This has been spell checked, grammar checked, and analyzed by three different programs and then nuked with SpellChecker, and I know, I just KNOW that there are errors, but they hide so well.
I want my real live editor back.
Between the dyslexia, ADD, and heavy medication stupors, I am developing a serious phobia of publish, send, and save buttons.
So if this post disappears in a few hours, it is probably because my editor read this and emailed me with a list 2 miles long of everything that is wrong.
This is all her fault. She was the one who made me promise to have at least a ratio of 50/50 quote entries and original posts. No excuse was acceptable.
In the last two weeks, I have emailed her with so many ridiculous happenings, stories, and pictures, she says I have no excuse for a boring blog.
What happens when I run out of the medication that makes my brain work; how many canes I have actually lost and have covered up by purchasing an exact replica;
a cell phone that spent the day in the pouring rain, buried in a snowbank, maybe or maybe not on purpose,-and the message that was on it when I finally found it;
a hamster on a backgammon board;
the stalkarazzi strikes again at a another Drake concert; “hi mom”;
Why our house is becoming known as the Living Interactive museum of “The Great Schism” and my y children are actually bringing friends over to “see it”. It’s educational, they say;
and I still haven’t reported on the kidnapping committed by Bea and her best friend that happened last August (I have pictures!).
Don’t worry about spelling and grammar she says. Don’t worry about looking foolish, it’s not like anyone still thinks that you are sane. (She said THAT)
She doesn’t care that my priests occasionally reads this, and I could land in serious trouble. Always looking on the bright side, she says:
“well, at least confession won’t take so long if he knows what to expect in advance.”
And with that, here is my entry for today:
Benign intercostal myositis, my autoimmune system’s way to of saying, “I’m still here and I am not happy.” A good rule of thumb is “if it hurts, stop doing it, which works well if it involves moving swollen painful joints, but doesn’t work so well when it involves the muscles you use to breath. Checkmate.
A week of bedrest, steroids, and those pink pills that were responsible for the New Year’s Eve semi-coma incident (it was funny at the time, really) has me almost back to normal abnormal.
In the meantime Lent, efforts for daily family devotions, and negotiations to come up with a version of Lauds, that is acceptable to Orthodox wife and almost Roman Catholic Husband continues.
You would think this would be a slam dunk since I worship in the Orthodox Western Rite, which closely follows the 1962 pre-Vatican II Roman Catholic missal, (yes I have a copy published by those scandalous schismatics, The SSPX), and he attends a very traditional, Latin/Gregorian Chant Norvus Ordo Mass I am still around.
Some of the issues are minor. In the Gloria Patri, do you end with forever and ever, or unto ages of ages, and while it easy enough for
me to leave out the filioque, there have been other significant changes in the translation of the Nicene Creed. More challenging are the revisions in the Calendar, omissions and additions to the hagiography, and the sometimes unsatisfactory translation from the Latin of the propers and prayers in the Norvus Ordo.
Maybe we should just do the whole thing in Latin.
Then what about the Psalms?
The offset numbering between the Septuagint and almost every Bible we own is driving him to distraction. I don’t get what the problem is. He’s an engineer; it’s a simple equation. I’m dyslexic, and mathematically challenged an am able to figure it out. (The chart in the front of the book helps, too).
At the beginning we thought alternating between several versions of Morning Prayer, including Eastern Rite prayers might work. We tried using them without any editing.
It didn’t work so well.
Though he said it was fine, I noticed a few occasions of eye-rolling; universal husbandspeak for “Yes, dear; (because it’s just not worth the fight)”.
I think there is some unwritten rule in his head, (maybe it’s cultural, I will leave that up to you): It’s OK to repeat things up to 3 times if the sentence is less than 20 words. Repeating something longer than 20 words is just nonsensical, and repeating anything, regardless of length 12 times is like beating the dry bones of a dead horse.
Note, however, strangely the Rosary is not only exempt from this rule, but had been praying it is praised and encouraged (as it should be) and the benefits of doing so becomes obvious to anyone who does it on a regular basis. Yet no one sees any connection between that prayer practice and some of the ancient prayers of the East.
I must admit my own incidents of eye rolling at some of the language of Roman Catholic devotional prayers whose language seemed more akin to a graphic medical report than theological poetry.
I know there are good translations and bad translations, and some translations that shouldn’t see the light of day in both the Eastern and Western traditions. I also cringed at some of the Eastern devotional prayers that bordered on uncomfortable smugness with language that had poor hubby praying, for apostates, schismatics, and those who departed from the Orthodox Faith (that would be himself, in the eyes of many in the Orthodox Church).
We shall persevere, our words, no matter if they soar it the most beautiful poetic strains are incomplete and imperfect. But we take comfort in the promise that we never pray alone, but as part of the whole Church. Whatever melody our prayers take, they are harmonized by the Spirit praying in a superior language, a fiery language, and they are joined with the prayers of the whole company of heaven in the endless song of praise before the throne of God.
Pretty heady stuff to be doing at 430AM in the morning with only one eye open.
____________________
And just so I am not embarrassed alone:
There really was a kidnapping last August. Planned and executed by two young ladies returning home from a summer as Lutheran Camp Counselors. I am not saying there is any relationship between those two facts. There might be, but I am not saying it.
The Ransom note
The victim tied up and gagged
The Kidnapper’s partner in crime, Evil Gerry the Gnome,
stealing the wagon to cart his victim away. I was not more than 50 feet
away when all this was happening, but like the private investigator said,
“That woman can sleep through anything.”
I have the entire criminal case file.
Yeah, I got stories.