Happy Feast of the Archangels

And Now, A Little Technology Humor

Monmouth College left a recruitment message in our voice mail. Our spiffy new arrangement feeds these messages through a voice recognition system and emails them to us in text format. Remember that game "telephone," with kids whispering a message to each other to see how it emerges at the end? Well, this version of "telephone" had my family howling with laughter...

Message as it appeared in the email:

Date	: Sep 19 2012 06:04:57 PM
From	: MONMOUTH COLLEG (130********)
To	: E. Bartholomew (16*****-****)

"Hi, this is Matt from Monarch College calling for ******. We were just calling to see how your senior year in high school is going and also to see if after a few groceries if you're gonna be interested in looking at at colleges mama college is very interested in having you attend here. Oh we are just wondering if you'd be interested in actually point here. If you haven't heard of us and we can check our website at mom's college that you. I love you. See what you're looking for a college education, then you can feel free to schedule a campus visit or apply online is completely free. They don't they wanna do either. So, we'll, we're gonna try to get a hold of you a couple weeks and if you have any questions you can feel free to call us at 1-800-***-****. Thank you" 

--- Brought to you by ***age --- 

This email was sent from a mailbox that does not accept replies. 


Isn't it great how communication keeps getting easier?!

What We Do Changes Who We Are

Michelangelo's the Creation of Adam

in the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican.

Identity – What We Do Changes Who We Are...

Philosophy buffs, C.S. Lewis and Tolkien fans...Click on the link above to check out this riveting reflection by Peter Kreeft, that appeared at The Integrated Catholic Life blogsite.

Best Face Forward

Pleasing through our complexions...how far must women go to be judged worthy? One of the most popular film stars of the 1920s, Clara Bow was known as the ultimate flapper, and had a complicated personal life to match her flamboyant style. Photo is in public domain.

My high school reunion is this month. When I was little, an event like that would have Mom “putting on" her face. I would scramble for a ringside seat. Women back then approached hair and face like architecture, building up from bedrock. Headband framing the naked canvas, Mom pursed and smeared: Ponds Cream, foundation, blemish stick, “rouge,” eye shadow, eyebrow liner, mascara (for a really big event, false eyelashes), powder, and the grand finale, lipstick to tie the new, refurbished package in a bow.  

Another half hour untangling curlers, styling springy, Dippity Do-slicked curls, sliding in a hair extension called a “rat,” encasing the “do” in a sprayed, silicon shell, snapping on earrings, and dabbing perfume behind ears, and the lady, from the neck up at least, was complete. I dreamed of styling my own elegant mask. But would it be freeing?

One landmark day as a teen, I trotted off with Mom to a cosmetics counter for a makeover. A white-smocked lady slathered my blemish-marked skin with lotion. That launched me on an extravagant cycle: exfoliating cream, astringent wash, moisturizer, foundation, blush, powder, eye shadow, eyeliner drawn with a brush, mascara…voila!...a new creation. The results boosted morale. With makeup, I perceived myself as more polished, confident, and acceptable in the eyes of the world.

I wasn't alone. An October 12, 2011 New York Times article asks: "Want more respect, trust and affection from your co-workers?" and outlines a Harvard psychology study that shows makeup-wearing women faring better in the workplace.

By the time I worked downtown in my early 20’s, I wouldn’t leave my apartment without “my face on.” Forgetting to tuck makeup into my purse was irksome, getting my face right in the morning, essential. As hours passed, I sensed eyeliner or lipstick smudge, and fished out a mirror to check the damage. Catching me pressing palm against lips to blot lipstick, a coworker asked if I was ill.

Then, came the Great Unmasking. Children arrived. Hugs and kisses took precedence over image. Makeup happened when I had time, until I developed chemical sensitivities. Even hypoallergenic cream made me itch. Mom developed the same condition, making the whole synthetic beautifying process more pain than pleasure.

A funny thing happened as Mom and I ditched chemicals. Mom’s hair naturally grayed into stunning silver. At least in the eyes of this beholder, simply wearing her own face increased her beauty. As for me, I made peace with my unvarnished reflection. In time, I quite liked it.

Today, not slaving over and smothering my skin just to pass through my door makes me giddy with gratitude. I applaud current fashion trends featuring light makeup and easy-care hair. I still enjoy wearing lip color. As for the rest of the hooplah, I’ve sent it to the Pit of Oblivion. Hurray!

Many women take cosmetics in stride, using them as helpful beautifying tools and not a distraction. But for one who felt naked without a synthetic mask, it’s nice breaking the attachment.

In the online comments section of that New York Times article, women raged over the inequity of society and workplaces discriminating against women without makeup. Men are not expected to spend 20 minutes daily on skin care, so why must women?

On the other side, some women equated makeup with influence. "There are times when you want to give a powerful 'I'm in charge here' kind of impression, and women shouldn't be afraid to do that," by, say, using a deeper lip color, said pro-makeup Sarah Vickery, quoted in the New York Times article, and an author of the Harvard study. 

She is also a Procter & Gamble scientist, snarked one online commentator, while another asserted, "a person shouldn't feel like they look hideous in public without makeup."

In the end, one truth emerges: true beauty shines from within. Some crabby, self-absorbed women in exquisite makeup, look severe and unattractive.  Other women with plainer, unadorned faces beam as they good-naturedly live their day.


Society should reach that point where no woman is discriminated against or judged because she does not wear makeup. As for women who enjoy "war paint," more natural-minded consumers are demanding safe cosmetics, so women do not have to sacrifice health for beauty.

Sometimes it works to keep it simple. Extra-virgin coconut oil  cleanses and moisturizes, apple cider vinegar is a good astringent, and a healthy, holy outlook on life gives faces a glow. The first two items are found at health food stores. The third, takes hope, humor and a lifetime of persistent prayer, a recipe that makes people winsome with age.


I know the pleasure makeup can bring, especially when trying to make a good impression for some special event. A small part of me wishes I could go beyond the lipstick for my high school reunion. But by the grace of God, it feels good to be unmasked, and putting my own best face forward.

Chemicals found in makeup comprise a toxic list. Can you imagine saying, “I’ll be ready in a minute, Honey, as soon as I plug my pores with octyl methoxycinnamate, propylene glycol and methylparaben”? To learn more about harmful and even carcinogenic chemicals in makeup, check out the non-profit Environmental Working Group site: http://www.ewg.org/skindeep/?key=39529902. The site also provides information on natural beauty products.

Summer Holiday

Photo by Marianna & Ed Bartholomew 

Summer Holiday
By Marianna Bartholomew

Green         to swim and roll in
                 to tickle face and feet
                 to smile in

Sweet         breeze to bathe and breathe in 
                 to wave arms and to sigh in

Smooth       lake to drift and dance in

Soft            cotton to wrap in

Gentle         arms to nap in

Originally called "Early Summer Holiday," I took the "Early" off in honor of August. I wrote this as a young, single woman, dreaming about the ultimate summer day -- shared with some amazing man who had yet to arrive on the scene...

God answered my prayers in my husband of 23 years. Back in the day when my man had his acoustic guitar out daily (he's a trumpet player now), we put these words to music. 

It's been such a busy summer. Lots of DIY projects and tasks. How about you? I just had to post a little reminder that summer (and time with our loved ones) is to be savored.

Soup Bone of Contention

Photo by Daniel Bartholomew
Cream of Swiss Chard Soup. At least I love it!

Cucumbers, scallions, stevia, pumpkin...from mundane to exotic, my garden is bursting its seams this August. Those 100-plus degree days didn't defeat it. 


I gathered blackberries for breakfast, made an omelet with Hungarian wax peppers and chives for lunch, and even made Baba Ghanouj from eggplant for an appetizer this week. 


"No thank you," said my family to the Baba Ghanouj.  "No thank you" to the omelet. And when I blended up Cream of Swiss Chard Soup yesterday, 18-year-old daughter first refrained from comment (through politeness), then told me it tasted like grass. 

Just one of the cookbooks I use to try
livening up meals. This book is edited by
 Janet Swarbrick.

Second sibling said "Thank you" and declared the soup "okay." No fireworks there. 


The 12-year-old liked it, maybe. No one cleaned their bowl voluntarily. 


Why did this soup matter? The more we eat from the garden, the lower my grocery bills. But that's not all. Swiss Chard is one of the most nutrient-dense veggies on the planet. My kids have largely scrounged their own lunches this summer and this pattern has emerged: peanut butter and jelly, Ramen noodles, grilled cheese. Day after day.


Thus, my attempt to squeeze a little nutrition into the party. My teens, tween and I actually had this conversation:


Me: "Just finish the soup, ok?" I had put minuscule servings into our smallest bowls.


Child: "I did finish it." 


Me: "Then why is it still in your bowl?"


Child: "Look!" Child shows me a half-inch ring above the warm, green pool below -- evidence that several spoonfuls were attempted.


Me: "There are potatoes in there. It tastes just like potato soup. Eat it until you can see the picture on the bottom of the bowl." (A winter Currier & Ives scene. But no matter.)


Child: "You can see the picture, look!"


I repeat. These were not toddlers, but a tween and two teens. Sigh. We even began our morning yesterday with a "Saint of the Day" and Scripture readings from the Magnificat. Double sigh. The meal ended with contention. I let some frustrated words fly. It's so hard to meet collective rejection over the no-brainer concept that fresh should trump processed.


Middle son explains his bias. "Mom, they're vegetables." At least half the nation would probably agree with him, since modern palate often craves processed fare.


But...what to do with a garden full of greens no one wants? 


Guilt doesn't work. I've talked about those starving kids in Africa. Coercion seems pitiful since we are talking older kids, here. "Eat your veggies and you can have your dessert." Please. Nagging is a nuisance and plunges pleasantries at the table into a scene from Shakespeare's "Taming of the Shrew."

Photo by Marianna Bartholomew
Veggies from my garden. Now, if people would only eat them!

Subterfuge seems the best ploy. Hide those nasty vegetables. I've tried tucking them into sauces with some success, although my husband and I are trying not to overdo pasta. I could make a meatloaf and hide the greens, but who wants to heat up the kitchen for an hour mid-summer? I juiced veggies a few days ago and loved it, but again faced the chorus of "No thank yous!" from the kids. 


"Just take one sip and try it," I'll usually say. This time, I didn't bother.


I did all the right things. Breastfed each baby and raised them on whole foods. I even had a little manual baby-food grinder, and steamed and pressed their first carrots and peas. 


Now, I'll place some garden fare on the table and watch eyes collectively avert to other quadrants. In exasperation, I'll finally say, "You don't have to like it. Just take some like a vitamin." 


The usual protocol in my house is to wait until the substance is cold and has been tracked across the plate, before donning a heroic face and taking it in a few dramatic gulps. The kids do eat some veggie eventually, because that's the rule. If I go to the trouble to prepare some dish, the least they can do is eat a respectable portion of it.


I can sauté delectable veggies in butter with a dash of lemon and sea salt, and the crew still grimaces downing the ration.

Photo by Marianna Bartholomew
Fresh from the garden tastes astonishingly real.

Of course, the kids aren't considering ramifications of diet choices to health and limb. All they know is that modern taste buds eschew too-real garden fare. I do sympathize. I remember staring at my childhood dinner plate at mounds of zucchini from our organic garden. Next day? Another mound. So, I do have some empathy. For heaven's sake, even my husband has texture issues. For him, if it's slippery or pureed, forget it.


Perhaps when the kids are grown and more savvy consumers, they'll think back with at least some affection to the steady flow of organic goods that visited their childhood table. 


But for now? It's a different story. Eggs straight from an Amish farm? No thank you, we don't like eggs. Milk from that same source? The stuff from the store is so much better. Fresh garden goods March through October? Ugh.


Year after year, dinner plate after dinner plate, the same old battle. Who wants to turn every meal into a food war? 


So, the boys came with to Costco last week and I caved. Corn dogs from the freezer? Now, we're talking.


"Look, Mom. They're natural. No msg!" 

Frankly, the lure of good 'ol American processed outweighs the appeal of natural for lots of the population. Even my veggie soul is visited by cravings for White Castles and the occasional bean burrito from Taco Bell. It's all about balance, with the ratio needing to heavily favor the good. Thank heavens restaurants are trying out fresher menu items. That vegetarian burrito I got at Qdoba today was great! But since our food budget doesn't allow for frequent dining out, I try my best to recreate the bliss at home. Thus, my angst when success eludes me. 

Photo by Marianna Bartholomew
At least garden flowers are
always appreciated.

I've heard of families where the kids take to veggies like barnacles to a submarine. Since this particular trait skipped the Bartholomew gene-line, say a prayer for me, the beleaguered gardener and cook. Say a prayer for my husband and kids, who are tired of the topic. And, if any reader has a positively fool-proof recipe that even veggie-haters love, please share! 


In the meanwhile, I'll count my successes:


*Including the kids in the planting, watering and food prep process gives them skills for the future.
* Grilling vegetables can be great, if you don't set them on fire.
* Inviting the family to find a veggie-themed recipe a week adds some dash to the menu. Middle son discovered a Greek-inspired meatball recipe with mint that was easy to prepare and delicious. Youngest son found a pesto sauce (from the cookbook pictured above) that rocked our garden-fresh basil. 
* Fresh thyme, chives and garlic folded into cream cheese, thinned with a little milk and sea salt, makes a fabulous dip.  Actually, any spices will do.
* Zucchini muffins and chocolate zucchini cake go down well (along with lots of sugar, alas). 
* My daughter used fresh basil in a chicken recipe yesterday and it gained general approval. 
* Now and then, a couple of my kids get brave and enjoy a few Southern fried green tomatoes. 
* Cucumbers sliced are always easy and inoffensive.
* Fresh tomato slices on a burger work.
* Loads of hidden veggies can be tucked into stew.
* Once or twice a year, I'll make beer batter veggie tempura. Yum. No one complains.
* Squash or pumpkin bread and pie are hits. And gathering our Halloween pumpkin from the garden is a blast.


Now, for those of you shaking your heads because your family positively loves garden delights, I've included the Cream of Swiss Chard recipe. I thought it was delicious and delightfully easy. It's pretty too. Don't you agree? (See top photo.) But I can't promise your family will love it!

“Cream” of Swiss Chard Recipe! - Recipes

See the bottom of this recent post for a listing of my most popular gardening posts: Garden Gift

Photo by Marianna Bartholomew
"Square-foot Gardening" helps me plant dozens of
vegetables on one-quarter of a city-sized back lot.

A for Arms

Photo by Daniel Bartholomew

On Friday, I recorded the following "Missionary Moment" for the SQPN-affiliated podcast Catholic Vitamins (the segment features Teresa Tomeo and went live yesterday). The theme for this Catholic Vitamin is "A -- for Arms." That night, my husband came home with the news about the horrifying attack on movie-goers in Aurora, Colorado. It just so happened that, in my reflection, I had talked about the "arms" of God, the "arms" of lovers, parents and friends -- and how sometimes people can "take up arms" against each other...


I dedicate this post to the victims, survivors and families of the Aurora massacre, and to all those across our nation and world grieving this tragic event. God's blessings on all.

Catholic Vitamins' Missionary Moment -- A for Arms:


I once interviewed a man who sabotaged the work of a technician at a southern California lab. The man’s name was Mercedes, which means “mercies.” This Mercedes was not living up to his name.

Every day, he watched a fellow lab technician whistle and sing at work. That got on Mercedes' nerves. He was far from his family in Mexico, had long since left the Church, and was a bitter, angry person. Mercedes decided to do whatever he could to needle his co-worker. He would turn a screw. Snap a wire. Fiddle with the equipment, until it went down for first, a day, and then, a week.

Instead of blowing a fuse, the co-worker patiently dealt with the delays. He must have suspected something. He asked Mercedes to come with him to a prayer meeting at his Catholic church. By some miracle, Mercedes decided to go. He came out of that meeting a different person, longing for peace and opening his heart to God. He eventually quit the lab and joined a group of Catholic evangelists that helped reignite the faith at struggling churches.

Reflecting on this Catholic Vitamin "A for Arms," I first thought about the arms of God -- how we’re called to rest in those arms each day. I thought about how the love of God flows out through people in our lives: about the arms of lovers who hold each other in marriage for 50 years or more...and the arms of a parent keeping a child secure. But then I thought about how we sometimes take up arms against each other, which had me remembering Mercedes.

Photo by Bobby Mikul

Another story came to mind. In the year 2000, I spoke with a priest who served five missions scattered over 1,000 square miles. He had grown up in the Deep South and had taken a lot of grilling from his Baptist friends. They accused him of worshipping Mary and told him he was going to hell. But he grew strong under these attacks and pursued the priesthood. Through the years, he saw strides made in the area as locals better understood and accepted Catholics. But he daily lived the reality of the deep anti-Catholic prejudice that still existed. I’ll call this priest Father Raphael, just as I did in my original story for EXTENSION Magazine. I need to protect his identity.

Back in 2000, he was regularly harassed as he prayed the rosary and walked the country roads.  He would pray and walk just after sunrise. A local man would drive up in his Thunderbird and keep pace with him for 20 yards or so, give him some menacing greeting, and then tear off down the road. I told this story in a recent "Missionary Moments" piece for Catholic Vitamins. But there’s more to the story. Father Raphael kept walking and praying, which is incredible because of something he told me about his past.

About 20 years earlier, he had spent the day driving all over creation bringing the Eucharist to shut-ins. He was exhausted when he reached home. He heated up a bowl of left over stew and was just dipping his spoon in, when pounding sounded at his front door. It was dim outside and the priest couldn’t see much of the man’s face under the porch light, but he could see his wild eyes.

The visitor let forth a stream of abuse against the Catholic Church. He jumbled up conspiracy theories and accused Catholics of everything from trying to take over the world to being cannibals, because they ate the flesh and blood of Christ.

The man flew forward and started pounding his fists into Father Raphael’s face and stomach. The priest was in his mid-40’s and of average build. But he was so taken by surprise he couldn’t defend himself much.  One last punch, and the stranger took off into the night. 


Father Raphael now faced a dilemma. Should he report the attack to police? He had spent years building up trust and smoothing down anti-Catholic prejudice in town. He didn’t want a random act of violence to unleash some unholy war between Catholics and non-Catholics. So he prayed for his attacker and went to bed.

A week later, the stranger returned. When he found the rectory empty, he drove on to another town and found the pastor there at home. He shot and killed the priest, who also happened to be Father Raphael’s friend. Father Raphael cried when he told me this story. Still 20 years later, he was asking those questions that can drive a person crazy. What if I had called the police in the first place? What if they had arrested this man? My friend would still be alive.

Father could have stayed paralyzed by fear and depression. Especially when he started facing harassment 20 years later, as he did his rosary walks. But he told me he would keep on being faithful and continue his missionary work, even if a whole fleet of Thunderbirds started tailing him. That is supernatural. A sign of him running right into God’s arms for strength.

One last image. I interviewed Joseph Cardinal Bernardin right after his cancer returned, in October of 1995. The Cardinal was another Southern boy. He said he grew up thinking the entire world was Protestant because South Carolina Catholics made up little more than half of one percent of the population. But his father was an Italian stonecutter and his mother a devout seamstress, also from Italy, so he grew up strongly rooted in the Faith. When I asked him if he ever found himself running from God during his illness, being overtaken by bitterness or fear, he said this: “Fortunately, my faith is such that I ran toward, not away.” It’s an incredible image, of this scholarly, gentle man, running right into those arms of God.

There are the tender arms of lovers. The comforting arms of parents. The hearty embrace and clap on the back from a friend. There are the times when people take up arms against us. And then there are those all-powerful, infinitely-loving arms of God.


If you go to a concordance and look up the word "arm," there are 67 references of that word in Scripture, many referring to the saving power of God’s arm. Psalm 77 verse 14 says, “You are the God who works wonders; among the peoples you have made known your power. With your strong arm you redeemed your people."