Happy Birthday Sassy

College can be rough. The total lack of real responsibility can lead to poor time management skills, which lead to the piling up of tests, papers and projects all at once. Maybe you ate the mystery meat at Ciao Hall. Perhaps you got to class late and were forced to sit in the front row, directly in front the professor with overactive salivary glands, a lisp, and an affinity to start the majority of his words with the letter 'S'. But one of the worst things that can happen to a poor college student is an unfortunate random roommate.

If you get stuck living with someone who just isn't the right fit, there isn't much avoiding them. You share the same small cramped space, and sleep within feet of one another. Maybe they are night owls that keep the lights on when you are sleeping, or they listen to terrible music, or they smell terrible.

Luckily for me, none of those things are the case. I have fantastic roommates. Today is one of my roommate's birthdays. Her name is Sassy. It's not her given name, but it's the name I have given her.

Sassy with the Luigi, Me with the walrus

Sassy and I have come to realize that we are very compatible roommates. We enjoy many of the same things. Good music, good food, Jesus, Mary, the Communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, you know, the typical stuff.

Sassy teaching me how to live in the communion of saints

There are many things we both enjoy, but perhaps what unites us the most is that we have common enemies: dirty kitchens, tacky decor, the devil, gaining weight, final exams, ugly clothes, people thinking whether or not your clothes are ugly is a subjective matter, and women priests (don't get us started, seriously).

queen of the clean and classy kitchen

tacky clothes--only acceptable at tacky themed parties

We share so many likes and dislikes, but to really think about how great our friendship is, it's marvelous to think about our differences, and how they fit so well.

Like, how I love the English language very much. Despite it's feeble nature, especially when it comes to the word "love", I do my best to abide by its' glorious rules. Sassy on the other hand, has a complete disregard for the rules of grammar and spelling. But we have bonded over proof reading papers, poor texting etiquette and various mispronunciation of words. (It's Valentine, not Valentime, am I right, or am I right?)

Sassy loves to talk about biology. I love to talk about economics. We have been able to share our knowledge. I now know about all sorts of gross viruses and diseases that I will do my best to avoid, and I think she understands that talking about economics at bars doesn't make you any new friends.

my little marathoner

Sassy drinks coffee. I drink tea.

Sassy runs for fun. I do fun things for fun.

Sassy wakes up early. I wake up at the crack of noon.

Sassy drives a little car. I drive a giant boat.

Sassy doesn't read blogs, not even this one. I think that might change.

Sassy hates whipped cream. I enjoy it out of the container.

Sassy loves Jane Austen. I love Roald Dahl.

Sassy can dance. I cannot.



Dearest Sassy, of all the fun times we have had together, my fondest way of knowing you, and how I will always remember you, is as a fellow future saint. Our favorite phrase, one which defines our friendship, is "saints have saints for friends". Even St. Francis had St. Clare.

Not only are we good roommates because of our general enjoyment of cleanliness, but because we build each other up in a way that makes us holier. The goal of our lives is to be saints, and you have helped me realize it is never too soon to start living in the communion of those holy people.

You see the importance of saints for friends, and with all this practice now, think of how much fun it will be when we get there. You're practically a regular with all those cool and holy cats. Thank you for helping me along my way to heaven. You make it really fun.

 

Fun finds

Instead of my usual wit and charm, I am going to share all the random things I find around the internet. I hope you enjoy these as much as I do!


-this girl's fiancee hired a stealth photographer to capture the proposal. then he surprised his soon to be bride with the proposal photos months later! that has got to be one of the best gifts ever!

-movie trailer for Cristiada. this looks amazing!

-one of those little things that makes me happy

-i love dogs. people can learn a lot from them. in this post, Murphy the pug lays out a few of his lessons.

-a friend in the economics department at my school wrote this article about how good economics helps the poor

-a look at Catholicism from the view of a Baptist. he's going to have lots of people praying for his conversion now :)

-a hilarious look at the basic reality of cohabitation

-from one of my favorite bloggers out there right now, this post is exactly what has been swirling around my brain as graduation approaches, and a new life is about to begin! amazing.


- baby in, baby out!



Happy Holy Week! Triduum starts tomorrow!

My little brother

I have the greatest little brother in the whole universe. Try as you may, but you will never convince me otherwise. 

the beachiest and best freckles in our family

Our relationship began on rocky terms. It all began when my mom and dad called my older brother and I into the living room. They sat us down, and looked at us with stern and concerned faces. Will and I both knew we were just going to get talked to about not bothering our grandmother too much, as she had just moved into our home. We had heard it all before. But nanny had hardwood floors, recently finished, SO PERFECT for sock sliding. I knew I had sock slid earlier that afternoon and I was fully prepared to not listen to my parents.

muted freckles in the winter. see the scar above his lip? it's from fighting crime

So they began with "we have something important to talk to you two about", and I, knowing the impending list of rules and regulations about sock sliding and all of the dangers involved, and being unable to hold back my snotty wit, retorted with "oh, don't tell me, you're pregnant", followed with a roll of the eyes.

My parents looked at me, mouths agape. Then at each other. Then back at my older brother and I. And much to my surprise, my mother said, "how did you know?"

Then it was my turn to drop my jaw.

And then came the day of the ultrasound that told us if we were going to have a John Robert or a Mary Grace. Will and I had a bet going. He was convinced it was a boy. I was sure it was a girl. I was the one who picked the name Mary Grace! If it was a boy my hopes and dreams would be dashed, my name-picking genius would be wasted and I would still be the only person in our house who cared about dressing up the dog and American Girl dolls. 

Mom and dad walked in the door, VHS tape in hand. Will and I sat on the couch, wringing our sweaty palms, waiting impatiently to see our little sibling exposed ruthlessly on our television screen.

You're going to have a boy.

Cheers erupt from Will's side of the couch.

Tears and wailing from mine.

But then he came along, according to the doctors, about 2 months too soon. He gave everyone quite the scare, needing an emergency C-section in the middle of the night due to complications from placenta previa.

I remember going to the hospital to see my new little brother and being told I was too young to be allowed in the NICU. But, just like when I found out he was a boy, I turned on the water works, and this time I got my way. I got to go back and see him with tubes in his little tiny nose and a clip with a bright red light on his little tiny toes. He didn't open his eyes, which made me sad, because I had worn my favorite church outfit to see him in the hospital.

The 5 pound little baby that I had to cry to even get a glimpse of has grown into a tall gangly boy who I can barely pick up anymore. His sweet demeanor has made him a favorite among peers and adults. His correct sense of righteousness gave him the guts to stand up to the school bully (and break his own hand in the process). He knows the rosary better than I do. He memorized General Patton's famous speech and delivered it to his 4th grade class, much to the dismay of his teacher and the delight of my father. He told me once, in a very "duh" attitude that he has prayed for his vocation.

My little brother is the only one in our family to never live abroad, the only one without blue eyes, the only one born in the 90s and the only one to take away my long standing position as baby of the clan. He probably doesn't know it, but he was the greatest final addition to our family. My pride is one of my biggest obstacles to holiness, but for little John, I can lay that down and humbly say he is the greatest littlest sibling.

I'm a Local

My cousin came to visit me recently. She is my mountain cousin. I was her beach cousin, but because of life's interesting, fortunate and unfortunate (depending on how you look at it) circumstances, I am her city cousin now.

mountain cousin in pink scarf and city cousin in blue scarf

I took her around some fun D.C. sites. Actually, she planned her own tour, I just sort of tagged along and pretended to play tour guide. But in any event, I got to play in the city that I have been near for almost four years, worked in for 3 months last summer, and am about to start working in full time.

It took someone new, a visitor, to get me to appreciate what I already knew. I am queen of the metro. I can drive on a roundabout. Food trucks are fabulous. Lobster roll from a four-wheeled vehicle? Bulgogi tacos? Pupusas? Yes please and thank you. I can take tourist photos and still be cool, because I'm actually a local. I can break the law. You heard me. I walk across crosswalks when the red hand is emploring me to stay put, and my sweet little mountain cousin sprints after me, afraid of oncoming traffic, but more afraid to be left alone on one side of the block.

pupusas, YUM

I can even walk through a modern art exhibit without making fun of everything I see. Unless it's the Phillips Collection. Or the Hirshorn. I seriously don't get modern art. But my mountain cousin loves it, and I love her, so I can't hate on Mark Rothko and Blinky Palermo too much.

Art?

Also art?

Mountain cousin, viewing art?

Mountain cousin's visit bringing a newfound sense of appreciation for my proximity to the city and my knowledge of the area is not a unique thing. I realized in her visit how I am getting the same experience every time I meet someone who wants to learn about the faith. I am especially blessed to be sponsoring a candidate for RCIA this year. She asks me the hard questions, the real questions, the questions that I need to know and believe myself if I want to call myself a follower of Christ.

As Catholic Christians, we can't get too comfortable in our own little Catholic pow-wows. We need the Church, and our "supply line", if you will, of Catholic friends who can help us with our own questions, but we are a culture of evangelization. We have been called by Christ to baptize people, but not to worry because He is with us always. It was good for him to leave us, because while he was a man on earth, he could be one place at one time, but after he ascended to heaven, the Holy Spirit descended down upon us so Jesus could be present in every tabernacle around the world.

Every future saint we meet in our lives changes and shapes us. Every soul we meet along the way has something beautiful to offer us. To be able to appreciate something old-hat for what feels like the first time is a gift given to us through others.

We are the locals. We are the ones whose job it is to evangelize and play tour guide for our universal home that is God's Church.

Sunday Funday

Are you enjoying this fine Sunday in Lent? Are you reveling in whatever good and wonderful thing you have chosen not to partake in Monday-Saturday?

I hope you are. I hope you are celebrating the Eucharist this fine day. I hope you woke up with a smile. I hope you are gobbling girl scout cookies and if you are my father, perhaps you will enjoy a good brew with dinner tonight.

Today is the one day a week I can listen to music. And oh, am I! I have been blessed in many many ways. A decent singing voice was not one of those blessings. Someone once told me that if God gives you a great voice, sing loud. If God doesn't give you a good voice, sing louder and make Him wish that He did. Nonetheless, I'm singing along, off-key, off-beat, and proud. I am dancing when the mood strikes and rolling down all four of my car windows, no matter what the temperature outside


I never make a playlist, I enjoy knowing that when I press "random", it isn't random at all. Each song, every chord and lyric streams through the airwaves with a purpose for my ears to hear.

Jack Johnson-Do You Remember? I sure do, every time I hear that song I think of freshman year, making memories, mud sliding at 2:00AM because it was soggy outside and sleep was something old people did. I remember meeting all those new faces in late August, and thinking now how they will be familiar faces for the rest of my life. I remember my favorite jeans, my pile of tee shirts, my long hippie hair, and seriously considering dread locks. Seriously. I remember more than you think could be packed into 2 minutes and 24 seconds.

Michael Buble-Home. The idea of what my "home" is has been ever present in my thoughts lately. I am officially a grown up. I graduate in 5 weeks and I have a big kid, pack your own lunches, no jeans allowed job. My drive back to the D.C. area after spring break was bittersweet. Mom, Dad, Will, John, Daisy and the beach, all fading in my rear view. The unknown ahead of me. But I am lucky. I am part of a family where I can feel at home anywhere there is a tabernacle. Praise God.

Earth Wind & Fire-September. Excuse me while I dance with my roommates. It's sort of our favorite song to dance to. And we also open the doors and windows, so anyone within earshot can enjoy it too.


And the songs continue, Hootie and the Blowfish just brighten my day. Taylor Swift makes me feel every emotion all at once. I'm pretty sure she has read my diary. Sprinkle that with some nostalgic 90s pop songs, and finish it up with Rod Stewart telling me I'm in his heart. And every Sunday is a new mix of melodies. Oh Joy.

And to top it all off, the best part about this Sunday Funday, even better than listening to the radio, is going to Mass. Celebrating the Eucharist, is a much bigger party than dancing to September with my roommates. There isn't quite as much crazy dancing and belt-it-out singing, but hearts do dance, and souls do sing. And even though my vocal chords weren't blessed with the greatest harmonies, I know God has blessed each and every person with a heart song that He loves to listen to.