With apologies to The Beatles

From The Real Revo:

And now for a laugh... with a chaser of TRUTH!

This one's also making its way around Twitter; I found it on Patrick Madrid's site.

Soul WOW!

Sure, go ahead, play it again. Then, if you live in Brooklyn, Queens, and Long Island, you still have a couple hours to find your local Catholic Church. If you don't, then find the schedule for your own local church and get that clean-soul feeling this week, while supplies last!

Just for the record, we'll all be going on Thursday, 11:30 a.m., Gesu Parish, downtown Milwaukee. They hear confessions twice a day there, so you have no excuses not to go!

"Till the Last Shot's Fired"

Found this today via a friend's Twitter link:

Now, wipe the tears from your eyes and go make a donation, like I just did.

3-D Diaries

As you may know from previous posts (or because you're someone who actually knows me, as in "knows who I am in real life"), we've been on an archaeological dig over the past few months, sorting out 80+ years of accumulated artifacts as we prepared my parents' house for sale. (It sold, by the way, thank God, and we closed on it last Friday.)

The discoveries continue. Just now, I picked up an aged brown envelope, dated 1963, that I'd brought from the house. It contains information about growing peonies and tulips. My mother apparently requested it from the Boerner Botanical Gardens; they sent it to her "Milwaukee, 16" zip code.

And it, like most everything else we've found, is part of a 3-D diary of my mother's life.

As you may also know, my mom is a world-class note-writer. Virtually every surface of their home (other than the public areas such as living and dining rooms), contained hand-written notes. The insides of cupboards and drawers, objects in cupboards and closets, the tops of tables and desks, and even the clothes hangers, all had notes attached.

And one day, as we were cleaning out closets, it hit me: these aren't just utilitarian notes (although my mother did find them very useful as an aid to housekeeping and maintenance tasks); they are a three-dimensional journal of my mom's life.

The good linen tablecloth? Last used in 2005 when Paul, Ana, and Sarah came for dinner at Christmastime. Her best dress? Worn in 2007 to an anniversary party. The winter bedspread? Washed and aired on a sunny day, spring 2008. The peonies from her grandfather? Dug up and transplanted in October, 1993, from the Hadley house to the Elizabeth House.

After I realized this, it became heart-rending to have to throw out so many of these notes. Now, honestly, I wish I'd kept them all; I could have put them into a scrapbook and made a true diary of my mother's life.

But really, do I have time for that? I doubt it. I don't have time for keeping a journal of my own life, nor even for putting together scrapbooks of my children's lives.

Still, it pains me.

And guess what? I've learned that it can be helpful to put notes on things! Maybe it's the next best thing to scrapbooks and journals for someone who doesn't seem to have time for them. Do you think I should tell Mom, after years of teasing her about it??

One last thing: This post is an attempt to avoid writing about the things happening in the world, because they are too infuriating to write about. Our president, bowing deeply to a Muslim tyrant? Firing a CEO? Ceding sovereignty to Euro bureaucrats? Destroying our country with an impossibly debt-ridden budget? How can I write about these things? There is a new outrage every day. But Anchoress is keeping up (just read her every day), and so is Neo-Neocon, as are many other bloggers, of course.