to reconcile with a scorned woman” was linked 12 times to the post about a woman scorned.

If the query is from the pov of the scorner, I’m the wrong person to ask. My post traumatic stress reaction kicks in at the idea. I liked the reply from the battered wife in the movie, Chocolat, after she moves out and her husband comes back promising that things will be different, “They already are.”

The definition from answers.com of scorned is,

1. 1. Contempt or disdain felt toward a person or object considered despicable or unworthy.
   2. The expression of such an attitude in behavior or speech; derision.
2. One spoken of or treated with contempt.

If someone has treated a woman with contempt, they have disrespected her. If one wants to reconcile with a person that they have treated with contempt, then an apology is called for, and then one needs to listen to her and show that things have changed by respecting what she says in return. If she says that she has moved on, then respect that and leave her alone. If you love her you will understand that you have caused her pain that is perpetuated by your proximity and wish her well. If she is glad for the apology and is interested in working on the relationship, then there’s a chance that new respect can be believed in time, if things really are different. I suppose it depends on the type of scorn scorned with. There are some levels of scorn that demonstrate a deep personality flaw that shows a level of damage in the perpetrator that goes beyond the persons capabilities to ever have a healthy intimate relationship with a woman. A woman needs to be protected from certain types of abuse and though there is redemption and forgiveness in Christ, I think some distance is called for.

If somehow the inquirer is not the scorner, then I suppose one could ask George. Perhaps the previously scorned woman balks easily at what she interprets as scorn but is not really. I would imagine it takes a lot of patience and tough skin to prove to her that she isn’t being scorned.

The night I came home and found that my ex husband (not George) had finally left bodily as well as soully (which he admits he did 8 years previous to then), I took my two young kids to my parents’ house and we slept in what was then the guest bedroom. Before they went to sleep I told them the following story,

“Once upon a time there was a porcupine named Snuggles who felt alone. She went up to a squirrel and asked for a hug. “No way!” said the squirrel who then ran away. She went up to a bird who didn’t even wait around for the question before it flew off. As she was sitting by a stream not daring to ask the fish swimming by, an armadillo came up to her and said, “You look like you need a hug”, and she was glad. The End.”

Subject change: A few months ago I streamlined the posts on this blog under the new title, “Studying the Classics”. That continues to be the main focus of this blog, but I’m finding when life or some other topic creeps in I’m feeling a little limited. When I changed the title I moved a bunch of posts to a new blog, Thoughts and Things, and have added a few miscellaneous posts over there, but it’s starting to feel a little too scattered. I’ll keep it on life support and may add more experimental or creative writing over there in the future, but as far as day to day blogging, which often has loose associations with other things I’ve talked about over here, for continuity’s sake, I think I’ll delimit this blog. The separation served a purpose as I wanted to move away from being so emotive. I think I’ll also go back to a shortened version of my old title being, “Words”, which would be more congruous with how the kind people who have this address on their blog roll under “Words, Words, Words”, have graciously kept it listed that way. Thank you for your patience.

Even before the shooting in Ft. Hood, I have been increasingly concerned with the plight of soldier combat fatigue in America’s War on Terror. The media attention I’ve listened to, mostly local, has turned this shooting into a renewed war-cry against Muslim terrorism. I do not doubt that there is plenty of incitement for Muslim extremists to give their all, but should this story be totally cast in that light? This article by Mark Benjamin tackles media ineptitude and bias.

As someone who’s been asked to talk about the shootings because of my work covering the poor psychological care given to returning Iraq and Afghanistan veterans, I’ve had a front-row seat on the way preconceived biases are distorting the debate.

First, the ongoing factual unraveling of the narrative. As the New York Times reported this Thursday, initial information seized on by talk shows that Sgt. Kimberly Munley, a petite police officer, bravely brought down Hasan in a hail of gunfire in which she was also wounded was, well, also not true. Munley, it seems, just got shot. Senior Sgt. Mark Todd actually shot Hasan to the ground and cuffed him after Munley had already been wounded.

He talks about other things that have been reported about the tragedy that are dubious, like that it came about because of political correctness in the military, and then settles on the “real reason” he thinks it happened,

Hasan was a military psychiatrist toiling in an overburdened, desperate Army healthcare system that will hold onto any warm body with a medical degree. Remember the Walter Reed scandal? The horrific treatment of traumatic brain injury and PTSD that has gone on for years? Army medicine has been dropping the ball on these issues for a long time. Given that history, it’s not hugely surprising they’d miss warning signs with Hasan and just let him go on being a doctor.

Army medical officials, at least to my knowledge, haven’t been asked even the most basic questions. Why, for example, was Hasan allowed to continue counseling troops suffering stress from combat in Iraq and Afghanistan after, for example, delivering a PowerPoint presentation in June 2007 at Walter Reed warning of “adverse events” if Muslims were forced to kill other Muslims in battle. It’s hard to imagine Hasan being particularly empathetic with his patients. Imagine coming back from Iraq with mental problems from combat, and this is the psychiatrist who is supposed to help you heal? So far, the only reaction from Army medical officials to these issues seems to have been the decision to move him to the war front in Afghanistan, so he could be even closer to the troops when they suffer adverse mental reactions. That’s odd.

As for Hasan getting promoted to major, the Washington Post Thursday suggested a more likely scenario than political correctness. They need more bodies. The Army is short 2,000 majors and the dearth is particularly acute in Army medicine. As the Post put it, “virtually all Army captains are being promoted to major.”

The passionate determination to hang the “terrorist” label on Hasan, or rail against “political correctness” in the military, are just more symptoms of media stars more excited about hot-headed debate than covering the real story. And the real story may be sadly familiar: It looks like Army medicine blew it, once again.

Lord have mercy.

“Rosie” has won by default. One son calls her “Cat”, I tend to call her “Kitty”. George’s “Pestilence” and “Allergen” get the prize for snarkiness. The son who calls her “Cat”’s “Chlorine” gets the prize for paying attention to other son’s passion. “Sam” is a little too masculine for this particular feline, but we like the driver on Foyle’s War who has the same color hair. It’s not exactly rose-colored, but since the name reminds us of my daughter’s middle name, it’s close enough.

Other son’s favorite science song,

[tune from Gilbert and Sullivan's "I am the very model of a modern major general" from The Pirates of Penzance.]

1. The dog eats stuff in the litter box.

2. They claw the furniture.

3. Some aren’t very cuddly.

4. They like to break through the screen on the Bearded Dragon’s cage.

5. Kids don’t like to clean the litter box.

However, the girls have been dreaming about the cute little things, so on my second trip to look at them at Petsmart, I listed all of the above complaints, except #4 unfortunately, to the volunteer. She said a child gate with a hole small enough for only the cat to get through placed in the doorway to where the litter box is kept will keep the dog out. She didn’t recommend declawing because it is painful and can change their personality. They make little plastic covers for their claws now apparently. She also could tell which kittens would be cuddly and less likely to climb the drapes. We only have one set of drapes as the rest of the windows have blinds, but still I don’t really want a Tasmanian devil kitty like the grey and white one seemed, tearing around the house. He sure was funny though in his cage. I would have named him Charlie Chaplin.

The orange and white, medium fur-length one stole our hearts. She was laid back and not nervous about being held. She leaned into my daughter and purred. The tag said she’s also playful. When it was time to meet the guys for dinner before Vespers I told the girls they’d have to convince Dad. The youngest’s Puss from Shrek face sealed the deal.

The next day, last Thursday, we brought our carrier and picked her and her accessories up from the store after early Vespers. She didn’t mind the cage too much – she’s pretty easy going. Pippin, the Corgi, can be pretty aggressive with cats so we kept him on a leash and, with the new child gate, walled off the hallway to the oldest daughter’s room and the bathroom with the litter box to give her a safe place to be. When he barks and lunges at her, which is getting less frequent, she hisses and swipes at him before she outruns him, but otherwise she doesn’t seem too nervous. This morning as he slowly came toward her on the couch, she curled up and amusedly watched him approach. He got within a foot and then turned away. No hissing and no lunging! Maybe they’ll be friends.

Then she jumped on top of Kronk the Bearded Dragon’s aquarium which is covered by a duck taped screen that a heavy, visiting cat broke through. They were staring at each other when I got her off and put her in my daughter’s room. Looks like I’ll have to order another screen. Kronk has thus far won battles with cats and dogs though. We haven’t witnessed his hissing, puffing and swatting or biting tactics, but bigger, stronger dogs come out from under the table, where the confrontations usually occur, scared.

And why is liquor always involved?

Okay it’s not a book, but it’s still a classic in my book.