Family Trees and Nationalities

Currently, I'm on Recollection, with the rest of the Seminary community- meaning a 24hourish silent retreat, so no talking. And no getting too involved in the world. In attempting to remain faithful to both those dictates, I'm not on the 'Downs, or on CC, or catching up on LiveJournal comments, or reading up on world news- just here in my "private" blog, putting to "paper" some swirling thoughts that have overwhelmed me this evening. Really, what is a blog but an online journal? An online, publicly available, journal...

Anyway, the first of my two great emotions this evening was prompted by a film we watched in "preparation" for a Recollection talk tomorrow. It wasn't an incredibly inspired "documentary/how-to" type film. It wasn't bad, as such things go (the topic was the "Seven Cirles of Prayer" Not a clue what the title was)- but what struck me was the Englishness of it.

Of course, that is easily explained. The thing was made in England- one ought to expect that. But I'm being silly. What struck an odd chord with me was not that it was English- but how I reacted to the Englishness.

All love of my homeland, and all Filipinophilia of a few posts below aside, I really do like England and things English. The accent, the climate, the landscape. Even (dare I say it in these post-Davem days?) the sarcastically-inclined humour.

This Anglophilia is nothing new. I've known for years that I like things English. Perhaps what did hit me in a funny way is just how intensely I like things English- after quite a while of not thinking of it at all. A quite a while in which cultures more Catholic have predominated in the forefront of my extra-Canadian thought: the French, the Columbian, the Italian, the Filipino.

So here we are watching this not-so-awesome-but-good-message film on prayer, and I'm getting blown away by England. Not so much that I missed the message of the film- but enough that I was breathing in that air of a land rather different from my own. True, the image was 20 years old, but once you remove the 80s hair, clothes, and add a few iPods, you've got today's England...

So I'm stuck pondering: Why? Why do I feel such a vibrant attraction to England? I'm fairly confidant that Tolkien played an ENORMOUS role in that. I don't think it can be stated how deeply Tolkien (the chief author of my latter prepubescent and then all my adolescent years) influenced me. I'm not sure I'm aware how deeply my patterns of speech, writing, and way of thinking were melded. But it's not just Tolkien, of course. Several of my favourite authors were English: C.S. Lewis, Agatha Christie, (dare I say it...) J.K. Rowling- the prominent ones, among others. My own sense of humour, whether thanks to these influences, or independent of them, is highly English in its appreciations.

But that may explain the mechanics of WHY I'm drawn to England, but it does nothing to explain the greater purpose of it. And I do think there is probably a purpose. I suppose there are some things that God just lets happen with no guidance one way or another, or with no purpose that it will ever serve. A preference for two-door cars, or for yellow socks, would be a good example. Although, who knows, maybe there IS a purpose for yellow socks...

My point is, a yearning this steady (we're talking years-long, and growing in intensity) and this strong (I'd really like to be in England) seems highly likely to have some purpose. It could be something formative, such as helping me develop a good sense of humour (something necessary in this crazy life). It may be that someday I'll visit England, and have some life-defining experience. Maybe it was just to get me to have a great patriotic appreciation for our Queen- and she is ours still, whatever some people on this side of the pond may want to do about that.

I don't know, obviously, what it is. The attraction existing in the first place, there's a part of me that would love for God's purpose to be that I be called to live or minister in England. At the same time, the side of me that is very much a homebody, is very much a patriotic Canadian, and is enamoured of his homeland and people, really doesn't want that to be the case at all. A vacation to the land of Tolkien and Thomas More is all very well- but let's not live there!

Which is why this sort of stuff isn't revealed beforehand. I've got a life to live here in the Seminary, and let's not waste it with pinings for what is to come. It is, however, still fun to speculate.

Anyway, that was emotional obsession #1. Emotional obsession #2 was a good deal closer to home.

After the film, I went back to my room, grabbed a Bible, a stack of scrap paper, and a book to put under the paper, to firm it up, and then headed down to 1st-floor lounge to read the Gospel of John (which was, as a side note, a lot of fun. I think it's permissible to talk if you're reading out loud- and reading is, for me, a lot better absorbed when I'm forced to slow down by reading aloud).

It just so happened that the book I had with me was the "Family History" book- in which I feature twice, having second-cousins for two of my Great-Grandmothers. Upon finishing the first six chapters of John, having a dry throat, and not wanting to write a thing down (well, the above English-related stuff was floating in my mind, but I wanted a slightly more public venue), I started browsing the book (not for the first time, let me assure you. I'm positively Hobbit in my love of geneologies).

And I was floored by the emotion. Forget England- this is ME! Sure, I'd love to go to England; I'd love to live there if that's God's plan, but in the meantime- this is where I come from. This is who I am.

Michael, son of Theresa, daughter of Tony and Josie, children (respectively) of Anna and Amelia, daughters (respectively) of John and Alexander, sons of Joseph. Fill in all the other information that I can get at in other family histories (and which crossreference each other so much it's a wonder I don't come from a family of mutants), and I can find you the names, no problem, of THOUSANDS of relatives of mine.

This is only half of my family history, of course, but the other half, the Dutch half, isn't nearly so well researched, so Canadian-based (they're still mostly on the other side of the Pond), or some, well, BIG! I have, literally, hundreds of relatives descended from my Great-great-great-grandfather Joseph. For that matter, I've got three hundred plus relatives descended from ONE of my Great-Grandmas.

The intense feeling of family, of belonging, that came over me in flipping the pages of that book cannot be measured. Those wrinkly old Germans, fat and balding, the old nuns in thick glasses- they would mean nothing to a stranger, but they are my history to me. Many of them -most of them- I've never met, but they're still family.

I know I'm a bit more sentimental about family than most. It comes from coming from a good one, to begin with. It's also somewhat genetic- Grandpa had it too. He knew EVERYBODY. Bunnock tournaments were sometimes trying to go to with him, but awesome at the same time for the same reason, because he knew every third person- and how they were related.

To tie the two threads of this ENORMOUS discourse together, I would love to visit England, and barring a premature death, I will. I'm ready and willing to LIVE there (for a time or for a life) if God calls me to.

But I'm glad I was born who I am: the son, grandson, great-grandson, great-great-grandson, great-great-great-grandson of German, Catholic, by way of Russia, bunnock-playing, ancestors. Everyone, I figure, takes (or should take) pride in their patrimony. But this is mine (even if it comes off my mother's side)- and so I love it the most. Naturally.

A Most Vile Mood

Seriously, I'm in a bad mood. Blame it on a general melancholy brought on by the Duke and Duchess of Windsor's biography compounded with general irkedness regarding the whole "Community Statement" on the 'Downs.

Not that the Statement came off poorly, mind you. Celuien struck precisely the right note in posting, the answers from Aiwendil and Mormegil have been exactly what I've been wanting to hear, and there's no sign of a flame war.

That's what's bugging me.

For me, this whole Statement would never have needed become an issue if the PM I'd sent to the Barrow-Wight and the other Mods had been answered the way this thread was. But, no, I got a rather "official release" sounding reply from the Barrow-Wight, which rather than calming my uneasiness succeeded only in fanning it.

Perhaps it was arrogant of me to expect it, but I did expect a more indepth explanation. I've been a pretty good member of the 'Downs, I think. Active in most forums, never causing a real controversy (well, there was the Survivor debacle, but that was crossed wires more than controversy), high in the Rep count, high on the post count- as far as I know, active and well-thought of. Yes, it was prideful of me and I'm not particularly pleased about myself for thinking it, but I did expect a bit more of a responce. Blame it, if you will, on being a Mod with all the "ins" on Classic-Castle, and being used to having an access to the councils of the wise.

Anyway, it's over and done, but I'm rather fuming at the reasonable response provoked by a thread with a dozen and more signatures. I'm similarly fuming that such a thread would possibly never have materialised had I got that responce back in that PM. It's not arrogance, but the truth, to say that I'm the one who really mobilized that public statement for the better part of its composition.

So I'm staying wide and clear of the "Community Statement" thread. I don't trust my objectivity right now. I know I'm being petty here. But I'm irked, and it has to come out somewhere. Better here than on the thread where it'll probably come out wrong.

Meanwhile, the whole affair of my (as of now) several-hours long irked responce is perhaps rather insightful into my psychology in general. I don't like not knowing what's going on. And, as I recall fuming on the "Assigned to Mordor" thread a good eight months (or more..) ago, I don't like being patronized. The curse of being an eldest child, and a smart one, and a homeschooler, not to mention one who's generally serious, is that you don't generally get treated demeaningly. And when you do, it makes you fighting mad.

Treat me like an intelligent being and let me know what's going on. And let me have my quiet say. Give me those, and you have a happy man.

Eternal Rest Grant Unto Leo Athanasius, O Lord...

Yes, you read that right. Leo Athanasius.

Who is Leo Athanasius, you ask? Well, Leo Athanasius is the name used by Jose and Jeoffrey in their funeral vigil practice and funeral mass practice (respectively) yesterday. That's one of the things senior seminarians have to do, practice services, the tape of which is reviewed by Fr. Stephen and various others. It's both practice for the real thing and a lesson in doing things right. And hilarious fun. I was cantor for Jose's short vigil practice, and then thurifer (incense boy) for Jeoffrey's "mass". The practice mass was too funny, with Jeoffrey messing up, of all things, the consecration prayer.

"...take and drink, this is the cup of my body" is NOT the right form. 'twould make for an invalid mass, in real life.

"gross apple juice with bits of something in it", however, was a perfectly true statement to make at communion time, however.

Paul nearly had a fit when he first heard our "deceased"'s name. Fortunately, I was prepared, having gotten over that particular bit of hilarity at the Vigil practice.

It was very good fun, to be sure. Oh, how long it's been since I last played mass. Probably eight or nine years.... I was quite young.

Late Night Ramblings...

So I managed tear myself away from the unbreakable cycle of Mah Jongg games (play game, lose game, start new game, repeat ad nauseum), but I really don't want to DO anything... Like catch up a week-left-stale RPG on Classic-Castle, or write letters to family back home, or maybe write that English paper for Monday... And, at this hour, it's a bit late to hope for any of those. I'm lucky I'm motivated enough to be putting something up here- a something that's mainly being put up, I suppose, for the sake of letting people know I'm alive, on the general principle of getting away from Mah Jongg ('tis about an hour late, thought).

Life, such as it is, goes well. My evil car, Gefferine, is at the "hospital" getting a very expensive surgery. Meanwhile, I have my grandparents's van, which drives like a dream (compared with a white smoke spluttering car, at least). I wonder if they'd noticed if I did a license plate switch? Probably...

Today was Convocation for Newman Theological College. The very scary thought occurred to me right after we (the Convocation Choir) performed the "Ave Maria" that this is only the first of nine Convocations I'll likely attend consecutively here at Newman, the ninth being my own. This is, of course, because today's Convocation was for last year's grads, and I've got eight years of study (the first three not even being here at Newman, but that doesn't affect one's availability for being drafted into choir). So far during my nearly two months here, I've been of the opinion "this is going REALLY fast... maybe eight years isn't such a bad deal". But today it was... "okay, so it's going fast... it's still going to take FOREVER". I should be well over the feeling tomorrow.

Anyway... off to bed. Maybe.

So it's been a while...

And what a while it's been in the meantime.

First of all, and most traumatically, I haven't driven my car farther than the ten metres from tow truck to parking stall in the past ten days or so. The darn Ford up and decided to blow or crack and gasket. And it's just my luck that it has one of the more expensive engines to replace this on. So I'm staring down the barrel of a $2000.00 or so charge to repair the engine of a not-more-than $4500.00 car.

Above and beyond the obvious disgruntlement of not having a vehicle, I spent all of last week mooching rides off the other Concordia-attending seminarians, spending far more hours on campus than I normally needed to- like five hours waiting for an afternoon class to start. On the plus side (looking for a silver lining here...), I discovered that Edmonton has a bona fide forest down by the Saskatchewan River. Not just a bunch of trees by the riverbank, I mean a fullscale "deep in the forest" type of forest here.

Anyway, over Thanksgiving (we Canadians do it BEFORE the snow starts to fly up here... well, we try...), I went home with my uncle and family, and came back with my grandparents' van, which I have until my car (darn thing) gets fixed- which is really, really a godsend.

Apart from the whole "getting a new vehicle" thingy, it was nice to be back in Olds. It was all of (I still can't believe it) seven weeks. Felt more like three. But there's no denying that my concept of "home" has migrated north. Still, it was nice to see my siblings and parents. I was fortunate that my uncle's family was visiting, though, since my youngest sister might have been clinging to my arm all weekend otherwise.

Of course, there was no lack of good food: turkey, potatoes, veggies, dressing, apple torte, pumpkin pie, nuts, red wine, white wine... and various other edibles or imbibables.

Unfortunately, I also picked up a cold, but it hasn't been too bad, as colds go, and seems to be on its way out. All the same, it marred an otherwise excellent weekend.

And so I'm back at the seminary. And in school. And having to do something about that darn car. Best of all, though, I'm back at home.