Rest In Peace, Peter O'Toole

He's led a long, full life, but it was still saddening to hear about Peter O'Toole's passing this weekend at age 81. I came to his films only recently, but just one brush with his astounding work is enough to make you a huge fan. With his delicious British diction and ethereal confidence, the man is a boss.

Really, if you've never seen Lawrence of Arabia, what are you doing with your life? Epic ambitious desert journeys are especially good viewing in snowy weather like this week's blustery days. I'm just saying. 

Peter O'Toole also gave not one, but two incredible performances as Henry Plantagenet, a king of England often overshadowed in historical narratives by his wife (Eleanor of Aquitaine), his sons (Richard the Lionheart and John), and the saint he had killed (Thomas Becket). O'Toole makes Henry II compelling, holding his own against Richard Burton in bromantic Becket and then Katherine Hepburn in The Lion in Winter. The second film is the ultimate depiction of family holiday drama and possibly the Southern Baron's favorite Christmas movie. You can bet we will fire up that DVD in the coming days.

"HA! What shall we hang, the holly or each other?"

Even though I live for British costume dramas, I actually first met Peter O'Toole through only his voice in a cartoon. He was the hard-nosed food critic in Ratatouille, back when Pixar made clever material culture reflections on the power of objects on memory and identity. He could make a voiceover about a rat cooking casserole with Janeane Garofalo sound like the most profound reflection on the meaning of art.

Towards the end of his life, O'Toole did small roles in a few religious films, such as the prophet Samuel in One Night With the King. Instead of the powerful monarch, he was a cleric challenging a corrupt government. (He still hacks a man apart off-camera, though, in that Esther movie, in case you forgot.) The most poignant of these was his role as Fr. Christopher in For Greater Glory, the story of the Cristero war in early 20th century Mexico. (Spoiler alert: basically everyone in this movie dies.) As political conflict is heating up, the humble Padre mentors a mischievous-but-goodhearted boy and then quietly goes to his martyrdom wearing black vestments. It's as if he's saying his own Requiem, offering himself to God's mercy.

KofC.org

Peter O'Toole's miscellaneous saintly cameos have fueled some speculation about his attitude towards the Church at the end of his life. Who knows? God understands the souls He created better than we can, that's for sure. So I'll say a prayer for Peter O'Toole's soul this week, and maybe one for Lawrence and Henry as well. Those men might still be finding their way home. 

Welcome to the new blog!

As this blog celebrates its fourth birthday tomorrow, I've decided it's time to change things a bit. The old layout needed some jazzing up and my obscure literary reference title was too much of a tongue-twister. Writing museum newsletters is forcing me to learn to be concise! I also wanted to describe what inspires my writing - even if I'm not doing intense research anymore, I always think and observe like an historian. I want to know how things got the way they are today, and I can't get enough of contextual backstories. And if I come across really smart discussions of how America's crazy religious potpourri evolved, I'm basically like:

So A Beaten Copper Lamp of Deplorable Design is now Catholic History Nerd! (New URL coming soon.) Don't worry, I'll still keep referencing Brideshead Revisited as much as humanly possible. I'll also keep posting pictures of cool churches I visit. I'm working in a museum while my husband finishes his history dissertation, and we're doing our best to take lots of field trips around New Jersey and New York.The pew pictured in my header is from the Basilica of St. Louis, King of France aka the Old Cathedral of St. Louis, MO.

Standing at the gateway to the west since 1834

Over my past few years in the blogosphere, I've been blessed to meet some inspiring  people and take part in some exciting discussions about what it means to be a young adult Catholic in this post-post Vatican II era. Spiritual topics that are are on my mind a lot include: Catholic culture, liturgy, love and marriage, feminism, the Pope, what makes for good church architecture, how to be a person of faith engaged with the modern world.  There will also be gluten-free food, Sunday church outfits, and goofy pop culture references. Thanks so much for reading! 

What I Wore Sunday, Entry 11

Check out Fine Linen and Purple for more Sunday church outfits! This week is hosted by the awesome Mandi of Messy Wife. 

Dress: Calvin Klein, sweater: Ann Taylor, wedges: Dolce Vita via TJ Maxx,
necklace: Forever 21, purse: Relic (thrifted)

This dress represents my effort to participate in this fall's black/white/colorblocking trend. When I bought it the Southern Baron's reaction was "Cruella de Vil?" And so I had to give him a little seminar on women's fashion. He educates me about menswear, though, so it's a two way street.

I do really like the dress' swingy skirt and flattering shape. I was very excited to discover an outlet store called Annie Sez near our apartment, and even more excited when I spied this dress on the clearance rack. It's the first big item I've bought in north Jersey, so I'll probably always associate it with our newlywed months here. Now that I think about it, I'm wearing representations of many different phases of my life: the purse was a thrifting find near my Brooklyn office, the shoes are from a TJ Maxx expedition in Manhattan, I got the sweater in Delaware on a grad school study break, and the necklace hearkens back to my VSC days in St. Louis. Material culture nerd that I am, all this historical context pleases me.

Christmas decorations are up in all the public spaces, but the weather this weekend is ironically warm. Southern Baron has been hunkered down grading, so after church I puttered around makin' groceries and embarking on a epic chicken pot pie project. In case you were wondering, making pie crust in a Cuisinart is gloriously easy. We're also tidying up the apartment because my brother-in-law is stopping tomorrow on his way home from a business trip!

What I Wore Sunday, Entry 10

Linking up with the lovely ladies at Fine Linen and Purple for another WIWS!

Do you other working ladies ever get dressy outfit fatigue? Don't get me wrong, I love me some dresses. After a week of thinking up daily professional outfits, though, I'm so excited finally to wear jeans. By the time Sunday morning rolls around, I usually end up staring at my closet thinking "Unnnh, I guess I should wear a skirt?" How you do make Sunday look special but not feel like a re-run of the work week? 

Jacket: Target (thrifted), skirt: Dress Barn, tank: Anne Taylor Loft,

pumps: Bandolino (hand-me-down from auntie), earrings: gift from another auntie

Because of the jacket, this week's outfit ended up more corporate-looking than I planned. You can't see it, but I also wearing a black cardigan underneath. I've started to feel like this skirt is too cutesy/summery for work, so it is in my workday rotation less. Maybe I'm just bored with it - I bought it for my godson's baptism, and he's now in the 3rd grade! 

The Southern Baron and I aim to get involved in our new parish or die trying. Today was our third time getting asked to bring up the gifts, so that's a good sign! I also put a ministry sign-up sheet in the collection basket. I hope to start being a lector again, and I'm curious about the Habitat for Humanity and St. Vincent de Paul ministries. 

After Mass we spent another afternoon enjoying the brisk weather and fall colors. I'd been envying people's gorgeous shots of Central Park on Instagram, but then I realized our neighborhood is just as pretty. 

See, isn't New Jersey gorgeous?

If you don't think so I'll punch ya in tha face.

What I Wore Sunday, Vol. 9

It's good to be back blogging! The past few months of wedding planning and moving and big work projects and Major Life Changes were busy to say the least. Now I finally feel settled in with my new husband and new last name. (Hint: it starts with a D.) On here I've called him "The Beau" and then "The Bethtrothed," but he needs a new nickname. For now he'll be "The Southern Baron," which he calls himself on the interwebs sometimes.

We're getting to know our little village in New Jersey and have joined a new parish. Sometimes it's lonely being far away from my friend base in the DC area and the Sunday brunch group at his former NJ church. But the gorgeous Gothic building down the street from us houses a busy congregation where the priests are very friendly and welcoming. A new young adult group is starting up there, so we are eagerly attending planning meetings and watching the other people our age come out of the woodwork. Already I've met one other person schlepping into the city for work like me, so that's encouraging. 

Today at the end of Mass the pastor called up all the new parishioners to formally greet them and give everybody a welcome gift. We always feel a little awkward about audience participation segments like this, so after a whispered conference we decided to stay in our pew. "Do you think Monsignor will be mad at us? Nahh, he won't see us back here." Yeah, well he did. He and our deacon friend gave us a good-natured hard time about it, and then gave us a plaque anyway. That's what we get for volunteering for things, haha.  

Sweater: JCPenney, skirt: Old Navy, shoes: Aldo, earrings: Brooklyn Museum gift shop,
family monogram: handmade by by my brother-in-law

This has been our first real week of fall weather, so I finally broke down and unpacked all my lightweight sweaters. My William Morris pattern earrings were a hasty addition as we ran out the door, but they got compliments from the sample girl at the grocery store. She was wearing a knit hat and a necklace that was practically a geode, perfect for hawking a quinoa smoothie beverage. (Would you ever drink that? I am a fan of kombucha and all sorts of earthy/crunchy drinks, but this seemed too sugary to do you much good. Also the banana flavor tasted like baby food.) 

The flats are a new purchase. I'd been eyeing them for a while since I am a sucker for wing tip styling. Finally they went on sale! If I can break them in they should come in handy for being on my feet all night at my museum's gala fundraiser this week. 

After church we strolled around the nearby Montrose Historic District, a neighborhood with lots of pretty early 20th century houses. The town's website has a guide to all the buildings, so we geeked out reading the details of each house on the Southern Baron's phone. Married nerd life is good. 

For some reason this part of NJ is obsessed with Tudor Revival architecture. 

For more Sunday outfits, visit Fine Linen and Purple!

The Empty Tabernacle

"They've closed the chapel at Brideshead, Bridey and the Bishop. Mummy's requiem was the last Mass said there. 

After she was buried the priest came in ... and took out the altar stone and put it in his bag

 ... and blew out the lamp in the sanctuary, 

and left the tabernacle open and empty,

as if from now on it was always to be Good Friday." - Brideshead Revisted

Seeing the empty tabernacle and stripped altar is my favorite part of Good Friday. Like the sede vacante period, this emptiness only happens once in a while, and so is a powerful reminder of why we love the persons who normally fill that space. The dramatic, sparse mourning of the Triduum sanctifies the sorrow and loneliness that all humans experience. 

Like last year when I was newly engaged, this Lent has been full of exciting new plans that have kept me from feeling somber. But honestly, the past two years have been like one long Lent of underemployment, debt, and uncertainty. The Betrothed and I spent lonely Easters last year on different continents. We had a grainy Skype conversation and vowed "Next year, in Jerusalem!" 

On Christmas Eve, God finally answered our prayers with a job offer for me in New York. I've relocated for love, and finally live in the same state as my future husband. So now Lent is over and we are in Holy Saturday until June 15, waiting, praying, and keeping watch over empty space. I live alone in the apartment that will soon be our home. Different schedules and locations mean we often sit solo in church pews. Every weekend is a puzzle of who will drive where. It's hard for our lives to be so divided. 

The ache and emptiness that hit me when we started long-distance dating is still present. I long for unity with the man I love, and finally to share a home with him and God. I'm not a model Catholic woman, patiently suffering. Too often, I have given in to self-pity and despair. I worry that I have wasted this cross or have failed at being a witness of Christian joy. Sure, secular world, don't shack up with your beloved. Instead, be as miserable as I am! 

Fellow engaged woman Elizabeth recently pointed out that feeling a longing for marriage during the Triduum is actually quite appropriate.  Christ's Passion and Resurrection were His greatest expression of love for His bride, the Church. Why shouldn't we want the same spousal self-giving and unity? So this weekend, when I wish for the millionth time that we were married already, I'll try to unite that wishing to Christ's great desire and love for the Church. I'll think of the great mystery that The Betrothed and I will soon become united to, and its promise that God's people will not face emptiness forever. 

Photos:
1. Good Friday 2013 at Holy Innocents, Manhattan. 

2, 3, 5. Good Friday 2008 at College of William and Mary Catholic Campus Ministry Chapel, Williamsburg, VA

4. Good Friday 2013 at St. Francis Church St. Anthony Chapel, Manhattan

7 Commuting Quick Takes

Thanks to Jen for hosting the link-up! Head over to Conversion Diary for more quick takes! 

By Sophie Blackall for MTA Arts for Transit

1. I'm no stranger to commuting. My high school was a 45 minute drive from my house, so my family developed a complex "No Child Left Behind" carpool system to get there. During my volunteer year in St. Louis, every morning I would bail out of my roommate's car at a strategic red light and then hop on the Metrolink train. When I worked in DC I took my car, then a bus, and then the Metro Orange Line to get to work from my parents' house.
   
   But now I have become something else  - a New York commuter. On Christmas Eve I got the call offering me a museum job in Brooklyn. So now I finally live in the same state as The Betrothed (hooray!) and travel between New Jersey and NYC every day. E.B. White once wrote about "the New York of the commuter — the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night." Gee thanks. If you had to deal with post-Sandy PATH train closures too, you'd appreciate our scrappiness more, Mr. Charlotte's Web.


2. It's funny how my attitude about working in NYC has evolved. As I was packing to leave, I was all panicky. "Ahhhhck I work in the hippest borough and everyone around me will have a fabulous Sex and the City life and all my clothes are uncool!"
   
   Then I actually rode the subway, and realized that New York is full of ordinary people just trying to get to work in practical puffy coats. Phew. 
   
   My emotions then went through this weird adjustment cycle that I've noticed every time I get to know a new city. First I am nervous and scared of dangerous things lurking around every corner. Then after a few weeks I get jaded and homesick. "This place isn't that special. They have Chipotle like everywhere else!" Then I finally do some exploring and the place starts to feel like it's mine. Maybe it was my umpteenth trip to the Trader Joe's in the 1923 bank building on Court Street, but at some point I've realized this is my town too now.


3. This piece about "How to dress like a New Yorker" is absolutely true: people choose accessories for their functionality. After a week of commuting I knew I needed to invest in some sturdy booties and a huge bag to stuff my lunch, tea thermos, and reading material in. I always scoffed at designer purses, but now I get why women invest in a solid leather handbag.
   


4. My office has been involved with a lot of the events for Grand Central Terminal's 100th birthday. It's definitely one of the best public spaces I've ever seen. The Main Concourse is so lovely it makes me cry - not just because of the gorgeous ceiling, but because I have to deal with ugly Penn Station every day! Did you know there was an earlier Penn that was also gorgeous? Legendary Gilded Age designers McKim, Mead, and White made it beautiful, and then in the 1960s they tore it down. Thanks, Madison Square Garden, thanks a lot.
   
   

   

   I could be hanging out here every day! You're killing me, smalls!

   
   The only happy ending is that Penn became a martyr for the historic preservation movement, inspiring the City to protect Grand Central from the same fate. The Garden's permit is soon up for review, and some groups are pushing for an overhaul of the whole complex.


5. I've been playing morning Tetris with my train times, trying to figure out where I can hit up daily Mass on my way to the office. Our Lady of Victory near Wall Street is close to the subway with lots of morning options. St. Francis on West 31st is famous for its convenient confession schedule. Because of when my train rolls in to Penn, I can either be early or late for one of their morning Masses. On Wednesday I caught the end of the 7am and then the beginning of the 7:30, like a kid in an old-timey movie theater. At the Offertory I ran off to work, thinking, "This is where I came in."



St. Francis of Assisi Church, from jimcintosh's Flickr stream



6. I've gotten hooked on transit maps, especially this Tumblr of them. A few weeks ago I got to hear a talk by Massimo Vignelli, the modernist designer who made a controversial NYC subway map in the late 1970s. He made an uncluttered geometric diagram, but people still wanted the twisty, wavy spaghetti strands they were used to. As he put it "When you are taking a train, how it gets from Point A to Point B is none of your business!" He was recently vindicated when the MTA realized his design was the only one that would work for a digital app. Ha.
   

   

   Via Minkwell.com

7. Of course, I see all kinds of random people on the train. In the morning on my NJ Transit platform, I hear lots of bougie First World Problems like the architect coming to fix someone's door or how there was NOWHERE to get decent lamb shanks on Friday night. The subway is more diverse, of course. Sometimes there are hipsters, sometimes packs of school kids. I wonder about the conservatively dressed lady with the black Korn backpack. Did she steal it from her son? To the similarly mom-like lady rocking the fuchsia House of Dereon bag from Newark to the World Trade Center - respect.
   
   One night taking the R train to Park Slope, I saw a guy in Timberland boots reading a book by one of my favorite college professors. "Omigosh I know that guy!" I cried out. The reader was nice but a little weirded out. I had better luck with a well dressed older couple going uptown on the 2. They reminded me of my Mom's parents. The wife was wearing a killer pair of black boots with gold sparkly rivets all up the legs. I kept sneaking peeks at them without staring. As I got off at Penn, I just turned to her and said "Ma'am, your boots are freaking awesome." She smiled and thanked me. I was glad to be a part of her own commuter stories that day. 

7 Habemus Papam Quick Takes

1. Where were you when they announced the new Pope? My sister and I had a pact that whoever heard first would text the other. I was determined to keep up my streak of seeing Habemus Papam announcements live, even though there is no TV or video streaming access in my office. So when the words "White Smoke!" exploded across Facebook, I ran for my museum's education computer lab. I watched database training videos with the Vatican YouTube feed on in the background. The only other person in there was watching RuPaul's Drag Race and probably thought I was the biggest loser ever, but I don't care. 


2. To add to my earlier analogies, I realized that getting a new Pope is like when a new baby is born into a family. Even though you have no idea about this stranger's personality or talents, you love them immediately, and know without a doubt that they belong to you all. There is something about putting on the white cassock that makes a random cardinal instantly beloved.


3. Or maybe it's the adorable awkwardness. Did you ever notice how nervous a new Pope is at first? It's not like he's a presidential candidate who's been doing photo ops for months beforehand. At Benedict XVI's inaugural Mass eight years ago he looked super tense and unsure of how to bless the cheering crowds. 


4. So when Pope Francis came out on the balcony and just stood there, I thought "Oh no, he is scared to DEATH." But then he started smiling. And cracking jokes. And talking with his hands. How could we not fall in love? He's going to do just fine.
   
   

   

   L'Ossorvatore Romano

5. The Betrothed was educated by Jesuits in New Orleans, so of course he's overjoyed that the new pontiff comes from the Society of Jesus. Right now we're  both chuckling over all the Jesuit conspiracy theories coming out of the woodwork. We're also shaking our heads at the Rad Trad internet freak-outs that a Jesuit Pope will start teaching heresy and stripping churches of anything traditional.
   
6. With all this talk of humble simplicity and Cardinal Mahony crowing on Twitter about how glad he is to be "LOW Church" again, I have only one very silly concern - *whisper* I really hope the vestments aren't ugly.There is already an entire papal sacristy of beautiful liturgical treasures that give glory to God and were crafted in love and devotion. Papa Francis could "shop his closet" for years without spending a thing.  There's a great Downton Abbey reference in this situation.
   
7. Overall I am just thrilled, excited, and overjoyed with goosebumps going down my arms. You can be sure I'll be geeking out for the inaugural Mass on Tuesday, the feast of St. Joseph. We have a new shepherd, and he comes from the Americas. He rides the bus and doesn't put on airs. He took the name of a peacemaker saint, the man to whom Christ said "Rebuild my Church." There is much rebuilding to do, and I can't wait to see how Papa Francis does it.

Changing Popes

Losing a Vicar of Christ feels like a kick in the gut, a punch in the chest. It's like saying a final goodbye to a grandfather or your favorite teacher/mentor. It makes the Bark of Peter feel like a rickety canoe in a hurricane. It makes you want to call your family, and hug your friends. You can't help feeling a little abandoned. Suddenly, the symbol of your identity is gone, and you don't know how to go forward. 

The day Pope Benedict announced his retirement all I wanted to do was run into every church in New York City. "I need to be with my people!" my heart cried. On my way to the office I stopped at St. Peter's at 22 Barclay in lower Manhattan. (Greek revival 1834, oldest parish in New York.) I couldn't find the words to pray, so I just sat there with Jesus and pondered the papal tiara above the altar. Christ is the One who put it there, and He's the only man who will ever need to be the Church's savior.

St. Peter, St. Paul, and a crucifix painting that St. Elizabeth Seton prayed before

The departure of a pope is also exciting. This only happens a few times in a century. If the Easter Vigil is the Super Bowl of Catholicism, a conclave is the World Cup. Better start gearing up on your College of Cardinal stats. If you are as enterprising as my friend Steve, you can make a bracket. Nothing beats the absolute thrill of hearing "Habemus Papam!"

 It's eerie how The Betrothed and I just spent an evening sorting through his box of World Youth Day mementos. (We were both at Toronto 2012, but sadly there is no secretly prophetic photo where one of us obliviously walks past the other.) As we decided which things to keep in our future home, we talked about what it was like going to see the Pope, and how we had changed since then. Pope John Paul II was the pope of my childhood.  For us kids of the 80s and 90s, he and Mother Teresa were Catholicism. During his papacy I was baptized, received my first communion, and was confirmed (in the Year of the Holy Spirit for an added bonus). I attended Catholic school for 8 years.  I traveled to see him at World Youth Day, the longest and farthest I had ever been away from my family at that point. John Paul II told my generation that the Church loved us, that Christ needed us for His epic plan, and we leaped to the task. His love, joy, and compassion made me proud to be Catholic.

When JPII died, my own health came crashing down with him. I spent the sede vacante period going through medical tests trying to decipher the chronic illness that eventually forced me to drop out of college for a year. The day Benedict XVI was elected, I ran campus errands until a parish staffer found me collapsed from exhaustion in the campus ministry office. My life would never be the same, and that period of suffering would prove to be one of the best things that ever happened to me. Pope Benedict XVI was the pope of my transition to adulthood. During his papacy I bounced from one temporary stage to another - homebound invalid days, finishing college, a volunteer year, graduate school, long underemployment, and finally a real job. I met my future husband and prepared for marriage.

Through these changes, I often felt restless, rootless, and unsure of God's plan. Attending two public universities gave me lots of opportunities to wrestle with how the Church could relate to the questioning modern world. Luckily the Church's leader turned out to be not an attack dog, but a gentle nerd with an amazing analytical mind and stellar footnotes. His writings are always a revelation of eloquent clarity. Pope Benedict has urged my generation to reconsider our religious heritage, and we realized we were hungry for symbolic meaning, not just youth group catch phrases. If you had told my 17-year-old self that the "new springtime" of the Church would involve a revival of the Pre-Vatican II mass, I would not have believed it. The scandals and trials of recent years sometimes make it painful to be Catholic, but Benedict XVI has reminded us how true joy comes from the deep truths of the faith. As The Betrothed often says about him, "What a boss!"

Now this next pontiff will be the pope of my adult married life. Once again, I'll spend the sede vacante period adjusting to major new realities - I just moved 250 miles away from my hometown to start a job in a New York and am living out of boxes in a bare apartment. I don't know what the coming years will bring for me and the Church, but I know God will be with us.

The changing of popes is a reminder that Jesus is all that matters. No one person is the Church. She already found the man who meets all her many needs - the One who redeemed her. All the other vicars are just taking care of the place for a while until He gets back. Was Jesus like all of these men at once? Was He the perfect combination of Peter's passion, John XXIII's kindness, and Pius V's tenacity? He knows the right person for the right time, including this next conclave. 

So godspeed, dear Papa Benny. Thank you for your generous service, your great humility, your deep wisdom, and for putting the papacy on social media. I'll be reading one of your books on the subway today. Stopping in one of New York's many churches sounds like a good idea too.

Confessions of a Parish-hopper

In the past five years, I've lived in four different states. This has made me a little commitment-phobic about joining a parish. Should I volunteer for things when I'm just going to leave in a few months? What if there is something better across town? It's helpful to know all the local Mass and Confession times, after all. For better or worse, this has made me into a parish-hopper.

 When I lived in Delaware I ached for Catholic camaraderie. There weren't really any young adult groups to speak of. I went to Mass at the cute historic church up the road, and all the senior citizens gave me the side-eye.

Then I moved back to my hometown in the Diocese of Arlington, where there are more YA events going on than you can shake a stick at. For every weekly listserve I received, there was some other parish hosting a book club holy/happy hour. It was great, but overwhelming. Sometimes I felt like this:

The activities at my parish usually didn't fit my schedule, so I found myself exploring other options. There was the Holy Thursday 7 church pilgrimage from my old parish, the young professionals lectures in DC, the packed Theology on Tap that made me feel old, and the random wine and cheese that a friend invited me to. After a while I felt like Goldilocks trying on all these fellowship groups.

Maybe this one...

It wasn't until I started working on Capitol Hill that I found a place that felt just right. I could see the steeple of St. Peter's from my Metro stop. After long days dealing with tourist questions, the lovely, peaceful church was a place to relax and think. The parish activities were perfect too! Holy hour with confession took place every weeknight, and the friendly priests hosted wine-and-cheese receptions in their historic house rectory. (19th century furniture remains the way to my heart.) The bulletin featured a perfect blend of devout spirituality and social justice service opportunities.

Traveling Mass kits are always so nifty.

 I hopped onto the Monday evening Bible study and Saturday morning food pantry deliveries. By far my favorite outing was a hike in Great Falls Park. On the feast of my patron St. Elizabeth of Hungary, we checked out waterfalls, clambered over rocks, and attended Mass said on a picnic table. Best of all, the young adults group welcomed me without any awkwardness. Even though I technically lived an hour away, no one pointed at me and yelled:

Sadly, all good things must come to an end. Just when I was settling in at St. Peter's and learning about all the Latin Mass options in Alexandria, I got a job in New York. See! I knew I was too transient to get on anyone's lector schedule!

So here I am at square one again, without a church home. The Betrothed has a wonderful parish in central Jersey, also named St. Peter's, but it's just too far from my job to be our permanent place. For now I'll hang out there while I shop around. Hey look! There are two parishes within walking distance of my office in Brooklyn, not to mention the historic ones in lower Manhattan....