In which Peterbird gives a sermon and plays basketball, and Magda talks a lot

Also, there are random pictures, because I have a digital camera and things to subject you to visually.

Virgil was invited to give a sermon for Fr. Costin's Liturgy on October 16, 2005.	And he talked about the Gospel.
If he hadn't put me into his sermon, I think it would have been better, but he did a good job anyway.	After his sermon, he played basketball with some friends. Hee. I love taking pictures of him playing basketball in his anderi.

The start of a garden: plants I have failed to kill. (Very exciting.)
The left is, I think, azaleas (three plants' worth) which my mother gave me for my birthday (March) this year. The middle is the teapot she used to have to play with as a little girl. The right is the basil I recently picked up at Stop 'N' Shop, and have tied up to a pen* and pencil; it shows evidence of overwatering, and I don't expect it to live, but I didn't expect the other to live, let alone bloom again. I would like to point out that it began to bloom when my mother, the green thumb, came to visit.

* Yes, the end is shaped like Texas.

"Attic Treasures" from the Greek Festival. Ow. And ooh!

And that thing in the bag looks like this. I got it for TeaLizzy, since she's collecting wooden toys for future children. She's nicer than I am; I don't think I'd share.

The other items: three plastic-lined baskets (perhaps for the plants, which have yet to be repotted; perhaps for wastebaskets); two tennis rackets and three tennis balls because I remember Peterbird saying he wanted to play tennis although now he denies saying anything of the kind; a colorful tin that reminds me of being small; Balderdash, a version of which we enjoyed playing at the Stegs' house; a cd case for a small part of the growing collection of cds my husband keeps accumulating; Ever After on VHS because I like it and will watch it over and over; and six audio tapes: (1) The Capitol Regiment Band: Greatest Hits Of John Philip Sousa; (2) The Music Man (Soundtrack) - these two to be given to Dn. Tom, conductor of the band, and the second one more particularly for little Harry because Tom says that Harry loves this movie and walks around singing the Minuet in G and conducting; (3) Humperdinck: Hansel and Gretel - because I thought Peterbird had been involved in it (and was wrong, it was only one of my voice teachers at ND, but oh well); (4) Rimsky-Korsakov: Russian Easter Overture - because it's Russian and it's the Boston Pops conducted by Fiedler; (5) Palestrina and Marenzio - because I hoped it was polyphony (ooh! and I'm right!); and (6) The Moody Blues (best of) - because it's the Moody Blues, of course.

Why get audiotapes? Well, aside from the part where they were free (It's good to be king the wife of an especially beloved seminarian.), it's like food: yeah, they'll be used up, but you may as well get what you can out of them until then.

And we got a nice icon of the Panagia (based on the Theotokos of Vladimir, but cleaner/clearer) for Grandma's birthday party this weekend.

Thank you all and each for the overwhelmingly supportive comments to the non-post.

* Mimi, yes, and I'm willing to discuss my bad experiences with it (two parents, four psychology degrees is just the start) more privately. It's weird: does anyone know of a presbytera who has a blog? I don't want to lead people in the wrong direction (hey, I don't especially want to lead them, but it would take more time to explain to each of them that they shouldn't, so I may as well just be good. Yeah, that'll be easy.) There's also SAD, which I had thought my mother had made up, but it was just that I didn't have to deal with it since I grew up in Houston which doesn't have a February of Doom (tm). Since converting to Orthodoxy, it's been easier, but still no bed of roses. (Wouldn't that hurt? Couldn't they say bed of rose-leaves? Anyhow.)

* Elizabeth, you have wonderful advice, but with this kind of oppressive sadness, the idea of "not bothering someone with me, since I'm not worth their time" is rather strong. Do you have any advice on taking advice? Sort of a meta-advice? (Brain is slushy ...)

* Laura, you're just wonderful. Please keep those prayers coming!

* TeaLizzy, oh, but of course I do! ;) I keep wanting to be like Virgil and forget that he doesn't take enough breaks. I find that it's easier to seem happier when I'm doing something so I can get out of the house, and then find that I'm stressed out ... but would feel guilty about "quitting" because that is bad, period. My brain does funny things that don't explain well outside my head.

* Mary Beth, I almost don't believe you, but I must, because you're Mary Beth. (Nota bene: there's a fencing-band-ND-Mary Beth who commented on the gym post, and a Mary Beth who chants at HC; this is the latter.) I confess that I'm rather in awe of you, and very much enjoy hearing you chant. Okay, bye.

* Lissa, thank you for the understanding and prayers.

How could I ever have thought that I liked being friends with guys better? They don't understand any of this stuff the same way, and you are all just so wonderful. I just need some way of allowing myself to get away with not having to be perfect and at the same time not allowing myself to be too lazy.

Speaking of which, there's a Peterbird to snuggle as he's already gone to bed. See the example I have to live up to! He goes to bed at bedtime and doesn't spend all his time on the computer. Also, he finished his paper which is due on Tuesday and has already started the one due Thursday. The idea of starting before the night before ... meep. No fear of me ever going to grad school this decade!

Even though Peterbird hasn't said anything specifically, I know he thinks (and I think, too) that all this feeling bad is because I haven't been to confession in so long. I dread going, even though I know the medicine works. I can never think of what to say when I'm there, though the second I step away I can think of a million more things I need help on. Can't I just set good = 1 and just be good already? So please help by praying me into confession, and I'll slink right on over. Ulp.