One for the record books

The skies were clear when I left for work yesterday, but it started snowing soon after I got into the office and didn't stop all day. It was almost a blizzard. My co-workers and I even heard thundersnow!

When I left work, I discovered that the snow was the worst kind—slippery and wet. I almost fell over three times in a 10-minute walk. I got back to my parking spot to find the car embedded in 6–8 inches of freshly fallen fluff.

I don't think that quite does it justice. I took this picture from too far away for you to really see the depth of the snow.

Here we go. This is what the curb looked like at the corner:

Charming.

At least the sun was still out?

So I got out the snow scraper, cleared off the car, and attempted to drive out of that parking spot.

Nothing doing. I maneuvered every which way, but the car was good and stuck.

Fortunately Frank keeps a shovel in the back seat for occasions such as these. So I got the shovel, and I cleared a path for each of the wheels. It took me a good 15–20 minutes. But at the end of it, with some muttered prayers and much slamming on the gas, I was able to get out of the spot and drive home. I felt like Superwoman.

Lots of women have done impressive things while pregnant. Queen Isabel of Spain led her troops into battle while expecting a baby. I may not have ridden at the front of my troops, but I did shovel my way out of a parking spot at 7 months pregnant, and I'm pretty proud of that.

Sunshine Day!!!

The view outside my front door

This picture might look bleak and depressing, but it's actually very exciting. It's 4:58 p.m. here in Chicago and the sun is still out (a little bit)!

I've been looking forward to this day since November. It's the first day in 2014 that the sun is setting after 5:00 p.m.

You see, I despise cold weather. I attribute it to my Cuban, tropics-loving roots. Every year in college, I would get mopey and sad as the days got shorter and shorter, and I didn't feel back to my usual bubbly self until spring—leading me to self-diagnose with Seasonal Affective Disorder.

When we moved to Chicago, I dreaded dealing with the cold winters again. Yes, I'd grown up with them, but I sure didn't like them. And that was before I even knew about the polar vortex heading my way!

To my surprise, I haven't felt particularly sad this winter. In fact I've been the happiest I've ever been. Maybe it's the excitement of being pregnant, or the fun of being a newlywed—or maybe it's just all these snow days we've been getting!—but ironically, this winter has been my best yet.

Even though I've been a happy little clam this winter, I still mourn the loss of my beloved sunlight. I cursed Daylight Savings when it showed up, and felt just a little bit annoyed every time the sun set before I left work. Walking back to my car in the ice and snow is bad enough. But walking back to  my car in the ice and snow and in the dark? Pretty much the opposite of fun.

Finally I decided to stop complaining and try to find a bright side. I knew that once Christmas was over, the days would start getting longer again. I decided that everything would be better once the days were long enough that the sun set after I left work. So I looked up the daily sunset times here in Chicago, and searched for a day when the sun would set after 5:00 p.m. And there it was. January 28, 2014: the sun was due to set at 5:01 p.m. From then on, the sun would set a little later every day. Life would return to this frozen tundra. Spring would come again. It would be the return of Aslan all over again.

So I marked this day on my calendar a full three weeks ago and began counting down the days. I christened it "Sunshine Day"—the first annual celebration, if you will. Frank thought the whole thing was pretty funny and pointed out, "Just you wait. January 28 you're going to end up having to stay late at work and missing this whole sunshine thing you keep talking about."

He was partially right. Instead, I got a work-from-home Snow Day today. But don't you worry, I'm still doing the day up in style. As we speak I'm baking chocolate chip cookies while singing "Here comes the sun" in celebration. (There might also be some epic kitchen ballet going on in there too—the ol' wool socks plus wood floors combo.)

Happy Sunshine Day to all of you, dear friends! I hope you enjoy the bright rays in the midst of all this cold! And if you live in a place where the sun has been setting after 5:00 p.m. for a while now, please don't tell me. Just go count your blessings.

And now a break to talk about Aquinas and Beer

Last week Frank sent Matt (Lillian's fiance) this article about how Catholics in the 13th century used to try baptizing their babies with beer—a practice which has since been condemned. (But we still love our beer.)

via

Matt responded by writing up this little piece imitating Thomas Aquinas in the Summa Theologica ... if Thomas had written about baptism by beer.

Note: This is completely satire!!! This is not to be taken seriously.

(But it's absolutely hilarious.)

(You have to read the whole thing.)

Article 1.  Whether beer is inappropriate for Baptism.
Objection 1.  It would seem beer is appropriate for baptism, for beer is the highest substance known to Man, and so a fitting vehicle for the grace of the Highest Being.  There is no other liquid more worthy of the honor.
Objection 2.  It would seem that the use of beer for valid baptism would prevent the protestant heretics from misunderstanding God's intentions about its inherent goodness and appropriateness for consumption.
Sed contra: Beer to be used in the process of baptism is likely to become lukewarm, soiled, or otherwise undesirable, rendering it unfit for use, much like Miller Lite.
I answer that the objects of God's glorious creation have ends that are entailed by their nature.  The nature of beer is to assist in the enjoyment of that creation and to enliven the spirits and loosen the conversation of those made in God's image, which will only lead them closer to the beatific vision.  Thus the proper end of beer is to be consumed in beverage form.
Reply to objection one: One may likewise claim that it would have been fitting for God to appear on Earth as a powerful king.  Yet He chose the lowliest of births for His Son, and the most gruesome, lowly death.  According to Athanatius, Christ's Glory was thus increased, as this action enabled Him to redeem even the lowliest of His creation.  Likewise, God chose water, the lowliest and plainest of liquids, for the Sacrament of Baptism.
Reply to objection two: God already tried that with wine.

Frank and I died laughing. And yes, this probably isn't funny if you're not familiar with the Summa, and yes, we're huuuuuuge nerds. But oh man, I loved it. I'm so glad my future brother-in-law is so witty—and especially glad that his sense of humor matches up perfectly with Frank's and mine. Many good times to come.

Really really really good news!

Ever since watching the amazing movie The Business of Being Born (highly recommended!) and reading Ina May's Guide to Childbirth on the recommendation of a friend who is a birthing doula, I've been really interested in and curious about natural childbirth - maybe even home birth (although don't tell my dad that; he's a doctor and very suspicious of home births, as most doctors are). A birthing center is the best of both worlds: the freedom and flexibility of home birth with access to all the medical technology of a hospital birth in case something goes wrong. Now that I know we are moving to Illinois, I couldn't be more thrilled that the first birth center in Illinois is opening up... maybe it will even be ready by the time Frank and I start having kids! Seriously, guys, I know I haven't talked about my interest in birth on this blog before and this all probably sounds super random, but you can't even imagine how happy and excited I am right now!

In other news, I spent the weekend watching Downton Abbey and finished the entire first season. Even though I'm a year behind the rest of America, I'm really excited about that too, because it's only the second time in my entire life that I've finished a whole season of a TV show! My short attention span (think goldfish levels) won't allow for it. So this is also a major accomplishment!

Lately I'm hibernating more than usual because I've taken on some freelance editing projects for evenings and weekends. I'm saving up money to buy a laptop (mine is 6 years old and moves at a glacial pace), and with how much I've been spending on wedding-related expenses and travel, saving from my paycheck has been hard. These extra projects are a real godsend at this time, but they are keeping me pretty busy! Happily I got a lot of work on those done over the weekend too.

I also made homemade brownies for the first time.

On Monday night, I took a rare break from my newly hermit-like existence to go to Theology on Tap with a bunch of friends. My main goal was to introduce my single guy friends to my single girl friends. What I didn't expect was that my single friends wouldn't be the only ones getting hit on.

I was talking to a girl friend when a blind man came over to befriend us. He shook our hands and asked for our names. After chatting with her for a minute, he turned to me, took my hand and began asking a bunch of questions. "What's your name?" "Have I met you before? "Where do you live?" "What's your last name?" "What nationality is that?" I felt really uncomfortable being grilled like that, and I didn't like that he kept holding my hand, but I didn't want to be rude or hurt his feelings. The conversation continued, and when he found out I was Spanish, he asked if I could speak Spanish. When I said, "Yes," he said in Spanish, "I'm so glad we met. Can I please have your number? I'd like to take you to a concert this weekend."

You guys. I DIED. Not only was this overly-friendly man holding my hand and asking me on a date, but he was doing it in Spanish, so my friends couldn't understand what was going on or why I had turned bright red.

I very politely told him in Spanish, "Thank you for the invitation but I am getting married in three months."

GAHHHH.

He congratulated me very nicely and said he wished me and my fiance the best, and then went on his merry way. I collapsed on the table, bright red and feeling extremely awkward and embarrassed. Why couldn't he have grabbed my left hand instead of my right??! When I explained what had happened, my friends, of course, thought it was the funniest thing ever. Thanks, guys. Not helpful.

Anyway, after that Conor and I talked for a long time because we were the only non-single people in the group and we wanted our single friends to mingle with each other. His girlfriend is moving here very soon and he is pretty ecstatic about that little fact. I'm really excited to spend more time with her and I'm so so happy for Conor that they won't have to date long-distance anymore. It's only been two weeks since Frank moved away, but I'm already very ready for this long-distance gig to be over.

And now for the very best news of all... one of my articles has been accepted for publication at an amazing place! I can't say more yet, but I will definitely keep you posted. I can't tell you how joyful this news makes me. I have sorely missed journalism since college. I used to write an article every week for the campus newspaper, which was an amazing discipline, and I so enjoyed that thrill of seeing my writing in print. I'm ready to bring my ten-month hiatus from journalism to an end, so this news came at a very welcome time.

That's my February so far!

of milkshakes and vigils and laughs on the metro

Last night Meg and I went to get milkshakes after our weekly vigil with 40 Days for Life.

First, a little clarification. The last time I wrote about my pro-life activism, in the post linked to above, I described it as difficult and draining. I would like to state for the record that, this time around, it's anything but. Six of my friends - three girls and three guys - have signed up for the same time slot with me and we have so. much. fun. Yes, we pray a rosary every week, and we hold signs ("Choose Life!" and "Women Deserve Better"). But we also catch up with each other and have interesting conversations with passersby. This year, with a larger group, it's a lot less scary and a lot more fun.

Anyway, so yesterday being my saint's day, Meg and I decided to get milkshakes after our vigil. She moved last month, and as we took the metro to her new neighborhood, she was all excited to show me her new apartment.

The metro was still pretty crowded at 7:30 p.m. but we managed to get seats next to each other. As the train began slowing down before her stop, Meg stood up and walked towards the doors. I, on the other hand, stayed put.

"Come on Tess," she said. "This is my stop."

"I know," I said. "But I always wait until the metro car stops moving before I get up."

A few people in the metro car gave me funny looks, so I quickly added an explanation.

"I have really poor balance," I said.

Everyone in the metro car started laughing. And I began laughing too as the silliness of what I had just said hit me.

One guy said, "You and me both!" as the train stopped and I finally stood up and walked off the metro.

Meg and I laughed all the way up the escalator. I can't remember the last time I belly-laughed like that. It was perfect.

When I told Frank about the incident later, he laughed and said, "I would have given anything to be there!"

So now I'm sharing my silly story with you, in the hopes that it will make you laugh too.

The Saga of the Muddy Boots

I made a friend in the elevator at work this morning, and made myself look silly in the elevator at home. Both of these incidents came about because of a very troublesome pair of boots.

I have these very large, fairly waterproof black boots. I wore them when I was at the March for Life and the poor things got so caked in mud that, a month later, they still looked dreadful. I didn't know what to do about it except wait for a really good rainstorm (I don't have a hose and I didn't want to dirty the bathtub). So the boots sat in my room, all this time, looking at me forlornly.

Like this but cuter

This morning I awoke to the rainy day of my dreams. The sky was gray and noisy. Veritable lakes of puddles covered the sidewalk. I decided not to blow-dry my hair because I knew it didn't stand a chance on a day like this.

Frank picked me up for Mass and then we cooked breakfast at my house. He was driving to class this morning so he offered to give me a ride to the metro. Just as I was walking out the door in a pair of high heels, I remembered the boots.

"Oh! Wait!" I exclaimed, running back to grab them. "My boots! I have to get them all wet today so they'll finally be clean!"

"Do you want to put them on now?" he offered kindly. But I knew we were short on time and I didn't want him to be late for class.

"Nah, it's fine," I said. "I'll put them on in the elevator."

We pressed the button and stepped into an empty elevator. Working quickly, I took off one of my high heels and stuffed it into my bag. I shoved my foot into a boot, but just as I got it on all the way, the elevator "dinged."

Drat. Other people.

I looked down at my feet. One was clad in a knee-high rubber boot and the other in a very high heel.

This is going to be awkward.

Three other people got on. Now the elevator was so full that I didn't have room to bend over and put the other boot on. Doing my best to look dignified, I clutched the mud-caked boot and tried to hide it behind the bag containing my high heel. I prayed that no one would look down.

The elevator "dinged" again. Not more people, I thought.

A blond girl got on. Her hair was nicely done, her outfit was perfect.

Worst of all, her shoes matched.

She waved at Frank with a bright smile.

"Hi, Frank!" she said.

"Oh, hey," he said back.

She looked at him, she looked at me, and then she looked at my feet.

I died.

When the elevator finally reached the lobby after what seemed like a million years, I waited for her to walk away before stepping out of the elevator. I leaned against the wall and shamefacedly put on my other boot.

Then Frank said, "That girl is in one of my classes... and I can't remember her name!"

That made me laugh and I felt better.

We walked to his car, and I took care to jump in every single puddle on the way while he laughed at me. (I feel like a lot of our relationship consists of him laughing, affectionately, at my shenanigans.) Then I carefully inspected my shoes. No improvement. That mud was caked on.

"I'm going to have to get these things really wet," I told Frank as he dropped me off at the metro and lent me his umbrella too (because that guy is a hero, let me tell you).

When I got off at the metro station near work, I knew I had a job to do. I only had 6 blocks to walk until my building. The rain and the puddles wouldn't be around forever. My boots needed to get clean.

And so, my friends, I splashed. And by splashed I mean jumped, with both feet, and waded and sloshed my way through puddle after puddle. I felt like a 5-year-old (a very happy 5-year-old). I got those boots nice and wet, so wet that I could feel water seeping into my toes. It was awesome.

As I splashed, I began to acquire a little fan club. Because how often do you see an adult woman in professional clothes splashing in puddles? I mean really, how often? People were staring at me and a lot of them were smiling. A man who works in my building grinned as we both entered the lobby.

"I want some boots like that!" he said appreciatively.

We got on the elevator together and I admitted ruefully, "It is a little silly."

"Nah," he said, "It's just the right thing to do on a rainy day like this." We parted with smiles as new friends.

And when I got up to my floor, I discovered that my boots were still muddy.

So I gave up, went to the bathroom, and wiped them clean with paper towels. Because I can't splash in puddles forever.

And that, my friends, is the story of how I looked like a fool, acquired a fan club, and made a new friend within a one-hour window this morning. All because of a pair of muddy boots.