What If I'm Not Interesting?

Tomorrow morning, I audition for Jeopardy! This is cool, thrilling, even. When I asked for the day off, my manager approved, saying, "It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity." Um, not exactly, I've done it before. Three years ago I failed to impress the interviewers and was, therefore, not on TV. My ego really, really wants to be on Jeopardy! Okay, to be totally honest, my ego really wants to destroy Ken Jennings' record.

The first step was an online test in January. Everyone who scores above a predetermined score qualifies for auditions. From that group, a set number of people are randomly selected to audition. At the end of my previous audition, they announced that we were all in the contestant pool. As I understand it, that means we all answered enough questions correctly. After the audition, you wait up to eighteen months to be called. If they don't invite you to be on the show after eighteen months, you can retake the online the next time it is offered. In other words, there is a lot of luck involved.

They sent an application form to fill out and bring along to the audition. They ask for tidbits about your job, hobbies, embarrassing moments, etc. They specifically state that these facts will IN NO WAY influence whether you appear on the show. Then why do they ask?

They're looking for the kind of thing Alex Trebek asks about after the first commercial break. If this has no effect on selection, why not wait until you get to LA? Or at least, ask when they invite you to be on the show? Aaaack! I'm getting paranoid!

I can't help thinking that funny or fascinating answers will improve my odds. Trouble is, I'm ordinary, superlatives do not apply to me. So, I find myself thinking about what makes me interesting ~ my daughter is transgender, but that makes her interesting; I wrote my father's biography, because he is interesting; my mother is a cyborg, which is an interesting fact about her. The most interesting thing I can think of is that I am only six degrees of separation from Adolf Hitler, it takes several degrees of removal to make that interesting. I was once a foot away from Prince ~ which might be exciting if he had been even vaguely aware I was there. I walked in a Gay Pride Parade (accidentally) thirty years before I was ever in a gay bar.

Well, it's better than mentioning my incomplete collection of Nancy Drew books, but it's still pretty gosh-darned ho-hum. When it comes down to it, most of us are rather ho-hum. Imagine you were about to be interviewed for TV, what would you say to keep viewers awake?

The Holy Spirit Is a Woman

Yeah, yeah, I know, the Holy Spirit has no gender. Malarky! Remember in Catechism, learning about God the Father (clearly male) God the Son (clearly male) and God the Spirit (genderless)? Does this make sense? Why does only one leaf on the shamrock have no gender?

It is Pentecost Sunday, the day the Spirit came to the Apostles and they became filled with it, so naturally, the Spirit was the topic of the homily. Throughout his sermon, Father Don kept referring to the Spirit with masculine pronouns ~ and I realized: he is wrong.

The Holy Spirit fills Christians with strength, courage, faith and joy. The Holy Spirit inspires, ennobles and encourages. The Holy Spirit pushes us in the right direction. It guides us. It comforts us. It helps us notice what we need to notice. The Spirit never demands, never forces us to accept it. The Spirit waits for our invitation. And the Spirit really doesn't get the credit it deserves. Sure, we all know about the Spirit, but it's always the third branch.

Who gets the praise? The Father & the Son. Who gets the glory? The Father & the Son. Who does all sorts of amazing things behind the scenes because they need doing? The Spirit.

See, the Holy Spirit is female. And it's not just any female. The Holy Spirit is a mother. All those who insist God is a woman, are not entirely wrong. So, on one of the special days where we recognize the greatness of the Holy Spirit, I hope you are all filled with her fire and inspired to go and share the joy.

D-Day

6 June, 1944 ~ At the time, back in the States, it wasn't obvious what had happened. I've asked my mother how she felt when she heard the news. She doesn't really remember. In 1944, there were no 24-hour news channels offering instant images and expert analysis of the war. You found out the next day, or even the next week. We invaded France and it appeared successful. Lots of Allies died, but that's what happens in war. It wasn't until later that people could look back and see how D-Day really was a turning point.

Crystal Lake Cemetery, Minneapolis

It was a brutal, bloody battle ~ the Allies lost 4,400 young men (2,499 from the US alone). An additional 8,000 were wounded. It took the world far too long to grasp just how evil Hitler and the Third Reich were, but once they realized it, they gave their all to stopping him.

Over a million (yep, one followed by six zeroes) Allied troops were involved, mostly British & American, but also Canadian, Polish & French. Over 150,000 men landed. Think about that. 150,000 people ~ that's half again as many people in battle (on just one side) as attend the Minnesota State Fair on any single day. And there was no food on a stick waiting on the other side of the beach ~ just more C rations, more violence, more time away from loved ones.

Getting all those troops into Europe, along with their equipment turned the war. They gave us a foothold. Despite the boldness (recklessness? insanity?) of mounting such a huge invasion when the weather was a little iffy and things weren't exactly as planned, they succeeded, mostly. Not as quickly as anticipated, but they took the coast of Normandy. They marched toward Paris. They won.

These people faced hell. They helped stop the Axis. They helped end the war. It was, in the end, a very big deal. Everyone who was involved is a hero in my book. It was a team effort. I applaud it.

I appreciate them all immensely. If you (or your father, or grandfather) was there, be very proud. They did an amazing, brave thing.