just another day of Catholic pondering

musings of Sarah Reinhard: Catholic wife, mother, writer, convert, farm girl

just another day of Catholic pondering header image 1

Favorite Posts

The Story of the Snoring Scholar

Last modified on 2007-05-27 02:36:00 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

This is the sort of story that, in my mind, begins with a deep voice intoning, “Once upon a time…” as you snuggle down against the pillow and prepare for Adventures of the best sort. It is the sort of story that I have never really had to tell, but which I am going to tell here, now, because I’ve been here now for a year, and some of you have noticed (without my ever pointing it out!) that my blog is “snoring scholar” in the address, but named something different. Why is that?

Snuggle back against the pillow, my friend. Imagine a deep voice soothing you to sleep. Because it was sleep that inspired the name…the deep slumber of my Prince Charming on the couch one night, when I was blogging at my very first blog (a family affair, over at xanga). As I was blogging and writing to my dear Aunt Skyefinder, I played a game we play together – I Named my husband the “Snoring Scholar,” to which my aunt replied (the next day in her reply to me), “Wouldn’t that be a great name for a blog?” Well yes, indeed.

I don’t snore. At least, I can’t hear myself snore. Someone in this house, who shall remain nameless, insists that sometimes I do. I insist that someone should perhaps listen to a recording of their sleeping.

Nevertheless, my own lack of snoring did not stop me from starting a “Snoring Scholar” blog, which I didn’t really use. It was just over a year ago, after becoming hopelessly addicted to Happy Catholic, Rosetta Stone, and SFO Mom, that I started trying my hand at it. I used what I already had, though I renamed it what I thought was a more appropriate title, “just another day of Catholic pondering.”

(In answer to other questions no one’s asked, I do only intend the word Catholic to be caps, though there’s a bit of wordplay in the word catholic as the Church and as universal (so I don’t just focus on Church, but also on humanity and my corner of the world.))

I thought no one would really notice the “snoring scholar” part of things. I considered redoing the address but had already dug in, and I continue to enjoy the thought that I am always hat-tipping my own Snoring Scholar with my writing and my pursuits here, in this space.

I’ve always fancied myself a scholar, though it is just a fancy. I read a lot, and I like to learn and study and dig in to research. I can’t get away from weighing homeschooling, and maybe it’s because I just want to go through school again, in a way I can build it to be so far beyond what’s offered for little scholars now. And, since I find myself so often overextended, so often tired, the snoring, as applied to the “scholar” in my case, is a bit of truth.

So that’s how I came to be here as the “snoring scholar.” No masks, no mystery, just a corn-fed farm girl with a laptop and an idea that went a little wacky.


What’s in a name?

Last modified on 2009-01-09 20:56:00 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

On Monday, I mentioned something “out loud” about changing my domain name (the “snoringscholar.blogspot.com” part of things around here) and/or the name of this blog (“just another day of Catholic pondering”) (see #2 on this post). I’ve gotten some interesting feedback, and I thank you for that, those of you who have piped up.

I don’t know why I mentioned it here, except that talking about things is part of how I process them and think them through. I’ve spent years learning to think before I open my mouth (or clack on my keyboard), but the topic of a name seemed, well, worth sharing. And odd though this may sound, I’ve thought about this during prayer times this week – not because I’ve intended to, but because it just popped into my head. (Do I blame the Holy Spirit? Or some sort of attention deficit problem?) I have thought about the comments, about things my husband and I discussed, about marketing angles – oh, all sorts of things, really, related to this topic.

Names are pretty important, but this isn’t a child (say it with me: my blog isn’t a child, my blog isn’t a child, my blog isn’t a child – there now, feel better?), after all, so…why didn’t I just do it?

Well…it seemed to need thought. Oh, and I needed another bullet point for that post with the five parts. :) I’m not good at thought alone – I need discussion, interaction – and I really wondered what people would have to say. I didn’t pursue it by sending emails to the people who could probably give me professional opinions; I just left it out in the ether to percolate.

Here’s what brewed in my mind, and I’m sharing it because (a) I am in the mood to ramble this afternoon and (b) it seemed an appropriate follow-up.

As it turns out, I’m pretty passionate about both the domain name and the blog name. (Who knew?)

On Snoring and Scholar:
I like the snoring scholar part of my web address. Yes, it’s obvious that it’s free. Yes, it’s sort of confusing. Yes, it’s downright silly.

All three of those things, by the way, are traits I value, or at least uphold much of the time. I can think of one particular husband of one particular friend who would break into uproarious laughter at the thought of me not being confusing or silly. (He has the advantage over you of having seen me act the fool to make his 12-month-old smile.)

And free…well, free is good. This blog isn’t making any money – which is OK, mind you, it keeps it in its place; if it made me money, I suspect it would demand more of my time – so is it really worth paying for a special name? Now, there is that one domain name I’ve had in my back pocket for a number of years…but…well…we come back around to the fact that I just plain like snoringscholar. It reminds me, every time I type it or share it or think of it, of my husband, and that makes me think of my kids, and that makes me think of my faith (not always in exactly that order, but always starting with my husband, the original Snoring Scholar). And that, my friends, is as it should be!

On the Name of the Blog:
Now, the name of this blog, “just another day of Catholic pondering,” is a little more complicated. Am I really invested in it? I’ve been asking myself if I like it, for one thing (it was sort of thrown together), and if it really describes me, for another.

One of my friends pointed out that much of what I write wouldn’t have to be limited by the label “Catholic.” I had thought that myself, so I felt a little justified in my “this could be made more {gag} marketable” line of thinking.

The thing is, when I really stop and think about that label “Catholic,” I don’t feel limited by that label.

In fact, if I really think about it, I might need to be reminded that it’s not optional. And maybe having it at the top of a place where I’m spending much of my time and energy isn’t a bad thing.

Maybe, after all, it’s not for you, the readers. Maybe it’s not a way of enticing people to read what I write. Maybe it’s not a matter of being witty or clever or lame.

Maybe that name at the top is for me: a reminder of who I am, what I stand for, whose work I do.

Being Catholic isn’t something I turn off when I’m hanging out with a bunch of friends. Being Catholic isn’t just who I am when I’m at Mass and work. Being Catholic isn’t a part of me – it’s all of me.

Everything I do – from the moment I get up in the morning to the minute I collapse in the evenings – is Catholic. I’m not a good Catholic, an ideal Catholic, or a perfect Catholic, but I’m Catholic at every moment. No, you may not even notice (dare I suggest you may not be looking?), and maybe that’s another mark against me for not being better at evangelization. Then again, maybe this little corner of the world, where I have (boldly? foolishly?) proclaimed myself Catholic, you come to realize that Catholic, above all else, equals human.

I’m as human as you. I struggle. A lot. On a good day, I try to cooperate with the graces God sends me, and on the normal days, I kick and scream and whine (usually in my head).

If I had been thinking when I named this corner of cyberspace, I might not have included “Catholic” in the title. I probably would have made it shorter, easier to remember, catchier. Marketing Sarah would have had a field day.

But you know what? I think it might be just what it’s supposed to be, at least for the time being.

*If you’re interested, here’s The Story of the Snoring Scholar, a related post from a while back.

The Voices in My Head, an Introduction

Last modified on 2007-02-16 00:46:00 GMT. 3 comments. Top.

Yes, that’s right: “the voices in my head.” I have, in fact, come to the verge of naming them. One of them is the Narrator, the ever-present account of what’s going on, of what I am thinking during an event, of the background and detail of any given experience. I thought everyone had a Narrator (my aunt calls hers the Commentator, which might be more precise), but then Bob set me straight. He didn’t call me crazy, but he did look a bit confused when I asked him about his Narrator. It turns out he doesn’t have one (so does that mean mine does double-duty, due to my vocation as wife?).

There is also the No-You-Shouldn’t voice in my head, who might also be the good angel that’s always depicted in the cartoons. The No-You-Shouldn’t voice, though, doesn’t always give me good advice. I’ve found that she’s a little conservative sometimes (and yes, she has a gender and is most definitely female; Narrator, though, seems male). Sometimes NYS will advise me to wait for a car in an intersection, though it’s unclear (a) how far the car is from me and (b) how fast the car is going. At this point, Just-DO-It pipes up and sets things straight…or, as I am sure we all struggle with, adds a wrench to things. Just-DO-It often wants to be risky and adventurous; if I was at the Grand Canyon, Jus-DO-It would take off with no water bottle and probably wear entirely inappropriate shoes. Just-DO-It is handy, though, when I’m in a rut and NYS seems to be running things (and allowing life to get verrrrry dull). JDI will shake things up, rattle my cage, and not let me sit still.

There’s also the Evil Little Voice in my head, who adds nasty comments when I’m ticked off about things. This voice is unnamed, because Lucifer seems too harsh (I mean, come on, it’s a voice in MY head, I don’t want to name it Lucifer!) and I haven’t thought of anything just quite right. Evil Little Voice is the source of gossiping I do, which I try to control but I admit to being guilty. ELV will commentate and even misrepresent situations.

One of my favorites is the Bob-in-my-head. Now, I have no idea how Bob got a voice in my head, but he did! This voice is exactly Bob. It will pipe up with “yeah, right” at exactly the right times, and to things I don’t feel “yeah right” about at all! It will also tell me “good job” sometimes, and that’s a funny thing indeed.

There is Dot, who represents my domestic desires, to be a good mother and a good wife and, maybe, someday, to be a good housekeeper (she’s got her work cut out for her!), and Elizabeth Bennett, who represents my survival from folly. Both of these are new voices, so named after some observations of my aunt and the realization that I had voices waiting to be named. Dot seems able to juggle in ways I never thought I could, and EB is the person who points out the things in my life that make me marvel. My narrow escapes are the stuff of EB’s delight, and my dinner triumphs are the music for Dot’s dancing.

Then there’s Peerybingle, who probably most represents who I am now in my life. Peerybingle is who I think I am at the core of things. Peerybingle helps me struggle through my vocations as wife and mother and my desires to binge on books and write all morning even as a toddler begs to have her pants changed (or more accurately, my nose begs me to change her pants), the laundry buzzes, the phones ring, the dishes pile, and every other obligation screams at me. Peerybingle seems to keep a sense of humor about the whole thing, and to plant little coping comments that I didn’t even recognize until a friend pointed them out. When relating a story of Small Fry opening the shower curtain repeatedly and drenching the floor, Peerybingle’s response was, “Ah, well, that floor has needed mopped for a while.” Peerybingle’s my half-full gal, the one who reminds me about my blessings and gives me words and images for what I want to say.

There are other voices in my head, waiting to be named and discovered. A few of them have been banging and clanging around lately (I think there might be a Faustina and an Anthony, at the very least), trying to get my attention. But I’ve been busy with other things, and so they will just have to wait their turn.

I’ve been assured I’m not the only one with voices in my head. What voices live in your head?

Jack Russell Terror

Last modified on 2010-07-23 17:38:28 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

There should be a support group for owners of Jack Russell terriers. Well, there probably is, but we live out here in the boonies, and I probably wouldn’t drive to the Big Town for it anyway. As I was hollering at him, reflecting on how we should apply for the Dog Whisperer to come to us (and how he never has Jack Russells on his show!), I couldn’t help but draw some parallels between myself and the dog. I couldn’t help but picture God, standing at the kitchen door, hollering his heart out at me, frustrated to the gills, red in the face. But then I wonder, does God get that frustrated? Reading the Old Testament accounts, I think maybe he does. And I have to credit my patron saints for my survival this long, I’m sure! I’m not sure what has kept Petie around so long (I can sure understand why there are rescues for these blasted dogs, let me tell you!), except maybe a grudging fondness on our (mostly my) part.

When he pulls clothes through the venting holes of the hamper, tearing delicates and shredding t-shirts, all because he managed to get his ball or toy in the hamper and needs it out NOW, I could strangle him. In the silence of the pre-dawn house, as I cozy up with my mug of coffee and putter around doing my morning chores, his unexpected barks stop my heart and give me a year less to live! And then there is the happy dashing from one end of the five acres to the other, right after he has been standing outside clamoring to get in. He’ll chase cars on the road – he’s smart enough not to go out on the road, though we worry when we see cars swerving away from him (which only encourages him and makes them his victim). He hogs the bed and steals my covers and scratches so hard sometimes in the middle of the night that he wakes me up.

So how must it be for God? I complain because I feel I’m in the spiritual desert, yet I turn away from the oasis of his love and forgiveness by not going often enough to confession. I gripe about the failings of those angelic people around me, all the while poisoning the very air I speak in with my foul attitude. I admire the saints for their humility, but so often to put it in practice for myself. I feel compassion for people, but then do not help the needy in my midst. I am given so much, but all I see is how much I lack.

Do you suppose there’s a support group for God, as he deals with Jack Russell humans?

Sitting at the Kitchen Table

Last modified on 2006-08-09 10:38:00 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

The kitchen table has always been an important part of my life. Growing up, it’s where I remember major family times taking place. I have vivid recollections of a long table in various settings, often Grandma’s, filled with the special occasion China, heaped with piles of steaming food, surrounded by laughter and talking.

Throughout my school days, I did my homework at the assorted kitchen tables I had access to. In grade school, I never spent long there, but in high school, with the introduction of late night coffee-ingesting in order to go to bed assured of my chances of success on certain math and chemistry tests, the kitchen table became an indispensable part of my studies. My parents still have the kitchen table I used through those years, and I think, if they ever got rid of it, I would have to put it somewhere in my own house. In college, I got a card table for my room in my second year, though it never served as well as the wooden tables of my younger days. The long library tables were too silent (and restrictive of aforementioned coffee-ingesting habits), nor would they fit in the dorm rooms.

And now, my husband is taking classes, and I see him use our dining room table in the exact way I used kitchen tables. In fact, that is the only use for that table. I have thought of getting rid of it, but where would he study? (The kitchen tables – yes, there are two – are much too full of clutter to be suitable.)

The kitchen table at Grandma’s is still a place we naturally linger at after dinner, and often a place we will pull a chair up to even when no food is involved. It’s as natural as breathing. In my own home, I find that certain kinds of family – especially the ones we most enjoy having over – tend to migrate to the kitchen and gather around our tables, whether or not they are filled with clutter. We have the heartiest laughs around the kitchen table, and we find ourselves forging new memories, captioned with smiles and giggles, as we collect there.

Favorite Posts