How planning a wedding is sort-of like writing a master's thesis.

Via StyleMePretty.com

It's true, I met my future husband on only the second week of grad school. If I hadn't moved to Delaware, we would have never crossed paths on OK Cupid. Still, I don't like to think that the purpose of those two years in the library were just to get my Mrs. degree. When I applied to my grad program, I had never been so sure that God was calling me to a place where I could develop the gifts and talents He gave me. My M.A. helped me grow intellectually and aesthetically. Even if I haven't found a job in my field yet, the benefits of grad school go beyond the ring on my finger.

But, I have to admit, writing that vestment thesis was really good training for getting hitched. Sure I can do this wedding planning stuff; I spent an entire year on a massive project that required organization, calls to dozens of sites, and hundred of images for inspiration. As I told The Betrothed last week, it's like we have our thesis statement and rough outline, now we have to do background research.

Preliminary literature review = the pile of wedding and marriage-prep books on my mom's end table
Advisor meetings = Pre-Cana
Dozens of emails to Episcopal churches asking if they had any cool old vestments = the almighty Google docs spreadsheets of potential venues and caterers
Taking pictures of every potentially useful archives document = Pinterest, Pinterest, and more Pinterest (There are DRESS SPOILERS on that last one.)
Navigating the graduate office's page format template = figuring out if the parish music director will let us use the music we want
Footnotes that I fixed in the last month = what the table centerpieces will actually look like

Next week The Betrothed flies off to London for two months of dissertation research. I'll be here, writing him letters and hoping all these spreadsheets distract me from loneliness. Along the way I'll know we are both preparing for our life together, the greatest long-term project we could ever undertake. I'm sure God will continue to use our talents in unexpected ways.

How writing a master's thesis is sort-of like having a baby

From PhD Comics

1. It takes about nine months for the whole thing to take shape.
2. The idea of it is a little scary and intimidating, but hey, lots of other people have done it and survived. 
3. There are mood swings and bouts of nausea along the way.  
4. You might want to blog/tweet updates at every stage of progress. (I will shut up about my research soon, I swear :-)
5. You are likely to eat random food,  and sit around the house in your most comfortable pants.
6. You'll probably change your mind a few times about the best name for it.
7. As your due date approaches, household tasks suddenly become really fascinating. (Seriously, I cannot stop cooking and doing laundry.)
8. You stay up in the middle of the night tending to it. 
9. In the end, you are proud of what you have made and hope other people love it as much as you do. 
10. You have to let go and send it off into the wide world for other people to take care of - giving my program director a copy of my draft today feels like sending my child off on the school bus for the first day of kindergarten. 

Source

After I started working on this post I discovered that there's a fantastic blog, From Punk to Monk, with some similar posts  Check out Homeboy McCoy's hilarious list of "Top 10 Things Not to Bring to the Monastery."

**No, I'm not pregnant, but I've certainly seen what it's like. Plus when you spend a year working with maternity ward nurses you have far too many TMI medical conversations over lunch. (I miss you ladies!) **

Thesis survival soundtrack

I've always relied on music to get me through major school projects. Of course, like my brain, my playlists are full of eclectic randomness. When my Dad and I  were filling out my college applications, we listened to a lot of Avril Lavigne and B. B. King. In undergrad, there was a lot of old-school U-2, Ace of Base, and The Clash. At my job in St. Louis, I relied on Queen's "Under Pressure" , Ingrid Michaelson, and Coldplay's Viva La Vida album.

Maybe I'm getting older and more mellow, but female vocalists have been the staple of grad school. Regina Spektor is a major current favorites. I love her unusual voice, and how she rocks her curly hair in different cute styles. Her retelling of the Samson story seems to fit my obscure religious history research.

"And the history books forgot about us

And the Bible didn't mention us

And the Bible didn't mention us

Not even once."

Vestment thoughts of the day

Sorry about the silence; I won't be posting too much in the coming weeks since we're in the throes of thesis draft finishing. The atmosphere in the library has already reached the level of giggling and pencil-case-throwing, so who knows how much sanity will be left when we reach by April 4.


I start giggling whenever the books I'm reading about Anglican church embroidery sound so very ... English. For example:
In 1920 Hinda M. Hands (tell me that is not a made-up name) warned about all the crazy silk colors available to modern altar guild ladies, since “without a cultivated ‘colour sense’, an embroider can run riot among an embarras de richesse with most disastrous results!” *Gasp.* My gracious! Although if you've ever looked at the blog Bad Vestments, you know this to be true. 


Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin (his awesome actual name) started the Gothic revival in the 1830s and was never tacky. He also eventually became Catholic, sadly disappointing Team Anglican. As a 1980s publication told me:  "Pugin – “that wonderful man” as [William] Burges always thought of him – had tainted the [ecclesiological] movement with a whiff of incense. [John] Ruskin supplied an anti-papal deodorant." Because Speed Stick is always a good analogy when talking about church aesthetics. 


In honor of St. Patrick, I'll leave you with some of my favorite green vestments I've studied. They're all stoles for some reason.

At St. Ignatius of Antioch, NYC

At Church of the Transfiguration, NYC

At St. Mark's Philadelphia

And so Lent begins

I was born on an Ash Wednesday, and the day often feels more like a new beginning than my actual birthday. It's really the most refreshing holy day - it forces you to stop what you are doing and really assess the type of person you want to be. I'm all bogged down in mid-semester busy times, feeling like my life is getting out of control and wondering if I am doing anything right at all when BAM - here comes Ash Wednesday to remind me that there is a spiritual reality beyond today. That there are things more important than creature comforts and the luxury of cable tv. That nobody is perfect - in fact, we do bad things sometimes. That God is merciful, and that there is joy beyond suffering. That God made us "to know, love, and serve Him in this life, and to be happy with Him in the next." All He wants is for us to offer Him ourselves with all our confusion, weakness, and unhappiness.

My resolution for Lent is generally to be more mindful of these things. I won't keep the TV on mindlessly in the background; in fact, I won't watch Glee or Pretty Little Liars at all. I won't read so many fashion or pop culture blogs. I'll go to two daily Masses a week. I'll read more spiritual books.I'm actually a little excited to de-tox from the world. (The Beau shares my enthusiasm for Lenten self-improvement, just reason #457129 why I love him.)

Goodness knows I need fewer distractions right now. After getting ashes on my forehead, I'm spending the day with embroidered vestment motifs, and then art of colonial Spain, and then Hudson River Valley paintings. I'm awfully fond of the purple and black vestments in my thesis right now.

How about you? Do you like Ash Wednesday or dread it? What are you giving up this year?

Accomplishment

After all my award acceptance speech pondering this weekend some very good things happened to me. Things that made me feel about as happy as if I had one of those gold statuettes in my hand.

First, thanks to Blogger's very addictive stats counter charts, I discovered that I set a new record for page views in February - over 700 hits! This is all thanks to you, readers, and I'm about as excited as if I won the lottery. Your comments and visits really brighten this weary grad student's day. Maybe one day we'll even break 1000...

Second, I completed a marathon late night thesis writing session fueled by hummus, pita chips, and some stale Valentine marshmallow peeps. When I came up for air at 3am, I discovered that I had churned out 12 whole pages. I'm really starting to feel like a writer now. Only one more section to go, and then I'll have a decent draft to work with. Just one step closer to my graduation/thesis presentation/awards speech.

The last thing was a complete surprise, and one that testifies to the power of grace more than my own abilities. On Sunday I got a Facebook message from an college friend who had worked with me at history camp one summer. We'd exchanged a few emails since then about what we were doing after graduation, but otherwise weren't really in touch. Anyway, this lovely girl, now a wife and new mother, was writing to say that she had been received into the Catholic Church, making her Confirmation and First Communion this past weekend. She was thanking all the people who had helped her along her journey and shared their faith with her.
I can't remember the last time I was so touched by an email. I'm so happy for my friend, and happy that for at least once in my life I helped bring someone closer to God. So often I wonder if I am witnessing to my faith as well as I could, if my dual existence in Catholicism and academia is even possible. That note was a reminder that it's all in God's hands, even the results of a few conversations in a humid undergrad dorm one Williamsburg summer.

Oh, speaking of Williamsburg, I'm going there tomorrow! My class is going to visit the trade shops and attempt to imitate the accomplishments of pre-industrial craftsmen like these guys. From what I have seen of my carpentry skills, the results will not be so award-winning.

Material Culture Alert: Collections Storage

Well, now I am back in Delaware - break's over. I returned with even more stuff in my car than when I departed, thanks to my parents' offsite storage unit. We all pitched in to empty it out, sending a full U-Haul to the dump. In between trash boxes and broken furniture, my siblings and I retrieved a few long-lost and almost-forgotten goodies. I made off with most of my books from undergrad history classes, along with a large scented candle, exercise resistance cables, my yoga mat, some jewelry, and a perfectly good watch that I had never worn for some reason. It was like a yard sale, only we already owned everything.

It's hard to believe that it was three years ago we packed up many of our belongings to make way for mold remediation and renovations. What was supposed to be a three month project turned into a year-long home improvement odyssey. I'm grateful for our shiny new mold-free house, but still contemplating what we've lost in the process. No longer do I arrive at the familiar home I knew with its brown carpet, wobbly banister, and floral wallpaper. Forever I will regret not making photo documentation of each room before the drywall started flying. That U-Haul took away a lot of the past too - childhood toys, Halloween costumes, and storybooks. Have we lost our memories? Or are we just making room for new ones? Honestly, we haven't missed too much from that storage unit. We've survived just fine without most of it for the past three years. As an historian, I know that memory is constantly evolving and being created. The smaller material record does not mean my childhood never happened.

 Oh, and in other news there is a man in my coffee shop wearing a Ravens jersey and Union Civil War cap narrating Japanese obstacle course game shows. Earlier his friend was discussing going to Confession in Italy. Even earlier there were two little kids repeating "underwear" and giggling uncontrollably. Not gonna lie, this might be more entertaining than the library. 

Pressure Cooker

"Don't make fun of the grad students, Bart. They just made a terrible life choice."- Marge Simpson

Last week was really icky. Grad school can sure mess with your head. Suddenly I found myself doubting and questioning pretty much everything in which I thought I believed. It was like there was a demon whispering in my ear that my life was pathetic and boring, and that there was nothing on this earth that could make me happy. Thank the Lord there were lots of good things on the horizon to cheer me up and give me a reality check. Here's the top ten in chronological order.

1. My grad prgram had a career panel consisting entirely of alumnae who are married with kids but also employed in museums. They all emphasized work/life balance and not neglecting your family for a stressful, high power job.

2. On my way out of town on Saturday, I ran to confession at a nearby church. The priest was a wonderful grandfatherly man who told me not to be too hard on myself. "You're just in a pressure cooker right now, gearing up for the next thing." Kind advice plus sacramental forgiveness = why I am glad to be Catholic.

3. When I arrived in New Jersey, I discovered The Beau had bought me flowers the color of autumn leaves :-)

4. After talking about it for ages, we finally cooked gumbo combining gluten-free roux (1/2 sourghum, 1/2 brown rice flour) with vegtables and stock

and chicken, andouille and rice. It was delicious.

5. On Sunday I tagged along to a choir concert/evening prayer at the Diocese of Metuchen cathedral. Why yes, I photographed the architecture.

6. On Monday I took another thesis field trip to New Tork, this time to Trinity Wall Street (the church at the end of National Treasure. Nicholas Cage did not actually find a fortune there.) The Trinity archivists were super nice and I even found some records of vestment purchases. A friendly security guard offered to take my picture while I was exploring the church.

7. I met my friend Laura for lunch uptown, emerging from the subway at yet another Anglo-Catholic church, St. Bart's.

8. After lunch, I went looking for a restroom. Laura suggested I try the Waldorf Astoria lobby. Good call!

9. The Trinity rector diaries were fun but not useful, so I cut out early and visited the Statue of Liberty instead. Hey lady, I'm tired and poor over here!

10.When I got off my train back to Jersey, I could look out from the platform and see where The Beau was doing homework and waiting for me. And when I got back to Delaware, my aunt was in town on business and we went out to dinner! It's nice to come home to people you love. Maybe I'll make it out of this pressure cooker after all.

On England and Popery

In retrospect, it has taken me months to process my class trip to London this January. Now that the memories of stress and exhaustion have faded, I begin to appreciate the wonderful places I saw and feel a real fondness for the city. That has been most apparent this weekend as I've followed Pope Benedict XVI's state visit to the United Kingdom. Not only is the Holy Father making historic speeches and appearances, he's doing so in places I've visited! Westminster Abbey? Been there. Mass in Westminster Cathedral? Done that too! It makes me feel a kinship with "Papa Benny" to know that we've both looked at the London Eye across the Thames.

The papal visit has also caused new reflection on my position as an historian and Anglophile who is also Catholic. When I study or visit England, I am always aware that this was a nation which, for centuries, would have killed or oppressed me for my beliefs. Nowhere did I feel that more keenly than at the Tower of London, where St. Thomas More spent his last days and is buried. He doesn't get a large shrine or elaborate casket, just a space beneath the chapel floorboards and a footnote after the saga of Anne Boleyn. Still, I could feel his presence as I toured the Tower. I wondered what he thought as he faced his death. We carried on a conversation of sorts as I asked his prayers for me and people I love.

Stories like Thomas More's are what make the Pope's UK visit so historic. Any 17th century English person would not believe what happened this weekend. The Pope stood in the place where Thomas More was condemned, addressing Parliament. Not far from the Tyburn, the Pope reflected on the Catholic and Anglican martyrs who died there. At Westminster Abbey, the Pope and Archbishop of Canterbury prayed together. We've come a long way. Former rivals and even enemies find themselves allies and friends in the face of a secular culture.

Which brings me to my thesis. "Late nineteenth early twentieth century Episcopal church vestments." At times it seems so insignificant and pointless. Who really cares about some Catholic girl's bumbling about in Episcopal church history? Rich parishes had pretty vestments, ok moving on! But somehow I think the newly beatified John Henry Newman would care. He spent part of his life as an Anglican, then as a Catholic. He influenced the liturgy and spirituality of both Churches. Both contributed to the man he was.

Speaking of conversion, someone in Salem heard my thesis topic and asked if I was planning on converting to be an Anglo-Catholic Episcopalian. I laughed and answered "No, I really like the Pope, you know?" I do like the idea of a visible head of the Church. I also really like "Papa Benny" in his soft spoken, shy, scholarly demeanor. Under that gentleness is a razor sharp, encyclopedic mind and a good heart. I have been so darn proud this weekend as he bluntly spoke about important things: the horror of sex-abuse scandals, the need for public expressions of faith, the rationality of religion, and the desire for Christian unity.

Maybe my research is a tiny drop in the bucket of that Christian unity. If nothing else, I will understand my "separated brethren" better. I'm also learning more about liturgical history. If I can just tell an interesting story of Christians glorifying God through material culture, I will be happy. Blessed John Henry Newman, pray for me.

(Images are from the Daily Telegraph)

St. Mark's sneak peek

Here are a few photos I took on my semi-disastrous outing in Philadelphia. St. Mark's Episcopal Church really has some amazing embroidery, especially on altar frontals.

Urban Jungle

After my New York thesis trip, I felt like a total city person. Today's trip to Philadelphia was not so good. After dealing with endless stoplights on Broad Street, I drove in circles for literally half an hour trying to find an open parking space. In this half hour I was honked at once, twice pulled in to spaces only to realize they were restricted, and THEN had some jerkface steal a space from behind me while I was ineptly trying back up into it.

When I arrived thirty minutes late, I found Famous Vestment Designer smoking out front. Thank goodness he had something to do with his time. He had this semi-British accent that made everything I said sound stupid. For example,
"I'm so sorry I'm late, I should have planned this parking situation better."
"Well, one does need to plan these things." (Translation: You are an idiot.)
"I guess I'm so used to Wilmington where not much is going on."
"Yes, this is definitely more of a city. Wilmington is really more of village." (You are an idiot who lives in a podunk town. But he's right about the village thing.)

After that exchange things went better, and I found some fantastic stuff. Hearing about parish histories that actually mention vestments was music to my ears. And then I was helping Famous Vestment Maker close a sticky cabinet I accidentally slammed his fingertip in it. He kept a stiff upper lip - "These things happen" - but I felt like a jerk. A jerk who needs to read up on her embroidery terminology.

Modernist Monday - Art Nouveau Vestments

On one of my "sacristy raids" on Thursday I found something quite remarkable - Art Nouveau vestments! Since Art Nouveau was only really popular for a decade or two at the turn of the twentieth century, I feel fairly confident dating the set to that period. This set is also unusual because it is made of black silk. Black vestments can only be worn for somber occasions such as All Souls' Day and funerals. Most Catholic and Episcopal churches today don't use them, instead favoring white vestments that point to the Resurrection. Despite their dark coloring, the Art Nouveau vestments are full of signs of new life. Embroidered panels on the black damask and green orphreys feature butterflies, pomegranates, a peacock, and even a PHOENIX. The text at the bottom of a dalmatic (deacon's robe) reads "Requiescat in pace."

These are so rockin', I wish I could have them worn at my own funeral. Is that too morbid? Eh, these are too lovely to care about such things.

Update May 4, 2012. I feel quite honored that Shawn Tribe of the New Liturgical Movement blog linked to this post today. Welcome new visitors, and many thanks to the comment informing me about Arts and Crafts embroidery. If you are interested in my master's thesis research on Episcopal vestments, you can read more posts about it here.

If I can make it there I'll make it anywhere

Last week I not only got some major thesis research in, I went to New York City all by my big girl self! Navigating New Jersey Transit and the subway made me nervous at first, but everything went fine. From the upper west side to Grand Central Station to Times Square, I visited three historic Anglo-Catholic parishes and fit in lunch with a college friend as a bonus.

Since I've settled on Episcopal vestments as my thesis topic, I'm rediscovering the pros and cons of using parish churches as a resource. It can be tooth-gnashingly difficult at times. There are no finding aids that lead to tidy cabinets of acid-free boxes. Clergy are super busy dealing with worship schedules, committee meetings, Sunday's sermon, and homeless people knocking at the door; they are not waiting at a reference desk to take your call. Even a church possesses antique vestments, they might not know what or where those garments are.

But when things finally work out, it's amazing. Priests may be busy, but they are also in the business of being kind to strangers. Once you get in the door, they love showing off the history of their church's building or the beauty of the rarely used rose vestment set. They'll unlock cabinets and make connections for you. At one point on Thursday afternoon, as an adorable Episcopal nun led me to an attic room where chasuble-draped tables sat in rows like a hospital ward, I remembered why I love being an historian.

Summer challenges

I thought this summer would be the same as years past, racing from one event to another. The past month of travel has definitely been that way, but now I'm back at school and facing some new challenges. Things in Delaware are a little boring, and the silence is deafening. I haven't had this much time to myself pretty much ever, and the solitude frightens me. I'm used to having a crowd of siblings or housemates in the background making noise, not planning out in advance every time I will have contact with another human. Some of my classmates are also in town, but we don't have class or library reserve books to pull us together.

Hard as it is, I think this experience is going to be good for me. After a few days of moping around watching TLC constantly, I've started making time for things like daily Mass and even serious exercise. There are friends I desperately owe phone calls to. I need to learn to be an adult on my own terms.

I'm also re-assesing what I want from a scholarly life. Right now, the prospect of spending 8 weeks only with books and online databases is not exciting. Is this loneliness the same when you are writing a book or dissertation? If so, I don't want it. I want to talk to other people, belong to a community of scholars. Introvert I may be, but I am not cut out to be a recluse with 8 cats and a library.

Then again, finding friends is inherently harder when you've left the massive peer pool of college. Working in a cubicle or even staying home with babies can be just as isolating. Final verdict: the real world is scary.