Blessed Are They
Blessed Are They
I have heard of and
read of different people’s encounters with the obviously holy among us. There are stories of people meeting Mother
Teresa or Pope John Paul II in which the meeter spontaneously broke into tears,
or instantly knew his/her vocation, or immediately abandoned a sinful
life. They are beautiful stories of how
holiness can affect one in amazing ways.
To meet Mother Teresa would have been a close encounter of
one kind; to meet JPII would have been a close encounter of a second kind. My meeting them could only be called close
encounters of a third kind.
Here are my
stories.
Mrs. Baker, a
teacher at Seton, arranged somehow for a group of us to go to D.C. to the houses
that the Sisters of Charity run on a day when Mother Teresa herself was going
to be there. I imagined that I might get
to see her from a distance or maybe hear her give a talk. We first went to the house where the sisters
were teaching young children on a Saturday morning. I think we were supposed to help, but I don’t
remember doing anything except watching the sisters teach the youngsters.
After a while, Mrs.
Baker told us to go outside, and each of us would get to meet Mother
Teresa. I was very surprised, and for
some reason my reaction to this opportunity was sadness. As we stood in line with others, there was
dear Mother Teresa patiently meeting each person. I felt so bad for her: how many times had she had to do this in her
life? I just wanted the whole thing to
be done for her sake. That’s all I
remember thinking as I stood in line. So
when I came face to face with Mother Teresa, I had thought of nothing to say to
her. She said some generic polite
greeting, and I stood speechless, shook her hand and moved away quickly. No revelations, no tears, no nothing.
Recently I read a
story about a Bishop who had his first meeting with Pope John Paul II. At the meeting the Pope told him that they
had met before. The Bishop assured His
Holiness that they had never met – how could one forget having met the
Pope. The Pope was adamant. Some time later the Bishop learned from
someone close to the Pope that they had met in Rome, before JPII was Pope and while the
Bishop was just a seminarian. The Bishop
was stunned. How did the Pope remember this? The friend of JPII told him that the Pope
remembered because each meeting for him was an encounter with Christ. The Pope saw Jesus in each person and so it
was an unforgettable experience for him. I wish I had known this about holy people on
the day I got to meet Blessed Mother Teresa. I think I would have had different thoughts while standing in that line.
The day of meeting
Mother Teresa ended with a visit to the Aids House that the Sisters of Charity
ran. I wasn’t prepared for that either. It was heart-wrenching to see those pitiable
men ravaged by their disease. However, though
one could see that the men were suffering, one could also sense that they were
redeemed through the loving care the Sisters gave to them. I have to say that this struck me much more
than my meeting Mother.
Now my JPII
story. I went to Europe
with Laura, Dick and Shelley Pennefather in 1987 on a Marian Year Pilgrimage
that we designed ourselves. We decided
that one of our goals was to meet the Holy Father—or at least get close
enough to touch the tassle of his cloak. Our best chance, it seemed, would be at the Papal Audience that we were
given tickets to attend. At the end of
the audience, the Pope came down the center aisle. Mr. P had managed to get right along the rail
and his touching the Pope was secured. I
was far from the aisle and had no hope. I stood there watching the Pope approach and suddenly felt the crush of
the crowd behind me. Truly, without
trying to move toward the aisle, I was carried along toward it by the crowd
until I was only a good stretch of the arm away just as the Pope was passing
by. Stunned, I just reached out and I
got a hold of his thumb. More stunned, I
just held on as he continued on, bending his thumb backward. He turned and looked at me. I will never forget that look. There is a painting I remember of Jesus
being led bound through a portico and turning and looking at St. Peter just as
the cock is crowing. That look of Jesus
at St. Peter is the nearest I have seen to Pope John Paul’s look at me. I didn’t weep bitterly, but I did feel awful. Now when I see a picture of Pope John Paul
II, I apologetically look to see if his left thumb is visible.
So there it is, my
encounters with a Blessed and a Blessed-to-Be.
Blessed Mother Teresa
and Venerable John Paul II, please pray for me and for all of us of Seton that
we may meet you in His Heavenly Kingdom.
Jezu, ufam Tobie.
The Week & The Triumph
The Week & The Triumph
Prayerful good wishes for a blessed Holy Week and joyous Easter.
Jezu, ufam Tobie
We Will Have These Moments
We Will Have These Moments
With the words “Create a Blog Entry” facing me, and with this imperative striking me as a little demanding, a song came on the radio with the words “When other nights and other days will find us gone our separate ways, we will have these moments to remember.”
This reminded me that the Classes of ’90, ’91, and ’92 are having a joint reunion in mid-May. Organizers are Laura O’Herron, Pat Haggerty and Bryan Muench. I cannot match the organizers with their years of graduation, but at least now I can place those three in the decade that they graduated.
That means they and those who graduated with them are right around 40 years old. Welcome to middle age you guys. When I started middle age, people would ask me what grade I was in. About two years later I was being given senior discounts at restaurants. Amazing what hair color can do for or against you.It’s almost as if I skipped middle age and went from teenager right to collecting social security benefits. Yet when I went to a class reunion of my high school class just after my hair went gray, I kept being told that I hadn’t changed at all. Maybe my classmates meant I still acted as if I were still in high school. I don’t know, but probably they meant that I was still as skinny as the day I graduated.
The part of our reunion that I enjoyed most was not something one would normally think of when considering a reunion. A small contingent of us visited the parents of three of our classmates who had died. It was wonderful to talk to these parents about their children, and they were so appreciative of our visit.
I hope there is a good turnout by the early Seton ’90ers. It might be something that one would never expect that might be the best part of the weekend.
I missed posting the next part of the Divine Providence series. Here is Part IV.
A powerful image for the Providence of God
(Fourth of five parts)
Diamond, the boy in the story, struggles to understand because he only sees the tragedy which is about to happen. He is only listening to the dark melody without being aware of the core melody, the one who is actually being played at the very same time, because it is more fundamental, stronger and more beautiful than the sad melody.
The boy needs to learn how to listen more deeply and to trust that even when unable to fully listen to the core melody or to distinguish it from the painful one, the joyful melody will ultimately prevail, perhaps at a time beyond the own time that is given to him. We find ourselves being portrayed in the boy, because we often listen to the dark melody of suffering and pain, while unable to delight in the deeper melody, the one of true joy and ultimate happiness. It is only beyond the veil of time that we will be able to fully listen and understand. When we read the accounts of the death of great saints, we often find that their agonies were bitter and painful, and up to the point of their actual deaths their faces were clouded and even darkened by suffering, but at the very moment of their death and immediately after it, their faces change and are transfigured in such a way that they shine with the beauty and joy of childhood. Let me quote just one of such episodes. Mother Agnes of Jesus, a Carmelite nun who was one of the blood sisters of Saint Therese describes the death of the saint in a detailed way: “I was alone with her about 4:30 in the afternoon. I thought her end was approaching when I saw a sudden pallor in her face . . . Her face was flushed, her hands purple and her feet were as cold as ice . . . When trying to catch her breath, she uttered little cries . . . Suddenly her eyes came to life and were fixed on a spot just a little above the statue of the Blessed Virgin. Her face took on the appearance it had when Therese enjoyed good health. She seemed to be in ecstasy . . . Then she closed her eyes and expired. It was 7:20 in the evening. Her head was leaning to the right. A mysterious smile was on her lips. She appeared very beautiful.” Such testimony is confirmed in the photograph taken by Mother Marie of the Sacred Heart after her sister’s death. When the veil of death was torn, Therese was able to listen clearly and distinctly to the glorious melody; she was led by the loving hand and contemplated the beautiful face of the Divine musician, whose music will only be played in its entire splendor and magnificence at the end of times.
Divine Providence is the infinite power of God through which He directs our entire lives towards the final embrace of eternal communion with him in Heaven. But we need to trust in him, day in and day out. We need to entrust our lives to him in this world, and even in the midst of suffering or darkness, to be fully convicted that we are being led in love by the hand that created the beauty of the universe, the hand of the Divine artist who often uses the sharp chisel of suffering to shape the features of our own faces, after the image of our true faces as they already shine in beauty within his Divine mind and heart.
To be concluded next week.
Laetare Wednesday
LAETARE WEDNESDAY?
Mom needs to see a
doctor near Denver, so we have moved in with
sister Barb in Aurora. We feel as if we are on a vacation here with lots of help and companionship.
St.
Michael’s Parish is just a couple blocks from the house, and they have a 6 a.m.
Mass Monday through Friday. Monday and
Tuesday were nice mornings, and the walk to church was comfortable in a short
sleeve shirt. The full moon from the St. Joseph’s Day had only
waned a little and was beautiful in the early morning sky.
Wednesday came and
so did some chilly weather. I opened the
door to head to Mass and was immediately frozen by the wind. I knew I needed a hat.
There is a closet
right next to the door I was exiting, so I asked Barb if she had a hat in there
I could throw on. She opened the closet
and took out a pink knitted hat. Not a
bad hat for the right gender. I asked if
there might be another one. Next came
out a Santa Claus hat. A nice hat for
the right saint.
Those were my
choices, so I went with the pink one, hoping that the moon had waned a lot more
and wouldn’t reveal the color as I walked very quickly.
St.
Michael’s is a very big parish with lots of seating for the 30 or so who are at
the daily Mass. I took the hat off, of
course, before opening the church door and tucked it under my arm. I decided that it was important that no one
see the hat, so I decided to sit far away from the crowd.
I bypassed the two
main sections of chairs – the church has joined chairs with individual kneelers
rather than pewsand, coincidentally, the chairs are pink. I continued to the side section that I didn’t
remember anyone sitting in the last two days and picked a seat in the back row
to lay the hat on.
I decided to walk
behind the row to pray before Mass. It was just about time for Mass to begin when
I noticed a man heading toward my section. Well, the hat blended in pretty well with the
chair so I wasn’t worried.
Then the man walked
right into my row and started to lay his jacket on my hat. He looked at it. He looked at me. Then he picked it up and said, “Is this your
hat?” I mumbled something about it being
my sister’s and took it.
There was a row of
handicapped chairs against the wall behind the back row where the man had taken
over the chair I had intended to sit in next to my hat. I decided to sit in the handicapped
section.
At the time to
offer peace to those around us, the man offered me peace and then said, “I am
sorry I took your chair.”
There were only
many hundreds of other empty chairs in the church – it really wasn’t my
chair. I had options.
By Thursday’s Mass
Barb had found a white hat for me.
Better. And on Thursday and
Friday I noticed that the man who took my chair sat in the same place both of
those days. It was obviously I who had
tried to take his traditional spot.
It’s important to
know the territory when one heads to daily Mass.
My Laetare Wednesday has taught me that clearly.
Jezu, ufam Tobie.
Office Moms
OFFICE MOMS
Executive Secretary, Secretary to the Superintendent, Secretary to the Principal…such are the titles that the office personnel in a school might have. At Seton, we call all our office staff “Office Moms”. It is not a lesser title, in fact, it is a greater title than any of the above. Seton’s office moms are just that. Moms take on all duties and responsibilities that come their way because they are moms. No two days are alike because children are constantly growing and changing and needs change with them, with the constant that they always need motherly attention. Seton’s office moms give the school the maternal touch that makes it more of a home than an institution.
Whether the OM is stationed in the front line of the office cubicle by the glass doors, or in the more spacious confines of the newer office in Corpus Christi, or tucked away in the oddly configured room called Bethlehem, she is always being a mom first and whatever else she is called to be second.
The glass door office area unlike most places at Seton doesn’t have a saint’s name. It might be called Command Central Cubicle. Maybe even better, at least for me, we might just call it “Houston” for all the times I went to the window and began, in essence with, “Houston, I have a problem,” and then had the problem taken care of in a motherly way and panic turned into relief.
From Mrs. Severe to Mrs. Cooper with the many other moms we would insert in between such as Warrick, Ghering, Daniel, Parriot, Supples and Akers, to name a few, the OM’s have kept Seton on the rails and headed to the station to the completion of each school day.
It is an anomaly that Bethlehem is always called “Bethlehem” when so many of the other titled rooms in the school are called “Mrs. Carroll’s Room” or “the room across from the teacher’s room” or “one of those rooms in the gym”. Maybe Bethlehem was perfectly named. What other word calls to mind motherhood better than Bethlehm where in a lodge of broken bark the Mother of all Mothers first cared for her Infant Son? The unusual circumstances and rustic surroundings of Christmas night only served to make Blessed Mother more of a mother. And the room Bethlehem at Seton is unusual and on the rustic side. Its narrowness and vaulted ceiling gives a cathedral aspect to it, but never has a space been so filled with stuff: the wall of textbooks, the humming Rizo and Xerox copiers, the stacks of paper that engulf Mrs. Parriot’s computer, the side area with Mr. Scheetz’s tools. I don’t know if it has changed in the past four years, but my guess would be that only more has been added with nothing subtracted. And there the OM’s just keep on being moms.
Why should I be writing about office moms now? It is because the Office Mom of all office moms has her body laid to rest today. The last name in the truncated list above, Mrs. Akers, died on March 12th after embracing her cross of suffering these past years. She was in the cubicle, she was a secretary and a receptionist, but she was first and foremost a mom. With her there, the cubicle was a home where she practiced the art of motherhood to her children who included every student and every teacher and ever visitor that entered through the glass doors. She was the face of Seton, and that face was one of joy. A month before her death, Mrs. Akers was facing the prospect of another round of chemo. What did she do? I only know the beautiful thing she did for Mom me in that time, which I can assume was representative of the many beautiful things she did in her last month and throughout her lifetime. Mrs. Akers sent a homemade Valentine to Mom and me. It was better than anything Hallmark has thought up and penned in her perfect script. It was thoughtful and giving – it was motherly in its essence. And what did she have to say about herself. Just this: God is holding me in the palm of His hand.
No doubt. And on March 12th that palm lifted up the soul of the one He had made to be a mom to so many.
Eternal Rest Mrs. Akers and please pray for all of us known as Seton.
Jezu, ufam Tobie.
Wood, Hoop, Visitor & DPIII
WOOD, HOOP, VISITOR, BOOK & DP III
Twenty-five years ago or so, Mr. Scheetz visited here, and I asked him if he would put up a backboard on an old telephone pole in our yard and then hang our basketball hoop on it. Ever obliging, he did this. The backboard was a pallet made of rock maple, the hardest of woods. It has hung on the pole all these years, looking almost as good as the day Pete hung it. (I had the idea that a pallet backboard would be long-lasting since the winds would blow throw it rather than blowing it into the next county.) The hoop, however, didn’t hang so well after a nephew chose to jump off the hood of a car and do amazing dunks. The nails holding the board that held the backboard pulled out and down came the rim. That was maybe 20 years ago, and the rim has been in the yard hanging on the remains of a dead tree for that time, surely wishing to be reunited with the backboard whose greatest purpose seems to be a roost for owls. (I would post a picture of the backboard if I knew how to do this. It is well worth viewing.)
The last Saturday in February relatives came to saw, split and stack wood for the remainder of this winter and to make a supply for next winter. With brother-in-law Joe running the splitter, sisters Kath and Barb and some of their offspring hauled and stacked an amazing amount of wood. (I would post a picture of the stack of wood if I knew how to do this. It is even more worth viewing than the backboard.)
At the end of the day, the woodworkers began cleaning up and decided to load a pickup load of junk from the yard to haul to our dump. (We always seem to have at least this much junk around our yard.) One sister picked up the hoop to throw in the pickup much to my horror. (I was safely in the house avoiding all woodwork and cleanup) The hoop was not only rescued, but Joe said he would hang it. And he did. The hoop and backboard were reunited, and I did leave the friendly confines of the house to take a couple shots with a deflated basketball. The hoop needed a net and my brother Jim got that, though it has not been hung yet. (I would post a picture of our dump if I knew how, but it may not be worth viewing after all.)
On the night of the day of the woodcutting and basket hanging, exactly at midnight, I was hanging wash up in the house hoping the articles of clothing would dry by morning. (I was not tired because I had only taken a few shots and avoided the woodwork.) Suddenly, out of nowhere, car lights appeared coming down our road. Was it the UPS or Fed Ex man making a delivery? No. The vehicle drove right past the cornfield drop off for packages and continued right into the yard. I was amazed. It was a diesel pickup with fancy lights in the back of it. It paused for a few seconds in the yard, then drove off. This was strange, but this is said by someone hanging laundry at midnight. I would post a picture of the pickup, but it drove off before I could get the camera. (I would not post a picture of our laundry even if I knew how.)
When Jim brought the net on the following Monday, he also brought the mail that had a package in it for me. The package contained the book The Anchorhold by Enid Dinnis. I would like to recommend this book for Lenten reading. I don’t know how available it is, since mine came to me through very unconventional means. I was so happy to get this book because I had a copy years ago, lent it out, and never got it back, so don’t ask to borrow my copy. (I would post a picture of the book, if I knew how, but I can describe the plain cover as navy blue, with no printing on it.)
I had thought that the midnight pickup might have been my nephew Brent (He has a diesel pickup, but I don’t think fancy lights.) coming to look for something he had left during the woodworking. He assured me he was not the late-night visitor. This made me a little nervous. Kath recommended that I lock doors the next night, which I did. This is the first time I have ever locked our doors. I even locked them a second night, but by the third night after the visitor, I quit.
OK, that’s all I have to say before Lent. Here comes Part Three of the series on Divine Providence.
The Lord Jesus says to us in the Gospel: ‘I tell you solemnly, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of Heaven.’ (Mt 18:3) It is in the simplicity and trust of childlikeness that we may go deeper into the wisdom of God. Therefore, in such a fine children’s story such as ‘At the back of the North Wind’ we are able to approach the wisdom of God in a new and refreshing way, especially when George MacDonald himself was inspired by his own strong Christian faith in writing such story. In the particular dialogue related in the last couple of weeks, the North Wind represents the mighty force of nature, which far surpasses human power: Who has ever been able to overcome by his own strength the fury of a storm in the middle of the ocean? Such force of nature is neither personal nor all powerful, because it always submits to the will of God, the only person who has all power, which is why we call him Almighty. The power of nature becomes an instrument of God who allows its strength to be unleashed to fulfill a greater plan whose details we ignore but whose ultimate outcome we know by faith. Just as it has been beautifully expressed in the words privately revealed by Jesus Christ to Lady Julian of Norwich: ‘[In the end] All matters of things will be well.’
The ultimate, radical and absolute triumph of the joy of God is symbolized in the story by the melody that North Wind always listens to, giving harmony to all of her actions, which far from being capricious or whimsical are always performed in faithful and loving obedience to God. North Wind knows and trusts that no matter how difficult, painful or tragic an event happening in the world affecting particular human beings might be, there is a reason in the mind of God for such trials to be allowed. He is not the creator of evil, rather in his omnipotence He allows it to happen, because He has the power to bring forth greater blessings out of such evil. The history of the universe is like an elaborate and rich symphony which develops a melody of love to be resolved in a joyous and glorious final movement that will show the amazing beauty of such core melody in all its splendor. But while the symphony is still being performed, many times such primordial melody is hidden as it is woven into the tapestry of other melodies apparently opposed or even in contradiction to it, but they are shown together in such a way that ultimately, the core melody always prevails and its beauty and purity shines even more when contrasted with other melodies that appear to be dark, painful or sad. When we talk about Divine Providence, we profess a central aspect of our faith: The fact that no matter what happens to us in the world, every single event is divinely ordained for the ultimate happiness of each person and the ultimate restoration of Creation. This truth is exquisitely described by Saint Paul as he writes to the Romans: We know that all creation is groaning in labor pains even until now; and not only that, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, we also groan within ourselves as we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies.
(Rm 8:22-23)
To be continued next week.
DP II
A powerful image for the Providence of God
(Second of five parts)
We conclude this week the telling of the story by George MacDonald, where the North Wind teaches a boy named Diamond about Divine Providence, by explaining to him the reasons behind an impending natural catastrophe:
[North Wind said to Diamond]: “But you have never heard the psalm (music), and you don’t know what it is like. Somehow, I can’t say how, it tells me that all is right; that it is coming to swallow up all cries.”
“But that won’t do them any good–the people, I mean,” persisted Diamond.
“It must. It must,” said North Wind, hurriedly. “It wouldn’t be the song it seems to be if it did not swallow up all their fear and pain too, and set them singing it themselves with the rest. I am sure it will. And do you know, ever since I knew I had hair, that is, ever since it began to go out and away, that song has been coming nearer and nearer. Only I must say it was some thousand years before I heard it.”
“But how can you say it was coming nearer when you did not hear it?” asked doubting little Diamond.
“Since I began to hear it, I know it is growing louder, therefore I judge it was coming nearer and nearer until I did hear it first. I’m not so very old, you know–a few thousand years only–and I was quite a baby when I heard the noise first, but I knew it must come from the voices of people ever so much older and wiser than I was. I can’t sing at all, except now and then, and I can never tell what my song is going to be; I only know what it is after I have sung it.– But this will never do. Will you stop here?”
“I can’t see anywhere to stop,” said Diamond. “Your hair is all down like a darkness, and I can’t see through it if I knock my eyes into it ever so much.”
“Look, then,” said North Wind; and, with one sweep of her great white arm, she swept yards deep of darkness like a great curtain from before the face of the boy.
And lo! It was a blue night, lit up with stars. Where it did not shine with stars it shimmered with the milk of the stars, except where, just opposite to Diamond’s face, the grey towers of a cathedral blotted out each its own shape of sky and stars.”
North Wind then lovingly took Diamond into the cathedral, where he found peaceful sleep and dreamt of the Apostles.
For the next three weeks,, I will offer a personal reflection about Divine Providence as described in the dialogue between North Wind and Diamond, part of the children’s book ‘At the back of the North Wind’ by MacDonald.
In my excitement last week about the UPS and Fed Ex deliveries, I forgot that I was supposed to be posting the series on Divine Providence from our church bulletin. So the above is the second installment.
I don’t know if this can compare in strangeness to the UPS deliveries, but on Monday, February 21, I got two Christmas letters in the mail, one Valentine and a Halloween picture. It had been a week since we had gotten our mail, so they may have arrived on different days in the week, but still it has to be considered unusual. The Christmas letters were from the Rackiewicz family and the Dan Vander Woude family. Both were very enjoyable, though I would say that the Rackiewiczs are better at taking Christmas pictures than the Vander Woudes — the VW parents’ heads finished slightly above the border of the picture. The Rack letter got us caught up on the happenings of their six children, all of whom are now graduated from college. While the VW letter got us caught up on their six children, all of whom are still pre-Seton. I should point out that we still have our artificial Christmas tree up. All the decorations are off it except the lights. I use them as a night light when I need to get up in the middle of the night Very beautiful. The Valentine came from the Akers family — a wonderful homemade one with the words of Psalm 90: “Fill us at daybreak with your love, Lord, that all our days we may sing for joy!” A lesson in how we should all approach each day with our small or great sufferings. The Halloween picture was forwarded to us by Mrs. Carroll. She had received it at Christmas from Sister Auriesville, pka Jean Pennefather. It was a picture of Mom and me on the Carroll’s front porch with me holding a pumpkin. We look very nice. Today we got our mail again. There were no personal letters. Maroseness.
It looks as if our March is coming in like a lamb — from Monday to Friday is supposed to be beautiful weather.
I have been looking around at blogs and all of them have pictures. Well, I only looked at three blogs. I don’t know how to do pictures. Is it easy? I have a digital camera. I may cut off the tops of people’s heads, but they make nice Christmas pictures anyway. If someone can tell me how to do pictures, I will try. I have no idea what I will take pictures of, but then I never have any idea what I’m going to write about either.
Jezu, ufam Tobie.
Seton Boys and Girls Swimming Wins 7th and 8th VSIS Division II State Championships!
Mr. Terry Monihan, a former teacher at Seton, died this week. His Mass of Christian Burialwas celebrated last Saturday (Nov 27, 2010) at All Saints Catholic Church. Mr. Monihan taught geography and Latin at Seton and Latin at our sister school St. John Neumann. Mr. Monihan was a brilliant Latin scholar who was virtually bilingual in the language, which was very much alive to him. He knew Latin so well that he was able to continue teaching even after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He was also noted for his sense orf humor and, above all, his deep and abiding love for his Catholic Faith.
We extend our sympathies to his sons, Nicholas and Christopher, both of whom attended Seton, and to his loving wive Peggy, who devotedly cared for him during his illness. The marriage vows read “I will be true to you in good times and in bad”. But Peggy is living proof that in a truly Christ-centered and self-giving marriage, there are no “bad times”, only opportunities to give love.
Mid-February Things
MID-FEBRUARY THINGS
Here it is the middle of February and supposedly still winter, but we woke up to the singing of turtle doves, meadowlarks and finches this morning. We might have snow again this weekend, so that will chase the songbirds back south. Three of our last four days have been in the mid-sixties – these temperatures have set records. Just a week or so ago we were down around negative twenty and our water pipes froze.
It’s been nice being in the midst of an unusually long ordinary time between Christmastide (which ended February 2nd) and Lent which doesn’t start until March 9th. This coming Sunday would be Septuagesima Sunday – three Sundays before Ash Wednesday. Time to start thinking about penances, alms giving and prayer.
Shortly after Ash Wednesday the rest of the world will be turning their clocks ahead an hour, while we here on Delayed Sunset Time will not have to do anything except try to remember that we are now on the same time as everyone else rather than an hour ahead.
Friday and Saturday Seton swimmers will be seeking state crowns in Christiansburg, VA. Check out the site:
http://tv.swimmingworldmagazine.com/events/2011-virginia-independent-high-school-state-championships
They will have some live broadcasts and some highlights during the two day event. Last year I was cheering wildly during the exciting relays. Seton runs the championships, so Mr. Koehr and many other Seton parents are ready to put on another great show. I don’t remember if there is broadcasting of the diving portion of the tournament, but Seton has some very talented divers as well.
Here is something that is a little unusual that happened to us yesterday, Tuesday the 16th.
Early last week we ordered some supplies from a company in St. Louis. Usually our orders arrive the following day via UPS, but perhaps because of the weather in Missouri, the shipment was going to arrive later than usual and was going to be sent Fed Ex. Friday we ordered something that was to be sent UPS from here in Colorado. Normally that shipment also arrives the next business day which would have been Monday.
We recently had a small snow storm with some strong winds, so our good neighbor Robert Loose plowed the half-mile long road that connects us with the main road. With the warm weather the snow melted very quickly, making our road a swamp. It is fun to drive it in this condition if one doesn’t mind mud all over the car and the possibility of getting stuck in three or four places.
When we got nothing on Monday, I thought that both orders might arrive on Tuesday. Tuesday came and nothing had arrived by the middle of the afternoon. We had enough supplies to last one more day, so there was no reason to panic or check on the orders.
Since it was 65 out, Mom wanted to go outside for a while, so we headed down the ramp. I didn’t have my glasses on, but I was looking toward the east to see what I might see, and I saw something strange maybe 100 yards or so from the house by last year’s corn field.
With my blurred vision and with a tree partially obscuring my view, I thought that it might be an animal – it was brown. I got my glasses and still could not tell what it was.
Nothing to do but go see. As I approached I could make out a box. I thought that the wind must have blown an empty box from the dump into the field. Then I could make out three boxes – one big one perched on top of two littler ones.
One of our shipments? Why was it left there?
I got to the boxes and the two on the bottom were the Colorado shipment while the one on top was the St. Louis shipment. UPS and Fed Ex had both left their boxes there together? This was too strange. Then I found on one of the UPS boxes a UPS InfoNotice. The driver had written, “I would have been stuck if I continued. Thanks.” Thanks? What had I done? Also, the drivers had made it through the worst of the road – the last little bit to the house is no problem, though it might look worse because it usually has standing water instead of mud. Dad always said to drive right through the middle of the puddles, but maybe UPS driver and Fed Ex driver had never received such sage advice. If Mom hadn’t wanted to go outside, we never would have known the boxes were there.
Now I was a bit concerned. There was no way to tell if the shipments had come the day before or that same day. I was concerned because the Colorado order would be ruined if it had been there all night and had frozen. (Even though it was 65 degrees during the day, it had been 25 during the night.)
So we went back into the house, and I began making calls. I found out that both deliveries were made at almost the exact same time – a little after 11:30 your time, 12:30 our time that day. That was strange in itself. Did the two drivers talk to each other and mutually agree to leave the boxes there? Did UPS leave his and then Fed Ex decided to do the same? Also, UPS told me that the delivery was made to the door. I told them this was not the case and explained as much as I could what had happened. I like our UPS driver, so I did not file a complaint. I was relieved that nothing had been out overnight.
I was also told that part of the Colorado UPS shipment was delayed and would arrive tomorrow.
Well, today is tomorrow, and as I was writing this I thought I heard a vehicle coming down our road. The UPS man? I looked out the window and sure enough, here he came. I said to Mom, “We’ll see if he is braver today.”
Nope. He stopped at the same place and put two boxes on the side of the road again. (I had my glasses on this time.)
What has Brown, or Fed Ex for that matter, done for you? Thanks.
Jezu, ufam Tobie.