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Archive for January, 2013

His critics and his fans . . . both kinda right.  This book is definitely worth buying, but think twice about giving it to people looking for loopholes.

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Have you read Christopher West?  Have you been scared off by his critics?  Are you fully convinced that his critics have actually read Christopher West?  Tell, tell!

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~A Morning for Mothers~

Please join in celebrating Candlemas with

Simcha Fisher

 on Saturday, February 2, 2013

from 9:30 am to 11:30 am

in the Parish Center at St. Bernadette Church

266 Main Street, Northborough, MA

~

A Catholic wife and mother of 9, author and speaker, Simcha writes

for several publications, including the National Catholic Register.

You can also find her at www.simchafisher.wordpress.com.

Simcha will give a talk entitled,

“Beautiful Stranger: Making Contact with the Mother of God.”

~

A light brunch is included. 

The cost is $10, payable in cash at the door.

 

Space is limited, so if you plan to attend, please contact Sheila Towne at

 townes9@yahoo.com

Download the flyer here:  A Mother’s Morning

 

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Have you met Freddy the Pig?

No Register post today, while I get caught up on a thing or two.  In the mean time, a quick reading recommendation.  We’ve been listening to an audiobook of Freddy the Detective by Walter R. Brooks in the car, and it is ridiculously entertaining.  (The link is to the print version of the book; there are links to the audio version and other formats if you click through.)

freddy the detective

The kids ask to hear it over and over again (it’s a full-length book, 270 pages), but I haven’t gotten tired of it yet.  The plot moves along nicely and has structure and logic, but you can drop in at any time and be amused by the nutty little descriptions and anecdotes that fill the story.  I laugh every time we get to the moment when Freddy the Pig realizes that Mrs. Wiggins (who is a cow, and more sensible than the other cows, Mrs. Wogus and Mrs. Wurzburger, but still a cow) has been contributing to the newest problem on Mr. Bean’s farm, which is that their new jail has become a little too popular:

You have probably never seen a cow blush.  And indeed, the sight is unusual.  There are two reasons for this.  One is that cows are a very simple people, who do whatever they feel like doing and never realize that sometimes they ought to be embarrassed.  You might think they lack finer feelings.  And in a way they do.  They are not sensitive.  But they are kind and good-natured, and if sometimes they seem rude, it is only due to their rather clumsy thoughtlessness.

The other reason is that cows’ faces are not built for blushing.  But as Mrs. Wiggins was so talented above her sisters in other directions, it is not to be marveled at that she could blush very handsomely.

Her flush deepened as Freddy spoke.  “Why, I– now that you speak of it,” she stammered, “I see that you’re right, but — well, Freddy — land’s sakes — I might as well confess it to you, I got to feeling sorry for those prisoners myself yesterday, especially those two goats.  It seemed such a pity that they couldn’t be jumping round in the hills instead of sweltering in that hot barn.  And I went out and brought them a nice bunch of thistles for their supper.”

Freddy frowned.  “That’s just it!”  he exclaimed.  “That’s just it.  Sentimentality, that’s what’s going to ruin our jail. I did think, Mrs. W., that you had more sense.”
The cow looked a little angry.  “If I knew what you were talking about,” she said stiffly, “perhaps I might agree with you.”

“Being sentimental?” said Freddy.  “I’ll tell you what it is.  It’s going round looking for something or someone to cry over, just for the fun of crying.  You knew you weren’t doing those goats any good.  You just wanted to have a good time feeling sorry.”

The nice thing about Mrs. Wiggins was that she always admitted it when she was wrong.  She did so now after she thought about it for a few minutes.  “I guess you’re right, Freddy.  I won’t do it again. . . “

Brooks fills his Freddy books with fully-realized animal characters — all believable, and most immensely likable.  Once you meet them, you will never forget Uncle Wesley, the pompous duck, and his easily-impressed nieces, Alice and Emma; the stout-hearted but sarcastic cat Jinx, the vicious rats, the emotionally fragile rabbits, the malicious fly, Zero, and dozens and dozens of others.

The human characters are also a hoot.  Freddy first discovers a robber’s hideout when he sees the two outlaws taking turns on an old swing, trying to shoot bricks out of the chimney when they get high enough.  And one robber is always knitting, and nagging the other one about not dressing warmly enough when he goes out robbing at night.

As you can see, the language is at a high level, but is wonderfully clear and lively.  It’s full of ideas, but it never even comes close to being preachy.  It’s an extraordinarily good-natured universe that these animals live in.  My 3- and 5-year-old kids seem to follow the plot perfectly well, and the older kids (girls and boys) are as amused and entertained as I am.

There are 26 Freddy the Pig books in all!  Do check them out — I can’t imagine anyone not liking Freddy the Pig and his friends.  If you can get your hands on the audio version, we think narrator John McDonough does a great job of changing his voice to bring out the various characters.

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Goodbye Kitty!

Look what I got in the mail today!

my new hat

It’s a gorgeous, soft, handmade winter hat, just for me, with no Hello Kitty on it!  I don’t know if you can see it, but the mailer is sealed with Hello Kitty tape. This cracked me up and absolutely made my morning, and I’m going to be wearing this hat nonstop.  I love it.  Many, many thanks to reader and talented knitter Suzanne Andrews.

Boy, between this and my amazing boots (not to  mention those fabulous cookies), I think I might actually not die this winter after all, thanks to my generous readers.

Also of possible interest in this picture, just so you don’t think I’m making stuff up:  on the windowsill is a green candle in the shape of a sled, which, in a fit of doomed existential rebellion, I agreed to glue back together.  It’s “still drying.” The wooden thing behind me is a medicine chest I found on the side of the road which doesn’t seem to fit anywhere else in the house; and the white tube just visible over my right shoulder is my progesterone cream, which my children keep begging to use because it smells like horseradish.  Here’s hoping no one has the technology to blow up whatever is displayed on the computer screen.  I don’t actually remember going to any hideously embarrassing websites, but if I did, you can be sure I’d capture it on film and put it online.

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Disorganization among pro-lifers?  It’s a feature, not a bug.

Pushmi-pullyu, Two-Headed Llama

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As a proof of my love, I erased the story about why (today in particular) I love my husband so much, and I’ll just leave it at this.

This.  This link here:  http://www.ncregister.com/blog/simcha-fisher/like-it-was-part-of-his-name

WordPress, I do not love you today.

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Be careful.  Be careful.

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is that you sit down at your computer with your morning coffee and read something like this.  From Leticia Ochoa Adams:

Today is my blue eyed boy’s 13th birthday. Daniel was 5 months old when I found out my birth control failed and I was pregnant with my third child. I was working at Hooter’s and my ex-husband was a drug addict who threw me around anytime I wouldn’t give him money when he asked for it and I knew he was going on a binge. That is why I was on birth control, to make sure I didn’t get pregnant. So when I found out, in the bathroom at Hooters, that I was I was scared. Probably more scared than when I found out I was pregnant with Anthony. One girl mentioned abortion and as soon as she said it all the other girls and my manager said “you don’t have to do that. We will help you.” That’s why I love my time there. And why I am proud to say I was a Hooters Girl. Because they supported me when I needed them. When I told everyone else I was pregnant I didn’t get any congrats, or YEY another baby, or anything. I got that look. Anyone who has had kids 14 months apart or closer knows the look. Jessica Simpson is getting that look and tone right now because she is pregnant again and her baby is “only 8 months old”.

But let me tell you what the world would be missing if I had had abortion and Gabe wasn’t alive right now, if my birth control had not failed the world would be missing a wonderful human being. He has always been my little man. He was my hope when things seemed so hard. He cried for me when I would leave him. He’s the only one of my kids who ever cried for me. He is the only one of the grand kids with blue eyes. He has a wicked sense of humor. He is so smart. He started talking at 6 months old and walking at 9 months. He was so tiny walking around and talking. Mark Gabriel Jacobs is the light of my life. The world would not be the same if he was not in it. The last 13 years of being his mother have given me awesome memories and I wouldn’t trade then for the world.

I sit here today thanking God that He knew better than me and gave me this child when it made no sense for a responsible person to get pregnant. I thank Him for all my kids. If I wasn’t a mother, I would be nothing.

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God isn’t fair

If you’re going to pick apart the New Testament, you really need to read the whole thing first.

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Bright Wings

Ah!

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