Of Exams and Short Stories

Boy, this blog looks like long-distance communication in the present millennium – no post.

Ba dum tiss.

Don’t try to invent your own jokes, Shepherd. Shizz weak, man. Just stick to getting them off the internet like everyone else.

NOTED.

Okay so I’ve been scarce lately. As it turns out, I’ve not posted in almost a month. The reason for this is that I have been writing exams. And in my free time, which is minimal since I work full-time too, I have been working on a short story for my Master’s application. And once I’ve bid farewell to Milton, Chaucer, James, and Eliot (the real boy one), I will be on my merriest of ways to join my beloved in England for three weeks, over Christmas and New Year.

So! In the high likelihood of a return to blog activity (blogtivity? No.) as late as next year, I have decided to reproduce here the beginning of my short story. Please feel free to tell me it is history’s single worst arrangement of the English alphabet, or feel free to tell me you kinda like it (if you do). Or just don’t comment at all. In fact, who am I even addressing here? I have like three regular readers.

Hennyway! Here goes…

*****

Come gather round, you who would hear legends. Come rich and poor, and young and old, for my tale is both the oldest and the newest ever told. It is about a beast, and a people, and a curse, and a king. Come join me at my pace as I speak now slow. My tale thus beginning, so it goes.

A very long time ago, in a kingdom far from here, a beast lay locked in a cell. This was a special cell, for it only opened from the outside. Now, the king had warned the people never to open the cell, lest the beast escape, and encouraged no one to come very close to the beast, caged as it was. But one day, the curious people wanted to see the beast up close; to touch its fur and hear its mighty puffing. The beast appeared friendly, and it convinced the people to open the cell. But no sooner was the mechanism sprung, than the beast slipped out and ran away, disappearing among the trees. The people were afraid. They ran to the king’s chamber, but he was no longer there. They searched all throughout the kingdom: he was not in the hills, and he was not in the bogs; he was not in the trees, and he was not in the troughs. He was gone.

The people felt a change in the air, and after some time, a man was found lying on his back in the centre of the field. He was sleeping, but his eyes remained open, white, and the flies gathered around his lips. The people tried to wake him up, but he did not move. They called him by his name, but he did not hear. After some time, the sleeping man’s skin began to fall away, but still he did not wake up. By this time, another man and two women had also fallen asleep with their eyes open, and they too refused to wake up. Their skin fell away like that of the first man, and the people felt weak at the smell of them. So the people decided to take the sleeping ones away.

For every person awaking of a woman, another person went to sleep with eyes open. Some of the people started to say that every man and every woman must eventually go to sleep like this. This suspicion was confirmed regularly until, eventually, the people knew it to be true. Their certainty made them afraid again, like they were when the beast had run away those years ago. They were afraid of what would happen to those who fell asleep with eyes open, afraid that they would never see them again. Before very long, the people spoke matter-of-factly about the ‘curse;’ the curse that made people go to sleep with their eyes open, and caused the flies to gather around their lips, and their skin to fall away until they breathed a new and unpleasant smell. No one would be spared the ravages of the curse upon their body. The people longed for the king.

Around the time the curse had been defined by the people, they heard one night a great thrashing in the waters. The people ran to see, for they knew that no animal dwelling beneath the surface could make a sound of such violence. The thrashing of the waters stopped before the people came within sight, but when they arrived they saw a great and lupine silhouette towering above the trees, as the trees in turn towered above them. The animal heaved with pain and the bloodied waters licked its shins with care. When the people asked what had happened, the beast pointed to another figure, winged and equally enormous, lying as motionless as one who had gone to sleep with eyes open. A sword lay buried in its mighty chest.

The people asked whether the animal standing before them, with its bleeding and torn fur, was the beast that their parents, and the parents of their parents, had spoken of. The beast nodded, but explained that he (for it was a male) had escaped in order to protect the people from the king. He told the people of how the king had most unjustly incapacitated him, using trickery, and how his escape from the cell had caused the king to flee in fear. When the people asked the beast what manner of colossus lay sleeping before them, he explained that it was a soldier sent by the king to harm the people. The hearts of the people warmed at this, and they felt indebted to the beast for having saved them from the winged assassin. From then, the word spread quickly among the people: the vanished king was a usurper and a trickster. And so the rightful king resumed his throne, and the people tended his wounds, all the while praising him his benevolence.

The people came to the beast complaining of the curse that had been with them since the king had fled those years ago; they sought to know the bough from which its remedy would fall. The beast lamented that no such fruit existed, and explained that the king, in his flight, had removed with him a certain statuette, the absence of which had produced within the people this most unfortunate weakness. The statuette, he continued, is the only salve to this affliction, for it nullifies the effects of the curse’s unkind assaults. The beast explained to the people that without such an idol, every man, woman, and child; every husband and wife, and every brother and sister, must surely go to sleep with eyes open. In response to their panic at this information, he offered, dangling, an alternative, which was seized with wild eyes and a hungry alacrity: the people would build a new idol, larger now and in the likeness of their new king – high enough to pierce the blue underbelly of Heaven.

The people were galvanised anew by the hopeful reprieve offered them by the beast, and so it was that, bristling with a premature jubilance, they began arranging for the materials with which they would build their idol. The kingdom would be explored and mapped, and the finest resources extracted from the earth. For the beast had said that only the most radiant of stones would suffice. And so the people began their long toil, placing their hope for salvation in the gold and diamonds of the ground.

Conquering Evil: A Lesson Learned

You know that craysee moment in literature, when the good guy discovers that he is really the bad guy? Not necessarily that the bad guy has become the good guy, but that the good guy has, in his methods, become just like the bad guy. We’ve seen in it movies and read about it in books for years and years: the single-minded hero looks up into the mirror and sees, not his own face, but the haggard and horned countenance of his nemesis. Think about it: from The Punisher to Batman to Arthas Menethil, to just about every other good guy slash hands-on badass. It’s such a classic motif it seems almost clichéd. These guys all end up making the titanic mistake of compromising their own good in order to conquer evil.

Well, yesterday, I had one of these moments. Allow me to set the stage… In the darkest corner of the darkest alley of the darkest town, two silhouettes stand poised to do battle beneath a menacing sky. The smooth, stoic faces of the surrounding buildings stare on approvingly, their mute applause reigning in the air. In the distance, the death mills churn ceaselessly, expelling an endless column of sickly smoke. A blood soaks the wind; it is the blood of those who are waiting. Behind the immovable faces of unforgiving stone, the citizen is sleeping sound. Black is white; up is down. Good is bad and bad is good. The battle begins.

A little dramatic? Hardly. The grave injustice that is the normalisation of the wholesale slaughter of innocents can hardly be overdramatised. It is at this point that I should mention that my interlocutor was none other than Miss Kathleen Falstone. Chah. So you can imagine where she stood on the subject; and you can imagine the cognitive dissonance that was on display in her attempts at justifying why a woman’s right to kill trumps another human’s right to exist. Well, that is, if she had attempted to justify it at all. She did not, by the way. Unfortunately, and predictably, her defense was more of an offense, and her offense was more her trying to tell me that I meant something other than what I quite clearly spelled out, and refusing to accept my argument as scientific because I happen to “believe in the Bible.” Never mind that the debate had nothing at all to do with religion. This kind of serpentry, as you may well know, can be infuriating. I turned up the heat and riposted with fire.

So we’re swinging away, burying blades into each others’ ribs, when, all of a sudden, and out of nowhere, a third figure lands lithely onto the battlefield. It’s Samuel Templeton, a (Catholic) friend of mine. He’s relaxed, unbothered by the weapons pointed his way. He does something I was not expecting, but that I am very grateful for. He rebukes me. Not harshly, mind you, but in a way that would have humbled even the Hansest of Küngs. That was it. That well-placed, brotherly blow struck me straight in the ego balls. So sobering was its effect, that as I read through my argument another time I realised something I had not even considered possible: I had become the baddy; one of two, but still a baddy. I no longer saw dead people, I was dead people. The stage had changed. The menacing skies had emptied, and a revealing light shone down upon the two combatants. I knew then where the clouds had gone. They were inside of me, swimming inside my heart. I had drunk poison so that I might spit venom. Big. Frickin’. Mistake.

In the introduction to this post, I mentioned that the classical compromise made is most always in pursuit of conquering evil. Perhaps this is where the temptation to this kind of sin lies: conquest. On this day, evangelisation hadn’t even crossed my mind. I only wanted to defeat her. My desire to incinerate her in a flaming pillar of white-hot rhetoric overrode my lesser inclination to convert her to truth. I had failed as a Christian. I allowed my dislike of her as a person to cause me to act uncharitably. I’ve heard it said that smugness is the Achilles’ heel of Catholics. Seems about right in my case. If Samuel hadn’t intervened when he had, who knows what more harm I would have caused? So here I am, thankful for the gift of fraternal correction, and humbler for it.

UPDATE: I feel a need to clarify that I don’t believe fighting to be sinful or wrong at all; my mistake was in making my argument personal.

Debate: Not this one but Barabbas– I mean, Barack!

The esteemed Miss Falstone and her irritable familiar are back in this next, um- I want to say debate, but it’s really more of a light scuffle, like when you ask someone for the time and they gently stab you in the face. Funny enough, I actually wasn’t even looking for conflict this time. Apparently though, one thing leads to another. Also apparent: I have a hard time walking away…

It was a cloudy Wednesday afternoon in Cape Town. I had on a pair of ill-fitted jeans- Am I getting there too slowly? You’re absolutely right, I’m getting there too slowly. Tell you what; I’ll just take us straight to the beginning of the thread, where Miss Falstone has posted a picture.

I really didn’t want our dialogue to devolve. But look at that sunovagun! How could it not, eventually, get there? Especially considering our respective sentiments towards the man. (As usual and for obvious reasons, all names besides my own have been edited; and again, the magic blogger wand transforms all the classy cuss words into more acceptable forms: the Eff word becomes ‘fart’ and the C word (eeww?) becomes the similar-sounding ‘country boy.’)

Miss Falstone must have been wandering out in the fields alone that day, because initially it is just her and I; only later does her pet scamper to her side. Anyway, like the designed union of guns and ammunition, they end up combining their strawman-slaying powers, assembling an impressive assault rifle of wit, and aiming their scathing strike at the evil Republican, homophobic Aztec, fundamentalist pagan, women-hating Protestant, rape-endorsing, patriarchal, Flintstonian Catholic that is the blogger. Wait, hang on a second! Is that a- is that even a real person? Oh my goodness, it’s not even me. Over here, you guys! Yooooohoo! This way! This is my argument over here. Come on, I know you can see me. Leave that strawman alone.

Where was I? Oh, so I see the picture! I see the picture, and I says…

Chris Shepherd: What is that even supposed to mean?

Chris Shepherd: Btw, I’m not just saying that because it’s a picture of ‘Bama: doesn’t it seem like a bunch of fluff to you? It’s so vague and cliched.

Kathleen Falstone: I think it makes sense if you consider the issues he’s campaigning for. Leave no one behind – female equality in the work place/gay rights. Don’t turn back – the contraception/abortion issue (archaic right!?). Pull each other up – er… yeah that one is vague. But I fully support the inclusive sentiment.

Chris Shepherd: I want to argue that there are at least two very large and very important groups of people he is *actively excluding,* but I am le tired. Plus: if I go there, I will end up accusing him of fascism, and that would be veering a bit.

Kathleen Falstone: ahaha. I think I know where you are going with this. As far as I am concerned however the conservative opinion of few should never dictate the activities of the masses. I mean. It is the foundation on which the SA constitution is based. Its nice to see the states attempting to catch up.

Chris Shepherd: Yea, like the majority of Americans being against abortion and gay “marriage.” Simply can’t have that interfering with Herod’s plans.

Kathleen Falstone: I was referring to global opinions. Those things have become common place in human rights jurisprudence around the world. And as a world leader, they should lead the way. And I for one am very pleased that Obama is kicking the American publics ass into accepting gay MARRIAGE and abortion.

Chris Shepherd: But aren’t the *American* elections approaching? Surely what the *American* people want matters? I mean, it is supposed to be a democracy.

You’re absolutely right: he is kicking the public’s ass entirely into submission on these things. It’s almost as if they are being forced into accepting things they disagree with, lest they be punished. Curious. Where did I put my dictionary, now? Must look up fascism.

Kathleen Falstone: OMG Chris. You are arguing semantics. Again. Debate over.

Kathleen Falstone: But kudos for noting that the American elections are for Americans. Funny that they elected him once and will do it again. But that couldn’t possibly represent the views of the American people. I mean. Democracy is never actually democratic right?

Chris Shepherd: Ah man! I guess I *was* “doing it again” there. My bad: you say tomato, I say tyranny.

Actually, it isn’t hard to see why people voted for him in 2008. Heck, I would have voted for him too; in fact I was overjoyed at the time that he won. He ran a badass campaign (not that I followed it at the time). But hey, no one really expected him to turn out to be this guy. Hey Kathleen, how’s about a friendly bet? No stakes, just for fun. I say Romney takes it. How about it?

Kathleen Falstone: Hey Chris, gays are people too and abortion IS NOT murder. The world is changing. Accept it.

Chris Shepherd: Who ever said gays aren’t people? And yes, abortion is murder; this is not a fact that changes with time. In fact, science proves more and more each year the common-sense fact that the act of abortion destroys a *human* life.

You haven’t answered my last question, so I’ll ask you again: Kathleen, would you care to put your monopoly money where your mouth is and bet me that Romney won’t win in November? I mean, if you are so sure Tyrantosaurus Rex will take it…

Kathleen Falstone: Actually it is a question that changes with time, since murder is a legally created concept. Abortion may be killing, but murder means it is wrong. What happened to your dictionary? And I shan’t take your bet, because the fact that a party, who endorses things like ‘legitimate rape’ and who represents archaic beliefs, may potentially run the US again would be like wishing for Suddam Hussein and I prefer to not tempt fate. Frankly, I am shocked at your stone age values Chris, I hope you never have a daughter.

Arthur Sneed: lawyer’d

Chris Shepherd: Natural Law is above human law, but of course, even though this is widely accepted by philosophers secular and otherwise, I don’t expect you to agree.

Yep, the Republicans are a horrid bunch of pharisees, aren’t they? No argument there from me. Really, the only reason I would prefer a Romney win is because he is the lesser of two evils.

Oh, you don’t have to take the bet, of course; I didn’t think you would. But is it really necessary to take personal digs at me? I am going to have many daughters, and I will teach each one of them the value of life, and of dignity and human sexuality. I will love them unconditionally and do everything in my power to prevent them from feeling objectified.

Two more things: 1. My beliefs aren’t Stone Aged: the Stone Age ended at least a thousand years before Judaism even. 2. You still haven’t answered my question: who ever said that gays aren’t people? (you can’t use blanket attacks like that and then ignore it when challenged).

Kathleen Falstone: YAY RELIGIOUS FUNDEMENTALISM YAY! You should work in a restaurant. Then you can make sure that there are at least some women barefoot, pregnant in your kitchen.

Chris Shepherd: So no intellectual argument from your side then?

Kathleen Falstone: I’m sorry, was yours intellectual?

Arthur Sneed: “the only reason I would prefer a Romney win is because he is the lesser of two evils.” how in gods name can anyone take you seriously after saying unbelievably misinformed crap like that? “Natural Law is above human law” yes, it is, but that has fart-all to do with abortion.

Arthur Sneed: that is hilarious, considering he is going with the republican angle, havn’t laughed that hard since you farts went looking for WMD’s

Kathleen Falstone: 48 days till elections. And 48 days until we no longer have to watch them making complete fools of themselves.

Arthur Sneed: makes me quite sad actually, have really enjoyed the idiocy

Chris Shepherd: It was, at the very least, reasonable, which is all I wanted from your side in return. I wanted you to answer my questions and address my points with the same civility. Just saying: I don’t appreciate being blanket attacked with hateful, personal swings. You discredit yourself with such displays of bigotry and blind intolerance.

Arthur, please point us to where I expressed allegiance to the Republican party.

Addressing your first comment (after the “lawyered” one), it is no misinformation to believe one candidate to be a lesser evil. And as for Natural Law having nothing to do with abortion: no disrespect, but did you go to school?

Kathleen Falstone: Uh… Chris. Did you?

Arthur Sneed: saying “no disrespect” before you disrespect someone is pretty much a personal swing in and of itself. And how the fart is Romney a lesser evil? Do you know him and his cronies single handedly caused a massive unemployment rise in the USA solely so they could sell companies out and make profits? Do you even know anything about the guy? His private offshore banking and socially irresponsible business practice?

Arthur Sneed: And yes I went to school, they thankfully did teach me how to spot an ignorant country boy a mile away.

Chris Shepherd: It isn’t a personal swing when you are genuinely curious. I don’t know you, remember. Did you go to school, Arthur? A simple yes or no would suffice.

Yes, I do know of Romney’s evils, and you haven’t even listed the worst of them. Note that I didn’t say he was *not* evil, but that he was the *lesser* evil. Yes, the guy is an absolute nightmare. But I think that Obama is and has done worse than him.

Chris Shepherd: Thank you for answering my question.

Kathleen Falstone: Obama is and has done worse, care to elaborate on these terrible evils?

Arthur Sneed: inb4 pulling some incorrect facts out his nought

Chris Shepherd: I want to, Kathleen, I do. But this is give and take up in here – I want you to catch up first: address all the points you’ve conveniently ignored up ’til now.

Kathleen Falstone: Peanut.

Chris Shepherd: Figured.

Arthur Sneed: Hi my name is Chris and I like to think that I win arguments with flasely polite sentences and careful grammar, not by actually making any points. I’d also like to add that bigfoot exists and we are all going to die when the Mayans come back around christmas. Have a lovely day you little blighters

Chris Shepherd: An argument needs two sides before it can be won. Technically, this isn’t an argument, so I hardly feel like I’ve *won* it.

Arthur Sneed: living life with blinders on must be awesome, you enjoy that

Chris Shepherd: It has its perks. Sometimes, the cultist high priest lets me take the blinders off for a few minutes, but only to read the King James Bible! Sola Scriptura, yo! Tell me: what’s it like fighting strawmen?

My Brother…

… is most definitely cuter than yours.

That is all.

On Miracles, Part II

As promised, here are some instances of the coolest, most baddest-assest miracles happening to or through Catholic saints throughout history.

1. Stigmata

Nope, not that weird eye thing that I used to have as a kid. Stigmata, not stigmatism. Mata. Mah-tah. The distinction is important, believe you me. You don’t want to tell people how blessed is your holy gimp-eye again- did I say ‘again?’ Um, anyway, the stigmata are nothing less than, waaaaait for it… Christ’s wounds at Calvary appearing upon the body, usually the hands, of the saint. What!

Perhaps the most famous instance of stigmata wounds appearing on the body of a saint is that of St. Francis of Assisi (swag-boy seen below), who, in 1224, received all five of Christ’s crucifixion wounds. Over-achiever much?

1224, you grumble; that can’t really be proven to have happened, now can it? Nope. Not beyond the testimony of the saint’s earliest biographers. You will (hopefully) be happy to hear though, that there are other, more recent instances of this miracle. Take St. Pio of Pietrelcina, whom you may be more familiar with as Padre Pio; the wounds of Christ pierced his hands too. In 1918! That’s right: photographs, bei bei. He bore these mystical wounds until his death 50 years later. It is said that the stigmata smelled constantly of perfume, and that they disappeared when his soul departed from this world.

2. Resurrecting the dead

Ladies and gentlemen, he just went there. And I shot you nit: there lived a man (who was not Jesus) who resurrected no less than 30 people from the dead. His name was (St.) Vincent Ferrer, and he was the embodiment of Catholic badassery. Now for this point, I could have gone with something recent and more empirically verifiable, but I just couldn’t resist – if this is true of St. Vincent, then we are really dealing with the frickin’ Batman of Catholic saints. In 1396, at the age of 46, he was cured of a grave illness through the appearance of Christ and Sts. Francis and Dominic. From there, Christ sent him forth to preach against vice. Identifying himself as The Angel of Judgment (boy, he would be stoned within minutes with a name like that today), he went on to punch the laws of nature in the face repeatedly; over 800 times in fact. He healed the sick and even stopped a flood one time! By far though, and without getting too distracted from it, the most awe-inspiring of his works were his acts of resurrection. Among the most extreme of these miracles was the case of a child whose lifeless body was mangled beyond recognition: with a prayer and the sign of the cross, the child was mended and erect again.

3. Incorruptibles

Are you ready for the most unfair tool you will ever use in a debate with a materialist?

‘NUFF. SAID.

UPDATE: I mentioned under point 1 that St. Pio only received the stigmata on his hands. The guy got all five. Badass mutha-chucker.

On Miracles

Before jumping right in, I think it’s worth defining the word miracle as I intend to use it, lest we mistake the subject for the (sexy) kind of thing that made a believer of Errol Brown. A miracle, in the sense in which I will speak of it, is an event that is contrary to the established laws of nature and attributed to a supernatural cause, namely the Judeo-Christian God.

Christianity, at its core, is the belief in a miracle (that was not a typo). The heart of the Christian faith, without which it would not exist, is a single miracle; and it looks like this:

If the myriad recorded miracles of Christian history were to fall away, and only the Resurrection remained, it would be enough. This miracle, the Miracle, was what made a ragtag, yet perfectly sane, group of men run to their very violent deaths proclaiming it, for it validated everything the person of Christ had ever taught or done. Each and every one of Christ’s apostles, save for John, suffered uncommonly gruesome deaths; yet they met their fates like total troopers, sometimes even smiling, for they knew the truth of their claim. Christ is Risen! Resurrection! The force of the fact was what fuelled them, and still fuels Christians today, across the world and to death if necessary.

Before the Incarnation, miracles weren’t exactly a common occurrence, and so, comparatively few people are recorded as having participated in them prior to the birth of Christ. Indeed, the God of the Old Testament seems even stingy with His miracles. As far as I can tell, miracles recorded in the Old Testament occur within two brief and distinct periods: for about 70-odd years during the period of Moses and Joshua (Exodus, Joshua), and for about 85 years, during the period of Elijah and Elisha (1, 2 Kings). Yet these miracles, though infrequent, are of colossal importance. When Pharaoh gets trolled by ten uniquely supernatural plagues, or when seas are combed aside like curtains, or when people get straight up swooshed into heaven by the wind, it’s kind of a big deal. What’s that? I’m glad you asked. A miracle is best assessed by its fruits; the change wrought by a miracle is perhaps the most accurate measure of how important, and even how authentic, a miracle is. Take the miracles of the Ten Plagues, as cracked over the head of Egypt a la Moses, for instance. Here, the fruity implications are abundantly abundant in abundance: they are, primarily, Israel’s exodus from Egypt. Win? Yes! So win, in fact, that today, more than three thousand years later, it is still celebrated.

So can you see how similarly big a deal it is in the case of the miracle of the Resurrection, when people are still celebrating Easter and taking arrows to the knee 2000 years after the fact?

The New Testament, in contrast to the Old, shows a comparatively trigger-happy God when it comes to miracles. Having incarnated in order to move among – and be killed by – His people as a human being (still blows my mind!), God turns out to be quite liberal with the miracle-working. How can He help it, right? If a miracle is kind of like God coming in for a high-five with the finite realm, then actually being born into the finite realm will inevitably lead to a whole hefty heck-load of miraculousness (which doesn’t even sound like a word, but it is – I checked). In Christ Jesus, many miracles are performed; among them the likes of the multiplication of the loaves, the healing of the sick, the curing of the blind, some Naruto-esque water-walking, and even the more extreme revival of His friend Lazarus from the dead. But all of these miracles appear almost mundane when stood up beside the Resurrection. Not because they aren’t fantastic, but because of what the Resurrection means. Christ Risen is nothing less than the reunion of God with mankind – the salvation of the world; it’s our homecoming. Through His act of obedience, Christ has repaired the bridge burned by our earliest parents’ disobedience in Eden. Like a javelin hurled into history, it is the ultimate fruit-bearing miracle, because it changes EVERYTHING. It’s “The Good News!”

Before His ascension, Jesus grants His apostles the power to perform miracles in His name. Wild, I know. And as if twelve miracle-dispensing Jewish dudes wasn’t enough, Christ extends this gift to ALL believers: to all Christians. What!

“These signs will accompany those who believe: in my name they will drive out demons, they will speak new languages. They will pick up serpents [with their hands], and if they drink any deadly thing, it will not harm them. They will lay hands on the sick, and they will recover.”

So then the Lord Jesus, after he spoke to them, was taken up into heaven and took his seat at the right hand of God. But they went forth and preached everywhere, while the Lord worked with them and confirmed the word through accompanying signs. – Mark 16:17-20

Indeed, since the time of the apostles, there have been near-countless miracles performed by Christians: although, for some reason, usually by Catholics.

I will be writing a follow-up to this post, discussing some of the miracles of the saints throughout history.

Meet Miss Ivy

(Think nothing of that creature standing beside her – he is no one.) Miss Ivy is a history and sociology graduate who works as a high school teacher. She recently received some excellent news. She had been accepted to study her Masters in Education, in the field of literacy and learning disabilities. At the University of London’s Institute of Education! All of her family and friends are extremely proud of her for taking a shot at making her dreams come true, and for having the courage to move to a new continent all by herself. Anyone who has ever met Miss Ivy knows that no high school could contain her forever; that she is made for nothing short of greatness. I have met her, and I will tell you with the utmost certainty, that this woman will change English education for the better.

Funny story, actually, how I met Miss Ivy. One night after work, I decided, completely on impulse and not at all consistent with my usually speedy flight into bed, to meet up with an old friend from high school whom I hadn’t seen in a long time. Fast-forward to the club, where I’m introduced to his girlfriend’s friend, the subject of this post. That’s not a funny story, I hear you saying. Hear me out though. Fast-forward three more years and BOOM! ENGAGED! It’s funny now, because, had I not diverted from my usual after-work routine three years ago, I would never have met and tricked this beautiful angel into falling in love with me.

Here’s me asking her to make the biggest mistake of her life…

And here she is falling for it…

I’m not even kidding. There is just no way that I can make her as happy as she makes me. But keep that on the DL, please, if you don’t mind – she seems to think I’m doing okay so far. And just between us here right now, she hasn’t bothered to ask whether I’m anything more than just a man. So all I need to do is avoid answering this question until after our wedding day, when it will be too late for her to go back. Until then, she can never know that I am nothing more than a man; a foolish, sinful, loving, human male. She on the other hand, having the blood of angels flowing through her Viking veins, is, in the high-pitched words of Barry Gibb, more than a woman. In fact, her skin is so smooth, I can literally see my own reflection in it. Her voice has been used as the background music for the Lord of the Rings. The novels. She can do a double backflip. She once spent a year reversing abortions in China. She has the ability to summon eagles to her aid. I once saw her bite a shark.

Today, Miss Ivy celebrates the day she graced the planet with her arrival. Happy birthday, my love. And many, many more.