Sanctus Sanctus Sanctus

I know this is petty. I try to not let it bother me; however, I do wonder.

In the 70s the Roman Catholic Church in the US liberally changed some of the English used in the Mass from its original Latin translation. I think the reasoning was to make it more relatable to Americans (some people called it touchy-feely translating). This year, 2012, we were instructed/mandated to return to the proper, literal translation from the Latin.

I happen to prefer the literal translation. Having fallen away from the Church for many of the intervening years, it was much easier for me to revert to what I had originally learned when I was a child, when the Mass first went to English and the translation was precise.

The 70s sometimes added superfluous words. The response to "Let us give thanks to the Lord our God" became: "it is right and just to give Him thanks and praise" instead of the simple "it is right and just" (Dignum et iustum est.).

Which brings me to my observation. When I was young and we sang the Sanctus in Latin it went:

    Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus

    Dominus Deus Sabaoth

When we were allowed English, we said or sang:

    Holy, Holy, Holy

    Lord God of Hosts

Then, the 70s additions happened and it was interpreted this way:

    Holy, Holy, Holy Lord

    God of power and might

(observe that the word Lord is bumped up to the first line)

Today, I notice that many are still bringing the word Lord up to the first line:

    Holy, Holy, Holy Lord

    God of Hosts

(and this kinda drives me nuts)

In my Church, most of the priests lead the English this last (wrong?) way. Unless we sing it; then we do it correctly. I've thought about discussing it with one of our parish priests –and I might– but perhaps this minor annoyance is a good thing to "offer up" (remember that?).

I like to think of myself as a non-rigid Catholic who doesn't get all hung up on rules. I think that one's relationship with God is infinitely more personal than dictates allow or even attempt to understand. I tend to think that sometimes we hide true meaning behind habitual and regimented behavior.

So I will try to not flinch at "Holy Holy Holy Lord" ... because to do so is trivial and not sanctus at all.


 

Currently reading:

 The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse 

 by Louise Erdrich

For more than a half century, Father Damien Modeste has served his beloved people, the Ojibwe, on the remote reservation of Little No Horse. Now, nearing the end of his life, Father Damien dreads the discovery of his physical identity, for he is a woman who has lived as a man. To complicate his fears, his quiet life changes when a troubled colleague comes to the reservation to investigate the life of the perplexing, difficult, possibly false saint Sister Leopolda. Father Damien alone knows the strange truth of Sister Leopolda's piety and is faced with the most difficult decision of his life: Should he reveal all he knows and risk everything? Or should he manufacture a protective history though he believes Leopolda's wonder-working is motivated by evil?

I am finding this book very passionate, fascinating, surprisingly believable, sometimes humorous, beautifully written in a way that grasps from the prologue and doesn't let go. The Vatican might not approve of this story; however, knowing how intensely Catholicism is practiced, I am intrigued.

[She] imagined that she had bent to the ground and had been rooted by the ends of her fine, black hair. When she pulled herself upright, earth rained down on her and her thoughts were as weak as dust.

That is just so much more expressive than saying:

[She] was depressed.

Rats and Bats

 I spent today making silhouettes of rats and bats.
They look great in a mirror, in windows or against a white surface.

Mom's Handbag

Ah! There is much to be said about enduring style, is there not?
I still have in my possession the handbag my mother held on the day she married my dad in Dublin, Ireland, right after WWII, August 1945. At this writing, that makes it 67 years old; not exactly Smithsonian vintage but nearly. It doesn't have a label so I don't know where it was made; undoubtedly it was purchased in Belfast, Northern Ireland, where she lived. Just beautiful.

Here is the proof in her right hand!
I also used to have the suit, a scarlet wool 40s style, but it got too moth-eaten and sadly, was discarded. Oh– and that's my future dad, the US Army sergeant who swept her off to America.

I'm currently reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and wonder how, in Northern Ireland, 1945, she could have gotten her hands on such a handbag– with leather and practically everything being rationed. My mom, being young and cute, would brag a little of how her own mother encouraged her to flirt with the fellow they called "Billy Butter" to get extra –what else?– butter! I have a feeling that, the minute the war was over, my dreamy-future-mother went on a meager shopping spree.  P.S. Good book!

Strawberry Season

   Strawberries have personality. And good taste.

Crows Love Cherries!

Where did all the cherries go?

 
Caw!  Caw!

The tree was decimated by the crows.

When I Lose on eBay

Dream Big– READ!

It's time for Summer Reading and the theme this year is Dream Big- READ!

Here is what I've come up with for our Book Log:

Individual schedule for Central.

Old Women

Some have a dislike (fear) of anything "granny". Everything is poo-poo-ed if it's too "granny".  The expression "not your granny's … (decor, car, crafts– whatever)" is touted as a good thing because to be "granny" means to be out-of-style. Well, I say poo-poo to that! Get over yourselves, youth obsessed. If you are lucky, you too will get old.

     Some of my paintings and drawings of "old women".

Reading

Watching

Shopping

Fetching blueberries

Wild Turkeys

Until about five years ago, the only turkey I had ever seen was the Thanksgiving kind.

But then those Wild Ones began to appear everywhere!

And they are wild indeed.  Scary even.  Last week I saw a poor fellow trying to keep about four of them at bay by using his bicycle as a shield.

The first time I saw them in my neighborhood was (believe it or not!) on a Thanksgiving Day.  I thought "how adorable" and "how appropriate" and got out the camera.

However, they soon got aggressive and spoiled my photographic endeavor.

I wonder why I am seeing so many of them!

I wonder how they taste.

Catholic School Education

How did the Sisters do it? ... I don't know. There were at least 50 children in each class and the Sisters rarely had a helping hand. We had folk dancing on Wednesdays taught by a regular dance instructor; I imagine that hour must have been a little touch of "heaven" for our Sister! She didn't even get recess off because there was no one else to perform yard duty.

Catholic school was the best of my education in every respect. Now that could have partially been because, at age 13, I went on to one of the two much larger public schools (dubbed Sodom and Gomorrah by Sister L, our principal) and because hormones kicked in. After 8 years of religion, rules and respect, it was strange to see students slouching in their seats when answering a question (we ALWAYS stood by our desks when speaking in class). No one in public high school could diagram a sentence the way we former Catholic school kids could. And I was particularly fortunate because Sister J and her propensity for "modern math" came along when I was in 7th grade, so I received an education in bases and square roots which not every parochial school was able to offer. I got so good that I competed in math competitions! Believe me, considering what happened in HS, that was amazing! Our class had a lot of good voices as well, and an excellent instructor, Sister A, who coaxed Latin 5-part harmony into our heads and melodiously out of our mouths. And history ... the crusades, serfdom, missions ... we learned it all with a healthy touch of secular history thrown in as well.   

If my dad had had his preference, he would have driven all his girls to the Catholic high school which was about 30 miles away. It was impossible, of course. He also had a stroke when I was 12. He could no longer drive me to YCS (Young Christian Students). I would receive my last scholarly honor pin at age 13. And on to high school where times were a changin'. I became too vain to wear my glasses. I started to smoke (quit ages ago.) I lost interest in school except for Art (Thank God for a wonderful art teacher!). Interestingly, the boys with whom I had gone to Catholic school, who were average students in grade school, really took off and excelled in high school! And many of the girls did well too, not falling into the trap that I did. The very same girl who, one year prior, had been in math competitions, had some sort of mental block about algebra in high school. There is, of course, much more to the story, but this post is to talk about Catholic school.

Some might argue that a Catholic education is not superior. I can only speak of my own experience, the care I felt and from which I benefitted. My own teen years made a difference, I admit. Whether Catholic high school would have changed anything in my education, it's hard to say because there were other factors.

I now live in a city where the Catholic grade school no longer is staffed by any Sisters.  I think the enrollment is pretty small and they have financial woes.  Sad.  Because for me it really was my best education.

Incidentally, most of my lifelong friends are from my Catholic school time. (Perhaps that is a comment on my personality more than education itself.) Soon, I will be having lunch with the two girls with me in the above illustration and with our 6th grade Sister ... what was she– 12 years old?– when she was teaching us?

Wiggle Worms

 Wiggle Worms ... Why?

More than 3,000 species of earthworm exist in the world.

Worms can have between 1-5 pairs of hearts.
(What's a "pair" of hearts, though?)

Gotta whole lotta love!

If a worm is cut in half, only the part of the body that has the head will live.

Because I'm headstrong!

Earthworms will eat almost anything that was once alive, but is now dead.

I eat dead stuff!

Worms cannot hear or see.

But we can wiggle!

 And that's why Wiggle Worms!

Worms facts from:

http://www.infobarrel.com/Top_10_facts_about_Worms