peeves

Book Break: Two Volumes by Matthew B. Crawford

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One of the great pleasures of these latter years as a father is receiving books and book recommendations from my grown children. The University of Mary in Bismarck, Saint John Vianney Seminary in Saint Paul, and the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal have led each of them on tremendous intellectual and spiritual journeys. Occasionally, I tag along.

This past Christmas, Brendan and Becky presented me two books I may have never encountered had Brendan not taken a surveying (as in, land measurement) course as an undergrad…a surveying course taught by a history professor with a love for useful arts and practical skills.

Both books are by Matthew B. Crawford, who holds a PhD in political philosophy and a prestigious research fellowship at the Institute for Advanced Studies at the University of Virginia. He also runs a motorcycle repair shop. In these two books, he makes a convincing case that we are ceding more and more of our will, abilities, and control to technologies and systems that make life easier by making it less lively, less human, less worth living.

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Wednesday Witness: Belong, Believe, Behave

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Over the past week or so, I’ve found myself reflecting on a homily delivered by Father Richards some years ago. I have written about it before; the gist of the message was this:

  • People in a group or community often insist that those who want to join behave properly and believe correctly in order to belong (Behave, Believe, Belong).
  • People on the margins, however, need a place to belong, where they can come to believe, and learn to behave (Belong, Believe, Behave).

Belong, Believe, Behave is the natural order of things. From the moment we are born into a family, we need secure attachments to our parents to form healthy, ordered relationships and learn to navigate the world. But once we find our place in the world, we often lose sight of the fact that we ever weren’t a part of it.

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The Prodigal Communicant

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I love Sundays. Generally, we begin with Mass, then brunch with whomever is home. We clean up as a family, then maybe read or take a nap. In early afternoon, we might tackle a small project together or go for a drive (maybe to pick up some more flowers for the front yard). Then we’ll have a snack or a treat and play a game or take a long walk. We come home, prepare and eat dinner together (and clean up again), then watch something we can all enjoy before prayers, bed, and the start of a new week.

When Trevor was home, 11:00 AM Mass was the norm: He loved to serve ad orientem, with incense and chant. Lily, on the other hand, struggles with both smoke and crowds of people, so she prefers 7:30 AM—which means most Sundays, even coffee waits until after church.

Unless Jodi and I are serving, arriving early for 7:30 AM Mass has proven to be a challenge, and too often I find myself throwing a quick salute to Father as we scurry to our pew before the processional. As a result, frequently my mind is racing when I kneel to pray and then stand as the music begins. I usually arrive at the Collect (the first “Let us pray…”) with my intentions intact, but—unless I’m a reader—somewhere between first and second readings, my mind begins to rush ahead.

So, brunch this morning…we have enough eggs, but the sausage isn’t thawed yet. And we need fruit. We could stop on the way home. Should probably fill the car, too—but I guess that could wait if we’re going run to Ace later for mulch.

Mulch. What else did we need at Ace?

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Over the Long Haul

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I was blessed last month to be invited by our morning and evening MOM’s Groups to speak about marriage. At the time, I wondered what a man in his late 40s could offer a group of mostly young mothers in their first several years of marriage. Then I recalled a conversation with our oldest son Brendan and his wife Becky when they were discerning marriage. Specifically, I remember telling them, “We promise for better or for worse without really knowing what that means.”

It’s best that we can’t see the future. Maybe an unforeseen struggle will derail all our plans. Maybe it’s a cancer diagnosis or the loss of a child, a broken past or hidden addiction. Or maybe it’s the slow-building weight of sarcasm or unsolicited advice, the accumulated slights of day-to-day living in close quarters, or the endless routine of raising a family. Whatever our cross, when it comes, we can either carry it as a burden or swing it as a bludgeon. For better, or for worse.

After 26 years of marriage, I’ve learned that I’m still the same guy. Certainly I’ve changed a bit: I’ve kicked a few really bad habits, praise God, and gained some gray in my hair and beard. But I still have all the same buttons in all the same places, and Jodi still pushes them—for better or for worse.

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Book Break: Laundry Love

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Those who read my blog regularly know that book-related posts often include the caveat that this book might not be for everyone. In the case of one my latest reads, Laundry Love: Finding Joy in a Common Chore by Patric Richardson and Karin B. Miller, it’s definitely true, though not for the usual reasons. There is no dark or objectionable content, nor even a discouraging word, from start to finish.

However, I did make the mistake of discussing this book in mixed company exactly one time. The women were amused and ribbed me gently. The men in the room rolled their eyes and mocked me openly, then worked to change the subject. Apparently a book about doing laundry in more economical and environmentally friendly ways, written by a fellow with a deep love of vintage fashions, disco balls, and stain removal is, in fact, not for everyone.

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