Zombie Theologia

Life is strange. I always seem to meet the coolest people when I'm in a tizzy about something stupid. A couple weeks ago I saw a segment on Talking Dead that drove me nuts, and I immediately found the web page for Talking Dead and Zombie Research Society and had my tizzy there.

The admin of the page gave me the email address of the premiere zombie authority, Matt Mogk. I emailed my little missive to him and much to my surprise, HE RESPONDED!

From his response and my rebuttal (respectful on all sides, always), somehow we got onto the topic of "zombie theology". He was interested, asked me to contact him the following week. I gave him the time, last weekend sent a note asking if he was still interested about the conversation. He was, and asked me for some background. I sent my reply, didn't hear anything and I admit I wondered if he thought I was just another nutjob. Over the weekend I was at my brother's house (the guy responsible for my zombie obsession), and told him all the history. I also said that if Mr. Mogk didn't get back to me I'd drop it as I had no intention of being a "celebrity stalker". If my idea wasn't interesting to him, it wasn't a huge deal.

But here's the thing with zombie aficionados...we tend to love discussing zombies and zombie culture. And when meeting another like ourselves, we bond in weird ways.

Today I received another email from Mr. Mogk who is interested in what I had to say, and sent me the link to the blog of another religiously-oriented aficionado, offering to connect us. He also plans to respond himself to what I'd sent.

I've decided my new dream job would pair zombies and theology. Although I won't complain if this remains pure hobby status.

So..anyone else curious about the "Zombie Theologia"?  I have an (incomplete) Question here:

Q:  On whether Zombies, Walkers, or Biters are Human

Objection 1:  It would seem that zombies must be human for they are of human form and move in accordance with human movement. The deceased do not move and remain at rest after cessation of heart and brain activity.

Objection 2:  It would seem that zombies are human for there are three powers of the soul:  memory, intellect, and will. Based upon The Walking Dead, walkers (aka zombies) may have some kind of memory. In Season 1 episode 1, the zombified wife of Morgan returned to the place of her death, night after night, and in season 3 we saw a final return. Whatever animation, whatever power of the soul that made her "she" in her real life seemed also to be present in her Walker form.

Objection 3: The condition of the Walkers is quite possibly a medical condition allowing for treatment should the proper remedy be found. In "I Am Legend" the study lent itself to a potential cure, and Herschel in Walking Dead was convinced that those in his barn were sick, not infected. Herschel was a Scientist (Veterinarian) as well as a man of faith and had reason to rely on science to find a cure.

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Well, friends, that's an introduction. It's late and I haven't more time to write this evening, nor to finish even the "objections". This Question is not yet complete, but be assured: I will "answer that..." and will "reply to objection x" very soon! Maybe even tomorrow. But for now, I need to tune into my favorite show and study the genre ever more deeply in order to produce for you, my readers, the greatest possible coherent product in melding theology and zombiology.

Overheard in Hallowed Halls - "I'm an absolute menace" Edition

I have a little bit of hearing loss in a certain register, and today it got me in trouble, although truth be told, it could have been a LOT worse.

 I had stopped in the kitchen to ask the staff a question about the convection oven which will be used on Saturday.

While in there, an elderly lady stopped in. She's known to us, is a bit uh...confused and seems to live in a state of perpetual wonder. She was asking all sorts of questions about the food being prepared for school lunch today. Then she turned to me and inquired as to who I was. I explained I worked in the religious education office. Oh, she said.

 Then she told me she was at the church today because her son was being "married". (There's a reason this is in quotes, pay attention to this next part...)

I said to her, "Well congratulations!"

 She was turning to go, stopped turned back to me and got real close and said, "Barry".

 "Barry? That's his name? That's great!" At this point I was still happy for her. I was also wondering why she wasn't telling me the name of whoever he was marrying, thought maybe that was forthcoming.

 In the meantime, my co-worker in the kitchen was looking at me very strangely. I was confused. You'd think this lady would be gushing about her son Barry getting married. She was in the hallway by then when I realized what she'd said (with a sotto voce whisper of assistance from my co-worker).

Uh oh. Buried. 

 His name wasn't Barry and he wasn't getting Married. I heard the lady finally say the word one last time, "Buried."

 Oh. My. Dear. God. I am so sorry! Never before have I ever gone from being so happy for someone to so utterly shocked and horrified. I promised sincerely to pray for her son.

 The lady left and I stood there in the kitchen, horribly embarrassed but also, I admit it, starting to giggle. My coworker cracked, "Oh congratulations on the death of your son!" She also thought my huge awful gaff was actually....kinda funny....

 Had it been anyone else that would not have gone well. As it is, by the time the dear lady got half way down the hall she probably forgot all about it. I hope. Oy vey.

 I decided at that point to go hide under my desk for the remainder of the day, just so I wouldn't congratulate anyone else on the death of their loved one.

Overheard in Hallowed Halls - Halloween Edition

This afternoon we as staff went out to eat with Father. Father, who is also a fellow zombie-enthusiast, posed a few questions for discussion. Here's one of them:

Father:  Does a zombie say a prayer before he eats?

Me:  No, because he has to bite fast or get brained by whoever he's trying to eat. So he says a prayer after his meal.

Father:   *laughing*

And everyone wonders what Catholics talk about at work in a parish.

Overheard in Hallowed Halls

I am blessed to work for a Pastor with a great sense of humor, so I love being able to freely joke around with him and other co-workers.

Today he happened to be in our office speaking with my supervisor (not about me!) when I reviewed and printed out documents from an email from the Archdiocesan Office of Worship. This is the office that expresses the legitimate preferences of our Archbishop on all things liturgical and all things canonical in relation to our worship.

Because I coordinate the Confirmation program for my parish, the email was sent to me as a request for help. Apparently in September the person who runs that office sent out a mailing to all parishes, directed to the Pastor, asking them to designate someone from their parish to serve as contact for all things (excluding Confirmation) relating to the Liturgy. Not all parishes responded and ours apparently was one of them.

I dutifully printed the forms and brought them to my Pastor, explaining that I was "asked to give this to you" and that I was being "obedient."

My Pastor reviewed the letters and forms immediately and, glancing from me (pointedly) to my boss, and back to me again (pointedly), asked which of us wanted to be that contact. Neither of us volunteered.

I said that I believe it was directed at the parish Liturgist, but we didn't have one. Father (rightly!) pointed out that HE himself was the Liturgist.  Right he was!

So my superior suggested perhaps HE should be the contact.

He laughed, and once again, looked pointedly at me.

"I'm not a liturgist."  I said, squirming a little, seeing where this was going.

"But you know liturgy."

"Yes I do! I love liturgy!"

He didn't even have to say anything. He just kept looking at me sideways. A lot like my dog does, and when she does, that it means we completely understand each other and know the game afoot.  (Not that I'm calling my Pastor a dog).

Father, pointedly, "So will you be the contact?"

Me:  *sigh*  "OK"  pause  "Does this mean I get a raise?"

Father:  "Your reward will be great in Heaven."

*pause*  (I'm never good with on the spot stuff which is why I don't do apologetics).

Me:  "I could REALLY use a reward NOW, because I need new brakes for my car..."

Father:  *laughing*

Yeah, so I'm the contact for my parish for the Office of Worship. I've been had...or have I?

*chuckle*  

Something to ponder...

Veterinary Adventures

For a few years now I've been volunteering with an animal rescue and have done different things such as completing home visits and fostering dogs. This summer, though, I began volunteering with a low-cost veterinary clinic associated with the Rescue.

I made it very clear when I began that I didn't know anything, am not a veterinary technician but was there to help where they needed me. Because of my lack of knowledge in this area, I expected that I'd be cleaning up poo, folding laundry, and in general, doing things that couldn't possibly involve canine "patient care."

Much to my surprise, my first job was to play "recovery nurse" to dogs coming out of surgery. And, in fact, that very first day since my charge was still on the table, I was able to come right into the surgery room and observe the neuter taking place.

The second time I went in to volunteer, they taught me how to take the animal's temperature and where to record it, among a few other things.

Each time I've gone in, the veterinarians and the technicians have taught me more, although sometimes planned lessons are interrupted by surgical needs or emergencies. For example, today I was learning about the surgical instruments and how to prep them to be packed and sterilized, but there were some complications with the dog on the OR table, so the vet tech had to run. I also ended up there, but was given another task; a lesson that in fact had been offered previously but was, as usual, interrupted by the work at hand.

Today

Maybe it would be best if I just explained how today went, whilst it's still fresh in my mind.

This morning I arrived around 11 am, greeted the receptionist with "I'm not from the government but I am here to help", walked to the back room and dropped off my backpack containing a few random things, including an extra set of scrubs in case a change would be needed. (Whether human or animal, in any area of  medical care, without warning one can become covered with unmentionable fluids. It's best to be prepared and assume that's going to happen at some point.)

As it was a surgery day, I headed to the surgery room (or OR for short for purposes of this blog) to see who was there and say hello, announcing my presence and ability to do their bidding. Now that I've been there a few times, they remembered my name and a little banter took place.

The lead tech asked if  Vet Tech D. wanted to show me how to put together a [surgical] pack and if I'd like to learn. Sure! So we went into the back room which holds a table, chairs, and the various kennels containing the often quite noisy patients of the day. One puppy in particular was exceptionally adorable with his exceptionally high-pitched cries so I confess I missed most of D's instructions but tried to follow visually, at least.

One of the waiting pups in particular got my heart, however. She had the German Shepherd face and ears and looked like a mix, maybe White GSD? Maybe American Eskimo? In any case, I was drawn to her and confessed to my preceptor for the moment that I was "in love with her.".

He was already chuckling. "You haven't even been here 10 minutes and you're already in love?"

Yup. That's how I roll. You'd never notice that I love dogs.

D. continued with his instructions/demonstration amidst all the noise and love going on, but  was interrupted by the veterinarian (let's call her Dr. V. for "Veterninarian), to please come to the OR. He came back in a little while explaining that the dog in question was having some heart rate problems and apologized. I worked on keeping the kenneled dogs quiet as none of the rooms are sound-proofed and the surgical team needed to be able to hear.

As it was, I ended up in the OR, too, and since the lead VT had to be there to focus on monitoring vitals,  she offered to teach me how to fold surgical drapes for the surg. packs.  Sure! I was a bit clumsy and even after an example, had to go back and fix my work as I'd folded it wrong. The VT was awesome, though, and told me that she'd folded them wrong for MONTHS and the Vet who owned the clinic never said a word about it.

That took some of the pressure off; knowing that what I was doing was part of prepping for surgery, I knew it was important to get it right, but the other side of the coin, revealing that mistakes in this task weren't vital, really helped me to keep focus and not make stupid mistakes that tend to arise from just being nervous.

While folding the surgical drapes, Dr. V. was exclaiming over some unusual things she was seeing in this particular surgery. The dog was bleeding more heavily than most, the fat tissue seemed to "just keep going on" (the dog was a mama and had only recently stopped nursing), and as was observed, the tissue being removed was just "falling apart".  The good doc explained a few things she'd witnessed with similar surgeries, other oddities and because she'd nicked an ovary, she discovered a few other things with this particular dog. In fact, what might have been considered to be a "mistake" to the untrained observer (ahem...me), actually ended up saving this dog's life. Dr. V. discovered the beginning of an infection that, if the spay wasn't being done that day, might have meant some very serious things for this poor girl down the road.

As a bit of an aside, I'm a little disturbed that I am so willing to respond to the "look at this!" while the surgeon is pulling out innards, but well...maybe we're all a bit weird in some way. Perhaps it's more important that as a clinic volunteer there is interest as opposed to, say....fainting.

But wait! There's more to this convoluted day, and it wasn't just a strange uterus and infected ovaries! 

First, there was a leak in the autoclave (which sterilizes the surg. packs). D. thought it might be a seal that needed to be replaced as he could see steam coming out.

When the first dog had been closed, finally, the lead VT showed me how to clean bloody instruments, and this was a task being given to me. No problem. As it was, though, I never got to them as the 1st dog's recovery was taking far longer than usual. She couldn't be ex-tubated and taken to a kennel for observation yet, so I remained with her so the staff could take a break and eat lunch. Then she had to run to the administrative offices for some other task. I remained with the patient, after Dr. V. came in to make sure I remembered the signs of the dog waking up (blinking eye when stimulated, swallowing), and because I'm still not sure of canine vitals, I made sure from VT. D. that I would know when the Pulse Rate was problematic. I also keep an eye on O2 sats.

As it was, Dr. V. was nearly done with her break but I had to yell for her as the PR (pulse rate) fell to 70 and below and I knew we couldn't wait. She came in to intervene, asked me to take a temp and determined that although we'd been working to warm the dog, had to remove the warmth to help her wake up.  We also needed to be able to continue with other scheduled surgeries.

I was prepping to leave as I had several errands to run, especially in relation to a foster dog coming to me tomorrow evening and prep for work tomorrow morning. I let Dr. V. know my exit time, and that's pretty much when all hell broke loose.

First, VT D. went to refill the Isoflurane, aka "Iso" the anesthetic used during surgery (inhaled). Well, the fluid was leaking and although he was quick to mop it up, much escaped into the air. I'd been with the recovering dog for a time and was actually coming into the OR to say goodbye while someone else went to sit with recovering animals, and ended up assisting with intubating the next patient.

That's when the leak happened, when they realized he wasn't "down" enough and had to use the "Iso" first. The spilled happened, they recognized, suddenly, that the O2 was almost empty and went to find a new tank...and there wasn't one. So while we waited in a room filed with airborne evaporating anesthetic,  Dr. V. had to leave to get an Advil for a sudden crushing headache.

I waited with the pup, holding him to keep him calm, and after awhile Dr. V. told me to vacate the OR with him as they'd realized the spill was worse than they'd thought. I went to the back room while fans were set up to vent the entire clinic, and in the meantime, managed to pop off the cap to the pup's catheter. Immediately, while watching it roll away, I found one of the staff to re-cap it. It was odd that it wasn't just gushing blood but it was decided to cap and wrap it until it could be handled. For the moment, all surgeries were in a holding pattern.

That's also when we realized two emergencies were coming in, one with a very sad, sad story. Although I'd planned to leave, I agreed to stay, but have to say the staff was hesitant to ask me to do so, as a volunteer.  I assured them that I could stay, no one depending on me, and remained to assist in peripheral ways with the incoming emergencies.

As it turned out, maybe it was a good thing that I remained. While I didn't get a headache, I did go through a very "sleepy" stage and had a bit of a medicinal taste in my mouth. It probably was the effect of the spilled Iso, which I'd inhaled freely in the OR until directed to leave with the puppy.

 While the staff  focused on what they needed to do, I remained with the recovering animals, ran an errand for the clinic for what was incoming (don't worry, was fine to drive), and finally, when all settled down, asked if it was OK to leave while giving the status of an animal of concern.

Summation

I learned a lot today, in spite of the fact that perhaps I didn't learn what was in the informal-on-the-spot lesson plan. I didn't actually clean the surgical instruments, and I didn't actually learn how to pack the ones that were clean. But I got to assist a dog in recovery, re-attach oxygen to an intubated dog, monitor vitals and in short...did a whole bunch of things I never thought I'd do.

And you know what? It's all completely un-glamorous life-and-death serious but I LOVED it and can't wait to go back, maybe next week. While I get my puppy-cuddle therapy, I also know that there is value to the work, that we are helping animals AND their people, and I can't wait to learn even more so that I can do more to assist the Veterinarians and Techs in their work.

Now please excuse me while I go over and hug my Tikaani, who spent a good 5 minutes sniffing me in my scrubs when I came home this evening. She's feeling a bit neglected and it benefits neither of us to spend my time with other people's pets if I'm ignoring my own!

Cooking with the Holy Trinity or The Philosophy of Making Soup

Today at work, at the request of my coworkers, I made soup, and admit I leaped at the chance to do so. Why? Because I love cooking and well, French Onion Soup is one of my specialties. (Search recipes and you'll find it's a specialty of a LOT of people, so take that with a grain of...whatever kind of salt is your favorite.)  :-)

I work for a priest who is a self-described "foodie", so yesterday I informed him of the plan so that if he so desired, he would be entitled to try a soup he had in the past expressed he really wanted to learn to make. He was taken a little by surprise (in his unassuming way) and while he was happy with the idea of a "soup day", he asked about the reason...was there an occasion he didn't know about but should recognize?

No...but...uh....well, I finally decided right there on the spot on a 94 degree day after a long hot summer from Hell that as the temp was supposed to drop, "We're celebrating it not being 90 degrees!"

He laughed and agreed this was a most excellent reason to make soup! And further, because he wanted to learn how to make French Onion soup, he asked me to show him what I do. No problem. I let him know when I'd be cooking (taking into account the Mass schedule and the reality of the priestly life), and he nodded his agreement.

I chopped the onions yesterday afternoon, marked them properly and placed them in the 'fridge in the industrial parish/school kitchen. Unfortunately, this morning when I arrived bright and early to begin the process of actually  making the soup, Father was busy with other more important tasks so I began, thinking of how to describe the process to him. It's not difficult but I appreciate his sentiment of wanting to watch how someone does something; it has more impact than mere words. (I personally hope to learn some of his own techniques as he is quite the chef himself...what I know pales in comparison as I know very very little.)

Aside

While chopping onions of course I wept as everyone does, and all I could think about was that someone was going to walk into the sterile stainless-steel kitchen to find me, all by myself, weeping alone with a knife in my hand. 

What would I say?  

I thought of the viral video of the "Girl Who Really Loves Cats!" and there was my answer.
"I just really love onions! ...promised myself I wouldn't cry *sob*  I want to hug every onion but that's CRAZY! You can't Hug. Every. Onion! I want them in a basket with bow ties..." 

And then the men in white coats could drag me off to the funny farm to play with goats and chickens and horses and take long naps. Not a bad plan, really! 

But seriously...

Cooking a boatload of onions for a large quantity of soup always takes longer than expected, but I don't mind the process. As I watch a few cooking shows (OK, I'll admit those guilty pleasures are Hell's Kitchen, Master Chef and Kitchen Nightmares), while standing in that kitchen today I considered how real chefs run around with several pots on the fire...literally. I was nearly bored with my one simple pan of very simple onions and butter. Truly, I would have been more comfortable moving from dish to dish and returning to cook the onions. I could only move potholders, ingredients waiting to be used, and dormant utensils around so much between stirring the pot!

Once the onions and roux were ready, though, I added them to the already-hot broth in the crock pot, introduced  the seasonings and journeyed to my office down the hall for the normal work of the day. An hour later I returned to taste, adjust, stir, and re-cover. Throughout the day this was the pattern, at different intervals, always adjusting.

At one point Father came to the kitchen with me and helped with a taste test. He was encouraging but we both voiced "something was missing."  Neither of us could put our finger on it. I knew it meant I had to keep working at it. Thus is why cooking is often considered an Art.

Labor of Love

Making the soup for my co-workers was a labor of love, and I realized as I was cleaning up all the pots, utensils, cutting boards and everything that had been used, it was also a service. The priest that was there before had remarked upon the occasion our department cooked a meal for our volunteers, that what we placed into the food was love, and that's why it was good.

It was a profound observation on his part. Cooking can be fun, but it can also be real labor. The days I have spent in the kitchen, both at home and at work, cooking for many people, I have ended with aching feet, knees, and back. The prep, the actual act of cooking, serving the food, replenishing, and cleaning, then schlepping things back to their places take a toll. It can be very hard work!

Yet it's a joy, and it's a joy that comes both from loving the work and perhaps, recognizing on some level that it is also a sacrifice that gives maybe an even greater joy to the one who receives that particular gift: the food being created.

At the end of the day today, all of the soup was gone. While there were leftovers, two portions went home with a co-worker for herself and her husband, and another went home with someone else who appreciated not having to cook tonight.

This time (it's not always the case) I got to have some of the soup and even sit down and enjoy it with Father and a few co-workers. In the past, there have been times that I only received a small taste of the final product, that which was served to the guests of honor. I admit that, inside, I cringed a bit and was a tad resentful. Here I had worked so hard and had so much angst about making sure the food was PERFECT, and didn't get hardly any at all!

Yes, I'm a bit ashamed at that very human response, and had to work hard  in those times at suppressing it; I had to remind myself that it was a service, I wasn't cooking for myself but for others. I had offered to make the soup, then AND today, because I like it, can cook it consistently and people who tried it really loved it; it brought them joy. I therefore I have "labored" to bring them that gift of joy.

This all seems so sentimental but there is still a greater point to make, and while soup is the predictable metaphor, there is always a deeper meaning to the things we do as human beings. 

While I was driving home today, reflecting upon the day (as I always do), I pondered the process of making soup and the conversations I'd had about it with Father and my other enthusiastic co-workers.

I explained to Father the practical, logistical end of cooking, because that is a shared technical interest. I spoke with another about the tantalizing process, to elicit anticipation as she is a huge fan of this soup and has recently had a craving for it. With yet another, I spoke with him about the deeper process, that of choosing the right ingredients and right flavors for the best outcome, and also the need for both following the recipe and experimentation in cooking.

As I spoke with each, I couldn't help but think back to what the prior priest said about the nature of our food; that it is an expression of ourselves, and that it is the love that goes into it that makes it taste so good.

It's true. It's true of anything. It's why Gordon Ramsey praises in his show's participants their "passion for cooking".

PASSION

I love that word, "Passion". When we have "passion" for anything, it indicates something we truly love, and maybe something we'd DIE for. Think about it. Think about what people who have a "passion" for something are like. Think about your OWN "passions". Perhaps you wouldn't truly be willing to physically die for something, but what in your life do you sacrifice for those things you love so much?

I already in this blog introduced the idea of a sacrifice of love, so it isn't a stretch to see where I'm going with this concept.

While driving home today, it occurred to me how much the process of cooking, and in this case, making soup, is so much like how God works in our souls.

Tintoretto Christ in the house of Mary & Martha

I had described to my co-worker how I choose the best ingredients I can afford especially when cooking for others. It's because I respect them and also want to give them, through my cooking...myself. My very self. The best of what I can offer them.

That's what God does; He created us all in His image and Likeness.

I had described earlier in this blog some of the sacrifice and suffering that comes with cooking, all for a joyful end for those who are to benefit.

That is what Jesus did; made the sacrifice so that we all might live in glory with Him for eternity.

And I described the love, observed by a prior priest, that gives taste and understanding to the food that is served.

That is the Holy Spirit.

Today was a good day, because I got to give of myself in a special way, in something I don't normally get to do, and my gift brought joy to those who partook of it.

I just wish I could approach every task, philosophically and theologically in the same way as I do in making soup, and perhaps that is something to be pondered in an entirely different post.