The Kitchen Alchemist: Onion and Potato Stew

April 30, Feast of St. Pius V.  (And historically St. Walpurgis's Eve, the night before May Day!)

"In which I try to make healthful, affordable, easy meals:

in other words, throwing together ingredients in hopes of creating gold."

A remnant from Lent.  I'd had a difficult time finding vegetable stock, out of which I make my staple fasting soups, but I did get some onion-flavored Oxo gravy granules.  It sounds sort of icky, but it's basically a bouillon cube all powdered up.

I started boiling potatoes without any real plan, then saw the onion gravy in the cupboard and added several spoonfuls of it in for flavor, until I liked the color and consistency in the water and the taste (I like it strong).  But I needed a little something else besides potatoes, and we didn't have any other vegetables in the house.  So I added your standard off-brand noodles from a bag and continued cooking until everything was soft and consistent.

You know what?  I really liked it, and so did Afon!  Very hearty and flavorful, and if you like the taste of onions, which I love, then it's a treat for the tongue as well as time-friendly.

Time // B

Ease // A+

Presentation // B+

Affordability // A-

Health // C+

Taste // A-

Not bad!  Health got the lowest rating because of white flour carbs, starchy potatoes and a near intravenous injection of sodium from the gravy granules.  Still vegan, though--hey!

Liturgical Living: Not Like Any Other Night

April 18, Holy Saturday.

I spent most of the day Thursday cooking a (sort of?) traditional Sedar meal for our little family.  I've celebrated a Sedar meal before but never hosted one myself, but living intentionally and liturgically this past year has given me the courage to attempt bigger and bigger projects.  Also, I couldn't have done it without the Academy: my husband, John, who went out twice to different grocery stores to fetch me ingredients and the normally functioning oven, a great improvement to the Florida stove that burnt everything if I didn't shave off a fifth of the baking time in every recipe and the fire alarm that sounded at the slightest provocation and slight rise in temperature, not to mention normal steam and the occasional sparse smoking.

I got all the recipes from CatholicCulture.org, which has become a staple resource in my intention to live liturgically.

The matzah bread was so easy and came out beautifully, if not as flat as what you can buy in the store.  I don't think north Wales has a very large existing Jewish population.)  The only flour I had was self-rising flour, and we make use of what we have around here.  Especially after spending what we did on a leg of lamb.  (More on that later.)  My father-in-law called the "matzah" rustic (compliment).  It only uses three ingredients: flour, water, and salt.  It was so easy and tasty, I'm going to make this flatbread throughout the liturgical year, I think, and season it with green herbs, like this fresh thyme we have growing the back garden, and slathered with butter.

The matzah is the unleavened bread.  And, no, it is absolutely not a coincidence that this setup looks like the host and paten at a Catholic Mass.  The parallel is utterly intentional.

Chopped apples and nuts soaked in wine with sugar and cinnamon make charoses, meant to symbolize the mortar that the Hebrews made when they were slaves in Egypt.

The egg is for new life, and the "bitter" herbs dipped in salt water reminiscent of the bitterness of our Hebrew ancestors in slavery.  (We also couldn't find horseradish.)

Before preparing this time-consuming though uncomplicated meal, I printed out coloring pages for Afon from Catholic Icing, a great resource that I'm sure everyone's already heard of.  Maybe in a few years' time, we'll cut out the figures and make the small-scale of DaVinci's Last Supper.

He thought all the apostles were "Jesus."  You know, the beards and all.

I'd never made lamb before, so I opted for well done with only the slightest bit of pink around the bones.  The recipe calls for sweet marjoram and cloves, but neither were available, so I substituted oregano and some cinnamon.  We did have brown sugar.  Lots and lots of brown sugar.

That evening, John, as the patriarch of the household, enacted the role of the leader.  There comes a point in the ceremony when he breaks the bread and puts the larger part under a napkin where it is hidden, to represent the Messiah who has not yet come.  But as Catholics, we break from tradition, and eat of the hidden bread before the ceremony ends, reciting the words of Jesus at the last supper: "Do this in memory of me."

You see, our Jewish brethren come to the table of Passover with expectation and remembrance.  They are mindful of their suffering and how God liberated them when they cried out for help.  But we remember not only the exile in Egypt but the exile of Original Sin; how God offered us His Own Son as the spotless lamb to be sacrificed, to be eaten of, to spread His Blood on the wood of the cross rather than a lentil, in order to loose the chains of our spiritual slavery.  And He invites us to eat Him, each time a Mass is said, for "my Flesh is food indeed and my Blood is drink indeed."

"You see, Afon," I said, "this is what the priest does at church on Sunday, up on the altar.  It doesn't look quite like this, but this is what it is.  Only what we eat now is just a meal.  But what we eat at the Mass is not just a meal; it is true magic.  The kind of magic that makes flesh look and taste and smell and feel just like bread and blood look and taste and smell and feel just like wine.  So that Jesus can come into our mouths and go down into our tummy and be with us for the rest of the day, closer than our own heart, and nourish us there.  Because He loves us very much."

And throughout this pretty speech, Afon banged his fork and knife on the table and relocated to the couch.  But I figure after a few years of this, understanding--or, at least, the best kind of understanding a mere mortal can hope to have of the mysteries of the universe--will sink in by osmosis.

A blessed Easter Triduum to you and yours.

The Kitchen Alchemist: Fried Rice and Vegetables

April 1, Feast of St. Hugh of Grenoble, who lived in a Carthusian monastery for a time, whose rule forbids the eating of meat.  Once he found the monks assembled in the rectory with nothing to eat but fowl.  St. Hugh made the sign of the cross, and the fowl miraculously changed into turtles.  A fitting tale for Lent.

"In which I try to make healthful, affordable, easy meals:

in other words, throwing together ingredients in hopes of creating gold."

If you're just joining us, the idea for this continuing series is outlined very somberly here.  If you're new, it may or may not also be useful to know that during Lent, I give up all animal products except for fish on weekends.  Hence the extreme simplicity of the meal.  (Also, I'm a lazy creative cook.)

This meal was scrapped together from leftover rice and vegetables and turned out very well.  My favorite thing to do is to throw things together in a pan with oil.  So that worked out nicely.  Since they were leftovers, all I had were carrots and potatoes, but a more traditional recipe would use peas and other vegetables.

I always start my "stir-fry" with a glob of oil and chopped garlic.  Then I add onions, and that makes the base.  Since the carrots and potatoes had already been boiled the night before, they didn't need to be cooked through; I just browned them a bit in the pan.  Then I added a bit more oil and the rice--which, again, was already cooked.  It took about twenty minutes for the rice to fry up how I like it, but it was a pretty hands-off twenty minutes.

Vegetables taste especially nice with Worcester sauce (see my "You Know You're in Wales When" segment here), but the fish ingredient means I can't have it on weekdays.  Instead, I used vegan-friendly salt and chutney to punch up the flavor.  We ate it with salad greens and drank cherry brandy for dessert.  It was popular with our friend Glyn, who is joining the Eastern Orthodox Church this Easter, and so can't have animal products either.

Glyn, Afon, and Rupert having fun after dinner.

Report card time:

Time  //  B

Ease  //  A

Presentation  //  B+

Affordability  //  A

Health  //  A

Taste  //  B+

The time would have gotten a B+ or A- because it was pretty effortless, but I took into consideration that it only works if you have leftovers.  If you try this or something similar, let me know.

Five Favorites (vol. 51): Lenten Essentials

1  //  coconut milk

2  //  Annie's Naturals Goddess salad dressing

3  //  unsweetened almond milk

4  //  lentils

5  //  Vegenaise

Mid-Lent calls for a Lenten fast line-up.  I mentioned many of these last year, but I'm discovering how much I loved them now that I can't find them.  They or similar products are probably available at a bigger store like Tesco or Morrisons, but within walking-distance are Aldi or the Co-Op, and they limit their stock to English and Welsh staples.  Delicious!  But very buttery.

These products aren't just great for Lent but for any time, and I made use of them all year long.  The coconut milk (for cooking, not drinking) is an essential for Thai curry.  Lentils go in lots of soups and the occasional Indian experiment.  Vegenaise is a good substitute for mayonnaise; just don't expect it to taste exactly the same and enjoy it for what it is, and it's delicious!  And a tip from the experienced non-dairy milk drinker: if you get something like almond milk, coconut milk, rice milk, etc., look carefully at the label to make sure that it says unsweetened.  They sneak in a ton of sugar to make it taste nice, and I don't blame "them," but if you're aiming for a healthy option, there's no need for the extra calories.

Hope you're Lent is going well.  See more community favorites at Moxie Wife.

The Kitchen Alchemist: Birthday Cake

Feb. 19, Feast of St. Gabinus, relative of the emperor Diocletian and father of St. Susana, who supported his daughter's refusal to marry a Pagan and retain her vow of virginity.  She was beheaded, and St. Gabinus starved to death in prison.

"In which I try to make healthful, affordable, easy meals:

in other words, throwing together ingredients in hopes of creating gold."

I made this cake for Afon's birthday (the day of, not the party), and googled recipes literally five minutes before pulling the ingredients together from the depths of my parents' pantry.  I picked this one for easiness and ingredients.  But the majority of my family members are squeamish about whole milk (why?), so when I came to that part, I improvised a little.  In addition to the watery, flavorless skim milk, I added two spoonfuls of sour cream hoping to thicken it up a little.  Oh, yeah.  It thickened it all right.

After the cake came out of the oven (not burnt!!), I googled icing recipes, and narrowed down the results by which ones called for shortening.  I'd always wanted to use the innocent and unused vegetable Crisco minding its own business at the back of the spice drawer.  I actually loved this icing.  I'm not that into buttercream, but this had an almost floury taste to it which I loved.  And it was easy to whip up, easy to apply.

When Afon saw me preparing the cake, he took a full two seconds to register what was happening, turned sharply on his heel, went to the cutlery drawer, and came back with a spoon, ready to dig in.  I was able to hold him off with a compromise: he licked the icing and batter spoons, and I kept the cake intact for later.

Three out of five liked my dense, doughy cake; one of them being Afon, who gives two thumbs up to anything with sugar.  My mom and I liked it (also sugar fans).  But my father and sister thought it tasted weird.  Do with that what you will.

Time  //  A

Ease //  A

Presentation  //  A+

Affordability  //  A-

Health  //  D

Taste  //  B

Yep.

The Kitchen Alchemist

Feb. 7, Feast of St. Romuald, abbot and founder of the Camaldolese order in the eleventh century.

"In which I try to make healthful, affordable, easy meals:

in other words, throwing together ingredients in hopes of creating gold."

You know I like my fairy tale metaphors.  c;

There are far better cooks and far better cooking advice out there.  And while I can follow a recipe well enough, my attention is often fragmented (the writer's curse!) and my patience strained.  My favorite type of meal to make is one in which I open the pantry, pull out some ingredients I think would be complimentary, toss them in one pan or pot on the stove, and eat it!

So far, my experiments have been mildly successful.  Probably because of their extreme simplicity.  And I've got pictures.  Lots of pictures.

So I'm going to start documenting my kitchen experiments here, on a not-regular-basis.  I say "not regular" rather than "irregular" because even that word summons an inkling of competency that I lack.  It'll go something like this: ingredients, preparation, and then exams, graded on the rubric of  Time // Ease // Presentation // Affordability // Health // Taste.

 Anyway, stick around for more if you're interested.  It's going to be ridiculous.

Liturgical Living: Twelfth Night Cake

Jan. 6, Feast of St. Andre Bessett and Feast of the Epiphany of Our Lord (old calendar).

Made from this recipe.  Except with almost all of the ingredients changed or left out.  Because running to the grocery store is never an option.  And I'm American!  In America, no self-respecting "cake" has fruit in it, anyway!

It was really, really, really good, especially soaked in red wine cocktail.  Happy Epiphany!

Seven Quick Takes: Volume 28

Dec. 21, Feast of St. Peter Canisius, priest and doctor.  This remarkable Jesuit almost single-handedly re-evangelized Central Europe, founded dozens of colleges, revitalized Catholicism with his prodigious writings, and laid the groundwork for the Catholic Reformation north of the Alps.  Declared a Doctor of the Church in 1925, he is patron of Germany, the Catholic press, and catechism writers.  Also, east of St. Thomas the Apostle in the Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite.

I've got out of 7 Quick Takes lately, mostly because I'm really bad at them (ask an absentminded bookworm professor type to do anything "quick," I dare you!), but there are some days that I just have a lot of little things to say, and this is one of them.  So, without further ado:

-- 1 --

I waffle between under- and over-exaggerating my struggles.  What one day seems to be a true-to-life, honest examination of what's-happening seems on other days like a drama queen performance; what is judicial silence and determination of irrelevance on good days seems like prideful denial on bad ones.

I hope I didn't upset anyone too much by my "confessions" yesterday.  It's hard to know how to say it.  I've been put into place by dear ones who remind me to be a reverse Pharisee by denying need when need is real is not the Christian way.  Especially if I'm not at the place spiritually where I really don't care about my own suffering (pray that I get better at that, won't you?).  But it's all relative.  When I see what others are going through--a mother of two under two who just found out this Christmastime that she has cancer; a dear friend whose husband is dying; a coworker who admits she has never felt happy in her entire life; a relative who spends Christmas alone because her only son died years ago--I realize my issues are drops in an ocean of suffering.

So somewhere between everything-is-fine and the-world-is-ending, there's me.  I just wanted to share my thoughts as an exercise in reflection, in hopes it could help others the way it helped me.  And you needn't worry: I've come to the conclusion about a year back that I would not be too proud to ask for help--but I would only ask for that help if it's truly needed.

-- 2 --

And how the Lord provides!  I should have mentioned during the mild ranting that at the company Christmas party I got a gift card to Subway and a Christmas bonus; my EBT card was spontaneously renewed when I went to fill out the forms online this week; the Saint Vincent de Paul Society at my parish got wind of things and insisted on sending three bags of groceries home with me last weekend; my grandmother wrote a generous check for my Christmas present; and my folks, though out of work for two years and struggling themselves, are still in a place where they are able to and do provide anything I might need.  The Squirt will have no lack of presents from Grandmama and Grandaddy, that's for sure!

My poverty over this Advent has truly been a spiritual one.  But even in this, there is cause for rejoicing!  For how can we merit God's graces if we don't first find the gaping lack of them?

-- 3 --

I have to say, too, that not having spare money during Advent is liberating, a gift in itself (which follows on the heels of what I concluded yesterday).  Since I don't have the resources, I can't buy gifts.  Since I don't have the time, I can't make them.  Or if I do find myself with a little extra spending money, it's going to get spent on something that really wants to be given, and not just a it's-Christmas-and-it's-what-we-do-so-I-bought-you-something-even-though-I-wasn't-sure-it's-what-you-wanted.  You know?  It's a pure philosophy of gifting, in which gifting is better for the giver than the one who receives.

I might have to write more on that later.

-- 4 --

What I'm crocheting lately:

It's sweet, isn't it?  Eventually--eventually as in when Christmas is over and I'm not rushed for time-and-money economical presents--I'm going to venture into learning how to make garments like baby hats and sweaters.  My true dream, though?  Doilies.  Lace, delicate doilies, with iron hook crochets, like what Sarah makes.  Love it.

-- 5 --

(The one my husband might not want to read!)

(Hi, cariad!)

Speaking of clothing, learning how to sew has been on my radar for a while, at first as just a fun "what-if" hobby, then as a "cool people are doing it" scenario, and finally as a "I really want to make my own clothes someday" resolution.  And I don't mean in the fashion-y sense, though it'd be fun to experiment and make things inspired by otherwise obsolete fashions or considered un-cool by today's standards.  But also because things have been developing over the last two years in a direction of greater self-sufficiency and homemakery--or at least, my attraction to them has.  And certain shifts in income and lifestyle seem to support a change in that direction.

I've always had an inexplicable attraction (one of many) to spinning; and as I've picked up my crochet hook again this past autumn, I've let my mind wander along the story of production.  Even yarn from Walmart can rack up unnecessary expenses, if you're talking about really making things to supplement what you would ordinarily buy from a store.  With the handsome spindle given to me by a friend, I can spin my own yarn.  But I still have to buy the wool, and that's not something that's easily accessible either.  So get a sheep, I say to myself--or at least a cat or a dog or something, and use their fur to make your own thread, to crochet your own things.  But while we're at it, why not keep chickens, so we can have our own eggs, and maybe poultry.  In fact, why not throw in a farm?

-- 6 --

I know it seems incompatible with the prim, preppily dress girl in these photos, but my interest in semi-self-sufficiency--via either farming, urban homesteading, or community gardening--has steadily grown.  It started with an affection for rural life and peaked my interest as distributism when reading Chesterton.  Now I've come to know, on varying degrees of intimacy, families and individuals who are learned in, striving toward, or who actively maintain this alternative lifestyle.  The best part is that it's lock-in-key complimentary to the liturgical lifestyle we're already pursing.

In my internet wanderings, I've come upon a resource called the New Catholic Land Movement.  There is a greater dignity in seeing the product you have created, rather than doing abstract work for a symbol of a symbol of wealth (checks are imaginary money, and money is just made out of paper, and that paper is supposed to symbolize the gold in the national vault--wha??); or earning your daily bread by just spreading around ideas and things, rather than creating them--or worse, using and destroying them.  I see all these exceptional, lovingly and quality made items on Etsy that I actually covet, and I think, 'the only thing that keeps me from making those things myself is that I'm busy blundering doing unrelated things in order to make money so that I can eat and clothe myself and my family.'  But wouldn't it just be simpler and more satisfying to remove that nonsense in the middle and just do something that has an immediate, practical, and good end--like planting seeds for food, or keeping sheep to spin thread, or building the things you need like furniture and shelter?  A life like that wouldn't be devoid of luxury altogether, and I there's no question that there'd be a need for poets and painters, but the two types of vocations are much closer in their purpose than the modern world seems to imagine.

That's sort of the philosophy of distributism.  I know the romance would melt away for me soon enough, with hard winters and dependence on the hand of God, but I've already had to train myself in doing without, especially this past month.

-- 7 --

Last but not least, Soul Gardening is hosting its inaugural incentive offer.  Donate any amount to keep the grassroots ministry going and they will send a free copy of the award-winning "Eastern Bound" CD.  If you haven't yet, sign up to receive this quiet little journal; it is truly a must-have for any mama, stay-at-home papa, homesteader, homeschooler, or person who feels the occasional loneliness of isolation and wants lifting up by the black-and-white printed spiritual communion of the Church on earth, Catholic or no.  And oh my, the illustrations are so humbly breathtaking!

Join Jen at Conversion Diary for 7 Quick Takes Friday!

Late Autumn Tea

Nov. 22, Feast of St. Cecilia, married virgin and martyr.  She is patroness of composers, martyrs, music, musicians, musical instrument makers, poets, and singers.

In climes farther north, it's still barely autumn.  The crops are all harvested; the birds are flown; everyone tucks in quietly with their winter stash of soul-stuffing foods; all that is left is to wait.

Now is the waiting time, a perfect preparation and meditation on the coming Advent.  Before the preparations close in on us and make us lose sight of the essence of the coming holidays, November gives us time to rest and reflect; and also to kindle hearts with old friends at a bountiful table, with the hot tea kept flowing, and the cakes and conversation abundant.

I'm most pleased as as a hostess to stand apart and wait on my guests.  Maybe it's because of my college days as a waitress, but I have my own self-imposed standards of hospitality, especially at a tea party.  I don't want to sit, eat, or drink until everyone is served, content, nearly finished.  It's rewarding to me to see my friends and guests enjoying themselves, and I don't necessarily have to be in the center of that.

I had my help, of course!  My little spirit sister rose eagerly to attend to me in the kitchen whenever asked, and a talented woman who works at the childcare center with me made this cake for us au gratis . . . I couldn't believe her generosity!  She runs a business from home called Secret Recipe Cakes.  If you're local, you must commission her!  Moist and thick pumpkin cake with silky pumpkin mouse topped with chai butter-cream frosting and fondant sunflowers.  I knew it would taste amazing, and it didn't disappoint.

The Menu

*made by me

~ made by friends

Finger Foods

rye cocktail bread with pumpkin cheese spread

red velvet cake truffles

pumpkin butter* and crackers

candy corn cupcakes~

Soup

carrot and parsnip*

Salad

Miss Cathy's Ruby Jubilee Salad,

with cranberries, almonds, feta, and a raspberry vinaigrette dressing*

Sandwiches

Miss Cathy's almond chicken salad* on a croissant

brie and apricot jam on a croissant

mixed fruit

Dessert

blueberry crumble cake~

pumpkin cake with pumpkin mousse filling and chai butter-cream iciing~

Teas

Irish Breakfast

Early Grey

English Breakfast

Lady Grey

Chai Apple

Darjeeling

China Oolong

with cream,

natural stevia, pure maple syrup, honey, and/or agave nectar

My little friends (not so little anymore!) brought me hostess gifts of November-themed illustrations in delicate frames to accent my decor.  The younger one made blueberry crumble bread and candy corn cupcakes.  Their mother gave me a tea cup with a dainty doily and hand-crocheted pot holder.  She gave me six delicate tea spoons from her own collection about six months earlier.  My adopted godmother brought me a sweet-smelling holy oil, blessed by a priest renowned for the gift of healing.  I'm grateful for it in these days of on-and-off illness.  My mother loaned me her sweet Thanksgiving china and autumn tea pot.

But the best gifts of all were the gifts of their company, of their presence.  Of the old friends brought together with new friends, whether in actuality or in spirit.

A blessed and cozy November to you!

Today

Nov. 18, Feast of St. Rose Philippine Duchesne, a French nun of the Order of the Sacred Heart who became a missionary to the Potawatomi in America at the age of 71.  Her convent was a wigwam, and the Indians called her "the woman who always prays."  She is patroness against the opposition of Church authorities.

Today, I am. . .

Feeling . . . better.  Almost energetic.  Saturday I woke up feeling OK for the first time in nine days.  Also, agitated at the unfailing humidity. 

Seeing . . . all of the ridiculously cute and affordable clothing I stockpiled for the Squirt for the winter.  They're size 3, so they'll last through next year!  Poor child has looked like a ragamuffin for the past year or so, what with hand-me-downs and the distinctive lack of attractive and fashionable toddler boy clothes for reasonable prices.  I got him three sweaters, a cardigan, a polo, a long-sleeved polo, and four pairs of non-jean pants!  All right! 

Next time, maybe I'll even buy something for me! 

Smelling . . . the Squirt's lavender bedtime body wash.  Soothing. 

Tasting . . . rosemary and thyme, sauteed with mushrooms, onions, and garlic in olive oil for our dinner. 

Listening . . . to the tumble and click of the sheets in the dryer.  Monday is my day to clean the bedroom, and that means wash day! 

Grateful . . . to have good spells in-between my poor health.  And for the poor health, too, so that I can offer it for souls. 

Reading . . . Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card.  I have a theory that if I agreed to read Twilight or another favorite of Jenna's, I'd actually read Harry Potter for once!  When you've made a commitment to do something, why is everything else so tempting? 

Loving . . . the latest updates to Picmonkey. 

Hoping . . . for a secret hope.  <3

See more sensory notes at Masha's.

Liturgical Living: Hallowmas

Nov. 5, Feast of Sts. Zechariah and Elizabeth, parents of St. John the Baptist.

We had a good Hallowmas.  On Thursday, we feasted and went in disguise in the dark, meeting other strange but friendly folk along the way.  We knocked on doors, said magic words, and were greeted with warm smiles (as well as pumpkin grins) and plenty of sweets.  We visited with dear ones, then came home late to set up an altar for the dead--not to worship or fear, but to pray for and offer penance--with a carved pumpkin to light and welcome them, much as they had for us earlier that night; food and drink to show hospitality; and the saints to guide them home.  We lit the candle for our icons and slept safe and sound, and God let pass over us all the evil things, as we knew He would.

Oh, what did we disguise ourselves as, you ask?  I'm glad you did!

Pointy hat not pictured.

Yes, yes.  Get it out of your system.

Seriously, though?  It never gets old.

Very appropriate for the Harry Potter book club, especially Jenna's introductory post this week.

Anyway, to get the full effect of our night out and about, see the group pics:

Despite the late night, we rose again early next morning for Mass and the Feast of All Saints.  I just love this holy day.  It's only fitting that it surpass the night of old danger--the jovial mockery of mortality and the reverence for death preceding resurrection, followed by their joyful glory!  I got to finish the night off with a young friend of mine at a Michael Buble concert, so there is that.

The following Sunday, our parish youth group held a little saints' festival, with a procession, a pot-luck, saints' booths, and some games.

Can you guess which saint is which?

I sneaked in and drew Little Nellie when no one was looking because she is my son's favorite saint.  (And by favorite, I mean, she's my favorite, and am always talking to him about her.)  At the end, the older kids were admiring it and asking who drew it.  But I said nothing, and no one thought to ask me.  I sort of hope they think she came down and did it herself.  Child saints are mischievous like that!

All Souls' Day dawned wet and dreary.  We heard Mass said and prayed for the dead.  I intended to visit the cemetery but the night drew on early, and time sped away.  Later, I discovered that there are many plenary indulgences available for the souls in Purgatory during this week.  (Also see the Today section of any day between November 1st and 8th at CatholicCulture.org, at the very bottom, to get detailed information on the plenary indulgences.)  So, we've got to find our way out there before All Souls' Week ends.  We wrote the names of loved ones passed (and the passed of our loved ones) on the envelope to lie before the tabernacle all month and baked a soul cake to welcome ghosts.  But we mostly just ate it ourselves!

I didn't get to unravel my profuse and tangled thoughts on Catholic Hallowe'en . . . it may still be forthcoming, especially since it has so much to do with wonder, holy superstition, and the world of Faerie working in the Christian cosmos.  So we're rapping up Halloween Week a little bit late here on Everything to Someone, but as November is the month of the Holy Souls, it seems fitting that the macabre themes of All Hallows' Eve should follow into the last month of autumn.  November is, after all, a bare month, distilled and pensive.

The stripped and shapely
Maple grieves
The loss of her
Departed leaves. 

The ground is hard,
As hard as stone.
The year is old,
The birds are flown. 

And yet the world,
Nevertheless,
Displays a certain
Loveliness-- 

The beauty of
The bone.  Tall God
Must see our souls
This way, and nod. 

(From the poem "November" by John Updike)