Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Bairn
Yesterday my mom brought me to the yarn store and bought me this beautiful yarn for a baby sweater. I love it. The pattern is Bairn, which is a sort of companion sweater to Hatchling (same designer, similar construction), so that makes me happy. The twins will have sweaters that "go together" without being matchy-matchy. The yarn is (of course) Tosh and the color is Worn Denim. I had been eyeballing skeins of this stuff before we found out the genders and hoping that at least one of them was a boy so I could but it.
Keith got me A Handful of Dust last Christmas and I am enjoying it quite a bit. It's a quick read, very bright and British, although of course the characters are misbehaving and making themselves unhappy, as Waugh's characters tend to do. (I'm not really sure why there's a maid bringing in tea on the cover? I suppose because the characters are somewhat upper crust. It could be worse.)
I brought both book and knitting with me to get my glucose test this morning. I didn't read very much because the TV in the waiting room was blaring "The Price is Right," but as I knit I watched an elderly couple come in to get the man's blood drawn. Afterwards his wife helped him button up his sleeve, and held his cane while she helped him get his jacket back on. When she glanced at the TV she exclaimed, "Hey look! They're advertising Ensure! Look at that!" And he, patting down his pockets, said, "I can't look, I'm busy looking for my keys." They were making their way out the door when she realized she was still holding his cane, and turned with a laugh to give it to him, and he smiled. Their sense of humor and the fact they still enjoyed each other's company was so clear. It made me smile. I hope and pray that Keith and I are given the opportunity to grow old together, and that we do it as gracefully as that couple.
Linking up once more with Ginny.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Our Love Story (Part 3--the Finale!)
As I mentioned before, we never had a "determine the relationship" conversation. One reason was that, a few days after our first date, Keith sent me an email telling me how he felt about me. Whatever doubts I might have still had about his intentions were completely swept away.
I still had two months before moving to Pittsburgh. But Keith and I talked every day—on the phone, on Gchat, via email. (In fact, I kind of wonder how much work he got done at his computer in those days!) And sometimes he surprised me in other ways. Such as driving 45 minutes to surprise me at my work and give me a book he’d found in our favorite used bookstore. Or the time when, knowing that I had to get up for an early Mass because of my work schedule, he showed up on my front porch at 5am (way before I even woke up, because he didn’t know how early I had to leave) with fresh scones and a thermos of tea for breakfast. And once we went hiking at Todd Sanctuary but it started pouring rain, so we took shelter on the porch of a cabin and waltzed there, just the two of us, in the middle of the woods.
Long story short, this guy swept me off my feet entirely.
Then I moved to the city.
That's when I told him I loved him. (He'd already told me.) And we had lots of adventures together. And Facebook documented them.
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Barn dance, 2009. Same patio as the picture in this post. |
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Around Christmas. I always coveted his blue teakettle but never bought one for myself just in case we got married someday. ;) |
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Visiting California, May 2010 |
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Picnicking with friends. Right before I dumped a glass of red wine all over my vintage dress. |
When Keith and I had been together about a year, my cousin and dear friend Theresa started dating a nice young man, Danny. The four of us got together with our families and everyone got to meet everyone else and it was lots of fun. (Little did we know that they both had rings at that time. It was pretty funny in retrospect.) Then, a month or so later … Danny proposed to Theresa. I was so happy for them, but also …? Really, really jealous!
Now, there were little things here and there that caught my attention. For example, on one summer date Keith asked me to pay because he’d forgotten his credit card was maxed out. And I wondered, now, what would be so expensive that he would use up all his credit? Hmmmm? Could it possibly be ... a ring??
Because at this point I knew I wanted to marry Keith. Okay, I said to myself, two years. If he hasn’t proposed by our two year anniversary, then I will bring it up myself. But then Theresa got engaged ...So okay, I amended, if he doesn’t propose this year, then I will bring it up in January.
I asked my mom and friend Stephanie to pray to St. Therese for me, and resolved to pray a novena that started on her feast day (October 1st) and ended on my birthday (October 5t). This particular novena was one that asked her to send a rose as a sign your request will be granted.
I am so, so sad because bugs killed this plant a few months ago. |
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I never made this my profile picture, but I really should have. |
We didn’t decide on a time or place that night, and the next night (Friday) we hung out with his friend John. Literally as he was walking out the door at 11pm I asked, Um, hiking? Tomorrow? No? He stopped. “Ohhhhhh, right. Um … let’s just do Todd Sanctuary, okay?” Like it was the only place he could think of off the top of his head.
See? He had almost forgotten the hike altogether. There couldn't possibly be a proposal in the works.
Keith was VERY late picking me up the next morning. As in, I knit an entire hat waiting for him. (It was a baby hat. But still.) (Btw, that hat ended up being too small for its intended recipient, and Michael wore it this winter!)
Finally he arrived, we made the hour-long drive, and we hiked to the cabin where we’d once danced in the rain. This day was dry and sunny; but Keith took my hand, and we began to dance, there in the middle of the woods once more, just the two of us.
And that is when the music started.
A waltz playing in the middle of the woods.
Keith says my face was one of pure panic. Who the HECK is out here with us, playing MUSIC? It took me a second to realize … wait. We are waltzing, and waltz music just started playing, and Keith is just sort of taking it in stride. Is this what I think it is?
He twirled me to the edge of the porch, where we peered around the corner to see his friend John behind the cabin, manning the speakers and accompanying L’Valse d’Amelie on the glockenspiel.
After that dance ended, the Blue Danube started. We waltzed to the other end of the porch to be met by a shower of balloons.
By that point, our dancing had gotten really clumsy. We were both pretty nervous. At some point, Keith stopped, stood and looked at me, and then got on one knee and pulled out the ring and …
Well, I said yes. :)
And then we told John he could come out from hiding.
And then we drove to my parents, who took lots of pictures.
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Not sure how my birthday sombrero ended up in this picture. |

(I have to include this picture of us at the Barn Dance in 2010, because we're sitting in the same spot as the picture from my first post long before we even dated. Only a lot closer.)

And nine months after that:
Friday, July 19, 2013
Our Love Story (Part 2)
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There are absolutely no pictures of us together from this time ... but here's a friend working on the awesome painting. |
Me: Nope! (Why did I not just say this in the first place? I guess I was being “smooth”?)
I left that morning a very embarrassed Rosemary.
So really, it was pretty clear that this thing was a date from the beginning. But it got clearer. Things changed from meeting halfway to Keith picking me up; he researched and found a restaurant and a bluegrass concert in the area without even having to ask me what was available, which really impressed me. He showed up dressed quite handsomely, and instead of flowers he brought me a bottle of rosewater. :)
Thanks again to Grace, who has provided the impetus for me to type this up, even though it's something I've been wanting to do for a while!
Friday, July 12, 2013
Our Love Story (Part 1)
As for our conversation that night, I remember a friend telling some sort of riddle about a duck a bunch of us were standing around in a circle trying to solve it and I got frustrated and walked away, but I’m pretty sure Keith stuck it out to the bitter end. That’s about it.
The second time we met was at a party (once again, a largely Catholic event) in the city. (Keith remembers it.) This was the night it all really started. While other people wandered from room to room and socialized with each other, we stood in the hallway and talked for ages. About house styles and art and living in California vs Pennsylvania and our childhoods and morals and all sorts of things both deep and whimsical. After that long conversation, I drifted around a bit talking to other folks, but I found myself looking for opportunities to slip into whatever circle he was talking in. Smoothly and unobtrusively, of course.
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See us standing in the background? |
And yet I occasionally made the drive into Pittsburgh for one event or another, and we'd actually see each other and talk in person.
At one point I complained on Facebook about wanting to make a recipe that called for rosewater, but not being able to find it anywhere. Keith dropped me a very casual message saying he was pretty sure Whole Foods had it. (The implication was that he had happened to be strolling through the store and glimpsed it on the shelf. The reality was that he became a man on a mission to find a store that carried it.) I lived nowhere near Whole Foods, but at some point I found an opportunity to stop there, and I couldn't see rosewater no matter where I looked. I was too embarrassed to ask so I left empty handed and confessed to Keith I didn't find it.
Not long afterwards, we both attended the Oratory's annual barn dance at the retreat center. (Yes, their retreat center has a barn. It's a beautiful place in the middle of nowhere, PA.) I remember sitting in the second-story chapel that day, feeling sorry for myself over a variety of things. Then through the windows I saw Keith walk to his car, open his trunk, and dig around in his backpack. He had brought me rosewater.
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Before the dancing started. Sitting next to each other but not too close. ;) |
I DID invite him up to my school to see a Shakespeare play. (I guess I'm just not a modern woman, but you have no idea how forward I felt!) Sadly, the weather was snowy and stormy, so he didn't come.
And he DID give me his phone number. Twice. And I knew he was hoping I'd give him mine in exchange. But at that point I was kind of stubborn and hand't learned that idealism needs to dance with reality, not just stand there stiff and unbending. So I didn't give it to him. If he wants it, I thought, he needs to explicitly ASK. Oh Rosemary.
In December a bunch of us went to see the light display at Hartwood Acres. (As an aside, I am so, so sad this display doesn't exist anymore.) We sat around a huuuge table at Eat'n'Park, I at one end, Keith at the other ... with a girl. A girl from California, whom he spent a lot of time talking to, whom he clearly shared inside jokes and private knowledge with. A girl he introduced to everyone as Claire.
We didn't talk that night, partly because there were at least eight people seated between us, and partyl because ... well, you know. To be honest, I don't remember exactly how I felt about it. I know I was disappointed, but these sort of things happen, you know? He had never actually asked me out or anything. And I had a lot of other things going on in my life and was generally happy. So yes, disappointed. But not broken-hearted.
Time kept passing. I got accepted to grad school and not to FOCUS. Keith got rid of Facebook for a while. He did not ask me out. Another guy did. The Other Guy was a nice Catholic young man, and he was pursuing me very insistently, so I said yes.
The Other Guy and I went to our first party as a couple. Keith was there. I didn't mean to, but I must have been watching Keith very closely, because I can clearly remember the look of dismay on his face when the Other Guy put his arm around my waist.
Cue me complaining to my best friend about how if he had asked, I would have gone out with him instead. His loss, right? Except that I was much more interested in and attracted to Keith than my current boyfriend, and had been for months. So it was my loss too.
To be continued ... probably. :)
Sunday, January 8, 2012
as we forgive those
Not just by God--of course, yes--but by others. People I have hurt, knowingly or unknowingly or at some level in between. Things I have said, done, not said, not done: flowers my clueless clumsy feet have trampled on. Things that maybe I meant to sting a little, to have some sort of effect, yet caused more pain than I will ever realize. Moments of impatience or inattention--caused by laziness, tiredness, ignorance, or my own woundedness. Somehow I am still loved by others; people still want me in their life, in their company.
Never forget this. I cannot help being hurt; I should not pretend that I haven't been, try to erase it within myself. But I can forgive.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Nothing like ...
(Unless it's that voice in person.)
Friday, April 22, 2011
Good Friday
"Sweetest Jesus! What is there that Thou couldst have done for us which Thou hast not done!"
There is a picture that hangs over my parents’ piano of the Agony in the Garden. It hung over the piano when we lived in Michigan, and it has hung there since we moved to Pennsylvania when I was a teenager.
I’m not sure exactly how long we’ve had it—I remember when we didn’t, but not when we got it, or from where—but I remember my mom explaining it to me: how, a little in the background, you could see the disciples asleep in the shadows; and further back, in the woods, you can see the red of the soldiers coming for him, not immediately visible but definitely there. In the foreground Jesus kneels, sweat of blood on his face, and an angel holds a cup before him.
One day I was sitting on the couch in the living room, spending a lot of time in my head—something I’ve always done and still do. I have a very vivid imagination, which can serve me well, but can equally ensnare me in places I shouldn’t be. On this day, I was spinning a love story. It was purely fictional—whatever it was involved adventure and a love interest that looked like Cary Elwes, so it wasn’t a daydream in the sense that I wanted it to happen to me. Its excuse for existence was that I was going to capture it in a book. But there was no denying it: I was the heroine, and I was taking pleasure in constructing an imagined world and storyline for myself, indulging in all of my misguided ideas about romance at that age. It was my fantasy. (Hence Cary Elwes/Westley. Ahem.)
It was a very tween thing to do. (Or at least, it was typical of my tween years.) I guess there was nothing directly harmful in it, but neither was it the most healthy thing. Either way, the last direction my thoughts were pointed in was towards God.
And as I sat on the couch, inside my own head, imagining, my eyes happened to fall on the picture of the Agony in the Garden.
And I heard a Voice—yes, a voice, not with my ears, but nonetheless complete with words and their inflection—say, “This is real love.”
It was an indescribable moment. I think it only lasted as long as it takes you to read that sentence, but I’m not sure, because it was both a flash and an eternity, as though the present moment had been touched by the eternal. The words came from inside, but they did not come from me. It was clearer than anything I could have thought on my own, any sentence I could have phrased in my head. It was a shock that left a stillness in its wake, an awe.
And I was also annoyed. Because it had broken my fantasy, and I could hardly go back to it now. Which was, in all likelihood, partly the point. I told God, a little playfully, that I was annoyed; but there was still a sense of depth, of peace.
A few years later I would read about “inner locutions,” and have a name for what I experienced. But I knew then that it was the voice of God. I think that this experience was what planted the first seeds for the gradual realization that I should never marry a man who didn’t love me the way Jesus loved me. (Maybe a little obvious—it’s spelled out in the Bible!—but realizing what that meant in a concrete way: selflessness expressed through gentleness, patience, presence, holding back nothing of oneself.)
And on this Good Friday, praying the prayers of St. Bridget of Sweden, I remembered this moment, and the meaning of real love.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
I haven't killed it yet. :)
This picture was taken about a week or so ago; the flower is still there, just a little past its prime.
Keith gave me this mini-rosebush for my 24th birthday in October. Little did he know it was the last day of a novena I was praying to Saint Therese in the hopes that we'd get engaged soon!
The same morning he brought me the rose, he asked my Dad if he could marry me. And four days later he proposed.
So this rose means a lot to me, and I'm hoping it stays around for a long time.
(And yes, those are Christmas ornaments in the corner.)
Thursday, February 17, 2011
On Being Sandpaper
For whatever reason, I've been in A Mood the past week. (Or if I'm honest, it's probably been a little longer than that.) Not that I'm walking around with a cloud over my head, but I kindle at the slightest spark and can become a less-than-pleasant person to interact with over certain things.
It's actually pretty humbling.
I was talking to an old dear friend in MI who is getting married two weeks before me this summer--a beautiful conversation. Engagement is such an interesting place to live in: a waiting place, but also a present moment; your relationship isn't yet what it will be, and yet it has changed, is changing.
There are certain places where I know I need to grow if I'm going to be a good wife, and so my instinct is to hurry up and grow already, before July 16th. Get holy now. And while the desire to works towards the qualities and virtues that will make me a good wife is not a bad one, obviously, I feel that sometimes the impetus behind my sense of urgency is more pride than anything.
I have a lot to learn about marriage, and I know I won't learn most of it til after I'm in it. But I do know that marriage is about the sanctification of both spouses; and ultimately, that holiness and the ability to be a good wife is a matter of grace of state (which comes with the sacrament, not before) and practice (which I can get some of now, to be sure, but I will have LOTS more of it after getting married).
And here's the pride bit. I am perfectly willing to accept that my fiance will have flaws and weaknesses, some of which I won't discover til after we're married. But the thought of him putting up with my imperfections? Ooooh, that's tough. And if they're starting to come out now, how much more will he see after we're married?
But that is part of the gift given in marriage: a self that is, among other things, sinful and broken. The key is to give and receive with open eyes and clear sight. To know that sometimes we will be sandpaper to each other rather than silk, and those are the days when the rough edges can be smoothed away, so we're made smooth and perfect.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
I am occasionally a coward in the meanest, pettiest of ways.
So I place myself in that mercy.
And what is Advent the season of if not trust? Isn't waiting about trust? Our Lady made trust a lifestyle during her Advent.
(Pardon the disconnectedness. I am tired. I am letting myself be braindead tonight. Going to read some Dappled Things and Image now.)
Thursday, August 19, 2010
the hidden lovely truth
To a Long Loved Love: 7
Because you're not what I would have you be
I blind myself to who, in truth, you are.
Seeking mirage where desert blooms, I mar
Your you. Aaah, I would like to see
Past all delusion to reality:
Then I would see God's image in your face,
His hand in yours, and in your eyes his grace.
Because I'm not what I would have me be,
I idolize Two who are not any place,
Not you, not me, and so we never touch.
Reality would burn. I do not like it much.
And yet in you, in me, I find a trace
Of love which struggles to break through.
The hidden lovely truth of me, of you.
-Madeleine L'Engle, The Weather of the Heart
To see myself from inside is all flaws and tangles
and my fear is that the good,
the lovely, is just veneer
for the broken.
If you find me
in this place,
will you love me
will you bring yourself
will God grant us light to see by
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
with all of your self
In any case. Welcome to this blog's first "philosophical" post.
On Sunday I got together with Kim and Nicole, two writing friends from college who I hadn't seen from graduation. We went shopping at Target (clothes! silverware! cereal bowls!), ate at Steak and Shake, and got coffee at Eat'n'Park. We talked about writing and undergrad and life and love.
Love. As a Catholic, I think this may be the simplest truth about the universe. We are all held in existence by Love. But we are fallen, broken, and our souls are full of jagged corners and rough edges that complicate things.
I asked Nicole how she defined love (and the context here was romantic love), and she answered: love is when you give yourself completely, your entire heart, everything. (This is my paraphrase, not her words.)
That answer struck me as wise. Nicole and I have different ideas about relationships in many respects; and yet I agree with this.
I believe in saving sex for marriage. To those who know me as thoroughly Catholic, this comes as no surprise; but I it's not just a "Catholic" thing. In fact, as I mull over Nicole's definition of love, I find that it is reason enough to save sex for marriage. Not that love (emotional, platonic, sexual, spiritual, etc) is a subject I can plumb in a blog post; but explaining my own decision from a standpoint that makes sense to non-Catholics? Perhaps I can touch on this.
Human beings have a body and a soul (or spirit, to use a less religious term). I am well aware there are people out there who disagree that we have anything beyond a body; but I don't think this is a religious difference. I know very few people, religious or otherwise, who don't believe in a spirit on one level or another: this mystery of having a personality, of being a Person. If we don't have a spirit of some kind--if we are mere bodies driven by elaborate instincts--then love is not a reality at all, beyond a chemical trick to get us to reproduce. (And one that isn't doing a very good job in these days of Pills and "protection," I might add.)
BUT. This is not a blog post about whether or not people have souls. My argument is that these two parts of us--body and spirit--are not two separate entities, but equal parts of the same person, and thus inseparable. Now there is, of course, death. You may believe that, after death, the spirit passes away with the body; you may believe the spirit is born in another body; you may believe the spirit wanders around without a body, ghostlike; you may believe that both, eventually, will be resurrected. You may, sometime in your life, even have an out-of-body experience. But as you walk around the world, eating and talking and laughing and crying--as you read this--they are equally you.
This is something we take for granted, without thinking: we get tattoos and piercings, we dress a certain way, style our hair, and so forth. Our bodies are means of expressing and revealing (or hiding) our spirit.
There is also music. Its creation is a very physical thing: strings and wood and air rippling in sound waves. So is our experience of it. We have nerves and ear drums and cells that transmit chemicals and folds in our brain that store the memory of it. And yet music is not a mere physical phenomenon--it isn't even strictly necessary. Some people love music that others simply call noise; we type our favorite bands in our Facebook profiles. Our connection to music is emotional, and at its highest a spiritual experience. We make and receive it through our bodies, but it speaks to our souls. (I think art in general is one of the best proofs that 1) we have a spirit, and 2) it is irrevocably tied to our bodies, these concrete parts of us.)
The key to being whole and at peace with ourselves is to be at peace with our bodies and our souls. They are meant to function together, to compliment each other.
I think that Nicole was right: that love means being able to give all of your heart, your self, everything. And sex is the physical expression of that reality. Not just symbolically, but literally, because your body is just as much a part of you as your spirit, your heart. Your body--including, of course, your sexuality--is part of the everything that makes you up as a person.(And true love involves giving ALL of your sexuality--not withholding your fecundity. But that is yet another subject.) Sex divorced from love is, at worst, a lie to the other person; at best, it's a lie to yourself that your body and your personality are disconnected.
I see so many young girls (and some older ones) who can't stand not being in a relationship. They are addicted to romance. They must always be "in love." They are ridiculous. When they give their hearts, it isn't real, because they are simply sating a thirst for romance, and deceiving themselves in the process.
It isn't always easy to wait for sex. Of course not. And for some people it is even harder than for others. But it's just another form of unreality, like using the word "love" for every boy you've dated for a week. It isn't true.
And so I am waiting for the point in my life when I can honestly, fully give that everything, to one who can and will give his everything to me. Reaching that point, I believe, is part decision and part circumstance. It is not at all passive--not any more than abstaining from sex until marriage is prudish. And it's something much richer and deeper than I have captured here; but these are the thoughts in my head tonight.