Events

So, I could easily find material for some more "what is Michael thinking about things" type posts, but I feel pushed more in the direction of "what is Michael doing" sort of posts.

Which means...

You get short comments about the state of affairs in my life.

1. I hate my car. More accurately, my car hates me. It decided to die on me today, having just enough decency to wait until I was almost home before doing so, and thus sparing me the trial of breaking down on either the Yellowhead or St. Albert Trail- either of which could have made it a great deal more disastrous than it was. Still, things are a huge headache there, and tomorrow my first task must be to take the car to someone who knows what he is doing (and hope it won't conk out on me on the way there).

Yes, my day was really stressfull... but it got worse.

2. My punctuality has been ripped to shreds. By me. I really need to start printing off copies of the weekly schedule, because listening to Fr. Marco and reading the ones on the hallways clearly isn't serving me well. I was twenty minutes late thinking I was ten minutes early for "Ministry Manners" last night (ironically, one of the points being talked about was punctuality- you should have seen how beet red I went. Yes, I am something of a blusher...). And I did the EXACT same thing last week with our Human Formation session. And then today I totally missed half of Vespers and Adoration with my car-preoccupation, which RUINED my mood for the next few hours. And I kid not when I say that missing half of prayer troubled me more than my failing car did. And not just because, as a naturally punctilious person, this lack of regularity drove me nuts.

3. If I recall the email aright, and assuming I didn't dream it up in my sleep last night, my college is having a Christmas Formal on November 3rd- very peculiar in my opinion. The important thing here to note is not the extremely early date for the formal, but the fact that I will by lying low regarding that. My college, as it happens, is 65% female, virtually all of whom fall into the "good-looking or better" category. And, quite frankly, there's enough temptation going on in my life...

4. I still have yet to fall into "routine" here at the Seminary. Hearsay is, that this IS routine. My only consolation is that I'm exempt from serving dinners next week because I'll be in my three-hour evening class... Joy of joys...

5. My LEGO life is very sad these days... Apart from the LEGO bishop on my desk (recently raised by the addition of the pallium to Archbishop), who has been getting new vestments of late, I've not done a thing with the little guys. It's quite sad, really...

A Stuffy Snob? You don't say!

Actually... I think I do say.

One of the other seminarians and I were talking before Night Prayer tonight about what people say about people, behind their backs. For some reason (possibly some egotism from me...) we examined people's perceptions of me.

Now, I've always known I can come across as a know-it-all. Let's face it... I'm smart, and I love information enough to want to share it. I also know that coupled with my reticence in other things (I'm on the quieter side in social gatherings- not a very good approacher of people) I can look a great deal like a snob. Like someone with a "I'm smarter than you, idiot" sort of attitude.

Which, of course, isn't the intention. It's the juxtaposition of my natural desire to share my storehouse of knowledge with my own shyer inclinations. I've tried to improve on that shyness point, to be more of an approacher of people, and less timid, but it's a work in progress and probably always will be. In the meantime, I'm cognizant of how, coupled with my apparent smartness, I can come across as insufferably snobby.

Let's face it, I use almost exactly the same vocabulary in speech as I do in writing. It's said, I believe, that people tend to use larger working vocabularies when writing than when speaking, but I think mine are fairly close- especially in situations when I'm getting excited about a topic. Any sort of discussion or debate tends to bring out my vocabulary, full force.

So that should give people who only know me online an idea of what I'm like in person- at least to listen to.

I'd love to be able to meet someone I know only online (and I do hope to, somebody, someday...). Quite apart from whole "solidification of a friendship" thingy, I'd love to get a first impression from someone who already knows me well enough that they could share it with me- however harsh or hurtful it might be. If I'm a jerk, I'd like to know. At least, I think I'd like to know. I also happen to think that I'm not a jerk, so maybe it's just my egotism thinking that I'd like to know people agree with me.

But, seriously... I'd love to know what impression I give to the world. Just as one's voice, while clearly recognisable as one's own, sounds horribly different when heard on tape, while everybody else finds it completely normal, one can't REALLY get a complete glimpse of oneself from the inside only.

Am I a jerk? I don't KNOW. And those who know me, can't KNOW, for they do not know what's in my head. Only God can put together my interior self-knowledge (minus my self-deception) with my exterior presentation (minus the viewer's bias) and see me for what I am.

An Ode to Filipinos

I could be doing something better right now, like maybe writing that AtM2 post which (because of this) is now probably going to go over the 48 hour limit a wee bit, since I'm going to be busy tomorrow with chauffeuring the Archbishop, and visiting family.

However, motivation completely fails to strike. Yes, I know sort of what I want to say, but I have very little desire to say it. And it's not even a HARD post- just basic travelling. Maybe that's the problem.

Anyway, I'm not doing anything useful. So I'm here. Blogging. Blogging about Filipinos, actually. Specifically how much I like them. In fact, were we given the option to pick a culture/race upon birth, I'd be Filipino in a second and saying goodbye to Teutonic Canadian the next.

If that sounds a little weird, it probably is. Please note the late hour here in Alberta.

Now, to explain further...

If someone had to guess what culture/race I'd be, you'd think that I'd go straight for either English or Italian. I mean, seriously... either of those is right up my alley: what with my Tolkien obsession and/or my really strong Catholicism. But nope... definitely Filipino.

Why, you ask?

Well, first of all, let me state that it is only due in part to having an adoptive Filipino sister out there... although that undoubtedly bears a large part of the responsibility. No, Filipinos in general are just very, very cool. And I would place the blame solidly on the shoulders of the Filipino priests and seminarians I've met.

Fr. Gary Lee, for example, has got to be the coolest priest I know, if only because he's a Liturgist incarnate. There's no liturgical detail too small, no papal vestment too obscure to escape his attention. Seriously, if you think I'm anal about liturgical details... And he's funny! Seriously, Fr. Gary is a born actor.

Geoffrey must share part of the blame too- even if he is Canadian born. He is definitely a product of his parent's culture. The optimism and happy spirit (and short stature) definitely come back from the Philippines. And Geoffrey is one of the cool kids in the Seminary. At least, I think so.

While I absolve my dear Filipina sister of full responsibility in the matter of my Filipino-liking, she isn't absolved of partial possibility. Seriously, if I'm having to look across the Pacific to find such a perfect-fitting little sister, then there must be something right going on there. And Nilp (zany as he is, or perhaps because he is zany) doesn't detract from the image.

Those are some of the main specific examples... but Filipinos in general are cool. Do you want to know who started the who trend (in Alberta, anyway) of hanging rosaries from car rear-view mirrors? That's right, the Filipinos. And have you ever heard of the Filipino Mafia? Me neither, before I came to Seminary... but apparently it can get you all sorts of places in Rome.

Which is not to say, amid all these accolades, that I think there are no downright evil Filipinos, or that all non-Filipinos are bad (hey! I'm one of them, remember?). Because ultimately, people are people, and while partially products of their culture, they are products of themselves and their own choices, as well.

But it is to say that I find Filipino culture to be very optimistic, very pious (as a culture in today's society, anyway...), and very attractive. Not sure I'd say the same thing about the Philippines, but the Filipinos?- Definitely.

Me? Defend the Church?`

So Rune gave me a very interesting challenge today... and it's really got me thinking.

Basically, I was challenged to write a paper criticizing the Church. According to Rune, I've often been willing to admit that the Church has made mistakes, but I never say what they are. I'm always defending everything the Church does.

Which is a valid claim to make. As someone who really a truly believes (indeed, Knows- but that's a philosophical question that we needed get into here) that the Church is the Body of Christ on Earth, a Divinely-appointed institution, it's very easy for me to go on defending it, and I have a rather traditional Catholic reluctance to critcize.

Yet when I agree that the Church has made mistakes, and it's perfect, this isn't just placating rhetoric- but something I honestly believe. It's just that, in addition to being reluctant to criticize, the way people today treat the Church makes it very difficult to criticize parts of the Church without criticizing the whole. All too often, it seems that if a Catholic is willing to say "well, maybe this is wrong...", then the listeners will conclude "the Church is evil, and you just proved it. Get out your shotguns and we'll go kill the Pope".

So, what with being in College and everything, I'm not sure I that I want to go writing a paper on it. I have enough of those looming ahead without adding another. But the idea intrigues me, and certainly makes me think. So we'll see... Certainly, it interests me more than an essay on "The Importance of Setting in Story X"

Musings...

Well, it's been a few days since I was here last, a fact I blame completely on the Seminary's occasional internet "fluctuations"- meaning that the times of day when I'm on, certain sites (Blogger, in particular) seem to load really, really slowly... thus causing me to let them stew longer than intended.

But enough excuses. There's certainly not been a lack of things that have occured to me to put in here. Chronicalling my current involvement in (how on Earth did this happen!!!) 5 RPGs came to mind, as did listing off some of the more interesting events going on here in the Seminary, such as the outcomes (for me) of the Myers-Briggs-type tests we've been doing in Human Formation. (Some interesting stuff...)

But the big topic on my mind this week, and possibly on many people's, has been the shootings and deaths in Montreal, at Dawson College. First of all, it's really a terrible thought to contemplate just how "lucky" we were that there was only ONE death (other than the murderer). That is a terribly sad thing to have to say, really. That's one death too many. Any premature death at the hands of another human is intolerable.

It's almost a mercy that the killer died in the gunfight (apparently of suicide) with the police. It means that he wouldn't be put in prison and be out on bail in five years.

But back to the "luckiness" of the Dawson College killing. It was lucky, really, if you look at the number of lives taken in the Columbine shootings, or the Montreal Massacre of 12 years ago. But it's hard, really hard, to say that this one death was "lucky". No death is lucky.

All week, thoughts about this disaster keep haunting me. How must the parents of this girl be feeling? She was my age. MY AGE! Barely begun life, really. Never to marry, or grow old, or have the joys of years of adulthood. Never to do... anything... ever again. And the pain of this seperation is going to haunt her family and friends forever.

Maybe it's the fact that I'm in college myself now that's making me more sensitive to this, or maybe it's a greater maturity. Whatever it is, I'm realizing with an acute awareness (for someone half a continent away) what PAIN must be going on in Montreal right now. That college community must be shell-shocked.

Here in the Seminary, one of the Archbishop's points in his opening-day homily was that what a priest REALLY needs, more than anything else, is a Shepherd's Heart- the Heart of Jesus, the Good Shepherd. To be caring and concerned for one's flock with the love of a father- to feel and sympathize with their aches and pains.

Now, I'm no priest yet. 'Tis even possibly that I never will be. But I'm feeling the beating of what I think is a Shepherd's Heart. And it's really going out right now to the people in Montreal. Such an atrocity should never have to happen. Ever. And one almost wants to be there, to offer a shoulder to lean on.

Mind you, this Good Shepherd in me is also shackled to a sometimes annoying Social Commentator, who is cynically noting that this is exactly what a culture with so little in the way of moral values is going to end up with. And let me say that I VERY STRONGLY feel that Kimveer Gill's fascination with Goth culture, his fascination with video games/computer games, and his very probable lack of a moral background probably directly influenced who he became, and what he did. And I would definitely say that what this atrocity is a good argument against Goth culture, against violent computer games, and against a lack of moral values.

Now, the people who may or may not read this blog who do not believe in imposing values on society in general can say what they like. Even they should surely not be in favour of violent killings. And there can be NO denying that these factors played an important role, as far as evidence can show, in the mental makeup of Kimveer Gill. Moral values may be nothing more to you that guidelines needed to keep a society from self-destructing, and not God-given imperatives, but the consequences should demonstrate good reason for their need.

Anyway... for all the fury and hate that must be directed at the memory of Kimveer Gill and his choices right now, I must confess that my thoughts of him right now are of prayer: "Save him from the fires of Hell, O Lord!" Not, I'm saying, that I think he deserved much less- I can be very judgemental that way. For all I know, he wasn't spiritually responsible for what he did, or he may have been sorry at that VERY last moment. Whatever. All the evidence is that Hell is RIGHT where he should be.

And I pray that he saved. I'm not sure I'd have to guts to write this at a time of day other than this (midnight...), but I've prayed, and I'll probably keep praying, with him in mind, the words of the Fatima Prayer of the Rosary:

"O my Jesus, forgive us our sins; save us from the fires of Hell. Lead all souls into Heaven, ESPECIALLY THOSE WHO ARE MOST IN NEED OF YOUR MERCY."

Now, mind you, I've prayed for the soul of Anastasia DeSousa, his victim. Odds are, growing up in the Quebec of today, that she had a few sins on her soul that needed some washing out too... but as a victim it's EASY to pray for her, and wish her the best. It is NOT supposed to be so naturally easy to pray for the killer.

And yet, that's exactly what I'm doing: "Eternal rest grant unto Kimveer, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. Amen." Anastasia DeSousa has my prayers as well, but the peculiar (or so it seems to me...) concern for the killer tends to draw my attention to him more.

Both the victim and the killer need prayers. Both were frail human beings- who can only DESERVE punishment when sent before the Judgement of God. That's all any of us can hope for. We are all, Saint and Sinner alike, at the Mercy of God on that day.

It is now 12:30 at night, despite what the pre-edit time of this post will say... and I'm unable to think of a better way to coherently end this. But there, for all the world to see, is the inner thoughts of this wannabe-a-Shepherd's heart laid bare:

"Have mercy on us, and on the whole world."

A Visit from a Prince of the Church

Some of you have already heard me going on about the fact that the Seminary had a visit from a Cardinal last night- but most of you don't, and I have to expound at length on it.

First of all, the background reason: His Eminence, Archbishop Marc Cardinal Ouellet of Quebec City, Primate of Canada, was invited to Edmonton several months ago to be speaker at a huge gala dinner (taking place tonight) to fundraise hundreds of thousands of dollars for the Priests' Retirement Fund of the Archdiocese of Edmonton- a fund that is in sincere need of a cash injection, due to the fact that it is currently paying out to more retired priests than there are working priests to pay into it. And Cardinal Ouellet is a big name to draw people in. As Archbishop of Quebec City, he's the Primate of Canada, meaning that his diocese was the first in the country- it has the primacy. Furthermore, he's one of just three Canadian Cardinals, and he's the youngest and newest of the three.

Finally, and perhaps most pertinent to his crowd-drawing abilities, Cardinal Ouellet was a student and colleague of Pope Benedict XVI when he was Cardinal Ratzinger. The two are more than acquainted. What's more, Cardinal Ouellet was considered papabili (Pope-able) in the days after Pope John Paul II passed away.

All in all, a pretty big name in the Church, and good reason to be excited.

Now, the Cardinal was invited to Edmonton for the Retirement Fund dinner, but he asked, since he was going to be here, if he could come visit the seminary. Twelve years ago, he was Rector of this seminary, and our current rector was one of his formation team. So it was a little bit of a homecoming. Naturally, the Seminary responded with enthusiasm, and so came about an evening Mass, Supper, and private talk from the Cardinal for the Seminarians. It was our first "formallish" event of the year, and a lot of work went into getting things ready.

Mass was especially well-planning, because not only was it the visit of the Cardinal and former Rector- but because the Mass, no matter when or where celebrated, the Supper of Our Lord, and so takes precedence over any amount of suppers or talks we may have. What with the full three deacons, ten concelebrating priests, and Archbishop Thomas Collins of Edmonton (and, of course, the Cardinal himself), we had a pretty full house, clergy-wise. Then we had a four-part seminarian's choir, with organ, piano, and two trumpets. The music was particularly sumptuous. And I don't say that only because I was one of the basses. As a matter of fact, we did better the night before, but it was a job well done at Mass, anyway.

Supper was sumptuously prepared by the kitchen staff, and I was rather straining at the waistcoat buttons by the time it was gone (well, even before... it seems I was lazy and ate too much over the summer). And the conversation at my table, if at none of the others, was a hoot, as we ran the gamut of teasing Chris about his Personal Formation sheet to parodying an amusing version of Sts. Peter and Paul's relationship.

But the talk at the end was a real highlight, as we Seminarians, after having to share him with the college faculty all night, had the Cardinal to ourselves. We got a lot of personal history, and a rendition of the last days of Pope John Paul II through the election of Pope Benedict. Very interesting stuff.

And then the obligatory pictures...

Talking after the Cardinal took off, general concensus among us Seminarians was that we may well have had a meeting with the next pope. Of course, all of us would love to see that happen- although God preserve Pope Benedict for many years yet! On the other hand, it cannot be doubted that our main reason for thinking so was very Us-Centric. What Canadian wouldn't burst with pride at a Canadian pope? And seeing as Cardinal Ouellet has a much stronger personal connection (and is much younger)... well, you get the picture. It may have been a bit silly of us, it may not- but it was a very fun evening anyway.

But I definitely need to start exercising more. So say my waistcoat buttons.

On the Eve of School...

Well, it's been longer than the hoped-for interval between posts here, but in my defence, that is entirely the fault of the Seminary/College's internet service, which was down pretty much consistently from Tuesday through the weekend- and then I was gone over the weekend, visiting my uncle's family, until last night. So it's not MY fault.

Certainly, I would have loved to have been able to get on. With classes having started for the Theology students here at Newman, life has been rather... boring, I'd ALMOST say... for us Philosophy students who only have Orientation tomorrow, with classes on Wednesday. And, strange as it feels to say it, for the first time in my life, I'm pining to start school. I'm sure reality will set in tomorrow, and I'll be bemoaning the loss of my Bum-in-Residence status... but in the meantime I can't wait. And with only three courses (out of a normal five) for this semester, it's not even as if I'm getting dunked 100% into scholastic goodness.

In other news, though, I'm feeling rather murderous towards the computer my parents graciously gave me over the weekend. Back home 'twas the basement computer, playing second fiddle to the main one upstairs. And with the eldest of my brothers having his own computer, and me gone, there was no longer much use for it. So I was given the option of acquiring it...

Well, I always knew the thing was slow. Basically, it's always taken five minutes to warm up, has always had a vague air of being unable to run anything, but once it got going, it was usually good to go for Internet, MSN, and MSWord- pretty much the only things I was planning on using it for anyway.

All that is in the past. For all I know, it runs like a charm now... And I seem to have no way of finding out, since it refuses to fully start. It goes through the whole five minutes of excruciatingly long startup, only to restart and begin the painful process over once it starts to enable the ZoneAlarm firewall.

Anyway, the blasted thing can go explode, for all the goodwill I'm feeling toward it right now. If it's a sin to hate inanimate objects, I'll be in need of a confessor in the near future....

Seminary: Post the First

Well, I've really delayed this a lot longer than I ought to have, informing the world of what life is like up here in Seminary... but the fact of the matter is that I was settling in for those first few days after Sunday, and I'm now only just back in Seminary from a silent retreat, wherein we Seminarians (and our priests) were away in a non-Internet-for-me building, since Tuesday night, being as quiet as possible (well, some of us; others were merely being quiet), and keeping generally to as holy and prayful thoughts as we might, interspersed with meals, and the Liturgy of the Hours (Lauds and Vespers), Mass, and talks from Bishop Albert LeGatt of Saskatoon. All in all, a very awesome time, and very resting...

So far, seminary has been fairly laid back. We're on a schedule, with Prayers and Mass, and meals, and whatnot, but classes don't start till Tuesday, for the Theology Students, and not until next week for us lowly Philosophy students. It's a bit interesting for me being at the bottom of the seminary bucket. Not so much in terms of social standing, but in terms of years to go until ordination. This puts me in a bit more humble a spot, ecclessiastically, than I have been accustomed to over the past few years. Back in Olds, I was pretty much Parishioner #2 in many respects, because I was always around (go homeschooling) and because I was young, bright, and interested. It's very good for me, I'm sure, to be among others of my own kind, and so learn to not be at the top of the heap at all times. Not that I'm really complaining. Coming to the Seminary is like joining the 'Downs, a sort of "Yes! There are others like me! And now I'm on of them!" sort of moment.

Anyway, a "Hello" and "Hi out there" to all the people who think I'm possibly dead. Life is great, and it's my hope to try and update this blog at least weekly. Internet access isn't a problem (contrary to my more doomier predictions), but they'll be working us, so I'm not going to be the ever-present bum I was in the old days.

That is the way of the Bionicle

And what is a Bionicle, you ask...

Well, since pretty much all of you- though not QUITE all of you- are from either my "real" life or my Barrow-Downs life, you should not have a clue what on earth I am talking about Bionicles for. If you know what they are, you'll know that they a line of LEGO products, pretty much action-figure in their style and intent, with a pretty large backstory to them. They're five years old now, and showing no signs of flagging. And they're geared at 8-12 year olds.

And I'm 19.

And as any Classic-Castler worth his old grey (injoke... sorry un-LEGOers) knows, Bionicle is generally not considered cool in an AFOL (Adult Fan of LEGO). AFOLs are supposed to be into Castles, Spaceships, Trains, or some eclectic little old theme like Rockraiders. Bionicle, simply put is meant for the youngin's, and the "Bioniclization" of the minifig themes of toys is a matter for great bemoaning by the AFOL community.

However, I must confess that I'm in a rather Bionicle mood at the moment. I can't claim to have ever made a Bionicle creation of my own, and I deplore the Bioniclization of the non-Bionicle themes... but Bionicles have a certain charm, and I have to admit to enjoying the world that the creators of Bionicle made. I'm a sucker for well-made worlds/universes, Middle-Earth having set the bar for me, and whetted my appetite beyond relief.

Finally, Bionicles are simply fun to play with.

Once there was a time when I dreaded growing up, for fear that I wouldn't be able to play with my LEGO anymore. That fear (dare I say alas?) is long gone. It's clear now that I'm never going to outgrow. If anything, the fear now is that I'll be too arthritic or something to play with them...

Meanwhile, I need to get my hands on a Toa Norik... and a McDonald's special Jala. Yes, those of you who know what I mean, I'm the red-collector in our house. With six siblings into Bionicles and six colours, a certain division of the collecting was BOUND to happen...

Interesting...

Very interesting...

And what is so interesting, you ask?

Well, tonight I discovered something about myself: I don't really have a desire to be a cowboy.

Now, the obvious reply to this is "Michael, you want to be a priest. You can't ride. You're an indoorsy type. Why on earth would you want to be a cowboy anyway?"

Well the answer to that is that I am, and always have been, rather the dress-up sort, or the fictional world loving sort. Even today, give me a toy sword and a place to swing where there's no one I'd have to explain why I was swinging to, and well... I'd probably start swinging. Those orks wouldn't know what hit them.

There are three big things, I'd say, that North American boys are stereotypically considered to play at being: Knights (or various sword-wielding alternative Castle-y types), Astronauts, and Cowboys. Now, to any of my fellow Classic-Castlers, or my fellow 'Downers, the fact that I would enjoy playing at being a knight should come as no surprise. It might rather shock them to know that I'd willingly imagine myself as an astronaut, but no more so than that I would be a pirate, or a policeman, or well... a whole lot of stuff.

But a cowboy? Tonight I discovered what I hadn't articulated before, but which was certainly there: I don't care to be a cowboy.

Which is not to say I have anything against cowboys. I have friends who ARE cowboys. And I will willingly watch a good John Wayne movie, no problem there. And one cannot blame it on an not-wanting-to-be-taken-for-an-American complex (which would be a plausible theory, otherwise, seeing how I'm rather pro-Canadian, and British-over-American in my leanings), since the astronaut image is still plausible, and astronauts are more American than cowboys. Cowboys, after all, are perfectly indigenous to this part of Canada.

But no... I just have no desire to ever be in cowboy garb. Indian garb (the p.c. term is "Native", but the context should make it clear what kind of Indians I mean) is far preferable, though I am 100% European in ancestry (least within the past five centuries or so, anyway... before that you might get some Asians and whatnot).

Now, the curious thing, to me, about all this is that I don't know WHY I have this cowboy-is-not-for-me thing. Unless I'm just getting a plain old glimpse into my own aesthetic sense, then I am completely clueless.

Another thing I noted about myself tonight was that I dislike the smell of mingled cigarette and alcohol... but I don't think that so interesting a realization. More of an articulation, and just that.

My New Toy

I am now the rather proud possessor of a 1995 pewter-coloured (well, that's what it says on the Bill of Sale) Ford Contour GL. It's in really nice condition, with new tires and the engine inspected and tuned up. Whilst dodging many large raindrops yesterday I picked up the car, paid for the car, insured the car, delivered papers of inspection and bank release to the insurance people for the purposes of keeping the car insured, and then licenced the car. An expensive day, to be sure, but a good five hundred dollars or more than I was expecting/willing to pay, so not too bad a deal there. And the car is a nice one.

So between final seminary acceptance, and now having my ride, I'm almost 100% ready to go. Not quite 100%, since my room isn't QUITE cleaned out, and I have a few things in the manner of diabetic supplies and whatnot to purchase before I take off, but for the most part I'm ready to go. And I still have a whole week left in Olds. A week to relax, have fun, enjoy the sunshine... and after yesterday's rain, I'll definitely be doing that last. I haven't seen rain like that since the day Sundre flooded out and onto the national news last year. But this doesn't come after a week of rain, as that did, so we seem to be fine. But that sun DOES feel nice!

So... I'm NOT flying anywhere...

Yes, that's right. The trip to Massachusetts is off. No more going to visit other Barrow-Downers. Rather disappointing, that. Also disappointing is that "no trip to a LEGO store, now" bit. Call me addict (I probably am...) but I was looking forward to that.

Oh well, I got most of my money back in airline credit (for which I'm already developing sneaky plans which I shall not reveal here... Mwahahaaha!). I now have a very much needed extra week in Olds, during which I shall get to go to the Fair, have a proper farewell to the parish, try out my new car (I get it Friday! I'm very excited), pack my room, and purloin... I mean, buy... items that I'll need at the Seminary. It may be rather callous of me to say it, but I'm rather excited and glad about not going. Not that I didn't WANT to go, but in a fit of nice optimism, I'm very eager/willing to take advantage of this extra time.

And no, I'm not going to detail the WHY of why I'm not going. Mainly because it's rather silly, slightly confusing, and rather pointless. What business of YOURS is it, anyway? :P

Basking in the Glow of My Sunburn

Sunburns, of course, being as natural for a post-Bones Tournament atmosphere as bubblegum is to baseball players.

We had beautiful weather Thursday, going down, and all day Friday (during which time I went to morning Mass, out for breakfast, and actually did some writing on a fictional work, of all the improbable things), right up until suppertime, when it started to wind and rain. It did that on and off through Registration and into the night, but I remember that more as a good time than as a bad, seeing as it drove me to take shelter (our trailor being full of little siblings) under the awning of my First Cousins Once Removed (Mom's first cousins) and their families (the kids being my Second Cousins). A good evening.

Saturday, the first day of the tournament, we had good weather- nice and sunny. Sunny enough that I sunburned. But if the sun went behind the clouds it was chilly! The wind was nasty, and coming perpendicular to the throwing directions of the games, it made for interesting playing.

My team: Dad, Daniel, Angela, and myself, started off the day with a good winning streak: three wins in a row, before a VERY narrow loss in the fourth game. It's a pity we lost, since we would have qualified for the "playoffs", something Dad hasn't done in 5 years, and something us kids have never done. Anyway, we lost that game, and then the one following. Game 5 was brutal. We got one guard down. One. Worst game I've ever played. We couldn't even hit the penalties. That pretty much wiped us out. We lost Game 6, but by a far more respectable margin. Done for the day, we went back to the campsite for supper, then into Macklin proper for Evening Mass- always my favourite part of the weekend, and not just because the church is now air-conditioned.

It was about this time that I discovered my sunburn, all over my face and neck. I took great cares all through Sunday to keep from burning further, and I seem to have succeeded, but it was too late to do anything about the burns I already had other than lather them in lotion.

Sunday we lost, won, lost, won, lost, getting chucked right out of the 4th Consolation Event by late afternoon, with nary a prize. Still, our overall won/loss record was better than last year- we ended up playing more games, I'm fairly sure. And, as a consolation prize, the 3rd Place Champions (and this out of 320 teams) were family friends- their mom and my mom having been neighbours, classmates, and best friends way back yonder... This was also the first year we ever stayed to watch the finals. A lot more fancy and eventful than I had imagined.

We stayed the night at the campground, and headed back to Olds Monday morning, detouring through Daysland to see Grandma. It was a long, long drive coming home, or felt like it. Time seems to pass a lot slower when travelling the back highways than it does taking Highway 2 (or the Queen Elizabeth II Highway, as we are now supposed to call it). But, Monday being the Long Weekend, it would have been a nightmare on that highway, not to mention slower than mud going through Camrose, which was unloading the Big Valley Jamboree right about then.

So I'm home. And with three days left ere I leave for Massachusetts, I still have what feels like a tonne of stuff to do: get a car (that's a biggie), sort out stuff from the accident (details, details), finish packing out my room (what a mess!), get the KofC treasurer's stuff to my successor (a month late), and be ready to leave the day after I get back.

Fun times!

And do I feel on top of the world! Picking up Angela from Our Lady of Victory Camp on Thursday, Fr. Paul told me that the Archbishop wrote my letter of acceptance! I'm in the seminary for sure, for sure! I'm very pumped. If only I had more time to spread the word before I take off...

A Boning We Shall Go...

Okay, so my hand seems to have regained the ability to type unimpaired- just in time for me to have caught a major strain of outdoor-itis. So, though I COULD be online again, doing stuff like RPGing, or WW, or Whatnot... I don't want to. I barely want to be indoors. And, quite apart from my online "commitments", that doesn't bode well for the packing of my room.

Mind you, I'm about to take off for a weekend of No-Internet, over which I shall play (probably) about 9 games of Bunnock, get sunburned around the ears, and see more cousins than I can count.

The World Bunnock Championship Tournament has been held for 14 years now, yearly, in the town of Macklin Saskatchewan, where a whole parcel of ethnic Germans from Russia's Volga valley settled in the early 20th Century. Among the other things they brought from the Old World was the oddish game of "Bunnock", or as we know it, "Bones". Played with 52 horse ankle bones (don't look at me that way! They're cleaned, painted, and in no way seperated from the horses prematurely), and played in a sort of lawn bowling/horseshoes mesh between two teams of four.

Insanely fun- as most people discover after they've been forced to try it. Typically, that doesn't happen until you talked them past their whole "oh, weird!" reactions.

Anyway, the World Championship (meaning they were the first to have a tournament, and there's is the biggest) is held yearly in Macklin. Pretty much everyone who plays is descended from those Macklin-based German-Russians, or else heard of it from them. As a German-Russian of good Gartner stalk off my Mom's side, I'm consequently related (by many infathomable degrees of kinship) to every second person there. It's really sweet that way! Most the teams are Canadian, Albertans and Saskatchewaners being predominant, but people from all 13 provinces and territories have played (except maybe Nunavuters), not to mention Americans, Japanese, and Australians. Yes, some people have come from Japan and Australia to play. Never heard the story there, though.

Anyway, it's going to be sweet, sweet! I just hope my stitches don't give me any trouble...

Car Accidents Equals Not Good!

And, as can be inferred from the title, I have just had one touch my life more. Indeed, I have just been in one.

It started innocuously enough. I went out camping at Gull Lake with a number of friends- mostly ex-coworkers (now that I'm a temporarily unemployed bum again) and their circle of friends. It was a good time indeed- even if I definitely felt like Jesus must have, supping with the sinners and tax-collectors. Anyways, three of us had to head home this afternoon, one to get back to work, one to hang out with his Mom, and I to serve as Acolyte at Saturday night Mass.

To make a long story short of it, Sara* (who was driving) had had scarcely any sleep the night before, and probably wasn't in top form. Jordan* was bugging her a little, and we were perhaps going somewhat faster than we should have been...

Going around a curve on Highway 2A, we swerved more than comfortably. Sara over-corrected, spinning us around, across the (thankfully empty) oncoming lane, into the ditch, and flipping us wrongside up.

Thankfully, no one was hurt- at all- by the accident. At least not physically. Sara was really shook up, and no wonder, seeing as she was driving- and as the vehicle didn't belong to her, but to Will*, who had stayed at the campsite. Who and/or how the accident is going to be paid for, I haven't a clue. Insurance is really hazy about other people driving your vehicle under the age of 25. So Sara is not having a good day, Jordan is not having a good day, and Michael (that's me) is... well, he's not having a good day either.

So, we're upside down, and I can't open my door, and neither can Sara. In the end, I bust open my window with my foot (and by "in the end", I mean less than a minute after we stopped), and we crawled out that way. Stupid me, though, in his haste to escape the claustrophobic atmosphere of an upside-down truck, ended up cutting himself on the glass on his left arm. The worst was a 1.5 centimetre-long (and deep, down to the muscle) cut on my left hand, below the pinkie finger. Because of this and the copious bleeding attached thereto, I was ambulanced to the hospital, where I got my first-ever stitches.

And so, here I am, rather tired, quite dirty (still haven't showered from camping), adrenally drained, with a completely numb left pinkie (anesthetic and lack of blood), with a story that's not like to be forgotten too soon. What a day!

Still, I cannot say that Jesus was doing anything for me other than granting favours today. None of us were hurt in the accident, not at all (other than the cut, but that's minimal). And rollovers can be really nasty. And I'm glad I'm the one who got (or was dumb enough) to get hurt. There's no way Sara could have handled it right then, and I don't think Jordan would have fared too well (at least with his Mom, anyway). I didn't have a problem. Okay, it hurt, but I was well-able to control it, get it stitched up, and get on with life. The last was a miracle in itself. The accident happening when it did, I totally didn't expect to make to Mass on time- but I did, perfectly. Another second, and I'd have been late.

For that matter, had my sister not been in choir at Mass, I'd have had to explain to my parents why I was hurt, and I wouldn't have made Mass on time- but she did, so my family was there, and so I was fine. I also wouldn't have been able to acolyte in my dirty, blooded clothes if I hadn't gotten an alb this week to wear- and if I hadn't brought it to the church on Wednesday, on what was basically a whim. And I couldn't have gotten into our house to grab a clean pair of shoes and car keys if I hadn't still had the set I'd taken to get into the Church the night before.

So God is good! And I won't here a word to the contrary.

Now, that's enough for now. Trying to type without my left pinkie is really frustrating.


*May or may not be a real name...

Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Or... when the cat's away, the mice will play.

These last few days at work are insane... Seeing how I'm done in two days anyway, and seeing how if my bosses ever found out, I'd be about... second to last, if not last on their hit list, I'm not exactly afraid for my job. I am, however, somewhat morally concerned about my responsibility in the matter. To be fair, those silly co-employees of mine would hardly listen if I told them to lay off, short of tattling to the bosses. And the store continues to run. Pizzas are sent out on time, they are made properly, and the customers are treated with all the respect due (which isn't always that much, the old adage about the customer always being right is, in fact, wrong). The store is even clean and and the paperwork done at the end of the night. Nothing to worry about, right?

Maybe it's just the precipice edge that this tomfoolery sits on that gives me reason for concern... What if things got just a LITTLE bit worse? Supposing that instead of one beer in the afternoon, they had two? (Yes, they are drinking -underage drinking, but never mind that- on the job.) Supposing that instead of a CD player (which, in my opinion, the store needs anyway) they brought in a TV? Supposing that instead of just the off-shift employees coming in and hanging out, their girlfriends and buddies were in as well?

Well, it hasn't happened yet... and I think I can safely assume that it won't. And, shamed perhaps though I am to admit it, I really don't care. Oh, I don't LIKE the chaos- I'm a very proper person, really. I like my battleships to run smooth. But care? From a store-first point of view? Nope. And, two days from the end, it's rather hard to work up the interest.

Lord have mercy on my soul!

Repetition

So...

I sit here and am ready to write another post in this silly blog of mine, and it occurs to me that, really, all I have to write about is more of the same: I can't wait to leave home, I can't wait to be in the Seminary, and (rather most desperately at the current moment) I can't wait to be done my job.

Five. More. Days.

I promised myself I'd do a real, proper, and comprehensive look at my Panago career AFTER I'd actually finished there- which is in Five More Days, in case I didn't already mention- and I'll keep that promise, but it is hard- so hard.

Not though, that I haven't said most of those things out loud to anyone willing to listen for the past three months. No, it is only you- dear Internet- that has been spared the brunt of my whining.

Meanwhile, I drift in limbo... waiting for the Archbishop to give formal assent to my being his seminarian. (Or, since he may have granted that assent without me being informed, for me to find out about it.) Seriously, there will be a huge post here when that happens. There will be signature changes everywhere. A post on the Assigned to the Shire thread. Announcements in Church. There's no doubt about it- knowing for sure, after so many months of couching my words in "that's the plan", "hopefully", and "should" it's going to feel awesome, awesome, awesome to say YES!

Meanwhile... I have "five more days" to look forward to.

Yeah...

Right.

Is it Home?

You know you're ready to move out, when you can't think of a single person (other than family) who will miss you- I mean, MISS you- when you're gone. It's also rather telling when you've spent the better part of the last year under a rock, which is what Panago has felt like. Working evenings really ruins any chance of socializing, and after about three months, people give up on trying to get you on a night when it'll work- even if you tell them to keep letting you know.

I guess I'm feeling pretty pessimistic about Olds right now. Which doesn't mean that I hate the place. I love this town, I love the people here, but I'm not going to miss either once I'm gone. The time is past when I was ready to go, and I've (without wanting to) lost contact with a lot of people in the interim.

Not that I was ever a popular person, or a person with lots of close friends. That's never been me and, odds are, probably never will be. But the time has long since gone by when I felt like I had a place in Olds. I don't anymore- or at least not a place that satisfies me. I want- I need- more!

Here's to hoping the seminary fills up that hole.

Werewolf

With... I think... eleven Werewolf games under my belt, not including a successful stint as a Moderator, I think I can call myself a veteran of the Werewolf craze on the 'Downs, but never before has it so truly felt like a war....

My comments on the discussion thread, I think, were directed at me as much/more than they were directed at her ('Downers will know of whom I talk, I'm sure... though etiquette suggests, to my mind at least, that I not go naming names...) To sum: HOW you say something is as important, or moreso, than WHAT you say. Certainly, that post was an exercise in self-control. To try and get across in as nice, non-judgemental, and non-confrontational a manner as possible some criticisms about WHY somebody seems to provoke petty responses is not easy... although I think that I did rather better than worse.

Still, if there's one reason why I side with the side of the debate opposite, if I may be so confrontational as to say so, it's because I have some of those same tendencies in me... Seriously, she thinks that SHE can be blunt and hard-spoken? It's a matter of simple rivalry... I could be just as bad- or worse- if I ever let myself. I have a caustic tongue, when I want. Oddly enough, I was only just remembering the one talking-to I got in Grade 2 from the teacher. And, guess what, Mrs. Carlson sat me down in the hall to talk about... you guessed it... learning to moderate my tone/choice of words.

So I know how easy it is to be in her shoes. And I'm definitely stubborn enough not to back down once an argument is going. But, possibly, BECAUSE I know what it's like is why I'm so frustrated by it... if I can make the effort, and have made making the effort habit, then surely it's possible for her to TRY?

Whether I'm seeing things clearly or not, I've come to the conclusion that having somewhere OTHER than the 'Downs to rant is a good thing.

A Stranger in an Unholy Land...

Am I the ONLY 19 year old in this country who doesn't feel the need to drink to have a good time? Or have I just ostracized myself from those who feel the same way?

THIS is when it is really irksome to have accidentally driven a wedge in your friendship (a wedge, which, seems to be gone... but which has previously been a problem): when the only people you seem to hang out with are the party animals.

Not that I have a problem with alcohol. I'll drink, no problem there. (I won't get drunk, having a rather strong abhorrence of being a fool, but I'll drink.) No, the issue is with people who's idea of a good time is to buy a 6-pack of beer, and then go drink it. (For groups of more than one person, correspondingly larger amounts of beer/other booze should probably be added.)

Quite frankly, I find that exceedingly dull.

I mean, REALLY dull.

I can have a better time at 1:00 in the morning chatting with people online. In fact, I have had a better time doing just that, several times. So maybe it's time to stop bemoaning my lack of a social life this past year, and rejoice that the people I've been talking with haven't been beer-obsessed maniacs.

Don't get me wrong, I love these friends and I like to spend time with them- and not all of last night was bad- but the desire to express a certain frustration at their lack of alternative pastimes is rather strong.

Am I the ONLY one who things that a conversation over coffee beats a conversation over beer any night?

Probably...