Non Habemus Archiepiscopum

"We Have No Archbishop"

And haven't for a month, for that matter. On December 16th, Archbishop Thomas Collins made public his very recent acceptance of Rome's request to move him to Toronto, where Archbishop Aloysius Cardinal Ambrozic officially retired, more than a year after turning 75.

Since then, Archbishop Collins has been Archbishop-Elect of Toronto, and Administrator of the Archdiocese of Edmonton-- a title he will soon drop-- and the Archdiocese of Edmonton has been sede vacante, a "vacant see".

This is the first time in the Archdiocese's history that we have been sede vacante without knowing who the new Archbishop will be. Naturally, this means that the entire Diocese (and possibly then some) have been speculating-- and the seminary as much or more than most. But that is not the point here...

Tonight was the farewell event for Archbishop Collins from Newman Theological College-- the college down the hallway from the Seminary, and where I'll study for my Master of Divinity Degree in a few years. It's also celebrating the occasion of the Archbishop's 60th birthday. And it's the third farewell I've attended in the past eight days.

A week ago, St. Joseph's Seminary held a private farewell dinner for the Archbishop: just him and us. On Sunday, the Archdiocese held a rather formal affair at the Basilica. Formal in the sense of somewhat dressed up, and by invitation only. I've attended all three.

It's starting to slowly sink in that the Archbishop is leaving. It's a measure of the man that there has been so much outpouring of love and regret over his departure. He will be sorely missed. He is a great man: kind, intelligent, witty, personal. He was close to being the "perfect bishop". Insofar as a human can be, he was.

Which, I guess, is why the Holy Father is sending him to Toronto. God knows, I assure you, that Toronto needs someone like him. It's a huge diocese, more than a million Catholics, nearly eight hundred priests (counting the religious orders), and because of its size and Toronto's prominence in Canada, possibly the most "important" diocese in the country. If the Archbishop is not named Cardinal in the next few years, the entire seminary will be much surprised.

And Toronto, being the "centre of the universe" for Canada, makes its prelate an important figure in Canadian life as well. As the foremost Catholic figure in Canada (well, we have two other Cardinals, but they aren't from Toronto), he's going to bear a lot of the heat from left-wingers who had a grudge against the Church. Apparently he has a bodyguard chauffeur and a fortress-like security system in the rectory-- and gets death threats (or will).

The poor Archbishop seems a little overwhelmed by all this, and one can't blame him. But the Holy Father has asked him to serve, and he has said yes. It's a powerful witness to the importance of obedience in the Church-- particularly for us seminarians who, as priests, may someday be asked to serve in a parish we absolutely do NOT want to go to.

When I first heard the news, the day I headed back home for Christmas, I took it rather poorly. I'm afraid I've grown rather attached to His Grace. I've come to know him well over the last few years, especially since being in Seminary, having seen him on a nearly fortnightly basis; but I knew him earlier as well. I knew him from serving at Confirmations (including my own), from the parish mission he gave us last February, from various youth events up to Edmonton where he was present, from seeing him briefly in Köln for World Youth Day. Even before I entered the Seminary, I knew him fairly well, and he knew me by name. And he's only, as I said, sixty. Assuming he has a normal and healthy life, he should have been here long enough to ordain me and assign me my first couple parishes.

It's hard on a diocese, moving the bishop, and it's not really the intended norm. A bishop is supposed, ideally, to be father of his flock for life, or at least until retirement at age 75 (and they usually retire within their diocese). And this was the norm in western Canada for a generation. Archbishop McNeil, Archbishop Collins' predecessor, was Bishop of Edmonton for twenty years, and is still around and kicking-- a near permanent fixture on the Archdiocesan scene.

It's hard to lose such a good man (and a Tolkien fan, even... an English major, with a complete OED), but we cannot begrudge him-- for he is serving as God and church direct. But we can pray for him, and will.

"God of Wonders Beyond Our Galaxy"

"...You are holy, holy. The Universe declares Your majesty. You are Holy, Holy. Lord of Heaven and Earth."

I am in a mood I like to think of as a post-sacramental high. It's that awesome rush of praise and thanksgiving that wells up after Mass and receiving the Eucharist, or after Reconciliation. It's a grace, and so doesn't exactly show up after every reception of the sacraments, but when it does, nothing compares!

Let it never be said that a priest has no passion! No sex, yes. No partner, yes. But passion? Oh yes!

This afternoon was Archbishop Thomas Collins' farewell from the Archdiocese, downtown at the basilica. Somehow, for reasons unknown to me, I got one of the four invitations handed out to the seminarians, and so got to attend. Mostly, it was an awful lot of thanking the Archbishop for his years of service, and a chance for him to say goodbye to a lot of people... but it touched on the joy of being a priest, particularly in His Grace's own farewell message.

And I can see it in so many of the priests around me! In Fr. Stephen, at church tonight, in Frs. Shayne, Marco, Stephen, Augusto, and Eric here at the Seminary. In Fr. Les back home. In pretty much all the priests I've known much in my short life. And I can feel the same or a similar passion burning in me to become a priest. If a priest does not have passion for his priesthood, something is horribly wrong!

And tonight is one of those nights when you can FEEL the passion consuming you. From my head to my toe, I want to be a priest. I want to be ordained, I want to wear the collar, I want to preach the Gospel. And oh, oh! how I want to celebrate Mass! My body aches to take the bread and wine, to say the words of Our Lord, to genuflect in awe at the miracle God has worked through me. I yearn with my whole being to rise, and beckon the people of God in soaring notes to "Proclaim the Mystery of Faith!"

"Christ has died. Christ is Risen. Christ will come again!"

In the words of the Psalmist:

"O God, you are my God, for You I long,
For You my soul is thirsting,
My body pines for You,
Like a dry, weary land without water,
So I gaze on You in the santuary,
To see Your strength and Your glory."

I cannot even attempt to describe this feeling of surety, love, and consuming desire. The image of flames-- crackling, burning, roaring, devouring, shining in the darkness, soaring up to Heaven-- it's the closest description one can have of how I feel for my vocation right now.

God is good. God is so good, to give me this fiery pull towards the altar. It's not as if it's been one of those weekends I've been particularly holy. If anything, I've been morosely contemplating my lack of spiritual growth, and I've been considering a lot the reality of relationships, of having girlfriends, and it's been a bit of a nostalgic moment on that front.

But no more!

There is definitely a bittersweet ache in my heart, looking at couples, thinking of people in love, getting married. There's definitely a part of me, as a normal human being, that desires this the normal human desire.

But it pales in comparison to the awesome vocation I feel God is calling me towards. The sweet chirping of the marriage sparrow has nothing on the soaring grandeur of the priestly feeling. At least, such is the feeling for me.

I cannot, of course, know that I'm called to be a priest until that moment at last comes when the bishop lays his hands on my head and there's no going back... but for now, for now I cannot say I forsee any other end. If there is a life for me other than that as a priest, God is keeping it hidden, and meanwhile is providing me with a burning flame to keep me where I need to be at the moment: here in the Seminary.

Alleluia!!!!

Religions

One thing I've noticed in the past half year or so of trawling through various people's blogs (mainly Downers), is that people like to refer to religion as if it were a dirty word. Religions cause wars, religions are bad. Faith is good, but religion is bad.

Now, there may be some mentalities wherein religion, period, is bad. But I quote the Dictionary's definition of religion:

religion n. 1 the belief in a superhuman controlling power, esp. in a personal God or gods entitled to obedience and worship. 2 the expression of this in worship. 3 a particular system of faith and worship. 4 life under monastic vows (the way of religion). 5 a thing that one is strongly devoted to (football is their religion)

What people MEAN when they are saying religion is bad is that religionous organisation is bad. They aren't saying that belief in God is bad (I hope not anyway, because some of them claim to belief in Him). And I don't think they're saying that a codified system of belief is bad. No, they just don't like set structures.

You know what, people: that's what a faith entails. If you believe in God, and in acknowledging His presence in some way or another, then you believe there should be worship, prayer, a moral code, or something. But as soon as you feel that that such things should exist, you will necessarily have SYSTEMS of doing these things, because there will always be a BEST way of doing these things, meaning there will be rules.

Now, if you don't believe in God, or you don't believe that God needs or wants any sort of acknowledgement from creation, then you're okay. But these people don't seem to oppose acknowledging God. Well, if people are going to acknowledge God, there are going to be better ways about doing it, and that will entail rules. Furthermore, an awful lot of people believe that there are certain divinely ordained authorities or rules to dictate HOW to do that. And if you are willing to let people believe as they will, then you are allowing people to believe that-- and to DO that.

My point: religion is not something you can do away with if you claim to be tolerant of people's faiths. Religion is not seperable from faith. Nor is it a dirty word, a perversion of a pure "faith".

I would use governments as an analogy. There are a lot of governments out there that have given it a bad name, and there are a lot of governments out there that have lost or forgotten why they rule and what they rule for... but does that mean we should abolish governments? Not too many people seriously think so. What it means is that governments need reform.

Similarly, religions don't need to be abolished. They need to be cleaned up. Getting rid of a system of faith will not leave faith intact. So if you're going to respect faith, then you have to respect religion. They come hand in hand.

Religion is not a dirty word.

On the Brink of... Fanfiction?

You know I'm not really back to school proper yet by all the time I have to spend blogging. And likely enough, my choice of topic will clue you in even more.

I've been re-reading Harry Potter lately. Started over the holidays, due to a lack of other reading on hand that engaged me, and found myself pleasantly in the right mood to take them up again. It's time #3 for the new book, I think, but I've lost count on all the others. That they still entertain is a good sign-- it means I haven't overdone them yet.

Anyway, there's a whole plethora of topics I could get into (and might, if this blogging trend keeps up), but tonight I stray dangerously close to fanfiction in my ramblings.

To set the scene, I'm halfway through The Goblet of Fire right now, and I've been cogitating for a book and a half about how I really don't like Ron and Hermione getting set up, as eventually happens in Book Six.

I guess it's too late to give spoiler warnings... But anyone who's read the books at all knew it was coming, and there's still Book Seven to get rid of it. Hopefully.

I'm not sure exactly WHY I don't like Hermione and Ron as a couple. Partly, I think, it stems from the fact that Ron reminds me a LOT of my next-oldest brother, even a bit in looks (not the red hair, though). And why should that bug me?

This will sound rather peculiar, or silly, but my personal guess is that Hermione is the sort of girl that I would fancy-- possibly because there's some common ground. I'm not quite so keen on school as Hermione, but I definitely come close in terms of marks. It's only an easy first semester done thus far, but it's a straight 4.0 under the belt thus far. I'm also not much of a rule-breaker; another attractive Hermione quality.

Definitely not off on the House-Elf thing, but I worked in a library for two and a half years, and still liked the place at the end. But I digress; I'm supposed to be explaining why I don't like Ron and Hermione as a couple. Could it come down to plain old Freudian sibling jealousy? Am I irked because I'm projecting my brother's image onto Ron and projecting my ideal girlfriend image onto Hermione, and feeling shafted or something?

The sad thing is... I'm not sure it's as far out there as it sounds. Could be some truth to it.

Anyway, looking at Ron and Hermione through more objective lens, I'm still rather puzzled as to why Rowling would put them together. I can sort of see why Ron would want Hermione. But why Hermione feels the same way? Again, I'm suspicious of my motives here, but Ron is a bit of an insensitive clod.

Then there's the matter of common interests. I can't think of a lot... Sure, they're both in Gryffindor, and they're both Harry's very close friends, and going to help him with that whole "Kill Voldemort" thing... but hmmm...

See, I'm trying to picture a married Ron and Hermione, and I can't quite do it. Remove Harry, and what do these two have in common? Hermione's goals and dreams mean little to Ron. House-elfs? Muggle-wizard relations? New books in the family library? No... not seeing it. And it cuts back the other way too. Actually, other than the Chuddley Cannons, I'm having a hard time at the moment thinking of anything that would get Ron excited... but anything Ron-ish seeming doesn't generally smack of Hermione, does it?

She'd be better off with Harry.

The first time I thought that, I shrugged it off. I think that back around Book Five, when Cho was in picture. I didn't really care that much for Cho, figuring Harry simply infatuated, but I was willing to let it pass. Harry needed something to do while he waited for Ginny to grow up, anyway. I was quite fine with them eventually getting together... though when they did in Book Six, I wasn't so sure that I like it.

So... Harry and Hermione?

I'm having a tough time thinking of a psychological subtext for this one. I can't honestly say I identify with Harry that much. I'm sympathetic, yes, and I like him... but I don't project myself onto him, except maybe insofar as one identifies most with the main character, or is intended to.

To be honest, I'm not sure where this leaves Ron, and no matter how I may like him least of the trio, for artistic purposes one can't just cut him out of the picture by having his best friend steal his girlfriend. But what if Ron is the major good guy character who dies in Book Seven? To be honest, I'm not even sure that one does die... it just seems like a logical extension of the last couple books. SOMEONE has to die other than Voldemort.

I am amused to no end by myself here. This is definitely the closest to wanting to write fanfiction I've ever come. Harry Potter sits at just about the right level of fan intensity to prompt such an urge. It's not up with Tolkien (nothing is), so revered that nothing is questioned, but all is taken as dogma. On the other hand, it's intense enough that the urge is there. It's not like Narnia, where yes, I would not have brought the children back to Our World, personally, but I really don't care, it worked for the series.

Possibly Star Trek could compete... but it's so replete with alternate universes already that I need only pick one, and we're good to go. As for Star Wars, I'd just like to take a mass action on the Prequels, and wipe it all out, except for Qui-gon Jinn, Darth Maul, and Obi-wan... basically leaving us with a cool lightsabre duel and a few lines of dialogue.

One thing is certain: I will be reading Book Seven with great interest indeed.

Thoughts Provoked

So, I've been back home for 24 hours, and I'm supposed to on silent retreat. And this is the second silent retreat, at least, that I've blogged during. I feel rather guilty, though I'm technically silent (even my speakers are off), but that's an issue for me and my spiritual director. And, since my Instant Messangers are logged out, I'm not really talking to anyone. It's more like journal writing, or diary writing... or blogging.

Anyway, the reason that I am writing in possible contravention of the silence of the retreat is to preserve some of the awesome thoughts that were buzzing around my mind tonight, as our speaker, Bishop Fred Henry of Calgary, spoke.

Bishop Henry is an amazing man. Most Canadians, if they know him, know him as the really outspoken Catholic bishop out in Alberta-- and he's certainly butted heads with the press on many, many occasions, all of which I call recall having been for good reason. He's a really nice, and almost soft-spoken man in person, though.

Anyway, to the talk....

The first main idea that His Excellency spoke on was about identity, and how in the olden days (meaning when he was younger) people identified with their jobs. People not only got their earnings from being a teacher, or doctor, or bus driver, or priest, or whatnot; they took a lot of their identity from the institution they belonged to, from the name they bore as an employee. It was a source of strength and self-knowledge.

This was all just a prelude to talking about priests and their specific vocations and hardships, but in continuing to talk about society in general, he noted that this is no longer the case. As the world becomes globalised, and as time passes, we no longer really take our identity from being teachers or doctors or bus drivers. We become just mere consumers.

This struck some sort of a cord with me, and it seemed to apply in some way to the online community. I know a lot about WHO people are, but I don't know WHAT they are. I know what most people's jobs are, or for those who are students, what they aspire to-- if they do. But I don't know what they see themselves as, what their identities are. Not for the most part, anyway.

Some people may argue that we don't need such labels, that WHAT we are is simply an adjunct of WHO we are. I'm not sure if I disagree or not. Bishop Henry said that in the past we took a large part of our identity from the institutions we worked with: the schools, the churches, the businesses. We had somewhere we belonged.

Where do my online contacts belong? I'm really not sure. The only group I associate them with is the Barrow-Downs. Perhaps it is a tribute to the remarkable power of Tolkien's works and the personalities on that site that it has become a major facet of our identities. Quite likely, this is why I personally was distraught at Davem's banishment. It wasn't just being kicked out of a website. It was being kicked out a very identifiable community. And if you change a community's makeup, you change the identity of the people who draw on it.

Other than Barrow-Downers, what ARE these people I think I know?

I know that Lal is a bureaucrat... but I really don't identify her with that. I know that Sarah is a librarian... and she gets some of her identity from there, but not particularly strongly. I know that Jay is a student, aiming for Oxford... and I definitely identify him with Oxford. Perhaps that's the answer to his question of why HE got in, specifically. He belongs.

That's where this whole identity question is going for me: where do people belong? I think I know these people's personalities well... but I must admit that I'm rather clueless as to where they belong. What do they identify themselves with?

Looking at myself, I think the results speak for themselves in saying that I identify myself with the Catholic Church, specifically as a priest-to-be and current seminarian. I think myself justified in this opinion simply by how people refer to me. If anything Catholic or related comes up, I am an instant connection. I am identified with the Catholic Church.

That is an awesome feeling. I belong there!!!

Wow, I've written a lot already... but moving on...

The next big thought that Bishop Henry's talk set off was on the downright and complete oddity of Christians (and priests as examples of Christians). If you really step back and think about it, we are really odd ducks. He went on to list three areas, not coincidentally the same as the three religious vows.

Poverty: It isn't the goal of Christians to be poor, but it is not the goal of Christians to accumulate possessions either. For priests in particular, even if you don't take the Vow of Poverty (which Diocesan priests, as I will be, don't), you still adhere to the ideal poverty: if you have it, enjoy it; if you don't, IT DOESN'T MATTER. If you did have it, and it's gone, it doesn't matter. If you'd like it, and you don't have it, it doesn't matter. No material possessions --none-- matter.

Obedience: It's pretty much just the clergy and religious orders that have to take VOWS of obedience among the Christian people... but obedience is built into Christianity. "Not my will, but Yours be done". As the Bishop said, "who wants to be obedient? It's a lot better to be top dog". And I think a lot of Christians have lost this value. I am speaking of the Protestants, and in doing so I'm likely controversial, but I think it true. The Protestant mindset goes back to QUESTIONING, specifically the questioning of authority. And I don't deny that there was some serious garbage going on in the Church back in the 1300s on through to the 1600s that needed some serious fixing. The issue is when the Protestants decided that rather than trusting God to fix the Church, doing their part through prayer, urging, pleading --and loyalty!--; they decided to take matters into their own hands. My apologies to those who have made it this far into the entry, since I don't want to alienate you after all that hard work, but I think I'm on to something. I don't think the Protestants deny the important of obedience, I just think that they've messed up.

Anyway, moving on to the third field and religious vow. Chastity.

For a priest --for me--, this means celibacy: complete sexual abstince, for life. However, this is not so much the unusual in Christianity as it is the unmarried norm. No matter how liberal you get in your interpretation of Christianity, if you remain even halfways orthodox, you have to admit that sex is only intended for within marriage. And even then, there are certain rules (a bit more explicit, if Catholic). And, of the three vows, this one is truly the one that makes us odd ducks from today's society's point of view. Who wants this? Look at it from a modern secular humanist's point of view:

"What do you mean I can only have sex in marriage? I'm not hurting anyone; we're both having a good time! What do you mean I can't have sex with my fiancée before marriage? Come on! We'll be married in a month anyway... What do you mean I have to be faithful? Is one or two itsy-bitsy little affairs going to hurt that much? What if she never knows about it? What about gay guys? Do they count? I mean, really, it's not like it's the same as with her, so why get so tied in a knot about it? Well, can't we have a threesome at least? I mean, I'd still be having sex with my wife, even if there's anyother sexy party involved. Sheesh!!! Can't I at least masturbate or have oral sex?"

The answer from the Church: No. "NO" to all those suggestions, and "NO" to contraceptives. And it's non-negotiable.

As I said, we are odd ducks, and no mistake. From the world's point of view, we are raving lunatics.

The final idea that Bishop Henry's talk got my mind onto was somewhat weaker in its intensity, or seemed so, possibly because it came on the heels of the whole 'odd ducks' bit. But it's an interesting topic anyway, at least for me.

The topic is "detachment", and how a priest NEEDS to be detached. We (I say this with forward-looking expectations) need to able to remove ourselves from immediate, first-person concern. And this is not to make ourselves insensitive, said the Bishop, but to make us feel others' pain more deeply. And we will do so because we won't be taking sides; our judgement won't be clouded by deep personal involvement.

Note, of course, that the Bishop was not saying that we need to become reclusive zombies. Not at all! Rather, the Bishop was saying that we need to allow ourselves to not be tied down in our attachment to any particular person or place. We need, in our love for God and His people, to be able and willing to go wherever God needs, to serve however He wishes, and to not take upon ourselves the burdens that are not ours to carry.

But it is, as he said, a double-edged sword, for it can be lonely.

And, now that I get to re-thinking about this, a part of me is saying "YES!!! NOW I GET IT!!!" I have always been somewhat detached. I've never had a "best friend". Other than family, I cannot honestly say I have people who will miss me years after I'm gone. My funeral will be packed yes, but ten years later people won't say "I miss Michael sooo much!", but rather "I remember him, he was a nice guy". I can even say that the one online person who would (I think) truly miss me if gone is... well, family now. The rest of you would all have good memories, I think, and would mourn me, I hope, but you wouldn't ache ten years later to have a chat.

And you know what? It IS lonely. It is very lonely at times. There is no joking about that.

But it all makes sense now!!! It is such an awesome feeling, knowing that there is a reason, knowing that not only is it another cross to bear, but that it is a cross that I can see results to! Suffering, to a Christian, is never as difficult if one knows why than when one doesn't. And alleluia, I know why!!!

Okay, that has got to be my longest blog post yet. I could honestly not care less if anyone ever reads it (though I think the following debate could be highly amusing), I'm in such a good mood about it. I've remembered more than I expected to of His Excellency's talk, and looking at it in hindsight, I got a lot more out of it than I thought.

Out with the Old, In with the New

And so MMVII Anno Domini begins. Habemus Papam et non habemus archiepiscopus.

2006, in review, is not a year that I'm going to look back on with particular fondness. The first seven months were unmitigated boredom: Panago, no social life, not sure if I was accepted to Seminary. My life, insofar as I had one, was online. Not that you guys are bad company-- quite the contrary-- but you're kind of lacking being touchable, hearable, smellable, seeable, (tasteable). And you're pretty much lacking completely in knowing where I come from. The references to Timmies, to the hole in the back of the church, the QEII (or just plain ole #2), Banff, Torrington... things like that, well, they're just lost on you.

2006 started getting a lot better August 20th, when I moved to St. Joseph's Seminary. It was home right away, and I had the best semester of school (and the best semester of time) I've had in my life. Sure, the whole car-breaking-down thing in October was NOT fun, but by and large it's been a great time.

But 2007 is going to be awesome. I'm totally expecting another totally awesome semester of seminary and school. The spring is going to be loaded with weddings and ordinations. My youngest sister is making her First Communion. The oldest of my younger brothers is graduating. Summer will be here before I know it. Hopefully, I'll start working at a good, outdoor job (God-- and many others-- knows I need the exercise) in May, and we'll swing past the Bones Tournament, and be ready for another awesome semester in the Fall.

I'm sure I'll have my fair share of trials and tribulations this year. Those seem to be inevitable. And I'm sure there will be good things happening that I can't envision at the moment. Here's to an awesome year though, and here's hoping I get a new Archbishop before long.

Colds... blegh!

I have a cold. I have had a cold since... Monday, last week. It has been of intermittently strong presence. Christmas Eve through Boxing Day, I thought I had it beat, which was a good three days to not be feeling sick... but rather than up and dying, it decided to dig in its position and get worse.

So my head is stuffed with snot, an hour and more after getting up, slowing draining itself in a natural relief of my headache, but at a rate that suggests I'll be only just cleared of mucus in my membranes when it's time to go back to bed. Meanwhile, my lips are being balm-resucitated following a near-dried out experience on their part last night, thanks to having to breathe through my mouth the whole time.

So, yeah, that's the update on my life: I have a cold. No news about the fun of being in Olds, the woes of not being used to six younger siblings all the time, or the bad guy-destroying Bionicle game my nearly-18 year-old brother and I had last night, to the awed (and horrified) viewing of various younger siblings. Just the cold.

Old, Old, Old

First off the bat, I love having two blogs. With the amount of response I can typically generate on my sillier half, I know that I am not a socially inept, unloved, friendless moron, leaving me free to wander whatever verbose, boring paths of thought I desire on this, the serious half of my life. (Okay, so I know there are at least a couple people who read this, but because of reasons above, I feel no need to pander to them.)

Anyway... moving on.

I feel old. Not bad old, but old. My brother hosted a Christmas party for the homeschool kids (memo to the forgetful: in spite of my normal ability to communicate, I was in fact homeschooled), all of whom I know to one extent or another.

And I feel old.

These were the junior high kids and the Grade 10s when I was in High School. Now... they're the cool high school kids. (Yes, homeschoolers have cool kids. They have not-cool kids too, alas.) And they've definitely done some growing up. It's starting to hit home to me that my brother is going to... graduate. This year. And be a grown-up. This year.

And that I am less than two months from twenty.

At the seminary, I am one of the baby seminarians. I'm bugged about being very "mature" (their word, not mine), but in terms of experience and age... yeah, definitely one of the babies. In seminary, turning twenty is... nothing. It barely puts me into the decade demographic of most of the seminarians.

So coming back home and getting my relationship to my old groups into perspective... it's a bit of a shock to realise that I'm getting "old". As I said, it's not a bad feeling. All my life thus far, I've always wanted to be older, to be with the older group. I've always felt most comfortable with older people-- and often most compatible as well.

And I love seeing people grow up. I love that bittersweet feeling of joy in seeing someone developing into a full-grown adult-- a fully flowered person. Some people love their babies and children as babies and children, and don't want to see them grow up... but not me. You can definitely could me among the "there is nothing better than to see someone grow up" camp. It thrills me to no end to see the homeschoolers go from kids to mature(er) teens, or seeing baby cousins almost ready to hit kindergarden. And I love speculating on what my younger siblings will be like as they age.

Growing up is hard. I know, I've done it. But it is rewarding. And the thing I will miss most about not having a family is being able to help bring children into the world, and then see them grown full and mature. It must be such a deeply satisfying feeling to set a child loose on the world, knowing they are ready to live. I can't imagine the agony of a parent who is letting go of a child they haven't properly prepared.

Home Sweet Home, Sweet Home, I'm Home!

Yeah... I'm back in Olds, in case the title didn't sufficiently give it away. And I'm pretty happy about it. Looking back on the last two posts here, I appear to have a mental undercurrent of pondering human relationships and appearances going on, but we'll have to forgo another boring round of that, since I'm too busy gushing about being home.

It's been Christmas season up in Edmonton for ages, depending on where you go shopping. The Seminary's been decked out in decorations for a week or two, Advent masses have been the norm since, well, Advent started (that would be December 3rd this year). There's been no lack of Christmas-y stuff going on...

But it didn't feel like Christmas till Saturday afternoon, when I got home about three hours after my last exam (Intro to Philosophy, a pushover). It was a long, stressful drive, what with the first hour out of Edmonton having to worry about icy roads. I swear that there were probably 40 or more cars in the ditch, at that time, in the first half hour or so out of the city. And there was the whole "took entirely too long" episode in Red Deer of trying to get into a parking lot so that I could by washer fluid for my car. Have you ever driven for two hours, into the sun, with a streaked windshield? If you have, you know it's stressful. Anyway, the point is that I was happy to get home, Christmas holidays or no Christmas holidays.

But it IS good to be home. And home isn't just my family and our house, it's the whole town, and all the familiar people in it. Olds is small enough and I lived here long enough (as in, all life long) to know it backwards and forwards. Going to Mass Sunday morning was pretty much heaven on earth... being back in the familiar building, with the familiar people, with the familiar priest, with the familiar music, with the familiar vestments and vessels, with the familiar cars in the parking lot. (Coming back as something of a celebrity doesn't hurt the feel-good feeling, but it's something I could have done without.)

Certainly, some things change. Four months is long enough that there are new people in town, new cars in the parking lot, renovations to the Church, kids looking so much older. But unlike a couple of my siblings (who I will have mercy on and not name), I'm not opposed to change. Organic changes like these, and the fact that I notice them all, simply highlights my seperation from Olds, and consequently how good it feels to be back.

And yet... and yet... I'll be ready to go home come January.

Like a White-washed Sepulchre

So I could easily go on about the "great difficulties" of term finals... but apart from having all my finals crowded to the end of the exam period, leaving me with a week more time in Edmonton than I need or want, I really don't have any "difficulties", and I don't really want to talk about such things at the moment.

Though they may well be less boring than what I will talk about. But hey! This is my blog, and if you want interesting or amusing, visit the LJ account, and ready the memes...

Anyway, my chosen introspectively boring topic of the night is personal perceptions.

I was chatting with Enca this afternoon, for the first time--an enjoyable experience I might add. I love people who appreciate my humour. We even had a nice, deep, conversation about the serious importance of blasphemy.

I got to thinking, though, partly as a result of conversation, about the different personas we project. To paraphrase myself earlier this week (and I apologise in advance for the egoistic outlook), most people see me as a nice guy, a smart guy. I'm honest, I'm reliable, I'm smart, I'm witty, I know my Bible and Catechism, I project an air of humility (oh... how ironic!), I know where I'm going in life, I get along with people, I like being around them...

You get the idea. I seem to be a nice guy. And, I'd say, I'm probably about as un-messed-up as humans come.

But if you think I've got nothing to work on... boy. Are you wrong.

It doesn't come across online. Of course not. I'm definitely a good writer, and fairly good at public relations. What you see is definitely the real me- but it's the parts of the real me that I want to show. The tired, temperamental, prejudicial, arrogant, lazy, slippery character... well, I try to keep him locked up.

Same with in person, in public. And it comes across, for sure. The psychologist picked up on it in my seminary evalutation (and said it's a good thing, so long as one doesn't go overboard). Most people, when meeting me, have an initial impression of someone who's reserved- or even standoffish.

My point though, is that I am not perfect. Nor do I think anybody is. We all present our best face to the world. It takes a certain kind of foolishness or saintliness to be able to expose ourselves to all and sundry. The closer we are to someone, the more of our true selves we show, the more of our guard we let down.

But sometimes we show different personas in similar situations. Take this blog and my LJ, for example. They are both genuinely me, but where this is an introspective, often rambling, the LJ is me at my humourous flippant (well, I hope it is). It's me relaxing, being silly. Other than the address, the difference is...

Pretty much just my mood, really. I think the audience overlap is pretty close.

We definitely tailor our image to fit our idea of the person or people we are talking to. My conversation with Enca was not one I'd have with Lhuna. The same topics, maybe... but not quite the same me. And neither conversation would be the same as one I would have with Rune.

I have no real point to all this... no criticism, insight, or idea from this. Just the rambling thought of an intrigued observer.

A Truly Lost Epistle

So...

It's been a while. And I really don't feel like blogging, but after browsing a stack of other seminarians' blogs, I'm feeling kind of guilty. And I figure it's better to feel guilty about rambling on with personal ponderings than to feel guilty about how long it's been since my last post.

So, going back to that whole "Other Seminarians' Blogs" thing-- I'm not on the group list. Nor have I any real desire to be. And looking over their blogs, I'm really the odd duck out.

Seriously, they blog primarily about Seminary stuff, for Seminarians and family, and with a sort collegial, Roman Catholic, sort of an outlook on things.

Me?

If I blog for another other than me (who truly is the main reason...), it's for my online friends. I write about whatever comes to mind, and though a Catholic, and seminary, understanding underpins everything I write, it isn't exactly front and centre most of the time. A whole lot of interest focuses on the Barrow-Downs, on family, on personal opinions.

If this blog has a THEME, it is the idea of getting across an image of me. An image of Michael A. Joosten's daily life and personal quirks. If this blog has a POINT, it is possibly somewhat seminary-related, but it's seminary-related insofar as I'm trying to present to "the world" (by which I mean various online friends) an image of a well-rounded seminarian. A well-rounded human.

And a part of me wonders... am I ashamed to let my Barrow-Downsy, Classic-Castley, Ex-Pizza-Guy-From-Oldsy side show? Or do I just not care? Or am I wise?

I highly doubt the last... Mostly, I just don't care. Still... it makes me wonder.

"Mere Catholicism"

My title above, obviously, paraphrases the title of C.S. Lewis's famous book Mere Christianity. It seems appropriate in light of the weekend's hot topic, here at Newman Theological College: the C.S. Lewis symposium going on. Lewis, do not forget, was not Catholic, but the College is, the main speaker (Joseph Pierce) is, and the topic of tomorrow morning's talk is going to be on Lewis's orthodoxy-- "More than Mere Christianity".

It looks like it's going to be really good. I was waffling before about whether or not I'd go tomorrow (tonight was mandatory for us Seminarians), but it's a sure thing now. Mr. Pierce (apparently, he's not a doctor, professor, or anything similar) is a good speaker, and he knows his stuff. And with the whole Catholic connection, his talk is literally peppered with Tolkien references. I can't honestly say I'm learning anything new, but it's been really good thus far, and new thoughts float around in my head excitedly.

Perhaps because Mr. Pierce is a Briton, and not an American, his view on Lewis (and Tolkien, since the talk was really about both tonight) seems a good deal less legendary or ethereal than most modern literature would make out. His presentation of Lewis's view on Mythology and Philosophy (derived greatly from Tolkien) is a presentation, it feels, of what Lewis actually thought, rather than a Pentacostal or Evangelical modern American reworking.

Anyway, I'm really enjoying it, even if I'm not learning anything. It's almost enough to make me forget that I'm starting to get late-term cabin fever. I'm not sick of the seminarians yet, but I leap at every chance to get out of the seminary. Which reminds me-- I need to find something to do on Sunday.

Make Cultural Learnings for the Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan.

So... it should be apparent that I went to see Borat over the weekend.

It was a... strange... movie. 90% of it was really good, I thought. Crude, yes. Definitely not a movie to take the kids to, or to take your grandmother to. Also rather racist. But before you explode over that, you have to realize that it is SO racist, in such an over-the-top way that the only thing it can reasonably do is make you take a look at yourself, and whether you're racist or not.

For the most part, therefore, I conclude that Borat was hilariously funny, but only to be seen by those who have: 1) thick-skin around raciness and 2) no over-sensitivity to over-the-top humour. The second is very important. It's easy to see WHY Kazakhstan is upset over the movie, but at the same time... they clearly have the 98th-worst-sense of humour in the world, as mentioned in the film. The movie is SO over-stereotyped that I don't think there's any way a half-intelligent being could really call it anti-Kazakh propaganda.

The movie was definitely enjoyable, from my point of view, if only because it tilted unrestrainedly at our holy cow of "Political Correctness".

However...

Now comes the bad news.

I cannot recommend Borat to anybody because of an ATROCIOUS scene 3/4 of the way or so through. WARNING: SPOILERS BELOW.

I definitely did NOT need to see a 10-minute chase/fight/sexual innuendo-laden scene of two naked men. And the fact that one of them was in the 400 lbs. range definitely didn't help any. It was brutal, awful, and I'm still scarred.

Good movie... but I cannot recommend it.

Meanwhile, I also saw "The Departed" over the weekend. Not any better in terms of moral offerings, but a much classier production. A very well-made film, and a well-written story. I've not decided if I like the way they wrapped up the denouément, but a well-done film regardless. Again, not a movie I'll ever preach about from the pulpit... but one that I'd be more willing to recommend to the less easily-offended of my acquaintances.

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.

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...