Score.

So yeah. When I first started at St. Paul, one of the things I talked with Fr. Marino about was our mutual desire to have a Spanish youth group. The youth group as it is, is all in English. I told him that, especially in this neighborhood, a Spanish speaking youth group is key. There are a lot of teens here that speak English, but many more that do not, or do not speak that well.

The main problem with starting the Spanish youth group is that my Spanish is just not good enough to lead a group. I can make my way through most conversations, more or less. I was even, of necessity, a translator for a lot of people when we were in Guatemala. I *can* speak Spanish when push comes to shove, but really, just not well enough to engage a group of teenagers. So I needed someone else. Someone with far better language skills than me.

And I got him.

He's in the pre-stage of Claretian Novitiate-hood, and his name is Stalin Castro. He tries to pass off that his middle name is Che, but it's not really. In case you were wondering, yes. Yes, he is a Communist. He told me today that his whole family is. I told him my husband was as well. He said, "Oh? Where is your husband from?" And then he gave me a weird look when I told him from here.

This rocks. He's already started coming to youth events, and the teens love him. He worked with them in the summer volunteer program. It's so awesome. I love how this is coming together. Everything works out. This job rocks!

Live-Action Laugh Track

As an update on the writing group... Ashely showed up at Youth Group the next night after I first talked to her--with flyers. She told me she's told everyone that she's starting a writing club. She made the announcement at Youth Group, passed out the flyers. We're meeting again tonight to get the details down, and with a little luck and a lot of persistence, we'll be starting the group next week.

Yay!

Last night the community went to see a special screening of Serenity. Britton had found a stack of free tickets at some bookstore, so he grabbed enough for us. The place was packed when we got there, and they gave us a pep talk before the show, thanking whatever-it-was-production-company that made the movie for letting us all in for free. There were a few rows of press, but more importantly, scattered thoughout the audience were paid participants who laughed loudly, were loudly shocked when shocking things happened, and who cheered loudly when the good guys were doing well. It was surreal to be in a movie theatre with a live-action laugh track.

The movie itself was all right. Definitely worth the free tickets.

On the way home, we heard a report on the radio about how all across the country theatres were packed with sold-out audiences to see the special screening of the movie, and then a few people would scream, "That movie was AWESOME!!!" Then the announcer told us that the New York Times had written about the movie, and that people had waited in line for hours to get in... and I dunno, some other stuff.

It was an interesting experience, all told.

My latest addiction is Sex in the City. I'd watched two seasons of it on DVD last year when Suji was here, but now they're on TV every night. Except we don't have cable, so the versions we see are so highly edited that the once hour-long show has become a half-hour, commercials included. Every guy in the house has watched at least one episode, but it's me and Ellen who are the ones to try and make a point to watch it every day. I couldn't even explain to you why it's such an appealing show, but I like it. And even though the episodes are highly edited, I'm excited to see the first few seasons, since last year I'd watched, like, seasons 5 and 6 or something. I wanna know what happened in the beginning.

That's all I have to say right now.

Useful

I started spiritual direction this morning. I'm not entirely sure how it's going to go, although I imagine it will be useful in my life. Sr. Chris is a really neat lady who seems accepting of my very ecclectic spirituality. We talked about a lot of things this morning, and walking away, my main thought was that I really need a day off.

Not so much because my life is ultra stressful or that I feel overworked. Because I neither is the case. It's mostly that there's always something to do... and so I always do something rather than writing or praying or meditating or any sort of introspection really.

I've spent this week realizing that I"m just really lucky. I've got a really great life, and I have a feeling that I'm one of the few people my age who is already reaching her goals. And plus I've got a great husband, great community, great family, great friends. There's not so much more a person could ask for. But I've got a lot more too. I love my job. So much. This is the best job.

Hmm. I don't want to be sappy. Here's some concrete things happening in my life.

I'm starting a writer's group. Or, more importantly I should say, I've recruited a teen who is going to start a writer's group. Ashley. Now there is a girl who's got a lot to say, and who needs to be in charge of something, who needs to really own something, who really needs to be listened to and taken seriously, because God she's so smart and she has so many thoughts smashing through her head. Here is one girl who does not deserve to become a statistic.

But of course, no one does.

I'm working with the parish on the anniversary banquet. It's the big fundraiser of the year, with food and music and dancing and entertainment. I've been to them before, but this is my first time really being involved in any of the beforehand stuff. It's really incredible how much more excited I am about it because of that. I feel so useful. That's a really nice feeling.

Shellshocked

I'm back at work today, and I'm starting to become normal again, although it's taken several hours and a good long walk. Most of you didn't know that I've been away, and the rest of you didn't know I was back. It's hard to talk about it, so I haven't much. But now that I'm returning to normal, I guess I ought.

My grandmother died last week. I was able to go home and see her before she passed away, and although "glad" isn't the right word for it, I'm glad I was there for a few days and had a chance to say goodbye. We were there when she died. We were telling stories and laughing, had been for awhile. So much of those last few days were silence or sadness or both, periodically interspersed with normal conversation among relatives and friends who love each other but don't see each other nearly enough. But this conversation. This was different somehow, and maybe it's just hindsight, but I remember thinking as we were talking and laughing and telling stories, that it was time, now that we were acting like our family typically acts, it was time. My sister Mary noticed first that Mimi's heartrate was dropping. My uncle Peter went to get my Aunt Cathey. All of Mimi's children were there, and some grandchildren. And she let go.

It shouldn't be surprising, but it is, how very attached I am to my grandmother. She was always there when we were growing up. I saw her every day at school (she was the secretary), and on the weekends. Her name was Catherine, but her brothers and sisters called her Katie. When I was in first grade and cut the top of my finger off in a freak bleacher accident during recess, Mimi took care of me in the office until my parents were able to get me to the doctor. When Aunt Cathey came to visit, Mary and I would go to Mimi's house and we'd all make snickerdoodles. We played in the leaves in Mimi's backyard, and there was this small indentation in the yard that we used to pretend was a swimming pool, and there was a tree that was way too tall to climb, but after I'd grown up a bit I realized that it's actually a rather small tree. The first time I climbed it was right after Mimi gave me a glass of cranberry juice, and I was convinced for a long time after that that cranberry juice contained some magical property that could give a burst of strength. Mimi has told me millions of times about how I told her when I was little that "my bwothew knows evewything." It used to annoy me when she'd tell that story. Later on, not so much. It was just one of those things--see Mimi, hear that story.

Mom said on Saturday that she felt she'd travelled through several universes. I agree. For one thing, there's sadness and hospital and watching her leave and God, being thankful that her last days were so peaceful, but God missing her all the same. Then there was this surreal feeling of stepping into a past I can only somewhat remember, and all these names and faces that are familiar but that I can't quite place, and relatives and friends I haven't seen in years, and they only recognized me about as much as I recognized them. I felt like the past was on the tip of my tongue... just out of my reach even though it was right in front of me. I don't remember broad strokes of life, but then there are these details--feelings and smells and the way this one wall looked one time when I dusted the erasers against it--things that tell me it is true that the life I lead inside my head is probably very different than the life others see, because what it is that seems important enough to pay attention to at the time, and important enough to remember, so often seems different than the things other people notice.

I said I was tired yesterday when my roommate John asked me if I was shellshocked, but I think he was right. I told my community members that if anyone asked, I wasn't home yet. I hid in the house yesterday and watched a lot of TV. Then this morning, I just showed up for work. It's bizarre to be back in Chicago, and I wasn't ready for it yesterday. Had I been thinking, I would have sent Michael back alone so he could get back to work, and then waited a couple days more myself. But I haven't really been thinking straight. Chicago and present life are strange things after this past week in Memphis and childhood. And the funeral is over and I've come home, but I still miss my grandmother. Another thing that should not be surprising, but it is. Fr. Todd tells me that's normal. But it doesn't feel normal. It feels like I missed something, or misplaced something.

I don't know. I'm rambling at this point. But I'm back, if anyone needs me.