Trouble Praying the Rosary

Last year, I figured out that my mysterious recurrent eczema was coming from my rosary.

It had taken me 4 years to finally put the pieces together.

I generally say the Office of Readings, but when I go in the field, I don't like to pack the breviary, which at that time was already fairly battered. My rosary is much more portable, so I would say that.

My hands tended to break out in little weird bumps during field season, but since I was spending 10 hours a day digging, often in clumps of poison ivy, I figured it might be ant bites or a contact allergy from soil or plants. I also had to wash my hands multiple times a day and of course couldn't bring my GOOD lotion in the field because it is in such a big, terrorist-y bottle that it can't get through security.

Then I started noticing that even when I was back working in the lab, I would get what a couple of friends identified as eczema.

I switched lotions from my fun, scented lotions to Aveeno unscented products, and that helped cut down on a lot of it. However, there could still be weeks of this weird, moderately annoying skin condition.

I finally figured out it was my rosary because the eczema was now confined to only those spots on my hands that the rosary beads touch. I was using one of those rose-petal ones, and since fragrances can irritate sensitive skin, I switched to a plain wooden one. Sorry, Confirmation sponsor!

All was well, but when I started saying the Rosary every day recently, I found myself breaking out again, though to a much smaller extent than before. I don't break out the second I pick up a rosary, just if I use it for more than a few days.

I am still praying it every day! I just alternate days with the actual rosary beads, using my fingers, and the excellent website comepraytherosary.org

I thought it might be a classy move to just use gloves, but the only ones I have available are lab gloves -- and I do get tired of wearing them all day long.

The time to stop cleaning up glass...

is when you kneel in it and your leg starts to bleed.

That is all.

Obsession

How am I supposed to relax in the evenings when I take a shower to relax and end up thinking about statistics? Seriously???

I got off work "early" at 5:30, got home, and was all excited about reading books and watching TV. Instead I spend several hours freaking out over work.

Then I took a shower to relax and transition to bedtime, ended up drawing all over my mirror to try to crack a problem I'm having with serial dilution statistics.

That worked about as well as one might have expected, but at least my mirror got cleaned when I wiped all the dry-erase ink off. Hey, at least I didn't waste paper.

Except then I sat down and worked on paper.

Then I started looking up articles on statistics for serial dilutions. It doesn't look promising. Whenever you see the words "Bayesian" or "Maximum Likelihood" in the titles, you know you're not likely to get to just take the mean and standard deviation and go for a walk or something.

My brain needs to learn to turn off or something.

At least tomorrow, I get "MasterChef." Ah, the fury of Gordon Ramsay, sending my brain into sweet, sweet oblivion.

Experiments in Virtue

I just got done reading "The Guinea Pig Diaries: My Life as an Experiment," by A. J. Jacobs. It was a quick read and quite entertaining.

Jacobs, also the author of "The Year of Living Biblically," and "The Know-It-All," frequently tries out different modes of living and then writes essays or books about them. For one month, he was Radically Honest, saying absolutely everything that came into his head. Another month, he outsourced all his email and shopping to India. He went a month fully concentrating on the present task, rather than multitasking. Another month, he was completely obedient to his wife.

He is a likable and humorous writer, but what I had not expected was how, from each experiment, he succeeded in holding on to some lesson. He decided to go back to giving "white lie" compliments, but to stop lying to get himself out of trouble. He started closing his eyes during phone calls so he could concentrate on the conversations. He and his wife discovered they had been getting way too snarky with each other, and both started treating each other with more consideration.

I think all Catholics can relate to this life of experimentation, because we do it at least every Lent. Read the whole Bible. Say the Rosary every day. Go on a retreat. Start saying the Office of Readings. Volunteer. Give alms.

We enter these actions with as little intent on lifelong commitment as Jacobs does, but with the hope that we will find some lasting benefit.

Outside of Lent, we can have other experiments in virtue when we join parish groups or start volunteering. I think this area is a little more scary; Lent ends every Easter, but we could keep on teaching that 3rd grade Bible class until we die (or move). SCARY!!! OH NOES!!! But, really, it's not like we're taking vows to these activities.

We must walk a fine balance between fickleness and slavish loyalty. We do not take vows to stay in the choir forever, or even to lead Newman Center retreats until graduation day.

When we are children, we want to quit activities as soon as our fantasies crash up against our real limitations. We can't play the piano (even after 1 week) like the prodigy on the latest musician-worship movie, so we want to quit. Well, so we've discovered it won't be all that easy for us. It's in those moments that our parents encourage us to keep going.

It's an important lesson, but I think that for some people, it needs to be re-examined.

On Seraphic's blog, a lot of college women write in worried about some romantic drama in their lives with a guy in their Newman Center. The women are involved, he's involved, and they can't stand the sight of him anymore, but feel obligated to keep going to all the same activities. I've met women like this in my own life too, and I thought of them when I read A.J. Jacobs' book.

We can get a lot out of things and activities that we quit.

There can be excellent reasons for backing out.

Maybe the choir you joined has changed directors, styles, music, and just isn't that challenging or fun anymore. It used to make you happy, but now it's something you dread each week. You aren't getting paid to be there; you don't need to keep going. The musical skills you learned there will still be with you in the next choir you join.

Maybe the Newman Center Bible Study used to be a fun place where you deepened your faith and made great friends. Now you are supposed to be a "leader," but you don't really like being the organizer, and you don't like going because you have to watch your ex-crush flirt with his new crush. What used to pick you up after a tough week is now the worst part of it.

So stop going.

Look, if you are a "leader" in college, you already know that life will move on for the organization after you graduate. You are allowed to move that day up a little bit. Try Mass at the nearby parish. Go to one of the other groups at the Newman Center. Start a prayer group instead. If you go for 1 semester to the nearby parish, you could just go back to being a participant, rather than dealing with the stress of planning and cajoling your fellow students.

If you are frustrated with your current schedule, make a little experiment. Drop the extracurriculars you don't enjoy and replace them with something. Just for a month. Or a summer. Or a semester. Plunge in whole-heartedly, and reassess at a specific date. If you miss the old group, the drama will have died down, and you can go back with less worry.

If you have actually been sitting on the sidelines and are bored or lonely, make an experiment of joining some group. Purposely decide on a time to evaluate whether you should stay in or leave.

I like the Jacobs way of life, and I realize I've been following it for a long time. I tend to stick with things, but the freedom in beginning new ventures without making a big commitment has helped me be more social and creative.

Total Gift of Self?

Seraphic recently wrote on her blog that she and her husband don't really like the phrase "total gift of self" from John Paul II's theology of the body. They think it is weird, kind of funny, and rather unsexy, but that perhaps it is a phrase that sounds better in Polish than in English.

When I think of the total gift of self, I think of spider mating habits and the "nuptial gift" of the spermatophore.

The spermatophore, also produced and given away by many different male insects, is a ball of fatty, protein-rich food mixed with sperm that is made of most of his body weight. That little male spider on the left in my blog photo is holding a white spermatophore, about to offer it to the big brown female. He gives this to his mate. The food may be essential for her to get the nutrition to make all the eggs that will become their 1000s of adorable baby spiders. Alternatively, eating the food may just be a big distraction that keeps the female from mating with other spiders.

Either way, the male has just given away most of his body weight in the form of a big ball of food and sperm. He doesn't get to mate again (usually). He doesn't get to live very much longer.

Praying mantises and black widow spiders, who kill and eat their mates, are an obvious cliche, but though it's a little more total, it doesn't seem much like a gift.

When you know all of this stuff about weirdo invertebrates, it's hard not to think that human sex pales in comparison (in terms of the self-gift idea). That's not to say that I want 75+ lbs of fat and sperm placed in my ovipore by a spouse in his last minutes of life!

Speaking of which, I really must get to writing "The Ovipore Monologues" some day.

I'm just sayin' that it's a lot easier for me to conceptualize "self-gift" as the acts of charity and service that take place throughout a marriage than to be very impressed with the gift of semen. Or is that not what the Pope meant? Perhaps I have interpreted his writings too literally. Wouldn't be the first time that's happened. Human men have to give other stuff to their wives to keep them happy. The engagement and wedding rings, a significant portion of the man's salary, could be seen as a nuptial gift. Oh, because it is! Riiiight, the spider thing was named AFTER the human marriage convention.

Now I am more confused about sex than ever.

When PotF turns into TMI

I am back on blogger! I was busy finishing my dissertation, moving, and starting a new job all last year, but I am feeling the urge to reconnect with strangers on the Internets, so here we go.

I have begun attending an Extraordinary Form High Mass in my new town. I go to the OF for daily Mass and when I'm out of town. I love the EF for Sunday Mass because it feels different enough from daily Mass to warrant the extra half hour. Horrible Catholic that I am, I found myself getting impatient with Sunday Mass when I started going to daily Mass regularly. It all just felt like there was unnecessary padding.

I like the meditative aspect of the EF. I have a busy workweek and spend a lot of my free time thinking about my next experiments, so I find it quite refreshing to spend time in silent prayer. I am not good at doing silent prayer in my house, with my laptop beckoning.

One of the things I appreciate, about all the Masses in my new town, is that the Intercessory Prayers (aka Prayers of the Faithful) in Mass are very nicely written.

In my old town, a layperson would read off some lovely, rather long PotF. The priest would then start taking requests from the congregation. At one parish, the majority of these were "For a special intention, we pray to the Lord." A small percentage were general, such as "For all those struggling with addiction..." or "For those traveling..." It was always a little awkward when some people spoke over each other, or if they forgot to say "We pray to the Lord," and the priest had to say it for them. My least favorite prayers (and yes, I rank prayers according to how they please ME) were both prayers to God AND news bulletins for the congregation. My favorite of these were 1) short and 2) involved people I might actually know or have seen at Mass, such as "For Marjorie, who isn't here today because she is having heart surgery..." or "For Mrs Tuttle, who moved from here several years ago and just lost her husband this weekend..." The most embarrassing were evolving prayers for chastity from the newly dating couples that then ceased when the couples were married. The most annoying were long, detailed stories that really could have been summarized in one phrase.

"We pray for Elizabeth and Jane, who have both recently experienced disappointment in love, the first from a young man who seemed interested and then went out of town with no explanation given, and the second from a man whom she detests and whom she thought detested her, and he does but also loves her despite himself and his loathing for her admittedly problematic family, and anyway, we just pray they don't become spinsters and that their mother stops being rather a trial and that their younger sister repents of her libertine ways, let us pray to the Lord," could easily be condensed into "For God's blessings on the Dashwood family."

It was a temptation for me, judging other people's prayers. I shouldn't have, I knew I shouldn't have, and sometimes I succeeded in not doing it very much. I am very grateful that now I only pray for things that are phrased in a short sentence.

The Internet holds a greater temptation for me, because of the numerous prayer requests on Catholic blogs. I skim the really long stuff just to see what the point is, say a quick prayer, and move on. Unfortunately, the more detailed the post is, the more chance there is that I may end up reacting out of negative emotion rather than Christian fellowship and charity.

"Please pray for Catherine, who is struggling in her relationships and has a life-threatening cold" gets a nice prayer.

"Please pray for my darling mistress Cathy. She is in passionate love for her adopted brother, who is the love of her life, but she married another man out of greed and childishness because her dear brother was too poor and uneducated for her at the time. She loves him, though he has raised her nephew to be an illiterate reprobate who tortures and kills animals. Despite his declared intentions to destroy the life of everyone around him, including his emotionally and physically abused wife (the sister of Cathy's husband), Cathy longs to run away with him. She got pneumonia when she ran round the rainy, freezing moor hoping to commit adultery. Please pray for her speedy recovery and happiness." This prayer will get a very different gut reaction from me. Rather than sympathy, I feel horrified shock. I find it hard to say nice prayers for strangers when I am in horrified shock.

I should keep these feelings to myself, and I certainly mustn't put an outraged comment on a blog post that is just a prayer request, but I can't help but wish that either the friend who'd sent in the prayer request OR the blogger who posted it had eliminated at least a little bit of the TMI that was bound alienate at least a few Catholics.

Then again, perhaps lurid details make a blog's readership pray more urgently. Who can say? Tragically, the universe does not revolve around me, so if most of the Catholics out there are inspired by long prayer requests, then we should keep on doing them!

My general attitude, though, is that God knows the details, and I don't have to. In fact, it's better that I not know them. So please, if you want prayers, but you think if some people know the full story that they might get upset, just ask for the prayers, whether in Mass or on the Internets, and give the poor Newsies a day off.

Thomas Kinkade, or Why I like Paintings of Houses

"Clearing Storms by Thomas Kinkade"

I've read a couple of well-written essays on Thomas Kinkade by Catholic writers recently in First Things and NCRegister.

People got kind of angry at Simcha Fisher, particularly when she said Kinkade was "anti-incarnational" because his prettied up houses and landscapes lack the mess of reality.

First, I would say that Kinkade is attempting, in his work,to be transfigurational. Whether or not he succeeds is another matter! I will just say that I think this is a fine goal for an artist to have, and that the Transfiguration is also an important feast in the Church calendar.

Second, I would say that I think most of Kinkade's paintings are kind of ugly and garish. However, some of them are well-composed and restrained. The one up top is one of the few I like. There is a nearly perfect circle formed from the clouds and rocks that leads the eye through the painting, while the lighthouse & house are the clear focus. The dark rocks and sea contrast with the brighter colors, and the lights are appropriately bright. Lighthouses are classically picturesque, possibly overdone, but they truly are beautiful. They were designed to be pretty as well as functional, and I'm just sorry we stopped bothering. If air-traffic control towers looked as nice, maybe traveling would be less of a chore. This is a pretty, charming painting with a bit of drama, and I like it.

Third, I would say that critiques of his paintings that focus on the choice of subject matter are probably what is most irritating to fans and indifferent bystanders alike. Neither of the two essays I linked to make that mistake, but I've heard it before.

I have heard criticism of him because he leaves people out of his paintings, because his paintings are too bucolic, because his paintings are of country houses rather than people/cities/slums/something else. These critiques make my hackles rise because they are missing out on a major portion of art, art history, and the human experience. They also fail to understand what it is about Kinkade's paintings that has made him so popular -- he has been able to capture feelings that people have already felt, but didn't know how to visualize.

When I used to go on long road trips with my family, I loved driving down a dark highway and seeing far-off houses with their lights on. It was both a lonely and comforting feeling. It was comforting to know that there was someone else in the world, and lonely to know we would never meet. I got the same feeling when I would look outside my childhood bedroom window and see houses miles away from my mountain view. These lights are alienating while at the same time reminding us of a common humanity. A lit house is mysterious and is a great subject for paintings. I wish there were loads more of them. The people who complain that the viewer of a Kinkade painting is shut out of the family life of the people in the house have entirely missed the romance of that very feeling. You are shut out, looking in, wondering.

When I saw a Kinkade for the first time, I was a college freshman. I thought "At last! Someone who knows how I feel about houses!" Then I noticed the mawkish coloring and I didn't like it as much. I think the Kinkade fans have latched onto that feeling and that recognition of kinship. When Kinkade is criticized, particularly when he is criticized for the subject matter instead of execution, they feel criticized too.

The most tone-deaf criticism, of course, is that of someone complaining that the scenes are too country. Great, thanks, pal. I grew up in the country. Our houses don't really look like that, but if they did, they would totally sell at high prices. That's another thing I want to say. Kinkade isn't selling to a nostalgia, he's selling to a market whose architecture is generally void of beauty. The pre-fab homes, bland stuccoed developments, and strip malls in most American cities are drab chunks of ugly. Or you can get a lovely brick building from the 1910's that's falling down around your ears. Boo. A Kinkade cottage is unique, it is made of serious things like rocks, not plastic siding, and it looks like it could last more than a decade *please to ignore improbably architecture*. If it's shown with other cottages nearby, they don't all look the same. The gardens are lush and overgrown; no neighborhood authorities to tell you to trim your dang bushes or force you to mow the lawn around the edges. It's a dream house, but not like any dream-house you can actually buy. For a few million, you could get a McMansion, but you can't get a house made of rocks. I want a house made of rocks. Always have.

But remember, I said I didn't actually like most of Kinkade's cottage paintings. So I looked up ten paintings of houses that I like better.

Number 10
House by Edward Jones" This a painting found in an auction, and was done by a high school student. I love the color scheme and style, but the compositional issues typical of young artists take a lot away from it. The house is too big for the canvas, and it ends up looking scrunched. The trees are too small as well; they may have been that size in real life, but the artist would have done better if he'd made them a bit larger. They end up getting lost.

Number 9

Baba Yaga's House by Steve Dismukes

Any list of my top house paintings has to include a picture of Baba Yaga's house. When I first came across Russian folktales when I was 11 years old, she and her house took up residence in my imagination and never really left. The most entertaining and frightening witch of all time. A haunted house that lets you know immediately just how bad it really is, but it won't do you any good. By the time you see the chicken legs, Baba Yaga has got you already. I like this painting because of the contrast between the greyed-out landscape, the glowing, cheerful windows, and the small sinister details. I think the painting would have been stronger without the ring of skulls -- it would be better if the chicken legs were the only "off" detail in an otherwise charming scene. This artist is really into illustration and comic-style art, though, so he would want to put those extra details in.

Number 8
Burning House by Lois Dodd

This is not the first burning house you will see here! Simcha Fisher had joked that Kinkade's bright windows look like the house is on fire. If you just look at the bottom windows of this house, you will see a strong resemblance to the Kinkade windows. Hmm. I like this one for the strong colors and movement, especially in the top left flames. What really sells it for me is that stream of water from the firehose that looks like another jet of flame. The way it cuts across the painting is so interesting. I'm not so wild about the olive trees in the background. But ultimately, the contrast between the organic flames and the straight lines of the house and the water stream are gripping and powerful.

Number 7
"Country House by Vyacheslav Tsay

You ask for incarnational? I give you the Vyacheslav Tsay. So faithful to details of reality there is a satellite dish at the apex of the hill. I love this painting for its attention to detail and to the dizzying steepness of this village on a hill. He plays a lot with the disorientation one feels at night when the colors all fade into one blue/green mess punctuated by white. I really like the chaotic sweep of dark trees. I only wish he had left out a bit more -- after exploring all these details, the eye does not have somewhere to rest.

Number 6
House on Fire by Paul Keysar

Okay, forget all that stuff I said about the lonely mystery of seeing a lit window and just take in this drama. The triangles from the smoke and from the late afternoon sun in the foreground make a perfect composition. The ominous shadows in the forest set off the glowing white house about to be consumed. The balance -- or tension, however you want to see it -- of rough and smooth textures, peaceful nature and raging inferno in a gorgeous, stately house are so intelligent, and more importantly, true. September 11 happened on one of the most beautiful fall mornings I've ever seen. Heartbreak and beauty sometimes coincide.

Number 5
House at Essoyes by Renoir.

So whenever I seen Kinkades, I'm reminded of Renoir's use of speckled light and saturated color. We usually think of his crowd scenes, though, and I wanted to find out what he did when he wasn't painting people. Well, he's still got some people in there, but they're not recognizable, and they're great for giving the scale of this quite large house. More like a mansion. I'd love to see this one in person -- at this scale on my computer screen, I'm sure I'm missing out on the textures and subtleties I could see in the real thing. These hazy days do happen in France, and the softness of the trees captures that warm summer feeling that's just shy of oppressive. The light source is a little confusing, though based on the direction of the tree shadows, I'd say it's mostly coming from the upper right. The focus of the painting is so clear. The eye is immediately drawn to the glowing, creamy surface of the house tower, flanked by dark trees. It's a restful painting. I would love to be able to sit for a long while in front of this one. That's what happens when a painting is well-balanced; it has all the detail you might want to explore, but it is still enough to invite contemplation.

I have Renoir lower on my personal list because I think this is a bit too sweet for my taste. The die-hard Kinkade fans should check out Renoir. Good luck trying to buy an original, but affordable reproductions are fairly easy to find.

Number 4
"East End Sunlight by Cooper Dragonette
Here's a lovely painting by a Maine artist that does the opposite of the lit window -- the light in the room is all coming from a sunset. This was a small painting, 6x8", so it's just a little detail from a beautiful moment. He's caught some of the nice architectural details in an old house. I think it is well composed and an unusual close-up, but what I really love is how the warm rosy sunlight on the inside punctuates that dark room and that beige-yellow house. It takes something I generally dislike -- the dull colors of most houses I see, the coldness of blank glass -- and adds the warmth and vitality of sunlight. Nature here is softening and beautifying the manmade. It's simple, and I really do dislike that ugly beige color of paint that is everywhere, but I have this up high on the list because I think this is showing me something special. I like noticing those little moments that are easy to miss. A grace moment, when something we take for granted is made beautiful. It earns its number 4 spot because it challenged and excited me.

Number 3
Country House by Viktor Safronov
Okay, finally back on the topic of houses at night with a window lit. Here's another Russian artist, Viktor Safronov. Dang, Russia looks cold. This isn't even one of the coldest paintings of his work. That house is kind of shabby and probably leaks, but I'd rather be in there than out here in this chilly, muddy foreground. Maybe this theme is popular in cold places, where the only thing on your mind when you are outside is "How do I get back in???" The foreground shows why people built houses in the first place. I like the way the sky looks scratched up with paint, as if the artist was attacking the canvas. The twisted trees with their sharp branches, the murky colors, the interposition of the snow between the viewer and the warm house, the lit window in the very far edge of the painting, the way the house is set so you don't get to see a door, all add up to a feeling of homelessness and longing. This house, small as it is, is a true refuge from a hostile world.

Number 2
Tallinn at Night by Eva-Maria von Nerling.

This painting, wow. Check out the link, because what this German artist does with color is just mindblowing and so much fun. One of the defenses of Kinkade is that he is pretty and decorative, and why shouldn't people get to enjoy happy, pretty things instead of misery? Fair enough, but I say von Nerling does it better. Her art ranges from symbolic to abstract, and the vivacity and joy shines through better, I think, than most of Kinkade's ultimately placid paintings. She also does textile arts, and one can see the influence of quilting in her geometric work and willingness to mix bright colors. In this painting, we see a rainbow of colors that would fit in any gallery in the American Southwest. I have no idea if Tallinn really looks like this at night -- I rather doubt the trees are purple and blue -- but why shouldn't it in a painting? This is a point I will always defend for Kinkade fans: an artist's imagination should not be restricted. Fantasy need not be only dragons/unicorns/obvious surrealism. If you want to paint a purple tree next to a blue tree, even though trees look grey at night, go right ahead. In von Nerling's painting, the variety of color is prevented from chaos by the stark black night sky punctuated by tiny white stars and moon. Looking closer, I started to notice more detail -- the washes of paint on the houses blur in and out, and each house has a different set of windows and doors. The blurring effect is interesting, and I think it does a good job symbolizing the loss of color saturation at night while letting us still enjoy some serious color. The tiny purple house helps break the symmetry imposed by the four tall buildings, and along with the moon and trees, it gives a simple composition movement and life. It also gives the exact opposite feeling from the loneliness and longing I'd said I wanted from a painting of houses -- but I don't care. My list, my rules, my breaking of rules. It goes at Number 2. This artist could single-handedly destroy Germany's reputation for grey solemnity. I want her to come decorate my life, seriously.



Night, Blue House on Clydesdale" by Paul Keysar

Yes. Perfect. This tiny painting (5x7") is so simple but so well executed. This is finally showing what my heart has felt about other people's houses since I was a very small child. The austerity of the yard -- a few trees and a phone line -- makes the homeowners seem poorer, more isolated themselves. Maybe they are lonely too. The darkness, the glow in just two windows, one darker than the other, as if the light source is just in one room but bleeds over into the next, is oppressive and beautiful at once. The brushstrokes are gentle and varied. I appreciate the inclusion of telephone poles & lines, which could easily have been left out. The presence of poles in rural areas has always given me hope; someone else has cared enough to drag some metal and wood somewhere so people could have electricity and a connection to the rest of the country. Just like the lit window off in the distance, they let us know we are not alone. You will notice this is the 2nd Paul Keysar painting I've listed. I really like this guy. He's an artist in Charlotte, NC and has a whole series of night landscapes.

There is so much more to contemporary art than the shock-art we hear about in the news. There are fantastic, joyful, talented artists painting their vision of the world. Have fun checking out their work for yourself.