I have written twice about my inability to “do math”. Here and more recently, here. It all started, I thought, in third grade with long division. But I learned something today that might have derailed me earlier than that.
During his sermon, the deacon at church used his 1960s self getting a correct answer to a math problem and his teacher saying, “You got it! You Understand!”, as an example of disciples and townspeople believing Jesus’ resurrection. He appears before two followers on their way to Emmaus. They notify the eleven apostles, who tell the two men that Jesus appeared to Peter. While this is happening, Jesus appears again. The two men got it, they understood now what was happening. Not unlike Deacon Etzerheld’s new found understanding of “New Math”.
What was New Math and did everyone have trouble? New Math is described as “a dramatic but temporary change in the way mathematics was taught in grade schools which started in France and stress to many other countries between 1950s and 1970s. What happened to if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it?
I was probably too young to have experienced the effects of new math, but what about my teacher? Or was third grade math still simple enough to teach, and for most of her students, easy enough to learn that it didn’t create issues.
I thought I was on to something until I realized New Math was likely on its way out the door by the time I arrived for the hard stuff. Long Division.
Me on the left, my twin on the right. About the age I started suffering with math.
This brown scapular was part of my parents’ belongings. I knew what it was but never looked into its origins until recently. Now that I’m settled back into my catholic religion, I found it interesting.
Brown ScapularOur Lady of Mount CarmelSt. Simon Stock
When I googled “Scapular”, this brown scapular came up immediately, as it is the most common form and is called the Scapular of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. One patch shows Our Lady of Mount Carmel, and the other shows St. Simon Stock. It’s also most likely the oldest.
I found this information from a website called Catholic Company:
Simon Stock was part of the Carmelite order and in 1251, on July 15th, Mary the Virgin Mother appeared to him with a scapular in hand and told him, among other things, that “whoever dies in this garment, will not suffer everlasting fire.” This Carmelite Order originated in the late 12th or early 13th century on Mount Carmel, Palestine where European hermits gathered near the “spring of Elijah” to live a contemplative life. They fled Europe in 1238 because of Saracen invasions but then in the mid 1400s they moved back shifting from hermits to friars. They became known as the Brothers of Our Lady of Mount Carmel.
Originally, a scapular was, and still is, a piece of clothing that someone in a religious order puts over their habit. That’s called a Monastic Scapular. These smaller scapulars are called Devotional but the principle is still the same, it’s worn over the shoulders. That is where “scapular” comes from – scapula.
Another part of the brown scapular is something called the “Sabbatine privilege” which states that Mary will intercede and pray for those in Purgatory who in early life wear the brown scapular in good faith. If you wear one, it should be blessed by a priest. I don’t intend to wear this, but will know what it is, and its significance now.
Brown is not the only color, but the only one I’ve every seen. A green scapular is the Scapular of Conversion and was created in 1840. It carries promises of strengthening faith, protection against Satan, a happy death for Catholics and especially for the conversion of those outside the church.
A red scapular is the Scapular of the Passion and it originated from an apparition in 1846 to a Sister of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul. Jesus revealed to her a scapular and promised to all who wear it that on every Friday he would grant an increase of faith, hope and charity. Interesting!
A blue scapular is the Scapular of the Immaculate Conception. The Venerable Ursula Benicasa, founders of the Order of Theatine Nuns (born around 1550 and died in 1618), had the blue scapular revealed to her by Jesus in a vision as a means to honor the Immaculate Conception.
There are others – Scapular of the Most Sacred Heat of Jesus, Scapular of Our Lady of Ransom, Scapular of St. Michael the Archangel, Scapular of St. Joseph, and Five-Fold Scapular.
There is even a scapular medal that a person invested in the brown scapular can wear instead. It can replace multiple scapulars but it has to be blessed with each individual blessing of the various scapulars. Whew. Have you ever heard the word “scapular” so many times in your life? The medal must consist of the image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus on one side and a presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, usually Our Lady of Mt. Carmel on the other side.
Fun geographical fact – there is a neighborhood, or village, in a nearby town called Mount Carmel and it is the site of the first meeting house for the town of Hamden. It was named due to the resemblance of a range of hills nearby to the Mount Carmel mentioned in the bible.
Those hills go by another more familiar name for us locals, Sleeping Giant. It’s a state park here in Connecticut that looks like a giant laying down.
The Sleeping Giant aka Mount Carmel
It’s like I was meant to learn about this brown scapular.
Have you ever seen one or had one? Let me know in the comments.
Today I met a friend for our monthly brunch at a small, but wonderful, bakery cafe called Flour Girl Cafe in Hebron, the middle of the state and halfway from both of our homes. Forty-one miles from home with about half and half highway to back roads.
We manage to talk non-stop for two hours when we meet each month, it’s amazing how the time flies.
Next up was a ride south to trade some skirts I had bought online in early December from my favorite store, Haystacks in Essex. Twenty-eight miles between destinations. Winding back roads most of the way, including a nice ride on the metal bridge over the Connecticut River.
The skirts and dresses at this store are stretchy and are reversible! I love them for summer. I ordered these two skirts online in December but just tried them on last week. I had bought a larger size and realized, they were too big! Even though they had a 30 day return policy, I explained the tags were still on, I loved their clothes, so they allowed for a swap. In gratitude, I bought a new dress!
Heading home was another thirty-six miles along the back roads on a gorgeous spring day.
I love driving by myself. I mean, I enjoy company in the car or being driven around, but there’s something so freeing about driving around back roads by myself. Music on (Mumford and Sons!), windows partially open, and just feeling so free and in control.
I am short. I hit my full 4’11” in sixth grade after a 4” growth spurt and it was all down hill from there. I blame my twin. If there weren’t two of us, I might have been taller. She disagrees with me.
Inside my body I don’t feel short and when I see pictures I don’t always feel short. But when I see short people next to average sized people in real life, I think, “holy crap! Is that what I look like?” Like do people think to themselves, “that is one short person!”
A plus to it is, I think anyway, that people think I’m younger than I actually am. People usually subtract 10 years when they say, “I thought you were _____”. The minus, I usually act younger than I actually am. And emotionally? Well, I think it’s around 12 or 13! But that’s a story for another day.
The worst part, the worst!, of being short is that pants are always too long. And I can’t buy them in stores because if they make petite or short, they are online.
Petite. Ha! Petite for 5’2” and under. Yet online they will say “the model wearing these is 5’10” and wearing a size 4 petite. Huh??
It’s not all doom and gloom though. There are some good brands that make “petite short” and “regular short” for those not-quite-petite short people. I’ll put myself in that category depending on the brand. I have managed to find them over the years and hang onto every pair for dear life!
But there’s the thing. After spending almost a lifetime wearing pants that are just “thismuch” too long, when I wear a pair that is the proper recommended length, I feel like my pants are too short because I’m overweight.
If you’re a shorty, you know what I mean. Or maybe I’m just crazy.
Me and my twin maybe 7 or 8 at Mystic Seaport. I’m on the right
It was a wonderful day that started off with 7:30 am mass. It was packed! The altar was beautiful with forsythia surrounded by hydrangeas of blue and pink. Two of my favorites.
Father Lane served mass, and he’s a favorite of mine. We were sprinkled with holy water and surrounded by incense during the service. Yes, it’s been a long time since I experienced an Easter morning at church and I’m grateful to be back.
After I got home, I had breakfast and a second cup of coffee both tiding me over until the Easter feast at my sister’s house. Small crowd – 17 people – with enough food for 30.
We stick with the Polish traditions of kielbasa, ham, pierogis, hard rolls, rye bread, and babka, and there is something for everyone! There are plenty of desserts like Hungarian cookies and little cherry cheesecakes. Everyone goes home with leftovers!
It’s a mix of parents and children and one grandchild and as various types of in-laws we’ve known each other for over 40 years and have become good friends as well as family.
We left for home with our care package of food. The women’s basketball final between South Carolina and UCLA was on so we changed into our comfy clothes, and settled in with some leftovers. We were happy with the outcome of the game.
It is Holy Saturday morning, and I am standing in line at my church waiting to confess my sins.
This is only my second time doing this, and I have never been here during a holiday before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. It’s busy! Two confessionals at either end and another one up front of the altar, face to face (or side to side).
I remember when growing up, the confessionals were in the back of the church (like here), and we were terrified of which priest we would get! We’d get in the booth and wait because there was another confessional on the other side, and the priest would be talking to the sinner on the other side. We’d wait and get more and more nervous, kind of like today! Soon, the little covering over the window would slide over, and we’d hear the priest asking us to confess our sins.
This time was a little different than the first at this church. I picked the right-hand side and should have picked the left side because I walked over to the room, the door was wide open, and Father Devine was sitting in a chair waiting for me! I’m sure the shock was on my face! Ugh, Face to Face!?! With the door wide open?!? I didn’t even get to say how long it’s been or give the Act of Contrition. We just launched right into my sins.
I’m sorry – is this ALL supposed to be private? I won’t share the details. Let’s just say, it didn’t take long because what I was hoping was going to be a mini therapy session turned into a “yikes, here’s my sins, now get me out of here” moment.
I do feel better for going. I may have been happier if I had gone to the front for the side-by-side, and I know, without a doubt, given the option, I will be turning to the left confessional from now on!
Today is Palm Sunday and it begins the Holy Week leading to Easter. So although the anniversaries of my parents’ deaths don’t line up exactly, the memories of those holidays that year are still there.
The day my dad died in 2010, it was Palm Sunday. Palm fronds were in his room when we went there to sit with him until the funeral home arrive to pick him up. His funeral was on Holy Thursday and our funeral director hustled to secure a time, other wise we’d have had to wait until after Easter.
In her eulogy, my sister recounted a vision of my father entering heaven, like Jesus entered Jerusalem, with people shouting their love for him, so happy to see him.
That Easter Sunday, on the 23rd anniversary of my mother’s death, we gathered as we always do at my sister’s house to stuff ourselves full of kielbasa, babka, hardboiled eggs, and candy. That
So as I remember my dad today on Palm Sunday, I know we will all think of both of them on Easter Sunday as this week ties their holidays and their lives and deaths together.
My mother died on April 4, 1987 from brain cancer. It was an eight week blur from the hospital for tests on Day 1 to her death at home.
22 years, 11 months and 24 days later, a total of 8,394 days, my father died on March 28, 2010 of a heart attack.
In the years in between, he retired, played a lot of golf, had a small picture framing business in the basement, and got to meet and enjoy his five grandchildren.
But in the last 12 years of his life, he slowly declined. A knee replacement slowed him down, triple bypass, peripheral arterial disease took his left leg, but he kept moving along in his scooter at his assisted living facility. Until a heart attack, “an angel’s kiss”, sent him on his way to heaven.
My theory is, my mother was waiting for him all these years, but he didn’t want to leave his girls. He lost his mother when he was three, and his father just before his 11th birthday. Even though we were in our early 50s, I think he just didn’t want to leave. Finally she said, “it’s time, they’re all fine”.
Every year, this week brings up the memories of how much we loved them and miss them.
Every morning I head next door to our work out room. It’s a short walk out the door, around the corner of the house, and down 6 or 7 steps to the garage with the room above.
When I open the door, I turn on the light in the entrance but head upstairs in the dark as I anticipate my 10 minute morning meditation.
One morning while doing my mediation, I heard a key in the door downstairs. I thought it was early for my husband to be here as he’s usually 20 minutes behind me. I heard, “Nanc! Are you up there?!”. I thought, “what the heck?!” and said through gritted teeth, “yes! I’m meditating!”. He shut the door and left.
Unbeknownst to me, he watches every morning for the light at the door to go on! This particular morning, I must have been distracted, and didn’t turn it on. At first, he thought maybe I fell on the steps because in the winter they can get slippery. When he looked out and didn’t see my body lying on the ground, he remembered a car went by around the same time and he was afraid someone came and kidnapped me!
We had a good laugh about it while he was explaining himself. It’s a nice feeling to know that after 39 years, he’s watching out for me.
Thoughts From The Passenger Seat 