Thoughts of the Dead

Well, I guess this could also have been titled "Broken: Part Three", but though my main train of thought stems from the circumstances of my broken leg, it kind of moves beyond it.

Today's been the best day yet, in terms of mobility and mood. Part of it is the fact that I've actually felt somewhat useful for the first time since the accident; helping keep the music on-key and going at Mass. It's partly the fact that I went out and got some labwork done for my blood-thinner, which was easier than I expected and the weather's beautiful. It's partly the fact that the crutches and getting around are starting to become easier (trying to carry things isn't going so good... but I'm getting good at moving myself). Mainly, I guess it's just that I'm getting stronger and more used to the crutches, as well as farther and farther away from the horrors that are hospitals.

Seriously, I'm glad we have hospitals. Without them we'd be in so much worse shape. This is the third major event that I've definitely needed them for, after my birth and my initial diabetic diagnosis, as I went lethargic and sick...

But no one likes staying there.

The nurses, for the most part, are probably among the kindest people around. At least, I've generally been lucky. I don't know how they manage to go back to that smell and those emotions day after day, but I'm quite grateful they do... All the same, I don't want to. I suppose it's different when you're outside the bed. As a result of the example of the priests and friends who visited me and kept my spirits up this week, I'm definitely inspired to do the same for others in the future... but never let me be a patient again! Please, God!

Anyways... this post, as the title says, is supposed to be about "thoughts of the dead". The reason? Well, I've been thinking an awful lot about Grandpa the last few days. My mom's dad, he's the only grandparent who's passed away thus far. It's more than two years now, but occasionally I'm still caught off-guard when I realise it. I love all my grandparents, but I was particularly close to Grandpa. His passing was hard on the whole family, and it was hard on me.

Why have I been thinking about him lately? Well, I think that it comes down to the fact that I associate hospitals with him more than with anyone else. Not that my memories are of Grandpa and hospitals... no, they're memories of Grandpa and gardening, playing Buck, Bones, family visits, ice-fishing, and a thousand other things...

But he was also the person I saw most in the hospital. The first time I remember (though there were others earlier, going back to the 70s), was his heart operation when I was 6. I was just in kindergarten, and it was right after my birthday... it was the first time I ever saw someone in the hospital for anything other than childbirth (I had three siblings by then), or something like a midnight flu.

Grandpa's last few years were of constant visits to the hospital, first for chemotherapy for his prostate cancer, then his aneurysm surgery over Christmas 2002, then constant checkups and such, and finally his last four months, as they tried surgery on his leg aneurysm, which ended with an amputation, and between complications from the surgeries, possible other aneurysms, developing Type 2 diabetes, heart problems, and God knows what else... he passed away in December 2004.

According to Mom, I remind her of Grandpa when I'm in the hospital... I guess I get similarly cranky, and have similar experiences. I'm not too surprised. I've always known I was like Grandpa in some respects. Of my portrayed ancestors, he's the one I most resemble. I have his build (though more height), I have his hands, his hair, and (apparently) some of his personality. Of course, I'm not completely his clone... I've inherited a lot of interests and tendencies from my Joosten side. I sound like my Dad, have some of his personality traits, have his and Opa's intellect and several interests. But I've always identified myself most with Grandpa, not impossibly as a consequence of having a special relationship with him.

Well, last night as I was saying my prayers and kind of thinking things over, I really had the impression that Grandpa was there, keeping me company. I felt that, more so than most, he understood my post-hospital trauma, and fears regarding recovery. I felt that his amputated leg and my broken one gave us a link. And I missed him... I missed him more than I can remember more than once or twice since he passed away. And I still do.

Grandpa is the only person in my life who has passed away who I really knew and loved, who was a part of who I was. I had an uncle who died in a car accident, a great-grandmother who died when I was twelve, a friend's younger brother, and a few people in the parish back home... but losing Grandpa was like losing Mom or Dad, or a sibling. I know that with my other grandparents averaging 80 each, that I'm not too likely to have any grandparents attending my ordinations, and I'm sad, since I know that all would love to be there. Even more than Mom and Dad, my becoming a priest is dear to their hearts. I think it's partly generational, and partly the double-generation gap (one could even say triple-generation gap, since there's technically enough potential in the year for them to have been my great-grandparents, though that would've meant some pretty young marriages and whatnot).

As much as I miss him, it's a comfort to have someone in Heaven (which I'm confidant is where Grandpa ended up) who's personally interested in me. Well, Jesus is, and Mary is, but it's comforting to have a "personal" connection. I know, I know... I ought to be as close to Jesus as to any family member, and more so... but I'm still growing in my faith, though I will add that I've come to doubly appreciate the suffering of Christ's crucifixion. Admittedly, he didn't break any bones, but I can't imagine enduring the pain for that LONG. I was near mental breakdown just doing ONE painful thing, and then doing everything possible to mitigate it since.

Really... the worst is over. I am gaining more and more movement and stamina, and better and better spirits. The pain is manageable, and provided nothing stupid and horrible happens, should get less and less. Really, life is good... it's just completely uncertain.

I think that for me, the big difficulty from here on in is learning to ask for help... which is another way I'm like Grandpa. I've never been good at that...

Broken, Part 2

Okay, so my right butt-cheek is up on my hole-puncher, which has me a bit skewed and, strangely, more comfortable. On to Part 2. where we are now beyond the mere exposition of my sordid story, and on to reflection.

One thing that came home to me almost right away, and which will be the focus of this post, is the importance of friendship, and what a huge difference being laid up has on it. I've been thinking a lot about the following country song the past few days:

Run your car off the side of the road
Get stuck in a ditch way out in the middle of nowhere
Get yourself in a bind lose the shirt off your back
Need a floor need a couch need a bus fare

This is where the rubber meets the road
This is where the cream is gonna rise
This is what you really didn't know
This is where the truth don't lie

{Chorus}
You find out who your friends are
Somebody's gonna drop everything
Run out and crank up their car
Hit the gas get there fast
Never stop to think 'what's in it for me' or 'it's way too far'
They just show on up with their big old heart
You find out who you're friends are

Everybody wants to slap your back
wants to shake your hand
when you're up on top of that mountain
But let one of those rocks give way then you slide back down look up
and see who's around then

This ain't where the road comes to an end
This ain't where the bandwagon stops
This is just one of those times when
A lot of folks jump off

{Chorus}

When the water's high
When the weather's not so fair
When the well runs dry
Who's gonna be there

{Chorus}

I enjoyed the song before I broke my leg-- but since then it has been pretty much my anthem. You don't know until you've been there, just how much you crave human contact in the hospital. Sunday was the worst day for me because it had virtually no visitors, and Monday night/Tuesday wee hours of morning was a journey through Hell especially because I was alone.

There are two friends who were especially found out over the course of the week. First, and i might add foremost, was Sierra. Now, I'll grant that that doesn't look so good on my seminary resume, putting a girl as a foremost friend... smacks almost of that forbidden fruit: romance. I assure you, though, there's pretty much nothing romantic about clinging to the only vines life offers you in a pit of vipers, be it the Ivy of Love or not.

In any case, after all the help Sierra has given me in holding on to my sanity this week, it would be first-order incivility not to acknowledge it. It's amazing how, over the course of a hospital stay, someone can go from being "a good friend, one of the people I like to hang out with at school, someone I can get along well with" to "definitely one of the best friends I have".

I'm a little queasy writing this, since about a week before the fall I gave Sierra the address of this page, and I've always been rather careful, for whatever the reasons, to avoid telling people how much they mean to me-- I guess I'm always afraid of finding out I don't mean a whit to them.

In any case, Sierra remained level-headed through the episode of collapsing, calling the ambulance, and helping keep me warm (though that was a futile effort, I suspect, on the part of all involved...). She then came in the ambulance, and stayed with me all through my trip to the ER, the X-rays, and finally to my assignment of a room at 8:00ish.

The other great friend I really discovered this week was Chris. Chris, to give some backstory, is one of the other seminarians in my position: year one of Philosophy at Concordia, and so we've spent a fair bit of time together. He's not what you'd expect of a close friend of mine, if you were to judge by me-- our personalities are hugely different, but we get along well, and he was there for me the entire time. It was through Chris that word reached the seminary about me. Due to the fact that I don't have a phone, I haven't really bothered to learn any of my companions' numbers, and I've never learned the business numbers... and while I have the residence number memorised, that's something of a useless number in an emergency, since it's pretty much a one-way street to the answering machine, which is checked maybe daily. It seemed rather futile to me to try and leave a message there if another way could be found.

Fortunately, Sierra and Chris are also classmates and friends, and had exchanged numbers at some point, so she was able to phone him and he, after he finished his exam and got the message, was able to pass the word on to Fr. Stephen, and then show up at the hospital to join Sierra in her bedside vigil (she had also, by this time, been joined by her ride home, Brandon, who went from a friend of two minutes to a friend of me in my trauma). Chris also remained with me until after I'd been settled into a room for the night.

Between the two of them, Chris and Sierra formed the bulk of my visitorage (to invent a term) throughout the next few days. They certainly logged the majority of the hours, and I would have to say that I lived for their visits (often in tandem, Chris driving them over from Concordia).

It's impossible to express fully just how important BEING THERE is to a hospitalised person, to a person in pain. The pain I could deal with, easily, as long as I had company. Saturday, brutally painful though it was, is a day I can look back on with something resembling fondness, because there were people there for me. "Shared joy is twice the joy, shared pain half the pain."

Another really good sentiment is the idea (which I think I've seen expressed in someone's online signature) that there is no mathematical way to express the difference between one and two. It's the difference between one and an infinity.

I also really came to appreciate Fr. Marco this week... some of the seminarians have butted heads with him for his stricter tendencies--and there's no denying he prefers a well-run ship and has an older-fashioned approach to things, but you will never, after this, hear me speak a word against him. (Mind you, I got along well with him, being a rule-abider by nature.) He was there every day this week, bringing me communion, making sure I was getting better. I felt, moreso than with anyone else from the seminary, that I was missed, that I was a lost sheep and that I was being brought back home. I truly felt that I had a shepherd.

The responce coming back home to the seminary has been awesome as well--I know which of the guys I can depend on. The help I've had today, with meals and errands and tasks, has been incredible.

I'm afraid my mind is starting to wander as my butt gets worse and worse, and I think I should probably take off. I may or may not write further installments about my week in hospital. I feel I've kind of poorly done this post, but there's nothing to be done about that at the moment...

Pray for me-- tomorrow I have to venture out again, and talk to my profs.

Broken, Part 1

I don't know where to start... I've been disseminating information across the Internet for the past hour, while trying to catch up with a near-week of missed news, to the effect of the fact that I broke my leg, and am not feeling too chipper as a result.

I don't know where to start here.... I've practically honed my story to simple a form as possible, so sick am I of telling it, and due also to a general lack of energy. I don't have the desire--at all--to write anywhere but here right now. Just writing it three times or so has been enough to wear me out. But I do want to put it here, and in the fullest of detail as possible. Unlike everywhere else, although this blog is read by others, it's here for MY enjoyment, whereas everywhere I'm primarily around for the benefit of others.

I want to analyze the situation, if I can. It's not so much the particulars in fair and equal treatment that I want to recall, though some will be, as the impressions and reflections it prompts.

The leg-breaking happened fast. So fast. One moment I was joking, preparing to argue about the bill, and looking forward to lunch, and possibly a long afternoon. I was with a classmate, Sierra, having written our Religion final somewhat before. We had sort been wandering Edmonton, in search of a place to have lunch (a few presented themselves, but for various "reason" none were stopped at). It was a good time, and it's a shame, I feel, that last Saturday wasn't able to have been the enjoyable, peaceful end of a semester it was supposed to have been.

We had finally settled on a place to eat, after about an hour of driving, and we got out of the car, and were heading across the parking lot towards the sidewalk. The obvious shortcut led across a patch of grass, the edge of which was a strip of mud. Rather than go through the mud, I made the decision--the fatal decision--to jump the mud.

Bad. Bad. Bad! decision.

I didn't quite make it.

My left leg did, landing solidly on the cement, even as my right leg landed on the mud, and went forwards, taking the rest of my body earthwards. Of course, that meant trouble for my left leg, grounded on the cement. It snapped under the pressure, and I was in pain. But the pain then was nothing to when I tried to move it. I only really looked at my leg once at this point, but the sight was brain-scarring, my lower leg flopping sideways unnaturally. I lowered myself as I could to the pavement, and lay in pain and cold as Sierra called 911, and a crowd gathered around.

The ambulance came after fifteen minutes, and then began the whole, painful adventure of being taken to the Royal Alexandra Hospital, of my leg being put into a slab, of being poked and prodded more times than I can count in the ER as they tried to find a place for an intravenous and to draw blood for testing. Then came the X-rays, the hospital food, the painkillers, the new plaster slab, the first night, the long, lonely sojourn through pain that was Sunday, the surgery Sunday afternoon/evening, the coming out of surgery nausea, the slow recovery from post-ops and the long night of Hell between Monday and Tuesday, as I drowned in the heat and stink of my own sweat. There was the getting used to crutches, the exhaustion of laying in bed and the great exhaustion of leaving it, the up and down emotions of day and night, and finally the marathon day of Wednesday, yesterday, when I came home to the Seminary, just in time to push myself into attending the end-of-term banquet, and finally going to bed last night, probably having pushed myself too hard.

That's the basic story, synopsized somewhat after the actual incident. The breaking of the leg was a fast occurrence, and very mundane. Several people have said, and I would agree but for my unsurmountable honest streak, that I really need to spice it up somewhat. About the closest one gets to a spicy detail is the fact that I, a seminarian, was with a--get this!--girl! Which isn't fair to Sierra, since her presence really had nothing to do with the broken leg. Boring as the story is, it's my fault in all the apparent details that I can see.

More coming in Part 2... if my butt holds up. The poor posterior hasn't taken well to sitting in the same position for so long, and my stamina isn't where it could be.

Examinations Eve

I'm not entirely sure how I managed this... but I seem to have somehow gotten through today while being BUSIER than during the last couple, which is patently peculiar as I should be running out of stuff to occupy me as the week goes on.

But no, this morning I was up in time for Lauds, had a very bland breakfast (the kitchen staff wasn't around for breakfast, due to holidays), albeit with good conversation, read the newspaper, did the crossword... and...

Hmm....

I think that was when I went back to my room, turned on this granddaddy of a computer, and fiddled around with Facebook for the first time today. I'm still a little baffled by that site, but for the most part I don't think I'm missing important things I might want to see. Anyway, that occupied me, with other websites and Solitaire (and a quick chat with Miss Jamie), long enough to get us until 11:15 when I vested to serve at Mass.

Mass was followed by lunch, again with much good conversation, which was followed by Star Trek: The Next Generation at 1:00, which was followed by a return to my room for more Solitaire and some website hopping, until my Year-end Evaluation with Fr. Shayne around 3:30. After that it was back to my room, more Solitaire, then supper--which was order-in pizza (a gift from the seminary secretary), with the best conversation all day, then the Scrabble game that kept me occupied for most of the evening. It is definitely important that you all know that I won, thanks mainly to a seven-letter word (ROUTINE) that I managed to put down, across a triple-word score, also connecting with a word going down, thus giving me a solid, solid lead.

And that was my day. Pathetic, huh? Seriously, it's not QUITE so bad as it sounds--there are actually people here that I talk to. Living in seminary is like living somewhere between family and a social life... today was definitely heavier on the social life than usual--which seems odd. I can only assume finals are starting to dissipate, at least for the weekend.

My Year-End Evaluation went well--the gist of it is that I am welcome back next year. Although we don't exactly get "scores" or "grades", I more-or-less passed with flying colours--there were no highlighted areas I need desperately to work on. Fr. Shayne did say, off the record, and I had to completely agree, that I pretty much did miserably this second semester as the editor of the newsletter. I was on track until Reading Break, and then that fell apart, and I didn't have the wherewithal to drag my editorial team into putting it back together. But that was pretty much the worst for me, and that's fairly trivial. My grades, health, personality, prayer life, punctuality, etc, etc, all seem to be on par or decent, so I guess I'm not entirely bonkers to be here...

Undoubtedly, between now and next Friday, when I go back to Olds, I'll have some serious year-end introspection to counterbalance these blow-by-blow boring day news reports, but for now... this is it. I'm off to bed. Since I can't sleep in tomorrow, due to my first exam, I should probably get a decent night's sleep. I even managed to study for five minutes before Scrabble-- should be plenty.

A Day of Much Television

So my 3rd Day of No School has proven to be day of pretty much nothing at all... I slept through my alarm this morning, my alarm having been set to the radio and then proceeding to lose the signal so that I didn't have any noise go off at 6:45. As a result, I missed Lauds, breakfast, and didn't, in the end, decide to get out of bed until after 10:00. Well, taking my time getting up and dressing and all those lovely early-morning rituals meant that I could write off the morning as useful in any way, and just go straight to Mass, then lunch.

This afternoon and this evening? I did nothing...

Well. Actually...

I watched six hours of television today, which is--particularly for me--an awful lot. Starting at 1:00 this afternoon was Star Trek: The Next Generation, then a channel jump to watch Star Trek: Voyager, then a jump back to watch Enterprise. This brings us to four o'clock, when I decided I'd had enough television, and came back to my room, to fiddle on the computer.

The result of that? Well... not very much tooling around on Facebook, as I'd expected, but rather a downloading of Firefox, and then tooling around with that... A vast improvement over whatever outdated, glitchy version of Explorer this computer of mine is running, though I'm not fully used to the system yet.

That brings us to Vespers, and then supper, and then (at six o'clock) the second round of television. We start with the first season finale of Stargate: SG-1, then a channel-hop to see Supernatural (awesome episode, I thought), then back to Space Channel to watch a Season 10 episode of SG-1.

And then I came here.

My next stop will, probably, be bed...

I really, really --seriously, I mean really-- hope I come up with something better to do tomorrow. Maybe I'll go over the 'Downs now and put a save up on Tapestry, so that I'll feel guilty and do that.

Yeah...

Day of No School--Round 2

So...

I thought I used up all ways of keeping myself occupied yesterday, and was rather concerned about what I would do to keep busy today. Turns out... not a problem.

This morning, after my regular rounds of waking up, Lauds, breakfast, newspaper, crosswords... I ended up spending a good couple hours registering for and exploring yet another Internet addiction. Well, not an addiction yet, but it could well be.

That lasted until Mass, followed by lunch, followed by the afternoon... most of which was spent with a similarly unoccupied Deacon Andrew, watching the Blues Brothers, which I had never seen before. I can quite believe it is a classic, as it was hilarious. Completely over the top, naturally, but hilariously so. But it's not a 2000s humour, but more subtle about it. I guess they didn't think so poorly of an audience's intellect in the early '80s.

Well, that lasted most of the afternoon. The afternoon ended with Vespers, followed by supper, followed by my last pastoral placement assignment--acting as guide/seminarian adjunct to the Conquest Boys Group, a Catholic leadership organisation for pre-teen boys. The local group meets here at the Seminary once every other week, and my pastoral placement for the year has been assisting them.

That ended at about eight... and I've spent the near-hour since online, partly on visiting the aforementioned addition to my internet registration collection. I am seriously spooked as to how much of the world is online.

So, another day is done.

Two more to go before Saturday, which has the dubious distinction of being my first day of exams. Not that my one exam will take all day, but at least I'll have SOMETHING to do.

What I'll do tomorrow, God alone knows as of now. I certainly don't know, though I would not be surprised if a lot of it was spent in front of the computer. Either tomorrow or on Friday I might go out to West Edmonton Mall for the afternoon, just for the fun of sitting and watching the teeming mass that is humanity. It's not like I've got anything better to do.

Day of No School #1

So... I'm well on course to write those many epistles predicted for this week. Today has, so far, definitely been a no-anything day, and is well on track to continue on the same course.

For all that that's the case, however, I'm in an undefinable good mood. I really don't know why. After the whole bittersweet debate yesterday, couple with a smashing loss at Scrabble (the agony...) and a concurrent diabetic low, I was not in a chipper state of mind. I was, in fact, quite pessimistic about things in general, up to and including my vocation.

Today... I've no idea what's different. Normally, a day of restless boredom following an evening of pessimism results in, well, worse pessimism. At least that's the usual pattern for me. Nothing drives me further pessimistic than idleness.

Not the pattern today though.

Possibly my late-night walk last night had something to do with it. It was downright gorgeous walking weather, and I had a good heart-to-heart talk with my heart, and smacked myself around a little, and went to bed tired and somewhat more peaceful.

Today... I haven't really done anything. I've wandered the corridors of Newman hoping to bump into somebody--anybody. I've read the newspaper, done the crossword, got my year-end room inspection, went to the bank, got myself pressganged into music ministry for Mass.

After lunch I went on a wander. I drove to Concordia, hoping my History prof would be there--as he has my paper. Well, he wasn't, but I went exploring, and saw parts of Edmonton I've never seen before, and generally avoided all the big-route industrial sections which is my normal drive to school, and proceeded to fall in love with this city all over again.

Seriously... Edmonton is no Paris or Rome. It's not even a Vancouver or Toronto. It's not a particularly gorgeous city, as cities go, nor is this the nicest time of year; dusty everywhere, barely starting to green, and a winter's worth of litter floating around. But... I don't know why... I fell in love with the city again.

I think it's self-hypnosis to certain extent. I love Edmonton because I decided to, unconsciously. I've always known, as long as I've wanted to be a priest, that Edmonton would be my diocesan centre, and half the parishes in the diocese are here in the city. Unless I someday get promoted out of here (ie. as a bishop), this city is going to be the centre of my life. Even a country parish would, for me, be Edmonton-oriented.

Completely different topic... but as an endnote, I think I shall mention that I've spent more time thinking on my spur-of-the-moment theology, and while I still can't say WHY it seems right to me, I'm definitely thinking there's a clear sign of a priestly vocation in my identification of the bittersweet partings of death (or just the year-end) as a foretaste of Heaven. I doubt that a similar thought could come from someone whose vocation is marriage or religious orders... I'm really thinking it's tied to that priestly perspective. How, why, or if so... I'm not sure... but it FEELS right.

The Best Years of My Life

That's what they say about university apparently: the best years of your life. Well... I have no intention with taking a gloomy downturn after I get my last degree... but I can't deny that today, the last day of class, had a bittersweet feel to it. Looking back, I think I'm feeling it more than I did at the time, though it was there then too, that delightful, horrid, biting feeling. It's like the feeling of "The Grey Havens"--only in real life.

Half the problem, I'm sure, is that I don't have any exams until Saturday. So I have five days to do... nothing. Seminary has shut down as the Newman students are already launching into their exams--whcih tend to be much more difficult than my own. Meanwhile, my exams are looking (to me) to average a "piddling" on the difficulty scale. Religion will be a cakewalk, Sociology will require half an hour of study, History will be long but easy, English will require some reading, but should be fast and easy, and Logic will require some intense study... but nowhere near even a day's worth.

So... yeah. It's not going to be a study-intensive week. For everyone else maybe, but not for me.

If I had lots of studying to do, or exams looming a bit closer, I doubt I'd be so concerned about this bittersweet end of term... but as it happens, I really don't have anything better to do.

Basically, apart from the occasional wave in the classroom or halls during exams, I don't expect to see most of my classmates until September. A week and a half from now and I'll be back in Olds, and probably won't see or talk to anyone having anything to do with Concordia for four months.

Looking at this with a hint of objectivity, I'm not sure exactly WHY I'm so bittersweet about this. Quite frankly, I have not made a pile of friends at school this year. Not close ones. I could count on one hand the number of extra-curricular events I've enjoyed with my Concordia classmates, excepting my fellow seminarians (well, maybe not... but it's close). I've made one, maybe two, friends at Concordia that, after Concordia is all said and done for me, I'm likely to make time to keep in touch with.

Possibly that's half the problem... it's really only in the last two or three weeks that I've really been getting to know more more people, or so it feels. It's only in the last little bit that the groundwork of getting comfortable with these people, which has taken most of the semester (with my scarcity of classes last semester, I really didn't spend my time at Concordia at all... that as seminary acclimatization semester). Maybe what I'm feeling the pain of here is the irony of only starting to get to know people as it's time to leave.

I hope... I really hope... that the groundwork laid this semester isn't worn away by four months of neglect. I still have two more years to build these relationships up... but I am a slow mover socially. Not always... not necessarily... but often. It took more than a year on the 'Downs before the people I would have mentally listed as friends exploded beyond a handful. I hope there's a precedent there.

Another curveball about this situation, though... is that it's sort of a first-time thing. I've never moved away from a happening social scene before. When I moved from Olds to Edmonton, it was about ten months after I'd last been really plugged into a regular social life in my hometown. There was just the irregular contact with my old circle of friends, hampered of course by my late-night hours.

And, of course, I never moved away for the summer... Rather than being a time of social slump, summer was when people had the time to hang out later and more often (in August, if not July, when people tend to disappear it seems...).

This is, I guess, what the life of a priest will be like... just because you're in one parish doesn't mean that you can't be transferred five hours across the diocese at the drop of the Archbishop's mitre. The priest is a loner. Friends are good and necessary... but not so important as to outrank the vocation.

Going back to the top of this post... remember I used that word "delightful" to describe the bittersweet feeling? I meant it. Bittersweet like this is painful--it hurts. But there is a... how to put it?... magic about it. It UNITES people, even as it tears they apart. If you can feel it, you KNOW you're alive. It is the stuff of classics, bestsellers, and high art.

And somehow... somehow... I'm really not sure how, but it FEELS right to say so... that bittersweet feeling is a forerunner of Heaven. Maybe it has to do with funerals. It's certainly the feeling I associate with funerals. "Gone. Gone but not forgotten. Gone, and we grieve and mourn, and wail. Gone, but we shall meet again."

To quote a song associated with the rite of commendation (from a funeral):

"Every fear shall be undone, and death will no more, as songs of the angels bring you home, before the face the God."

This bittersweet pain... this ripping apart of social velcro, it is, somehow, a foretaste of Heaven. No, that's not Catholic theology. No, that's not even really thought out. It's just where my mind seems to be going tonight.

Long Week

So...

I'm getting the feeling this is going to be a high-density posting week here. Call it a hunch. Call it a deduction. Call it a sign of the times. Call it whatever, the general lack of things to do between now and exams indicates that I'm probably going to be here a fair bit. This being the end of the year, I'm also liable to have a number of reflections on things. For example, I'm sure my year-end evaluation meeting with Fr. Shayne will prompt a thought or two, never mind the whole "I'm done a year, what did I accomplish?" scenario?

Meanwhile... yeah. Nothing much has happened since yesterday, hence the fact that I'm on here, really. Umm... I sang at Mass this morning, a last minute conscription I was not expecting, but which went really well, considering I was a cappella, and had been awake for about an hour, a combination which usually doesn't not produce crystal-clear results, though this morning it did. My only mess-up of note was at the start of the Gospel Acclamation, just as I was beginning, Fr. Shayne happened to be looking in my direction and flourishing his hand as he pulled it out from underneath his chasuble. The combination gave me the erroneous idea that he wanted me to stop. Well, I faltered, but I was soon back on track. I imagine he hasn't a clue why I stumbled there.

And... hmmm... I've now played two games of Scrabble in the last 24 hours. Yesterday night I was the reigning champion, to my delight. Today I got the flip side of the coin, and was the bona fide loser. Scrabble is a game of talent, certainly, but let no one ever say that luck has not a part in it. A letter combination of N-I-I-I-E-E-H does NOT make for great scoring. And my one chance at jumping ahead by a long shot was squashed. (Yes, I'm still bitter.)

And... Yeah, this isn't exactly a happening weekend. Expect more introspection and less news in the future.

Loner

So, further to my last comments of the previous post...

I believe I said something to the effect of "the older I get, the more I am aware of my foibles, and (sometimes) the more I try to avoid them, the more I see myself doing the same things--over and over and over".

Well, if I didn't say it that way, I should have.

Take, for example, the fact that I am a loner.

Not always, of course! Put me in a large group, and I probably won't be the guy over there in the corner pretending everyone else exists... no, I'll be in there listening, if not talking. But that's if I've been put in a group.

What about when I'm not in a group?

I am not someone around whom groups form. People don't come up to me to hang out. People don't look for me in the crowd as a familiar face. And I am certainly to blame! I am not much of an approacher of strangers (I'm getting better... but I've a long way to go). Put me in new situations, such as a new job or school, and I take a while to warm up to those around me.

I'm used to this about me. It's been the case since I started homeschooling, if not for years before that (I simply don't remember). I've always enjoyed being around people... but I am very rarely the one to say "hey, let's go do something".

Anyway... the point is that I am a loner. I'm not complaining, though I have done so about it many times in the past. Once you get me into a social situation, I'm witty enough and non-annoying enough that I don't get shunted out. To stop being a loner, all I have to do is start instigating things. I'm (arrogantly, perhaps) confidant enough in my popularity to feel sure I wouldn't be rejected by life.

So. I'm a loner. So what?

Well, it's interesting... earlier in the school year, I would have said that I tend to be less of a loner the longer I'm in a community I'm familiar with: the longer I'm in seminary, or the longer I'm at Concordia, the less of a loner I'm liable to be.

I'm not sure of that, on reflection.

Thing is, using Concordia as an example, although I'm more comfortable at school, more familiar with a number of fellow students, and have more that I would number as friends... I don't REALLY spend any more time or effort around any of them. The time I do spend is time better spent... but I seem to have an internal brake that kicks in after a certain point, which says "so far and no farther".

It's true in seminary too. While I'm definitely closer with a number of my seminarian brothers, and spend more time with them than previously... there is still a rebellious instinct somewhere in me that says "I'd rather fume in my room writing LEGO books than hang out right now". It's as if I'm addicted to moments of being alone and being grumpy about it.

Anyways... I'm odd.

In other notes: today is the last time I have to do the sacristy laundry this year. Maybe ever. Yes! Not the last time I have to do laundry before I go home, though... I'll probably not want to stretch it that far.

Also: the prospect of going home doesn't look nearly so bad right now. Last night, with no community event (normal on Friday evenings), nothing on TV, and no school to work on, and everybody holed up doing who knows what, I was BORED. Dead bored. I went to bed early. Olds might not be so bad... at least there are siblings.

And: Deacon Rectorino had a good comment from his old rector in Seminary at Manila, given before holidays: (paraphrasing) "Remember that you are seminarians. Live so as to give no one any reason to think that you are not worthy to return to Seminary."

I almost wonder if it's not that mentality at the core of my loner-ness. Long before I came to Seminary I thought with a Seminary mind, a mind of a priest-wannabe. There always needs to be boundaries, there is always a distinction between priest and people. The priest is always on-call, and never romantically entangled. Is this loner-ness my priest-instinct reminding me that as a priest I will have to abandon parties I'd rather stay for, that I won't have the time to hang out with the people that I'd like to, and that propriety won't allow me to do all such hanging out when/where/with people/in the ways I would like.

Another note: I've noticed that I tend to have my "I don't want to be a priest moments" most often when I'm grumpy. Does this make me a fair-weather seminarian, or does this mean that the devil can only sneak in the temptation when my emotional defences are low?

Ramblings

So...

Certain events in the Tegler centre at school today reminded me that I haven't posted here since before Easter--though a corner of my mind was planning to right after the Vigil Mass (well... I stayed up until 4:30 that morning, and then some, and I went away the following morning... so it didn't happen).

Anyways... Easter was good. I went out to my uncle's for Sunday afternoon/Monday, and it was good, as usual, to get away from the Seminary. Not that the seminary is grating, or even that it wouldn't have been a good place to party (I missed cigars Sunday evening... to my disappointment), but it's always nice to have a change of pace.

The weather was spectacular on Sunday-- a beautiful day to drive, or to walk, or to do anything. Between that and the return of the aforesaid beautiful weather the last couple days, I'm ready for summer. Not for the heat, so much, as for the doings of things outside.

Of course, visiting my aunt and uncle is always fun because I'm treated like unto a superstar by my four (almost five) year old cousin. Now there's a little charmer! Of course, it means I get to indulge my playful side by playing with LEGO. While I have LEGO here at the Seminary, and have fiddled with it now and again, I don't really get to PLAY with it.

Technically, because of Easter Monday being a holiday, school goes until next Monday, but for all practical intents and purposes, today was my last day of class. I'll show up on Monday, and get my brownie points in with the English prof, but my classes are just review classes.

I'm feeling awfully bittersweet about school ending. On the one hand is utter jubilation: I've actually done a year of seminary! That was fast! I'm actually only SEVEN years until ordination, not eight! And I'm glad to have no school...

But.

There's always a "but".

I'm sad to not being around school. I'm going to miss being around the people (including most of the student body: all the people I don't know), I'm going to miss certain people specifically. And I'm going to miss Edmonton in general.

Heck, by moving home, I'm going to miss having a bedroom! A bed in the storage area of the basement, a bedroom is not! And I'm not so sure that I'm eager to work. Sure I can use the exercise, and it'll be nice to do something completely different... but I'm really a lazy character at heart.

And there's hardly anybody at home to hang out with. Never mind people having moved away or moved on... I've moved on. I'm not the same Michael I was last summer. Most of the people won't have the experience of any university or college, nevermind the seminary, the two things that have been the central focus of my life for eight months. There's simply no one in my peer group who is, experience-wise, my peer.

But... it'll be okay. I'm sure I'll look back on this summer fondly. There are events enough to make it interesting: ordinations, weddings, my sister's First Communion, my brother's Grad, the Bones Tournament. I'll try and get another camping trip in with my brothers, too...

Jumping topics completely, as is my authorial right, looking back over this semester, I'm kind of disappointed in myself, here at the end, with my apathy. I feel like, sometime in in the last two weeks or so, like I completely lost my drive and focus. Handing in my last essay really didn't really do me any good, I'm thinking. I've had two weeks of no work to do (other than attend class) while everyone around me is drowning in work. Couple with end-of-the-year fatigue, I'm just... I dunno... crashing. Not necessarily in a bad way... but not necessarily in a good way.

I haven't managed to make meditation on time once since Palm Sunday. I wake up in the morning and I hit the snooze, as if I just don't care whether or not I make it to Morning Prayer or not. As I said, it's not necessarily bad, as it could just mean that I'm finally loosening up, and fitting into the community properly (most guys don't stress too much about ALWAYS making Morning Prayer and Meditation)... but I'm a little concerned. I don't want to get too comfortable. I WANT to be the same, responsible, Always There, seminarian in my last year as in my first. I want to be engaged.

Another random thought: I think half the reason I enjoy spending time with people doing just about anything is that I spend so much time alone... It's not that I'm starved for human contact, just that I always have a good appetite. If that makes any sense.

And, finally... it's occuring to me that no matter how much older, wiser, and self-aware I get, the more I realise I don't change. And the more I don't care. More about that another day, perhaps...

Good Friday

So...

I'm just back from the Good Friday service. I forgot how long it is (about an hour and twenty minutes, and that in a congregation of 30), due to the three-person account of the Passion, and the extra-long intercessions (sung intercession & responce, silence, and sung prayer).

The funny thing is that I remember thinking, last year, how short Good Friday's service seemed.

Good Friday is the only day of the year a priest does not (when healthy and able to do so) offer a Mass, for the simple reason that it's the only day of the year when Mass is not a part of the scheme. Good Friday is the most solemn day of the year, a day when the altar is stripped, the tabernacle is empty, and the cross is omnipresent (to possibly coin a term).

Catholics are often accused by Protestants, in regards to the presence of the corpus on the crucifix, of not remembering that Jesus has risen, that he's no longer on the Cross. Well... maybe they have a point, and maybe they don't... but what's the point of wearing a cross at all, in that case?

The cross is central to the Resurrection. You cannot have one without the other. Without the death, there could be no Resurrection, and no salvation from sins. Remembering the death on the cross does not mean that we have forgotten the Resurrection, but that we remember what it cost--we remember what great love we were shown.

Really, without the cross, what love would the Resurrection demonstrate? If Jesus had died in His sleep, what then? Well, it just doesn't read the same to say that "God loved us so much He took the form of a man, lived a long, happy, and sinless life, and died in His sleep. And then rose again for the forgiveness of sins."

Quite apart from possibly not actually having any salvific benefit, such a death does not demonstrate the OVERWHELMING love of God, of Jesus, for His people. It is the greatest love that a man can have, said Jesus, to die for his friends. Well, not only did Jesus die for those of us who've decided we want to be His friends, but for everyone. And He did so in one of the most painful ways possible. There can be no denying that love.

And so a Catholic has a crucifix with a corpus. And so we have Good Friday; to remember with great love God has loved us.

"Behold, behold, the wood of the cross, on which is hung our salvation. Oh come, let us adore."

Holy Thursday

This evening, with the Mass commemorating Our Lord's Supper and the Institution of the Eucharist, the Easter Triduum officially started.

I wish I could explain the feeling the Triduum has for me, from this Mass until I go to bed after the Easter Vigil (somehow, it doesn't seem to be there for the final day, Sunday... possibly because it's all denouément after the Vigil). But I don't seem capable of it. I tried in the post below, with the idea that the Triddum is the only few days in the year when, consistently, I feel in a prayerful mood the whole time.

The Triduum rides the whole roller coaster of emotions. We start with the cosy, sentimental memories of the Last Supper. There was no mention in tonight's Mass of the pain and sorrow of Good Friday... but you know it's coming. The Blessed Sacrament is not reposed after Mass in the main tabernacle, but that is left empty. Here at the Seminary, the Blessed Sacrament is reposed in another, smaller, tabernable in the community room, where we've got a prayer vigil going on until midnight (I'm signed up for 11:00 to midnight, so I'll be off there in just over an hour). Meanwhile, once that's done, the sacristans and servers are back to the chapel to strip the altar of all decorations. It must be barren from now until partway through the Good Friday service.

The unique thing, of course, about the Holy Thursday Mass is the washing of the feet. In John's account of the Last Supper, he doesn't mention the institution of the Eucharist (unnecessary by then, with Paul's account and the three synoptic gospels floating around), but focuses on Jesus's washing of the apostles' feet. The important words to remember here are "If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you." (John 13:14-15)

It's a rather dramatic gesture, the re-enactment of Jesus's footwashing of the apostles, and it an especially powerful reminder for the priest of the nature of his mission. Indeed, focussed as it is on this service and the institution of the Eucharist, which the the centre of a priest's ministry, Holy Thursday a day very close to a priest's mission.

It's incredibly sad, therefore, a fact that I heard a priest mention a couple years ago, about other priests. Apparently, there are a number of priests who like to skip this part of the liturgy, for whatever reason. I forget what reasons Fr. Rich offered (he passed on since, God bless him), but I seem to recall them being associated with the idea that these priests found it demeaning or pointless. The sadness is that the whole point of this gesture is that it is demeaning. Footwashing is NOT a glamourous task. It is the task of a servant. And that is what a priest needs to remember. This is a ceremony intended ESPECIALLY for the spiritual benefit of the priest involved, and it's heartbreaking that some completely miss that.

On a related note... I remember last year's Holy Thursday as being a day I was intensely in love with the notion of priesthood... and partly because of the foot-washing. The whole aspect of being the servant of the people of God is not something that repels me... but is a huge part of what attracts me to the priesthood. This year, the magnetism wasn't so noticeable, but there was an interesting moment of crystal clarity when I realised that I REALLY want to be a parish priest.

I've toyed with the idea lately of what it would be like to be a professor, or a seminary formator, or a priest in some other, non-parochial mission... and I realised that it's ALWAYS been the community events that I've found most attractive about the priesthood. I want to have a parish. I want to have PEOPLE around me. (I still like the idea of teaching... but I also want a parish... try and reconcile that!).

And to end things on a final, awesome note: I went to Confession after Mass! I've tried to explain it before, and my explanation is always inadequate, about what a totally amazing thing Confession is! You Protestants who've rejected it as a Sacrament (which is most of you) have no idea what you're missing! (Not, of course, that those of you who confess it have it legitimately, but you understand where I'm coming from.)

~For our sake, Christ was obedient, accepting even death, death on a cross~

Chrism Mass

Tonight, as a seminarian of the Archdiocese of Edmonton, I was at the Basilica with the whole pile of us Edmonton seminarians, serving at the Chrism Mass. The Chrism Mass is one of the great Archdiocesan events that happens every year, when all (or nearly all) the priests in the Archdiocese gather for to receive the oil (aka "chrism") that is blessed annually. These sacramental oils are to be used throughout the year for Annointings of the Sick, Baptisms, Confirmations, and Ordinations.

The Chrism Mass occurs during Holy Week. In Rome, and some other places, it's normal to celebrate it on Thursday morning, but that's a long, long day for the priests coming from the far-flung corners of the Diocese, and here in Edmonton, Monday evening has been the norm.

Of course, there was the little matter of having no bishop. A bishop is absolutely essential to the blessing of the chrism. An Archdiocesan administrator can do many things, but this is not one of them. Of course, our new Archbishop has been appointed, but he won't be here until the end of April.

Thank you, God, for retired bishops. Archbishop Emeritus Joseph McNeil is eight years past retirement, and leads a rather cosy life doing all sorts of fun, charitable types of things, and absolutely no administration. A Chrism Mass, consequently, is right up his alley: all the fun liturgical stuff and meeting the people, and not a whit of administration.

Anyway, most of the Archdiocese's priests (within the geographical area, that is. Only thirty-some are incardinated in the diocese) were present. Among the small group of those who weren't was my pastor back home, who had the misfortune to break his leg playing hockey last week, and was told he can't say Mass for three weeks (a fine thing to be told right before Easter... as if the presbyterate wasn't spread thin already). And there were all twelve Edmonton seminarians present, who are in the Edmonton area (we have some guys who are studying farther afield), of course. I had the "oh so exalted" job of being one of the candle-bearers, which admittedly beats being an "extra".

I love big, Archdiocesan celebrations at the Basilica... the music is always superb (I think it's as much the acoustics of the Basilica as it is the choir), and there's something about the full pageantry of that many priests and a bishop (oh... and the three deacons). Really, there's nothing different about a Chrism Mass, other than the short rite of consecrating the chrism between the homily and the liturgy of the Eucharist.

Maybe, for me, it comes down to being caught up in the whole community of my church. Technically, I suppose, my home parish is my church, and the seminary community is my church... but one's diocese is also one's church, and I love the events where I can be a part of mine. I enjoyed them before I was a seminarian, but there was always this intense ache to serve on the other side of the altar. Now that I get to... I seem to be content for now. But then, let me wear my alb, and put me on display at the front of the basilica... and I tend to be a happy guy. Ah... the simple pleasures of life. Really, not that simple at all.

Passion Sunday

April is here. April Fool's Day is here (and, amazingly, I think I've completely avoided even seeing or hearing an April Fool's joke today... gosh it's nice to live with adults). More importantly, it's a week until Easter.

Holy Week has begun. The most solemn and important week in the Church's calendar has arrived.

Passion Sunday, of course, is also known as Palm Sunday, because the Mass first remembers Jesus' triumphant entry into Jerusalem before his final Passover. It is, I am fairly sure, the biggest supporter of the international fresh-branches-of-palm-trees trade. My palm (the branch, not a hand) has been nailed up underneath my crucifix, since I no longer have a calendar to go there (yeah, me remembering things depends on me... well... remembering...).

But important as the whole palm-blessing ceremony, and subsequent proclamation of the Gospel of the original event that prompted it, and the imitation procession into the Church-- important as that is, the first Sunday of Holy Week is foremostly PASSION Sunday.

We recall Christ's Passion. His last hours, of suffering and betrayal, culminating in His penultimate gift to Humanity: Death, Death on a Cross.

All of Holy Week remembers Jesus' Passion, but as the Sunday of the week, today has a special place in remembering it. Though the Church gathers on Good Friday to commemorate the death on the proper day of the week, we do not celebrate Mass. Passion Sunday, therefore, is the chief feast day when we celebrate Mass in specific connection to the memory of Jesus's death-- and His death and the Eucharist are intimately connected. The Eucharist IS His death.

In the celebration of the Mass, the priest (acting in persona Christi) re-offers the same sacrifical lamb (Jesus) that was offered on the Cross nearly two thousand years ago. In every Mass, therefore, the people of God are able to participate in the greatest event of human history. Consequently, Passion Sunday, which not only celebrates the Eucharist, as every Mass does, but also makes that death the focus of the instruction, is unique.

I love Holy Week. It's... undescribable. Passion Sunday and Holy Thursday are both great feasts that have their own memorable and unique ceremonies (palms and foot-washing), and both are lead-ins to the most bittersweet service of the year: Good Friday. It's a bittersweet like the last chapter of the Lord of the Rings. It's harder for me to sit through a Good Friday without going overboard emotionally (by my standards) than a funeral-- even my own grandfather's funeral (and I was really close to Grandpa).

But it's necessary! It's important! And without it, there could be no Easter! And the soaring glory of the Easter Vigil, the pre-eminent Mass of the liturgical year, would not have the same impact if it did not come after Good Friday. Indeed, if COULD not come if not for Good Friday.

"Come let us worship the Lord, who for our sake enduring suffering and death."

Back From the Abyss

So, I sort of feel like I fell off the face of the Earth over the weekend--hence the title. At least with regards to the Internet anyway. My internet involvement, at least since I've been in Seminary, though I would say it's been longer than that, has been cyclical. I got through these periods of apathy, where I pretty much just read up on things on the 'Downs and LJ, and that's about it.

I'm in one of those troughs at the moment, seemingly, but not an entirely voluntary one. This one has been boiling for a while, as the post below regarding my new computer obsession will indicate, but it came to head this weekend with the loss of internet here at the Seminary.

For reasons as yet unbeknownst to me, sometime Saturday afternoon/evening the phone lines (including the internet) to Newman College and the Seminary were cut, a state of affairs that lasted until Tuesday sometime.

I hardly noticed, as far as my normal internet rounds went. And for good reason, since I've been working on my History paper the last week or two. Not in great bursts of all-nighterly effort--haven't had to pull an all-nighter yet--but steadily. The lack of internet was a bit of a problem there, since my printer has decided it is permanently in the state of being jammed (though it most assuredly is not), and I needed to print from another machine... and I couldn't email myself.

But socially?

As most of my contacts can aver, I haven't been on MSN regularly since January, or earlier. I've made an effort to sign in on weekends, with an eye to talking to Abby, and whoever else might be on, but it's no longer habitual. AIM signs itself in automatically, but I don't think I've chatted with Jamie in weeks, and AIM was never more than a backup for those not MSN-enabled.

Forums? I'm keeping up with my favourite threads on the 'Downs and that's about it. I just don't have any desire to get involved in the debates, or interest in getting involved in the fun stuff, or even much stamina for roleplaying (that energy is probably being consumed by the LEGO books).

I know my habits well enough to know this is just a cycle. It'll pass. Probably in May, when moving back to Olds will mean that my current social structure will be missing, and I'll be craving contact with people my own age a LOT more than now.

But it's intriguing, I find, watching me slipping out of the Internet circle, as quietly as I can. Like it or not, that's probably going to be the trend of the future for me. A priest doesn't have the time I do for frivolous internetting. Or LEGO books.

By Michael A. Joosten

It's been an interesting couple of weeks lately... I think I'm spending more time than usual on the computer, but I'm certainly spending LESS time that usual on the Internet. And the beneficiary of this surfeit of computer time has not been games (though I have been playing a lot of Solitaire lately... which says absolutely salutary about me).

No, I have been spending copious amounts of time lately on writing LEGO stories.

This is hardly something new. My first extra-curricular writing project was a story (fully illustrated) about the Imperial Guards and Pirates (the LEGO guys), back when I was in Grade 3... which was a very long time ago.

From then until about... lemme see... about two and a half years ago, I wrote more and more about my LEGO people, ending up with 30 books (none with more than 32 pages, I assure you), and 45 or so issues of a monthly "LEGO Report" that my brother and I put out for three and a half years, and an 80-page novel.

I finally tired of writing all this in mid-2004. Looking back, of all that enormous volume of paper, hardly any of it had any literary value. But it was an incredibly valuable part of my life, and can be credited with my ease in writing in most respects. Though even my work of three years ago seems a bit cringe-worthy now, it's remarkable to see the marked progress from year to year.

Well, I don't think it's any coincidence my LEGO book output stopped at right about the same time I joined Classic-Castle.com, not with me joining the CCRP two months in, and becoming one of the staple authors of the Roleplay. Never mind that I was one of the Gaming mods, I was posting additions to that thing anywhere from three to eight times a week for over a year and a half (even counting out the month I spent in Europe). It broke my heart when I finally had to stop out of Roleplay-wide malaise from which it never recovered, and I tried to get back into it at a later date, but once the pace was lost and the mutual support of the other Roleplayers undone, there was no going back.

And so we come, about a year since then, to my resuming LEGO-based story-telling around Christmas. It was pretty much a full-fledged return to the universe of my old LEGO stories. But rather than continue to build on stories that go back to my stilted beginning in 1995, I decided to rewrite the best stories of the whole thing, and expand from there. Most of the infrastructure, the subcreation and world-building, remaining intact, but the stories were to be completely restructured.

To this new literary endeavour I brought a year and a half of CCRP experience and more than half a year of Barrow-Downs RPGing, as well as a general increased maturity and awareness of literary technique. What is now about seven months of watching Stargate episodes has had its part in stimulating the creative part of my mind, if not directly influencing the narrative.

What has had rather little influence on this "LEGO Book Series" has been LEGO itself...

It's interesting, but while I've made an effort to incorporate the new themes of LEGO that have come out since I stopped writing in 2004, and while the factions and characters still have their little plastic counterparts... from the written text and the descriptions therein, you'd hardly think it was LEGO being written about at all, unless you had a comprehensive knowledge of LEGO promotional storylines.

It's the world that's the important thing. I'm deeply attached to the great history of the Royal Knights, Johnny Thunder, and the Spyrius Empire. I cannot just cut the universe adrift from its source. And even though the storytelling has lost the LEGO flavour it once had, the LEGO models and figs are still the wellspring of creative thought. It's just that I've grown up, and my LEGO has with me...

Now... um... where was I going with all this?

Ah. Yes. What I've been doing lately.

Well, there's not really much to say about it, except that I'm enjoying myself immensely. I actually skipped Religion class today to get back three hours earlier than usual, so that I could be sure of having time to work on a chapter or two (I have three different books on the go: one Castle, one Adventurer, and one Space). Mind you, this would hardly have been drastic for Joe Ordinary College Guy, if you consider that today's Religion class was only a review of the last few weeks in preparation for Friday's test, and keeping in mind that I am pretty much Religion Geek Maestro. Still, I NEVER skip class, unless a doctor's appointment or seminary function, or something similarly serious, distracts me. This is a first.

And the result?

Well, I wrote two more chapters. One on the Castle book, one on the Adventurer book (which really doesn't enthuse me, but the events need to be covered, important as they are to the entire Johnny Thunder story arc. It'll be the weakest volume, though). And the whole LEGO book product overall?

It isn't great literature, let me assure you. My fiction continues to suffer from a lack of distinctive characterization, as well as very linear storylines, with an immaculately sharp distinction between good and evil. I either rely almost entirely on dialogue or I start sounding encyclopaedic/"Annals of Aman"-istic. All of this is improving, especially as I work my way out of the whole "rewriting of old stories" thing and into the writing of totally new tales, which gives me a much freer hand. Being aware of it also helps.

But it isn't great literature. It isn't supposed to be. It's FUN! I haven't had this much fun since the headiest days of the CCRP, back in the summer of 2005. And it's very similar, in some respects. Except that this is all my work, all my creation (though the LEGO Company gets credit for some of the set-up). Did I mention I'm having a blast?

~~~~~

And in other news... I not only got through Psalm 112 on Monday with no problem, I totally NAILED it! Go me!

He Who Sings Prays Twice

So said St. Augustine, anyway...

Last night, being Friday, was Community Activity night. The Community Commitee being short on ideas, we ended up going out for supper by pod (the community bedrooms are grouped around central living room areas, or "pods"). Despite the humble origin of the idea, it was a good night.

My pod, the smallest due to various reasons, went out for supper to a Vietnamese restaurant in St. Albert.
Possibly because we were the fewest, or possibly because we were something else, we were the first pod back at the Sem--except that we didn't stay there. Fr. Marco and Maurice had other, more pressing duties, but the remaining four of us got back in the car, and drove off towards the south end of Edmonton. One of the guys was on a mission for his Vicar General, who had broken a liquor glass on a fairly expensive set. Naturally, we found out upon arrival that either John had been given the wrong name of the set, or that they didn't make them anymore... or something. In any event, we went away glass-less.

On the way back we were going to stop at a pie place, and have a late dessert. Except... we couldn't find it. (Completely incidentally, we were held up in the middle of this by an accident scene. It looked like a jaywalker had been hit... it was dark, and not surprising, but still sad.)

Fortunately, we were third time lucky, and though we couldn't find a glass, and couldn't find the pie place, we managed to find the Seminary, pulling in after an hour and more of what amounted to aimless driving.

But it was a very good time regardless. I definitely need to get out of this building and the regular routines a bit more often with a broader variety of my fellows.

Anyway, after pulling in around 8:30, Geoffrey and I headed over to the Chapel to practise one of the psalms for Cathedral Vespers on Monday. Monday is St. Joseph's Feastday, and St. Joseph being the patron of the Seminary, the diocese, and the entire country, it's a pretty big celebration. I was a wee bit queasy about the prospect of being asked to be cantor for one of the psalms, but I don't really know how to say no, I'm afraid.

That said, I learned the psalm in short order, which speaks volumes of both how easy the psalm is, and how good an accompanist Geoffrey is. He's our foremost musical virtuoso, Fr. Eric possibly excepted.
Geoffrey sings (beautifully), plays the piano (I know he taught before coming to Seminary), and can compose. What we're going to do when he graduates, I don't like to think.

In any case, what started as a practise for one psalm turned into an hour-long session of Geoffrey playing and me singing. It was an awesome time. It was evening, and well past supper, which meant that my voice was blessedly free of a messy-feeling throat. Fr. Eric turned up in the chapel's balcony halfway through, and we had an audience.

I don't normally think of myself as a good singer... though I know I'm better than the average, having the ability to hit notes and having a voice that can project. But, blame it on various childhood events if you like, I don't think of myself as a good singer. But last night... I was almost willing to accept Geoffrey and Fr. Eric's word that I have a beautiful voice.

No, I'm not being egotistic. I'm reliving a moment that meant a great deal to me. I should like to hear me sing on tape, if I could... I've never heard me sing solo. And if talking sounds different inside your head than on tape, then I'm sure singing does as well.

Of course... my experience is that if the rehearsal goes too well, there will be problems with the main performance. We'll see how I do with Psalm 112 on Monday.

Born to Fly

So, I'm driving to class this morning, listening to the country radio station (those of you who have just begun to sniff disdainfully, remember that it's my car and my ears), and one of the songs that made it on during the course of the drive has the following as a refrain:

"But how do you wait for heaven?
And who has that much time?
And how do you keep your feet on the ground
When you know, that you were born, you were born to fly?"

Sara Evans is the artist who performs it, but that is irrelevant to my reason for posting.

Basically, the refrain here addressed a topic I've thought a little about lately: wannabe-martyrs. "Martyrs?" you ask.

Martyrs.

See, the thing about quite a number saints is that, typically when they were younger, they really, really wanted to become missionaries in some dangerous foreign country--for the sole purpose of achieving martyrdom. Now, to my way of thinking, this is a cop-out. Why did these saints want to die a painful gruesome death? Not out of a desire of pain, I assure you, but out of a desire to make it to Heaven--for sure. Hence the cop-out. Sure, you can go get yourself killed in some foreign country, and yes, that does simultaneously give you pretty much automatic entry to Heaven and saves you the Hellfire-worthy job of suicide.

The REAL saints, to my way of thinking, are the ones who willingly (or resignedly), have to slog their way through a life of eighty-some years of temptation, regular suffering and the general toss-up chances of making it into Heaven. You know... the NORMAL saints.

And here's where the song comes in. Who CAN wait for Heaven? Why would anyone want to stay here in this world, when the option of going to Heaven faster is out there? Seriously... Heaven is leaps and bounds beyond this world, and in every way possible. And, as the song's analogy goes, who wants to walk when they were born to fly? And born to fly we were. We were made for Heaven.

On further reflection, however, I retain my opinion that opting out of life in the quickest way possible isn't the right thing to do. And I'll use the priestly vocation to demonstrate why. It is, of course, my belief that if I'm called to be a priest (which happens to be what I believe), then I was called from the moment of my conception. And, naturally, I yearn to fulfill that vocation, and be ordained. It's only the proper order of things, if you want to do God's will, to be eager for the vocation he's called me to.

That does not mean that I should be skipping over years of childhood and seminary. Every one of those eight years of seminary is necessary before I'm ordained. I may desperately want to be a priest, and that my be where God is calling me... but all in due time. And when I'm ordained, assuming I'm like 95% of priests, I'm going to look back on Seminary as some of (if not all of) the best years of my life.

Similarly, we are supposed to live long and healthy lives, I hold. Martyrdom remains something to be bravely endured--not sought out. We should enjoy and relish this life. Eternity is eternal, so there's no rush to get there. This life has a point.


And...

On a totally differnt note, you know that Spring is here when you start seeing more female skin cropping up between pants and shirt in class.

Good Mood

Nothing much has happened since yesterday... and considering that the summary of my post yesterday was that nothing interesting had happened of late, one might well wonder why I'm bothering to post with the essential message of "ditto".

Because this is less of an update, news-wise, than it is an update "specific detail"-wise.

It seems that, over the month or so coming to a head today, I've sort of developed a bit of a teacher complex. To set the stage my goings on, allow me to first explain that about a month and a half ago I helped an English classmate in preparing her last essay. Without knowing exactly where her marks were from last semester's essays, I know they were "not good". I'm guessing in the 2.5 to 3.0 grade point range.

Well, our class got back our essays last Friday. I got a 4.0, A+, which put me in a fine mood--but it was not anywhere near so fine as discovering today that my classmate got a 3.7 (which the professor apparently said she may regrade as a 4.0) on her essay. Entirely my work, the improvement.

Next tale of me and teaching involves Religion class: Introduction to Christianity. It's the easiest course I've ever taken or am likely to take unless they come up with a Middle-Earth History 101. It's also, rather relatedly, my favourite class. The reason? Well, Christianity (with Tolkien) is probably my favourite field of study. We have an engaging prof, and one who isn't tied in notions of control or doing all the work. She's also quite open to class input. This means that if anything comes up touching on Catholicism... then Michael A. Joosten is the expert who gets to pontificate to the class.

There was also the episode a couple weeks back where I got to class early, and, being bored, took up a piece of chalk and drew a map of the Middle East on the board, marking in a few of major centres of ancient times (this is intro to Christianity, remember? We were studying inter-Testamental times at that point). Well, the prof came in, and loved it. I either got really lucky or really unlucky because it so happened that she had been planning to bring maps in, but hadn't had time. The upshot was that the first five minutes of class were of Professor Michael standing at the front of class giving a very short overview of Middle Eastern history, and the Hebrew involvement therein.

Then, today, in Sociology class, we were divided up into groups and told to discuss the pros and cons of homeschooling. You will all remember that Yours Truly was homeschooled... and had a lot to say. Well, when each group had to pick a spokesperson, I got nominated (I was more than willing). When no group seemed eager to go first, I volunteered... and proceded to spend about five minutes expounding on homeschooling pros and cons from the podium at the front of the class. The best part was that the next group had to be completely cajoled into presenting, since (apparently) I had already covered all the points they came up with. (Not true, as they added a couple things I never thought of at the time, or didn't have time for, but still).

Finally, after my last class today, a religion classmate and I went over last Friday's class, which she had missed. Since I took all of zero notes for class that day, and haven't bothered printing a lecture outline all year, I did it from memory. The main thing regarding that, however, is that we got to talking afterwards (she's one of my best friends at Concordia, where I'm slightly solitary normally), and I mentioned the fun I'd had that morning talking in front of Sociology, and how I loved speaking in public, and expounding on topics I know something about. Of course, she laughed and my history talk in Religion was mentioned, and I believe I said something about it looking like I was becoming something of a teacher.

"You're very good at teaching," was about what she said, or something quite similar. It wasn't a particularly dramatic statement, and conversation flowed on--but it struck me. I considered it a huge compliment, and it was probably the high point of my day.

It's true, really... I love imparting information, and I love speaking in public. It would have been my own verdict, but I'm glad to have a second opinion, but it seems that I'm good at it.

I have no idea if this means anything in the long run. Coupled with the reaffirmation of my intelligence (between getting back marks and beating TGWBS in an IQ exam--surely a fluke, though), I've been thinking about the prospects of me being sent on for further studies after ordination. I thought about that a fair bit before the New Year, as may be recalled, and I hold to my original conclusion that it's way to early to make plans or worry... but my mindset has changed. I still don't really want to do more studies, if that's what I have to do, but the prospect of becoming a professor or seminary formator, rather than looking like the unwanted roadblock on my road to being a pastor, looks like something I could really enjoy.

If I end up an academic... I might not mind so much...

So... It's been a while

No, I haven't gone and died--despite the melodrama of the last post, my diabetes specialist (who I happened to have my half yearly checkup with last week) certified me as "healthy, other than that diabetes thing" (not an exact quote).

It's been a good week and a half... but I can't say much has happened. Probably because it has been a good week and a half. Good times don't merit posting so much as the bad ones. You can be sure that if I had come back from the specialist with a verdict of "you've... got maybe three years, Mr. Joosten, before you go blind" that I would have been hyperventilating here as soon as I got back from that trip. No, the only thing noteworthy about my trip to the specialist is that while my appointment was at 7:45 am (an ungodly hour that involved missing Morning Prayer, breakfast, and my normal hour of rising), I still couldn't make my 11:10 class on time. I was fifteen minutes late. I was furious. Especially because I was the first appointment of the day. Between that and always getting a clean bill of health, is it any wonder I hate going to check-ups? One rather amazing product is that it got me drinking milk, something I've avoided since age 4, and which no amount of prior diabetic check-ups had managed. Must have been that post-mortality depression from my last post...

Let's see... what else has gone on?

Not much.

The weather has been downright gorgeous the last ten days or so. We've had a week averaging about 5 degrees above zero (Celsius). Spring has come! I love it... though it hasn't done much good for my mental frame of mind. I can't wait for summer, and going camping. I'm not even sure I'll have time... but that doesn't matter. I'm going, sometime. Somewhere. I might even go alone (which really defeats the whole purpose of camping... or any sort of holiday. People are key). Even yesterday's slightly chillier, much rainier/windier/cloudier/snowier weather was delightful! Sure it looked nasty. Sure, it WAS nasty. But it was a SPRING nasty! Spring has a completely different feeling and smell from winter. Besides, I adore nasty weather, so long as I don't have to drive in it. I love the wild power of creation, and I love the colours, sounds, and smells. I suspect I'll love it even more once summer comes and I'm at work fencing (with fences, not epées), and bad weather means a day off.

But... yeah... that's all that's going on. It should amply explain why I haven't posted in a while. Live is great, but not particularly newsworthy.

Near-Death Experience

Okay, so it's been what, about five hours, since I lasted posted? A lot has happened since then.

Well, not really. I spent most of that time playing Solitaire (for an hour and more) or finishing Great Expectations.

That's what I did... but what happened to me scared me stiff.

Backstory: This morning my car's locks were frozen, probably due to carwashing yesterday. My memory said nothing about having locked it, so I thought it was the whole door that was frozen--but unlocked. To make a long story short, I nearly busted my arms and the door handles trying unsuccessfully to break into my own car. I didn't succeed. I gave up for an hour or two to let the car defrost some, and succeeded on the third try later (after having missed, non-problematically, English class) to unlock the door, which then opened like a charm.

That was just me being stupid, but the upshot of it was that not only did I miss English, but I really strained my arms and hands, leaving me with a dull ache all day and, more pertinently to where this is going, a general feeling of weakness in my hands.

Fast forward to this evening, after my last post. I compound the lightness in my hands by playing Solitaire for an hour and more, a procedure that, due to the non-ergonomicness of my desk, cuts off the circulation a wee bit. When I got to Great Expectations, my hands were rather weak-feeling indeed, as if my circulation was not so good.

Not TOO long later, whilst reading... let's say two hours ago, I start to notice this general feeling of poor circulation, and take some pains to encourage my blood to flow to my hands, and my brain (no doubt tired of reading, momentarily) decides to invent a conspiracy theory wherein my diabetes is not so well-managed as I have been led to believe, and that I am exhibiting the first signs of the overall poor circulation typical of diabetics with poor control.

In finding support for this theory, my brain decides that the sleepiness in my legs is another symptom--a very spurious relationship as that is quite simply the result of being elevated by sitting in a crossed-legged position. In addition, however, it adds the fact that I need a new glasses prescription--again ignoring a pertinent fact, here the fact that my left eye, far from getting worse, actually improved.

Murphy's Law holding as true in Edmonton as anywhere else, I felt my bloodsugars dropping about this time. Too much insulin or not enough food at supper, apparently (more likely the latter, thinking back... shrimp and noodles in alfredo sauce is okay, but not a favourite for me). So with this persisting weakness/lighthandedness in my fingers and palms, I head down to the cafeteria (still with nose in my book, I might add) to remedy that fact.

I'm not sure how I found the time to think it over, because I don't recall putting down Great Expectations, beyond the unlit hallway I didn't bother to light, but I certainly had time to ponder what it would really mean if I was loosing control of my diabetes--or, rather, if it was too late to do anything about it.

And I was scared. Scared to the point of ridiculous.

And very, very serious.

My first thought was that if it looked like I wouldn't be able to manage my diabetes with the hectic schedule of a priest or seminarian, then I'd have to leave: either voluntarily or under orders.

That scared me. Badly. I haven't a clue what else I would do with my life. And I'd have a debt, since the free room and board the Diocese pays for is then 50% mine to repay. (Now, in real life if they kicked me for medical reasons, I might be able to expect it to be waived, but this didn't occur to me.)

And then I began to contemplate what else I would do... nothing occurred to me. If I'm not fit to be a seminarian/priest, then I doubt I'd be fit for most jobs. Who would I be dependent on? My family? Who else?

The thought also occurred to me (perhaps absurdly, though I'm inclined to think not) that I might end up married if I didn't make the cut for the priesthood. Not so absurd if I was healthy and left of my own accord, but I'd rather necessarily be a rather poor prospect if I was kicked out on medical grounds. What girl would want to be saddled with a shortened-lifespan, physically-weaker, lost and clueless guy?

(As an aside: I retained either enough whimsy or else was so serious I was, well, serious, that I know who I'd WANT to fall in love with/marry, possibly. Though I'm not sure I'd want to dump that broken, fictional ex-seminarian on her...)

That was about it. I regained my blood-gluclose equilibrium, and finished Great Expectations. I was, and am, sane enough to dismiss this crackpot hypothesis and projection of the future as having no real ground to stand on. I am, after all, studying Logic this semester, and as demonstrated above, none of my premises is really true, and therefore my conclusion is invalid.

All the same, though, the thought scared me--as I've kind of made clear. Death doesn't scare me. I'm sure enough of the afterlife and what it's like that I think I have as good or better a chance than most at ending up all right. (And the best thing is... if there's no afterlife, I'll never know.)

But the process of dying scared me horribly... I don't mind the idea of going quickly, be it at gunpoint or car accident, or whatnot. But if it were to drag on for years, leaving me unable to earn a living... that's what scared me, the idea of being shunted into dependence and uselessness before I'd even had a chance to earn the care of the Church or a wife.

It still gives me the jibblies. I'm going to bed.

"We Adore You, O Christ, and we Praise You"

"Because by Your Holy Cross You have Redeemed the World."

So begins each station in the traditional Lenten prayer, the Stations of the Cross.

I just got back from it.

It officially opened our silent recollection. Naturally, I'm blogging. There's something about the deep, prayerful silence of a recollection that sends my comtemplator into overdrive-- and there's no distractions to stop me diarizing it here.

Anyway, the Via Dolorosa (Stations of the Cross as it's generally known in English) has got to be among the most emotionally powerful prayers the Church has in her armoury. It IS the embodiment of what Lent is meant to be; the reliving of Christ's passion and death. It doesn't hold anything back.

Station 1: Jesus is Scourged.
Station 2: Jesus takes up the Cross.
Station 3: Jesus falls (carrying the Cross) the First Time.
Station 4: Jesus meets His mother on the road.
Station 5: Jesus is assisted in carrying the cross by Simon of Cyrene.
Station 6: Jesus' bloody face is wiped by Veronica.
Station 7: Jesus falls the Second Time.
Station 8: Jesus meets the mourning women of Jerusalem.
Station 9: Jesus falls the Third Time.
Station 10: Jesus is stripped of his clothes.
Station 11: Jesus is nailed to the Cross.
Station 12: Jesus Dies.

Station 13: Jesus' body is taken down from the Cross.
Station 14: Jesus' body is laid in the Tomb.

Even the "happier" stations, where Jesus is assisted by Simon or Veronica only serve to highlight the fact that he needed that help in the first place, that he was so weak and bloody as to need assistance.

Not all forms of the Stations include the Fifteenth station--at least not all the ones I've seen used. The Fifteenth station is the Resurrection, which is of course the reason that for all the suffering in the first place. But unlike the Easter season, the focus of Lent and Via Dolorosa is the SUFFERING and DEATH of Christ.

It's a very serious season indeed, and I've always found it to succeed a great deal better than Advent at capturing the serious feeling of the pre-festive season. Probably that has to do with all the carols blaring on the radios, decorations everywhere, and frantic shopping and partying going on. Lent, mercifully, is free of such concerns, and assisted in this goal by a sharper focus on penance, with days of Fasting and Abstinence, the custom of giving something up for Lent, and the somehow very noticeable removal of the Alleluia from all worship.

It's more than that, of course. Advent is a serious season, a season of anticipation for the coming of Christ, just as all the centuries before A.D. 1 were anticipating Christ. It's a hopeful, eager, if solemn season. It's a housecleaning and refocussing season.

Lent, by contrast, is a preparation for Easter. And just as Advent echoes the reality of waiting for the first Christmas, so Lent recalls the events that led to the first Easter, namely the suffering and death of Jesus.

It's a very powerful season... and I find it gets moreso each year. Of course, it's the feast of Easter that makes it worthwhile. As St. Paul said in his letters, if Jesus didn't rise from the dead, there's absolutely no point to Christianity--and no point to Lent.

Lent is an awesome season, but thank You, God, that it comes only once a year. Just as you can only go about forty days without food, you can't go much longer with that kind of sorrow. You need the promise of Easter to make it worthwhile.

Gotta Get Out!

Sometimes... I wish I didn't live in Seminary. More accurately, sometimes I wish more of the seminarians were party animals.

To be honest, I'm probably on the sedate end of the spectrum in most places... but seminary seems to attract the sedater kind, and I'm probably about middle-of-the-road for this community, so you'd think that out of twenty-seven guys I'd never really feel a huge need for a rowdier crowd. The handful of greater exuberance than myself ought to be enough.

Except that that half-dozen or so aren't as lazy as me. Or they have more work. Or tonight they're all tired. Or I'm not invited... (probably one of the others, but this should not be ruled out--I am a loner, after all)

Whatever the cause, I'm itching to go out and do something... but here I am, doing nothing. I doubt this would be such an issue if I weren't so darned reticent about ASKING people for things/to do things, but there you have it. That's the way I am, and precious little about that is going to change. I'd rather stew in my own loneliness than--Heaven forbid!--ask anyone to DO something.

It's a part of myself I've grown accustomed to, and I can't really say I'm bitter about it (though in my melodramatic moments, I could try...). After all, it's not as if I'm never invited by others, or ignored. It's simply that I don't do my share of footing the invitations. If that means I feel like I've got a lonely, spartan social life... well, I've got no one to blame but me.

Tonight, though... I've got an itch to go and DO something-- and it's bugging me!

Lent

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, the first day of the liturgical season of Lent, which precedes the joyous season of Easter, and is a time of seriousness, a time of fasting and abstinence, a time of remembering the darkness of our sin, and of cleansing it, before the bright glory of the Easter celebrations.

Ash Wednesday is one of my favourite holy days. Here in Olds, we've always had evening Masses for as long as I can remember, in order to accomodate those who have to work during the daylight hours. This gives the Mass a special feeling of culmination after a long day of fasting (I was doing fine until supper, when I had my only proper meal of the day, then after eating a good-sized meal I was STARVING). Mind, I tend to favour evening Masses in the first place. I like starting my day with Mass, but a day that builds up to Mass as the final major action of the day has a certain attraction as well.

The ceremony of being marked with ashes is one I like, if only because the choir, every year, sings "Ashes" during it. It is possibly morbid of me, but I think "Ashes" is a song I want played at my funeral. It's not exactly a classical song of comfort and hope, but it's not bereft of the latter.

And now it's Lent.... I go home (to Seminary) tomorrow sometime, in order to be around of the Rite of Election at the Basilica on Sunday, the rehearsal being Saturday morning. I get to be thurifer (incenser), which is my favourite job as a server, but one which (in this case) I didn't even ask for. It'll be good to be home.

Yes, I think I'm writing a little disjointedly, but we can put it down to lack of practice. Reading Break has been blissfully free of anything resembling school work.

Absolution

I love Confession! Or the Sacrament of Reconciliation, or Penance, or whatever you want to call it. Be it a psychological or transcendental thrill, nothing beats that feeling of being clean (even if, as is the case, you feel slightly grungy and sweaty), of being at peace with God.

I leave open the possibility of a mere psychological thrill, though I am a completely convinced Catholic, simply because it could be just that. God works through physical signs and sacraments not because He can't do better, but because He made material reality fundamentally good, and because we are material creatures and we are most easily touched through it. So the thrill may just be the psychological result of believe in an unseen God and a cleansing personal guilt... but if so then that's a side-effect of scrubbing off the black mark of sin that I'm willing to keep.

Not that the thrill's always there. The absolution is, but I don't always get that rush of weak-kneed awe when I leave confession. Sometimes it's just more of a "been there, done it, I'm clean... now what?"

There's no "now what?" this time around. 'Tis too difficult when you're simply bubbling with joy.

Is it Rude?

Nothing major to report regarding Valentine's Day. Or, rather, there's NOTHING to report. Sts. Cyril and Methodius had a very quiet feast day (since the restructuring of the liturgical calendar, and possibly longer, St. Valentine hasn't had a formal feast. Instead, we celebrate the Apostles to the Slavs, who with St. Benedict are the Patron Saints of Europe. Amazing guys, I might add. They wrote the Slavonic alphabet).

Yesterday's blues are long gone. Nothing a trip to Boston Pizza couldn't cure--to say nothing of a good night's sleep. I dressed all in black for school today. As clerically as possible, to put it another way. Looked rather sharp too, I might add, if not quite priestly. Call it a psychological protest of the celibate on a day devoted to romantic relationships.

On a totally different topic, I got to thinking about politeness today. To set the state, at the start of religion class, I was offered some of those cinnamon-flavoured heart-shaped candy. I declined. As the test was starting, I didn't explain further. I doubt it was a big issue one way or another.

However, perhaps demonstrating how little the test concerned me, I got to thinking. What should one do in such situations, when offered gum or candy (typically, that's what it would be). Do people find it rude when you refuse? Do they find you standoffish?

I wonder mainly because I generally refuse. Being diabetic has a lot to do with it, but I were to be perfectly honest, I'd say that it's more of a justification than a reason for refusing. It should be a reason--I certainly need to think more about watching my diet. But more often it's simply "I don't want any".

Now, obviously this isn't something I worry about much. But I had a spare five minutes today, so I did. Would the polite thing be to just accept the offer, and so build a bond of generosity/acceptance, and connect with the human network?

Or do people simply not care... as would be the case if it were me offering?

Yeah, I should be busier during Midterms week, I know...