Earlier this week, after my shift at the front desk and attending weekly care conferences, I went home for a much awaited job: setting up the nativity scene in our convent chapel. 
 
Ever since my childhood, I’ve been drawn to the crèche!
 
Back home, as we grew up, we had a special stable; my dad had made our wooden stable, and my mom had painted the ceramic figures.  We had real straw from our friends’ farm.  There are photos of me, sitting admiringly in front of the stable in our living room.  One time, if I remember correctly, my mom didn’t know where I was, and she found me there, quietly looking at the scene.  As we decorated, we would reenact the story of the first Christmas, putting the figures in place. 
 
I don’t get to help with all the decorating around here, and in the past, have missed not being able to put up the nativity set some years. 
 
I was glad to be able to do it again this year.
 
Thinking about it now, this life-long love for the manger scene fits in very well with my life, as I am part of a Franciscan community.  It was St. Francis, after all, who first (as far as we know) had the Christmas story reenacted at Greccio. 
 
As our constitutions say, “was captured by the love of Christ in the crib, on the cross, and in the Eucharist.”
 
I pray that St. Francis may intercede for us, and our world now, that we may grow closer to Christ each day, and become more and more like Him.

Yesterday was a busy day! 

After working the front desk, I held an activity for our residents.  We strung popcorn while listening to Advent/Christmas music. 

Toward the end, some humorous stories were shared.  We learned some things about each other that were prior unknown.  It was quite entertaining!

Some of the residents had never strung popcorn for the Christmas tree before, and for others, it had been a long time. 

When we were done and I was putting it on the tree, I was happy that we had just the right amount.  It came out perfect! 

This drew a prayer of gratitude from me as, by this time, I was quite tired, and glad to be done!

It's a new year, liturgically speaking, as we mark the new "church year" with this season of Advent. 

Yesterday, after my other work duties, I had the job of changing over the chapel from Ordinary Time to Advent (a bigger job than one might guess).  There are so many little details, some of which are easy to forget, from the banner to the large altar cloth to the tabernacle decor to marking the missal and the lectionary.

I ran out of time for my "adventizing efforts" and had to stop for the read-aloud I do for our residents.  Afterwards, I came back and finished up. 

Having just celebrated Thanksgiving, I had a enhanced sense of gratitude this time as I went about my work.  Last year, we had not been able to use our chapel for Mass during Advent because of the covid situation.  I felt blessed to be able to, once again, prepare for Advent liturgies in our chapel at this beautiful time of year. 

I continue to pray for protection, that we may never return to the place we were last year. 
Come, Lord Jesus!

What a beautiful fall day! 
 
After work at the front desk, reading hour for our residents, and a little time in chapel, I headed outside to our garden.  I needed to pull the sheets off our peppers that I had placed there last night in case of frost.
 
I just had a short time before I wanted to head over for confession at the local church. 
 
While out in the back yard, I found another squash growing and a couple of tomatoes that were more than ready to be picked.  I brought the tomatoes inside before heading on my way.
 
It was the perfect day for a reflective walk to and from! 
 
As I returned home, it struck me that I could make good on my recent resolution to “avoid the near occasion of sin” by peeling carrots – of all things! 
 
We didn’t have any carrots in our garden, but there’d been a bag of purchased ones in our refrigerator for about of month. 
 
They were just waiting to be eaten. 
 
Instead I, far too easily, grab the nearest high-carb, low-nutrient, food item despite my intent to cut back and eat healthier. 
 
I was prompted, as I walked down the sidewalk, surrounded by beautiful golden leaves and turning trees, to avoid temptation by making healthier food more accessible…a tangible, easy step was buried on the bottom shelf of our fridge! 
 
I got back, and used some of the short time I had in peeling and cutting up several delicious carrots. 
 
I even had a few moments to practice organ for tomorrow before having to be back at the front desk to give the other receptionist a supper break! 

Thursday evening, I was happily able to help sing for a “Night of Praise” (Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament accompanied by some music).  I love this combination of music with adoration!
 
It’s a little bit of heaven on earth, as I told a friend afterward. 
 
Earlier in the week, I’d gotten an email from the liturgy coordinator asking us to meet in the bell tower to practice a bit beforehand.  I had to ask him how to get there, as I’m kind of a rookie at this! 
 
After a little practice, we went to the choir loft, where we spent the beautiful hour. 
 
One word struck me through this experience: blessed.  A couple of the songs we sang centered around this theme of “blessing the Lord.”  Furthermore, I felt truly blessed by this opportunity.
 
Later in the evening, during another conversation, I got to musing about the significantly different uses of the word blessed.  To me, it almost seemed a bit strange that the same word had such contrasting uses, though they all share positive connotations. 
 
We pray “Bless us…and these your gifts.”  We say, “I am blessed by so many good things.”  We sing, “Bless the Lord, O my soul.”
 
As I thought about this linguistic enigma a bit more, I was struck with the roots of the word in the romance languages.  Interestingly enough, our beautiful time with Jesus neared its conclusion with “benediction.”  Bene-diction means blessing!
 
As I thought of that word, I broke it down; bene means good and diction means saying/ speaking. 
 
So, blessing is a good statement, a good word, in a sense. 
 
I pondered how this applies to our various uses of the word blessing.  When we “bless the Lord,” in a sense, we are saying a good word about Him. 
 
It struck me that, in creation, all God had to do was say the word, and it was.  When Jesus healed, He just had to say the word (although sometimes He used touch and other means as well). 
 
When God blesses us, all He has to do is say the word!
 
I’m not a linguist, but these were the ponderings that came from my beautiful experience the other night.  

This morning after Mass, as he passed by the front desk, Father said, “So the Rugby Sisters are coming?!”  The good news had obviously been relayed to him by Sr. Elaine.
 
We hadn’t been sure if our Sisters in Rugby would be keeping the Labor Day weekend tradition, as they also had been invited to a wedding, but just last night, Sr. Rebecca got news that they were indeed coming, and right after school today! 
 
We had thought that they probably would come late Saturday, so this news was a pleasant surprise. 

Earlier in the week, I had been looking to the weekend with some trepidation, knowing it would be a busy one with work and other commitments and also a certain situation I was a bit uneasy about.  Now, however, with this good news of a weekend with our visiting Sisters, my attitude has shifted. 
 
Ever since I was a novice in Rugby (quite a few years ago now), this Labor Day tradition has been a beautiful part of my life.  The Sisters at Little Flower Convent in Rugby travel to Grand Forks to spend the weekend with the Sisters at St. Anne’s Convent. 
 
The same delightful arrangement is also part of the Thanksgiving weekend experience, though last year it was drastically curtailed due to COVID concerns. 
 
Happy Labor Day weekend, everyone!

Several years ago, during the "Year of Faith," I offered a discussion group, Catechism Chats, for our residents, where we read and discussed The Catechism of the Catholic Church. 

Well, actually, rather than reading the entire document, we just read the chapter summary sections, called "In Brief," taking turns around the table.

One time, by mistake, one of the residents started reading the other text within the chapter (which we had been skipping over), and was reprimanded by a fellow resident, "Just the briefs, just the briefs!"  We burst out laughing at the reference unwittingly made to adult diapers.

I bring this humorous episode up because, this past month, I re-instated these fun little "chats."  One of our residents was commenting on how she should really make an effort to  learn more about her faith.  One thing led to another, and now, Thursday evenings have an added dimension for me.  

I don't know about you, but, on occasion, I've started an undertaking and then wonder if it really was a good idea, after all.  A sweet comment by one of our ladies last night put any doubts about Catechism Chats to rest.  She's a bit hard of hearing, and not even Catholic, but she told me what a wonderful session it had been!  She had deeply appreciated and enjoyed it. 

I was touched.

I’m sorry it’s been a while since I’ve shared anything here.  It has been busy, but I’ve also lacked inspiration.  Oh well, here I am now!
 
I thought I’d share about my morning.  It’s the first Saturday of the month, so we had our women’s gathering.  I was prepared to show a beautiful YouTube video about St. Junipero to the group, using a laptop. 
 
This morning, I got up early to get to chapel for personal prayer and set up for Mass, as well as take care of what I needed to before heading over to the local church for our event.  After this, I brought the items I needed back to the convent, where I spent a couple of minutes trying to figure out how I could best place them in my bike basket and on the handle basket to ensure optimal balance and safety on my 10 block trek. 
 
It took some readjusting, even after I had “hit the road,” but I made it to Church without incident.  I had arrived plenty early to set up everything for our gathering in plenty of time to get upstairs for Mass. 
 
I parked and locked my bike, and headed inside.  After finding an outlet and plugging in the computer, I turned it on.  A black screen with white typeface informed me that it was “unable to find operating system.”  These are not words that a computer-reliant presenter wants to read!  Despite multiple attempts, including first briefly removing the battery, the same fateful message met me when I tried turning on the machine again. 
 
Giving up on the futile effort, I decided that I’d better walk home and get a phone instead; I still had time to make it back for Mass–if I walked really fast…I didn’t want to monkey with the bike lock at this point.  It was 6:53 a.m., and 7:15 Mass was coming right up! 
 
I must admit I was a bit frazzled on the walk, but I did my best to prayerfully calm my nerves. 
 
I did make it back in time for Mass, with a few minutes to spare.  I had left the laptop plugged in while I was gone (about 20 minutes) so I gave it one more quick try in case it had built up enough charge to work.  No such luck!
 
After Mass, I went downstairs and we had a nice, if small, gathering.  We listened to the video on the phone, with its volume turned up all the way.
 
Afterword, I headed back out to my bike for the trek home, happy that I now had less items to carry (as a basket I had been carrying had been disposed of). 
 
I unlocked the bike and started on my way, but something wasn’t right.  I stopped, and discovered that my back tire was FLAT. 
 
I walked the bike back to the convent garage, where I parked it before heading back to work.
 
I don’t know if I had ridden over something, unknowingly, or if the weight of the computer and supplies was too much for the tire. 
 
Whatever the case, it was kind of a rocky road this morning! 

Growing up in Minnesota, we were told that you couldn’t have an open container of alcohol in a vehicle on the road, unless, of course, it was stowed away in the trunk. 
 
This ordinance (which is also in place in North Dakota, where I now reside) has never had ramifications in my life until just recently.
 
On Saturday, we traveled down to our provincial house, some two hours south, for a community meeting.  I so look forward to these day trips, which provide not only the chance to get away but also the opportunity to visit with our other Sisters. 
 
This time. I decided, with some encouragement from Sr. Rebecca, to bring my bottle down to show the other Sisters.  I don’t know what I should call it, vodka or vanilla. 
 
About a year ago, Sister Rebecca confiscated a bottle of vodka from one of our apartments, where tenants where getting into trouble.  My response was an excited ejaculation: “I can make vanilla!!” 
 
For some time, I had been hearing about how a person can make vanilla by adding vanilla beans to liquor.  This was the perfect opportunity to try it.
 
I didn’t have vanilla beans, and we weren’t going out shopping too much (Spring of 2020), so the bottle of booze sat untouched until I could get a hold of the needed vanilla beans. 
 
Then came the second week in June…My mom was passing through and spent the night with us on my birthday.  Previously, I had mentioned to her about the bottle of vodka and my intentions. 
 
For a birthday present, she brought me a package of vanilla beans.  We opened them and prepared them for insertion into the confiscated bottle. 
 
Ever since then, periodically, I’ve been taking it out of its place in the cabinet and swishing it around a bit to circulate the liquid. 
 
It is getting darker and smelling more and more like vanilla. 
 
It’s taken longer than I anticipated for it to process, but I’m guessing that this is probably because people in subsidized housing don’t buy the real expensive liquor.  Their check only would go far enough to cover cheap products.
 
Remembering the above ordinance from my childhood, I carefully stowed the precious bottle in a box, surrounded by rugs in the trunk of our car.  It made it safely down and back, without any trouble from the police.

I love spring! 
 
It’s my favorite season.  Now that winter’s over and I’ve regained most of my energy, I’ve gotten back into the wonderful habit of walking.  I’m not the only one who needs exercise, either; I often take Clare, the yellow lab, along. 
 
To my dismay, it seems like, all too often, she’s stopping to sniff something.  Usually, it looks like nothing more than a patch of grass or piece of debris.  I coax her on, “Come on, Clare, come on!”  She can be a real stinker! (No pun intended.)
 
This afternoon, however, the tables turned a little.  As we walked down the sidewalk, on the way to the parish office to pick up Sunday bulletins for our residents, I spotted a bush of beautiful lilacs. 
 
Now, it was my turn to stop and sniff! 
 
Clare looked at me as if to say, “What are you doing?!” 
 
Unfortunately, the lilacs in bloom were a little high up on the bush, and I couldn’t get a good sniff of them, especially with an impatient dog at hand.  I look forward, though, to seeing and smelling more of my favorite flowers in the days to come. 
 
Clare will have to be patient and wait for me!

Thursday evening, I wrote a little poem, musing about spring.  After yesterday’s adventure (taking the dog for a run with my bike--and taking a tumble), I added some additional verses. 
 
It’s not the world’s greatest piece of literature, but I hope you enjoy it, nonetheless.
 
This is a time of year, this spring,
for patience and for hope,
for seeing tiny blades of green
above the bear earth poke --
 
Heads stretching toward the sun
to get the rays they need
to grow into healthy plants
from tiny little seeds.
 
This is a time of year, this spring,
to thank our Lord above
for gifts of body and of soul
bestowed on us in love --
 
when walking down the sidewalk,
seeing birds in trees up high
or feeling needed drops of rain
fall gently from the sky.
 
This is a time of year, this spring,
when a skip come to my step
with winter gone and new life around
there’s cause for greater pep.
 
Still, temps may fall and rise again;
the greening may seem slow,
but this all can help me, too,
in patience now to grow.
 
This is a time of year, this spring,
to go through garage and shed,
and find the buried treasures
for the winter put to bed.
 
Yesterday, I did that,
bringing out my bike at last,
taking our dog out for a run,
though we didn’t go TOO fast.
 
This is a time of year, this spring,
for scrapes and tender knees;
at the end of yesterday’s jaunt
I acquired both of these.
 
I made an unexpected turn,
the leash on the handle bars,
And suddenly, I was on the ground,
almost seeing stars.
 
This is a time of year, this spring,
for lessons old and new,
some things we learned in childhood
are valid all life through!
 
Despite the falls that sometimes come
I never tire of trying
a new adventure out in fresh spring air,
But, later, I may be sighing.

Yesterday afternoon, it dawned on me, "I haven't put the brown suitcase away yet!" 

It was still setting on a sofa in the parlor...It's been busy, and I hadn't gotten everything back inside immediately after the Triduum liturgies. 

This famous brown suitcase contains a wooden clapper, crucifix, purple covers, kindling for the Easter fire, an instruction sheet, and other supplies for Holy Week.  There's a lot packed into that single piece of luggage!

Climbing up on a step stool to take it out, around the fourth week of Lent, and then putting it away during the octave of Easter, carries sentimental "baggage" with it as well. 

I tend to think to myself something like "Here we are again!" The months have come 'round, and it's time to enter into this holy season once again.  On returning the case to its abode for eleven months of the year, my mount is accompanied by a feeling of accomplishment and happiness that we've made it through another Holy Week and Triduum. 

As one who helps coordinate and set things for these beautiful liturgies, this is no simple task.  I imagine that people who aren't involved in this have very little realization of all that goes into preparing for Holy Week! 

So, as I put the suitcase, packed with important "equipment" for this special time, back into it's place, there's a sense of closure. 

It's rather interesting, when up in those cupboards, what other hidden objects one sees. 
I inherited the job of sacristan from another Sister, who had only trained me to do the job to fill in for her during her vacations, so I didn't get a thorough training in what was what.

It has been quite the month!  I think I may finally be getting my strength back after being down for the count.  I haven't felt quite myself since—well—last year.  I find that after just a little bit of work, all my energy is gone.

I haven't been alone in my infirmity, either.  Unfortunately, one of my fellow Sisters has been dealing with the same thing.  I'm a little further along than she, however, and so have done a little bit of cooking for the both of us (rather than having to haul every meal over from the main dining room—or have it delivered all the time). 

The other night, she decided that scrambled eggs sounded good.  Other than watching my dad make them every Sunday morning after Mass, I don’t have a ton of experience with making this comfort food.  I’ve maybe done it twice before in my life. 
 
Now that I’m over the worst and no longer contagious, I was able to go over to get eggs and milk.  When I went in the fridge, pulling out a carton of milk, I noticed several packets of Luchables were still there.  We have no idea where they came from. 
 
I thought— “Ah hah; I’ll use these in the scrambled eggs.”  Along with some sandwich cookies and plain crackers, each package also had several small slices of cheese and ham or turkey. 
 
I brought my ingredients back to the convent, and set to work tearing the meat and cheese from a few packets into the bowl with four eggs I had procured.  I did sit down on a step stool for much of this process, due to my quickly diminishing energy level.  I added a generous splash of milk, salt and pepper, and poured the raw mixture into a pan I had greased. 
 
Within about five minutes, I was able to call downstairs that supper was ready. 
 
The recipient of this unconventional “breakfast for supper” liked the eggs very much.  Half are still left, though, in the refrigerator, probably to be finished off this evening.  I was tickled that she so enjoyed my cooking. 
 
Meanwhile, last night, I finished off a wild rice hotdish (originally it was supposed to be soup) that I had made last weekend.  After I made it, the rice absorbed more and more of the liquid.  I also ended up adding some leftover chicken and potato pieces, which helped mellow the strong spices that had come in the soup mix. 
 
I must say, one of my favorite meals I’ve had during my time recuperating has been kettle corn (microwave, no less), which also reminded me of my dad.  One of our last meals together before he got sick had been supper on a Friday in Lent when we shared a bowl of popcorn. 
 
Although I don’t mind cooking at all, I do look forward to the day (hopefully soon) when we are fully recovered and don’t need to hang out at the convent during the work week.

In the meantime, I am reminded to be grateful for all of life's little blessings, even scrambled eggs that turned out well.  

The past day or two, I've been home sick.  As the saying goes, "Could be better...could be worse."  

Because of this, I haven't seen much more than my four walls since Tuesday afternoon.  Having had some chills that left me wanting to hunker down in bed, it didn't pay to get dressed yesterday.  Also, dressing would have taken energy (something that I don't currently have in abundance).  

This being said, my hair (bangs especially) was a bit wild.  That natural wave that I inherited from my mom's family, unchecked, goes a little crazy; I go through it each morning with a wet comb.

Last evening, my sister, mom, and lifelong friend had arranged a video call and invited me to join them.  Since I would not be attending our "Community Study/Recreation Night" for fear of "spreading the love" (my sickness), I was free to participate.  However, in my present circumstances, I was not eager to be on video.  At first, I just stayed in bed with the light off, but soon enough, was pressured to shed some light on the subject.  

Reluctantly, I put on my veil and flipped the light switch.  Not being terribly skilled at using the Tablet, and not feeing my best, I unknowingly gave the others a view of my wild hair (not my face).  

We got a good laugh out of it, though, when someone referred to this as the "big bang theory."  

A little humor and a nice visit (long overdue) were a good closing for a day spent alone.  

Times like this make me appreciate more the gift of friendship and human socialization  I pray that things change quickly and we can resume normal interactions without "social distancing," which is so contrary to normal, healthy, human behavior.

Being short on time and inspiration, I decided to share a post from 2016.  I hope you enjoy it.

NOVEMBER 18, 2016
I come from a family with very distinct Thanksgiving traditions:

We always went to a certain aunt and uncle’s house in South Minneapolis and carried out several other heartwarming, yet predictable traditions.  The customs were so predictable that I actually wrote a “process analysis essay” about my family’s Thanksgiving Day’s activities my freshman year in college.  From my dad waking us for Mass to ‘give thanks’ to racing my sister for the newspaper for a chance to color the Minneapolis Star Tribune‘s Tom Turkey, the day was full of joy and excitement!

That being said, let’s jump ahead to my first fall with the Sisters…

Sr. Sara Marie, who would become my postulant directress, heard from me that one of our customs was checking the ice on nearby ponds.  To make my first Thanksgiving experience “in the convent” more home-like, and to have a little fun, she had me pose for a picture, broom in hand, “checking the ice” on the little fishpond, to see if it was completely frozen.

Later in the day, we decided to do some baking.  About a month earlier we had carved jack-o-lanterns together to decorate the convent.  Now we were going to make a pumpkin dessert, complete with homemade graham cracker crust.

We were working in the convent bakery.  I had dutifully crushed up some graham crackers and had them in a bowl.  When I set the bowl down on the table (which, to my credit, was quite slippery), the bowl slid onto the floor.

What a mess!!!  To make matters worse, there was a black rubber mat with circular holes on the floor nearby.  Crumbs littered the bakery floor, including between these holes.
Kindly, Sr. Sara Marie got out the Shop-Vac for me.  I proceeded to hook up the hose to the mechanism and turn it on.  I, however, was not used to using that machine and put the hose in the “blow” instead of the “suck” end.  Consequently, as you may imagine, the graham cracker crumbs were blown even more in all directions.

Poor Sr. Sara Marie!  What a clumsy Affiliate she had to deal with!!!  (This wasn’t the first of my humiliating adventures in Hankinson.)

As the years have gone by, different traditions have materialized for me.  Spending the school years during my novitiate and first year in profession in Rugby, I joined my Sisters in travelling “to Grandmother’s House” ever year.

You’ll remember that St. Anne was Jesus’ grandmother.  Thus, we referred to St. Anne’s Guest Home, where we spent the Thanksgiving Holiday with our Sisters, as “Grandmother’s House.”

Now, I have been serving at St. Anne’s, myself, for quite some time, and our Sisters from Rugby continue to grace us with their presence at Thanksgiving, according to Tradition.

Sr. Christina M. Neumann, OSF

A week and a half ago, I spent some time in the afternoon (after finishing my shift at the reception desk and attending resident care conferences) cutting up some bread. 
 
We had received a large donation of day-old Panera breads of all kinds: sour dough, cinnamon-sugar glazed, and more.  After advertising it to our staff (for them to help themselves) and taking some for our kitchen’s use, there was still quite a bit left.  Two viable options (besides just sticking it all in the freezer) arose for me.  Croutons and bread pudding could both be made out of leftover bread.  I ended up making some of each, using sour dough loafs for the former and cinnamon-sugar glazed bagels for the latter. 
 
Unfortunately, though, the project left a tender blister on the forefinger of my left hand.  (Yes; I am a lefty.)  Finally, I noticed this morning that it has really started to heal.  The now crusty area is actually shrinking a little.  It sure was sore for a while, though!
 
I think of this after hearing and reflecting upon the gospel reading this Sunday as well as a poem that was shared from a funeral of a Sister we know.  The poem was about “The Hands of a Sister.”  It chronicled some of the different types of work religious Sisters have traditionally done: forming and teaching little children, caring for the sick, etc. 
 
Some of the deeds described there were not ones that I am called to engage in.  Nonetheless, it made me think about my hands and what they do on a daily basis.  I pray they may always serve in a way pleasing to Our Lord.
 
I think this Sunday’s gospel (about the servants entrusted with varying amounts of money) fits with this reflection, also.  Like these servants, each of us will be called to give an account for how we used what was given to us, what our “hands” did with the gifts we received. 
 
I hope and pray that, like the first two servants, at the end of our lives, each of us will have a good return to show on God’s investment in us.
 
However, as I write this, I can’t help but think about St. Therese of Lisiuex’s reflection on empty hands: “In the evening of life I shall appear before you with empty hands, for I am not asking you, Lord, to count my works.” 
 
Her humble, trusting attitude is something for us to really think about and seek to emulate. 
 
While my hands are engaged in the humble work of cutting up old bread, washing out a resident’s support socks, or taking someone’s temperature, my eyes (inspired by the Little Flower) can be fixed in trust on Jesus.

What a day!  My feet are telling me, "You've worked us too hard!"  (I guess that's what I get for wearing not-so-comfy shoes for yardwork.)

Yesterday, I decided to pull everything from "Mary's Garden."  I'll admit, it wasn't a bountiful harvest.  The soil was quite compact, despite all the TLC we'd given it.  I won't go off on that tangent, or we'll have another story all together. 

Despite my frustration and disappointment, I was determined to make next year a better season for our growing things.  Someone had donated a tiller this past summer, and I had charged up the battery for the big job it had ahead.  I also have a compost bin ready to spread over the garden before covering it with fall leaves for the winter.

I had never used a tiller before, and I had a clumsy start.  I needed repeated coaching sessions from our dear maintenance assistant on loading the battery and getting the thing to go.  (For one thing, I didn't realize I had to press the safety lock at the same time as I pinched the handle.)  Maybe I should get a “Rookie of the Year” award.

I finally got the thing to start, and was (halfway) successfully tilling the garden bed.  The tiller was a bit jerky, and less than obedient to where I wanted it to go.   The name for this new piece of equipment came to me readily as I worked: henceforth, it would be called "Bucky."

Well, my friend Bucky got a little feisty on me.  I was trying to be careful not to get too close to fencing or other obstacles, but the hungry little bugger set his teeth into some chicken-wire before I knew what was happening! 

Once again, humiliated, I had to call upon my patient co-worker to get it out from the tiller's tines.  In the meantime (he was busy with another project), I went on with my day and got a few other tasks finished in the office. 

By late afternoon, I was back out in the garden again, this time even more careful to keep Bucky away from hazardous materials.  After going over the garden a few times with my "friend," I decided to work at the soil myself with a hoe. 

In the process, I found some more root vegetables, small in size due to unfavorable growing conditions.  Bringing them inside and washing them in a pail, I put them together with those I had found yesterday.  I prepped them for roasting in the oven and also cut open one or two small acorn squash.  I stuck them all in the oven, hoping they'd be tender by suppertime. 

I realized that I still had some unfinished business outside.  Bucky wasn't put inside yet for the night, and the tomato cages were still leaning up against the building.  I put things away and came back inside in time for supper. 

Now, Bucky is sitting the garage near my bike, waiting expectantly for his next rodeo.  It might be a long winter for him, but at least he got a good workout today!

It’s been another busy week around here, and we’re not even through hump day yet!  Now, during this pandemic, things seem to be more crazy and unpredictable than normal. 
 
A year ago, I’d have never believed that I would be monitoring temperatures of people here and, at other times, attend to the temperature of hot liquids on the activity room stove (namely jams and jellies)!
 
I must say, I’ve come to realize how much there is, in the world, to know, and how much I still don’t know; in learning a lot over the past months, I’ve also been reminded that there’s a lot I have yet to learn. 
 
With each new kind of fruit that’s come in (and that I’ve processed), I’ve probably learned a new lesson.  Too bad I didn’t know it all before I started my first batch several years ago! 
 
One thing that is the same just about every time is the feeling of satisfaction I have when I lift the last jar out of its water-bath, or when I wipe the last kettle dry and clean out the sink!
 
This time, my happiness was doubled; I had finished all the fruits I had saved in the freezers for jam and jelly.  I was finally DONE making jam and jelly! (for now)
 
I told my co-worker, “If any calls come in, offering us fruit or produce, you can just tell them, ‘Thank you, but we have quite enough.  Thank you for thinking of us, though.’ ”  [half teasing/half serious]
 
Having made about a dozen batches over the past week or two, and many others earlier this year, I’ve come to the conclusion that: “I think that’s enough for a while.” 
 
We’ll see how long that lasts!

In doing a little research for this post, I realized that the titular phrase refers to air rather than water, being from the air force hymn.
 
Oh well, for some reason, this patriotic song popped into mind while I was swimming this afternoon.  (I suppose a musical program from the recent Fourth of July holiday probably had something to do with it.)
 
I now have a standing invitation to use the private pool of some friends of ours, and today was the second time I’ve taken advantage of it.  An hour of fun in the water was “just what the doctor ordered” for me! 

I didn’t know if my tentative plans would work out, due to time limitations and impending rain, but I am grateful for God’s providence in allowing me this much needed opportunity!
 
I’m glad my college swimming instructor wasn’t there watching me, because I really didn’t follow all the rules for proper strokes.  I didn’t care, though: I got some good exercise, had fun, and was able to work out some tense muscles.
 
I enjoyed swimming under water, floating on a foam “noodle,” and even jumping off the diving board (until my ears popped, that is).
 
The world under water certainly looks a lot different than that which we’re accustomed to seeing above. 
 
It does the soul (and body) good, however, to get away from the stress of everyday life once and a while; going off into the “wild blue yonder” with an afternoon swim can be a great way of doing this. 
 
Together with the water creatures who, in Daniel 6 are urged to “bless the Lord,” I was moved to give thanks to Him whose “mercy endures forever.”

This morning, as we finished the first Mass at St. Anne’s since March 18th, the closing response seemed especially appropriate!
 
Due to the ban on visitation in light of COVID-19, St. Patrick’s Day was the last time we were actually able to have Mass celebrated here. 
 
Yesterday afternoon, we learned that a priest who recently moved in here was interested in offering Mass here on the morrow at 9 a.m.; it would be open to us and our residents. 
 
I’d have to dust off my sacristan hat in a hurry! 
 
I had to make sure the wine and hosts were still good, and change the lectionary and missal from Lent to the twelfth week of Ordinary Time.  I had to find a Mass stipend, and attend to other details. 
 
I guess, I was still a bit rusty because, at 8:58 a.m., Father asked me if I was going to light the candles.  After struggling to light the new lighting taper, I finally got the candles lit.  (Fire Hazard Warning: You cannot blow out a match while wearing a mask.  Make sure to take off your mask before working with matches to avoid burns or uncontrolled flames.)
 
I got back to my seat and remembered that I needed my bell to ring at the epiclesis and consecration.  Back to the cupboards I went!)
 
Other than that, everything went very well.  We felt so blessed to have Mass here once again.  It was wonderful!
 
I really am blessed!  Despite living in a very challenging time, I have so gifted!  Along with the greatest blessing of life and the sacraments, God continues to bless me in so many ways; if only I would remember that more!
 
I’ll share a couple of timely examples:
 
This week, we received a donated Baldwin piano!  We’re having trouble with the electric piano we have, and I’ve been dreaming of a real piano for a while now.  Now, this dream has become a reality!  I’m looking forward to playing it for our residents Sunday afternoon.
 
Also, a friend of ours has offered me the use of her private swimming pool.  This evening, I’m finally going to be able to take advantage of it!  This is very exciting because I’m a little fish (I love the water), but rarely get to swim anymore.
 
As if that weren’t enough for a list of blessings, we are getting company this evening for tomorrow’s board meeting.  I am very much looking forward to a visit from three of our Sisters. 
 
With all of this in mind, especially the blessing of having Mass in our own chapel again, it was with great fervor that I responded to Father’s closing statement: “Thanks be to God!”

This afternoon, when I got off work at the front desk, I had one destination in mind - Poppler's Music!

We are promised a new (to us) Baldwin piano, and I’m itching to get it in and try it out!
 
In the meantime, I got permission to order a book of large print hits from the ‘60s, which promises to bring much enjoyment to us at St. Anne's on quiet Sunday afternoons.
 
When working the desk this morning, I got the anticipated phone call that the book was in and ready for pick up.
 
I hadn’t taken “Neumann Wheels” (as Sr. Elaine’s dubbed my bike) out for quite some time, so it was kind of fun wheeling it out of the convent garage for the two-mile trek down Washington Street. 
 
It was also enjoyable seeing some of the sights of the city.  Living and working within one square block, I don’t get a chance for this too often.
 
I got back to St. Anne’s with the book in my basket, and tried out the new book right away.

Along with "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," I enjoyed playing "Downtown," an appropriate song for the afternoon! 

This afternoon, while working the front desk, Sister Elaine mentioned to me: “No mail tomorrow.”
 
“That’s right,” it dawned on me…“Tomorrow’s Memorial Day, a national holiday, so there will be no mail.”
 
I practically jumped for joy; I guess my feet did actually leave the floor. I was so happy!
 
I really don’t mind sorting mail too much, but during the last two months, the daily routine of mail delivery has become an added stress point in the day. 

Whenever anyone comes to the door (even just the outside set), we’ve developed the practice of wiping surfaces with a disinfectant wipe.  We’re not allowed visitors, but still have mail carriers and pharmacy personnel coming by.  Here and there, someone will come to drop something else off.
 
Working at the front desk, some stretches of time are quiet.  However, all of a sudden, it seems like everything happens at once.  It can be overwhelming!
 
Consequently, the thought of another day without the added commotion of dealing with the mail made me exultant.  (I mean no offence to our wonderful mailman.)
 
Amidst this challenging, stressful time, I’ve found other moments of joy as well, gifts sprinkled into my life from above:
 
We had a nice visit today from our “Rugby Sisters” on their way back to our provincial house for the summer.  They’d just finished the school year, which had proved to be a very interesting one. 
 
Later this afternoon, I went out to water a bit in the garden, and noticed that my onions are actually growing.  (I was afraid they might not make it.)
 
Another joy which I am anticipating is that, when I go to our provincial house for our annual retreat in a week’s time, I will be able to go for six whole days without wearing a mask or taking my temperature. 
 
To use St. Francis’ expression (albeit out of context), that will be PERFECT JOY!

I guess I’ve been praying for some unusual, even unprecedented things lately: that we can have Mass here once again, that we can open our doors to visitors, and that we can be done with taking temperatures and wearing masks (all safely and preferably sooner than later).  I guess it should come as no surprise, then, that yesterday afternoon I caught myself raising another unusual prayer request heavenward. 
 
After getting off duty at the front desk, tying up some loose ends, doing a read-a-aloud, and getting my supplies ready, I spent the rest of the afternoon out “digging in the dirt.”  I was grateful for the help of several of our residents in this big project.  By suppertime at 5:30 p.m., we had three rows of onions in, with carrots planted in between each onion seedling.
 
I was amazed by the small size of the carrot seeds!  How can so much information be stored in such a tiny thing as a carrot seed?  It is truly amazing!
 
I had been tending the onions indoors for the past few weeks, and they were really doing well.  As we worked so hard to get them in the ground (which, unfortunately, was kind of hard despite my tilling efforts), I found myself praying: “Please bless my onions.”  After all this work, it would sure be a shame if they drooped over and died! 
 
I know there are certainly more important petitions in the world today, but I can’t stop myself from praying for these small, vulnerable, delicate little plants! 
 
I know that One who will see us through the Corona Virus pandemic can also take care of my little garden.  (I trust that He will.)