Love, Your Belle

I write to understand as much as to be understood.
~ Elie Wiesel

In a recent reorganization of my boudoir/library, I came across Alexandra Stoddard’s classic book on missives: The Gift of a Letter. It was like finding a letter from an old friend and I eagerly picked it up for a re-read. One of the first points she makes is that in today’s fast paced, technologically overwhelmed society, a real, honest to goodness, handwritten letter still opens doors that emails and text messages simply cannot.

There are so few letters written today, in spite of the fact that almost everyone enjoys receiving a handwritten note in the mail. I have posted here before about letter-writing in general. This time, I am not talking about letter-writing per se, but one of the key virtues that is needed in order to be an excellent letter-writer: vulnerability.

Vulnerability is a much overlooked virtue, especially in 21st century, make-it-alone-or-die America. To write down one's thoughts in black and white is to expose one's soul. My scribblings here on this page are vulnerable to some extent ~ but there is still a layer of anonymity, especially for my readers who have never met me.

But a letter. A well-written, honest, completely open letter, between friends, between lovers. That is a window to the depths that lie behind walls that time and past hurts have erected in so many of us. And those walls were built very carefully. Put a window in!? Are you crazy!? Someone might see in! Or worse. They might not answer my letter.

I once read a quote from C.S. Lewis: "I do not pray because it changes God. I pray because it changes me." Letters have an analogous effect. Since I think in terms of words and outlines, notes and lyrics, putting pen to paper is a more effective way for me to communicate well. I do not write letters in order to receive a response. I write to express what is in my heart and to gather my too often scattered thoughts. Writing changes me. And if it changes or affects the recipient, so much the better. But I cannot control that end of the process.

Now, I admit that when I do receive a hand written note in reply, I am overjoyed and such an event is treated with fanfare and special attention. You may be sure that if you take the time to write to me, I will take the time to savor each word, each sentence ~ candles lit, music playing and no interruptions allowed.

************

Sometimes, when in the midst of composing a letter, I have no idea where it will end up. I may be regaling my reader with a dramatic retelling of an embarrassing event that happened that day or that week and by the end of the letter, I am musing on how that brought up old memories, or made me think of a loved one. There are times I think that I know where I stand on an issue, only to realize in writing my thoughts down, that my position is unreasonable or unsupportable or overly emotional.

But what about my readers who do not fancy themselves letter-writers? Never fear! One need not be Cyrano de Bergerac to write heart stopping prose. It does not even have to sound heart-stopping to you, the author. I assure you, even if you are the worst writer in the history of personal correspondence, the person who receives a hand written note from you will treasure it for years to come. Why? Because you took the time and the courage to open your heart and your soul and let them in. Does conversation do this? Of course. But not in the same way that a letter does.

If a friend and I run into rough spots in our friendship, as even the closest of relationships are wont to hit now and then, it helps smooth the way for reconciliation if there are letters in the possession of both that serve as a tangible reminder of shared joys and even shared tears. This happened to me recently and because I had no intimate shared correspondence with this friend, I found myself questioning whether there was even a friendship there worth fighting for. The end result is that the friendship has to be rebuilt out of ashes. In essence, it will be a new relationship.

So even if you are better at communicating in person, practice putting your thoughts and feelings down on paper. It will be appreciated by the recipient. The beauty of a letter is not in the style or even the script, but in the openness of the heart on the other end of the pen.

************

Vulnerability is indeed difficult and frightening. But it is not only worth practicing, I think that in some measure, we need to be vulnerable. Our heart cries out for it. To write a letter is an act of love in and of itself. And love entails risk. But anyone who has ever loved would admit that But despite the risk, despite the potential pain, it is worth every tear. As soon as the heart heals, it aches to get back out there. Because let's face it: we are built for self-gift and we will never be fulfilled or realize our full potential until we give ourselves completely and unreservedly to another.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

The Art of Smoking: II

But I will place this carefully fed pig
Within the crackling oven; and, I pray,
What nicer dish can e'er be given to man.
~ Aeschylus

I promised you more about my smoking adventures on the 5th, but I was busy hostessing until the wee hours of the morning and then Sunday I was busy recovering, so part two had to wait to be written until today.

Success!! Not only did I have enough pork to feed everyone, there was even some leftover. Whew! I think this had more to do with the fact that the second pork butt did not (alas!) cook all the way through on the grill/smoker. So I had to finish it off in the oven at 350 degrees. That took awhile and everyone filled up on ribs, the other 8 pounds of pulled pork and all the Southern sides: fresh picked green beans, homemade coleslaw (you cannot have pulled pork without coleslaw), Vanessa's hamburger buns (which came out perfect this time!) and Cornbread Salad, a recipe I found over at Foodnetwork.

The salad was an unexpected hit. My friend Kathy took one bite and promptly asked for the recipe. So I have included it in the link above. I did not have all the ingredients and I am huge believer in using what you have. This outlook comes in handy when you are running low on time or want to conserve gasoline! Instead of pinto beans, I used garbanzo and instead of green peppers I used artichoke hearts. And for the first time, I used fresh tomatoes from our garden! That in itself was very exciting and soul-satisfying. We also had fruit salad, apple pie, chery-blackberry pie, chocolate torte and of course, gallons and gallons of sweet tea. ;-) The chicken never did make it to the grill.

Smoking meat is an involved art, but it was well worth the time, effort and expense to hear the satisfied "mmmmmms" of my guests as they chowed down on another delightful Southern culinary tradition.

Oh? You are wondering what happened to the chicken I bought? Sadly, it never did make it to the grill. It is happily marinating and awaiting a chance to shine at the next dinner party. Now where did I put my planner?

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

The Art of Smoking

Mustard's no good without roast beef.
~ Chico Marx

And a Fourth of July weekend is no good without pulled pork. So today I entered the mysterious world of smoking. Meat that is. I had never been in this culinary realm and so did as much research on it in the preceding weeks: Alton Brown, Bobby Flay, The Meatwave. You name it, I have probably read it. All the masters of the grill looked to pork butt as the cut to go with. So that is what I bought. Over 17 pounds of it. Like all my Southern female ancestors before me, I live in terror that there will not be enough food. In the South, it is practically a mortal sin. Even 17 pounds does not sound like enough for 25 people. So I also have a couple of racks of spareribs (both pork and beef) and some chicken.

Brining the pork butt beforehand also seemed the way to go, so when I got home late last night, I made up a brine of water, salt and molassas. I owe this new knowledge to The Meatwave and Alton Brown. While the salt was dissolving on the stove, I took out the pork to get a closer look and to take some of the excess fat off. Whew. I seriously need to sharpen my knives! I have never encountered such tough, hard fat on a piece of meat! Luckily, I did not want to take off all the fat, because you need some for flavor and to protect the meat during smoking.

Once that was done, the butt went into the brine and I stuck them in the fridge to sit overnight and moved on to make the rub for the ribs. Here I also took a cue from The Meatwave and followed his recipe almost to the letter. Only I didn't have cayenne and I didn't have mustard powder. So I used red pepper instead and hoped for the best. One of my housemates walked in while I was rubbing the spices into the meat and said that it looked therapeutic. Hmmmm. Not really. Kneading dough, now that's therapeutic!

This morning I woke up and set to work preparing the fire. This is very sad, but I must confess I had to call a male friend to get instructions on the best way to light the charcoal and keep it going. Once that was done, I checked the temperature until it was between 225-250 degrees, added the wood chips and then placed the pork butt on the grill. For the pork butt, I took matters into my own hands for the rub and made up my own consisting of black pepper, curry powder, garlic, chili powder and fresh basil and rosemary from the garden. I also added rosemary to the fire on one of the grills. I had a little trouble with the first grill. The temperature would not drop below 400 degrees for the longest time, but I put the meat on it anyway since I cannot be up until the wee hours. We shall see how that affects the meat.

More tomorrow!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

A Crust of....Biscuit?

Food is not about impressing people. It's about making them feel comfortable.
~ Ina Garten, The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook

Thank goodness my friends have great senses of humor and a memory for past foodie triumphs. Both serve them well when I have either a disaster or mishap in the kitchen. And I love them so much, I give them plenty of opportunities to have a laugh at my expense. ;-)

Vanessa! Mea culpa! I do not know what I did wrong, but your beautiful hamburger buns became delightful biscuits in my confused yet capable Southern hands! :-D I was absolutely mortified. Here I was in charge of providing a suitable throne for Meg's oregano-infused hamburgers, yet no golden crusted buns appeared out of the oven. I showed them to Meg, saying oh dear, "these look like biscuits." Our Randy said, "Honey, those aren't something LIKE biscuits, they ARE biscuits!"

Despite their failure as hamburger buns, they proved to be delicious. And at least 5 of us opted to eat our hamburgers on a biscuit instead of the somewhat stale store bought versions we ran out and bought. I must say I am now a fan of the hamburger biscuit. Meg thought her hamburger would be too monstrous for just one biscuit, so she used two: one on top and one on the bottom.

As a cook, however, I am still determined to make Vanessa's Hamburger Buns actually look like Vanessa's Hamburger Buns. I confess I did not let the dough sit for 6 hours in the fridge as suggested. Was that my downfall? There is only one way to find out!

To Be Continued....

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Food for a Cause

The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread.
~ Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta

In my search for genetically unaltered, pure, organic, old fashioned food, I came across this great company that makes the most delicious store-bought cookies (oh, come on ~ you know mine are better just because you eat right out of the oven!) I have ever tasted while also feeding the creativity of American Folk Artists.

Owner Scott Blackwell started The Immaculate Baking Company in 1995 and in the years since has won many awards. Once you grab a few boxes and sample them, you will understand why. And you can be at peace knowing that they use fresh ingredients and that you are also helping support American folk artists. Helping artists and eating great food?! Perfect combo!

My personal favorite: Pumpkin Gingerlies. It may be the end of June and 89 degrees in the shade, but pumpkin is never out of season! ;-)

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

A Crust of Bread

If thou tastest a crust of bread, thou tastest all the stars and all the heavens.
~ Robert Browning

This Saturday, my housemate Meg will be hosting a charity cookout. Guests bring a dish and any money they would have spent on dinner at restaurant to go to a local charity. My contribution is going to be bread. I had decided on a basic loaf of French bread, but then I came across this article on Serious Eats, which led me to What Geeks Eat. The pictures of those golden crusts convinced me. Saturday morning will find me elbow deep in flour, trying my hand at baking Vanessa’s hamburger buns. I will let you know how they turn out!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Dulce Domum

He saw clearly how plain and simple -- how narrow, even -- it all was; but clearly, too, how much it all meant to him, and the special value of some such anchorage in one's existence. He did not at all want to abandon the new life and its splendid spaces, to turn his back on sun and air and all they offered him and creep home and stay there; the upper world was all too strong, it called to him still, even down there, and he knew he must return to the larger stage. But it was good to think he had this to come back to; this place which was all his own, these things which were so glad to see him again and could always be counted upon for the same simple welcome.
~ The Wind in the Willows

Mr. F recently began re-reading The Wind in the Willows. T.Q. mentioned that he thought Toad was an addict and I was intrigued. As I had not read it myself since I was a child, I picked it up as well to see what a jaded adult eye could reap from its pages.

The description above of Mole’s emotions towards both his old home and his new adventures by the River in Chapter Five touched a nerve somewhere deep inside me. Having moved to the “big city” of Washington, D.C. almost eight years ago, I have always thought of myself as a bit of a geographical schizophrenic, with my heart attached to the terra firma of the homestead and my body and social life firmly ensconced within the concrete halls of the nation’s capital.

Like Mole, I have grown quite a bit in my sojourn here and indeed the pull of the upper world (is) all too strong….the new life and its splendid spaces…and all they offer. I too can count (on) this place which was all his own….and could always be counted upon for the same simple welcome. There is a special bond between a soul that lives on the land, surrounded by the both the beauties and horrors of nature, and the very dirt one plays and plants in ~ my familial roots are anchored deep in the red Virginia clay of home.

But the luxury of being able to escape from the stride of the noisy city to the languorous pace and silence of the country cannot be counted on forever. One’s parents will not live forever and either one must step in to save the family home or let it go to strangers who may or may not keep the land that one’s family has worked so hard on. Couple this longing and familial responsibility with the necessity of cultivating one’s soul and artistic endeavors and the dilemma presented is of Solomon proportions.

Such a wrenching choice is not thrust upon Mole. He is free to live out his adventures on the River, expanding his borders and horizons. If he wants to return to his old home in the meadow, it will be there, patiently waiting; ready to welcome him with open arms. Mole is lucky too in that he has already made that dreaded yet necessary leap: he knew he must return to the larger stage. And he can do so without heartache because of his ability to return whenever he wishes, to the comforts of the familiar.

I must confess I envy Mole...just a tad.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

A Bit of Earth

She wants a little bit of earth
She'll plant some seeds
The seeds will grow
The flowers bloom
Their beauty just the thing she needs
~ A Bit of Earth

It is something out of a B movie from the 1950s: attack of the killer tomatoes! Beefsteak and Roma tomatoes are the latest victims in the Salmonella Wars. Yet another reason to grow your own vegetables!

Which is exactly what we did. This year's tomato plants were purchased from an organic farm right here in Northern Virginia (yes they do exist here!) and are already producing beautiful, healthy fruit. For this Southern foodie, you cannot offer two more delectable dishes than fried green tomatoes or cheese & tomato sandwhiches. I love tomatoes and I love fried food: put those two together and you have a little piece of heaven! ;-) I must give a shout out to my yankee friend Di, however. She hails from Pennsylvania but I have yet to taste an equal to her fried green tomatoes. Scandalous! But I do not complain, especially when the notion strikes her to make them and share. Mmmm!

Cheese and Tomato Sandwhiches are one of the reasons I can look forward to summer, despite the wretched heat and humidity. Store bought 'maters (besides being a health hazard these days) just do not have the same flavor as these fresh-from-your-own-garden beauties. For me, it is not only the fresh taste but the memories that come with each bite.

As I have mentioned before, I grew up on a small, "gentleman's farm." My parents grew varying vegetables on three of their five and half acres and although I loathed weeding and grew to hate the sight of zucchini and eggplant, I loved squishing my toes in the soft earth and running through the sprinklers; picking sugar snap peas right off the vine and eating them pods and all. Digging up potatoes was like a treasure hunt and I certainly inherited my father's love of the spud. And though it sounds like a quaint Americana dream, I cherish the memory of sitting out under the ancient maples, snapping green beans with my mother, sisters and at on rare occasions, aunts and cousins. I am sure there were times I would have rather been reading the latest Bobbsey Twins or Nancy Drew story from the libary. But I loved to eat green beans too much and I also loved helping my mother prepare them for canning.

As for tomatoes, we grew several rows of those as well and canning those was a hot chore. I was not a big fan of the canned tomatoes ~ they could not stand up to their fresh picked counterparts. But raw tomatoes, paired with a few slices of cheese, on bread slathered with homemade mayonnaise ~ that was a summer treat not to be missed!

I am looking forward to continuing this delicious tradition once my salmonella-free 'maters ripen. They go great with a gallon of sweet tea! Y'all comin' over for supper? ;-)

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

...Are Longing to Stray

Only an artist who is profoundly steeped in the sensus Ecclesiae can attempt to perceive and express in melody the truth of the Mystery that is celebrated in the Liturgy.
~ John Paul II

This past weekend I attended the 20th Anniversary of Classical Singer magazine in New York City. The convention was incredible ~ I took copious notes and learned much from the likes of opera great Sherill Milnes and several judges and coaches from the Met. I love opera, but it is not the style of music I sing. The wisdom and performance tips I learned, however, apply to almost all singers, whatever genre their talent falls under. Many thanks to my dear friend and soul sister Imelda Franklin Bogue for making it all possible! :-)

On Saturday evening, I headed from Brooklyn over to Manhattan’s east side. The Church of Notre Dame is a beautiful piece of architecture modeled after the Church of St. Louis in Paris and located not far from Columbia University and under the care of the Polish Province of the Dominicans. As I mentioned previously, Mr. F is a member of the choir there and they performed a concert in honor of Mary, the Mother of God. The church itself is a wonderful space for a concert of early sacred music. The soaring ceiling over the nave made the acoustics something every singer dreams of.

As I sat in the pew waiting for the concert to begin, I confess I felt a tad uncomfortable. Turning off the critical musician’s ear is possible, but it is neither easy nor is it often done. This makes listening to a friend’s performance a virtual minefield. One wonders whether honesty in such cases truly is the best policy!

Luckily, I have never been in such a position and Saturday night was no exception. Any reservations I may have had were instantly swept away from the first note to the last. I was completely taken in and won over by the masterful blend and balance of this small ensemble. Closing my eyes a couple of times to “drink it in with my spirit,” I thought I was listening to a small group from the Tallis Scholars! I asked Mr. F later if any of the members were professionally trained and he told me that the baritone was currently studying music at Columbia, but the rest are all ordinary professionals with no music training. I was impressed anew with the purity and strength of their sound. If you are in New York and would like to hear them, they sing at the 11am Mass on Sundays. They are on break for the summer but will return in the fall.

Bravo Mr. F and the rest of the Choir of the Church of Notre Dame! I hope to hear more of this lovely choir in the future.

Oremuc pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

These Vagabond Shoes...

It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.
~ J.R.R. Tolkien

Tomorrow, I head up to the Big Apple for a much needed mini-vacation and some quality time with far away friends. Saturday marks the 20th Anniversary of Classical Singer Magazine and I will be attending their Convention in Brooklyn. I am rather looking forward to being in a hotel among 400 divas (not sure what the male version is called ~ divos?) As my dear friend said to me: "Good Lord! Can you imagine!? 400 other me's!!" Ah yes indeed. I am not alone in my drama! I do not know whether to laugh or whine! ;-)

On Saturday evening, I and my friend Diane (that Norwegian goddess!) will endeavor to find our way to the Church of Notre Dame for Mr. F's concert. I am very much looking forward to seeing the church and hearing what promises to be a fantastic evening of music! Mr. F ~ I do hope you will have time for post-concert coffee!

There is wifi on the trip up, but I staunchly refuse to take my laptop. I will have my cell phone, but I am breaking free from the technology ball and chain for a whole three days! Yipee! I shall enjoy talking over the weekend with you once I get back. Til then, ta-ta!

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

Musica Sacra: Widor Mass, Opus. 36

Music is a means of rapid transportation.
~ John Cage

Don't forget that this Sunday, 11 May 2008, the Saint John the Beloved Latin Choir will be singing the Widor Mass Opus. 36 at noon. It is a piece of music you will not soon forget!

Saint John the Beloved Parish is located at 6420 Linway Terrace, McLean, Virginia 22101.

We hope to see y'all there!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

A Return to the Land

Chemicals, n: Noxious substances from which modern foods are made.

~ Author Unknown

Both the Washington Post and the Washington Times greeted me this morning with front page stories on the $770 million in food aid that President Bush is asking Congress to approve. The line that caught my attention was this: “the administration denied that corn-for-ethanol subsidies are a major cause of the worldwide surge in food prices.” (Times, 5/2/08). The Post said the same thing: “While nearly all experts agree that increased biofuel production has contributed to escalating food prices, there is little consensus on the scope. Edward Lazear, chairman of the White House Council of Economic Advisers, argued yesterday that the impact of ethanol on prices was minimal, because corn is a small portion of global food consumption.” (Post, 5/2/08)

Although I am no economic expert, I am a consumer. And an uneasy one at that. Frankly, the denial that increased corn production by a large number of American farmers is NOT contributing to the current food crisis sounds like what it is: denial. Here at home the decision by farmers to turn their fields over to producing as much corn as possible has definitely affected those of us who buy the bulk of our fruits and vegetables at the supermarket. To deny that such a decision has minimal impact is ludicrous. And I have all the proof I need right at home.

My parents are retired and live on a very limited income. It has become more and more expensive to buy fresh, healthy produce. Even for just two people who do not eat a whole lot the grocery bill increases each time they shop. Add to that they live in the country where driving everywhere is a necessity and the bulk of their income is going to food and the gas needed to go buy it.

Thankfully, they still own around four and half acres. So this weekend I will head down for a much needed mini vacation where the only sound I hear at night are the cows and the crickets. But it will not all be rest and relaxation. Since Dad had a pacemaker put in, he cannot do as much as he once did, so yours truly gets the awesome job of bush-hogging one of the fields. And to help them save on produce, I will also put in a vegetable and herb garden for Mom.

They both have incredibly green thumbs. Last summer’s tomato crop left mine in the dust. I expect this year’s yield to be just a good, if not better. And the good news is, it will all be local and organic. So we know that it is not genetically meddled with or injected with drugs or sprayed with toxins.

When I was growing up, we owned a little over five and half acres and at least three of those were vegetable gardens. I could not eat zucchini for the longest time because we grew so much of it! (I like it now….in zucchini bread. ;-)) Because of Mom and Dad's decreased mobility, this year’s garden will not be quite that large. However, I do plan on making it big enough to feed both of them and my household as well (we also plan on having a small city garden ourselves).

The good thing about going back to the land out of necessity is that you rediscover something both beautiful and basic; something you cannot experience or touch when you live in the city: man was meant to till the land and take care of it. And once you get dirt in your blood, there is no getting rid of it. To try to deny it is to deny a primordial need.

And there’s enough denial in this town as it is.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Pope Benedict in America: Musings

All the Saints of God are there to protect me, to sustain me and to carry me. And your prayers, my dear friends, your indulgence, your love, your faith and your hope accompany me.
~ Pope Benedict XVI

Today, Nationals Stadium welcomes baseball fans once again, showing no signs that a mere seven days ago, it held within in its heart our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament and His beloved servant, Pope Benedict XVI. What glorious day that we will not soon forget!

Over 45,000 souls gathered inside to show the Holy Father their love and support. There is nothing to describe the feeling that comes over one when you first see the Popemobile drive out into the stadium or hear 44,999 other voices praying the Our Father in unison. This was definitely an experience where I felt all four marks of the true Church hit me in the face like cloud of incense: One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic.

My friend Roshan was blessed to volunteer at the Mass and was kind enough to get me and another friend tickets. Since yours truly misplaced her camera, he also acted as official photographer for our little group. These beautiful pictures are courtesy of him. Thanks Roshan! :-)

Although I was very young at the time, I still remember when John Paul II visited D.C. in 1979. There was Mass on the Mall, thousands of pilgrims and lots of praise and worship music. This time around, it was more structured, and given the world we live in, there wer Secret Service crawling all over the place, but there were still thousands of pilgrims and the music sounded pretty much as it did in 1979. More on that later.

Above, our little band of B16 fans pose in front of the VIP section, where Roshan was volunteering. It was a double blessing in that our whole house (The Divine Mercy House) was able to attend the Mass, along with two converts, one of whom just came into the Church this past Easter. Welcome Doris!!

The cross used at the Papal Mass was, if I'm not mistaken, loaned from the Archdiocese of Baltimore and is the crucifix used to mark the historic landing of the first Catholics to the New World.

When we first arrived at the Stadium, I was surprised I didn't see more people I knew, but like any Catholic Mass, it was only afterwards that we kept running into familiar faces. We all gathered near the back of where the altar was set up and had to keep taking pictures because we kept seeing people we knew and calling them over for a huge group shot. I am sure there were others, but these were the friends who were in the vicinity of the cameras.

Fallen Sparrow mentioned in his post on the Papal visit to New York that there were protestors. We had our share of them here in D.C. as well. It is a common occurance in the nation's capitol, but I was still annoyed. You could faintly hear them during the Holy Father's homily and once we were outside, I could not help rolling my eyes and sighing. Perhaps I should have been feeling more charitable, but as we all know, feelings and emotions are neutral and say nothing of the act of the will. So, I willed their good, said an Ave for them and ignored them. Can you really reason with a man with a bullhorn?! I highly doubt any of them would know a Greek letter of the alphabet if it bit them, so why waste time trying to explain how their reading of Scripture is way out of context and does not even follow the original text? One of my housemates did stop and talk to several of them, so someone did try.

And now to the Papal Mass itself. It was a huge undertaking and having been involved in the past with Masses and events at the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, I have an appreciation for all the work and planning that went into putting together and celebrating a Mass on this scale. It ran like clockwork. If there were any hitches or mistakes, I did not see them.

The one thing that I did notice however, was the music.

All I can say is that as a Catholic in the United States and a member of the Arlington Diocese, I was embarrassed and appalled. As a musician, I was archly amused. I had missed auditioning for the Papal Mass Choir and was feeling a little sad about that. But after they began singing, I was relieved that I had not! God bless them, it was not their fault. When you are a chorister, you sing the music that is put in front of you. And sometimes, when you are the choir director, you conduct and rehearse the music your boss asks you to. I do not know who is to blame for the music choice for the Papal Mass last week, but it was....lame. Not to be mean, but the music we sing on a weekly basis at Saint John the Beloved is much better. Thank God for David Lang and Father McAfee!

Bongos, guitars, hand claps and *groan* the Mass of Creation!? And that is not the half of it. My first thought was, here we have a sample of what has been wrong with the liturgy for the past 30 years. My second thought was, have these people even heard of Spirit of the Liturgy, much less read it?!? I will give them the benefit of the doubt that the music choice was done out of ignorance and not malice. But one has to ask: what were they thinking?! The Pontiff is a man with exquisite musical taste, an eye for beauty and an brilliant understanding of liturgy and tradition. He comes from the land of Mozart and you gave him Haugen!? How.....gauche. Not to mention liturgically wrong and just plain ugly.

As my director always tells us, a right note sung at the wrong time is still a wrong note. And in the case of the music for the Papal Mass in Washington, D.C., their pitch may have been perfect (which, by the way, it was not), but the music chosen was way off key.

Fortunately, the Holy Father was at the Shrine the evening before and Dr. Peter Latona is an incredible composer and director, so the music was more in keeping with what Pope Benedict XVI advocates and loves. And there was a musical bright spot at the Papal Mass itself: Placido Domingo singing Panis Angelicus. One of the most emotional moments took place after he finished singing: the Holy Father got up out of his chair and met Placido Domingo half-way and embraced him. It was beautiful. But I couldn't help thinking, he's probably saying: "Thank God! Finally, a beautiful piece of music befitting the glory of the liturgy!"

Musical faux pas aside, though, it was an overwhelming experience and I am so grateful to my friends and to Our Lord that I was able to attend. God bless Pope Benedict XVI and long may he reign!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Viva il Papa!

What a glorious and grace-filled two days! I am physically and emotionally exhausted from following our Holy Father around D.C. I will post pictures and my thoughts on the Papal Mass at Nationals Stadium and the small group that cheered him on as he left for New York once I have recovered. ;-)

Viva il Papa!

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

Our German Shepherd Has Landed!

Only that which is eternal can satisfy us.
~ St. Therese

He's here!!!!

Pope Benedict XVI has landed and is on his way to the Papal Nunciature!

Sigh. I love that man. :-) And to think I will hear him offer Mass in two days!!

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

Musica Sacra: Pentecost 2008

Music that does not SURGE is not great music.
~ Carl Ruggles

The program of incredible music continues at Saint John the Beloved in McLean! For Easter, we sang Dvorak's absolutely jubliant and powerful Mass in D, complete with a full chamber orchestra. Several people approached me afterwards to thank the Choir and David Lang, our wonderfully talented Director, for providing such a feast for the soul. As exhausting as singing for six days in a row was, I was pleased to hear that all our hard work paid off.

Pentecost will be just as glorious. You may recall that last year we sang a Vierne Mass. We follow up 2007's soul-stirring performance with another powerful piece, this time from Vierne's teacher: Charles Marie Widor's Mass, Opus 36, a missa cantata composed for two choirs and two organs, much like Vierne's Missa Solennelle. This year, we are bringing in a second organ for the occasion. At rehearsal on Thursday, we did a quick read of the Kyrie and Gloria. I thought for sure I had died and was standing before the throne of God. I can only imagine how it will be when we have both organs going!

The best recording I have found so far was one done in 2005 at St. Sulpice, where Widor was organist for over sixty years. It is a French Latin choir singing in the style the Mass would have been sung in at the time of its debut. Westminster Cathedral Choir also did a recording of this Mass on the same CD that the Vierne Mass was recorded on.

All this liturigcal and musical beauty is thanks to the pastor, Father Franklyn McAfee ~ one of the most cultured, educated and holy priests you will ever meet. His love of the Church and his commitment to authentic liturgy has created a haven where such sacred beauty is preserved and can be experienced on a weekly basis. Perhaps I am baised, but here is a sampling of things people have said after experiencing Mass at Saint John’s:

“I was in Rome for Easter last year, and I was sad because I would be missing the incredible music and majesty of Holy Week at Saint John’s.”

“We drive an hour to attend Mass at Saint John’s. Where else in the Diocese do you have such an incredibly beautiful liturgy with breath-taking music?”

“There are two places you can go to hear beautiful sacred music: the Kennedy Center and Saint John the Beloved in McLean."

I hope you can join us on Sunday, May 11, 2008 for the Feast of Pentecost and experience the Extraordinary Rite of the Roman Church as it was meant to be celebrated.

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

Music & Experience

When a singer truly feels and experiences what the music is all about,

the words will automatically ring true.
~ Monserrat Caballé

....every time there are losses there are choices to be made. You choose to live your losses as passages to anger, blame, hatred, depression and resentment, or you choose to let these losses be passages to something new, something wider, and deeper.
~ Henri Nouwen

There are days when I wish I had not experienced the pain and suffering that gives birth to some of my music and makes it “ring true.” Especially when I am still in the midst of feeling the pain, acknowledging the hurt and dealing with the betrayal. Being a person of intense emotions only magnifies all of these wretched steps. And then...I have a weekend where silence and solitude place their gentle hands on my broken heart, draw out the poison and leave me free to think and work through the pain. At the end, I am able to put down on staff paper where I am in the healing journey.

Such was this past weekend. I had Sunday off (it being a men’s schola weekend) and took the opportunity to spend the entire weekend out in the country. In addition to my physical illness, I have been struggling with the recent betrayal of someone very dear to me. I had been feeling a little like Eleanor Dashwood: experiencing all the pains of love without any of the benefits! What is a broken-hearted musician to do? Compose music about it of course! Not that all the music I write and sing is personally experiential ~ I recently composed a song for Beth and Sullivan ~ but my personal experiences are always fodder for the Muse ~ the more intense, the better.

Sometimes when I write, I don’t know what I want to say, or where the music will take me. In this case, it was through the act of composing the lyrics that I realized that I was mourning the death of a friendship that perhaps never really existed, which in some ways is sadder and more painful than the betrayal itself.

Letting go of an illusion is much more difficult then letting go of reality - one is tempted to believe that one cannot mourn or release a dream or an illusion ~ it seems so....silly. But the pain is certainly real as is the loss and thereby is worthy of grief.

So I mourn what could have been and what may have been and embrace the lessons that pain is teaching me this go 'round. And hopefully the recovery will be quicker than the last experience. For now, at least the music has improved. ;-)

Oremus pro invicem,

Mikaela

How A Foodie Fasts

Life expectancy would grow by leaps and bounds if green vegetables smelled as good as bacon.
~ Doug Larson

The past couple of weeks have been a never-ending stream of x-rays, ct-scans, ultra-sounds and numerous hospital stays, all with the same answer: you are perfectly healthy and everything is functioning normally. We will just up the dosage of pain medication for the inexplicable and God-awful pain. Really? Thank you ever so much. Actually, a permanent IV of morphine would do nicely.

In short, the past couple of weeks have been exceedingly boring.

The most horrific part of my mystery illness has been the inability to eat anything. And I do mean anything. Well, anything solid and having any taste at all. Broth. This is what it has come to: broth. Sigh. Man does not live on broth alone….and neither does a Southern cook!

Happily, my non-existence appetite and broth exile has not affected my ability to cook and try new recipes on eager and willing friends and family. So I have filled my bed-ridden time pouring over foodie magazines, devouring old cookbooks and searching gourmet websites for ideas for the next culinary brouhaha: Easter dinner. This year, two of my roommates will be staying in town, so it promises to be a huge and absolutely insane gathering. I cannot wait!! If there is one thing I like better than cooking for my loved ones, it is cooking for a lot of my loved ones! ;-)

It has been a set-in-stone tradition in our family to serve ham for Easter dinner. No Virginia table would be complete without it and the one year we actually had Easter dinner out (the ultimate horror!) I swear I actually heard Robert E. do a 180 in his tomb! I myself am a great upholder of tradition ~ even traditions that are not strictly my own. I soak my soul in them! There is something comforting and connected about traditions ~ they say that what someone did and who they were mattered. And that hopefully we learn from what and who went before us. That being said, I also like to try new things.

So, how does this translate in the kitchen? Well, this year, the traditional ham will take center stage, but the glaze I use will be completely different from any I've tried before. I have not wuite decided on which one will win out, but I have several in the running. And in a supporting role this year will be lamb ~ a meat I have yet had the pleasure of swearing over…I mean, cooking. Not sure what costume it will be wearing when it does make its debut: in a stew or as a roast or perhaps even as chops? Then there will be the chorus: an endless array of sides: twists on old Southern standards, with some appearing in all their old regalia, completely untouched. After all, what’s the point of creating your own tradition if you don’t tip your hat to the old ones?

And the finale? Well, dessert will be a recap of what went before: old and new together. Mom's standard, old-fashioned coconut cake; my sister's rum-soaked banana pudding and something new, which I am still debating: dark chocolate and orange tart with toasted almonds, lemon panna cotta with blackberry sauce or individual maple and marscpone cheesecakes? Hmmm. Maybe I should have my readers vote on which dessert I should make (but of course, not eat!). Well, then ~ which should it be? Let me know!

And have a blessed and delicious weekend! ;-)

Oremus pro invicem,

Mikaela

My Dearest....

How hard it is to ... burn to ashes
the hopes of future years when,
God willing, we might still have lived
and loved together to see our boys
grown to honorable manhood around us.
If I do not return, my dear Sarah,
never forget how much I loved you,
nor that when my last breath
escapes me on the battlefield,
it will whisper your name.
Forgive...the many pains I have caused you.
How thoughtless ... how foolish I have sometimes been.
~ Simon Ballou to his wife, Sarah, before the Battle of Bull Run

Sigh. No one writes like this anymore. At least, no men I know write like this anymore. Okay, Sullivan, that poetic gentleman, writes like this I am sure of it, as does Fallen Sparrow. But such poetic prose and authentic emotional expression are a rarity today. Would you not agree?

lll

I love letters. All kinds of letters. I write “sheets and sheets” to my loved ones. Missives filled with love, local news, spiritual angst and personal goings-on. I find that my thoughts and feelings are more coherent and are better expressed with quill and ink than face to face. Not to say that I do not adore being in the presence of loved ones as well. I do! And at rare times, the Spirit inspires me to say things that are just what that person needed to hear. But more often than not, I am struck mute by the depth of what I am feeling or the complexity of the thoughts that spring to mind. It is only later, in writing these thoughts and feelings on paper does light come or solutions to problems are discovered. Such is my nature I suppose.

This need to write things down is a cyclical one. As you can tell by my blog, I am at times sadly remiss in my writing duties – even ones I have a deep affection for! I have found that at those times when I being less honest with myself; when I am most in the grip of fear; when hope has taken flight, seemingly for eternity, then my heart bolts the door, locks away the paper and the ink dries up. When I feel safe and wanted and heard then it like spring and my quill races across the page with abandon. And I am much, much the happier for it.

My loved ones affirm me in this as well. They feel the absence of my scribblings as keenly as I feel the absence of the thin quill in my hand. And when in full letter-writing mode, I pen letters and notes to loved ones who practically live next door as well as those I cannot be with face to face.

Winston Churchill and his wife, Clemmie were prodigious letter-writers and one would often pen notes to the other while they were sitting merely in the next room. My dearest friend, Beth - my twin in every respect and especially in this one - and I are stamped of the same mould. We are both such adorers of the written word and that certainly will not change once we are called to marital life. I feel sure that such will indeed be her happy lot of writable marital bliss, as she is being courted with much wordy love as only Sullivan can pen. ;-)

lll

Reading other people’s letters gives me great joy and inspiration as well. Currently, I have several books of letters in my library: Evelyn Waugh, George Bernard Shaw, J.R.R. Tolkien, St. Therese of Lisiuex, to name a few. The latest edition was a significant natal anniversary gift from another dear friend, Christiana ~ the letters from Blessed Jordan of Saxony to Diana d'Andalò called “To Heaven with Diana!” They are among the most beautiful, passionate and spiritually edifying letters I have yet read.

And that, dear readers, requires a future post all its own!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

Dinner for Eight on Our Lady's Feast Day: 8 December 2007

One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating.
~ Luciano Pavarotti

After many months of trying, my choir director and my schedules finally meshed. I hosted him for dinner along with six other close friends. Choosing the menu took much thought ~ Dahvid is a true Southern gentleman from North Carolina and accustomed to his mother’s incredible, I am sure, Southern cooking.

A Southern feast with a Mikaela twist was debated, but in the end I opted for a menu with a cranberry theme.

Cook's Notes:

One: Remember to read the recipe thoroughly. Not allowing the cheesecake to cool a full 4 hours before chilling overnight did not really hurt it; however, not chilling it for an hour with the cranberry topping made it a tad drippy.

Two: Some dishes are perfectly happy being cooked the night or even two days before the event. In fact, they may even benefit from a couple days rest in the fridge. This will free you the cook from being chained to the stove and/or the kitchen all evening. I spent more time in the kitchen this time around then I did with my
guests.

Three: Remember these pieces of wisdom from the queens of culinary masterpieces:

“You don't have to cook fancy or complicated masterpieces - just good food from fresh ingredients.” Julia Child

"Food is not about impressing people. It's about making them feel comfortable." Ina Garten

I wish I had read those before Saturday! ;-) For the appetizer, I leafed through a 1998 issue of Saveur that I had on my shelf and found a delectably simple recipe for Cappesante el Pesto (scallops with pesto). This recipe, inspired by the author’s father, Edward Giobbi, was hailed by my guests and I must say, the pesto, made with fresh basil, walnuts instead of pine nuts and gorgonzola instead of reggiano (my substitution) was the best pesto I had ever tasted.

Next came a simple salad of spinach, arugula, walnuts, cranberries and gorgonzola cheese, drizzled with balsamic vinegar and extra virgin olive oil. I followed this with a soup course and used a recipe from Epicurious.com for Fresh Wild Mushroom Soup. This soup, made up of shitake, cremini and regular mushrooms (again, my substitution), beef broth and brandy, was an instant hit at the dinner table. I alone did not find the taste to my liking. I am always surprised when anything I cook or create comes out well and is well-received, a trait which drives my friends crazy. But in this case, the surprise was warranted because I honestly thought it was the most deplorable mushroom soup I had ever tasted! :-) Cie la vie ~ at least they loved it and that is what is important. For my own dinner, however, I will try another mushroom soup recipe.

For the main course, I went back and forth between pork loin, chicken with pesto and beef tenderloin. I finally decided on Beef Tenderloin, served with a cranberry and port sauce. Beef tenderloin is one of the tenderest cuts of beef you can find…and the most expensive. Buying organic tenderloin from Whole Foods made it a tad more expensive than it usually is. But it was well worth it. A couple of days later I cooked up another cut of beef in the leftover sauce and was disappointed in the toughness of the meat. I am now officially spoiled in favor of tenderloin! ;-)

To end the meal, I chose a wonderfully creamy Cranberry-Orange Cheesecake with a chocolate crust, also found on Epicurious.com. One of my friends, who is from Long Island, paid me one of the highest compliments I’ve yet received for my culinary skills when he said: This is by far the best cheesecake I have ever had. Remind me why you haven’t opened your own restaurant?” Ah yes, Dennis, that is an interesting question! ;-)

My future career plans and the inordinate amount of time spent at the stove aside, the evening was wonderful ~ filled with laughter, time spent with some of the best friends and another successful culinary adventure!

Next up: Christmas dinner!

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela