I mentioned a long, long time ago that I would post about critters. Cause if there’s one thing (as a group) there’s a lot of around here – its critters!
Here’s the first millipede I’ve seen this season. Nice and fat! About 10 inches. I moved him off the road so he wouldn’t have any unforeseen mishaps.
Burrowing Owl – Cute!
Notice he switched feet. Hot ground!
Sorry peeps. I love gross, can’t help it. It’s so fascinating!
I can’t help myself. I must speak out about issues I am passionate about, and I will begin with the behavior of people at Mass. I say at the outset that I have no intention of judging souls. I am judging actions, not the intentions behind the actions. It is necessary to do so (and will probably be done frequently here) for the sake of truth.
I was delighted to attend the ordination of four priests for the Archdiocese of Los Angeles on May 31st at Our Lady of the Angels Cathedral. I wasn’t sure what to expect, though I’ve heard that ordinations are the most moving and beautiful of Masses. I was not disappointed, not in general, and not in particular in regards to the Archdiocese. In fact, the Mass was heavenly! There was no monkey business.
The music was so beautiful it was transporting. Hearing the Gloria sung in Latin by the choir was so . . . Vatican II! Yes! The Mass in my opinion was faithful to the texts of Vatican II on the Liturgy, which called for Latin and for chant to have pride of place.
The people around us were somewhat behaved, until the Laying on of Hands, a time-consuming ceremony that lasted perhaps 10 minutes while the choir gloriously sang Veni Sancte Spiritus. It could have been angels in heaven! But it was this time in which many around us saw opportunity to talk! Conversations, LOUD ones, broke out all around us, in Spanish, English, and Korean. The ladies behind us might have been at a luncheon for all they thought about keeping their conversations hushed (and they were archdiocesan catechists, for heaven’s sake!). I kept thinking of writing BE QUIET on my program and holding it up so they could see it over my shoulder, but I was too chicken. I spent the entire time wrestling with the question of whether it would be rude to tell everyone to hush. (Isn’t that a horrible way to spend your time in worship?) This would have had to be repeated many times in all directions – the conversations were breaking out like hotspots near a wildfire. After my intense experiences with rude progressive Catholics (another story for another time), I imagined them all spouting back at me “Remove the log from your own eye”, “Judge not”, and etc. It would all be to indicate that I was intolerant and lacking of charity. But these were just imaginings, and I kick myself for not having the courage to shush them.
Our worship must be conscious and attentive, and attended by silence and reverence for the Holy Sacrifice. Yet anymore and in most places, those of us who are silent become nothing more than quiet victims of the indignities and irreverence of those around us, those who do not understand that they are in the King’s court, those who do not understand the Mass. I try to tell myself to be grateful they are even there, but a quick shush, even done kindly, is misunderstood in the face of ignorance. They (the talkers) only believe we are being rude. What they really need is a few minutes catechism explaining why the need for quiet attentiveness. It is easier with children because they are open, with those fascinating imaginations, to all that can be said about the supernatural realities taking place before and around them. They are truly desperate for this knowledge.
Unfortunately at the Confirmation Mass we attended a few nights later, things got uglier. Two children behind me played, tickled, giggled, squirmed, flapped books, and talked very loudly. They listened the first couple of times I turned around and asked them to be quiet, but after the fourth or fifth attempt it became apparent they were mocking me. I finally turned to their mother beside them and pleaded with her, in Spanish, to please tell her children to show respect for the Holy Mass, which surprised her, but apparently she approved of her children’s behavior for it did not abate. Rather, it increased in proportion with their boldness due to lack of consequence and the activity of conferring the Sacrament and Holy Communion. I say children; they were about 12 and 13 years old.
Do people really understand the Mass? I am not talking about understanding heavenly mysteries that transcend our intellectual capabilities. I speak of basic Catechism here. I did not receive it growing up, and my contemporaries have not either. They are not culpable who are truly ignorant, but in the face of that, something must be done to instruct them. I’ll be brainstorming that one!
Traveling to Austin this month, we stopped in Midland to see Warren and Sarah, the awsomest folks there are, and of course Hot Rod. She’s doing well working two jobs, registered for her second year of college, and a busy social life which she would probably tell you is the only thing of importance. Being surrounded by people around her age is the stuff of life.
Mustached Ladies
After taking leave there, we proceeded to San Marcos, located between Austin and San Antonio to attend the Texas Pecan Growers Association conference. Dead Eye and The Elf went to Austin to the state Capitol where they learned first-hand the business of lawmaking. As representatives, they served on the education committee and worked through education bills, killing or passing them before taking to the floor of the House.
My Love, gettin’ politicky
We slipped away from the pecan conference Monday and drove to the Capitol to watch. The teens were amazing, following parliamentary protocol and bravely going to the floor to argue for or against bills. Some of the issues were hotly contested and we loved watching these kids take interest in the law. Great stuff!
Voting
Next day after the conference and dinner, we drove North again to Austin where we picked up my new puppy (YES! ANOTHER one! OK?) I have fulfilled my dream of having a standard poodle. I think our dog collection is complete. Then on to pick up Matt and Becky from their final dance (oh the politicians’ night life!) We left Austin after midnight and arrived in San Antonio at the National Shooting Complex just after 2:00 am. Then up at six. Becky had bow check at 7:00 and Matt had a safety meeting at 7:30. And so it went, ad infinitum. A week of not sleeping enough, oppressive heat, kids having to be shipped to fields all over the place, puppies that had to be walked in the mud and tangled themselves up and around my legs twenty times a walk, and the fire ants, and more fire ants, and crazy annoying fire ants!
Every time I stopped in one place for more than 30 seconds, my ankles would be covered with angry, revengeful, multitudinous little devils. First was a a nagging little thought out on the periphery of my mind, a thought of growing discomfort, which would move with increasing rapidity to the front, and finally the realization would hit: MYANKLESAREONFIRE!!! After which I would reach down to swat while the puppies ran circles around me and tangled themselves and my legs in the lines. The hair hanging in my face, the sweat running down, the second wave of ants beginning to bite. I would walk back to the trailer half-pulling, half-dragging the confused dogs to where I could take my shoes off and knock the rest of the ants off them. Most times I would get a final bite several minutes later up in the inner thigh area.
And I was grumpy. And tired. And grumpy. Did I mention I was grumpy? No matter the scope of the state 4-H shooting match (1050 kids) and the crazy-great complex. I just didn’t feel myself and I couldn’t seem to mount past my mood and “do violence to myself” as all the saints have done. I just griped and was not cheerful.
Them Elves = Good Archers
Dead Eye
What the Shirt Says
One Tired Puppy, or is it Two?
Finally Saturday ended the shoot and we hung out near cousin Kevin’s tailgate with his all-important cooler and all-important Jennifer and Danelle and sipped wine and traded shooting and archery stories.
Sunday morning we attended a reverent Mass at the beautiful St. Anthony Claret Church which stands conspicuously across the road from the shooting complex. Matt said every shooting complex should come with a Church. Becky answered that every Church should come with a shooting complex. What a joy to be in Mass, and the Blessed Sacrament was centered behind the altar where it SHOULD be! Amen!
Somehow, no matter how distant I feel from God, how neglectful I’ve been, how mindlessly I’ve lived without reference to Him, how sinful, I am at home when Mass begins. Joy seeps in through my pores and my spirits begin to soar. And He forgives me and is happy to see me here. Mass is home. St. Therese talked longingly of the Fatherland. To me, Mass is the foretaste of the Fatherland as it is a replica of the heavenly liturgy. Everything is right again when I am at Mass, and all the internal fighting and bickering and misery from the previous week has miraculously fallen away and all that is left is sheer joy!
After Mass ended I noticed the confession room was open and the light was green! Knowing how badly I felt about my grumpiness and negativity all week, God gave me the green light to unload it all. I came out light as a feather. It was wonderful. Thank you, God. You’re the best!
As a parting shot, here are some road rules for the National Shooting Complex during the Texas State Shoot:
Heading Home
Tip O' Texas Catholic 