It just makes me want to cry…

“Making an arguement for misspelling”

 

http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1832104,00.html?cnn=yes

RIP, Denessa Smith

May you rest in peace in the Summerland, and be reunited with your beautiful Tempest…

 

http://www.wildhunt.org/2008/07/denessa-smith-1965-2008.html

They’re At it Again…

 

Photo by Michael Zamora, Corpus Christi Caller-Times

While I understand the necessity of storm preparedness (think of the massive Katrina debacles), but this just reminds me of so many other situations where our government has told us to hoard (and usually the most expensive items, such gasoline).

Cigarette Baby

I’m currently reading The Secret History of the War on Cancer, by Devra Davis, a modern-day Ralph Nader. This is an amazing chronology of all of the mishaps, cover-ups, and denial, all in the name of making money.

One example among many is the Pap Smear. The technique created by an American doctor in 1928 was not implemented until 1988 in the US–a full 20 years after it had been institutionalized by Great Britain, Japan, and a number of other industrialized nations. Why, you ask? There was a dispute over whether the test could be performed and the results read by a lab technician (in the medical world, a lowly peon with only two years of post-secondary education). The Greek-American doctor from whom the test takes its name argued for many decades that yes, lab technicians could easily perform and interpret the smear. Doctors, however, maintained that only they could perform such diagnostics. The AMA backed the doctors. Why? because doctors maintained their own practices, and were making lucrative money performing the tests and removing portions of the affected cervixes and wombs once cancer had begun spreading.

That said, the book is full of amazing and, until now, unpublished information and reports, including a very large chapter dedicated to the dangers of cigarette smoking, and its evolution into the market we know today. Yet, as a smoker, I just can’t help myself; I’m pretty sure that says something about the addictive quality of cigarettes when I reach for one while reading about their disgustingly morbid effects. And yes, I was taught beginning in the fourth grade that cigarettes were bad. We watched movies on lung cancer. Had a man with emphysema and a tracheotomy come to our class for a presentation. I even walked around extolling the dangers of smoking to others (my nonplussed father included). Thus was the beauty of attending a public school at the turn of the twenty-first century.

My father quit smoking some six years ago, but only after an incident during which he thought he was having a heart attack (I find it interesting that one bought of acid indigestion can be more powerful than twenty years of trying to quit with various patches, gums, and cold turkey). That said, I can also say that I was a “cigarette baby.” Meaning, my father smoked in the vicinity of my mother while she was pregnant with me. He also smoked around her when she was pregnant with my other three siblings, but apparently I was the only fetus affected: I was born a full month early, at 3 pounds and 4 ounces. Just prior to her emergency Cesarean to deliver me, my mother almost died from toxemia.

Those crazy pagan Catholics.

So Easter has come and gone, and as usual, I chose to partake in my church’s Easter Triduum celebration, performing music with the orchestra.

Beginning with Mass on Holy Thursday and ending with the revelry of Easter Sunday, the Triduum has always been a really spiritual time for me. Mass begins on Thursday and includes the washing of the feet, the introduction of the neophytes, and the start of vigiling. Mass ends with a soft chant, the undressing and removal of the altar, and turning out the lights. People leave one by one, still chanting and praying. Some stay all night to vigil.

The Easter Vigil, held the night before Easter, is likewise symbolic and profound. Mass begins in the dark (having left in the dark on Thursday). All is silent and still. Mass begins with a bonfire, from which the presiding priest lights the pascal candle. That sole light is what leads parishioners into the church, and from it, one by one, each person lights their candle and shares the pascal light. Slowly, the lights come back on, candles are extinguished, incense is lit. Neophytes are baptized, confirmed, and receive their first Eucharist; they are anointed with holy oils such as chrism.

By the end of Mass (a 4-hour marathon Mass, no less),