i'm back!

I'm back!

I've missed you, my old blog. On my other blog, I decided to change my focus from spirituality to just, well, chatting about everyday life. I finally realized that I was trying to be everything to everyone, and in doing so, I was losing my voice, my authenticity, and my audience too. So I'm back, not just to my old blog, but to myself. Not everyone will like this. But I'd rather be true to myself (tempted to quote Hamlet but I'll spare you) than try to please everyone else!

(Photo: Minnesota state photograph "Grace" (Photo credit: Wikipedia))

I have a monster headache today, so instead of rambling on and on, I'm going to repost a little something I quoted for "The Little Things" that is worth repeating:

"You say grace before meals.
All right.
But I say grace before the play and the opera,
And grace before the concert and pantomime,
And grace before I open a book,
And grace before sketching, painting,
Swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing;
And grace before I dip the pen in the ink."
--G.K. Chesterton

(I've always loved this picture because it hung in Grandma Resch's kitchen for as far back as I can remember. I always think of her whenever we say grace before dinner...)

http://barbaramarincelthelittlethings.wordpress.com/2013/02/10/you-say-grace

final friday five for 2012

As usual, credit for everything below--except my answers, that is--goes to the wonderful gals over at RevGalBlogPals. And I owe them a hearty "thank you" for giving me a some much-needed writing inspiration!

I should mention that I did have my neck surgery last week and the surgeon said the procedure went "swimmingly." I find this reassuring because those raw and burnt nerve endings feel, well, raw and burnt. Not a pleasant sensation. My usual brilliance is most likely lacking today since I'm on pain killers and muscle relaxers, so bear with me. 

 

The FINAL Friday Five for 2012: Recycle, Re-Gift, Reflect

As we take a breather from the busy weekend of Sunday/Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, it's time to reflect on the past year. It's hard to move out of this holiday season with its delights and celebrations. Here at our home, we've barely finished the eggnog. The tree is still up and our cats delight in knocking off the lower (unbreakable) ornaments. As we are rounding the final turn on the year 2012, I hope you'll play along with these questions. :)

RECYCLE:

1. What is some "old news" this year that you'd like to repeat for 2013?

Saturday lunches and outings with my birthmom, Judy. We try to do this on a fairly regular basis, although it has been difficult to get together for much of this year because of her hip surgery and my neck surgery. My lack of a car doesn't help, either. But we have a lot of fun spending time together. Plus, I finally know where most of my idiosyncrasies originate! Here I though I was eccentric all by my lonesome, only to discover that I inherited most of them from the Lubys! (The others come from growing up a Resch of course.)

2. What "new thing" have you started that you want to keep going in 2013?

Not having neck surgery!  Making an effort, through journaling, meditation, prayer, reflection, and reading, to really observe Advent, as a season of waiting and preparation for the gift of the Incarnation.

RE-GIFT:

3. What event, experience or gift would you just as soon "Return to Sender"? Maybe it was a disastrous sermon, a congregational kerfuffle, a vacation nightmare, or your own mis-step. It can be funny or sad. 

I would gladly surrender the experience of running a stop sign and crashing into another car this past June! The gentleman driving the other car, luckily, wasn't hurt, but I would up with whiplash and neck surgery. And my darling little GEO Metro was totaled! It wasn't damaged that badly, but the repairs would have cost more than my 16 year-old baby was worth. Monetarily, anyway, disregarding my love for my first car. So we are in the market for a new car, but all we can get for our money is junk. But I can't drive now anyway, temporarily at least!

REFLECT:

4. Share the brightest bit of joy that was a part of your year. 

George and I celebrated our ninth anniversary this October. I think the joy comes from the reassurance of being loved, truly loved, for myself, along with the realization that in nine years we have been through more than many couples endure in a lifetime, and we are still together. And I love him more with each anniversary that goes by. When we got married, I thought I could not possibly love him more than I did, but as time goes by, I find that my love for him grows and evolves, teaching me to appreciate the feeling of contentment that washes over me before I go to sleep, when I see him and Fiona (our dog, naturally) sleeping beside me. Or the simple pleasure of playing frisbee in our backyard together on lovely summer afternoon.

 

5. Share a picture that says far more than words. (You can use it to illustrate one of the above.) 

George and me at Kieran's Irish Pub after I lectored at the 4:30 Mass at The Basilica of St. Mary

 

BONUS:

Share a recipe! I'm in the doldrums and need some healthy eating options for my menu planning. Soup, stew, main dish, side dish or a healthy dessert - any and all are welcome!


This is where I need help, too, desperately! I'm hoping a reader will come to my rescue with a nice slow-cooker recipe, perhaps? Please?!

look back at summer 2012

It was the best of times, it was (not quite) the worst of times...

Among the best were our annual Resch Family Reunion, held at my cousin Verlys' farm up in Pine City (she was living w/mom and dad and was the first Resch to see me!), a Sabas family picnic/Olympics at Resort da Sabas, which doubles as my Aunt Sheila's place, a Fourth of July picnic on Lake Minnetonka, hosted by my Aunt Toddie and Uncle Bob, and sweet summer afternoons sitting out in our backyard with George and Fiona. Also, I got two unbelievably amazing Twins tickets from my friends Gary and Mary Margaret Hoden, so my pal Patti and I went and sat in THE LEGENDS CLUB. Really, I could get used to living like this!

There were only two things to make my summer less than happy: my birthmom had hip surgery (she's doing great now, in the hospital they called her a rock star), and I sort of totaled my car and wound up with a very nasty, mean case of whiplash. So I have no car, plus I'm having neck pain and headaches; however, I've started physical therapy and my doctor is being very kind about muscle relaxers, so I am hanging in there, albeit not at top speed. Well, there was a third--namely, a huge PTSD flare when some new memories surfaced. I was tormented by flashbacks and nightmares for a while, but thanks to the help of God and my beloved therapist, I'm doing much better now. As usual, I can't say enough about the support and love of all my family, especially George.

Oh yes, one other highlight of my summer was the opportunity to have dinner at Bulldog NE with my two stepbrothers, Alex and Kelley, and George was even able to join us! Kelley lives in Tokyo so I only get to see him a few times a year, and Alex keeps incredibly busy with his band Deadweight (he is the drummer--and an awesome one too in my totally unbiased opinion) and school, PLUS an August trip to Vietnam with his lovely (fiancée?) Tee (Tina). So it was extra special for the four of us to get to spend some time together--every time I see either of my brothers, I like them more! It's beyond cool to grow up an only child and suddenly gain a couple of little brothers.

When I look back at my summer, I have to admit that despite the PTSD and car accident, it was a blessed time of love and laughter. I'm attempting to upload a bunch of pictures on my mobile, so we will see how the Great Photo experiment goes!

The Resch Reunion

Me with lovely Sabas cousins Elissa and Deanna

Sandi Sybrandt and family at Resch Reunion

My poor Metro!!

Instagram version, Elissa, Deanna, and me

Sabas gals!!

Kelita and Levi Robertson at Resch Reunion

Mari-Lea and Kathy Oberg and Aunt Jo, Resch Reunion

Resch cousins come all the way from Montana!

Me with Auntie Sheila (Sabas)

My sleepy Fiona (with her favorite toy)

Joe and Nancy Mallery, Linda and Breanna Cook, Resch Reunion

Sabas Olympics!! (Bocce Ball)

Fiona snoozing

Naptime for George and Fiona

Patti and me with Kirby Puckett!

Me with Harmon "The Killer" Killebrew!!!!

George and me enjoying a drink at Kieran's after mass at the Basilica

A truly awful picture of me with my beloved aunties Marie, Jo, and Julie, Resch Reunion

Aunt Marie, Aunt Jo, Aunt Julie, Resch Reunion

My sleepy baby!

Joni-lea and Faith at Sabas picnic

Wildflowers finally bloom in August, turn out to be Goldenrod (relative of the Evil Ragweed)

friday five...a day late (well, a few minutes late!)

Emptiness Friday Five.....

This Friday five comes courtesy of Sally over at RevGalBlogPals! (You don't think I could come up with something like this myself, do you?)

I have been pondering this Friday Five over and over in my mind, but I am coming up with nothing, so I am wondering; what do you do when you feel empty of all creativity and unable to make/do anything? This is a completely open question, the only rule is name 5 things that fill/ inspire you:


Well, this is a tough question for me to answer, given the way I've been feeling physically/emotionally/ spiritually these last few months, so perhaps this is just the time for me to give this a whirl.


1. Being surrounded by my family. Although I'm an only child, my dad was the third eldest of eleven children, so I grew up surrounded by aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, great-aunts, great-uncles, and at the center of it all, my grandmother, the most warm, generous, and loving woman I've ever known. So then I wound up marrying a man who, amongst his other stellar qualities, just happens to have almost as many cousins as I do! (I have 44.) Not to mention he's the baby of six siblings. Our wedding was huge. and, incidentally, I'm a proud great-auntie myself now, several times over. And now I'm in contact with both sides of my birthparents' families, who, yes, are also part of large extended families. Naturally. I have more family than I know what to do with! And I love it, especially now that my folks are gone, because to me, family is home and love and laughter.


2. Walking, sitting, gazing out on the water of the North Shore of Lake Superior. It soothes me, slows down my mind and body, and fills me with the presence of God.

3. Feeling forgiven, truly forgiven, whether by another human being or by God. It is the only thing that heals the brokenness I feel inside when I know I have wronged someone, whether it be by "what I have done or by what I have failed to do."


4. Going through my parents' old pictures, letters, etc. It never fails to bring back floods of memories, some sad, some happy, most of which make me laugh until I cry. Which reminds me that I HAVE to get my hands on that new set of Laurel and Hardy movies, even if it is astronomically expensive. After all of the hours the three of us spent watching those movies...


5. Doing something for someone else. During the Depression, my Grandma Resch never, ever turned a hobo away when they came by asking for food, despite the family's poverty and all of the mouths she had to feed. She always found something to fix for them, and even something extra to make the plate look nice. My parents carried on this tradition, and one of my biggest frustrations of my current run of migraines is that I'm stuck at home all of the time, which keeps me from doing any of the things I'd normally do to pay it forward, so to speak. After all, I didn't choose the Prayer of St. Francis for both of my parents' remembrance cards for nothing. I chose it as words to live by.

the day he died

He died face down in the cold, wet, new-fallen snow sixteen years ago on a shivery, white, mid-January Minnesota day. A day exactly like today. He was a husband and a father, a brother, an uncle, a nephew, a cousin, and a friend. And although Tom Brokaw hadn't coined the phrase yet, he was one of the "Greatest Generation" the United States of America ever has known.

He was born in 1919, the third of eleven children in a large, exuberant German-Catholic farming family. He was forced to leave school after fifth grade, at the age of ten, to go work and help support the family. That was the year he and his older brother Leo shared one pair of shoes; one day Leo would wear them, the next day, Leo's little brother got to wear them. In his teens he worked in the CCC--the Civilian Conservation Corps--sent all of his pay home to his folks, and remained a New Deal Democrat until the day he died.

He was sitting at the kitchen table filling out his card for the Selective Service (i.e. the draft) the afternoon he heard over the radio that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. Within a few years, he would take part in the bloodiest nightmares World War II had to offer: landing in the third assault wave on Omaha Beach, spending Christmas Day 1944 in some of the fiercest fighting the Ardennnes saw during the Battle of the Bulge, helping liberate one of the sub-camps of Buchenwald in the Hartz mountains of Germany (a work camp, not a death camp, was all he would ever tell me, adding a moment later that there wasn't any difference).

When he finally came home in September of 1945 and discovered that his mother had saved all of his combat pay (which he'd sent home for the family to use) in a bank account for him, he used the money to buy the place where the family had been tenant farmers. He, his dad, and brothers founded a construction company too, and built many of the barns and houses in the Rush City-Pine City area of Minnesota, a number of which still stand today. He was the son who stayed home to farm and look after his mom and dad, putting off marriage and family until his parents decided to move into Rush City to live with his sister Julie. He was always the doting older brother and uncle, though, the tease, the one who made sure every niece and nephew had a Christmas present. He was the reason his little sister Jo refused to let her boyfriends come visit her at home--she knew she'd NEVER hear the end of it once her big brother found out a boy liked her! (Funny, his daughter had the same problem many years later...)

But in 1963 he married the girl he'd had his eye on for more than a decade and they settled down together in Minneapolis. They adopted a tiny daughter of five weeks in 1968. He almost died five years later, when he suffered his first heart attack, but luckily, it was mild and he lived another nineteen years. He lived to stick by his wife through two separate bouts of breast cancer, to take care of his daughter when she had three back surgeries for scoliosis at the age of seventeen. He lived to teach his little girl to fish, to show her by example that nothing in the whole world ever comes before the people you love. He took her to the Shrine Circus (unaware that she was terrified of clowns), the State Fair, and, every year, to see the Christmas lights in downtown Minneapolis. He stayed up with her all night when, at eighteen, the boy she thought she loved stood her up to go out with the campus floozy.

He was my father. His name was Leonard Henry Resch, and I adored him beyond reason, beyond words. And sixteen years to the day he returned home to God, I still do. I always will. And it's one of the greatest gifts I've ever been given. Thanks, God, you may have him now--as long as you promise that some day, I'll see that twinkle in his eye again, and I'll get to kiss him on the forehead once more. That we'll all be home again. Together, at last.

april update

Well, I'm still on Vicodin, still having migraines every day, still not pregnant. My doctor is starting me on a three week course of steroids (maybe I'll wind up looking like Barry Bonds!) in hopes of ending my current migraine "cycle." He's also sending me to a pain clinic; they have a fibromyalgia clinic and a headache management program, as well as a chronic pain management program, so maybe they'll have something in their bag of tricks that will help. It's not as though my docs and I haven't tried plenty of methods over the years: various medications, physical therapy, trigger point injections, Botox injections (in my neck and shoulders, not my crows feet!), relaxation techniques, etc., etc., but I'm keeping an open mind and hoping for the best. At this point, I realize that I'm not going to find a cure, and I'm okay with that; my goal, rather, is to gather more coping techniques to help me live with the pain and, hopefully, function a bit better.

This winter seemed ENDLESS! My headaches were especially problematic for two reasons. One, because with migraines it's difficult to distract myself the same way I can with other types of pain. I'm so sensitive to light and sound that a good share of the time I'm stuck lying in bed, in the dark, and it's hard not to ruminate about the pain, about missing my mom, and other sad things. Two, several years ago I was diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder, the "winter depression" also known by its highly apt acronym of SAD. I'm supposed to use a light box for about 40 minutes every morning, and I'm sure it would be very effective, if the bright light didn't invariably trigger a blinding migraine!

So, maybe it's cloudy and a bit dreary today, but I don't care. It's finally spring, baseball season is here, and once again I'm reminded how much I have to grateful for--right now I'm thinking of the caring and support of my family and friends, without whom I could never have made it through the winter. I hope you all realize just HOW MUCH it means to me to hear from you, whether it's by email, phone call, or comments here on my blog. Chronic illness and pain can be terribly isolating. There have been so many instances when I've felt so alone and been convinced I just can't go on one more day...and then I hear from one of you, and realize I can.

tagged

Yay! I've been tagged by my friend Liz. It's a nice feeling, to be remembered, but with my head throbbing and pounding as usual, I don't think I can come up with anything interesting. Still, I'll give it a try.

The rules:
1) Link to the person who tagged you.
2) Post the rules.
3) Share six non-important things / habits / quirks about yourself.
4) Tag at least three people.
5) Make sure the people you tagged KNOW you tagged them by commenting what you did.

1. I make up weird little songs and sing them to Fiona.
2. When I was in grade school I wrote a series of stories about "The Fearless Four," a group of two girls and two boys who solved mysteries together.
3. I begged my mom to let me start kindergarten when I was four.
4. Then I begged mom and the priest to let me make my First Communion in first grade instead of second. (In both cases I got my way.)
5. I've sung (soprano) in various choirs since high school.
6. Last night I dreamed about the Minnesota Twins; at this rate I'll be as bad as my Aunt Barb, the family Twins fanatic, soon. In my dream, it was opening night at the new ballpark, and I was there with Liz!

I tag April, Kristie, and Vicki!

seven truths

My friend Liz tagged me to reveal seven true things about myself. So here goes!

1. I was adopted 39 years ago yesterday, October 24, at the age of five weeks.

2. I am Irish, English, French, German, Danish and Lithuanian; my adopted parents (although I think of them as my "real" parents!) were German (my dad) and German, English, Scottish and Cherokee (my mom).

3. My favorite comfort food is macaroni and cheese from Noodles.

4. When I was a little girl I wanted to be a priest and was sure that if I could just meet with the Pope I could convince him to let women become priests.

5. In college I worked for Senator Ted Kennedy and attended several parties at the Kennedy Compound in Hyannisport, Mass. I had first applied for an internship with Senator John Kerry because I thought I didn't have a prayer of getting a job in Ted's office. Then when Kerry turned me down, I figured I had nothing to lose so just for the heck of it I applied for the job in Kennedy's office--and got the position, even though they had already finished hiring for the summer and had to create a new position just for me!

Me with other Senate interns at Hyannisport clambake, summer 1989. Check out my huge '80s hair!

6. I am number 41 out of 44 grandchildren on my dad's side. He had ten siblings, all of whom were fruitful and multiplied. We are also a family of baseball freaks. I am the only grandchild and sole remaining descendant on my mom's side.

7. I was a political science and philosophy major at Boston College, with an interdisciplinary minor in Faith, Peace and Justice studies.


I am supposed to tag seven other people, but I think everyone I know has already been hit. If anyone reading this hasn't, consider yourself tagged!

the post with no name

I can't come up with a name for this post. Is it because I'm still in shock? My mind doesn't seem to be functioning at full speed the last few days (well, actually, that's not entirely abnormal, but right now I feel that I need my mind to click on for once). A couple of days ago I found out that my dear friend and former matron of honor, Emilie, has cancer. Which is impossible. I just saw her a week ago at her adorable little son's first birthday party. She looked so pretty, so happy. And I felt so envious (yes, I'm a shit--it's just that I want a baby of my own so desperately). Now, only a few days later, this.

I am really angry with You, God, over this.

I keep thinking about what a horrible word "cancer" is. Look at how we use it in everyday language. "The Justice Department is a cancer growing on our democracy." "She flashed him a malignant look, and he knew there would be no hanky-panky tonight." I mean, it's as though the damn word takes on a life of its own, becoming yet another burden those afflicted by the disease have to carry around.

Sorry, I know I'm rambling...

My heart is just bleeding for Emilie and Stephen and little Daniel. I love them like family and just cannot believe this is happening.

Emilie, I've got my aunties and the Jesuits (New Orleans Province Prayer Circle, that is) praying for you, and George's family, and George and me, of course. I wish I could carry some of this burden for you, dear. If I could have my way, I'd take it and carry it all for you myself. You are the last person in the world this should happen to. Please remember that we will be here for you every minute of every day.

You CAN do this. You are not your cancer. You are still the same beautiful Emilie as always.

august update

I'm trying to keep busy. Our social life has taken off somewhat (well, compared to before anyway) and recently we've been getting together with friends and family more, and even went to a wedding yesterday (congratulations Meg and Joe!!!!!!!). A couple of weeks ago I took a four-day class at The Loft about writing the short personal essay, and I have two pieces I'm working on: one about my mother's rosary and her legacy, and another about my first trip out to Fort Snelling to visit my mom's grave. It is MUCH harder to write short than to write long! I've been journaling quite a bit too, which helps me deal with my grief, a little, although of course it's not enough.

Last Sunday I finally went to Mass at the Basilica for the first time since mom's funeral. It was as emotionally wrenching as I had expected, although I'm still glad I went, despite the buckets of tears I wept. Ah well. It wasn't the first time I've cried at Mass, and I imagine it won't be the last.

And I need to thank everyone who responded to my post earlier this summer, when I was feeling awfully desperate. Your messages of friendship and caring made me feel that I was not alone and were SO comforting; grief is mighty lonely and such a long hard agonizing slog it's sometimes hard for me to believe I might actually live through it.

There is a poem I can't stop thinking about that I first read not long after my dad died; it's even more poignant now that mom is gone too. It captures all my aching loneliness, my anger over what is gone from me forever, my sense of despair and crushing loss. And my broken heart. By Edna St. Vincent Millay, this particular poem keeps reverberating in my mind, day after day:

Dirge Without Music

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind.
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew.
A formula, a phrase remains.--but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love--
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses.
Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know.
But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave.
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind.
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

--Edna St. Vincent Millay

My parents on their wedding day in 1963

They are now buried together in the same grave at Fort Snelling National Cemetery

down again

Last Friday, mom's new nurse practitioner called with a few questions, and to set up a care conference for Feb. 13. Apparently mom was never evaluated for hospice at the last place despite promises that she would be. So I think they are finally going to begin doing the necessary lung function tests, etc., that Medicare requires for hospice placement. Regardless, the nurse warned me that mom's lung tissues are so damaged she doesn't have much time left.

I'm too tired to write anymore. But Jane and Missy, if you're reading this, thank you so much for your comments. I've read them over and over again. God bless you both--and the same to Liz, Liz, Emilie, and everyone else for your caring comments and prayers. Some days it's the only thing that keeps me going.

when it rains it pours

More bad news: My Aunt Barb (for whom I was named) has breast cancer, which has spread to her lymph nodes and bones. I believe she's starting radiation next week, but things are still up in the air a bit while they complete more tests.

I talked to my mom on the phone earlier this afternoon; she was very short of breath and her nurse said she's been rather confused today. The doctor hadn't been by yet when I called. I'm going to go see her in a little while, so hopefully I can find out what's going on then.

Ho ho ho.

things i am brooding about today

1. How much I've missed in the lives of all of my bloggy friends since I was last online.

2. The amazing number of wrinkles around my eyes that have appeared since I turned 38 on Wednesday.

3. Why on earth the class of 1986 reunion committee thinks I would be willing to shell out $55/person to attend my 20th reunion next month--at Rock Bottom Brewery?! $110 for the evening (assuming I brought my husband, which of course I would) to go to a boring restaurant with mediocre food?

4. How there is is no way in hell I will be attending said reunion.

5. That it's sort of a relief not to go since I don't have any children or accomplishments to brag about anyway.

6. How much I wish that, having now reached almost forty years of age, that I desperately wish I had either children or accomplishments, preferably both (but especially children, or a child).

7. That at least I have a very sweet husband.

8. And Fiona.

9. That the atrocious weather we've been having for the last two weeks is really, really making my fibromyalgia flare up.

10. And my arthritis/migraines/chronic fatigue/allergies/asthma.

11. That last week I had flashbacks, and nightmares complete with soaking night sweats, almost every night. And again last night. Flashbacks+nightmares=increased depression.

12. That I am glad news gave George the evening off after all, although we could use the overtime pay (but then he's got 15 hours of overtime for this pay period already).

13. How incredibly grateful I am that --HALLELUJAH!!!!!--my mother-in-law is moving back up north nexth month.

14. How sad it is that my cousin Dave died of esophogeal cancer this morning. And that life is too short to brood so much.

Eternal rest grant unto him, Oh Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, rest in peace.
Amen.

it's a boy!!!!!!!

CONGRATULATIONS to my friends Emilie and Steve, who finally had their baby this afternoon!!!!!!!! (I found out tonight because George just went out for a beer with Steve's brother Bruce, who is also a good friend of ours and was best man at our wedding. It helps to have friends in high places.) The anxiously awaited baby, who goes by the name of Daniel Joseph, clocked in at 8 lbs., 7 oz., according to my sources. Mom and baby are both doing fine.

CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hey , BLOGGER, WTF????

Grrr...Emilie left this comment several days ago, which YOU, BLOGGER, did not post!!! (I got it in my email.) Ah well, here are her very thoughtful thoughts (!!) regarding my last post:


Oooh, Barb, I have been following that "My Faith" series in the Washington Post for a number of weeks — I love it! I wish more newspapers would jump on that idea ...

Anyway, the book you're reading sounds really interesting. I love the quote from James Joyce, too: "Catholicism means here comes everybody." I think, in a fundamental sense, that is so true. (Sadly, many people have quite a different impression, and sadly, that is due to the behavior of many within the church itself.)

I often play with the question of why I am Catholic, especially considering that I pretty much left the church for most of my 20s. So much of is that it's in my blood, just as being an American is something I can't really walk away from. Remembering that the hierarchy does not own the church — that it's an evolving collection of the imperfect collection of humanity to which we all belong — helps me stay sane, too. I think it's amazing that after all these centuries, with members who range from radically liberal to ultra-traditional, we all manage to find common ground as part of one big church. An umbrella. A big tent where there is (or should be) room for everyone.

And your point about the church being a means to an end rather than an end in itself, is key: I see the church as a way, a structure as it were, to help me connect with a greater divinity, who probably does not care much about the little wrangles that get us so wrapped up here on earth.

I ramble. I look forward to reading more of your thoughts!