Coucoumellisms

Here's a little something that worries me... I have homosexual friends. Not that many, one or two... and a few more that I have lost touch with. I have no problem with tolerance. However, since I don't believe that the homosexual lifestyle is a very healthy one, either physically or psychologically, and that is independant of whether or not the rest of us are tolerant, I am not for promoting it. What you do, in (or out) of your bed, and with whom is your business, not mine, not my children's. Keep it there. It is said, if something offends, then you have only to walk on by, or turn it off. This is the argument used by many who lobby, from homosexual activists to pro-life groups. If you don't want to see homosexual acts, you turn off the tv, you don't buy the books, you don't go to the bars... If you don't want to see photos of dead, aborted babies, you turn your head as you walk past the pro-life signs. Simple right? Except when you put homosexuality...

If the creative juices stirring in our houses are any sign, Christmas (and more imminently, Advent) is coming. I can't sit down anywhere and just DO anything, without one or more people sitting down beside me and wanting in on the project. I really want my kids to be creative, honestly I do. But not when I am being creative! Because then I have to work around the child that insists apon sitting on my lap and "working" too. I have to fight for the scissors, I keep losing track of the glue, my paper selection dwindles rapidly and I start to get stressed out about people wrecking what I have done. What I need is a proper art studio, with a high table/counter for me and a lower table for little hands to work at. No, wait, maybe a cage would be better? No no no, must.remember.to.let.them.be.creative.too. Anyway, amid the mess of paper that accumulated in our office downstairs, the misplaced glue sticks, the battles for scissors, the jealously hording of my own private, person...

Last Wednesday evening, St. John's School had an awards ceremony for their secondary students. Jean-Alexandre received an award for the Catholic Religious Instruction class. Jean-Alexandre, receiving his award. Nicolas and Gabriel, while they were still behaving

I've been toying with the idea of doing something about the funny things our family ends up saying when we mix up our French with our English, and I finally did something about it. I made a little book, dedicated to my goddaughter and niece, Claire. Here it is:

The stupid movie keeps airing on TV now, and my husband keeps watching it. It's right down his alley, right in keeping with all the other theologically-challenged, conspiracy-theory movies/books. A girl gets weary of all the Hollywoodian conspiracy-based, theologically faulty movies. Everyone knows the movies are fiction. Unfortunately, what people don't realize is that the Hollywood version of Catholic theology is equally fiction. God doesn't forgive murderers? He lets them burn? Or from Van Heusen, the souls of whole families are cursed to Hell unless they accomplish a certain deed? Or from yet another movie, (don't remember which), you make a mistake and God cannot forgive you, unless... (insert condition here). Gosh people, if you don't know what you are talking about, then for goodness sakes, write about something else. Oh right, it's politically correct to be theologically erronous. People would rather believe that Catholics have something to hide...

Interesting, and inspiring story: Pandita Ramabai was just five feet tall, with short black hair and small bones. Yet wherever she went the presence of this Brahman Indian woman—characterized by her grey-green eyes, shapely lips, and light complexion—seemed to cast a spell over all whom she met. She was adored as a goddess when she arrived in Calcutta at age 20. Years later, when she addressed the 2000 delegates of the National Social Congress in Bombay in 1889 (the first woman to do so), she took the assembly by storm. As she was preparing to speak on two resolutions for gender reform, her audience took some time to settle down. She remained silent and still until you could have heard a pin drop and then began with the remarkable words: "It is not strange, my countrymen, that my voice is small, for you have never given a woman the chance to make her voice strong!" From that moment on, she carried her enraptured listeners in the palm of her hand, and the resolutions were pass...