Our Lady of Guadalupe

Happy Feast Day of Our Lady of Guadalupe, everyone! Enjoy!



And on this special day, it is a good reminder to pray for Fr. Tom Kraft, OP, our dear priest and friend who has end-stage esophageal cancer. Fr. Tom despite being exceptionally weak and rather fragile, has been traveling to visit both family and communities that he served. He and his brother are currently in Mexicali, Mexico (where Fr. Tom had lived and served for 8 years) for the Feast Day of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Please pray for Fr. Tom's strength of body and heart as he completes this trip, and please pray his comfort and peace, as well.

Cold Weather Comfort

It's cold in Seattle. Freakin' cold. The kind of cold where you can wear a sweater and a down jacket, and a hat and cashmere gloves too, and still be cold. The forecast is calling for snow this weekend, and more likely than not, it will snow.

Yup, it's cold around here.

And I know it's cold not because the heat in my home is set to "high", and not because of what the forecast tells me. Rather, I know it's cold because I have this great urge to knit. This evening, I grabbed some fabulous yarn, "Maeve" handspun - wool, recycled sari silk, glitz and more (thanks Jess!) - and began contemplating what to make out of it. Yes, for me, that's the first sign of Winter... my desire to knit something fun (and warm)!

And, too, despite my desire to snuggle in with a warm cup of tea, knitting needles and yarn in hand, I find myself thinking of far-off lands. This weekend, I wish I were here instead:

(The Dead Sea Resort in Jordan)

Doesn't this place look luxuriously warm and fabulous?! When I was there last, the daytime highs were 115F and the lows were mid-to-upper 80s. Sounds pretty good to me right now!

Meme - Tag, You're It!

Alex, over at Vitus Speaks, tagged me in the meme -- my very first one!

1) If you had one million dollars to give to any three charities, which ones would you choose and why?

• The Dougy Center: The Dougy Center is a non-profit center founded in Portland, OR. It was the first center in the nation to provide grieving children with peer-counseling. In the past 26 years, their centers have spread all over the nation. When my father died, I remember feeling like no one understood, that my brother and I were somehow different from all the other children in the world. The Dougy Center helped me to feel less isolated and alone. Though we only went there briefly, it was such a life-line to me as a child. The Dougy Center has provided that same refuge and peace for countless other grieving children. They are fabulous!

• The Missionaries of Charity: The mission of this order is "to labor for the sanctification and salvation of the poorest of the poor all over the world". Mother Teresa is truly a modern-day saint and her work and love of the poor carries on in the Missionaries of Charity.

• St. Vincent de Paul: Growing up, we had a very active St. V's group in our parish. I saw, first-hand, much of the good they did in our community. They're still doing a lot of good work in our parish here in Seattle. Go St. V!

2) If you could only ever read three books again, which ones would you choose and why?

• Le Petit Prince by Antione de St. Exupery: (in French, of course) Yes, I know, this is a children's book, but I love, love, LOVE it!!! It's simply one of the best books ever written! The rose, the sunsets, the Little Prince...

• Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light: Um, it should be pretty clear by now that I'm pretty big Mother Teresa fan. Mother Teresa's words are so inspiring and always have a way of just speaking to my heart.

• Anything written by Henri Nouwen. I'd be remiss to choose just one of his books.

3) If you could somehow incorporate three people (living or dead) into your family, who would you want to be related to?

Like Alex Vitus, and Scott, who tagged him, I'm also pretty dang pleased with my family. I love my family! Still, there are plenty of people who I'm not related to, whom I've incorporated into my family. My "Grandparents", my "Auntie", my German "Sister", my Mentor, and Fr. Steve (who is very much my "Dad") all come to mind. I'm not actually related to any of them, but it doesn't matter, we're all family anyway. As far as I'm concerned, I am related to them. It would be impossible to choose just three...

And now, for the meme part of the Meme... Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Mo... I choose: Brit at Running Stitch, Kevin at Wholly Catholic, and Neil at The Deposit of Faith.

Spice Girls

Look who reunited over the weekend! The Spice Girls!

Fabulous!

Note to Self:

Note to Self:

Do NOT, I repeat, Do NOT go grocery shopping when sad. Or else this may occur:

Cashier: Hello. How are you today?

Me: (in a shaky voice) I'm ok. (proceed to dissolve in tears)

Poor guy! He was just doing his job, checking and bagging groceries. He, in no way, was expecting to hear such an honest, raw response to such a mundane, "polite" question. Oops. I did apologize profusely, and of course was totally embarrassed. Next time, I'll remember not to go grocery shopping when I'm sad.

Sloth and Fabulousness!

This past weekend was Girls Weekend (with my two dear friends, Butch and Ez) in the Bay. It was completely and utterly lazy weekend. It was also fabulous weekend.

The epitome of sloth and fabulousness - this pedi was the highlight of our weekend. (By the way, this is a pic of Butch, Bals, and Ez. Can you guess who's who?!)

Our schedule of events:

Friday eve:

• Fly down

Saturday:

• Sleep in
• Brunch at Lori's Diner
• Dessert at Ghiradelli's
• Watch a completely mindless movie (The Wedding Crashers)
• **Nap during movie
• Go for a walk
• Dinner in China Town

Sunday:

• Morning Prayers and Mass at St. Albert's Priory
• Breakfast with the Brothers in the Priory
• Lunch in Mountain View
• Tour of St. Patrick's Seminary
• Coffee and Indian Sweets
• Pedicures (really luxurious pedis, complete with hot stone massage and lemon)
• Fly back to Seattle

Wow! Looking back at what we actually managed to accomplish, I realize just how lazy we were. It was really amazing, though. We chatted, laughed, and just relaxed! It was just the weekend that we all needed.

St. Pat's had some amazing stained glass windows!

The organ on the back wall of the chapel in St. Pat's -- beautiful!
(My picture doesn't do it justice.)

Miracle

mir·a·cle (mĭr'ə-kəl) n.

An event that appears inexplicable by the laws of nature and so is held to be supernatural in origin or an act of God. One that excites admiring awe. See Synonyms at wonder. I've been thinking a lot about miracles lately. And praying for them, too. A friend mentioned to me today that she's praying for the same miracle that I'm praying for, but that she has "to admit it's a real long shot". Her all-too-honest comment, made me go look up the definition of "miracle" - above, for us all to read. Implicit in the definition, "inexplicable by the laws of nature", is that a miracle is a long shot. Somehow, this actually makes me feel better and helps me put my hope in solely and exclusively in God. This morning, at 2:03am, my friends' 4 year-old son, Liam McNassar, received his miracle. Bone marrow, from a donor known only as Mr. 37###, was infused into Liam over a 30 minute period. It was truly a miracle. Liam was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (ALL) in May. He was in dire need of a bone-marrow transplant. No one in his family was a match. In fact, no one on the National Marrow Registry was a match. Liam's family and friends sponsored bone marrow drives to no avail. And then one day, a miracle! Mr. 37### was a perfect match! Why did Mr. 37### join the registry at this time? Why hadn't he joined earlier? Why didn't he delay registering? We'll never know, nor does it matter. Suffice it to say, it's all on God's time -- for that is truly where the miracle lies. (Please continue to pray for Liam and his family; they still have a long road ahead of them. Please pray, too, in thanksgiving for Mr. 37### and his generous and miraculous gift.) I'm praying, too, for my dear Fr. Tom's miracle. I'm not the only one. Thousands of people, literally all over the world, are praying a perpetual Novena to Blessed Teresa of Calcutta for Fr. Tom's miracle. Fr. Tom is a deeply spiritual man who is accepting his suffering with grace and strength. Fr. Tom's cancer is advanced and chemotherapy is limited in its action. My hope for Fr. Tom lies in God and in God alone. May God grant him the miracle for which we're all so desperately praying.

Octapeds in November

November is Pancreatic Awareness Month.

I realize that we're already nearly half-way through November, but I suppose that it's better late than never... And so, in honour of such an important topic and such an important month, here is the story of the ever-so-famous Octapeds!

The Octapeds for Langerhans (affectionately known as The Octapeds) is a team that was created in support of Auntie Becky, who was diagnosed with Stage IV pancreatic cancer on September 17th, 2007. Auntie, you see, is a Marine Biologist by training and has studied octopusus (yes, that really is the plural!) for many, many years. Those of us who have been fortunate enough to have been taught by Auntie remember all sorts of fabulous marine bio stories - not the least of which is that of an octopus in Hawaii with an excellent memory and a penchant for trouble.

The Octapeds were created specifically to participate in the first annual Lustgarten Foundation West Coast Walk in Santa Monica, CA. The Lustgarten Foundation is one of two national groups that does patient education and advocacy, as well as sponsoring pancreatic cancer research. (The other really fabulous organization is The Pancreatic Cancer Action Network.) Now that all the pieces are in place, here is the etymology of the team name:

Octapeds - Octopods is the generic term of Octopusus. We were walkers so, "OctoPEDS" instead of "OctoPODS". The final name of "OctApeds" came about solely because I can't spell.

Langerhans - Langerhans is merely a shout-out to the pancreas. The Islets of Langerhans are cells in the pancreas. They are not, traditionally, the cells in which pancreatic cancer begins. Still, Langerhans is a cool pancreas-associated word and a great addition to the team name.

Put it all together and what do you have?!

THE OCTAPEDS FOR LANGERHANS!!!!

Yes, it is a fabulous (though nerdy) name and a fabulous team! (A super-big thanks to my friend, Brandon, for the team logo.)

And so, last March, a small handful of us: my cousins, their two children, and my good friend from grad school, all headed to the coastal promenade in Santa Monica for the First Annual West Coast Walk. Armed with loads of monetary pledges in support of the Lustgarten Foundation and really fabulous team t-shirts, we had no idea what to expect. Would other teams show up? Would it be really sad? Would it be really fun? We were so amazingly surprised -- it was a beautiful, clear morning on the Southern California Coast. In total, over 500 people attended the walk, including one team of fire-fighters that had nearly 100 participants. Some teams had special t-shirts, others came as-is. Some people had pictures of their loved ones, others walked anonymously. Everyone, and I mean everyone, came to the walk with stories, memories, and a deep commitment to increase pancreatic cancer awareness -- it was beautiful!

(We were the best dressed team, by far!)

(The walk, itself, was down the coastal promenade starting in ritzy Santa Monica, meandering into hippie Venice Beach, and then returning to Santa Monica. As we approached Venice, the crisp smell of salt-water we could so clearly smell in Santa Monica, was replaced by the sweet smell of pot -- hilarious! You could just close your eyes, take a deep breath and know exactly where you were!)

(Walking along the coastal promenade.)

Perhaps the most touching moment of the walk, for me anyway, was at the end. We had already crossed the finish line and were headed to the beach in a search for seaweed (the kids are obsessed with seaweed). We looked back just in time to see an older gentleman walking all by himself and holding a sign that read, "In memory of my wife [her name]". It was so sad. I had had so much fun that morning at the walk -- seeing that man really brought home the whole point of the walk. Pancreatic cancer -- well, really any kind of cancer -- sucks. We need to do anything and everything we can to fight it!

The 2nd Annual West Coast Walk is scheduled for March 8th, 2009 in Santa Monica, CA. The Octapeds will be there and we'd love for you to join us! Please mark it on your calendar and please come if you can! (We'll give you a fabulous team t-shirt -- promise!!)

And if you can't come, and would like a t-shirt (available in regular or girly-tee styles), we'll be selling them as a fund-raiser for Lustgarten! C'mon you know you want to be cool like us...

More on I-1000, Life, and Death...

Last week, I wrote a post detailing my father's death and how every single moment with him, from diagnosis till death, though often difficult, was precious. I wouldn't have traded it for the world, and I know that my father wouldn't have either. To me, it was the quintessential argument against I-1000, the assisted suicide aka death with "dignity" measure on the ballot here in Washington State.

Tonight, I went to a Happy Hour talk at a local pub, where our priest and dear friend, Fr. Tom Kraft, OP, shared with us his thoughts on I-1000. Fr. Tom spoke with a unique perspective -- one that I hope, none of us will ever come to know, but sadly, one that many of us will have to experience at some point or another. You see, Fr. Tom has cancer -- he was diagnosed with Stage IVb esophageal cancer in February. He underwent six rounds of palliative chemotherapy that staved off the cancer for a while, and then took a two-month "chemo vacation". In those two months, his cancer advanced and became more aggressive. Fr. Tom now has tumors in his esophagus, stomach, liver, and lungs. He is dying.

Honestly, it scares the hell out of me that we're going to lose him. I love Fr. Tom and have come to think of him as my stronghold here in Seattle. It scares me even more to think that he might suffer, that he is already suffering.

Tonight, Fr. Tom spoke of his suffering, and of the redemptive value of suffering. As believers, suffering brings us closer to Christ, even if we don't understand the why of it. Fr. Tom spoke, too, of the importance of valuing life from its natural beginning to its natural end. It was a great personal and theological talk. And then he said something absolutely profound. Something that should make sense whether or not you're a Christian. Something that should appeal to the common bond in us all: humanity.

"What becomes the law, becomes the norm.
And what becomes the norm, becomes moral."

(The quote, I believe, is attributed to a one Fr. Spitzer...)
Do we really want to elevate suicide to a morally good status?! An acceptable status?! That's eventually what will happen if I-1000 passes. Take for instance, the example of Barbara Wagner in Oregon, where assisted suicide has been legal for 10 years. She was suffering from end-stage lung cancer and was prescribed palliative chemotherapy. The Oregon Health Plan denied her request for chemotherapy -- in the very same letter, they offered her suicide pills. Seriously! Barbara Wagner is not the only person who has received such a letter. Suicide, according to the Oregon Health Plan, it seems, is the morally good (not to mention cheaper) option.

Proponents of I-1000 will tell you that everyone should have the right to choose whether they want to live or die. Ok. So, let's go with that argument for a moment. Well, what about Barbara Wagner? What about the others on the Oregon Health Plan who have been denied life-lengthening palliative chemotherapy? Where was their choice?! They chose to live and their choice was stripped away from them by a money-grubbing insurance company. So, really, what is being touted as a "choice" is no choice at all. It is doing nothing more than yanking control from the poor, the impoverished, the marginalized, and the weak and is pushing them towards suicide.

Do we really want this to happen in Washington as well?!

NO!

HELL NO!!

Please, just think about it (especially if you're voting in Washington State).

Invited Blogger -- What an Honour!

Today, I actually guest-blogged for my friend, Brit. It is her 4-year "blogversary" and to celebrate, she invited a handful of fellow bloggers (and friends) guest post this week. If you're interested, you can check it out at Brit's blog, Running Stitch. You can also use that same link to read all about Brit and her adventures at Casa Stitch -- she has two adorable little boys, and I can assure you that the pictures alone are worth the journey over to her blog.

I've known Brit for (gasp!) 7 years now - maybe even a bit more. It pains me to admit to that, as it makes me realize just how old I am and just how long ago grad school was. Brit is the college buddy (and former roommate?) of Mad-Quilter Mel, who is my grad school buddy. Mad-Quilter Mel's undergrad and grad school worlds suddenly collided one day, and we all became friends. At some point, Brit and Mad-Quilter Mel decided to teach our entire grad school group, affectionately known as the "Biochem Girls", how to quilt. My lesson came one evening in Mad-Quilter Mel's apartment -- sitting at the quilting table with a needle and thread in one hand and a JD and Coke in the other, I learned how to quilt, sort of. At some point, I realized that I could no longer pull my needle through the fabric. I crawled -- yes, crawled -- under the quilting table (surely, the JD and Coke had nothing to do with my crawling under a table) and found a HUGE (2 inch?!) knot of thread on the backside of the quilt. Needless to say, that was the end of my quilting days with alcohol in hand. Fortunately, both Brit and Mad-Quilter Mel were kind enough to keep inviting me to their quilting bees (and giving me only tea to drink) and even letting me sew on their quilts. Eventually, I got the hang of it and was even given Mad-Quilter status, as well!

Many quilting and non-quilting adventures have transpired over the years. I wish I had a photo of us at a quilting bee (I'm pretty sure Brit has a bunch). Instead, though, I leave you with a photo of a non-quilting adventure -- Hawaii. Here we are -- me, Brit, and Mad-Quilter Mel (kissing yet another quilting friend, Butch) somewhere in Hawaii...

Life: What's it worth?!

Next month, voters in our state will have a big decision to make -- yes, we'll be helping elect the next President of the United States, and the the next Governor of Washington, and probably many other elected positions that I've never heard of. But we'll also be voting on the Value of Life. Okay, so this doesn't necessarily sound intuitive, but really that's what I-1000 Death with "Dignity" Assisted Suicide measure is all about.

If we vote to pass this measure, what we're really telling people is sure, you count. - you matter while you're well. But the moment you're ill? Well, you're not really valued any more. So sure, go ahead and kill yourself. Wow. That's quite possibly the saddest thing that I've ever heard. Every person matters.

I say this from experience.

When I was 10 years-old, my father was diagnosed with melanoma in the form of a brain tumor. The oncologist, who first saw the CT in the presence of my mother, was rather blunt about it, "It looks like melanoma. We'll do a biopsy just to confirm, but I know that I'm right. There's no chance -- you might as well start saying goodbye now." He certainly wasn't much for bedside manner, but he was a damn good oncologist. And he was right -- my father died just three short months later. Had this measure been in effect, he would have been a candidate for assisted suicide - death with "dignity".

I assure you, he would have never done it.

I also assure you that he died with dignity.

Despite being young, I remember it very clearly. My grandparents were visiting from out of town. It was a Monday of a 3 day-weekend and it was also my 11th birthday. We were going to go to the Coast to celebrate. I was so looking forward to it. I fell asleep the night before with butterflies in my stomach from excitement and I awoke the next morning feeling rather ill: there was commotion in the house and it didn't sound good. I could hear my mother frantically on the phone with the emergency operator. My father, though conscious and lucid, was paralyzed on one side and unable to speak.

One of the first responders to our home was our former neighbour and a friend of my father. Assessing the situation, he asked my father if he recognized him. One tear slid down my father's cheek -- it was his way of saying, "yes". My brother and I watched all of this from a distance and were eventually ushered out of the room. After my father was loaded on the gurney and was being wheeled away, our uncle told us to say goodbye. I don't remember if I did or not. I'd like to think that I did, though, as it was the last time I saw my father conscious. He slipped into a coma later that day and peacefully died three days later, with my mother at his side.

It was most certainly a dignified death.

Those three months from my father's diagnosis till his death were amazing, though difficult -- in retrospect, I value every single moment of them. Assisted suicide could have taken that away from us. Sure, we knew he was dying. Hell, he knew he was dying. And it was hard. There were hot, angry tears, and screams of frustration -- there were even moments when I wished that he wasn't my dad and that I wasn't part of this family. But there were the sweet moments, too -- the quiet, family moments. Being at bat in a softball game and hearing my dad shout out my name in support. (This is especially meaningful, because I sucked at softball.) Board game nights in the evenings and even yes, doing homework while my dad was looking on. My dad was using every moment to make memories with us. And in his living - and even in his death - I learned so much from him. I am forever grateful and I wouldn't trade a minute of those last three months. I know that he wouldn't have traded them either...

My Dad and me.

*****************************************************************************

Not that it's so unlike me to digress, but I actually logged on to share an audio clip. Our priest, and dear friend, Fr. Tom, was on the radio yesterday discussing his diagnosis of Stage IVb esophageal cancer and sharing his thoughts on the I-1000 measure, the so-called "death with dignity" initiative. We are all very hopeful for Fr. Tom. But living with such a diagnosis does give him a unique perspective to discuss this measure. Before going on the radio, he wrote on his blog, "I ask the Lord to bless my words as I will speak against the initiative and for life, mercy and compassion." Those of you who know Fr. Tom can attest that his words are always guided by the Holy Spirit. His time on the radio was no exception -- if anything though, his words were even more filled with grace. If you haven't already heard his 1/2 hour interview on the "Conversations with Fr. Bob" radio show, you can listen to it (or podcast it) here. I encourage you listen; it's truly amazing. And of course, please do keep Fr. Tom in your prayers.

Cancer Sucks (And Prayers for Fr. Tom)

Our priest, and dear friend, Fr. Tom Kraft, OP announced this week that his cancer had further metastasized after a very hopeful 2-month, "chemo-vacation". He starts chemo again on Monday. The news, in and of itself, didn't really come as a surprise to those of us who know Fr. Tom and see him regularly: he'd lost weight in the past couple of weeks and well, he just somehow seemed a bit fragile and frail lately. Still, I cried when I read his blog posting sharing the news. It's one thing to suspect (and then hope and pray like crazy that you're wrong) and completely another to see those awful words in type staring you in the face. Yes, I cried. And I still find myself periodically crying at the most unexpected and inopportune times.

Fr. Tom is a man of deep faith. He still, somehow, finds the strength and courage to utter - and believe - the words, "Thy Will Be Done". I am in awe of him. He is so amazing. I, on the other hand, can no longer seem to get through the Lord's Prayer without crying these days. It's that damn phrase: "Thy Will Be Done". I want to pray it with sheer and utter conviction, but rather find myself caught up in a swirl of angry thoughts usually centering around the idea of "it's just not fair". And honestly, it isn't fair. It sucks. Cancer sucks. Watching someone you love suffer totally sucks. It really isn't fair. (Having been through this many times in my life, it doesn't get any easier either -- neither easier to handle, nor easier to understand.)

All I really understand is that there's nothing that I can do to control any of this. But I can pray. Fr. Tom's vision is fixed firmly on the Lord. Even though my heart is full of angst, I can honour my friend by setting my sights firmly on the Lord as well. So, I turn to the Lord, Our God, and pray that He has mercy on my friend, Fr. Tom. I pray, too, that our Mother, the Mother of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, will wrap her loving arms around our dear Fr. Tom in this, his time of need, and give him comfort and strength to face the days ahead.

When Fr. Tom was first diagnosed in February, his fellow Dominican brothers organized a novena to Blessed Teresa of Calcutta with the intention of his healing. The prayer spread like wildfire quite literally all over the world, with people who love Fr. Tom praying it in all the corners of the earth. I believe that it was this prayer, and the intercession of Blessed Teresa, that garnered Fr. Tom his 2-month "chemo-vacation". (Fr. Tom has a special devotion to Mother Teresa and even met her once!) So, with this in mind, the Young Adults at Blessed Sacrament chose to reinstate the novena. We began praying it on Thursday evening and will continue to pray it every day until our dear friend, Fr. Tom, is healed. If you find it in your heart, please join us in this prayer for our beloved priest and friend.

Hero Monk Extraordinaire

This past weekend, I not only had the great opportunity to reunite with many of my grad school friends, but I had the honour of hanging out with my good friend, Br. Matthew Augustine Miller, OP.

aka Hero Monk Extraordinaire

aka Jerk (by his own admission - he put it in my phone)

aka Dummkopf (the latest title bestowed on him by Br. Raymond, OP)

Hero Monk - Br. Matthew Augustine, OP

It was amazing, really, to see Br. Matthew Augustine (I call him Matt) in his own turf, at St. Alberts Priory in Oakland. The Priory, the Chapel, the library, and the grounds are all absolutely amazing! How blessed they all are to have such a place in which to spend their formative years of priestly education!

Our mutual friend, Chad (also a seminarian) and I were planning on joining Matt for Mass at St. Alberts. Mass was at 9:30 am and we had a 45 minute drive to get there. To me, this was already impossibly early. Then, Matt suggested we join them for Morning Prayers at 8:30 am. After spending the evening with my grad school friends, I went to bed at 3:45 am that night (morning) and got up at 6:30 am in order to make it in time. It was painful, but so totally worth it. Dominican Morning Prayers are BEAUTIFUL!

After Morning Prayers and Mass, we had breakfast with the rest of the monks, and then ran around the Priory grounds a bit before taking to the streets of Oakland on foot. It was a beautiful, sunny, clear, crisp afternoon. We both enjoyed strolling around a bit, eating AMAZING organic ice cream, and otherwise being silly and doing nothing of any real consequence. On our walk, though, we did find this sign in a thrift shop window that we felt accurately represented us:


And if anyone needs any confirmation of the accuracy of this sign, you needn't look any further than this following photo of these two rockstars:

Me and Matt (aka Hero Monk) hanging out in St. Albert's Priory

Unofficial Reunion

Grad school was fabulous. It was a wonderful time in all of our lives. It was hard work, and there were often a lot of tears (especially on my part), but somehow, we all managed to have fun anyway. Not just any kind of fun, but crazy, off-the-wall antics that made people wonder if anyone in their right minds would actually bestow a Ph.D upon us. It was the same crazy antics that earned us all nicknames like, "Butch", "Bals" and "Bubba". And again, made people wonder if anyone with such a nickname would actually graduate. Well, graduate we did and with our Ph.Ds no less...

Yes, grad school was fabulous, but it was a really long time ago, too.

A lot of life has happened since then.... births, death, marriages, new jobs, new boyfriends, big moves, etc... Sometimes, life gets the best of us and we don't talk as often as we'd like, but somehow that doesn't really matter. We'll all still be friends no matter where we live or how often we chat.

This weekend, we had an unofficial reunion in Mountain View, CA. It was so crazy to see all those old familiar faces in the same room again. And it was fun, oh-so-much-fun! We all looked a bit older and maybe (hopefully?!) a bit more mature, too! But other than that, we didn't miss a beat! I love these guys!

One Year

Today is 17 September 2008.

It is a significant day.

One year ago today, on 17 September 2007 Auntie Becky, my Mamma Hen, was diagnosed with Stage IV pancreatic cancer. It was a diagnosis that made everyone who knows Auntie fall to their knees in prayer. Cancer is scary. And pancreatic cancer?! Well, that's even scarier. And Stage IV pancreatic cancer?! Absolutely terrifying! The one year survival rate is abysmal.

That's just what makes 17 September 2008 so special.

Forget the statistics and survival rates. Today is not about numbers. Today is about Auntie Becky and the amazing person that she is. Today is the celebration of a year well lived! Ever since I have known her (dare I say Sept 1995?!), Auntie Becky has had a crazy live-life-to-the-fullest attitude. She is amazing and has instilled that attitude in all of her students. This year has been no different. Auntie has been traveling, teaching, and doing whatever-in-the-hell-it-is-that-she-wants-to-do. Auntie Becky?! She rocks! Holla'!

Here is a photo from Auntie's friend, Fr. Tom C.S.C., taken on a Biology Study trip in Australia in 2005.

Auntie happily posing next to a termite mound.
(Seriously. Just who in their right mind would be happy standing next to a pile of bugs?!)

And more recently, here's a photo of Auntie Becky checking out the Redwoods in California this summer:

Auntie and a drive-thru Redwood tree!

Nothing in this past year has abated Auntie's crazy live-life-to-the-fullest attitude. Actually, if anything, at least judged from an outside perspective, that attitude has been strengthened. Auntie Becky is one of the most amazing people I have ever known. (This is not a secret, any one of her multitude of students could tell you that.) But this, year?! Wow, this year, Auntie proved herself to be more amazing than ever. Like I said earlier, she rocks!

Please pray for Auntie Becky. Pray for her miracle! And pray, too, in thanksgiving for her relatively good health this past year. We're all looking forward to celebrating 17 September 2009 and many, many more 17 Septembers to come!

Last Day - Ca'ek, Our Lady, and Gethsemane

Sorry for the long absence - flying home, arguing with Delta (more on that later), dealing with jet-lag, and reassimilating into life (and work) in the States was tougher than I expected this time. I think that traveling two entire days to get from Palestine to the West Coast may have had something to do with it... I can usually make the same trip home in 15 -16 hours. Anyway...

My last day in Palestine was absolutely AMAZING! I slept in! (What a luxury!) And then, I met my Uncle for a traditional Arab breakfast - ca'ek and baid mashwee (amazing bread and roasted eggs) and cucumbers. I even had the opportunity to go to the baker's place to see the old stone oven and how he makes the ca'ek.

This poor man! It was over 100 degrees outside and this man is standing (in his underwear) in a pit in front of a large fire. But he sure does make good ca'ek! Ca'ek is traditionally sold in the streets, by boys or men pushing carts with loads and loads of fresh-baked ca'ek. As they push their carts, they shout out, "Ca'ek, Caaaaa'ek!" To me, it's the sweetest sound! (We bought our ca'ek in Ramallah. Here is a picture of a ca'ek peddler in Jerusalem...)


After my fabulous breakfast of ca'ek, baid mashwee, and cucumbers, I headed to Jerusalem with both family and friends to celebrate the Feast of the Assumption.

The Feast of the Assumption, as many of you know, is 15 August and celebrates the death of the Virgin Mary and the assumption of her body into heaven. The Assumption is the principle feast of Mary in the Catholic Church. In the States, as best as I can tell, the Feast is only a day long celebration. In Palestine, however, it is more like a two-week celebration. Wahoo! Nothing like a good party!

Unfortunately, I missed the start of the celebration. What apparently happens is "they" (I believe priests), carry a statue of Mary from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (inside the Old City of Jerusalem), to the Church of Il 'Adra, which is just outside of the walls of the Old City, right next to the Garden of Gethsemane. For the duration of the two-weeks of the Feast, people come from all over Palestine to pray at the Church of Il'Adra. It is such a special feast, that the IDF even gives tasreeh (special passes) for the Christian Arabs living in the West Bank, so they can go pray. My last day in Palestine was also the last day of the tasreeh, though certainly not the last day of the Feast, so the checkpoints leaving the West Bank were jam packed. It felt like half (if not more) of the Christians from Ramallah were at the Church. Here are some photos with explanations:
This is the entrance (standing inside looking out) to the Church of Il 'Adra. The church itself is basically built into a cave and these are the stairs that descend into the cave. It is tradition to light candles and put them on the steps. It was a HOT day (39 C), the Church was clearly crowded, add to that the heat from the candles and it was nearly unbearable!

Candles on the stairs.

More candles. (I really loved the candles!)

This was so cool! This figure of Mary was laid out on a table much like a body would be laid out in a wake. There was a huge line (more like mob) of people waiting to kiss the statue and pray before it. Conventional wisdom there is that if you crawl under the table, the Blessed Mother will bistow her blessings upon you. So, there were people, crying, praying, and yes! crawling under the table. (In case you were wondering, of course I crawled under the table! Who in their right mind would pass up such an opportunity?!)

Praying at an icon of Mary and the Child Jesus.

Mireille, me, and Auntie Um Victor in the Church of Il 'Adra.

That same afternoon, Mousa, Mireille's father, and I ran over to Gethsemane. We literally ran over, it is so close... The garden there is beautiful....

The ancient olive trees are breathtaking!

Mousa at the site where Christ prayed.

The Catholic Basilica in the Garden of Gethsemane.

(Mousa and I just went in to tour the Basilica and they were actually having Mass there. It was Communion time, so I ran and got in line. What an amazing experience to receive the Eucharist in Gethsemane!)

Leaving Palestine

Tonight, I'm flying to New York. Today was an amazing last day in Palestine. More later. For now, in my last hour here, I have to fit in a game of Speed (cards, with a 9 yr-old) and a game of the Jordanian version of Monopoly (with a 7 yr-old). Not to mention a quick dinner and extended good-byes. I'll try and find an e-cafe in New York...

xx

Mr. & Mrs. Habibi Walsh live in Bethlehem

Yesterday, after spending my morning strolling down the Via Dolorosa, I ventured over to Bethlehem to spend the day with none other than Mr. and Mrs. Habibi Walsh, who are otherwise known as Hashem and Rula Shahin, newlyweds. (Habibi, by the way, is loosly translated as, "my love". It is used by spouses, lovers, close friends, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and anyone really. It's a pretty fabulous, all-encompassing word.) The Habibi-Walshs, who were camera-shy, send their love to everyone back home in the States. And to a certain someone back home (you know who you are) they're not only sending their love, but baklava as well. Be prepared. In lieu of a photo of the Habibi-Walshs, who I promise are super-cute, I give you a photo of the grapes from their garden. They not only look good, but taste amazing, too!

The Habibi-Walshs were kind enough to tour Bethlehem with me in the early evening. From their home, we drove to Manger Square and even parked there (a privilege reserved exclusively for locals). There, the same cops who forbid tour buses and taxis from parking in Manger Square, not only make way for private parking (for free), but also look after the cars as well. It is not enough to have the honor of living in such a Holy city, but it seems that the locals get parking rights as well!

Manger Square itself is usually bustling. We arrived just before dusk, so most of the tour buses had departed, as had most of the local peddlers pushing their rosaries and olive wood trinkets. (I had driven by earlier on my way into town and was amazed by the number of tourists I had seen. It was truly heartening.) We walked into the Church of the Nativity, which is divided into two sections: Roman Catholic and Greek Orthodox. The main nave of the Church is maintained by the Greek Orthodox and is accordingly ornate and laden with gold embellishments. (I wish I had a good picture to post, but all my photos here turned out either way too dark or fuzzy.) Adjoining, is the Church of St. Catherine, which is run by the Roman Catholics. The Church of St. Catherine has been renovated several times, and in my opinion, is way too modern for such a Holy site.

The nave of St. Catherine's (in the Church of the Nativity), Bethlehem.

A side altar dedicated to Mary in St. Catherine's.

Both churches are built upon a cave said to be the birthplace of Jesus. From the Greek Orthodox church, one can descend a steep set of stone stairs to enter the cave. I can imagine that it was, at one time, quite large. But it is now so heavily decorated, that it feels rather claustrophobic with even a couple people in there. Still, the manger, itself was empty (the first time in my visits I have found it so), so I sat and prayed. Wow! Below are some photos of both the manger and the silver star, which signifies the birthplace of Jesus.

The manger


A painting in the manger.

The star of Jesus, signifying where Jesus was born.

The star, up close.

Leaving the cave, there are yet another set of steep, stone stairs that lead to the junction of St. Catherine's and the Greek Orthodox church. From there, one can venture into an inner courtyard that is dedicated to St. Jerome, I believe. He was the first person to translate Bible into Latin. It is in this courtyard where Palestinians hid from the Israelis in the seige of 2oo2. There is, to this day, evidence of destruction, both to the statues and to the effaces from the IDF military action. It is a sad reminder that on this Holy land, there is still no peace.

After leaving the Church of Nativity, we ambled aimlessly through the neighbouring streets. Here are a few pictures from Bethlehem:

Bethlehem, as seen from Bethlehem University.

Look! A goat sitting atop someone's home. The Church of the Nativity is in the background.

The outskirts of Bethlehem.

AMAZING!

Have you ever just been walking down the street, minding your own business, and had something absolutely amazing happen to you?! Well, it happened to me today.

Earlier today, I was strolling down the Via Dolorosa, just basking in the sunshine and enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells of the Old City (Jerusalem). It was a pleasant stroll. As I would walk by, the various shopkeepers sitting in their storefronts would call out to me, "Come Amo(Uncle). You're welcome here. Enjoy a drink of juice or coffee with us." I would politely decline, perhaps banter a bit, and then continue along my way. Suddenly, a young man, about my age, appeared out of a small gate and invited me in to the garden. Wary, I asked what he was inviting me to, and first chatted with him in the middle of the street. It turns out that he was employed as the guard of two churches and was bored out of his mind. There was a Jewish tour group inside and he was in no mood to pay them any mind. I entered, and was given my own private tour. It was fabulous. In these past four years, how many times had I strolled down the Via Dolorosa, and had never given any notice to that small gate?! What an amazing surprise! These two churches that I had happened upon were the Church of the Flagellation (where Jesus was scourged and beaten) and the Church of the Condemnation. The latter was rebuilt in the early 20th century on the site of the ruins of a 13th century chapel. The Church of the Flagellation itself was first built in 12th century by the Cruisaders and was eventually given to the Fransiscans in 1838. It has been amazingly well maintained. The emotion I felt in those two churches is something undescribable. There is an amazing power there, just given the history. Here are a few of pictures of the two churches. It's certainly not the same as being there, but it is better than nothing.

Inside the Church of the Condemnation

Pieces of an ancient wall (from the original ruins) outside the Church of the Condemnation


Inside the Church of the Flagellation

The ceiling above the altar in the Church of the Flagellation. It is made to look like a crown of thorns.

The Church of the Flagellation as viewed from the courtyard and garden.

Via Dolorosa

Honestly, it's pretty amazing walking around the Old City as an Arab, and not as a tourist (despite actually being a tourist). Everyone is so nice and so friendly. People here are incredibly welcoming. To them, I am a daughter come home. I appreciated the friendliness of everyone. Apart from inviting me in for coffee/juice/tea, they would also offer to help in any way that they could. "Can I direct you to something?" And they were always inquisitive as to just where I was from. To them, especially from the older generation, it was thrilling to meet someone born and raised in the States who speaks Arabic - never mind that I likely have the heaviest American accent they've ever heard. Crazy as it sounds, I actually felt like I belonged in the Old City, today. It was pretty amazing.

Aacre

Sunday, our family drove up to the seaside city of Aacre (pronounced Aakaa in Arabic). Aacre is located on the Mediterranean Sea just north of the port city of Haifa and just south of the Lebanese border. It is a beautiful city, but is currently rather unfortunately under Israeli control. Nonetheless, a rather significant Arab community still persists there and attempts to thrive despite constant subjugation.

I wish I had more to say about Aacre. Unfortunately, we've had some nasty GI bug going around our family (we think we've traced it to some raw bitter-greens we'd been eating) and it was my turn to be ill. I spent most of the long (by Arab standards) 3 1/2 hour drive napping on-and-off and otherwise completely ignoring the absolutely amazing and ever-evolving scenery that was passing me by. We apparently drove past palm trees, mango groves, fish-farms, mountains, and the sea. Sadly, I saw nothing of it. In fact, my first glimpse of the Mediterranean, was to run to an ancient wall, lean over it, and immediately get sick directly into the sea below. It was quite spectacular.

In our culture, we have two home remedies for stomach maladies. Of the two, I'm not sure which one tastes worse; they're both pretty awful. But they also both work. The first one may be a bit hard to find in the States, depending on where you live. It simply consists of taking a spoonful of Arak, an anise-based liquor similar to Oozo, but even more vile. (Yes, I know that some of you will disagree with my description of arak.) The second home remedy tastes equally offensive, but is also easily attainable in the States. Simply, mix the juice of one lemon with a couple of spoonfuls of cornstarch. Mix well, so as to make a paste, and then drink it. Personally, I suggest making it in a shot glass and then shooting the vile thing; it's less painful than slowly drinking it.

Home remedies aside, here are a handful of photos of the beautiful, ancient city of Aacre and the Mediterranean Sea.

The ancient walls of Aacre and the Mediterranean Sea below.

Aacre - the restaurant where my family ate is the brown building in the distance. I sat there,too, slowly nursing my spoonful of Arak.

Arab homes in Aacre.

These fishermen were perched upon the wall, despite signs clearly saying (in three languages), "Do not climb on walls." It was a prime fishing spot, though and they caught loads of fish.

The fisherman thought I was cute (my cousin's wife heard them talking), so I asked them if my cousin's son could fish with them. They were kind enough to give him a go.

These rather young boys were fishing on this rock out in the middle of the sea!