I do my own fact-checking.
In 1996, a team of scientists led by David McKay of NASA’s Johnson Space Flight Center announced that they had discovered evidence for microscopic fossil life in a meteorite that came from Mars. Recovered in Antarctica, the meteorite is labeled Martian meteorite ALH84001. The link below contains an excerpt from COSMIC HORIZONS: ASTRONOMY AT THE CUTTING EDGE, edited by Steven Soter and Neil deGrasse Tyson, a publication of the New Press. © 2000 American Museum of Natural History. https://www.amnh.org/learn-teach/curriculum-collections/cosmic-horizons-book/fossil-microbes-mars
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During tutoring today I learned something about the exclamation point. I knew that it should be used sparingly, but I did not know the following: do not use to indicate emphasis, irony, or humor. Okay, to make it simple, use the exclamation point with imperative statements only. “Move it!” Imperative derives from imperial. Think of an English king ordering you off your arse and on your orse.
You demand proof of the secrecy of the reforms that led to the new Mass of 1969?
I lived through the 1960s, and no one knew what was going on in Rome. What Annibale Bugnini was doing was a secret, and the information was withheld from the average Catholic. I defy anyone who lived through the 1960s to tell me you knew what was going on. If the changes were legal and justified, why the secrecy? If they were based on what Christ taught, why the secrecy? Now that I know what happened, I feel tricked and lied to. Now you know what I mean when I say I was denied a vocation. It occurred in 1969, and my better sense told me to stay out. I have two high school friends who entered the Jesuits and are still in. They would not even consort with me now. Leftists set their standards for others too high. I do not. If you like me, you’re my friend. That is all it takes. We now know that the enemies wanted to take away everything Catholic, things I did not take for granted and loved but which they hated. Also, I would have laughed at you if you said there was sexual abuse going on. More trickery that passed by me. I had one teacher in high school, my senior English class, and only one such, who was an instigator and did not belong in a high school teaching 17-year-old boys and displaying his rebelliousness to us. Even as an immature boy, I knew that all he wanted was trouble. Dishonest manipulators were they all. That is why I will not budge an inch when it comes to tradition, not one inch. If you have entered every exam room with the hope of answering every question correctly, move on to the Latin Mass. If you have entered every exam room with a lower expectation, stay with the modern Mass. The two of you deserve each other. Vaganova is a comprehensive school of ballet and academics. Not too many go all the way to a ballet company, but that isn’t the point. The pedagogue got me laughing when he said, “How can you convince unromantic people to feel the romance?”
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. John McCrae 1915 Bad boy Ruth—that was me.
Don’t get the idea that I’m proud of my harum-scarum youth. I’m not. I simply had a rotten start in life, and it took me a long time to get my bearings. Looking back to my youth, I honestly don’t think I knew the difference between right and wrong. I spent much of my early boyhood living over my father’s saloon, in Baltimore—and when I wasn’t living over it, I was in it, soaking up the atmosphere. I hardly knew my parents. St. Mary’s Industrial School in Baltimore, where I was finally taken, has been called an orphanage and a reform school. It was, in fact, a training school for orphans, incorrigibles, delinquents, and runaways picked up on the streets of the city. I was listed as an incorrigible. I guess I was. Perhaps, I would always have been but for Brother Matthias, the greatest man I have ever known, and for the religious training I received there which has since been so important to me. I doubt if any appeal could have straightened me out except a Power over and above man—the appeal of God. Iron-rod discipline couldn’t have done it. Nor all the punishment and reward systems that could have been devised. God had an eye out for me, just as He has for you, and He was pulling for me to make the grade. As I look back now, I realize that knowledge of God was a big crossroads with me. I got one thing straight (and I wish all kids did)—that God was Boss. He was not only my Boss but Boss of all my bosses. Up till then, like all bad kids, I hated most of the people who had control over me and could punish me. I began to see that I had a higher Person to reckon with who never changed, whereas my earthly authorities changed from year to year. Those who bossed me had the same self-battles—they, like me, had to account to God. I also realized that God was not only just, but merciful. He knew we were weak and that we all found it easier to be stinkers than good sons of God, not only as kids but all through our lives. That clear picture, I’m sure, would be important to any kid who hates a teacher, or resents a person in charge. This picture of my relationship to man and God was what helped relieve me of bitterness and rancor and a desire to get even. I’ve seen a great number of “he-men” in my baseball career, but never one equal to Brother Matthias. He stood six feet six and weighed 250 pounds. It was all muscle. He could have been successful at anything he wanted to in life—and he chose the church. It was he who introduced me to baseball. Very early he noticed that I had some natural talent for throwing and catching. He used to back me in a corner of the big yard at St. Mary’s and bunt a ball to me by the hour, correcting the mistakes I made with my hands and feet. I never forget the first time I saw him hit a ball. The baseball in 1902 was a lump of mush, but Brother Matthias would stand at the end of the yard, throw the ball up with his left hand, and give it a terrific belt with the bat he held in his right hand. The ball would carry 350 feet, a tremendous knock in those days. I would watch him bug-eyed. Thanks to Brother Matthias I was able to leave St. Mary’s in 1914 and begin my professional career with the famous Baltimore Orioles. Out on my own . . . free from the rigid rules of a religious school . . . boy, did it go to my head. I began really to cut capers. I strayed from the church, but don’t think I forgot my religious training. I just overlooked it. I prayed often and hard, but like many irrepressible young fellows, the swift tempo of living shoved religion into the background. So what good was all the hard work and ceaseless interest of the Brothers, people would argue? You can’t make kids religious, they say, because it just won’t take. Send kids to Sunday School and they too often end up hating it and the church. Don’t you believe it. As far as I’m concerned, and I think as far as most kids go, once religion sinks in, it stays there—deep down. The lads who get religious training, get it where it counts—in the roots. They may fail it, but it never fails them. When the score is against them, or they get a bum pitch, that unfailing Something inside will be there to draw on. I’ve seen it with kids. I know from the letters they write me. The more I think of it, the more important I feel it is to give kids “the works” as far as religion is concerned. They’ll never want to be holy—they’ll act like tough monkeys in contrast, but somewhere inside will be a solid little chapel. It may get dusty from neglect, but the time will come when the door will be opened with much relief. But the kids can’t take it, if we don’t give it to them. I’ve been criticized as often as I’ve praised for my activities with kids on the grounds that what I did was for publicity. Well, criticism doesn’t matter. I never forgot where I came from. Every dirty-faced kid I see is another useful citizen. No one knew better than I what it meant not to have your own home, a backyard, your own kitchen and icebox. That’s why all through the years, even when the big money was rolling in, I’d never forget St. Mary’s, Brother Matthias, and the boys I left behind. I kept going back. As I look back those moments when I let the kids down—they were my worst. I guess I was so anxious to enjoy life to the fullest that I forgot the rules or ignored them. Once in a while you can get away with it, but not for long. When I broke training, the effects were felt by myself and by the ball team—and even by the fans. While I drifted away from the church, I did have my own “altar,” a big window of my New York apartment overlooking the city lights. Often, I would kneel before that window and say my prayers. I would feel quite humble then. I’d ask God to help me not make such a big fool of myself and pray that I’d measure up to what He expected of me. In December 1946 I was in French Hospital, New York, facing a serious operation. Paul Carey, one of my oldest and closest friends, was by my bed one night. “They’re going to operate in the morning, Babe,” Paul said. “Don’t you think you ought to put your house in order?” I didn’t dodge the long, challenging look in his eyes. I knew what he meant. For the first time I realized that death might strike me out. I nodded, and Paul got up, called in a Chaplain, and I made a full confession. “I’ll return in the morning and give you Holy Communion,” the chaplain said, “But you don’t have to fast.” “I’ll fast,” I said. I didn’t have even a drop of water. As I lay in bed that evening, I thought to myself what a comforting feeling to be free from fear and worries. I now could simply turn them over to God. Later on, my wife brought in a letter from a little kid in Jersey City. Dear Babe, Everybody in the seventh-grade class is pulling and praying for you. I am enclosing a medal, which if you wear will make you better. Your pal, Mike Quinlan P.S. I know this will be your 61st homer. You’ll hit it. I asked them to pin the Miraculous Medal to my pajama coat. I’ve worn the medal constantly ever since. I’ll wear it to my grave. Recommendation: all future Catholic bishops must complete service in the military or law enforcement. Reason: wimps afraid to challenge heretics and thereby lose their benefices are eliminated from the gene pool. Evidence: the grand total of bishops who have challenged the goons in Rome is two, Schneider and Vigano (maybe Burke). The rest sit on big bank accounts in Pixie Hollow. Instead, prepare Catholic boys by showing them videos like the following, not The Lion King. I speak as a one-time boy who never bought into Disney make-believe. quo primum - from the first The video in this post is for Catholics. If the photographic evidence is not good enough, I can verify every one of the changes and abuses. I am a practical Catholic not into reading theological or philosophical tomes. A preference is for novels, short stories, and rhyming poems, a little biography, history, math, and Latin. The faith was freely handed to me at age eight, and knowing what I was receiving and getting into, I freely and wholeheartedly accepted it. The faith has not changed one iota since then. From the start I trusted my instincts, not any person, teacher, or guru. If something sounded wrong or felt wrong, it was wrong. Going along with the new Mass reflected an aversion to argument. The Latin Mass demands more of me and is making a big difference in my personal life. Marysville Middle School in the state of Washington forced a teacher to take down the Thin Blue Line flag in her classroom. Maximus and Alba, Latin students, exit stage right. Alexander and I did two Mel Science experiments last week. There are plenty of non-academic, group activities waiting for you, too. Max and Alba, you will discover that homeschooled boys and girls are confident, honest, and unspoiled.
Francis thanked a man named de Mendonkey (variation of de Mendonca) for having “shown how the Holy Spirit works in non-believers, pagans, in people of other religious confessions” and that the Holy Spirit “is universal, it is the spirit of God, which is for everyone … Thank you for this call to open ourselves, without fear, without rigidity, to be pliable to the Spirit and not mummified in the structures that enclose us.” The number of accusations made against us is now at 21, fearful, and 22, mummified. I was unaware that I am a mummy. Quote can be found on LifeSiteNews. I don't dream up these quotes.
Based On/Inspired By Translation: it is likely that what you are about to see is revisionist history, rewritten to exclude facts. That is what Hollywood is very good at doing, now, and Viola Davis is an example of selling one’s soul to the devil. The lure of wealth is too great for some. My disclaimer: I did not see the film. The amount of gratuitous violence in movies today makes me stay away. One of my short stories has a violent scene lasting 15 minutes in real time. Ironically, that scene is the one most liked by my SFPD reader. The remaining stories and the novel have little violence and focus on solving crime. Why make such a film? Being a victim feels good. You get to blame everyone else for your problems, and a film such as this one reinforces your self-pity. This attitude is the exact opposite of a proper Catholic. My religion teaches that seeking truth and justice are worthy causes, but circumstantial suffering is salvific, and one of its best practitioners is Joan of Arc.
Kat Timpf, Fox News commentator, said that she feels more comfortable in a room full of conservatives than leftists.
Dear Kat, I appreciate the compliment. However, you must know the truth. Before I tell you, please listen to the funeral oration from Pericles once more. You feel more comfortable because we like looking at you, you graduated magna cum laude in English from a normal college, and, for the most part, we are not interested in silencing you, imprisoning you, or killing you. Mary Magdalen's Blushe
The signs of shame that stain my blushing face Rise from the feeling of my raving fits, Whose joy annoy, whose guerdon is disgrace, Whose solace flies, whose sorrow never flits; Bad seed I sow'd, worse seed is now my gain, Soon-dying mirth begat long-living pain. Now pleasure ebbs, revenge begins to flow; One day doth work the wrath that many wrought; Remorse doth teach my guilty thoughts to know How cheap I sold that Christ so dearly bought: Faults long unfelt doth conscience now bewray, Which cares must cure and tears must wash away. All ghostly dints that grace at me did dart, Like stubborn rock I forced to recoil; To other flights an aim I made my heart Whose wounds, then welcome, now have wrought my foil. Woe worth the bow, woe worth the archer's might, That draw such arrows to the mark so right! To pull them out, to leave them in is death, One to this world, one to the world to come; Wounds may I wear and draw a donbtfnl breath, But then my wounds will work a dreadful doom; And for a world whose pleasures pass away, I lose a world whose joys are past decay. O sense! O soul! O hap! hoped bliss! Yon woo, you win, you draw, you drive me back; Your cross encount'ring like their combat is. That never end but with some deadly wrack; When sense doth win, the soul doth lose the field, And present haps make future hopes to yield. O heaven! lament, sense robbeth thee of saints, Lament, souls! sense spoileth you of grace; Yet sense doth scarce deserve these hard complaints, Love is the chief, sense but the entering place; Yet grant I must, sense is not free from sin, For thief he is that thief admitteth in. Robert Southwell, SJ “Before his death, he prayed publicly for the Queen and made a very edifying speech to the assembled crowd. He struggled to make the sign of the Cross while he was hanging, and before he was cut down, Lord Mountjoy and some other onlookers tugged at his legs so that he would die before the rest of the brutality could happen. It was his lifeless body that was disemboweled and quartered. When his severed head was held up to the crowd, nobody dared shout the customary epithet, ‘Traitor!’” https://catholicism.org/saint-robert-southwell-a-brief-life.html https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Mary_Magdalen%27s_Blushe (no changes made) The pandemic, so it is called, was the greatest event in modern times. Why? It sent many Catholics and non-Catholics to the Latin Mass because the Latin Mass churches never closed. Church closures were the first sign of coming oppression by totalitarian regimes and the false church. For me, neither source of persecution was easy to recognize in the beginning. I’m not sure why. However, since March 2020, events, news media, and social media cleared up any confusion I ever had. All these priests knew each other because they were educated at the same colleges, Douay and Rheims, the places that produced the first English Bible, 1582 & 1609-10. courtesy of the Latin Mass Society of England and Wales
Sabaton wrote this song in 2016 to honor 20,000 Polish, German, and Austrian men who defeated the Ottomans at the Battle of Vienna in 1683. The first Ottoman assault on Vienna was repelled in 1529. The Winged Hussars of Poland, whose motto was “Amor Patriae Nostra Lex – Love of the fatherland is our law”, led the 1683 charge, the largest known cavalry charge in history.
You thought only the poor could enter heaven. Nope. St. Good Man of Cremona (1150-1197), in Latin Sanctus Homobonus, is the patron saint of entrepreneurs. Born in Italy to a wealthy family, he inherited the family business. As an innovator, he took the humble yet profitable tailoring business into something bigger and bolder.
Novus Ordo is the New Mass promulgated in 1969, replacing the Latin Mass, unchanged in its essentials since AD200. You ask, “What else makes 1969 important in history?” The Moon landing. Thomistic refers to Dominican St. Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274), premiere theologian. Two men are mentioned: Charles Coulombe is a living monarchist; Robert Bellarmine is a dead Jesuit saint.
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