An Rud A Lionas An Tsuil Lionann Se An Croi

102.5 pounds. That's how much I weighed when I was a senior in high school. I remember that number because I was proud of it, and because I never hit it again after I went off to college. At that time I was playing field hockey, eating a bowl of ice cream almost every night, and in a terrible, toxic relationship. Looking back at pictures of me from that time period, I looked slender and toned, by skin tan from practices and games spent outside. My teeth were straight and picture-perfect thanks to braces. My hair had a cute, natural flounce to it that I've mysteriously never been able to replicate.  But, boy, was I miserable in that body.  Fake it 'til you make it, baby. This time of year, when beaches and social media feeds are filled with images of half-naked bodies, it's hard to not feel less-than. Even knowing that people edit their pictures with filters and Photoshop, that they contort their bodies and hold their breath long enough to snap that perfect shot, it can ...

  Statue by Bruce Wolfe I was at the doctor's the other day with my daughter for her check-up. The scene that seemed so bizarre a few months ago is familiar now - the spaced chairs, the social distancing markers on the floor, the usual pile of old magazines gone. My baby smiles at the masked faces that talk to her, their eyes shining with delight even if we can't see their mouths. This is normal for her, sadly. It's all she's ever known. It's busy at the office so we end up waiting a little longer than usual. There's a large circular window that overlooks the street below, so I bring her to it and sway back and forth as we look at the passing cars and trucks and the enormous windmills of the college campus across the road.  An old woman, small and thin but not frail, dressed nicely in white pants and a shirt with purple flowers and purple sneakers to match, sits nearby. Another woman, taller and more filled out, maybe in her late 50s or early 60s, sits with her ...

There's a beautiful picture I've seen posted on social media several times over the last few days. In between the screenshots from the video of George Floyd's horrific death and the photos of rioters interrupting otherwise peaceful protests is this snapshot of a toddler George, fast asleep, and snuggled up against his mother.  It's an image I'm very much familiar with, especially these days as I spend most of my time feeding my one-month-old. So often she falls asleep while eating and I get the joy of gazing down on her peaceful face, perhaps with a big smile similar to Larcenia Floyd's. It's also an image that I see time again in the myriad of depictions of the Virgin Mary and Christ child. In my home, in my church, in my son's school, I see it everywhere. Statues, paintings, refrigerator magnets, artwork from my nieces and nephews. Sometimes Mary is smiling, a small, gentle smile; other times she is gazing wistfully at her son, who is often sleeping...

Is there a song that, no matter how many times you hear it, always gives you goosebumps? For me that song is "The Bells of Notre Dame" from Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Yes, I'm serious. Earlier this week, on Palm Sunday, my family & I were taking a drive. Our car is an '08 & doesn't have an AUX port, but does have a disc changer so we often resort to listening to a variety of CDs while driving. And, naturally, there is always at least one Disney CD in the mix. That song came on & by the end of it my legs were visibly covered in goosebumps. It made me wonder why that happens: why do we get goosebumps when we hear certain pieces of music? The thought occupied my mind for a bit, but I never came to any conclusions & I resisted the urge to Google it & fall into a Wikipedia blackhole of information on biological reactions to external stimuli. And then I saw the news yesterday about THE Notre Dame. It broke my heart to see those...