The Hypocrites are us

Yes, kids, the topic this week over yonder in Facebookville is this one. Sigh.  "We" do our best to explain the Catholic response to riches and poverty, but in the end we all are hypocrites.

Often, um, VeryOften, I am the one with the "hypocrite present" light flashing above my head (as an alert for the aliens, you know).  The grace of Almighty God always sends something or someone around to remind me of "what I already know".  I know it's not just the Church Militant which aids me but the entire Church:  Militant, Suffering, Triumphant.

Even though you see something very bad about your neighbor, don't jump immediately to conclusions, but rather make excuses for him interiorly.  Excuse his intention, if you cannot excuse his action.  Think that he may have acted out of ignorance, or by surprise, or accidentally.  If the thing is so blatant that it cannot be denied, even so, believe it to be so, and say inwardly:  the temptation must have been very strong.

-St. Bernard, Sermon on the Canticle of Canticles, 40

Do nothing from selfishness or conceit, but in humility count others better than yourselves.

-Philippians 2:3

So, next time you see me in Facebookville and I'm flying my freakFlag a little too high, remind me of what I already know, please.

Internet Dogs

i am wondering why complete strangers think they have the liberty to speak such cruel words in response to a blog such as this one.  

yesterday i wrote about my adoption and received more than a few nasty comments. only one was

 g-rated enough to post.

makes me want to be more myself

in real life.

Peacenik

the politics is killing me.

years ago i realized 

i am partyless.

today i decided

i am now a Peacenik.

i will still vote.

(((under duress)))

U.S. Adoption: Anti-Catholicism and Eugenics

Sister Irene Fitzgibbons, New York Foundling Hospital

I like to pretend that it would be no problem for me to live and survive in a little house on the prairie.  I fancy myself as one who can whip up gravy from nothing and keep that fire stoked like any-ole-man could.  I have heroines from our early American days including Laura Ingalls Wilder and Sister Irene, seen in this photograph.  In 1869, Sister Irene rented a house,  put a white wicker cradle outside the door and waited to take in unwanted babies.  The first month she had 45 abandoned children.

By 1879, Sister Irene and a Protestant minister (with anti-Catholic motives) helped relocate thousands of orphans via the "Orphan Train", where children were transported from New York City to parts west.  These children were not adopted but were indentured...servants like those adopted in ancient Rome, India and China.  President Theodore Roosevelt stepped in to declare, in 1909, that "the nuclear family represented the highest and finest product of civilization and is best able to serve as primary caretaker for the abandoned and orphaned."  Still there were fears.  Fears about the genetic quality of illegitimate and indigent children (((and the Catholic faith))) were common as eugenics was popular during this "Progressive" time in the United States.  (((This attitude changed only when the US population was forced to reject Hitler's own eugenic policies.)))  

The new idea for adoption laws included strict consideration of what was in the "best interests of the child", and even stricter still, the secrecy clause.  The fears here were again poverty and Catholicism. Would poor, trashy, criminal, Catholics,  come to reclaim their children from their adoptive homes?  Thanks to the Horrible War,  the years between 1945 and 1970 were fast-rising adoption years.  The stigma lessened more and more until the Great Adoption Peak in 1970.  (((of course the decline was rapid and permanent thanks to the Birth Control Pill and Abortion on Demand.)))

I hate the secrecy clause the most.  My dear adopted dad was born before the clause.  He had the golden ticket to find his mother.  He never did and regretted it.  I am the Adopted in Secret Generation.  Now, most may choose Open or Closed Adoption.  What about those of us who dwell in between?  Some states have changed their laws about unsealing adoption records.  In the state of my birth, Michigan, I may submit my name as wishing to be contacted if anyone is searching for me but that is all I get.  Oh. Except for the letter.  I requested non-identifying information on my birth mother and natural father.  I was hoping for medical information.  All I got was a very long letter, the contents of which was a very sorrowful soap opera-type story.  Yay for me.  Yet another reason for sarcasm. (((Oh, and no one IS looking for me.)))

So, while Sister Irene is my hero, in my opinion the adoption laws in our country are horrible.  What began well has ended badly.  I don't wonder why there are a disproportionate number of adoptees my age who are in therapy.  Perhaps I'll include my own messed up adoption on my list for my shrink.  Wait! I forgot I dumped him for not liking me defining my own crazy.  For sure I will finally blog one day about Being Adopted.  (((Waiting for more sarcasm and irony to invade the topic.))) 

Taking Control is Allowed?

I really don't like satan's box much less its keyboard.  I learned how to type in 1974 on a manual typewriter. We learned and practiced our exercises to music.  The old lady teacher was WayCool.  I was stoned at every class and can still type 92 words-per-TheMinute (no errors).  I am full of errors on this keyboard, both typo and idiocy-o errors.  Lately I have shed tears on my keyboard...I just don't like it.  I recently asked someone over at Facebookville how to make the sign of the cross (+) to look like his (which I cannot demonstrate here).  After a few tries (((control, alt, zero, one, three...control alt))) and seeing a few show-offs successfully post the said cross, it was determined that I was impotent because I was a Mac.  Sigh.

As usual, I took control of the most recent failure and accepted with joy my little plus sign.  Along the way, since accepting the "disorder", I have played my own little musical exercises.  I play music as loud as my apartment neighbors will tolerate, and ponder the ways I may control my thoughts, ideas, words, and sprialdowns.  Sometimes it works.  What hurts is when you are in success-mode and are feeling fine, then suddenly (and it seems out of nowhere) the very loved ones who wish you well and are pleased to see you out and about, demand (or make you feel like it's a demand) that you raise your own bar up a notch?  You know...you've taken a walk, now let's start jogging.  I am lucky to make it to just that place under the normal line,  the jogging may never happen in my world, again.  (((was skater not jogger anyway)  

This is where the sweet and beautiful control factor comes in and thanks to many folks who are wiser than I, I have learned that I am allowed to define my own crazy, take control of my "peaceful world", and press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.  (Philippians 3:14)

Facebookville, the Sequel. the Contradiction.

'Tis a separate universe over there in Facebookville.  The last time I realized this in the profound way in which I did these last few weeks, was when I wrote this - well, I wrote the title.  In one day such irony took over my thoughts and invaded the pictures in my brain.  It did feel like my brain was slowly oozing out of my ears.

This lovely and beautiful, kind and gracious Christmas season has left me out of breath and bewildered.
My invisible friends over There have sent me or wished me multitudes of Christmas blessings!  Fabulous, indeed.  I also have received about half of that number rude, perverted, satanic, romantic, ignorant, perverted private and public greetings. (((did i say perverted?)))  I got Snarky, now and then.  I don't care. no. mo.

I am who I am and know it well. I die daily!  First letter to the Corinthians, Chapter 15: 31 +
Our rich United States of America (and preborn infant killing country) has forgotten her prayer:

Now I lay me

down to sleep.

I pray the Lord,

my soul to keep.

If I should die

before I wake.

I pray the Lord

my soul

to 

take

We are so sure of our existence, apart from Almighty God, that we do not pray the prayer of deathSleep.  Life must end for this day and, God willing, He grants us breath, we awake from the tomb of sleep, and begin again.  Hopefully with a Morning Offering, Act of Faith, Act of Hope, and Act of Love.  With our "priorities" out of order, we are free to awaken day after day the same. Another day to be rude, arrogant, romantic, perverted, prideful, judgmental, ignorant, blahblahblah...with invisible friends who may or may not be who they say they are. We are all friends. (((we are laffin)))  

The beautiful song of the peaceful death. Dying daily.  with Christ Jesus before our eyes.

((('tis funny. I had picket signs with Paul Hill (here) for a Pearl Jam concert.)))

Breathing! and wishing you and your loved ones a very hopeful and peaceful New Year! 

Happy New Year - the Year of the Lord 2012

It is the year 2012!  Here, at my local 7-Eleven, there is one stand-alone display near the front of the store with EVERYTHING one might need to survive the mean streets of my quaint, little, Annapolis.  I did become ill.

Our Lady of the Predicament, pray for us.  
Happy New Year And a Blessed Solemnity of Mary, the Mother of God! +