Alphabet Soup

There is a message in your alphabet soup. You swirl it away and another message forms. What is your soup trying to tell you?

It had been a rotten day, just beastly, and I wanted some comfort food for dinner. I thought about picking up some fast food, but then thought, “I need some soup and grilled cheese.” As I drove, I thought more and more about that grilled cheese, and ideally, some tomato soup. I knew that I had a lot of different canned soups in the house and by the time I got home, I had my heart set on dipping some grilled cheese into a nice, hot bowl of tomato soup. 

I ran upstairs and flinging open the refrigerator, I pulled out the fixings for grilled cheese: some mild cheddar cheese, real butter (no margarine today. There is no comfort in margarine), and the bread. After placing the ingredients on the counter, I moved to the cabinet to find my soup. I searched through all of the red and white labels- cream of mushroom, cream of potato, french onion….where’s the tomato? How can this be? I must have tomato soup! 

No tomato soup.

Disappointed, I began to close the cabinet door when I noticed that the last can, all the way in the back, is alphabet soup. I considered it- alphabet soup is also a comfort food, right? It reminds you of childhood and cold winter days when mom would give you some piping hot alphabet soup after a long morning of building snowmen and snow tunnels. Alphabet soup it is!

I heated the alphabet soup in the microwave while creating and cooking the perfect grilled cheese sandwich. Both sides were beautifully browned and a tiny bit of melted cheese oozed from the edge of the bread. The microwave rang at the perfect moment, and I carried my grilled cheese and alphabet soup to the kitchen table for my comfort meal.

The soup was very hot, I so I ate the grilled cheese first, savoring every bite. I ate around the edges first, as usual, and saved the gooey middle for last. Each bite was more delicious than the last and the final bite was the sheer perfection of warm, soft cheese and crunchy, buttery bread. Sighing with satisfaction, I turn my attention to the alphabet soup, which had cooled just enough to eat. I dipped my spoon in and swirled the letters around, remembering with a smile that as I child, I wished that the letters would form words as I stirred. Alas, the only word I ever saw in my soup was DOG.

I completed a couple of swirls and lifted the spoon to my lips. As the spoon drew near, I saw the first few letters- B-A-D. Huh? I pulled the spoon back a little bit and looked closely into it and saw that the letters had spelled a word; in fact, the letters had spelled two words- B-A-D  D-A-Y. This had to be an amazing coincidence! I wanted to take a picture with my iPhone but realized that people would think I had made it up. I also decided that I would enjoy this as a private memory, and I swallowed the spoonful. 

I was a little bored and decided to turn on the TV and see what movies might be on. I picked up a spoonful of soup first, and then decided to look at the letters again, even though I knew that it couldn’t happen twice. I looked at my soup spoon and was chilled by what I saw there: N-O  T-V. I ate that spoonful quickly, then set the spoon down and looked down into the bowl. There were a lot of different letters mixed into the broth and chicken and I couldn’t see any words. I sat back and mentally shook myself- of course the letters were random. I felt really silly! I tried to slide my chair out but it was stuck on the rug and I was afraid I would topple over. I gave up on the TV and picked up my spoon for another mouthful of soup. I was afraid to look at the letters in the spoon and I swallowed the soup quickly. 

I ate a few more spoonfuls without looking at the letters, but as I ate, I began to feel a little queasy. I put my spoon down and sat back, taking a few deep breaths to quell the nausea. I glanced down at the bowl and still saw only random letters. I felt foolish again and decided to finish the bowl. As the spoon neared my lips, I had to look and what I saw chilled me to the bone. S-T-O-P was spelled out in the bowl of the spoon. Startled, I dropped the spoon into the bowl and leaned away, really frightened. The falling spoon caused the letters to swirl around again and this time, when the motion stopped, the letters were not random. Spelled out in the soup was one word: L-E-A-V-E.

I pushed back on the chair and it toppled over backward, sending me sprawling to the floor. I untangled myself from the chair and crawled across the floor, away from the table and toward my front door. I stood up, grabbed the doorknob, and wrenched the door open. I ran outside without looking back.

The door swung slowly shut and a rattling sound came from the cabinet. The can of tomato soup pushed its way to the front of the cabinet, and together with the other cans of soup, snickered. It sent out a quick message to the alphabet soup, and if anyone had walked by the now-cold bowl of soup and looked into the bowl, they would have seen a message: Y-O-U  A-R-E  W-E-L-C-O-M-E.

The vowels are throwing a party and aren't sure if they should invite Y

I know I haven't written anything new for a few days- I've been caught up in Easter preparation and some other writing projects. Today's offering is a writing prompt from Reddit: The Front Page of the Internet.

The vowels are throwing a party and aren't sure if they should invite Y

A’s phone was ringing again and A wasn’t sure about answering. It was certain to be U again, with the same old argument. The ringing was becoming annoying, so with a sigh, A answered the phone.

“A, it’s U.” “Yes,” replied A. “I knew it would be you, U.” “Then you know why I’m calling. I’ve been talking to I and O about inviting Y to our next vowel party.” A said, “U, we have been over this before. My opinion has not changed. Y is not a vowel and cannot come to the party. This is really in Y’s best interests- Y will not have anything in common with the rest of us. Y will be uncomfortable. Do you want to make Y feel out of place? Is that what friends do?”

U seethed inside. I and O were on board with asking Y to the party and E was seriously considering it, but A was as stubborn as ever. “A, listen to me,” said U. “Times are changing and we have to change with them. There was a time when Y would not be considered one of us, but Y is used in so many words as a vowel sound. Think of words like ‘dystopian’ or ‘psychology.’ In fact, Y sounds like two different vowels in the word ‘psychology.’” “That’s exactly my point!” cried A. “Y has it’s own sound. Yellow. Yard. Yo-Yo. Y is being a poser by trying to sound like one of US. Y is not one of us and never will be.” 

“A, you are being unreasonable. Y is at the mercy of people, just as we are. It’s those people who use Y as a vowel. You cannot blame Y. I think Y should be celebrated- Y is the only letter that can be both a consonant and a vowel!” U was secretly thinking that A was being elitist. “Think about this, A. You’re the only vowel that is used for marking grades. Getting an ‘A’ is an accomplishment, and over time you’ve let this go to your head. You need to be more accepting.” 

Concurrent to this conversation, I and O were talking about the issue with A and Y. “I think part of A’s problem is geography. A has always come first in the alphabet, and Y is practically at the end. A has received special attention just because of positioning.” O leaned back and I picked up the subject. “That’s possible. And don’t forget about that grade thing- every student wants an A.” O asked, “Do you think that A is threatened by Y?” “Why would that be?” replied I. “Well, A may be first and A may represent the best grade, but Y is more versatile and can be used in more ways,” said O. “It sounds plausible,” agreed I. 

Meanwhile, E was thinking about the argument going on between A, U, I and O. E did not understand why everyone was making such a fuss. Why can’t we all get along? E didn’t really know how to feel about it all. What makes one vowel better than another? And who decided what was a vowel and what was a consonant? A was being a little snobby about the whole thing and U was  trying to force its opinion on A. They were at opposite ends of the opinion spectrum. I and O were being cautiously sensible by not taking it all quite so seriously, or at least they were straddling the opinion fence. E didn’t care who came to the vowel party. E wanted everyone to have fun and get along and would have invited all of the letters. In fact, that was a great idea! E picked up the phone and called U.

“U, it’s E. Why don’t we have a party with all of the letters?” U was silent for a moment and then said, “Because we want to have our own party this time.” “But we always have vowel parties. Why not invite not just Y, but all of the letters?” asked E. “Absolutely not,” said U. “Once we drop our standards, any letter will think they are entitled to come to our parties. Do you want the umlauts to start coming to the parties? After that, the Greek alphabet will insist that they should be invited, and then the Hebrew alphabet, and then the Asian alphabets will come along and really mess things up because they don’t even know the right directions!” E slowly replied, “I see your point. I guess it will be just the five of us again. I’ll make the phone calls.”

A was very pleased that the other letters were being sensible.

E didn’t give it another thought.

I and O knew that they would have to allow Y and the other letters in someday, but not today.

And U decided to avoid the vowel party, and instead went to the library to meet the other letters, and a few other alphabets, too.

I am afraid of flying. And flying is really a pain.

Observation story today, not fiction.

I used to love to fly. When I was a kid our family flew to Florida almost every winter to visit my snowbirding grandparents in Ft. Lauderdale. We usually flew on the late, great airline, Eastern (which has disappeared along with American Airlines, Pan Am, TWA and more). Flying as a kid was easy- my parents worried about the tickets, the suitcases, and boarding passes. All I had to do was get dressed and follow Mom and Dad. I didn’t worry about plane crashes and turbulence was actually fun. When we got a little older my brothers and I would sit in coach while my parents sat in first class. If one of us was being particularly awful, my mom would have to come back to coach and one of us was selected to take her first class seat. 

I remember a couple of scary flights in my teen years. I went to Europe the summer of 1975 along with 150 other high school students and chaperones. It was my first experience on a chartered airline, and while the plane was zooming down the runway, I watched about 10 pounds of dirt fall out when the pilot extended the wing flaps. All I could think was, “how old is this plane? And when was the last time it flew???” A year later my mother and I were on the last flight out of JFK in the face of an oncoming hurricane. The plane wobbled just as we left the runway and the people behind me screamed- I don’t know if I was more frightened by the wobble or the screamer. I also was the passenger on a plane whose engine belched fire, aborting the take off. 

I took my first solo flight when I was in college. I can’t remember the circumstances, but for some reason my parents put me on a six-seater plane to fly from Newark Airport to Allentown-Bethlehem-Easton Airport. There were two pilots and two passengers and the pilots stowed the bags themselves. There was a curtain between the pilots and me and I got to see and hear everything that went on. Not fun. At all. And small propeller planes do not fly smooth and level. 

Flying became more frightening when I became a mother. We didn’t fly all that much when my kids were small and when we did, my son had his own seat and my daughter sat in my lap. I was paralyzed by the possibility of a crash- who would I save first? My son was always restless on a plane and I would imagine him running off if there was any kind of accident. The worst flight was when I flew with them alone to Orlando- my son was 2 ½ and my daughter was 8 months old. Just a week before our flight, the top ripped off a 727 flying between the Hawaiian islands and a couple of people were sucked out. What if that happened to me? Would I be able to hold onto the child on my lap? Keeping my seat-belted was a constant challenge- what if he squirmed out of his seat and got sucked out? I know it sounds crazy, but I’m betting that other moms have these same fears.

Did I mention that I am claustrophobic? Yep. That doesn’t help. When jets were all full-sized it wasn’t too bad, as long as I could see the front of the cabin and sit on the aisle. Then someone dreamed up the regional jet which looks like a full-sized jet that got shrunk in the wash. The bigger ones aren’t too bad but some of them have only 18 rows and my head touches the ceiling when I walk down the aisle. I’m also a plus-size woman and some of those seats are a tight squeeze. It might be doable if these baby jets actually flew in just short hops, but the name “regional jet” is a lie. I’ve been on 2 ½ flights on regional jets that were only survivable with Ativan. 

I have had a lot of really bad flights on regional jets. Two stick out- the first was when cheap airline flights booked on the internet were a new thing. I needed to go to New York with my two middle-school age kids, and got a cheap Continental flight that went from Pittsburgh to Cleveland and then Cleveland to New York. People carried really pungent foods on the plane like pizza with everything or a McDonald’s fish sandwich. This was pre-911, so the pilots left the cockpit door open during the flight. Just before we landed, a really loud alarm went off and there was a flurry of activity in the cockpit. We asked the pilot about it and he laughed it off…with perspiration pouring down his face. My kids wanted to cancel our next flight, rent a car, and drive back to Pittsburgh.

The second really scary flight was on one of those teeny-tiny regional jets. We had to take a bus ride in the pouring rain to the plane and then go up metal rolling staircase. It took awhile to seat everyone and as I was one of the first ones on the plane (because, horror of horrors, I was in the last row), I got to check out most of my fellow passengers. As the lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled, I watched while two disabled people were hoisted onto the plane via a hydraulic lift (still in the pouring rain) and dragged down the aisle on tiny, tiny wheeled chairs. One was followed by his wife who clearly had dementia and asked everyone if their seat was her seat. After they were seated another bus came with the rest of the passengers, including a couple of families with kids, a musician with a guitar, and a priest. All I could think was that we were one nun short of a disaster movie.

Last year I took a job that required travel and I flew a couple of times a month. I was exceedingly grateful to get TSA Pre-Check for nearly every flight. Business flying is a pain because you usually have a carryon and a computer bag. If you’re a woman, you either forgo a purse or buy one small enough to stuff into the computer bag. Your boarding pass might say zone 3 but when they call Zone 1 you rush onto the plane so that you can get your carryon into the overhead compartment. And that’s after they’ve called the Emerald Club passengers, Ruby, Sapphire, Diamond, Gold, Silver…preferred seating, first class blah blah blah. If it’s winter you have to stuff your coat in the overhead, too. I feel like a klutz as I maneuver my bags into the overhead and under the seat, stuff my coat, grab whatever I want to do for the flight, and edge into a seat that is too small for normal people, let alone those of us who are overweight. My knees are jammed up against the seat in front of me and I usually end up near a couple of bratty kids whose parents don't believe in discipline. Flight attendants smash into your shoulders as they scurry up and down the aisles and yell at you for being in their way. Passengers seated in the exit rows have to take an oath or find another seat. 

I wonder if kids today think that flying is fun?

A Different Section of the Submarine Story

Sorry about not posting yesterday- I was out of the house for awhile and got distracted. I am continuing to write the short story of the students on the submarine and today's post comes from that. I'm actually writing it in sections, and not consecutively. Diana Gabaldon, who writes the Outlander series, writes that way and her method is working for this particular story. Today's selection will be the second chapter or section (I think!). 

The five-person consortium who made up the “Underwater Habitats for Humanity” had a problem. The biggest problem, of course, was that the group was not the altruistic organization that it pretended to be. They had carefully chosen the name in the hopes that the news media would assume that it’s mission was humanitarian, and it had worked beautifully, along with some carefully planted news stories that hinted at the group’s concern for the sanctity of life in the oceans. In truth, the five members of the group wanted to build an undersea resort that would cater to the rich and famous, and they had decided that the Caribbean was the right location. Now they faced a new problem- one of their planted articles had worked a little too well. They had paid a well-known marine biologist to write an article about the UHFH’s interest in the effects of hurricanes on sea life. The article had been well-received; too well-received, because the marine biology community was calling on the group to send researchers into the area.

“We should simply ride this thing out,” said one man. “No, we need to address it,” replied the only woman in the group. “We have a submarine and can easily re-fit it to carry some researchers.” “I don’t like it,” said the titular head of the group. “Paying someone to write an article was easy. Setting up an elaborate marine mission will be much more difficult and much more difficult.” He leaned forward and addressed his female colleague. “You sound as if you have already given this some thought. What do you propose we do?”

The woman replied, “This does not have to be difficult. We have the sub and crew; it should be a simple matter to set up a couple of laboratories and convert our staterooms into bunks. We should extend an invitation to the marine biology department of an obscure college- they will be honored to be chosen- and then graciously allow them to tell us what facilities they need to conduct studies on the sea life and ocean bottom.” She looked at each member of the group as she spoke, and they were all nodding with approval by the end of her reply. The group broke up for their evening meal, and then spent the rest of the evening making plans for the sub’s alterations. The head of the group was chosen to break the news to the submarine’s crew, who were all former military men and not accustomed to a boat full of students. The captain and executive officer were the only crew members who knew the true purpose of the group, and they were paid quite handsomely to keep this knowledge a secret. 

Blaine Barrow, formerly of the United States Navy and current captain of the UHFH submarine, called a meeting of the crew. He looked at the men that he had assembled after being approached by the consortium. All had been submariners in the Navy and were the best men available for their positions. Capt. Barrow maintained strict military discipline and his very loyal men believed that they were working for a humanitarian organization. The 30-meter sub was smaller than the tactical subs that most of the men had served on and no weapons specialists were required, but the sub still needed technicians to run and maintain the systems. They had made two voyages so far and had encountered very few problems. The second mission, which carried the five members of the consortium, had thankfully been as perfect as could be. The next mission was to have been a scouting mission to find a location for the construction of the habitat and Capt. Barrow was quite displeased that this had been postponed. He and his executive officer had been hired with the understanding that they would have a part in the future resort, and he hated delays.

He rose and began to walk around the room. “Gentlemen, I had hoped to be briefing you on a scouting mission; however, there has been a change of plans.” He looked for reactions and was pleased to see that his crew remained alert and focused. “Our employers have decided to earn some goodwill in the environmental community by inviting a group of marine biology students to spend a week on board. They will be studying an area in the Caribbean that was hit by two hurricanes last year, looking for signs of recovery in the aquatic life and ocean floor. Some minor alterations are being made to the sub to accommodate the students and labs, but our mission will remain unchanged. We should be able to do some scouting of our own while assisting the students with samples of the water and marine life.” He returned to the front of the briefing room and went through the details of the mission. When he finished he asked, “Are there any questions or concerns?”

The chief of the boat, Henrik Engman, raised his hand and waited to be recognized. When he got the nod from the captain, he rose and asked, “Captain, will we be returning to that area of turbulence that we skirted on our shake-down mission? We had talked about checking on it but could not do so on the last trip.” A couple of the men who worked on the bridge, especially the navigators, were nodding. They all remembered the narrow escape they had had from an area that had been calm one moment and then became extremely unsettled in the next. Captain Barrow had made some discreet inquiries among his navy acquaintances, but no one had reported a similar phenomenon. “I’m not certain that it would be wise to do that with a boat full of landlubbers, Chief,” replied the captain, and the crew chuckled. The chief seemed disappointed but sat down and listened as a few more questions were asked and answered. 

The briefing wrapped up with the captain saying, “I expect that we will maintain our usual level of discipline during this mission. These students will need to be watched- they cannot wander around the boat, especially the engine room and bridge. A detailed report will be issued to all of you next week and we will start work on the sub remodel by the end of the month. We will be sailing at the end of May.” Mark Parris, the executive officer, or XO, as his position was commonly known, announced, “Captain is leaving the bridge” and saluted smartly. The crew rose and saluted as well, and Captain Barrow strode out to continue with the task of planning the remodel and the academic mission.

First Installment of a New Idea

I've been kicking around some book ideas. I have one in the works but this started to form up in my head and I thought I would give it a go. Here's a first installment:


Amanda’s death grip on her bunk straps eased as the ocean’s violent turbulence began to subside. She felt weak from the fear, not to mention the intense nausea produced by the sub’s pitching and yawing. It seemed as if it had lasted for hours, but a glance at her chronometer told her that only 30 minutes had passed. She had been in her lab when the warning was announced, “This is the X-O. Navigation has detected some rough waters up ahead, probably due to an undersea current. We will try to steer around it, but we ask that all science teams button up their laboratories and return to their bunks. You will be safer if you are strapped in. If you choose to ignore this warning, you may lose your experiments and there is a risk of injury to yourselves.” Amanda had rolled her eyes but began to comply with the “suggestion.” The XO did not like having non-military scientists on board and he tended to treat them all like children, but she had no desire to see her equipment ruined. She stowed her samples and docked all of her equipment; as the last microscope clicked into its slot she felt the first slow wave hit the sub. It was weird to feel that; usually it was smooth sailing under the surface. This felt almost like being on the ocean and turning into a swell.

As Amanda made her way to the cabin that she shared with Kathy, the sub began to roll side to side and then it pitched forward. She was nearly thrown to the deck by the sudden rolling and the vertigo it produced. She stumbled her way past a few more doors and finally reached her cabin. She undogged the hatch and stepped inside to find Kathy already in her bunk, strapped in and looking green with a barf bag in her hand. Amanda quickly sealed the hatch and fell into her bunk as another violent lurch passed through the sub. Her fingers shook as she fastened her straps, and Kathy moaned, “I thought this wasn’t supposed to happen underwater,” as her head lolled over to look at Amanda. Amanda opened the sliding door of her bunk’s cupboard and pulled out her own barf bag, just in case. These were pretty ingenious, with a valve that could be closed. Vomiting was still an unpleasant thought but at least the high-tech barf bags made it tidier. Amanda was about to say something reassuring when the pitching and spinning of the sub intensified; after that, she hung on to her straps, closed her eyes, and prayed. 

As the sub settled down, the XO made another announcement. “Please remain in your cabins and strapped into your bunks. We cannot be certain that we have completely cleared the turbulent area and you will be safer where you are. If you need medical attention, please contact the sick bay. The Captain and I will be touring the sub to check for any damage. Thank you.” Amanda looked over at Kathy, whose barf bag was full but mercifully sealed shut. “Do you want me to call the sick bay for you?” she asked. “You still look really pale.” Kathy was so pale that Amanda was concerned. She had never seen her cabin-mate look this sick before. “Let’s give it a minute,” said Kathy. “If I don’t feel better in the next five minutes, you can go ahead and call.” She closed her eyes and leaned back against her pillows.

Amanda wanted to talk about the unexpected turbulence but sensed that Kathy wasn’t really in the mood, so she sat back and began to relive the last thirty minutes. There was so much that was odd about it; it had seemed to come out of nowhere and grip the sub like a big hand, tossing it around like a child with a toy. At one point it actually felt as if the boat had been spinning. There had been a brief moment of quiet, almost like the eye of a storm, and then the violent motion had returned. Amanda had done a lot of research on submarines before agreeing to this assignment and had been reassured that subs at depth experienced very little turbulence. She might be a marine biologist but did not really like boats, seeing them as necessary evils for accomplishing her work, and had never been on a submarine before. This was day five of a seven day assignment to examine sea life in this area of the ocean, which had been pummeled by two hurricanes last summer. She would be glad to return to land!

The loudspeaker crackled, making Kathy moan and clutch her head. “This is the Captain speaking.” This was new- the captain had not spoken to the scientists since the first day on the boat, when he told them to obey the XO in all matters. “We have finished our preliminary examination of this vessel, which is currently running on emergency battery power. The battery will last for six hours; if we have not restored power before then we will have to surface for air exchange. It seems that our low-frequency antenna, which trails the sub, has been damaged and we are temporarily out of contact with the surface.” Amanda and Kathy exchanged glances; they might not be sub crew but they knew that being out of contact was not a good thing. What if they needed help? The captain continued, “If we cannot restore radio contact, we will surface and raise our antennas. There is absolutely nothing to be alarmed about. The ship is otherwise undamaged and we are confident that we will be able to restart the engines. Please remain in your cabins and do not disturb the sub’s crew, as they will be busy trying to restore power. Thank you.”

Kathy gingerly sat upright and began to undo the bunk straps. “What are you doing?” Kathy replied, “He didn’t say we had to stay strapped into our bunks and I want to dispose of this thing.” She help up the barf bag. Amanda didn’t argue with her; she would feel better when that thing was disposed of, too. Kathy was still shaky but less pale, and she slowly made her way to the disposal unit. Both girls were glad to see that bag go! Kathy then turned to the hatch and began to open it. “Again, Kathy, what are you doing?” “The captain didn’t say we couldn’t open the doors. He said to stay in our cabins and I’m staying in; I just want to peak out and also get some clean air in here.” Amanda knew that the captain would not approve, but he wasn’t used to dealing with scientists who would parse his words and find a way around them. She began to loosen her own bunk straps as Kathy cautiously peeked out the door. Clearly their fellow scientists agreed with Kathy, as Amanda heard other voices in the passageway calling to each other and beginning to exchange stories about the incident. Kathy sat cross-legged by the hatch and added her own voice to the rising babble. Amanda gave up and sat down beside Kathy. She wanted to hear everyone else’s impressions, too.

Rich and Gary were outlined by their hatch across the way. They both looked banged up; when she asked, Richard told Amanda that he and Gary had been tossed down a passageway while they were heading for their cabin. Questions up and down the passageway reassured everyone that other than some bruises and some mal-de-mer, everyone was fine. The 10 scientists could hear thumping and banging in the sub as the crew tried to make repairs and get the engines back on line, but after two hours they were still on battery power and people were beginning to worry. Dr. Marcus, the head of their unit, began to run out of encouraging things to say and he, too, became concerned. He decided to call the XO for a news update, but repeated calls went unanswered. The mood began to change from relieved to concerned to frightened. What was going on?

At the four hour mark, the captain appeared in the passageway. He looked like he was about to lecture the scientists about opening their doors, and then apparently changed his mind. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about being out of touch with you. We have not been able to restart the engines and that has been quite concerning to us. We only have two hours of battery power left and have decided to blow the ballast and surface. Please close your hatches and strap into your bunks; we will make every attempt to control the rise to the surface but it might become bumpy.” One of the lab techs asked, “How long will it take to surface?” The captain replied, “If it was necessary, we could surface quickly but that would be hard on our bodies, so we will slowly release ballast and take an hour to rise. Please return to your bunks.” He remained in the passageway until all of the doors were shut, and then returned to the engine room to face his worried crew. The captain had not told the scientists the whole truth, that none of their equipment was functioning and he had no idea where they were. He only hoped that the ballast would release; they were using the manual back-up system and while they had done this in simulation, it was the first time his crew would perform this under real conditions. In addition, he was beginning to be concerned about CO2 levels; the instruments were all dead and he was afraid they were all being slowly poisoned. It seemed to be worse in the engine room, where the crew were reporting that something was knocking on the hull.

Amanda and Kathy strapped themselves back into their bunks and then waited. They were both nervous and started to chatter about their experiments and findings, to take their mind off their circumstances. They could feel the boat tipping up and down a bit and their stomachs lurched a little as the sub began to rise. Amanda said, “I don’t care what Dr. Marcus says; from now on I stay on dry land and study samples that are brought to me!” And she meant it. Kathy agreed, saying, “I don’t like being in a big metal tube without windows. I guess I need to be able to see the sun and sky, and to breathe fresh air.” Both scientists hoped that they would get a chance to go outside on the sub’s bridge. Kathy asked, “What time of day is it?” Amanda had to think about this for a few minutes, but after checking the chronometer she replied, “It should be around midnight. We might get to see the moon instead of the sun!” As the boat slowly rose, they made plans to visit their favorite pub as soon as they returned to port.

“Captain, we are at periscope depth,” the Chief of the Boat announced. The captain raised the periscope and he and the crew looked at the images on the monitors. This boat was equipped with an experimental video system that used cameras rather than lenses. The cameras were controlled with a joystick, and the captain manipulated the ‘stick to get a good view of the stars and moon, in order to get a fix on their position. Unfortunately it was rather cloudy and stars were difficult to see, but the moon… “Chief, go get one of the scientists,” the captain ordered. The rest of the crew remained silent as they looked at the image of the moon, which looked very different from the moon they were accustomed to seeing. This moon was huge and there was a massive crater that was visible in the upper hemisphere. As they continued to stare, a second moon slid onto the screen. This one was smaller and shaped like a potato; it crossed quickly while the enormous moon remained motionless, glaring at them with that enormous crater. “What…what is that?” asked Dr. Marcus as he came in and saw the screen. “Are you watching a movie?” “No, Dr. Marcus,” said the captain. I wish we were because then maybe this would make sense.” “Are we on the surface yet?” The XO explained that they were about ten feet from the surface and that the images on the monitor came from video cameras on a periscope. “Are we still going to surface?” asked Dr. Marcus. “We have to,” replied the captain. “We are almost out of air and we need to save some battery power to extend and use the antenna. Dr. Marcus, we will leave it up to you to discuss this with your people. They can leave their cabins but may not come up here. Take them to the galley and tell the what you wish.” “Captain, where are we?” “Dr. Marcus, that is a fine question, to which I have no answer.” The two men looked at each other and then the captain gave the order to surface. As Dr. Marcus made his way back to his people, he heard a commotion behind him and cries of surprise from the sailors, but he did not turn around. He could not handle another shock. 


After the boat surfaced, the crew on the bridge stared for a moment at the image that appeared on the screen and then began shouting in alarm and confusion. The XO ordered silence as they all stared at the creature that was staring back at them through the camera. The crew heard a thumping noise on the hull above them and a couple of them wondered if  the creature was…knocking? “Captain, should we open the air vents? What if the air out there isn’t compatible with our bodies?” asked the chief of the boat. The captain had been wondering the same thing; this wasn’t Star Trek and submarines didn’t contain sensor equipment for testing atmosphere. “Chief, I am going to climb up the sail and open the porthole. Be sure to seal the hatch behind me.” “Captain, you can’t do that, it is too risky!” said the XO. “Let me do it.” “No,” said the captain. “I am the captain of this boat and it is my responsibility." The crew watched silently as the captain climbed into the sail and the hatch was dogged behind him, and then they waited.

Donna Wright
March 23, 2015

True Confession: I Considered Becoming a Nun

True Confession: I Considered Becoming a Nun

I often thought about becoming a nun. There is something about the life of the nun that has always appealed to me; the nuns I knew were happy and peaceful and were serving God. I wanted all of those things and until I was in college, I thought that becoming a nun was the road to that kind of happiness. Now that I am older and wiser, I know for sure that I would have been unhappy as a nun and would probably have been kicked out of any convent. Or maybe not; I used to be much more pliable and easily intimidated and if I had become a nun I might not have become the assertive person that I am today. I am happy with the life I chose but every so often I wonder what my life would have been like if I had become a nun.

My first contact with nuns was in grade school CCD classes. We belonged to St. Pius the Xth church in Scarsdale, NY and I believe the nuns there were Dominicans based on my memory of their habits, which were long white dresses with black veils. Their hair was hidden behind complicated white wrappings. Not long after I started CCD, probably around 1968, the nuns turned in their long habits for shorter white dresses and short black veils with a white headband that showed some hair-a surprise to most of us, who thought that the nuns were bald. Most of my nun teachers were nice women and they often spoke of the joy they felt in their lives as nuns. Part of their mission as teachers of CCD was to encourage young girls to consider becoming nuns ourselves.

What I did not know then was that the Catholic Church and American nuns were undergoing a revolution. The Second Vatican Council (held 1962-1965) urged churches to become more relevant by doing the Mass in English and religious orders were told to re-examine their practices and make changes. I’ve read a lot of books written by former nuns and sisters who were part of this change and many of them described it as an upheaval. Nuns and sisters who entered prior to Vatican II were trained under a rigorous system that was designed to strip them of self in order to rely totally on God. Over time in too many convents, that stripping of self was taken to psychological extremes that left women unable to think for themselves or make decisions. Poverty and chastity, two of their vows, were hardly issues because they did not deal with money and men (other than priests) did not venture behind convent doors. Obedience was the vow that was used to force women to bend to the will of their religious superiors, sometimes to their detriment. And because many nuns were needed as teachers in parochial schools, these women were often rushed through a two-and-a-half year formation process that was designed to re-form their worldview and also get them out into the parishes as teaching sisters. Some of them were only 21 years old when they were sent to the classroom without college degrees or teacher education. They were expected to teach classes of 50-60 children and while many of them managed quite well, it had to be a really difficult experience for a young woman who was still reeling from the formation process. 

After Vatican II, nuns began to leave their convents. Many had been unaware of news events and the 1960s were a time of great change in the US. Nuns began to follow the news and to work in their surrounding communities, and as their thinking expanded beyond convent walls, many felt that the convent system constrained them from growing into the people they wanted to become. My friends and relatives at that time speculated that nuns were leaving the convents to get married, but in truth many left because they wanted to do more with their lives. Prior to the 1960s, women could become secretaries, teachers, nurses, wives, and nuns. There were very few options open to women who wanted careers. The sixties changed all of that and nuns, like other women, wanted to explore the possibilities available to them. Younger nuns had some culture shock upon leaving but were able to adapt. Nuns who were trained in the pre-Vatican II system had a much harder time adjusting to life in the world. They had to learn to use money, find housing, purchase clothing, and find work. Some suffered from depression and anxiety disorders and had a really hard time adjusting to life. Convents were left with a mostly aging population of nuns and Catholic schools were forced to hire lay teachers; both conditions were costly to the churches and convents.

Nuns who stayed in their convents often abandoned their habits altogether and wore regular clothing. It was a shock for parishioners and an even bigger shock for those of us who attended Catholic schools at that time. In the space of a few years our nun teachers went from wearing yards of black wool to plain dresses and veils to regular clothes with a religious pin to indicate their order. Many of the really old nuns refused to change their attire and remained in the full-length habits. There had to be dissension in convents over this and I imagine that there were some battle lines drawn between traditionalists and progressives. European nuns were not as progressive as their American sisters; two of our Ursuline nuns visited an Ursuline convent in Italy, and the nuns there refused to believe that our nuns were actually nuns.

Like nurses who were abandoning their white uniforms and distinctive nursing caps, nuns began to lose some of their mystique as they became less identifiable. To some nuns the habit provided protection and represented them as ambassadors for Christ, while others saw the habit as a barrier between themselves and the people they wanted to serve. The number of religious sisters began to drop as women chose other professions and many convents were forced to consolidate or close. A Pew Research Center article by Michael Lipka in 2014 cited a study by CARA (Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate) that showed the number of nuns and sisters in the US has fallen 72% in the last fifty years. The priesthood has suffered some losses but not nearly as drastic as the sisterhood. Some American nuns have become liberal opponents of the Vatican and many question the relevance of becoming or remaining a nun.

Paradoxically, there has been an increase in the number of young women (and some older women) seeking traditional convent life. In most of these convents the nuns wear habits, keep traditional hours of prayer and devotion, and live together in community. The formation process has been lengthened so that both the seeker and the convent can determine if convent life is the right fit for the woman. Rather than stripping away their will, nuns “in training” are focused on the gospel message and the teachings of Jesus Christ and sacrifice that is freely given. Many come to the convents with advanced degrees and some have worked out “in the world” in a variety of professions. The Our Lady of the Angels Monastery, home to Mother Angelica, is a famous convent whose sisters went back to the full-length habit and veil. Modern communities have web sites and are very much connected to the world, even the convents that are cloistered (in a cloistered convent, the nuns do not leave the convent except for emergencies or medical care. Their work is to pray for the world). These modern yet traditional convents post pictures and lift some of the veil of secrecy about the life of a nun. The Daughters of St. Paul, another growing order, has added social media to their list of tools for spreading the gospel.  I first learned of the Daughters of St. Paul when I stumbled across a series of You Tube videos entitled “Ask the Postulant.” The postulancy is the first stage in the formation of a nun and this convent approved the creation of these videos to show women that joining a convent is a viable option. And recently the Lifetime network produced a short series called Sisterhood: Becoming Nuns, which followed five women ages 21 to 27 who visited several convents as part of the discernment process. While it was somewhat scripted and occasionally silly, I believe it was an honest portrayal of these girls’ struggles with the decision of whether or not to become nuns. It was also an honest portrayal of the nuns in the convents that they visited.

As I said above, I am certain that I made the right choice by not becoming a nun. I admire the young women today who have a hunger to serve God and are willing to devote their entire lives to His service. It in no way diminishes the work I have done for God or the work I have done as a wife and mother, but there is such a sacrifice in forgoing marriage and children in order to serve God. It frees them to love and care for many children and adults as they spread the good news that Jesus Christ loves them and took the penalty for their sins, that they might have eternal life with God.

Reference:
1. Lipka, Michael. 2014. US nuns face shrinking numbers and increased tensions with the Vatican. Pew Research Center. Retrieved from http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2014/08/08/u-s-nuns-face-shrinking-numbers-and-tensions-with-the-vatican/ (http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2014/08/08/u-s-nuns-face-shrinking-numbers-and-tensions-with-the-vatican/)  (http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2014/08/08/u-s-nuns-face-shrinking-numbers-and-tensions-with-the-vatican/).

2. I have read a lot of books about nuns. Some were fiction and some were biographies. Other books explored the life of nuns at different times in history. Everything that I read contributed to what I have written here but I cannot provide specific references.

There’s a guy sitting on a park bench reading a newspaper…

There’s a guy sitting on a park bench reading a newspaper…

It’s one of the first warm days of the year and everyone wants to be outdoors instead of at their desks, including me. It has been a long, cold winter and the lure of the blue skies and sunshine are irresistible. I cannot wait for my lunch hour and the opportunity to spend some time in the sunshine and warmth, especially since it will probably be cold and damp again tomorrow. Winter gives up its grip just one day at a time and today’s grip is looser.

The clock creeps slowly but even winter cannot affect the passage of time, and soon enough I am able to log out of my computer, grab my purse and coat and head for the elevator that will release me from the great indoors. First I stop and buy lunch from the cafe in the lower level and then with meal in hand I head for the revolving doors that lead to the small park behind this cluster of buildings.

I drink in that first taste of warm air and sunshine. This is a special moment that only happens once a year and I relish it for a few minutes. I want to lock this memory in to sustain me until every day is warm and winter is only a memory. Knowing that the lunch hour will speed by too quickly, I walk into the park and look for a place to enjoy my meal and the warmth. The park is filled with people who have had the same idea as me, but I find a bench near the drained and empty fountain that has just one person on it, a man reading his newspaper. As I sit on the other end of the bench he glances at me, smiles briefly, and then returns to his paper. I quickly eat my sandwich and sip my soft drink and relish this hour of freedom. The man beside me continues to page through his paper and the rustling as he turns the pages distracts me. I look to my right and see the headline on the paper. In a blink it has my complete attention. PHANTOM MEMORIES CREATED BY CHEMISTRY! I look at the name of the newspaper and realize that it is just a rag, the type of paper that prints stories about alien abductions. I return my attention to enjoying the hour and resolve to block this man and his newspaper from my senses.

A few minutes later the man closes the paper and then drops it on the bench as he walks away. I continue to ignore it but the more I try, the more I am drawn to that headline. Finally I give in to urge, pick up the paper, and begin reading the story. “Neuroscientists have discovered a way to erase and create new memories using a chemical cocktail. This has great implications for treatment of patients who are plagued by memories that cause pain or are even harmful. The lead scientist is especially hopeful that this will revolutionize treatment of Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome.” The story went into some of the complexities of the chemistry and I skipped down a few paragraphs, not interested in the science.  A new paragraph began with, “But what of the implications of this new science?” I am tempted to discard the paper, because surely this is where the story will dissolve into something crazy, but I was having some of those same thoughts myself. What could this science do in the wrong hands?

“Opponents to this new treatment fear that it could also be warped and used for evil. Someone with enough money and power could buy this treatment and use it to change memories of their enemies or even loved ones. The government could use this to control the people.” “Other industries express great excitement at the uses for this, especially the entertainment and travel industries. People can buy memories of a vacation or create a memory of themselves as the main character in a favorite movie.”

The last paragraph of the story is the most troubling for me. “When asked how long the effects of these memories might last, the neuroscientists were unable to give a definitive answer. ‘The test subject who has retained the memories the longest, who received the highest dose of the compound, has retained the memories for eight months.’ When pressed further, the neuroscientists chose to end the interview with a promise for updates.” 

I throw the paper down, a little disgusted with myself for getting sucked into the story. I doubt that any of it is true and resolve not to think about this anymore. As I turn my face back to the sunshine I hear a voice behind me, interrupting my reverie. “We will have to give her another dose but we need to erase the memories that that lab tech tried to feed her.” “Indeed,” said a different voice. “He was creative, trying to use the memory of a false news story in order to clue her in to her true status.” "How long can we keep this up?" The first voice says, "She responded to our ad to take part in a clinical trial, and so far she is our only successful subject. Are you developing qualms as well?"  As he speaks, the lovely day fades around me….

It’s one of the first warm days of the year and everyone wants to be outdoors instead of at their desks, but not me. I will spend my lunch hour at my desk and continue to work……