Finally Saw Star Wars

Even though I spent much of the weekend eating leftover matzoh with chicken broth to recover from the stomach flu, I did get a chance to see the new Star Wars movie, and couldn't help but love it. Read further only if you are a true Star Wars geek...

Now, I didn't care much for the last one, with the goofy romance, and was truly concerned about Hayden Christensen. It didn't seem he could handle the mantle of greatness so quickly thrust upon him as the adult Anakin. But he delivered in this movie. George Lucas said he was good at dark, and man, was he dark!

You have to relate to the layers of Anakin's confusion and the slow but deliberate steps he takes towards completely losing it. Compare the scene where he beheads Count Dooku with the one where he confronts Mace Windu just about to finish off the Emperor: killing in both cases is probably justified -- they're both Sith lords on the attack -- but Anakin is muddled and never later reflects or seeks the clarity he should for himself to know right from wrong. Self-doubt starts creeping in... his fear and arrogance get in the way, and painfully and understandably, he goes right on over the edge.

Having waited for more than 25 years, I savored the final duel between Obi-Wan and Anakin. Obi-Wan's references to "the high ground" and "democracy" were corny, but I could not get enough of Anakin's raging red eyes as he lay there helplessly pissed off on the lava rocks.

And then just at the end, you have got to love Darth Vader in full gear stepping off the operating table, moaning for Padme. I didn't know whether to yell out "You are such a loser!" or to just cry. Fortunately for the people next to me, I did neither.

J's carpool's three-year-old brother had given it away for me earlier: "Ms. M, Anakin goes to the dark side. He kills Padme." But I still had the best time and must go again soon to enjoy the movie at least once more on the big screen.

At Catholic School

In case you're wondering what goes on in a Catholic school that might be different from other schools, I'll tell you right now. There's a lot more about the religion, obviously, but it comes in ways that can catch a fully post-Vatican-II Catholic like me off guard.

Today, for example, J's homework was to pray the rosary. She came home with a colored sheet of instructions plus a beautiful multicolored, hand-beaded rosary she had made in class. Thankfully, I knew what to do and got us started with the Sign of the Cross and Apostles' Creed, making our way quickly through the many Our Fathers and Hail Marys of the Joyful Mysteries. At the end, however, J insisted we weren't finished until we kissed the crucifix. I was a little confused, never having learned that part, even from my super-holy grandmother.

And then, last week at the spring concert in the school gym, we were interrupted by a prerecorded announcement: "Please stand for the prayer. In the name of the Father..." Apparently, the entire school prays together five minutes before dismissal. Most of the first grade fathers just stood there listening with their video cameras in hand, not sure what to do, while the kids followed along.

Then there are the other little devotions J has picked up: Whenever she hears a siren, she immediately stops what she's doing, makes the Sign of the Cross, and prays for the person who might be needing help as her teacher has taught her to do this year. And when the Pope died, J came home with coloring sheets and facts on the life of John Paul II. The bishop proclaimed a school holiday on the day of his funeral so students could watch at home with their parents (though most of the students ended up in hastily-arranged daycare).

Not having attended Catholic elementary school, I find these things somewhat odd, though charming, and wonder how they will affect my daughter (if at all) as she grows older.

Balikbayan Books

My friend and colleague H moonlights as a philanthropist. A teacher by trade, he and his family have recently rebuilt a library in Carrascal, his mother's hometown. Carrascal is in the province of Surigao, on the southern island of Mindanao, a place noted for its large Muslim population. "Ay," my mother said when told about H, "his mother is mora." This of course is not really true -- the family is Catholic -- but still, that's what you're called when you're from those parts.

Here is the link to the library. You can see from some of the pictures, Surigao is absolutely gorgeous. Could you imagine being able to swim, paddle, and fish on those beaches every day? But the people are very poor, and books are a great luxury. H and his family regularly gather whatever they can find here in the U.S. and send them over in large balikbayan ("homecoming") boxes. If you were to want to do the same, I could put you in contact with H, or you could try this link, an organization that distributes books to many different rural libraries in the Philippines.

It's Woo-Woo Time

We're playing coed poker at M's house tonight. It'll be the usual, Texas Hold'em, tournament style, with prizes for first through sixth place. You might have read about our parties in the news. They continue to be lot of fun, though we're all slightly paranoid now about being busted for illegal gambling, however low the stakes may be.

Featured delicacies at our poker parties have always been the same: ho-ho's, twinkies, and woo-woo's. The first two are exactly what you might be thinking of, your childhood snack cakes made by Hostess, but now served unwrapped on a silver dessert platter. The third, the woo-woo, is actually a mixed drink perfected by a friend while president of his college fraternity (SAE). I'd love to give the recipe for the tasty and potent woo-woo here, but won't without T's explicit permission.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

My daughter has noticed me typing on the computer lately. She knows I've been blogging and has been curious to know what I write. But she knows she's not supposed to read the blog, 'cause it's my work -- private -- for adults only.

A couple of days ago I found her in her room sitting at her desk writing in a diary she got as a favor at a slumber party a few weeks ago. I'm not allowed to read this and she won't share even a little with me. It's her work --private -- for kids only.

It's so hard not to want to peek!

Arnold, You Can't Afford Me

Teachers, firefighters, police officers, nurses, and others are gathering in Sacramento this afternoon to protest Governor Schwarzenegger's proposals on several issues. Silly man, how did you get half the state of California so mad at you? Haven't you read Machiavelli? You're supposed to play everyone off each other, not let them join together to gang up on you! This shows there is a real skill to politicking: Former President Clinton, aka "Slick Willie," had all the moves (sickeningly so in some cases); our actor-turned-governor doesn't (at least not publicly in the same way).

But I digress.... My purpose here is to comment on one of Governor Schwarzenegger's proposals, merit pay for teachers, that has received bipartisan support as a way to improve public education. Now of course I am all for better schools, but as a teacher, simply put, this isn't going to help.

An editorial by John Tierney in the New York Times a couple of days ago hit home with me on this issue. Research shows that women tend to prefer the security that comes with lower stakes in making career decisions. And teaching, at least at the elementary or even the high school level, is still largely a female profession. We teachers are intelligent gals, smart enough to play with the boys, though we won't necessarily take the same risks. If we were to play the game to get ahead, we'd all be lawyers instead. To do the competitive thing for merit pay, I'd expect to earn at least $150,000, what I'd be worth as a practicing attorney in the public sector.

So my point is, when designing incentives for teachers, it helps to understand their psychology. Everyone knows we (female and male) don't go into education for the money. We get our kicks from watching kids grow. And we have definite reasons for choosing education over the competitive hierarchies of business, law, or medicine. While proposals to better the teaching profession are welcome, merit-based pay is one that has little potential.

Ode To Maurice Greenberg

Maurice "Hank" Greenberg has had a rough time lately. Ousted from his lofty perch at AIG, he's been the target of a continuing investigation by New York AG Eliot Spitzer.

Family lore says that while other American companies would not sell insurance to Filipino-Americans in the late 1950's, AIG spotted the potentially lucrative market and sent my grandfather from Manila to San Francisco to set it up. The company's founder, C. V. Starr, was a Russian Jew born in Shanghai in the late nineteenth century. Because of his varied background, Mr. Starr had a business acumen that cut across traditional borders and boundaries. His successor, Mr. Greenberg, then went on to build AIG into an international powerhouse.

So in an indirect way, Mr. Greenberg's influence on our family has been tremendous. Had it not been for Mr. Greenberg and AIG, I would not be the person I am today.

How Does My Garden Grow?

I've been fooling around with website bells and whistles tonight trying to make my blog BETTER. I added a blogroll subscription sign-up to the right and a message board below it. Try using them, someone, so I can see if they work. Was also thinking of putting an email subscription service, but still can't figure out how to make that happen. Next thing to consider would be graphics. Even if nobody uses or appreciates these but me, it's still fun to have them here, like new toys.

Must get to the end of the school year. Only a few more weeks running the mommy-teacher gauntlet. And then I can play with the blog all I want.

Beware of Squirrels Bearing Walnuts

I've had a steep learning curve as a new homeowner for the past 6 years, so I thought I'd pass on this tip: Squirrels store their nuts and later forget about them. The nuts grow into trees that can be costly to remove. If you happen to find an unwanted sapling, cut it down immediately with your pruning shears for it will soon grow into a monster of a tree.

My Silver Ice Jubilee

I received a letter in the mail the other day. It was from the St. Moritz Ice Skating Club congratulating me on 25 years of membership. Not being much older than 25, it's a shock considering a silver anniversary of any sort. I am to be honored at the club's general meeting tomorrow afternoon.

Though I don't actually skate much these days, the sport still has a hold on me having spent way too many early mornings of my childhood tracing circles on the ice. You can look forward to my commentary on the skating competitions televised next fall and winter, including the 2006 Olympics.

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Later-added dish (5/21): I found out at the meeting that Marina Klimova and Sergei Ponomarenko are now coaching in my hometown of San Jose, California. I don't care much for ice dancing, but if I were to watch, it would be this couple. Marina Klimova is exquisitely long-limbed and her partner-husband's proportions match hers perfectly, so their line is (was?) incredible. Marina moves like a Russian ballerina, complete with the posture and ultra-expressive torso. She is a skater's skater. Between the two of them, they have much to pass onto a younger generation.... Must sneak into the rink this summer to check it out!

Out And About In The Blogosphere

My friend N says I am "like so 2005" for taking on this blogging stuff. Actually, it's been fun, and ALTHOUGH FEW OF YOU ARE LEAVING COMMENTS DIRECTLY ON THE BLOG, my sitemeter tells me I am getting a fair number of hits a day, so I know you are out there. I also appreciate the comments that you have been privately emailing me.

The past couple of days I have been out and about checking into Arianna Huffington's new chef d'oeuvre, The Huffington Post, and though I am loath to admit, she's done an excellent job. I remember Arianna from our SF days... We ran in different circles, to say the least. She is of course older and was then all about hanging with the money and chanting Republican politics. I hear she's changed. Always sophisticated and provocative, her latest blog about evolution and the female orgasm was a clever read.

Arianna's got a number of varied commentators blogging with her and her list of links is extensive. I found there two of my favorite journalists, Andrew Sullivan and Dave Berry, not knowing they were also bloggers. Andrew Sullivan was a graduate "gov jock" back when I was an undergrad. I didn't know him, but let's just say he was a friend of a friend. He went on to write and edit The New Republic in the early 90's where he was extremely into gay rights (yes, he's gay) and shifted much of magazine's focus in that direction. I cancelled my subscription after a while because I was trying to save money, but have always admired Andrew's brainwork and was glad to catch up with him online. He did not disappoint!

Another good link on Arianna's list (and also on Steve Levitt's) is The Becker-Posner Blog. In case you haven't heard of them, these guys are two intellectual heavyweights. Gary Becker appears to be S's mentor, a University of Chicago economics professor and Nobel Prize winner. Richard Posner is also a professor at U of C, a sitting federal judge (at least I think he still is), and a key architect of the influential Law and Economics school of thought. Their comments on "The Sexual Revolution" were well, interesting--okay, hilarious--for someone like me. Let's just say that to have access to the minds of two such hallowed old white guys is a privilege. I will be checking back, but maybe not too often.

Finally, I found a link that I've added to my own list on this page: Manolo's Shoe Blog. Too funny! Who is writing this stuff? Someone after my own heart, no doubt, so go there now and check it out.

FYI, Anakin Is Darth Vader

To clarify, sweet little Anakin Skywalker does in fact become Darth Vader. My mom friends were completely confused discussing this at a picnic a couple of weekends ago. How could anyone not know?

It's about choices, people. We all have them. And Anakin makes some bad ones. He gives into the anger, the hate, and the fear. Think about this. I obviously have.

Furthermore, Darth Vader/Anakin is Luke's father. Luke and I, Princess Leia, are twins.

And to all of you who make fun of me when I try to explain that Chewbacca is a fully grown adult through all six episodes because wookie lives are longer than human ones--I can't get why you haven't figured that out for yourselves.

While I'm not out tonight for the first showing of the new movie, I'm blissfully under my Stars Wars sleeping bag with my talking Yoda doll next to me.

MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU. Always.

Tooth Fairy Comes Tonight

I just snuck into my daughter's room to remove from under her pillow the tooth she lost today and replace it with a Sacagawea dollar. Simple enough, but it hasn't always been this easy.

A couple of teeth J lost were never found. Every other tooth has popped out at school or at a friend's house. This has kind of bummed me out as a mother, like I've missed her first steps or something. J has then gone on to either swallow the tooth by mistake or somehow misplace it en route home. Only one tooth has made it back to me out of her mouth. Notes to the Tooth Fairy have stood in for the missing lost teeth under her pillow. The TF has delivered regardless, and at a premium: J has gotten 5x as much for the notes as for a plain old tooth.

In the middle of the night last night, J finally lost a tooth here at home while she was asleep. We had to search her bedsheets this morning to find it. It's now in my jewely box among the strands of pearls.

I hope J's not expecting the fairy dust tomorrow. J's friend, A, insists that the TF sprinkles her bed with fairy dust every time, but this has never happened for J. The closest thing J's gotten has been "fairy powder," stuff that looked and smelled like Johnson's baby powder scattered on her pillowcase. Enthusiasm for the powder simply hasn't been there, at least at our house, so the TF stopped everything but the cash after her initial visit.

Like heck am I going to be vacuuming pink glitter as I make her bed before going off to work in the morning. LIKE HECK!

And Radcliffe Girls To Blog

There's an old saying about students from my alma mater:

Smith to bed,
Wellesley to wed,
And Radcliffe girls to talk.

Since we're in the twenty-first century now, the last line should be changed to, "And Radcliffe girls to blog." Our phone lines were out the past two days, and it was a long dry spell for me not to be able to write. The BlackBerry just doesn't cut it--typing with thumbs is awkward and you can't edit. I spent my downtime this weekend crocheting.

The phone guys finally came to my rescue early this evening and I am back, voraciously blogging away, continuing my comments on the rhyme I have above. What alarms me is that it confirms what I most dread:

I'M NEVER GOING TO BE MARRIED.

Men like me simply for talk. And likewise, I like them. I've had and continue to have a number of close male friendships. There isn't anything romantic, sexual, or marital about these relationships. We just talk.

Other evidence that I'm not the marrying kind: S's recent Freakonomics discusses responses to match.com personals. He (and his co-authors) found that statistically, for a (heterosexual) woman, being blond has the same value as having a college degree. And I'm not blond. He also found that having more than a college education doesn't get you extra responses--it might even hurt your prospects. And I have 20 post-kindergarten years. To push myself further into the pit of Bridget Jones like-despair, there are plenty of other sources to support this last finding. A couple of months ago, Maureen Dowd highlighted in her column research concluding that for every 16 point increase in IQ, a women's chances for marriage decrease by like 35%.

The fact that statistically I should be a genius is my only apparent consolation.

Luxury Goods, Charity, Culture

Have you taken a look at the Forbes.com List Of the Top Ten Places To Be Rich In the U.S.? My own city is shockingly #7 among the aforementioned group, ranking among the highest in luxury goods, charity, and culture. While I could go on about how it is NOT to be rich in one of the Forbes list places in true power-to-the-people form, I want to discuss here the merits of my fine hometown of San Jose, California.

I grew up in San Jose, having moved from further up the Peninsula when I was in kindergarten. Back then, this place wasn't called Silicon Valley, but the "Valley of the Heart's Delight" for its acres and acres of bountiful fruit orchards and sunny climate. San Jose citizens were and continue to be among the most charitable and humane, progressive in the best sense, yet charmingly old-fashioned in manner and sensibility. For such a large city, we've never suffered much from violent crime, corruption, racism, or other urban plagues.

But the downside of all the pleasantness, at least as I recall growing up, was that our city was, well, kind of boring. Luxury? Culture? No way! Anything remotely high-class meant a trip up to San Francisco. Luxuries here were shopping at Macy's (versus Sears or Gemco) and you found your culture at school craft fairs and Sunday pancake breakfasts at the Grange. I suspect it was kind of like Minneapolis without the Walker Art Center, but with good weather. Or maybe more like Anaheim without Disneyland.

So congratulations, San Jose. Here's to luxury goods, charity, and culture. I guess we've both grown up.

Celebrate The Orange

Teachers all over the county rallied today against Governor Schwarzenegger's educational policies. Prop 98, merit pay, and retirement were key issues. Our union president had us all in orange shirts with "Students Are Our Special Interest" printed in block letters on the back.

Needless to say, the color made a bold statement at school and the cursory pumpkin, tang, and "adopt-a-highway" jokes started right away in the morning xerox line. The shirts were also too big since our union president ordered them all a size larger than we had requested (go figure?). I wore a matching orange headband. Other teachers accessorized with hip packs, cinches, and fashionable undershirts. The only thing that stopped me from wearing the perfect matching Liz Claiborne flip flops was the fact I haven't yet started my summer pedicure regime.

One male teacher, who regularly wears Armani, was rumored to have had his shirt tailored last night. His did look better than anyone else's.

For all the silliness, I'd like to think our orange served a nobler purpose. Consider this, or for further inspiration, this. Our union president must have had higher aspirations in mind when ordering our shirts. Great minds do think alike.

Flaming Pink Elks

This coming Saturday is one of the highlights of a soccer mom's year: fall soccer sign ups. This means everyone will converge on the assigned meeting place at the correct time with forms filled out in duplicate, checks in hand, and if necessary, copies of birth certificates. Since J's a returning player, I don't have to bother bringing the birth certificate. They know us now. We're experienced.

J will be signing up to play on a team with her buddies from our Las Madres group. This couldn't be better for me because it means my getting to hang out with my good friends, J's buddies' parents, on the sidelines for at least ten Saturdays next fall. The Las Madres group began years ago when we as clueless first-time mothers found comfort in each other during weekly park dates. Activities have expanded over the years to include parties, barbeques, and "moms' nights out." We moms are now very close and our kids are tightly bonded having known each other since they were just weeks or months old.

A few blogs earlier I wrote about my new Elks membership, a connection that is basically a Las Madres carryover. Joining the Elks has given us access to a clubhouse complete with a well-stocked bar, swimming pool, and billiards room. In honor of our ties, T the soccer coach/dad has suggested our girls' team be named "The Elks" this upcoming season. J is perfectly fine with that so long as they're "The PINK Elks." My personal preference is for "The Flaming Pink Elks," a nod to Coach T's excellent team from last year.

Here's to a great season! Go Flaming Pink Elks!

Happy Mother's Day

I am my mother, grandmother, godmother, stepmother, auntie, cousin, skating coach, teacher, mentor, and friend. Happy Mother's Day to everyone with much gratitude.

Ballet To Die For

My daughter is making a face at me. I am refusing to buy her yet another jeweled tiara. We're at the Ballet Shop on the mezzanine of the theater during intermission. Boy do I look cool BlabkBerrying, I'm sure.
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Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld (www.BlackBerry.net)

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Home now hours later, I'm no longer "blabberrying," so I can give a full report for the balletomanes out there. We saw SF Ballet's "Romeo and Juliet" today with music by Prokofiev and choreography by Helgi Tomasson. It was outstanding. All the nuances of Shakespeare's characters were vividly present in the choreography and dancing. Vanessa Zahorian was Juliet and perfectly portrayed a young girl in love (like butter!). James Sofranko as Mercutio was loyal, witty, and fun ('til the death). Steven Legate as Romeo was romantic and tragic. My all-time favorite dancer, Muriel Maffre, was there too as Lady Capulet. What a treat to see! My mother has claimed for years now that SF Ballet is even better than ABT, Kirov, or other companies traditionally regarded as the best. It's hard to tell without actually experiencing them back to back. The intensity and brio of those other companies might still be superior.

P.S. For A, if you're reading this, "balletomane" means "ballet fan."
;-)

A Day In The Life

It was Teacher Appreciation Week last week. My students started our day each morning by bringing me cut flowers. Even a couple of former students came by with their offerings. By Friday, there were several bright bouquets all over our classroom and one here at home. Parents put chocolates in our boxes and had coffee and treats waiting for us in the staff room. At lunch, they served fancy multi-course meals with a different theme each day. The principal published a poem for us in the school newsletter:

A Former Teacher

In her classroom
Our speculations ranged the world.
She breathed curiousity into us,
So that each morning we came to her
Carrying new truths, new facts, new ideas;
Cupped and shielded in our hands
Like captured fireflies.

When she went away,
A sadness came over us.
But the light did not go out.
She had written her life story upon us;
The literature of the teacher
Who writes on childrens' minds.

Many teachers have taught me
Soon forgotten things.
Only a few like her created
In me a new hunger, a new direction, a new attitude.
I suppose to a large extent
I am the unsigned manuscript
Of that teacher.

What deathless power lies
In the hands of such a person.
--John Steinbeck

Such a beautiful poem and such a lovely week. For all my complaining and ruminating, I have to admit I really like my job.

Making Friends Teppan-Style

We went to H of G, our regular birthday restaurant, for dinner tonight in J's honor. I invited her dad along. My mother and stepfather were also there.

We've been going to H of G for over 30 years now. It was my favorite restaurant as a child and it's now J's. They serve Japanese food. The chefs cook it right in front of you at your table.

As our chef began by twirling an egg and tossing it up and down on his spatula, my mother started in, "Are you really Vietnamese?" Yes he was. "Do you know any good Vietnamese restaurants around here?" No he did not since he just moved here a month ago.

Feeling especially awkward since there were other guests at our table, I had to intervene. "Gee," I ventured, "I've never gotten to know a chef so personally in all the years we've been coming here." My mother fired back, "Well, I have never found one so interesting," and kept on, "I could tell he wasn't from here because he keeps calling me 'Ma'am.'"

So from the shrimp-tossing to the final bean sprouts, we got the whole story: Our chef came to the U.S. as a sixteen year old in 1975. He had previously been in the Philippines, where his father, a U.S. Navy pilot, had been stationed. Shortly after emigrating, he got a scholarship to attend Lowell University in Massachusetts [U-Mass Lowell?] and graduated. Our chef then went to work in the textile mills for Ralph Lauren. The mills died, so he moved to Nashville, Tennessee, where his parents had settled, and started his own business of an undisclosed nature. Very recently he was audited by the I.R.S. and had to shut down. His relocation here was an attempt to start fresh. And no, he's not currently on the lam, and no, it's not hard to learn to cook teppan-style.

At the end of the meal, our chef gave us a nice tip: The next time we wanted Vietnamese, we could go to M on T Road, "a beautiful, romantic place, with great traditional food." The owners are his friends so we should tell them TRUONG sent us.

Feliz cumpleanos, J

Tiene 7 anos de edad, m'hija.

Que tengas un buen dia, llenado del sol y de la alegria. Te quiero mucho, mas que el mundo. --Tu Mami
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Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld (www.BlackBerry.net)

The Economics of Classroom Management

We're testing this week and I am tense. This morning's test booklets, pencils, scrap paper, rulers, and accompanying paraphanalia are secured and fully accounted for in the school office. Only five more days to go!

The stress of testing underscores how overwhelmed I can be by the choices I must make with regard to my students every day: "If I do extra work with X, will that strengthen his learning, and will that learning show up on our state test scores? Do I drill, or do we go for bigger picture 'love of learning' so the kid will want to stay in school longer? If I put the extra work into X, am I actually short-changing Y, who is like a sponge and doesn't need much elbow grease to shine academically?"

Concepts of economics don't come naturally to me, but I must use tools such as a "cost-benefit analysis" or a "regression analysis" every day as I struggle to find how to best allocate precious resources among my students. Related spare-time reading has ranged from S's recent Freakonomics, to the "Law and Economics" theories of Posner and Calabresi, and even to my old Samuelson, Nordhaus college text. At some point, however, not all the variables can be accounted for, and the seemingly irrational must take over the cerebral. Despite what economists call "the moral hazard," I must continue on the best I can with my students, all in good faith.

Sunday 9:30 ADD Mass

The 9:30am mass on Sundays at St. C's Roman Catholic Church is the "family mass." That's because it's the one right after Sunday CCD lets out and it's the one when you can put your 3 to 5 year old in ECE ("daycare Sunday school") during the service. Older kids also have their own special liturgy of the word during the first part.

So the place is always packed and honestly, it's not very prayerful in the traditional sense. Toddlers hold their snack bags full of fruit loops and coo loudly at inappropriate times. One little boy decided to lie in the aisle for a while this morning. Mothers (like me) chat about the next barbeque or who won at tennis yesterday. Still, the service goes on.

Fr. A, a Jesuit whose day job is teaching at BCP, the local boys' high school, was today's celebrant. Even though he is a Jesuit, his homilies are always inspiring. You see, I belong to a family that is prejudiced against Jesuits. My grandfather regularly ranted about how the Jesuits ruined the Philippines by meddling in local politics. This might have been in reference to "liberation theology" that the old Cardinal Ratzinger (a.k.a. the new Pope Benedict), as well as John Paul II, might also have condemned.

Now back to the good Fr. A: His sermon today was about the Holy Spirit. Of course this is based on the gospel reading, but since I'm Catholic, I don't remember the citation. Fr. A said that the Holy Spirit teaches us two things: (1) to give over control of our lives to God (c.f., Serenity Prayer of St. Francis); and (2) to love and be loved is better than being correct. He also quoted Henry James who apparently advised his nephew, "[F]irst, be kind; second, be kind; and third, be kind." I am writing this now so I will remember these words.