Peculiar Hypotheses I Tend To Credit

When I was a wee lass my mom and dad took me on a trip to New York because my dad was going to a special training there in the summer. I think this took place in the summer between kindergarten and first grade, which would have made me five, but I don't remember exactly. I do remember that before the trip I had befriended a neighborhood cat, an orange tabby I called Tiger. I was heartsick about leaving St. Louis without saying goodbye to Tiger, and I was sure he wouldn't understand my absence. Sure enough, I never saw Tiger again. When we returned from New York in the fall, my sister told me that Tiger had come by looking for me several times, and then finally gave up.
For many years after that, no neighborhood cat would give me the time of day. I'd try to coax them to me, but they would just run off. I was convinced it was because they had all heard how I'd misused poor Tiger.
I tell this story because there's a cat named Thomas who hangs around my new place. He would always dash into the shrubbery or under the parked cars when he'd see me coming. This went on for weeks until I decided to put some effort into making friends with Thomas. Now that I'm a grownup, I know the way to a cat's heart is through his stomach, so I bought some cat treats. It still took a while, but he's gone from total disapproval of me to wary friendliness to being outright demanding.
And since becoming friends with Thomas, I have noticed something curious. All the strays I've encountered lately have been exceptionally cordial. As soon as I stoop down and do the "here kitty" routine, they come right up to me to be petted--and I'm not carrying around any cat treats, either. I'm beginning to wonder if my childhood theory is right, and cats do spread the word about the trustworthiness of particular humans.

Lectionary Stuff

Here is what we read Sunday at Mass. Some things struck me on this go-round that I hadn't noticed before:
1. Isn't it interesting how there's a molten calf in the first reading and a fattened calf in the Gospel?
2. That numerical progression in the Gospel is great: one out of a hundred sheep, one out of ten coins, one out of two sons. I can imagine the original hearers going, "I wouldn't leave ninety-nine sheep to chase one!" but having no such trouble with the coin story, and then by the time the story of the sons comes around they're totally sucked in.
3. Before we got to the readings Father mentioned how God and Moses sound like parents when a kid has gotten in trouble: "Let me tell you what your son did today...!" First God complains to Moses about "your people," and Moses answers by giving them back to God by calling them "your own people." Same motif in the Gospels, but the situation is reversed if we equate the prodigal son's father with God: this time, the elder son calls his brother "your son" when he's talking with their dad but the dad turns around and calls him "your brother."
By the way, the woman who did the first reading at our Mass did a marvelous job. When she got to God's line where he's quoting the Israelites worshipping the calf--"This is your God, O Israel,
who brought you out of the land of Egypt!"
--she gave it such a mocking tone, like one kid on the playground repeating another kid's words in singsong, that she got a giggle out of the congregation.

Continuing Adventures Of This Week

Lured by the promise of an ArtsyFartsyJesusFreak Woodstock, I went camping this weekend to an event known as "GratisFest." It featured bands like Jake Speed and the Freddies and The Pomegranates and The Psalters; primary-color-themed art projects; and a half-pipe for young skater dudes and chicks. I haven't been on a camping trip since I was, oh, one. But I had a supremely easy time of it--all I had to do was buy a sleeping bag and a cooler and borrow D.'s flashlight. My friends G. and T. let me sleep in their tent and eat their food; I didn't even have to drive, I just bummed rides to and from rural Indiana.
The first evening I helped serve ale in the makeshift pub (Price: "a penance a pint"). I stepped outside when the dusk was all gone and only night was left. There were STARS. There was even a MILKY WAY. Jake Speed and the Freddies paid tribute to the sight with a lovely rendition of the Woody Guthrie/Wilco classic "California Stars." I had brought along an H.A. Rey starbook borrowed from the library (growing up I had a copy of his Know Your Stars); I used it to make exceptionally futile attempts at identifying constellations. Over the course of the weekend, I managed to find Scorpio--that was all I gained in constellation knowledge.
The first night, Friday to Saturday, I did not sleep well, so my Saturday passed as follows:
Got up
Sat in a chair
Ate tasty food (eggs and cheese in a bagel)
Napped in the tent
Sat in a chair some more
Ate tasty food (pasta salad with tomatoes and green olives)
Napped some more
...You get the idea. I also went for a couple of walks in the fantastically picturesque woods, trying to identify elm and black walnut trees.
Saturday night The Pomegranates staged a triumph. They made me miss Pants terribly though, because she was the one that introduced the band to me, plus there was a redheaded girl dancing in front of the stage and for a fleeting moment I thought Pants had come to town to surprise us all. Alas, it was not so. But The Poms were simply incredible, particularly considering the audience was probably 75% musicians, so it would have been rather an intimidating show to play, I'd think. I expect great things from this band.
Walking back to the campsite (which by the way consisted of most of my friends and neighbors) after the concert I happened to look up as I wandered through the corn fields and saw some shooting stars. I thought--not for the first time--that I've been given a great life.

When The Stars Fall From The Sky And The Moon Has Turned Red

I've been waiting to post until I have time to write a full account, but it doesn't seem like I have the luxury of time, so I'll just have to do this in snippets.
Last week I watched the moon cease to exist. The lunar eclipse was very odd, here in Ohio. Unsettling. My friend K and I wandered through Norwood, camping out on one neighbor's porch after another, trying to keep it in sight as it sunk in the sky. When I left the house at 4:50 am, there was already a tiny bite out of the top, like out of a glowing chocolate chip cookie; the bite grew larger and larger as we watched but not very quickly (the earth it moves fast, but not all that fast) so mostly we paid it little attention, we just chatted amongst ourselves. But when there was only a tiny sliver of light left at the bottom, we kept our eyes trained on the moon, even as we had to keep finding higher ground since it was sinking fast into the trees. Then it was red, like a coal after a fire--streaked with red like that. We watched and waited for the sliver of light to return at the top but the earth it is very very large. The sky meanwhile grew lighter, the moon sank lower, and it grew more non-descript. Think of seeing the moon out in daytime, and then imagine the light cast on it by the sun is gone, and you'll get a sense of how not-bright it was. There came a point where we weren't sure we were looking at the moon at all, and so we went home without seeing it return. We wondered if it would ever come back.