In which I tolerate dogs.

So, let me just get this out there right away. I am NOT a dog person. Or a cat person, or an any other sort of animal person. Verily, I declare unto thee:  I have no patience for anything (other than a baby human) getting its hair and saliva all over me gratuitously. Hair-and-saliva-sharing score negative points on my love languages chart. My favorite thing about animals is looking at them, because they are really adorable and cute, from a distance. They are even more adorable and cute from this side of a computer screen. Thank you, YouTube.

I suppose if I had grown up with indoor pets I wouldn't have animal-tolerance issues. According to Brewer Family Legend, my mother declared to my father from the very start: "It's either me or the dogs!" And that is the story of how any dogs we ever owned lived exclusively outside.

I remember one time we returned home from somewhere to find a dog -an actual, live dog- IN our house. Just, you know, hanging out. It was a  surreal sight for us kids, in our strictly pet-free home. For my mom, it was also surreal, like a nightmare come to life. Son, you better believe that animal knew her wrath. It flew panic-stricken back into the wild and never dared to return. (I seem to remember a broom being involved in this scene, but I could be mistaken.) How that animal got into our house we will never know. That unsolved mystery also went down in Brewer Family Legend.

Another reason I am not a big fan of dogs is because dogs like to eat really disgusting stuff, like poop. Ugh. Ga-ROSS. Of course, people excuse them because they "don't know any better" and blahblahblah, and I agree. They don't know any better. However, my personal preference is to not be licked by or even be accidentally in danger of being licked by anything that doesn't know not to eat it's own poop. I also hate yelling loudly at things not to eat poop. It's just not ladylike, and I have suspicions that the neighbors find it uncouth.

 Dog's don't stop at poop though. They're like goats. Once I went outside only to find our dog in the act of eating a sock. It wasn't a small, wimpy, kid-size sock either, oh no. It was a thick, wool, man sock, of the tube variety. "NO!" I shouted, running toward him. "Mezzie, stop! No eating socks!!!" But at that precise second the twelfth inch of that thick, woolen sock disappeared down the creature's gullet. Ewwwww!  Until that moment I had taken with a grain of salt Mom's despairing claim every laundry day that all the socks in our house must get eaten by someone.

 There have been indoor dogs at the last two homes in which I've worked. I guess you could say I have been learning to tolerate dogs, with all their licking and their hair-shedding and their barking during the baby's nap time. (<--- At which point I confess to temporarily harboring an irrational rage towards the whole canine species.) But, *deep breath*... tolerance. At times, it is a very ungracious tolerance. Every time I find a dog hair in my food I remind myself that purgatory on Earth is much more preferable to doing time after death. Every time I find a dog hair in the baby's diaper I console myself that his immune system is becoming so potent that any invading diseases will wither to a crisp upon impact. Every time I come home looking like the business end of a feather-duster I remember that I'm a first-world citizen and have 24-hour free access to a change of clothes and a washing machine. But mostly, I just remember that home is a dog-free zone and that makes me quite happy.

By this time, most dog owners/lovers/rights-activists probably think I'm a dog-hater, but that's definitely not so. There are things I love about dogs, like their puppies. #SOCUTE!!!! Puppies are awesome and I can never get enough of them when our dog has a litter. That said, I enjoy them OUTSIDE, where they can do their business in places that I don't have to clean up afterward. I also enjoy the serene presence of a dog lounging beside me while I read or watch T.V. Not licking me, or being overly demonstrative, but companionably laying-beside, kind of like a space heater that you can stroke in a friendly sort of way every once in a while. (That last one begins and ends my list of things I enjoy about dogs being indoors.)

It's worth it to state here that the point of this post isn't really anything. I just wanted to say funny things about dogs in order to come to better terms with my conscience, which feels guilty about not sufficiently liking the cute, slobbery, furry balls of friendliness which are fondly referred to as "man's best friend." Oh well. At least I tolerate them. :)

Inner Musings of a Single Nanny

I have been racking my brain for some meaningful topic of blogversation, but nothing of useful or beneficent nature to all mankind has struck my fancy yet. Therefore, I have decided to cast aside any vague fancies that I can be a useful beneficiary to mankind through this little blog, and settle down to my keyboard to write for my friends.

So, recently, I started a new nanny job. My new charge is a little seven-month-old boy, Emerson. He is an adorable little carrot-top, and a tiny reincarnation of Buddha to boot. He's one of those babies whose arms and legs look like they have invisible strings tied at the wrists and ankles. So cute and squooshy!

This new job is very nice, and, I am sure, will grow nicer as time passes and Em and I become more used to each other and are able to establish a rock-solid schedule. However, I am learning something inevitable about the Nanny Trade, and that is the frustration of having to start all over again. Having to start over with a new child, and establish a new trust relationship with them. Having to start all over again raising a little baby, when you've just securely reached the toddler stage with the previous charge and have finally come to an understanding!

 Ellis and I had gotten to such a nice point by the time I left. We'd weathered the ups and downs of her babyhood, and had surmounted Mt. Toddlerhood against all odds! It was going great! Every day was new and full of progress. And now, it feels as though I've returned to square one. At least as a mother you receive a continual return for your physical, emotional, and spiritual investment in a child. As a nanny, I've come to realize -- you don't really get that. Honestly, it's a bit disheartening.

That's one of the reasons (but not the only one) that I have decided I will not voluntarily be a nanny for much longer. After this job, which will last for a little more than a year, I really want to move on and invest my time and energy in something closer to home. I've spent the last two years investing so much in other people's families, and now I'm tired. These 10+ hour days in other people's homes with other people's families are so draining.

Ideally, it would be so wonderful to get married and have a family of my own in which to invest my domestically-inclined heart -- but I don't know if or when that will ever happen. It's easy to feel sorry for myself about this, since pretty much all my friends and acquaintances and even their younger siblings are happily in relationships, engaged, or married already. It comes so easily to some, you know? And then for others....we wait and wait and wait. And wait. God only knows when the waiting will end.

And in the meantime, I cannot, cannot, CANNOT allow myself to be sad, or wallow in self-pity. No way! There are tons of legitimately awesome things about being single and unattached. The freedom is quite lovely - I can do what I want, when I want, where I want (within moral reason of course!). I don't have a child to constantly tend to and think about, or a husband to consider. I can go out late and stay up late. I can take vacations and spend money on clothes without feeling guilty. I have lots of time for prayer, and don't have to snatch it at odd moments throughout the day when children aren't nagging for once. The possibilities are endless and therefore quite thrilling!

Perhaps the main thing I envy married people for is the security that comes with the sacrament. You will always have someone to whom you belong and who belongs to you (in a manner of speaking, as all of us ultimately belong to God, etc.). You will always have a home to go to, and you know what you will be doing for the rest of your life: being married to so-and-so. As a single person, I constantly wonder what the next year - or even the next six months will hold for me. Sometimes that's exciting and sometimes it's downright terrifying. I HAVE to fend for myself, because no one else will if I don't. There's no one to help me shoulder the burden of things like student loans or insurance payments.

Thank God for my large family. If I didn't have them, I would be in bad straits. While they can't help me with things like loans and insurance, I DO have a place to call home - and it's a happy place! I belong to these people and they love me. But I feel so much for single people who don't have a family to support and love them. It's a reminder that life is fragile, and often broken - and that but for the grace and favor of God, I would be lost.

A Taste of Heaven: Part II

In mid-March, the Tallis Scholars came to Memphis, TN. I had been anticipating their coming for the better part of a year - and what an experience!!! I'm chalking it up on my Best Choral Concerts Ever List, which looks something like this:

Best Concerts Ever List (in this particular order):

Tallis Scholars            Memphis, TN     2013

Cantus                        Memphis, TN    2012

Westminster Choir          Naples, FL     2011

Cambridge Singers     Naples, FL      (2008?)

I just need to see The Sixteen in concert and my life will be complete.

So, the concert! Well, it was held in this gorgeous, old, historic and beautiful Presbyterian Church on the banks of the Mississippi river in downton Memphis. (I said "downton" as they say it in "Downton Abbey." Just wanted you guys to know so that you could get the full effect. "Downton Memphis.")

As I threaded my way through close, labyrinthine passages on the heels of a genial old guide, I made some remark about the circuitous route. He jibed, "Well it was built this way to keep the Protestants out." Stifling an impertinent remark, I joked back, "But not to keep out the Catholics?" "Oh no," he replied. "The Catholics are our sister church." 

As I mused upon this interesting glimpse into the Presbyterian mindset, my guide threw open some doors and ushered me into a beautiful Sanctuary. I wanted to genuflect! It was much more beautiful and traditional than most Catholic churches in Memphis. Put a tabernacle and a statue of Mary in there, and you wouldn't have been able to tell that it was a Protestant...(er, Presbyterian) church.

The church began to fill up a little bit more, but I was ashamed of how small the final audience was. I was sure that the Tallis Scholars would take one look at our sparse showing and walk away laughing. In my opinion, it should have been standing-room-only! It is such a shame that this type of music is no longer appreciated in our mainstream culture. But the Tallis Scholars were gracious and commenced an absolutely breathtaking performance. 

The highlight of the concert was Allegri's famous Miserere Mei - a piece I had been looking forward to with great anticipation. That high C has fascinated and enthralled me for years - and I couldn't wait to witness the great moment when the chosen soprano would soar up to that note. Intermission ended and we all returned to our seats. The Tallis Scholars returned to the altar steps, but half of them were missing! One of the Tenors stood up higher and farther back on the altar than the rest, to intone the chant-portions of the piece. They began to sing. For those of you who don't know, the Miserere Mei was composed for a double-choir, where the two choirs sing antiphonally. When it was their turn, choir II (the one including the high C soprano) began to sing from some mysterious location in the church. Their voices issued as if from mid-air, and the effect was marvelous. Sure enough,  when the time came, the soprano soared up to a flawless, gorgeous high C. Again and again she performed that note perfectly.

To be honest, I was a tad disappointed that we could not see the second choir. I had really wished to watch that soprano do her thing - I mean, how many people have YOU watched hit a high C live? But, it was what it was...and it was beautiful.

At the end of the piece, choir II appeared from behind some wooden partitions in the rear of the church and walked up the aisle amidst resounding applause. I will never forget that performance. It was truly a taste of heaven!

A Taste of Heaven: Part I

In case you didn't already know, I have an on-going love affair with Renaissance Polyphony. I remember the first time I truly discovered it, during Christmas break right after my first semester at Ave Maria University. I had heard the Chamber Choir at school sing a few lovely Renaissance pieces - that was what sparked my interest in the first place - and so I decided to go online and find some more of that hauntingly beautiful music. I ended up at a place called "Choral Treasure," which, sadly, no longer exists.

Within five minutes, I was completely and utterly entranced. I could hardly believe that such beautiful music existed on earth. I lay on my bed for hours that day, doing nothing but soaking up the music. I waylaid every person that came to my door, sitting them down on a chair in my room to partake of the musical experience, and intently searched their faces for any sign of the earth-shattering revelation I felt myself to be experiencing.

My family probably found my behavior slightly creepy. And I never did see in their faces what I wanted to see.

However, I was a changed woman. I had a new love. When I went back to school that Spring, and in the years that followed, I was blessed to be able to learn more and more about this beautiful, spiritual art form. The time came when I successfully auditioned for the Chamber Choir, and was able to participate in making this music myself. I cannot stress, simply cannot express how deeply I cherished every moment of music-making at Ave Maria, especially when we sang Renaissance Polyphony. I was delighted to learn in my studies that this was the traditional music of the Church!

Women's Schola and Chamber Choir became my favorite places to be. Whenever we sang for a High Mass I felt transported beyond myself, into the heart of God, supernaturally joined to the Church Militant, Triumphant, and Suffering, to all the ages and all the peoples of all the world, worshiping in spirit and in truth. My love of this music was what led me to love the Traditional Latin Rite. Truly, nothing can compare to the experience of a High Mass.

Two summers ago I was privileged to attend a High Mass at St. Francis de Sales Oratory in St. Louis, MO.  I will never forget that experience - ever ever EVER. At Ave Maria University, where I had gained most of my TLM experience, the priests and congregation were still "new" to that Rite and were still working out the kinks. At St. Francis de Sales, the priests and congregation have been doing it for years. Words cannot describe the beauty of my experience at St. Francis de Sales. The music was just what it ought to have been - it was the ideal. It did not seem to be a separate entity, but perfectly grafted to the Mass, stemming from it, moving it forward, making it breathe. Not once did it distract me from prayer, but instead worked to raise my soul, higher and higher to the summit of prayer, and slowly to set it back down again on earth at the end of the Mass. (I did not feel jolted or distracted by the music as I often do at the English Mass, which, sadly, does not feel as organic as the TLM. )* The organist must have been a truly inspired, divinely gifted individual. The organ's presence was continual throughout the liturgy, but never obtrusive. At every moment, it was just right. Triumphal, uplifting, meditative, mysterious, or tender in turns, the music of the organ added a distinctive beauty to the Mass the equal of which I have not encountered since.

Occasionally the organ music was punctuated by a beautifully trained choir, singing Chant or Polyphony, as was appropriate. I am jealous of that choir. The friend in St. Louis with whom I was staying was a member of that choir, and they are all volunteers. Volunteers who sing so well! Who can read music and understand how to sing polyphony! What a privilege! For weeks afterward I seriously contemplated relocating to St. Louis, just so that I could join that choir and attend that Mass every week.

I want to go on raving about it, but perhaps I have said all that my own words can express. If you ever have an opportunity to be in St. Louis, MO of a Sunday morning, consider attending Mass at St. Francis de Sales Oratory, and you can see for yourself.

* I am in no way condemning the English Mass. It is the Mass I primarily attend with my family, and it can be an extremely prayerful experience depending upon the individual's disposition. My personal preference, however, is for the Traditional Latin Mass. My prayer is that it will one day be more available to all Catholics, so that everyone might have the opportunity to experience this treasure if they so desire.

Survivor Girl

You will all be glad to know that I survived the last two days of house/pet-sitting. Those last two days were accomplished behind *truly* locked doors and with marginally*  improved slumber. Rarely have I been more relieved to have done with something. The most extraordinary happenstance during those last two days of terror was my locking the cats out of the bedroom, furniture and expensive vases be-damned. Oh, the lengths one will go to when laboring under the primitive need for sleep! Besides, my full-time employers were beginning to wonder why they were paying a zombie to watch their child for ten hours a day, and my body was sending me hate mail under the guise of narcoleptic shut-downs.

* Think: Multiple sessions of two-hour sleep increments, instead of just a single one!

Last night was the first night back in my own bed, and oh - what bliss! I passed out cold and awoke this morning much refreshed (though a few more nights of quality sleep will be necessary to blot out the painful remembrances of yore.) It will be a long time before I accept any more house sitting jobs.*

*As I unequivocally declare this, it occurs to me that Providence is most likely laughing and handing out my number to every house-sitter-needing-home-owner within a 50-mile radius. Haha, funny.

~*~*~*~*~

In other news, WE HAVE A NEW POPE, PEOPLE!!! His Holiness Pope Francis (formerly Cardinal Jorge Bergolio) seems to have been a surprise choice to those who were keeping score before the conclave; then again I never will understand how people can have specific expectations about the outcome of this Spirit-led process - as if we could predict such things! Did you notice how it just drove the media stark raving crazy? - Emphasis on the raving. I had to forsake both MSNBC and CNN for their poor - deliberately poor - choice of commentators and interviewees. So pouty, media! Grow up. I finally settled upon EWTN (a vast improvement, albeit still lacking IMHO). But no one is perfect. This was the first time I have seen the white smoke live, as well as received the Papal blessing live. Such a beautiful experience!

I pray to God to bless our new Pope Francis, per his humble request. Thy will be completely and beautifully accomplished in him and in us, Father!

Bob

This is Bob.

Hi Bob.

These are the remains of the vase Bob broke.

RIP vase.

Below is the poem I wrote to explain the tragedy of the broken blue vase.

~*~*~*~*~

The Demise of the Blue Vase

or

It's All Bob's Fault

'Twas late upon the hour, a cool and dark spring night

When the Sitter and her sisters, alarmed, jumped up in fright!

A "CRASH!" resounded through the house, so loud and so suspicious

That they thought, "Intruders! Interlopers! Or possibly the dishes!"

A-thundering down the stairs they came, and saw Bob in disgrace - 

Upon the mantle he had jumped, and there upset the vase!

"Rapscallion! What a mess!" They cried, and Bob looked up, abashed.

As they searched for a vacuum, he opportunely dashed.

The vase was such a beauty, suffering such a tragic end,

And therefore our condolences we most sincerely send.

The end.

~*~*~*~*~

(If I were them, I would forgive me.)

~*~*~*~*~

Update: Mrs. Employer texted me yesterday: "BTW, I loved the poem!" Phew.

Misadventures in "Sitting"

Man oh man. A combination of daylight savings time, lack of proper sleep for the past three nights, and overall stress have resulted in a somewhat-depressed-me today. If I sat down and really tried, I'm sure I could eek out a few honest tears.

As most of you know, I am a nanny. It's how I pay the bills. This is not an unprecedented choice of vocation, as the majority of my past jobs have revolved around childcare. In fact, I have had a virtually uninterrupted stream of babysitting jobs since I was 10 years old, so becoming a glorified babysitter - the fabled Nanny - seemed a logical choice. On the side, I do more babysitting. And house-cleaning, and pet-sitting. (Gotta pay off those student loans somehow yo.)  Another type of sitting job that recently fell into my lap is new to me: house/pet-sitting. Sleep in house, take care of pets. Pretty straightforward, no? A piece of cake for an old hand like me, used to the much more demanding scenario of screaming children and domestic chaos, yes?

Um, no. Hereafter follows:

The Tail* of How House/Pet-Sitting is Actually Not Easier Than Babysitting, 

and Is Also Much, Much Scarier

*(yes, yes, I did make a pun).

For the past three days I have been house/pet-sitting for a family that lives about five minutes south of my own house. Initially, I thought this would be a great job. Their house is spectacularly beautiful and modern, having just been built last year and furnished with all the most luxurious amenities. It is situated in a beautiful stand of wilderness, located a respectable ways off the main road. It is light and airy and open - a lovely atmosphere -- until it gets dark. And then it actually becomes terrifying.

For one thing, as previously mentioned, it is a respectable ways off the main road: lonely, quiet, secluded. No one can hear me scream. For another thing, as previously mentioned, it is light, airy, and open - thus dark, cold, and cavernous when the sun sets. The owners for some reason (perhaps intentionally?) have not put curtains or even blinds on ANY of the huge, numerous, panoramic windows and doors that line the house - not even the ones in the master bedroom! What is light, airy, and pleasant during the daylight becomes creepy, unsettling, and exposed at night. (What if someone or something is watching me through those transparent windows at night?! I have no way to protect or shield myself, unless I hang up all the sheets and blankets. At this point it seems a tempting plan.)

This is where the alarm system is supposed to swoop in and reassure me, but it's actually very, very cold comfort, as alarms systems do and always have made me incredibly nervous and jumpy. I don't know why. Repressed childhood experience, perhaps? I am always worried that I will set them off through ignorance or forgetfulness, and then be paralyzed by the resulting fear and noise.

So, for those reasons, my stress-level starts rising as soon as the sun sets, and skyrockets until bed time, when a whole new set of problems emerges. For one thing, I have rarely ever in my past experience stayed the night in a big house all alone. Of course, there have been times when my family has been gone on a trip or something and I've slept at home alone, but our house is:

1) Familiar - I can identify any night noises. (That is, when noises actually manage to sneak through the reassuring background noise of the air-purifier in my room.)

2) Blessed - within an inch of its life by multiple priests on various occasions so that no demon or evil thing dares come near that sacred territory. KiYAH!

3) Pet-free - My mother would have the heart attack of all heart attacks if we ever even dared suggest allowing non-human creatures in the Blessed and Sacred Territory known as HER HOUSE.

But in this house...

1) It is so quiet at night because everything is so modern and new and noiseless. Even small sounds, like a faucet dripping, are loud. The sound of the ice-maker in the fridge is like a freaking earthquake apocalypse and the first few times it dumped ice into the receptacle, it sent me shooting bolt-upright in bed, shaking. I turned on the ceiling fan in an attempt to produce some sort of baseline noise, but wouldn't you know, it's so new it just turns silently while I freeze my tooshie. Thus, I notice every little sound, worry about what it is, and find it almost impossible to sleep.

2) Another facet of the night-noises issue is the pets. Since there are three of them in this house (1 dog, 2 cats) there are a lot of live things that go "bump" (and sometimes "YOWL" and "CRASH") in the white-noiseless night. Not only do the pets produce a thousand alarming sounds, but those two, young rapscallions of cats are bound and determined that MY face is the properest and most interesting place to sleep. Multiple times a night they jump up, "THUNK," on the bed, and sinuously approach, all the while attempting to lull me with amorous, deep purring. Then they WALK on my FACE. And try to sit on it. Oh my heck, kitty. No. NO!

 Last night, during Bob's tenth OPERATION: SIT ON HER FACE attempt, I banished him and shut the door to the room. His piteous mewing and the subsequent cessation of all sound worked to increase my anxiety even further. (The cats have a demonstrable tendency to get into mischief when they feel neglected, and have already broken one extremely expensive-looking vase on my watch. In revenge for me locking them out of the bathroom, they also knocked over my glass of water on the bedside table, soaking various items left there by my employers.)

3) Top this all off with an irrational fear of intruders who might set off the alarm, and you have a well-rounded though not exhaustive list of my house/pet-sitting woes.

 I have gotten no more than two hours of sleep at a time for the last three endless nights.

I am so tired. 

And then this morning happened.

Before I left the house at 6:30 am to go to work, I let out all three pets as my employers requested. I strewed the entire house with blessed salt (which my employers have no idea about, but it definitely won't hurt them!), set the alarm, and headed off into the cold, dark morning. If you ask me, daylight savings time was a dastardly, dastardly invention.

Well. At 9:15 am I received a call from the harried house owners on vacation in Colorado. The alarm had somehow been set off, and cops and in-laws were swarming the house, attempting to set things aright. Had I not let out the dog before I left? Because they could see her inside through the windows (those oh-so naked windows), and she simply could not be allowed to stay inside for the whole day....

 I verified that, indeed, I had let out all three animals that morning, I was sure of it. After half an hour of flurried phone-calls and text-messages back and forth, the whole story came to light. The dog, Aretha (named after Aretha Franklin!) had let herself into the house by the unlocked master-bedroom door and tripped the alarm.

First of all. UNLOCKED?!?! ...and... how the heck does a dog let itself inside via a human door? So many questions!!?!!

In retrospect, it may have been helpful for the house owners to let me know that 1) there is a special, extraordinary way to make the house doors *truly* lock, and 2) the dog knows how to let itself in. Hellooooo! This is terrifying news! For the past three days I have been living in a not-*truly*-locked transparent house, secluded from civilization with pets who clearly know more than I do about getting in and out of that place. So. Scary.

I really do not want to go back there to sleep for two more nights, but the bullet has to be bit. And I've already deposited the check.