Sick calls

When I fall ill, which is not too often, I return to an infant-like state, requiring constant attention. Either that, or just fill me up with strong antibiotics and let me sleep for 48 hours solid. THAT, my avid readers, in my idea of heaven. But alas, for some, they prefer a more primitive route:

When someone is bed-ridden, homebound, or in the hospital, the priest will make a "sick call" to ensure the person receives the Eucharist -- an especially important duty around Easter time (the priest will hear Confession if necessary). In cases of possible death, he will offer Extreme Unction (in such a situation, call the priest as soon as possible, day or night!). Unction is a separate Sacrament that includes what follows below and also an annointing with Oleum Infirmorum (the Oil of the Sick).

For a regular sick call (i.e., one that doesn't include Unction), call your priest and, when he comes, remember that he will be bringing the Blessed Sacrament, the very Body of Christ. Men should remove any headcoverings, while women should cover their heads (I have no idea why - must be a patriarchal thing), and the house should be prepared accordingly. Now prepare the sick room itself:

Set up a table near the bed in a place where the sick person can see it, and cover it with a white cloth.

Place on the table the crucifix with a lit blessed candle on each side, a dish of holy water, a piece of palm (if you have some) that the priest can use to spinkle the holy water, and a dish of regular water. Some families include a small bell that the priest or sick person rings after Confession is complete (if Confession is received) to summon the family back into the room.

Lay a linen cloth across the breast of the sick person.

When the Priest arrives, meet him in silence at the door while carrying a lit blessed candle, genuflect, and lead him to the sickroom. Kneel, and stay with him and the sick one, offering your prayers, but do leave the room if Confession is to be heard, closing the door behind you. When the priest opens the door again, or rings the bell that some families include with their sick call sets, you may re-enter.

It is good to have a sick call set all ready in your family altar so in case of need you can just grab it. Crucifixes that hang on the wall, but then open up to reveal two small candles and a vial of holy water, and which can be set up on a table can be purchased from Catholic gift shops under the name "sick call sets," but you can make your own.

The Ritual
The priest enters the sick room itself.

V. Pax huic dómui.
R. Et ómnibus habitántibus in ea.

Of course this is said in Latin because Latin cures all ailments.

The priest lays the corporal on the prepared table, places the Blessed Sacrament on it, and sprinkles the room with Holy Water.

Aspérges me, Dómine, hyssópo, et mundábor; lavábis me, et super nivem dealbábor, Miserére mei, Deus: secúndum magnam misericordiam tuam. Glora Patri, et Filii, et Spiritui Sancti.

Translation for non-Latin speakers: "Cleanse me of sin with hyssop, Lord, that I may be purified; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow, Have mercy on me, O God, according to Thy great mercy. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost."

Exáudi nos, Dómine sancte, Paer omnípotens, aeterne Deus: et mittere dignéris sanctum Angelum tuum de caelis, qui custódiat, fóveat, prótegat, visitet atque deféndat omnes habitántes in hoc habitáculo. Per Christum Dominum nostrum.

Very medieval when you have a religious person playing the part of a doctor and rambling off random things in Latin. How do we know that he was not rattling off his shopping list? Butter, bread, deodorant, People magazine, wood polish for my crucifix.

The priest goes closer to the sick person and, if necessary, hears his confession, in which case all others leave the room (if the sick call set includes a bell, family members can be summoned after confession by using it). Afterward, the Eucharist is given as it usually is outside of Mass, but the sick person, if possible, says the "Confiteor" and the "Domine non sum dignus" with the priest.

Confíteor Deo omnipoténti, beátæ Maríæ semper Vírgini, beáto Michaéli Archángelo, beáto Joanni Baptístæ, sanctis Apóstolis Petro et Paulo, ómnibus Sanctis, et tibi, Pater: quia peccávi nimis cogitatióne, verbo et ópere: mea culpa [strike breast] , mea culpa [strike breast] , mea máxima culpa [strike breast]. Ideo precor beátam Maríam semper Vírginem, beátum Michaélem Archángelum, beátum Joánnem Baptístam, sanctos Apóstolos Petrum et Paulum, omnes Sanctos, et te, Pater, oráre pro me ad Dóminum Deum nostrum. [the priest then says the Misereátur].

Okay, now it's this striking the chest thing that has me bothered. If someone is on their death bed, should you really be repeatedly striking them on the chest? Why not just let the poor sick guy go in peace? Nope, make a fist and pound his chest. Maybe there's a lazy Latin demon lurking around, who knows.

First you go pink, then red

So today I went to a tanning salon, because "translucent" is not a color!

The friendly, well-tanned woman behind the counter explained all their packages to me. Level One is for pale ghosts like me. Level Two works the color and gives you some more. And so it goes on until you can choose a level where you end up looking like the back of a leather belt. I went with Level One.

Pasty over here was told that his first session would only be 8 minutes, to work the "base tan" and ready my skin. So in I went, under fluorescent lights, and finally knew what a turkey feels like in an over. Eight minutes later, the buzzer went off and I was done. I looked in the mirror. Nothing. Same ol' pasty.

The leather strip behind the counter told me to come back on Monday for another 8 minutes.

And tonight, now the color is coming through. A nice pinkish red. Yes, I look like a tomato. Okay, not AS red, but still. Maybe I'm just so used being the color of a sheet of paper that any color would show on me.

As long as I get to have some color for the summer, I'll be happy.

They said YES!

The pay check payers said yes. My leave has received the big red stamp. In just six weeks I shall be jetting off to not-so-sunny South Africa. Regular thrill a minute over here, I tell you!

That doesn't mean I've booked or paid for my ticket yet. Crikey, they're about $2000, and who has that kind of cash just lying around - or sitting in one's checking account? Certainly not me. So I shall wait until next pay day - two weeks from now - and dive into my bank account once it has been replenished with green things and pay for my 26-hour debacle across the Atlantic Ocean.

Does this metal monstrosity with wings fly direct to Grab-Your-Gun-We're-Landing-At-Joburg-International? Hell no. It stops off in Senegal. This is not a prescription drug manufactured by GSK. This is in fact a country in Africa.

From the 15th century onwards, poor Senegal has been raped and pillaged by the Portuguese, by the Dutch, and then the British. Finally, the French came out of their drunken stupor caused by the ingestion of copious amounts of champagne - and on their way from a summer getaway in Franschoek - and decided they too wanted a turn.

In Senegal, they speak French. And they are Muslim. And the country has 11 million people. So why on earth does my flight stop in Dakar, Senegal? Is it to reload with African baskets to take down to Jo'burg? I think not. We have our own African baskets, thank you very much. Maybe some of those lovely colorful blankets? Nope, we have those too.

My only thought is that perhaps the pilots need a bit of shut-eye before trekking on down the Dark Continent. Yes, that must be it.

Either way, it's a long flight. I don't like long flights. I hope they serve copious amounts of booze. Perhaps I can drink myself into an alcohol-induced coma, stumble off the plane in Jo'burg, dodge a bullet or two, board another plane and land just slightly intoxicated. Yes, my family who hasn't seen me in over three years would be thrilled. Not to mention I'd look and smell like shit!

Oh hell, Ambien it is then!

Adam and Steve may now say, "I do" in California

Maybe I'm far too liberal for my own good, but I'd like to know what all the hoo-ra is about. If they want to get married, let them get married!

Here in the U.S., while oil prices continue to sky rocket and war rages on in Iraq and the world economy starts to slip into recession, Americans remain concerned about same-sex marriage. Are you serious?

But now California just lonely Massachusetts in legally recognizing same-sex marriage. Good for them. Welcome to the 21st century. And yet this appears to be a topic that rages on in Presidential debates and living rooms across America.

"But it degrades the sanctity of marriage," people mutter.

No idiots, divorce degrades the sanctity of marriage. And here in the U.S., there is a 50% divorce rates. So it's okay for folks to go out and get married, but God forbid the same be allowed for homosexuals.

Is that kinda like equal but different? Some states allow a ceremony called a "civil union". It's not marriage but allows some of the same benefits. Isn't that like saying you can still ride the bus, as long as you sit at the back?

Just a little something that's been running through my mind.

My cat has diarrhea

I decided not to take insert a pic here for this post because that would have just been gross.

So I arrived home from work today to find that my very fluffy cat has a case of the runs. So I donned a pair of big rubber yellow kitchen gloves, grabbed an old sponge, and poured some Pine-Sol (Dettol for you South African folks) into a large red bucket and washed down the nether region of my cat.

To say he was not alatogether thrilled with a pungent wash down would be an understatement. Nonetheless, I washed him down and hopefully I got all the loss bits which tend to cling to fur much like s** to a baby's blanket.

And as soon as he dries off, he's going to have his nether region shaved so as to avoid any further .... mishaps. Please refrain from making any "shaved" and "cat" jokes.

Thank you.

One would hope

One would think that in the past two million years since the Homo genus diverged from the australopithecines back in deepest, darkest Africa that this species called homo sapien would have learned a thing or two.

I'm hear to tell you the answer is unequivocally NO!

We still grunt, we still fart, and we still have no manners. Take for example the woman I stepped aside for this morning. The bus came, it stopped, I was right outside the door, and I stepped aside to allow the woman behind to board first.

Perhaps my ears were deceiving me for I heard neither an appreciative grunt, nor an audible "Thank you." Now don't get me wrong, I'm not a prude. But I was raised to believe that manners maketh man (and women). That's one lesson my father drilled into me. So it now comes as a force of habit to say, "Please," and "Thank you." Three simple words which mean so much.

Do you think this homo sapien said Thank You? Hell no!

Now this is not so much of a rant as it is a sad observation. We have learned to walk upright. We have sent men to the moon. We have devised aeronautical devices that fly through the air at tremendous speeds, we have used our development to cure disease.

But apparently, we have not yet fully mastered the art of simple good manners.

Who knows, maybe in another two million years.

You didn't just say that

In early September, my younger sister will be turning 21. Truly a wonderful occassion. Entry into official adulthood.

Now young KM's past 21 years have not been easy. She has struggled through life, bounced from school to school, and lots of other not-so-nice-nor-so-stable things. And since her father (KM is actually my half sister from my mother's second marriage) passed away when she was just nine years old, I have done the Big Brother thing and helped out where I could. Her upcoming 21st is one of those help times.

Yes, I get to foot the bill. And give a speech - for verily I shall be trekking down to the southern-most country on the Dark Continent just for the event - which I am less than ecstatic about. Crowds make my hands sweat. Speaking in front of crowds turns me into a blithering idiot. I took Public Speaking in high school, but come on, that was 15 years ago!

And yes, I have to present work and strategy and other fun things to bored sales people who pass as clients' marketing departments. But this is different. Here I have to dig deep and say nice things. But don't get me wrong. I have many, many wonderful things I could say about my sister, for she is indeed a kind-hearted, soft-soften kitten of a person. But I need to say these wonderful things in front of her not-so-classy friends.

Ah, trashy friends. She lives in a not-so-nice area and her friends are .... I shall not pass judgement, for I am not God. But I will say this: The prospect of getting up in front of 60 people, family and friends and give a speech about my sister will not be easy. When I look back over the years at the hardships she had to endure, the disinterest some people had in her education, at the many, many obstacles that were placed in her way, and having to grow up never really knowing her father, never having a girly bedroom of her very own, never having a bicycle, and having to wear hand-me-down clothes, I get a little teary-eyed. And if that happens when I get up to speak, that will not be a good thing.

I know I need to remain positive and focus on her accomplishments during her two decades of life. And I shall attempt to do just that. But as we all know, speeches sometimes go pear-shaped.

Toasts are a chance for the closest family members and friends to express their joy for the celebrated or the wedding couple, share a funny story or two, and impart words of wisdom. Sometimes, though, nerves, alcohol, or a not-so-secret disapproval leads to a speech that leaves everyone aghast. Here are real wedding toasts that made guests want to cower under their chairs rather than raise their glasses.

"At a friend's wedding a few years ago, the best man made it apparent that he wasn't such a fan of the bride. The speech went something like this: '(Groom's name), man I love ya, you know I do. I hope you thought about this and that this is what you really, really, really want.' Then he said the bride's name, hit his fist against his chest twice, and pointed at her."

"A friend of mine from college got married, and his best man said in his speech: 'Finally John has found someone with low enough self-esteem to marry him.'"

"The maid of honor (the bride's sister) not only talked about herself during the whole speech, she also mentioned the possibility of an affair between herself and her sister's new husband."

"At my cousin's wedding, the best man ended his toast by saying he wanted the groom to know that he'd be there for him at his next wedding when this one didn't work out."

"The best man at a wedding I was in said during his toast, 'Congratulations to the new parents!' No one except a select few knew the bride was pregnant -- not even her parents!"

"I was a bridesmaid in a wedding where the best man gave a toast about how cheap the groom was and how they'd been friends all their lives but the wedding was the first free meal he's ever been offered by the 'cheapskate.'"

"The father of the bride stood up and said, 'I'm Jill's dad. I just want to say that I met David before Jill did because of my other daughter.' And he sat down."

"My cousin gave a horrible toast at her younger sister's wedding a few years ago. She began by saying that she never liked her sister's new husband throughout high school and that 'today he's still at the level of slightly below the scum on the bottom of a dirty waste pond.'"

"I attended a wedding where the best man commented on how the bride used to work at Hooters (which her family didn't know about) and how he was jealous of the groom for 'bagging her.'"

"During the toast the groom's dad (after many drinks) said that he was so happy for his son and his beautiful wife Sara. But his wife's name wasn't Sara, his ex-girlfriend's was."

So raise your glasses. Cheers!