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Profile Information

Gender: Female
Home country: US
Current location: retired to MidWest
Member since: Mon Feb 18, 2013, 10:15 PM
Number of posts: 6,151

About Me

Still an ardent Irish-American Catholic damnYankee Yellow Dog Democrat socialist after all these years. (cue Simon music) Army brat and wife for many years, now have been on the loose far longer than I was married. After my two red chows died, I took in a mini-beagle cross that I named Molly Maguire, thinking she might need a good Irish name like my original real one. Later she got a baby sister, a smooth-coat JRT I named Brigid after the greatest of the ancient Celtic goddesses. My great-grandfather and his son fought for Michael Collins and barely made it out of Ireland one step ahead of John Bull. They slipped over to Wales for new identities and then forward to the States for a fresh start. That makes me second generation of illegal but certainly justified immigrants. There are precious few people to whose defense I fly immediately, but the list includes Hillary Clinton, President Barack Obama even when I disagree with him - it happens! - and living Irish patriots Gerry Adams and Martin \\\'Mind Your Kneecaps\\\' McGuiness. I pray earnestly for a united and free Ireland rescued from all official British occupation, with every square inch of alleged \\\'ancestral lands\\\' now held immorally and illegally by the invaders returned to the rightful owners. Irish-only rule for Ireland. No foreign masters anymore! I find it passing strange when Brits chide ME about \'interfering\' in Irish politics!

Journal Archives

Okay, okay! Following strong public demand (in my head at least), here's a brief recount

of how I came by such a beautiful portrait of JPII. The very next Sunday I rushed to church and asked the father, "What are you going to do with that picture of JPII in the narthex? Sell it? Send it somewhere? What?"

Bless him, Fr. X leaned over and asked in a conspiratorial tone: "Do you want it? Nobody else does." He knew how broke I was as usual.

Still, I nodded my head like a bobble doll, for once not daring to speak. He said, "Stop by the office soon after Mass."

So I was on pins and needles the whole time. He's a Claretian, indpendent minded with a biting sense of humor. In the basement social hall, he used to face a table laden with donuts and such, make the sign of the cross, then turn to us and declare with a straight face that the entire table of goodies were completely free of calories now. That was his shtick.

Anyway, Fr. X looked both ways (rather dramatically) and then hurried with it out to my car. I thanked him and sped off, feeling as if we'd really put something over on somebody, although I had no idea exactly who. Well, truthfully, some snotty people would've raised unholy hell if they'd seen us, so it wasn't entirely a game. But we played it to the hilt anyway.

Strange, the memories that still give me a warm glow years later. That resembles the way I got the antique print of Rafael's Sistine Madonna from another church, too. I guess maybe great priests think alike?

As long as I feel that Francis might be the same sort, guess I'll stick with him.

In a rather roundabout way, this does describe what being a Catholic now means to me. For all the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, I've been deeply blessed in the ways that matter most.

BTW, one main reason Rafael's Madonna is my favorite is because it's the only one over the centuries where either Mary and baby Jesus show a glimmer of having any idea what's to come. It's prophetic, tragic, and yet so full of love. Not in a million years would God have chosen me for Mary's role because He must know how poorly I would've done. Even today when one of 'my' animals crosses over before me, I go cuckoo. No other way to put it. But I love Mary almost as much as Jesus. Protestants don't realize what they're missing by turning their backs on her. I've even heard of some pastors referring to the Mother of God as a mere tool. Not in front of me, or they'd get their ears pinned back. When I'm way down in the dumps, I climb out by literally dancing around the house singing hail Mary's at the top of my lungs to every tune I can make up. By the time I run out of steam, my heart's well on its way to mending.

Where else on earth can a person find that sort of comfort? Nowhere. That's another reason I can't turn my back on Rome no matter how deep green my Celtic blood runs. Would Mary leave with me? Somehow I doubt it.

You're really good at ambiguity.

Again, what are you smoking, sir? When you call me the vilest thing in the world, a Repug, I have to wonder about you. Not to mention that post sounds like a threat. Consider yourself on report, whether it's a waste of my time or not. In well over a year, you're about the second or maybe third person I've ever had to alert on. So stuff that in your mouth and let me know how it tastes.

Shhh... relax, everyone. I have it on good authority that my juju beats his.

Yes, there is some modicum of justice in the world.

hmmm... to no one in particular. (not!) I found my previous post entirely relevant since

I'd been sharply criticized for having a username like probably 99% of the rest of DU. And yet someone - probably the complainer - seems to have turned me over to the gendarmes for pointing out the huge disconnect. Is such overreaction an exemplary response? I don't think so. Otherwise we'd never be allowed to disagree with one another at all, would we?

I'm going to take my widdle hurt feelin's to bed now and sleep like a lamb.

It gave us practice in not murdering each other. People had to be supportive and stick together

and do right by each other - if they didn't want to suffer the consequences. No fun to be sent to bed w/o dinner for not doing your chores. Mom also docked your allowance if you shirked. You got double duty on top of it too. If one of the kids misbehaved badly enough, the door to his or her overcrowded bedroom might disappear for a week, and then everybody else in the room would deal out their own brand of justice. We had a chore chart but were allowed to swap so long as we remained responsible for seeing that our original assignment actually got done.

Incidentally, anyone who thinks there's a shred of privacy or anonymity on the internet

is living in a fool's paradise. (not talking at you, Randy) Anyone who gets too hot and bothered about my username can easily find out exactly who and where I am, even, with a little effort. If they don't know how, they should ask a teenager. Then if they feel compelled to contact me at home against my wishes, they should find a lawyer to talk to mine. I'm not a public figure and to harass me in such a way would be classified as stalking. No, I don't believe any of you have such an inclination. But it goes to the fact that having a username is not only a very, very common and healthy situation, it is also beyond petty to cast aspersions on those who do. The people who need to know my personal identity and location already do. Ragging on a person for employing a username is a juvenile fit of pique equivalent to shouting "Your mother wears combat boots!"

I'm using this independent post because a certain responder claims to have blocked me, and I don't know if responding directly would make my post invisible too. Unlikely, but here it is anyway. Don't go calling people a sneaky coward for having a username. Not that a one-word name is any better or worse! Unless you print your full name, address, and phone # on every one of your posts, you have no room to throw stones.

Any decent shrink will tell you

that emotions are influenced by activity. If you don't even want to get up and move to improve your life, you will remain mired in place. Urging activity, even upon the unwilling, is a kindness, not abuse. If and when you accept the notion that you are totally helpless - note I did NOT say impaired, because that much is undeniable - you have participated in your own defeat. Trying to fan the tiniest spark of life into a person is doing them a favor. Agreeing that the situation is hopeless is cruel and unusual punishment. One reason I don't give a damn whether you like me or not is because I want to ignite some spark of life in you no matter how you revile me for it. Emotions follow actions just as much as the opposite is true.

If my bootcamp philosophy offends you, try to consider its survival utility. You're in a fight for your very life. I want you to win. If that makes you furious, at least you've made progress. All these naysayers in this thread seem to have no clue as to how devoted many a DI is to recruits; on the surface it might appear to outsiders and some shavetails to be mean as hell. No. It's an ultimate kindness. Until you realize and admit that principle to yourself, yes, I'd have to agree. You are doomed.

So choose. Hate me and let it make you want to live if for no other reason than to kill me; or hate yourself and perish.

Don't put words in my mouth. Your description of what I said is totally inaccurate.

I do advocate self help to the extent possible. That's not at all the same as 'just get over it.' But I'm sure you know that deep down. If you just needed to strike at me, fine. Stick to reality while you're at it. I don't give a rat's ass whether you like me or not.

Very sorry to hear of your troubles. Not that I have any pull at all,

but I don't see why anyone should object to your post. It would be cruel and heartless to do so. I only wish you the best, and would help if I could. Unfortunately I live on the thin edge myself. In retirement it's fairly secure, but I don't even have a car. I hope and pray things get better for you and the family. I know how hard times can feel.

Thought I'd drop by and share my favorite poem for Lenten contemplation:

Three Dollars Worth of God

I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please.
Not enough to explode my soul or disturb my sleep,
but just enough to equal a cup of warm milk
or a snooze in the sunshine.
I donít want enough of God to make me love a black man
or pick beets with a migrant.
I want ecstasy, not transformation.
I want warmth of the womb, not a new birth.
I want a pound of the Eternal in a paper sack.
I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please.

ó Wilbur Rees

Unfortunately I have met people intellectually challenged enough to read that as a racist screed instead of what it truly is, the most powerful expose of the condition of many a human soul. We all need to be on guard against letting it creep into our hearts.
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