Posts

I just received a letter from my college.  It informed me that despite my letters of recommendation and my application essay, I was not awarded a scholarship for the fall semester.  Boo, hiss, and all that.

However, I am considered an "alternant" for spring semester scholarships.  They used the word "alternant" not once, but twice.   While you blink, rub your eyes, and vaguely wonder if that is correct, let me give you the Webster definition of the noun "alternant":

1) Linguistics;  a variant form that exists in alternation with another or others

Furthermore, I was told to keep my GPA up so that I would remain "in contention" for a scholarship for the spring semester.  So far as I know, the majority of the available scholarships do not require fisticuffs or rigorous debate.

In the last paragraph, there was at least one comma that was MIA.

Let me get this straight.  These people decide whether or not to give scholarships based upon academic merit, but they make four grotesque grammar and vocabulary errors in three paragraphs.

If I didn't have a chance (however small) of a scholarship for the spring semester and if I didn't have to do work-study for some of my financial aid, I would copy this letter, correct it in red ink, and send copies to the president of the college, the dean of the humanities division, the head of the English Department, the head of the English department, and the head of the financial aid office.  This would be most gratifying, I assure you.

Illiterate nitwits.

So, what does a bookseller purchase when she goes bookshopping?

Lots. :D

But seriously, for UNDER $20 (grand total: $19.04) I got:

 

 

this in hardcover.  It is, arguably, my favorite in the series.  Fantastic series, incidentally, and if you are at all interested in fantasy-rooted-in-reality and Arthurian legend et all, then you will LOVE this series.  It's written for kids about 12 and up, though I believe that I first read it at ten or so.  No sexual stuff whatsoever, little bad language, minimal (or nonexistent) angst, yet a bloody good read. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Also this (third book in the series), in, of course, hardcover.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not to mention this (same binding), which won a Newberry. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and this, which is the fifth and last book of the series.  The bookseller from whom I was buying did not have the first book, Over Sea, Under Stone available in hardback, so I shall have to go elsewhere for it in order to complete the series.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This was the final book that I purchased.  It is also hardcover, and I suspect that the cover art is a bit different, but Amazon didn't have a picture of my version.  This is part of Madeleine L'Engle's Time quintet, another favorite childrens' fantasy series.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, I purchased all childrens' books, and no, I don't have children, nor to I expect to at any point in the near future.  My theory is that a really well-written childrens' book is one that adults can enjoy as well.  I reread both these series at least once a year, and, if I ever have children, I'd rather not risk these being out of print (however unlikely) by the time those kids come along (if ever, and it looks like I'm more likely to have nieces and nephews first, which is, to be honest, perfectly okay with me!)

I got all of these from thriftbooks.  I had purchased a few of their books via abebooks, and decided to go to their site directly this time.  While, of course, they don't have quite the selection that abebooks has (while they have a fairly broad inventory, they are still one facility rather than thousands) their prices are hard to beat.  I got all but Planet for pennies (yes, pennies--the prices ranged from $-.01 to $0.16 apiece), plus the $3.99-for-the-first-$3.50-for-each-next shipping.  Planet was a mere $2.40 or so.

As far as a review of thriftbooks:

Their search engine is quite good; one can search via ISBN. title, author, and other usual searches, as well as narrow the field by type of binding and so forth.  One can also purchase music, movies and games on their site, though I did not.  Their prices seem to be comparable (and occasionally considerably better) than those on other used book sites.  Finally, their checkout process was beautifully hassle-free.  I've every intention of doing business with them again.

I'll be selling my paperback copies of the books listed above to Half-Price Books.  I know I won't get much for them, but every little bit helps, right?  Besides, it'll make room for the beautiful new-to-me-hardcovers that I'm getting!  Yay!

 

 

 

 

Flamingo Dancer, I'm sure you have heard this song far too many times.  :P For the rest of us, however....

One of the things I am eternally indebted to my parents for is the WIDE range of music to which they exposed me.  My mother, when I was quite small, sang in French and German to us, as well as in English.  She'd sing a variety of songs, mostly folk songs.  I grew up thinking it perfectly normal to sing, "Oh Can Ye Sew Cushions," "Dido, Bendigo," "O Donnell Abu," "Annchen von Tora" (I'm spelling that phonetically, as I've no idea of the German spelling) "Whiskey in the Jar" and oh-so-many others.  Interestingly enough, my mother is neither Irish, nor French, nor German, nor Australian.  She's half English and half Norwegian--though no one would think the latter to look at me, as I very much resemble Dad's side of the family.  Anyhow, this was one that we would sing sometimes, and, honestly, this is the best rendition I've heard of it.  And, for those of us who are not Aussies and have not spent significant time in Australia, there is even a brief (and humorous) explanation of some of the words for the first minute or so in the beginning.

 

Enjoy, mates!

I am extremely curious as to whether, in any widely-known television show, anti-abortion activists/right-to-lifers/pro-lifers/whatever you want to call us this week have ever been shown as anything but raving lunatics.

You might disagree with me about whether an unborn child/fetus is a human being from the moment of conception.  I believe that little clump of cells is a human being and is endowed with a soul.  You may not.  While I think that you are most deifinetly wrong about that, I will respect your person because I believe that you are also a human being.  I disagree with you on this issue, but that doesn't mean that we can't have a reasonable discussion about it.  Contrary to popular belief, most of us do not bomb abortion clinics or kill doctors who perform abortions.  Why?  Because that would involve loss of life--HUMAN life--and would not stop abortions from happening. 

Please try, for just a moment, to put yourself in our shoes.  If, for the sake of argument, you believed that unborn children/fetuses/products of conception were indeed human beings--I said, FOR THE SAKE OF ARGUMENT--then you would, I sincerely hope, feel that you had to at least ask people not to kill them and, if you believe in some sort of deity, pray to that deity that he/she/Cthulu keep those children safe.

I have stood outside abortion clinics and prayed.  I pray for the mothers, for their unborn children, for the doctors.  I wish none of the above any harm.  I have exactly twice tried to counsel with women and ask them not to abort.  I was a teenager, I went to the local abortion clinic to pray quietly and I saw that there was no one to speak to the women about my point of view.  I did not raise my voice, I did not scream.  I spoke quietly and mentioned other options.  I knew personally two families who would pay for all medical bills and adopt those babies in a heartbeat.  I pointed out that in a few weeks these "products of conception" would be considered viable.  I asked them to consider their alternatives.  They both went into the clinic.  I did not follow them, yell at them, or do anything else.  I merely stepped back and prayed.

There was a woman who counseled at this clinic entrance twice a week for ten years.  She had persuaded, over those ten years, approximately thirty women to not have abortions.  She, too, never screamed, never threatened, and was nothing but an example of love.  She knew the names of every one of those children.  Some of the mothers decided to raise their children; others gave families a gift that those families could never repay.  Some of the adoptions were "closed," in which the children were not familiar with their birthparents while growing up.  Some of the mothers preferred "open" adoptions, in which the children had the option of contacting them.

Were those childrens' lives perfect?  Certainly not.  Yet those are thirty children and, now, young adults, who would not have existed today if it were not for that woman.  These are wonderful, beautiful human beings who might not have been here.

That's a rather sobering thought.

We are often accused of not caring about the woman.  I have seen that, but it is rare.  Very rare.  I've seen far more cases where if a girl had nowhere to stay, a room in a private house or an apartment was found for her.  If she had no money for medical bills, a doctor might donate his services or money would be found for them.  If she needed baby items, she'd be inundated by baby showers.  If she needed a job, something would be found.  If she needed to go back to school, people would offer childcare.  That I have seen many times.  Many, many times.

I have a friend who has been rather active in this movement for some time.  Her own children grown, she adopted three minority siblings (it is notoriously difficult to find parents willing to adopt non-babies, particularly sibling groups and minorities) who were born addicted to various types of drugs.  None of those kids will be the next Einstein.  All of them are doing reasonably well in school, and are adjusting well emotionally.

We care about those babies after they are born.  They are human beings, we say, before and after birth.

Those of us who pray and counsel outside of abortion clinics are, generally, not the crazed individuals that are portrayed in the media.  The media will cover the murder (yes, murder) of an abortion doctor for days on end.  I have yet to see anything about people like that counselor who has saved thirty children, or those "anti-abortion-rights activists" who adopted those three crack children.

(end rant)

(note: this is still very much in draft form.  I'll be going back to edit it in a little while)

I'm in a quandary.  At the moment, I have no knitting/crocheting/sewing project at hand.  This is rather unusual for me.  I even feel slightly unsettled.  For me, knitting and crocheting (and yes, even sewing) are a sort of meditation. 

What to make?

It doesn't help that while I enjoy doing these things, I'm not very skilled.  I'm limited to baby blankets or afghans with crochet, and scarves (I can cable, but that's about it) and such in knitting.  I don't know anyone who's pregnant, with the exception of one gal at work and it's too early for her to know if she's having a boy or girl.

I do not like the way that most cross-stitch looks (kitschy), and while I know some embroidery, it beats me as to exactly what I should embroider.

What to do?

If you say, "Cats are okay" in your roommate-wanted ad, do not be shocked if someone who owns cats answers the add.  That phrase may suggest to those of us on the roommate search that, well, you are okay with cats.

Just a suggestion.

Random customer, addressing fellow bookseller: "I need a book.  It just came out, but I can't remember the title.  It was by Bush's former press secretary."

(other bookseller starts a frantic hunt via the computer for the book)

Me:  "That would be Scott McClellan's book.  The title is What Happened.  It's over here on the bestseller shelf."  (I hand the customer the book, and he goes on his happy way)

Other bookseller:  "How would you know that?  I thought you were conservative."

Me:  "For one thing, that book has been on the bestseller list for over a month.  Leaving that aside, though, you were on vacation for the first week that that book was out."

Other bookseller: "What has that got to do with it?"

Me, grinning reminiscently:  "You should have seen it.  We had all of three copies when the news about the book broke, and they weren't even on the floor because they had a strict on-sale date two weeks in the future.  The on-sale date was lifted, but we couldn't get any more in.  Dozens of customers came in for it.  Most were foaming at the mouth and claiming that this book PROVED that Bush was personally responsible for everything from Hurricane Katrina to the Yankees' absence in the World Series these last few years to Mugabe.  When we didn't have it, we were accused of 'censorship' by at least eight customers, despite the fact that the company's CEO is a HUGE contributor to the Democratic Party and that the news about the book was made public two weeks early.  At the same time, we had several other customers claim that Bush will in the future (despite his religion and presumably vivid status upon retirement) be named as a saint of the Catholic Church, be considered second only to Washington as a president, and find, singlehandedly, a cure for cancer.  It was bloody hysterical."

Other bookseller:  "So what do you think about the upcoming election?"

Me:  "The opportunities for sarcasm and snark will be virtually unlimited.  On the one hand, we have a candidate who is markedly lacking in the sense-of-humor department and has a platform that he himself condenses to one two-syllable word, though he doesn't seem to elaborate on it much.  On the other, we have a candidate who does have a sense of humor but whose sense of humor might well be outlawed if he were to become president, as he thinks that the average Joe shouldn't be able to make derogatory remarks about presidential candidates."

Oh, the fun I'll have over the next few months! 

 

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him.  May his soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in piece.  Amen.

I just received word that Father Kevin Fitzpatrick went to his reward this past Sunday.

Father Fitzpatrick was one of a group of priests who agreed to take turns coming to say the Tridentine Mass for us at the church in which I grew up.  Not many priests know how to say the Tridentine Mass any more, as it stopped being the norm for Catholic worship in the mid-1960s.  Father Fitzpatrick had to find someone to teach him how to say it.  And say it he did: he would make the drive from Stamford/Fairfield/wherever he was stationed at the time to New Haven at two in the afternoon in order to say that Mass for us.  He was a true minister to his people; he knew that we (and he) felt a closeness to God through that particular act of worship, and nothing would keep him from the long drive to and from that church in order to offer that Mass.  He would have to leave immediately afterwards because he nearly always had to say Mass at 5PM at his own church.  Prior to that 2 PM Mass in New Haven, he would have said one or two morning masses at his church as well.

I wish I could say that I remembered his sermons.  I'm sure that they were incredible, as he was a fantastic scholar and theologian as well as a good priest.  But I do not, as I was only about twelve or fourteen when I last heard one of his sermons.  I do remember that I enjoyed and understood them, and that while they were rather intellectual, he made it so that we could understand his thoughts and be brought to a higher plane with them.  Perhaps that is how he would want to be remembered; he was one of the most modest and self-effacing men that I've ever met.  He always had a gentle smile and manner.

The church at which we attended the Tridentine Mass was Sacred Heart Church.  It was in a neighborhood of New Haven known as The Hill.  The Hill is not an area that the average woman would want to be in at night, and even in broad daylight we never left the church or our cars unless in groups.  Indeed, a few years back a mother and infant were caught in the crossfire of a gang battle in front of the church during Mass.  Neither survived. 

Attendance at the Tridentine Mass was low.  Between the neighborhood and the exceptionally inconvenient time, attendance might hit 40 on most Sundays.  Four times a year or so, we would have the full choir sing a Solemn High Mass, with music by Palestrina or Victoria or Des Pres.  This choir was a gem made up of professional musicians, most of whom had ties to Yale University.  We could never have afforded to pay them, and they knew it.  They would donate their services for the joy of being able to create the thing of beauty and light and joy that is a perfectly sung Mass.  During the year, a group of men from this choir would sing the traditional Gregorian chants that are so otherworldy in their beauty at every other Tridentine Mass.  These men also would not accept payment.  Many of the musicians in the choir and the smaller group (the "schola") were not Catholic.  Some, indeed, were atheist or agnostic.  But they would all come together to help make this beauty happen.

Periodically, the church or the Tridentine Mass would be threatened with closure.  The Tridentine Mass, it would be argued, had sparse attendance, and the parish priest celebrated it perhaps once a month.  As this parish priest was responsible for four other Masses on Sundays--two in English, one in Spanish, and one in Portugese--and the other priests enjoyed saying the Tridentine Mass and were willing to drive in order to say it, this was a moot point.  But within the church hierarchy, there are many who do not like the Tridentine Mass and what it represents.  The church is not in very good condition: it is over 150 years old and there simply is very little money for upkeep.  Air conditioning has never been installed, the building itself is shifting, and the historic stained glass windows are occasionally stoned by local youths with nothing better to do than destroy the beautiful and sacred. 

Father Fitzpatrick took all of this to heart.  He tirelessly helped with fundraisers, called donors and asked for funds.  He was frequently asked to speak to groups of theologians or to write articles in magazines and newspapers on matters Catholic and scholarly.  He would often donate his speaking fees and payments for his writings to the Saint Gregory Society, a group of lay and clergy who were dedicated to keeping the Tridentine Mass alive in New Haven and Sacred Heart Parish.

This incessant work had caught up with him.  I saw him when I was on vacation several years ago, and he had aged.  He was rather pale, and had lost weight.  When I heard a week ago that he had been hospitalized for a perforated ulcer, I was not surprised.  He seemed like an excellent candidate for one.

Then I heard yesterday that he had passed away while recovering from surgery for the ulcer.  I mourn, as do, I am certain, many people, be they Catholic, Protestant or atheist, be they attendees at the Tridentine Mass or no, be they scholars or the recent immigrant to whom he spoke so gently.

A final note: for a long time in Connecticut, it has been nearly impossible for those of us who are devotees of the Tridentine Rite to have sacraments other than the Eucharist (the center of the Mass) administered in that rite.  The bishops have routinely refused permission, and we have obeyed.  Several years ago, the mother of a long-time attendee of the Tridentine Mass passed away.  The daughter wrote a letter to the chancery formally requesting permission for a Tridentine Requiem Mass.  In her letter, she assured them that she realized that this was not the norm, but that it would be a great comfort to the survivors and was one of the last wishes of the deceased.  She had even found a priest who could say it.  The chancery responded with a terse fax: "We don't want this sort of thing to spread.  The answer is no." 

Father Fitzpatrick will be the subject of two Requiem Masses.  One will be in his parish in Stamford; it will be the usual Novus Ordo, and celebrated by a bishop.  The other will be at the parish of a priest who was also part of the Saint Gregory Society. 

It will be a Tridentine Solemn High Requiem Mass, in the order of the 1962 Missal.

Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei.

God bless, Father Fitz, and Godspeed.

If a customer approaches you and asks for, I kid you not, a book whose subjects include Elvis, Kennedy, UFOs and connections between the aforementioned, run.  Do not walk.  Run.

Similarly, if someone comes in and wants The Anarchist's Cookbook, just flee into the night.  Screaming is optional.  Having a supervisor indicate to the customer that it'll be a rather chilly day in a location notorious for its year-round Texan-summer-like atmosphere before we carry that book?  Priceless.  And the fact that he came in three minutes prior to close to ask this just ticked me off further. 

I'm not pregnant.  Really.  Let's just say that if I was, it would be a miracle acccepted by modern science.  It just ain't the case.

Yet I suddenly got the idea that the ONLY good snack right now consisted of organic tortilla chips and salsa, with a side of gherkin pickles.

Mmmmm.