Author: simchajfisher

We’ve decided, as a nation, that a woman who wants an abortion should be able to get an abortion. We’ve decided that she has the right to do whatever her conscience allows, and that her freedom to choose or not choose abortion is a choice that should be protected. This bill simply confirms that healthcare providers have consciences, too, and that their choice to participate or not participate in abortions is a choice that should be protected.

Read the rest at the Register.

Image: By Souter, David Henry, 1862-1935

The phrase “custody of the eyes” always gets a lot of play in modesty discussions (which always ramp up around swimsuit season). In general, the phrase just means “watch where you look,” and it usually has to do with not staring at somebody else’s body parts. This is just good old, practical Mother Church teaching us how to behave so we don’t get into trouble: if you’re a man who is tempted into lustful thoughts by a woman’s cleavage, then keep your eyes on her face. If you’re a woman who’s tempted into lustful thoughts by shirtless joggers, then keep your eyes on the road. Don’t want to get burned? Keep your hands away from the fire. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with fire; it just means that you have to know what your weaknesses are, and act accordingly.

But the phrase “custody of the eyes” is used in a non-sexual context, too. This etiquette guide for Mass says,

After receiving Communion, keep a “custody of the eyes,” that is, be conscious to not let your eyes wander around. Instead, it is proper to keep your focus in front of you, with your head toward the floor … A “custody of the eyes” is also important for those who are in the pews who have yet to join the Communion line. It is not proper to stare at those who have received Communion. The time of Communion is a very intimate, personal and for many an intense time.

Isn’t that interesting? The purpose of custody of the eyes is to help us focus on what’s important at the moment — and also to preserve the privacy and dignity of other people. That latter aspect — preserving the dignity of the other person — is often missing when we discuss custody of the eyes. We often talk about how important it is to keep custody of the eyes when we see some stranger who turns us on. The most basic purpose of this is just to protect ourselves. It’s not sinful to feel attracted to someone attractive, but we don’t want a simple and natural attraction to transform itself into lustful thoughts that corrupt our hearts; and so we avert our eyes when necessary.

But the other purpose of custody of the eyes, and the more profound one, is to protect the person we’re looking at — to avoid turning him or her into an object, something to be consumed, something to be subjected to our own needs and ideas. Something, not someone.

And so I’d like to introduce the phrase into yet another less-common context. Many of us, men and women, could use practice keeping custody of the eyes when we’re looking at someone to whom we are not attracted, lustfully otherwise — someone whose dress or behavior we don’t approve of, someone whose appearance repels us.

Lust isn’t the only passion that needs reining in.

Here’s an example. When I was shopping yesterday, I saw an enormously fat woman wearing short shorts and a cherry red shirt that was cut so low, it was hardly a shirt at all. I mean, gravity was being disrupted. Light was going there to die. Whatever you’re picturing right now, it was more outrageous than that. I mean!

So, as someone who takes modesty seriously, what did I do? I thought bad things about her. I jeered at her in my head. I imagined how annoyed I would be if I had had one of my young sons with me. I compared my weight with her weight. And I concluded that she — not people like her, but she herself — was what was wrong with America today.

This was all in a matter of a split second, of course. I didn’t stand there gawping at her; and pretty quickly, I caught myself. I made a conscious effort to think about something else, and I moved along. But if I had been practicing custody of the eyes, I would have moved along much sooner, because I need to protect myself — not against lust, but against the sins of nastiness, cattiness, and disdain. If I had been practicing custody of the eyes, I would have just moved along automatically when I realized my weaknesses were being exposed.

But that’s not the best I can do. How much better would it have been if I focused on protecting not only myself, but this woman. How much better if, by long, well-established habits of charity in my thoughts, words, and deeds, I had found it very easy to see this woman simply as another child of God.

This should be our goal whether we’re gazing at someone who is immodest, or sloppy, or whose style is too trendy, or too pricey, or too pretentious, or old fashioned, or bizarre, or pointedly too modest, or too anything. We should be accustomed to finding Christ in every face.

It’s normal and understandable to feel anger and frustration when someone makes life harder for us by presenting us with temptations. But it’s a horrible mistake to be content with our anger. There’s no point in fighting lust if we’re just going to dive headfirst into hate! That’s like curing your crack addiction by switching to heroin. Lust is a sin because it crowds out love. Custody of the eyes is a tool for achieving this end, and is not an end in itself. Its purpose is to help us to love.

That must be what true holiness looks like: not just snapping my eyes away from some no-good tart who can’t be bothered to look decent, but practicing custody of their eyes for so long that it’s easy to see the actual person in, to paraphrase Mother Teresa’s phrase, “the distressing disguise of the slut” (or the slob, or the fatso, or whatever). It’s not enough to think, “Oh, how trashy; better look away.”  I should be learning to look at anyone and see Christ.

Custody of the eyes shouldn’t, ultimately, make us see less of a person. It should help us see more.

***
This post originally ran in a slightly different form at the National Catholic Register in 2013.
Photo: Craig Finlay via Flickr (licensed)

Who’s up for a round-up? Here are some of the best things I’ve read recently:

 

1.

When the Earth was flat: a map of the universe, according to the Old Testament

So interesting! Very similar to C. S. Lewis’ Perelandra, too (no accident, I’m sure). As a visual thinker but a sloppy reader, I’m always grateful to people who take the trouble to render accurate diagrams of worlds we’ve read about.

2. Will suffering make your marriage better or worse? Someday, I will read something I don’t like by Jen Fitz, but today is not that day. This is actually an old post, but it’s oh-so-worth another read.

3. Modesty and the Ontological Shaming of Both Women and Men My sister, Abby Tardiff, wrote this excellent piece about modesty and ontological shaming for The Personalist Project. If you’ve gathered the impression that we can correct the misogyny of the modesty police by coming down hard on men who are, by their nature, all piggies, then this short essay will recalibrate your thinking. On behalf of my sons and my husband, I’m grateful for this piece, and I’d love to see more understanding between sexes on what ought to be a shared struggle to learn how to treat each other well.

4. The always-entertaining Deirdre Mundy gleefully delves into the Church’s long history of body-snatching, still (um) alive and well in the highly unspiritual tussle over Fulton Sheen’s remains. I have a hunch Sheen would be vastly amused by the whole thing, even though I know the last few years have been painful and discouraging for the people who just want to see him canonized already.

5. Again, not new, but worthy of another read: a heartfelt, moving piece by Tom McDonald on the day his beloved father died after a long illness.

6.And speaking of links, here’s a mesmerizing GIF of a machine making a chain. So that’s how!

My 7-year-old saw this and said, “Wow! I need that! I wonder how much it costs. Think of all the things I could do with it!  . . . Actually . . . ”

Okay, stop looking at the chain thing for a minute, if you can, because I have one last thing:

7. Today is Amazon Prime day, which means there are sales on all kinds of items. If you’re thinking of buying something today, please consider using the link of my friend Jennie Durran, who could really use a boost this month. Just click on this link and it will take you straight to Amazon, and you can shop as usual — but every time you buy something, Jennie gets a small commission. Effortless for you, potentially a big help for her! Thanks so much.

Last year, I wrote about hanging poetry around the house for a little painless and pleasant supplemental education over the summer. You choose the walls that your family is likely to spend time staring at anyway, and you put wonderful words and brilliant imagery in front of their faces.

Most of the poems from my last list are all tattered and stained now, so I’m picking out a new crop. I got a pad of card stock in earth tones for matting. Now I just have to remind my printer who’s boss, and voilà, everything is awesome.

Okay, fine, I wanted an excuse to buy card stock. I’m secretly in love with expensive paper. Not even my husband knows this about me, but now you know.

Here are the poems I’ve chosen for this year:

That should hold ’em for a while.

Again, here’s last year’s list. I haven’t read a new poet in ages, and would love to branch out. Can you suggest anyone — preferably with specific poems? It’s okay if the subject or themes are over the kids’ heads, as long as the words sound good. I’d like to stick to shorter poems with reasonably simple language.

Thanks!
Sincerely,

The girl from Nantucket

***

image: “I Saw the Figure Five In Gold” by Charles Demuth [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

[img attachment=”98244″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”whats for supper aleteia” /]

Okay!

SATURDAY
Pizza

I had the worst time making a meal plan on Saturday. I struggled and sweated, crossed things out and switched things around, compared prices and looked up recipes and finally came up with a week’s worth of food without too much repetition, a few new dishes, and some wiggle room for busy days. Not bad!

[img attachment=”111125″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”list” /]

The whole time, I was thinking, “This is a good week to try out a few complicated recipes, because next weekend I’ll be getting ready for the fourth of July, with fifty guests or so, and I’ll be too exhausted to do much. Phew, thank goodness the 4th isn’t this week.”

Well, you know how that worked out. So I hadda go back.

I treated myself to a whole new piece of paper.

***

SUNDAY
Grilled ham and cheese, asparagus tart, strawberries, grilled bones. Yes.

I’m going to tell the whole stupid story, but I’m warning you, it’s stupid.

On Sunday, we were cleaning the house, fixing up the yard, and prepping food for tomorrow, so I wanted a quick, easy meal to throw together.

[img attachment=”111108″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”grilled bones” /]

We were supposed to have savory ham sandwiches on Saturday, but I couldn’t find Hawaiian rolls, so I bought frozen rolls. Which the kids put into the freezer when I got home from shopping, so they were too hard to bake. Because this was the perfect time for them to realize that civilization really does depend on people putting things away. So I took them out again on Sunday, and . . . someone put them back in the freezer again. So I was reduced to making grilled ham and cheese, and then we also had strawberries that were being devoured by flies, and asparagus threatening to go rancid.

And, a ton of very meaty pork ribs. I had bought pretty much all the pork in the world for spiedies, realizing way too late that it would have been sufficiently delicious to just grill some pork ribs, rather than cutting the meat off bones, trimming it, cutting it in chunks, and then stringing it on skewers, which are just basically artificial bones. I was, by this time, in the same state of mind as Dave Barry’s wife, when he caught her opening boxes they had never opened from their last move, taking out the contents, and packing them into new boxes so they could move. Except with pork.

So that all went into the fridge, and then we had all these bones, and also tons of marinade, because I don’t know how to make enough of something; I must make outlandishly excessive multiples of everything.

[img attachment=”111109″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”garlic and lemon zest” /]

Go ahead, make the “mother of ten children” joke. I can take it.

So we grilled those bones, and they were good.

The three-ingredient asparagus tart, I made purely out of spite, because I was hot and supper was already crazy late, and I was still mad about the freezer rolls. I don’t even know what fontina cheese is. I used mozzarella, colby jack, and parmesan, I think.

[img attachment=”111107″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”asparagus tart” /]

So of course it was delicious. The whole freakin’ meal was delicious. Even the freaking ham sandwiches on regular bread.

[img attachment=”111114″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”ham and swiss” /]

 

***
MONDAY
The cookout to end all cookouts!

Hamburgers, hot dogs, spiedies, veggie burgers, pasta salad, vegan pasta salad, vegan bean salad, potato salad, chips, pickles, watermelon, corn on the cob, enough beer to float an aircraft carrier, and enough cookies to make a young child’s mind pop like a piece of popcorn.

[img attachment=”111124″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”cookies” /]

We also had ice cream but I pretended to forget about it, because I had forgotten to buy spoons.
We also had Dark and Stormies, which is my current favorite summer drink. The party got pretty wild at one point

[img attachment=”111123″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”juniper and dog” /]

but things settled down when my father brought out the gross of sparklers and the fireworks

[img attachment=”111130″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”sparklers” /]

which we set off before it was even really dark, because we are old and tired and halfway dead. We read the Declaration of Independence, we drank beer, we jumped on the trampoline, played in the stream, poured sand on our heads, and laughed and chatted and had a magnificent time.

***

TUESDAY
Leftovers to end all leftovers!

Actually there wasn’t all that much left over. There was my mother-in-law’s mixed bean salad, though, which I ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

[img attachment=”111118″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”bean salad” /]

I don’t have the recipe yet, but my best guess is:

Chick peas
Black beans
Kidney beans
Jalapenos
Roasted red pepper
Roasted corn
Cilantro
Red pepper flakes?
Lime juice?

***

WEDNESDAY
Hostages; harsh browns

The kids made this while I died. I don’t even remember Wednesday. It was so hot.

***

THURSDAY
Chicken fajitas with radish relish; corn chips; Flushies

Chicken, pepper, and onions with generic Mexicanish spices and sour cream on tortillas. This is the same dish I was unimpressed with last week; but I made it again because I was dying to try the pickled radish thing a few readers suggested.

We have a bumper crop of radishes in our pathetic little garden this year. It goes so nicely with our bumper crop of dislike for radishes. But they are so byoootiful, I love them anyway.

[img attachment=”111119″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”radishes” /]

Gorgeous! I could just eat them up, if they didn’t taste so much like radishes.

I misplaced the actual recipe, so I just sliced a bunch of radishes up and mixed them with fresh lime juice, a little white vinegar, a little sugar, some chopped jalapenos, and some chopped cilantro, and then let it all sit for about half an hour. Kicky! Snappy! And most of all, byoootiful:

[img attachment=”111120″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”pickled radishes” /]

They really were pretty good along with the chicken. Hot meat with cool, crunchy veggies is so nice in summer.

[img attachment=”111121″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”chicken and radishes” /]

Oh, so the Flushies. I had a little temper tantrum at supper (something about how I have to beg and plead people to come sit down so they can do me the gracious favor of eating the food I’ve prepared for them), so my husband had me go lie down while he took all (all!) the kids out for those chipped ice drinks with red syrup in them that you get from the 7-11. You know, Flushies.

***

FRIDAY

There’s some basil languishing in the garden. I think I’ll gather it up, mix it with pasta, and call it a week.

On July 6, 2016, police were involved in a violent altercation with an armed man. 62-year-old William Bruce Ray was pointing a shotgun at passing cars on the highway.

Police arrived, assessed the situation, and wrestled the gun away from him. During the struggle, Ray brought out a handgun and fired it. Police eventually got Ray under control and took him into custody.

He had two guns.

He was openly threatening the lives of passers by.

He tried to kill policemen.

He is still alive.

He is white.

 

That’s all I have to say.

Horrible things happen. Incredible things happen. Other people exert their influence. People die. Events that bond one group of siblings will fracture and alienate another. There are simply too many variables in life for anyone with a conscience to claim, “Just do such-and-such, and your kids will turn out thus-and-so!” Beware such dangerous nonsense.

However, according to an extremely unscientific poll I conducted, parents can do some things — and avoid some things — to help influence their children so they will be more likely to remain friends with their siblings when they are adults.

Read the rest at the Register.

What a joy to discover a new (to me) singer. I stumbled across Michael Kiwanuka last weekend while mucking out my little girls’ room and listening to whatever YouTube suggested. This is a nearly perfect song, so tender, simple, and true. Enjoy!

Little bit of Otis Redding, maybe a little bit of Van Morrison, little bit of The Band, little bit of something very, very old in every human heart. This is a good year for music! I think people are getting tired of trick voices and precious, twee gimmicks, and the singers with souls are stepping up.

Here’s another gorgeous, heart-rending one from Kiwanuka, who was raised in London by parents who escaped the Idi Amin regime in Uganda.

In a completely different vein! “Without you, I’m just bones.”  Love it.

Don’t you love him? It’s true new music, not retro, but what heft it has. Kiwanuka will release his third album, Love and Hate, on July 15th.

***

Image By Jeroen Komen

There is nothing I like better to read than plans, tips, and strategies for keeping the house clean and orderly. A large household in a relatively small living space quickly degenerates into chaos and disorder without constant vigilance and persistent rectification of why is this sticky. Can I not just once in my life sit down without getting all sticky.

So that’s why I like to sit there with my feet up, reading about how to clean.

I especially like the schedules that tell you exactly what to do, how often. You’ve seen these: mop up spills immediately, tidy living areas daily, deep-clean bathrooms weekly, scrub baseboards monthly, douse upholstery with kerosene, strike a match, and delight in the glorious inferno of the final answer to domesticity quarterly. I mean, “never.” Never even think of that. What is the matter with you?

The one thing I haven’t found anywhere is a guide for what kind of cleaning to do depending on what kind of guest you’re expecting.  It does make a difference, n’est-ce pas, you animal? From my Tohu wa-bohu to yours:

Female guests age 11 and up: Scrub shower curtain, because women are insane and are going to judge you on your shower curtain, even if they aren’t taking a shower. Decades from now, the master of ceremonies at your funeral is going to ask, “Does anyone have a memory to share of our extraordinary friend Simcha, who lived to be 106 years old, won the Nobel Peace Prize twice, and figured out how to desalinate ocean water with a simple wooden spool and a paper clip?” and that woman who stopped by to pick up a free typewriter you listed on Craigslist, and who asked if she could use your bathroom, will stand up and she will say, “Her shower curtain had mildew.”

Did you know you can just put the whole shower curtain in the washing machine? Don’t actually run the machine with a shower curtain in it, stupid; you’ll tear it to shreds. I’m just saying, you can put it in there.

Nice French Canadian ladies named Enid and Célestin who are bringing over a casserole because you just had a baby: Just have the baby waiting by the door. They are there for the baby, and the casserole is their ticket inside. If you want to make them extra happy, hang up some gooey picture of Our Lady of Maybelline. Note: Do not let them leave with the baby. Check their bags. Nice try, Célestin.

Any kids age 7 and under; and boys age 12 and under: Just clear a pathway, practice those breathing exercises for when they start tracking unspeakable things through the hallway, and make sure at least one toilet works and/or you know where the shovel is.

Priest in the house: Buy extra beer and extra meat, and crate the dog. Other than that, do nothing. He really needs to know what goes on.

Husband’s work friend: Meet him in the driveway and shunt him directly into the backyard where the beer is. He definitely doesn’t need to know what goes on.

College friends who always thought you were fairly dim, because you fairly were: Upgrade bathroom reading material. Aim for Lexile score of 1400 or higher. National Geographic is acceptable, as long as it’s not too wet and nobody has written “ha ha boobie” on the African parts. If you went liberal arts, poetry anthologies are a solid choice. No Magic Tree House or Animorphs. They wouldn’t understand.

Anybody: No NFP charts on the fridge. Come on. And yes, everybody knows what “I” or “*” or “:)” or “ha cha cha” notations mean, especially if they’re clustered around the end of the month. No visible cups of pee, even if there is a good and holy reason for having cups of pee hanging around. No boxes of test strips that say “HELPS YOU GET SUPER EXTRA PREGNANT MUCH MUCH FASTER!” Even people who love you, love your kids, and are totally on board with the whole “culture of life” thing are going to stand there, transfixed, their eyes darting back and forth between the forty-six toothbrushes you somehow have, and the toilet paper you’re forced to buy in bulk sizes that would shame an army barracks, and those words “PREGNANT FASTER,” and they’re going to think, “I need to leave before these people try to hide a spare baby in my purse.”

Hey, come on back. There’s plenty of beer in the back yard.

***

Image: Blue Mountains Local Studies via Flickr (licensed)

Having mixed feelings about celebrating liberty today? Here’s an excerpt from a letter from John Adams to his wife on July 3, 1776:

I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival. It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more. You will think me transported with Enthusiasm but I am not. I am well aware of the Toil and Blood and Treasure, that it will cost Us to maintain this Declaration, and support and defend these States. Yet through all the Gloom I can see the Rays of ravishing Light and Glory. I can see that the End is more than worth all the Means. And that Posterity will tryumph in that Days Transaction, even altho We should rue it, which I trust in God We shall not.

That’s good enough for me. We’ll read the Declaration of Independence, grill three kinds of meat, hand sparklers to children who have no business wielding sparklers, and set off all the gloriously-named fireworks we can afford.

We’ll serve frozen ham balls to all our doggy guests. We’ll secretly be relieved that the grass is way too dry to even consider lighting Brillo pad fire wheels of spectacular death.We’ll open up that lovely, heavy carton from the liquor store.

We’ll spend the other 364 days of the year reflecting, brooding, maybe mourning what we’ve lost, maybe strategizing about how to regain what we once fought to win.

But today? Ring a bell! Light a bonfire! Run around, make a fuss, live it up! John Adams says so. We spend a lot of time discussing what our founding fathers intended for our country, and what they would say if they were alive today. And here it is: have a damn party. It’s good to be an American.