Just When the Tomatoes Were Ripe....

The day after tomorrow I'll be heading back home again. I won't have any time to visit with you tomorrow or the next day. Chances are, given Sister St. Aloysius' priorities, I'll be very busy when I return, finding things, like the surface of the kitchen table and the floor. I've already been informed that my beloved worm farm (I have a worm farm) has been overtaken by bees. Now, instead of a worm farm, I have a bee hive. I'm not talking about my hair.

Here are a few questions, in the order in which they were received:

Sister,"Eucharistic minister"???? Should we be using that term? I thought we were only supposed to use "extraordinary minister of Holy Communion." (or EMHC, for short.)

The priest is the Ordinary Minister of the Eucharist. That makes anyone who is not a priest who is administering the Eucharist an Extraordinary Minister of the Eucharist. And although these people are extraordinary (as Ministers of the Eucharist, at least), they weren't meant to be so plentiful as to seem commonplace and therefore ordinary. We think of them as ordinary, but they are not Ordinary. Everyone just calls them Eucharist Ministers. (Really. Use your the Google.) The same way no one calls those phones you all have "celluar phones". They are not "cell phones". They are "celluar phones". Go complain about that for awhile.

Next question:

On another note, are there entrance exams to becoming a nun? Like, a God Quotient or something? Just curious.

Sort of. You can't just walk in the convent door and say, "Here's your new nun!" There is indeed a "God Quotient" involved and you will be tested. The rules used to be even more strict than they are now...you couldn't have been married or had a family and then gone off to the convent. Unless you were St. Rita.

St. Rita had a husband so rotten that the Mafia bumped him off. She cried and prayed that her sons would not get killed trying to avenge the death of their father. Her prayers were answered, as they both died of illness. This left Rita free to pursue her first love and attempt to join the convent. She was not accepted (had been married with children). She camped outside the convent. Eventually angels picked her up and flew her over the walls.

This was still not enough to gain her any real acceptance by the sisterhood within. They made her water a stick they stuck in the ground. Rita complied everyday without fail. This was an exercise in obedience and humility. Rita's stick eventually sprouted and turned into a tree. I used to think that was a miracle but it happened to me last year. Some plants sprout on old wood.

Anyhow, your "book learnin'" part of becoming a nun is very important, also. Just how important depends on which order you choose. Obviously, if you are going to a teaching order or a nursing order, it's very important.

Still, if you are accepted as a person with a calling, we can always find room for your dim bulb self in the kitchen or the laundry room where you will be blissfully happy. If you aren't, you'll know you didn't have a calling. You were just in it for the shoes.

Sr. Mary Martha, I absolutely love your blog. I have been looking all over this site for an email address to contact you privately, but I could not find one...Various moral dilemmas plague me from time to time, and I can't tell you how much I would appreciate some "unsympathetic" advice from someone like you. If you are willing, would you pretty pretty please post a contact email address for yourself so that we can all bombard you with our questions that we're too afraid to post in plain view of the world?

Sorry. I pretty much covered that here. Your confessor should be able to help you, anyhow.

And finally:

I was scolded one time for wearing suggestive shoes. They were closed toed flats, but they showed 'toe clevage'and were therefore not appropriate for Mass according to this individual. I looked it up in the catechism, but couldn't find anything on 'toe clevage'...

That is just pathetic. At least we have finally uncovered the individual responsible for the patent leather shoe and white table linen doctrine. Oh! and that strawberry thing!

Also, regarding the dress with the strawberry on it... A "strawberry" is another name for the girl in the neighborhood who, er, puts out. Bluntly, she is the neighborhood nonprofit whore. Fashion designers are hip to this. Wearing a dress with a strawberry on it is the same as wearing one of those shirts that says, "Porn Star".

I'm sure the makers of the Strawberry Shortcake dolls were trying to steal souls, too?

I'm all for decency. I worry about paranoia.

Too Open....Toed

Back in the old days it was easy to get into the habit. Each nun had about three habits in her closet: a really nice one (the "Sunday go to meeting," "PTA meeting" habit), a really beat up one (the "pew duster"), and the everyday one ( the "Mama Bear"). Each habit had a skull cap for one's hair, then the wimple, that tied at the top and the back. Then the main dress. Then you put on the big bib and the headband and then the veil itself. The order supplied the whole shebang, complete with the giant rosary.

Getting the habit ready to put on was not so easy. The big bib and that white part inside the veil and the head band, and sometimes the wimple had to be starched within an inch of it's life. Starched so it could stand on it's own two feet without the benefit of having any feet.

We made our own starch, as if we weren't busy enough, what with keeping you from sinning and our own life in Christ. We made it thick enough to choke a horse and then we would squeeze it through cheese cloth into big vats and dip everything into it. It was so thick that if we got a hole in any of the white parts of our habits, we could simply take a little piece of white fabric and blop it onto the hole with some of the starch and iron it on there. Instant new wimple! Instant new giant bib!

And off you went. If you needed anything else, like a clicker or a ruler with an extra long reach, you were on your own.

Now, of course, the nuns are on their own for everything. No wonder they ended up looking so motley. It's not as bad these days as it was when the habits first flew away. Those poor women had no idea how to put together an outfit, suddenly on their own budget. (You try and look spiffy on $12.50.) Suddenly left with some hair showing ("Sister Mary Gerard is a redhead!" Remember that moment?), we ended up with the famous 'nun bangs'. So sad.

Which brings me to today's question, at last:

On the topic of modest dress, what do you think about shoes? I am a Eucharistic Minister, and we are required to not only abide by a modest dress code, but also wear only closed-toed shoes. Of course I abide by these rules at mass, but outside of church, am I sinning if I wear sandals? I ask this also because I am considering entering religious life, and I know it is customary for sisters to wear closed-toed shoes, too. When did this tradition begin?

I wish it were a sin to wear sandals, given the state of some people's feet.

It's not a sin to wear sandals. In fact, there are whole religious orders who wear nothing but sandals. This tradition was officially started by St. Francis of Assisi and St. Clare. St. Francis took Jesus at His Word when He said, "Take no purse with you, no haversack, no sandals." That's why St. Francis took the vow of poverty, didn't wear shoes and walked upright.

These orders are called 'discalced'. That means they wear no shoes or sandals.

So much for open-toed sin.

I'm guessing that the Eucharist Minister rule to which you must abide was born of what we've been discussing for the last couple of days: the impossible bone-headed-bad-taste-in-attire that people show up wearing for Mass. We don't want the recipients of Holy Communion distracted by your horrible looking toes, your fuchsia toenail polish, your bunions, your callused heels, your toe rings....you get the picture. In order to not have to look at any of that while receiving the body of Christ, the priest would have to issue a gigantic edict:

"Dear Eucharistic Ministers,

We thank you with the love of Christ, but for the love of Christ, please don't wear open toed shoes if you have horrible looking toes, wear crazy nail polish, toe rings, have bunions or otherwise distracting or nasty looking feet.

Also, please refrain from showing tattoos, your knees, the upper part of your arm no matter how often you work out, or any other flesh between your collar bone and your upper calf. If you are a man, please don't show any flesh below your collarbone. This means you! Wear some socks!

Don't wear wacky colors, boas, leis, giant jewelry, feathers, huge hats, or bullet proof vests. Don't wear things that clack, jingle, jiggle or beep. Since your feet are alreacy covered, do we need to mention the reason some footwear is called 'flip-flops'? No flapping footwear. No tap shoes. No cleats.

Please don't show up in jeans, workout clothes, track suits, beach attire, togas or pajamas. If it says "Nike" on it, swoop it back into the closet.

Don't wear costumes...unless you actually are a cowboy, a fireman, a caveman, or a madam...in which case we'll know to work on saving your immortal soul all the harder.

Sincerely,

Your Parish Priest

You think I'm joking, but I actually attended a funeral where a man arrived wearing a bullet proof vest. I suppose I should be grateful that he was fully clothed.

As for yourself outside your duties, you can wear sandals until the cows come home. And should you join the religious life (oh, we so hope you do!) you can join a sandal order. Look for "Discalced" in the title of the order.

As for myself, I have big giant black shoes. Bug Crushers, we used to call them. Mine are more like Mouse Crushers. They used to be supplied by the order, but now I just hit the men's department at Payless.

Who Wears the Pants?

I've never met a nun who actually told anybody that patent leather shoes reflect up. I'm also shocked that anyone would believe anything so crazy. Telling young women that having dinner with a young man at a table with a white table cloth could remind the poor man of bed sheets and give him ideas. Does the young man bear no responsibility for being that nuts? Good lord, boy, say a Hail Mary and order your salad!

I have often been asked what I think of the whole patten leather shoe question, to which I reply,"If you are that desperate as to try to look into some shiny shoes....go for it." It's not going to work anyhow. Pathetic.

Today's reader question:
I've been thinking about this post - separating the practice from the person. Of course we forgive the sins of those around us, and yet the Bible says even a child is known by his actions. While a person most certainly can change, their actions show us much about their character.This thought has led me to another area I've been researching. Standards for modest Catholic dress.... can one really say that their manner of dress has nothing to do with their heart? Common sense tells us that a person's choice of clothing does tell you something about them. Colleen Hammond's book "Dressing with Dignity" has much to say about the history of women's clothes, the Church's thoughts, etc. What do YOU think, Sister? Willing to share your thoughts on this? Should women wear only dresses and skirts? Are pants ok? Inquiring minds want to know!

And I suppose you believe that every young man with his gigantic pants hanging off of his visible underpants is a 'gangsta'?

I addressed the topic of what women wear in my very first post. Having grown up in the Midwest and spent a lot of years in Chicago, I am well aware of the assault to the eyes that occurs when all the winter coats come off. But there is much to be said, so let's take things one at a time.

...the Bible says even a child is known by his actions. Known, maybe. But not judged by the likes of us.

... can one really say that their manner of dress has nothing to do with their heart? Yes! One can say that! Oh boy, can one say that. Some people just have bad taste. There are lovely people who don't realize that horizontal stripes are not a good idea for some figures. The Goodyear Blimp is moored near our home in California. One day we thought it had pulled loose from it's moorings, but it was Mrs. Waggy, one of the neighbors and a good Lutheran woman, in horizontal stripes doing some weeding in her front yard.

"You can't judge a book by it's cover." There's a reason people still say that all the time.

What are we to say, for example, about these poor middle-aged women who wear red and purple and feather boas and the like and pretend to be fifteen for an afternoon? I'll admit I'd like to knock their heads together, but are they bad people because they've signed onto some silly club? Alright. They are. But only for the afternoon. And not really bad. Just ill-mannered and obnoxious. Nothing a good confession can't handle, provided no one gets hit by a meteor on the way home. Perhaps they'll get lucky and the meteor will simply knock off their hats. I'll put it on my prayer list.

Let's not forget the slaves to fashion who wear unflattering low riding jeans because those pants are in style. If they actually did have the idea to dress in these things to attract men the sin is in the desire and not in the execution, not when a year's worth of Taco Bell is riding over the low ride. Poor things.

Which brings me to the next part of your question. Should women wear only dresses and skirts? Are pants ok?

I'm not some old fuddy duddy.

Alright, I am. Although, I don't care to watch "Murder She Wrote". Maybe I'm merely a duddy.

I've mentioned this before: any type of clothing can go horribly awry. (See illustrations at the bottom of the page.) We like to dress sensibly, with purity in mind, but if you tip the scale too far in wrong direction you'll simply draw attention to yourself and everyone will point at you and whisper that you are the tenth wife of the Mormon in the dell.

The right pants would be better than the wrong skirt and they can save your legs from frostbite in the winter. The right skirt would be better than the wrong pants if the pants have a low riding waistline or pants that are very tight. Or...with horizontal stripes.

Hate the L, Love the Homegrown T

Here's something I've learned from my stay here in the Midwest. I do like the tangy zip of Miracle Whip. Especially when it's on a BLT made with home grown tomatoes. Truth be told, I don't have a BLT. I have a BT. I don't care for lettuce on a sandwich. My moral dilemma is this: do I ruin my sandwich with the L and offer it up to the Poor Souls in Purgatory? It seems like a waste of food to me, even though I would actually eat the L. I do like L in it's place in a salad bowl.

The whole thing may give me some indigestion to offer up anyhow, as I have been vexed by the raging argument two posts down amongst the comments. Although things may have smoothed out to some extent, I have not been able to get past this notion, although I have no problem loving the poster:

"Church teaching condemns the PRACTICE OF, not the PERSON. It's more merciful."
Excerpt from anonymous post above.

What an intriguing concept. How does one NOT include the other. If something is practiced isn't something practicing it?......It seems that if a practice is condemned then the real condemnation lies with the person because the person has the soul and not the practice.......

I'm going to blow right by the regular theological argument which goes something like this: the sin is forgiven and the sinner can choose not to sin again. We can separate the act from the person because the person can change, and also because we can't judge the motivations of others or what is in their hearts.

We do, but only in court.

I have to go for the practical approach. I maintain that you hate the sin and not the sinner on a daily, if not hourly, basis. It's how people stay married, it's why children actually grow into adulthood without being pushed off a cliff before age ten. It's how people manage to stay at a job year after year side by side in small cubicles, it's how they manage to take public transportation without bringing a sidearm.

It's how you maintain a long standing friendship. It's how nuns live in convents together and how basketball teams drive toward a championship season. It's how the Freemasons, the Catholic Church and the United States Senate stay powerful.

Well, maybe not the Senate.

The problem people have is not with the concept, it's with the practise on a larger scale. It's one thing to forgive your husband because he passive-aggressively leaves toothpaste spit in the sink or to forgive your co-worker because they went behind your back to the boss. That's not you out there with the semi-automatic weapon at the post office, now, is it?

The problem is applying the same forgiveness when someone has really wronged you. Or the world. In order to do that, we must find our way to the soul God made, which was perfect and is forgiven by God. No one said it was easy. Too bad. Offer it up.

Otherwise we have to tell that nun who hung out with Sean Penn when he was on death row there to go home and watch TV or something, as she may do about as much good there. She can keep her mind sharp with a good crossword puzzle.

Before the Parade Passes By

Holy cow! The Freemasons actually showed up here to comment about my comments on the Freemasons! How did they find me so fast? I wonder if the commenter is the William Donohue of Freemasons. If so, I hope they don't sputter so much, because some day Mr. Donohue is going to go the way of Zim.

Did I ever tell you the story of Zim? When I was a little girl growing up here, Zim had the best ice cream shop in town. My father took us there several times a week during the summertime. Fantastic milk shakes! On the way home my dad would toss his empty milk shake cup down the sewer while making a left turn onto 18th Street. That's why we have Global Warming.

But I digress.

Zim shared his parking lot with the OshKoshb'Gosh store. He had two parking spaces marked with giant wooden ice cream cone placards and he guarded the spots jealously. If you parked at his place he would come steaming out of his shop and yell at you. He would come right up to your car window before you could roll it up (all hand crankers back then) and yell, "Where are you going!!??" And you would say, "I'm going to get ice cream." And he would say, "Oh." Then he would steam back into the shop.

I wonder what would have happened if you jumped out of your car and skipped into OshKoshb'Gosh and grabbed some overalls. I imagine Zim would have the police on you.

I should mention at this point that Zim weighed about 300 pounds. As I said, his milk shakes were superb.

One day my mother was downtown there with my aunt and they heard sirens. She said to my aunt, "Ha! I guess Zim had a heart attack screaming at someone in his parking lot!" They both had a good laugh over that. Except that is exactly what was happening.

Zim survived. A year or so later we heard he had had another heart attack. And we all said, "Hope he wasn't out there screaming at someone in his parking lot!"

He was. I hope his tombstone is big wooden ice cream cone that says, "What are you doing here!!?" on it. And I hope he's in heaven, because I'd love one of those shakes again i fI make it there.

Sometimes you just have to enjoy the ice cream and stop worrying about where everyone is parked.

Rain on the Parade

I'm still here in the Mid West, offering up the sweltering heat. My plate is very full with family matters, so my poor brain can only tackle this poaced egg of a question:

I would love to have you write about the Freemasons, there seems to be confusion among many about the Churches stance, thought it is quite clear. I've had an ongoing 'kind' debate with a friend about this. She supports it and has a very cavalier attitude towards it.

Okay, I'll bite. I'm guessing that since you have an ongoing friendly argument, that you are aware of what the Church's stance is: Freemasonry is incompatible with the Catholic Church.

I'm not sure what her cavalier attitude is about. Perhaps she doesn't give a fig about the Freemasons. What's their deal, anyhow? Aren't they the ones that drive around on those tiny bikes in those funny hats during parades. Who even likes parades? I would like to meet the person who invented parades and ask him what made him think watching people in hot coats with tubas marching by would be any fun for anyone.

I, for one, have never understood the appeal of a parade, except for the opportunity to offer up the pain of your standing there craning your neck for more than an hour to watch the high school band march by and people in convertables waving for the Poor Souls in Purgatory. I can find a wooden kneeler to get the same affect. I can go kneel on dried peas.

I've never paid much attention to the Freemasons myself, except to pray for their immortal souls, because I know they are incompatible with the Catholic Church and have been since the 18th century. Three hundred years should be enough time for anyone to get it through their thick skulls that Freemasonry is off the Catholic "to-do" list.

Back then and for years to come, Catholics joining the Freemasons were excommunicated. Today, Catholics joining the Freemasons have to join with that guy who ran for president in the 'do not administer Communion to" room. I think that still means you're excommunicated, since you can't receive Communion because you are not 'in unity' with the Church. I never see them call it excommunication any more. I think that word scares everybody. EXCOMMUNICATED! So now they don't tell you you are excommunicated. But you are. As far as I can tell.

That ought to put a damper on her cavalier attitude. Although I have a feeling that her frivolity is due to one of two things.

1. Every once in a while some priest somewhere takes it upon himself to say that it's okay for Catholics to join the Mason. Apparently fooled by the tiny scooters, these men seem to think the Freemasons are harmless fun. A charity group, maybe, like The Loyal Order of the Moose. They stand corrected.

OR

2. She can't stand parades anymore than I can. By that I mean, she has no real contact with Freemasons and doesn't know anyone who does and so...who cares about those people? Just because she doesn't like parades she feels she shouldn't rain on anyone else's.

Or maybe she is hoping one of them will come over and fix her retaining wall at no charge.

Greater Than, Less Than

Our home town church had the most amazing pipe organ up in the choir loft. For some inexplicable reason the parish powers that be dismantled that one and purchased another big organ that sits on the floor by the side door. Perhaps the organist simply had enough of looking like the Phantom of the Opera up there...or the abominable Dr. Phibes. Still, I miss it and wish it would come back somehow. Which brings us to today's question:

Sister, what do you think about organ donation? I've read several things but I'm just more confused. I fear death will be 'hastened' to 'harvest' the organs, if -God forbid- I ever find myself in this delima what is right?

The only thing I find confusing about organ donation is: if you have had a liver transplant and you have liver spots....who's spots do you have?

I bring this up because in the afterlife you will have your glorifed body. It's going to be your body (which, as I've mentioned is a very good impetus to get in shape NOW, as this is eternity we're talking about) with everything in it.

That means that if you get a liver transplant you'll have to give the liver back to the original owner in heaven. You could go without a liver in heaven, because you won't need it. But you'll have it anyhow.

If you or your organ donor are in hell, you'll still have to give the liver back to the donor.

I wouldn't worry about it, though. For example, you've lost a leg or a finger tip and have been running around all this time without it, you'll get that back in heaven so that you won't miss out on any heavenly pleasure. You'll feel so great in heaven, you'll get both legs and your finger tip back so you can to feel all the available pleasure. (If you land in hell you'll get your old leg back to you don't miss out on any suffering.) So it would seem to me that you won't have to go running around looking for your organ donor, he or she will simply get their liver back and you'll have your old one...the one they tossed out the back of the hospital.

Here's what the Catholic Church officially has to say on the matter:

(from the Cathechism of the Catholic Church)

2296 Organ transplants are in conformity with the moral law if the physical and psychological dangers and risks to the donor are proportionate to the good sought for the recipient. Organ donation after death is a noble and meritorious act and is to be encouraged as a expression of generous solidarity. It is not morally acceptable if the donor or his proxy has not given explicit consent. Moreover, it is not morally admissible to bring about the disabling mutilation or death of a human being, even in order to delay the death of other persons.

I think that's pretty clear. You can't give your organs away if it's too risky for you or not very helpful to the donee. It's a very great gift. We want you to do it (that's what we mean by 'to be encouraged'). Everyone has to say yes, especially the donor. You can't kill anyone to get their organs. Even if you really want to.

Which means your confusion only boils down to your own fear. You are working under a faulty premise that equates action with potential risk. Where is Sister St. Aloysius when we need her? You need to replace the "equals" sign with the "less than" or "greater than" signs. This isn't confusing. You do it every day.

Here's your equation in theory: Action=Potential for danger.

Here's your equation in practise: I leave the house healthy=I get hit by a bus.

You don't live by that equation, now do you?

You live by this one: I leave the house healthy>I get hit by a bus. Every single action we take has the potential for risk. Eating is a choking hazard. Walking is a falling hazard. Swimming is a drowning hazard. But you still eat, right? Let's hope so.

Surely we can agree that good done by organ donation far outweighs the possibility of misuse. I'll even go so far as to say that there is misuse already. Poor people selling kidneys and the like. This is where faith has to step in. Check that box on your driver's license!

Faith>Fear.

Yesterday a record number of happy couples got married. Normally, this would thrill me. All these weddings mean that a whole bunch of people who were living in sin (let's face the music here) have managed to straighten things out. At least we hope they have.

We hope they managed to steam over to a confessional before the wedding. Somehow I doubt it. (Again, I have to smell the coffee....the old stale coffee that has been sitting on the burner over at the Kwiki Mart, nee 7/11 since 1968.) Because the reason so many people got married yesterday, and not the day before or today or tomorrow, is because they believed that getting married yesterday, with all those sevens on their marriage certificates, will bring them luck.

I could cry. With six out of ten marriages ending in divorce these days, I would hope these folks had a little more on the ball than a lucky wedding day.

According to Catholic doctrine, there is no such thing as 'luck'. As a Catholic, you are not allowed to put your faith into anything but God. If you do, you are breaking the First Commandment: "I am the Lord thy God. Thou shalt not have strange gods before Me."

By that God meant, "Thou shalt not put thy faith in a four leaf clover, a rabbit's foot, an old t-shirt, a pair of sneakers, crystals and candles, numbers or stars. Thou shalt step on cracks in the sidewalk, walk under ladders as long as there isn't something precariously balanced on the the top of them, break mirrors and spill small amounts of salt. Thou shalt wipe up the salt with a dish cloth and throw it in the sink. Thou shalt walk all around behind black cats."

The number seven has no power whatsoever to get these people to stay married. I can't imagine anyone making it through their Pre-Canaan classes only to chirp to the priest, "...and we're getting married on 7/07/2007 because it will be GOOD LUCK!"

To which the harried priest would mumble, "oh well.....good luck, then."

And I'll give you one guess where a record number of weddings took place! I wonder how many of them were married by an Elvis impersonator. They have so many strikes against them from the get go.

1. The state of their souls before the wedding.

2. The belief in the power of a number over the power of God.

3. Obviously not attending Pre-Canaan instruction.

4. Not actually being married in the eyes of God.

5. The return to #1 on this list by virtue of the fact that they are sinning by putting their faith in a number instead of God and not being married by a priest.

What a vicious cycle.

6. Getting married by an Elvis impersonator. Not that getting married by the actual Elvis would be any better.

Lucky for them, gambling is not necessarily a sin, nor is drinking or the list could be endless. Thank goodness I caught this on the news to add these couples to my prayer list! We musn't despair! That's a sin, too.

I Doubt It

Well, hello out there in cyber space. This is Sister Saint Aloysius. With Sister Mary Martha temporarily off to the humidity of the Midwest to help her wonderful family, she is not here to keep up with her column. I have a cheese souffle in the oven in honor of Saint Thomas' feast day so I better make it snappy.

Most of us think of St Thomas as the Apostle who doubted everything and as you can see he is usually depicted in religious art poking his finger in Christ's wounds. Jesus was very patient. But, I wonder how patient most of us are on these hot summer days, with the temperatures soaring, strange bugs biting us and rashes festering in places too private to mention. Do you find yourself flying off the handle? This is the time when we have to put ourselves in check. Offer up these little annoyances to the poor souls simmering in Purgatory. Do we find ourselves doubting Jesus loves us because we are sweating buckets and the air conditioning is on the fritz? Wasn't Our Savior a little clammy wandering around the desert in the 140 degree heat in that floor length biblical caftan? Lucky for Him it wasnt polyester like this modern habit I have on. Ooops, speaking of patience, I impatiently peeked in the oven and my souffle has fallen. I hope the Altar Guild likes a big cheese pancake. I doubt it.

Where Did the Time Go?

Apparently, it's my anniversary! Who knew? I 'm not even at home to have Sister St. Aloysius make a fantastic cake or brownies or something to celebrate by offering them up to someone else.

Sister Mary Martha has been answering questions and making observations for an entire year. Who knew? It doesn't seem like a year. For one thing, the plumbing hasn't blown up again as it does annually, unless you count the hot water heater. Maybe after we have sewage all over the hallway once again it will seem like a year has passed. Some of us mark the days with the Liturgical Calendar. Some of us mark the days when the things that go down through the pipes stay down there. Some of us do both.

Here's how I'd like to celebrate, if you'd be so kind. Dig around in our archives and let us know which posts have been your favorites. We'd be interested to know what strikes a chord!

I think my personal favorite were the posts around Halloween. For me, they were cathartic in more ways than one, since some of the things that go on around Halloween year after year grow so tiresome....how and why Christians observe the holiday, for example. I was happy to put my two cents in. And glad to retell my story of the old man at the bank. My Norma Rae moment.

But I'd be so happy to hear from you! That would be as good as cake and I wouldn't have any way to give it up.....

Or! Pop over and give us a vote at the Blogger's Choice Awards. That would tickle Sister St. Aloysius no end. We can't believe how far we've come over there!