Helen Allingham, “A cottage with sunflowers at Peaslake” Dear Lord, You know that I’m not very wealthy, but I know that you own absolutely everything. You own quasars. In fact, you own all the quasars. Even Richard Branston doesn’t own a quasar. Whereas I have three nice cats and quite a good collection of books, you have the Horse Head Nebula. Maybe you know where this is going… Wait, of course you know where this is going.

Yesterday I was having a chat with one of the monks, who don’t generally spend a lot of time on the innernets, and he was asking me what was happening in Orlando. He’s lived in Europe for a long time and isn’t quite as delicate a flower as many Americans. He has been here long enough to have seen some very bad people coming into Europe, people who unmistakably have some very bad intentions.

Booyeah! Six months worth. The cold rainy ones. In total, about 1400 Euros. I paid the last 900 today. And I want to run around in a circle, high-fiving all the people who helped me in the last year. Hit a bad financial patch this winter, with not a lot of writing gigs coming in and pretty much only enough dough to pay rent, water and one or the other of electric or gas.

by Helen Allingham, 1848-1926 Today is the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, and the collect – the little prayer that summarizes the intentions for the day and the week to come – is probably one of the best summations I’ve seen of the Catholic teaching on how our civilization is supposed to be ordered: Harvest Moon, ‘globed in mellow splendour’, 1879 by Helen Allingham, Orémus. Da nobis, quaesumus, Dómine: ut et mundi cursus pacífice nobis tuo órdine dirigátur; et Ecclésia tua tranquílla devotióne lætétur.

There is one psalm that I keep coming back to again and again. Something about it simply describes the idea I have in my mind of paradise. I’m sure my mental image of heaven comes from medieval paintings like the one above. I had a dream once, and it was long and complicated but at the end, I had a little strange vision of paradise, that included the Mystical Rose.

Italian Catholics told to ‘pray in silence’ to avoid upsetting African migrants I saw this article and the pic, and the first thing I thought was, “Wait, are those bullets?” They weren’t. But now I want a Rosary made out of bullets more than anything else in the whole world. [Except for a power drill. I actually for realsies want a Black & Decker power drill and a bit set – including a range of hole saws.

  At the No Emma Bonino rally in Rome, March 20, 2010 Of your charity, please pray for the repose of the soul of my friend Fabio Bernabei. A good man and a good Catholic, unexpectedly taken by cancer at only 52. ~ _ Journalist and essayist, who trained at the school of counter-revolutionary prof. Plinio Corrêa de Oliveira, he was promoter of many initiatives and battles in defense of Christian civilization, especially as a founding member of the association of the Family Tomorrow and the Cultural Center Lepanto, of which he became president in 2006, succeeding Professor Roberto de Mattei.

I am an ex-pat, as a hobby and a lifestyle choice. Whenever I have to go back to AnlgoLand I find myself strangely discombobulated, like you do when you have accidentally stepped too fast off one of those moving sidewalks and you can’t figure out why the floor isn’t moving anymore. I get all weird and stumbly now when people speak English around me. It throws me off.

Well, the world’s collapsing, and it’s getting more hilarious by the hour. Let’s review: Pope Francis: – blasphemed the Holy Ghost… again… – wants to “open a commission” to “study” the possibility of “deaconesses” … [And who did he say it to? The anti-nun hive mind. Nope, no signalling under here…] – used his magic pope-wand to erase the millennia-old right of bishops to establish religious orders in their sees

Joanna Bogle, noted trad-hater and increasingly desperate “conservative” water-carrier, has tried to ridicule the Fatima people and has been thoroughly raked over the coals for it by CWR’s increasingly fed-up readership. A chorus of rather angry sounding messages, demanding that she and her like quit trying to push their Soma on the rest of us. “Stop trying to gaslight us. We’re on to you.” _The boring Third Secret of Fatima