Student Blogs

The following entries were made by senior Mary DeGoede.

The Real Reason We Study
January 27, 2012

You can almost hear the mental cogs turning as we enter our third and last week of final exams at MEC. Take a walk through the house and you’ll encounter small groups of people in all sorts of nooks and crannies, earnestly discussing metaphysics, fundamental moral theology, or catechetical methods. Although the seniors have the lightest class load, I still find exams rather daunting – it’s psychological; I know. Normally, it’s no difficulty for me to fill a blank piece of paper with words, but I suppose it’s fear of the unknown that makes me quake before even the most non-threatening exam. Be that as it may, I had cause to remember the real reason for exams (no, it’s not original sin, although I did hear that theory proposed recently) when I walked upstairs to the freshman-sophomore hallway the other day. Between the two classrooms, someone has hung up a blackboard that’s now covered in intentions – relatives, friends, a soon-to-be-born niece, the Pope, peace in the world… It looks like the underclassmen have pretty much everything covered! I took a second to add a few intentions of my own, and then headed back downstairs to my books, reminded that my studies are not about proper punctuation and a 4.0 GPA; to put it simply, they’re about saving the world.

Migration at the MEC Library
January 15, 2012

Some people think it’s global warming come true, but the students at Mater Ecclesiae know the real reason that Rhode Island has experienced a completely snow-free winter so far: thanks to this compliance of the winter weather, our new library building has been completed far ahead of the projected date, and we’re almost ready to move in! That’s not as simple as it sounds. The construction crew will dismantle and move the shelves from their four separate locations, but what about the books? We held an all-school consultation following lunch one day to decide whether we were up to the task of moving some 50,000 books off of their shelves and into…well, somewhere else. The vote was in favor, and we set aside three days for the job.

It ended up taking us only one morning and half an afternoon, thanks the enthusiastic participation of basically the entire student body, not to mention some very effective assembly line strategies developed by – I say this with all due humility – the seniors. We like to think that it was a demonstration of the brainpower that we’ve developed at MEC (or maybe it’s all that knitting. Last week I read that knitting strengthens the connections between the brain hemispheres. Goodbye, traditional sports; knitting is poised to sweep the intellectual world!).

I couldn’t write about the library without acknowledging Naoise Johnston, our beloved academic secretary, who has been working on the library project since roughly the same time I started primary school. Congratulations, Naoise; your victory is near! Naoise spent the day dashing from one temporary-library-location-turned-scene-of-chaos to another, giving us lots of helpful advice:

“Keep the books in order.”

“Don’t endanger the books!” (This regarding the height of the stacks we were making on the floor).

“Please keep the books in order.”

“Wash your hands; some books carry poisonous mold species” (No kidding…).

“All that really matters is that the books stay in order.”

I can’t promise that every book is in order, but the shelves are empty, and we all agreed that this was quite a bonding moment, complete with plenty of mix-ups (“did your books go before or after mine??” “Oh no; we boxed Nicolette in under the table!”) and…singing. For some unknown reason, pretty much every activity at MEC turns musical at some point, and this one was no different. We tried to match songs to the section of books we were moving, which brought us from Wave Your Flag (something about African Missions) to Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God Almighty (Trinity) to Bad Day (Self-help) to Nearer, My God, to Thee (1980’s Theology. I forget the connection there). What an experience! Moving the books back onto the shelves will be a new adventure, but we’ll be ready for it. Actually, we can’t wait!

Meet the Chicks with Sticks!
December 2, 2011

It all started when Adrienne Rolwes arrived to Mater Ecclesiae in July. Adrienne, the dean of students in charge of the junior class, is beloved by all of us. She’s also an avid crocheter. Our first response to this hobby was good-natured ridicule. “You’re too young for this!” we’d tease her. Adrienne took it all with a smile, and bided her time. Not long after the school year started, a group of us wandered into the auditorium after dinner and saw not one, but two balls of yarn and two crochet hooks on one of the couches in the back. Still not grasping the seriousness of the situation, we merely laughed, as usual. “Adrienne’s gaining a following!” we chuckled. Little did we know how right we were.

Academic advisors. Professors. Administration team members. Students. One after another, they all fell under the spell of Adrienne’s flying crochet hook. People who hadn’t crocheted or knitted in past years suddenly brought forth their buried talent, while others learnt the skills for the first time. All together, they’ve formed a club, the exact name of which is still under debate. The first suggestion was the Happy Hookers, which was rejected due to its doubtful appropriateness in a Catholic college. Besides, since one or two members knit, and knitting needles don’t have hooks, it didn’t seem right to exclude them. The name currently being bandied about is the Chicks with Sticks – a bit more inclusive; if necessary, it could even include hockey players.

I really should stop for a moment here and admit the truth: I’m not in the club. I won’t ever be in the club. I decided to write about the club because they make me laugh - no, not out of derision; it’s just good-natured amusement. But since I’m not in the inner circle, I really should let the members speak for themselves. I’ve spoken to most of them about their choice of hobby, and during the course of my interviews, Colleen Littleton and Taniele Tucker expressed reservations about my writing this piece. “We don’t want to be mocked,” Taniele told me. “We don’t want to be called a ‘granny club’ anymore.” I assured them both that I aim for high ethical reporting standards in my blog, and that I shall present an unbiased explanation – using their own words – of why they do what they do, and why they love to do it.

“It’s calming to do something with my hands,” says senior Amelia Watkins, expressing the sentiments of many of the club members. “I thought I would give knitting a try and then I just couldn’t stop.” Amelia, incidentally, classifies herself as an independent knitter rather than a member of the club, but I think her comments still have value here. Mariana Velázquez agrees with Amelia, and says that crocheting is a perfect hobby for the long Rhode Island winters, which can make outdoor sports impossible for months at time. Other knitters/crocheters have said that it’s a great bonding experience to spend their downtime together, relaxing and doing something they enjoy.  

And what do they make with their busy hands? All sorts of things. Mariana is making mittens for Amelia. Amelia is making a scarf for Mari Granadillo. Mari is making a square. At least that’s what it looks like to me. Taniele just finished a beautiful white tote bag. “It’s a statement,” she says. “I’d like to be quoted as saying that this tote is a statement to anyone who thinks that crocheting and knitting is for grannies. No granny would have made a tote like this.” Please view the attached picture, and I think you’ll agree. Taniele also informed me (“don’t forget to mention this” were her exact words) that some of the items are on their way to newborns at a crisis pregnancy center – what better destination for objects made with so much love and care? For the Chicks with Sticks, you see, knitting and crocheting is more than a mere hobby; as several of them tried to explain to me, it’s an almost profound sort of experience, spanning generations (many club members learnt their skills from aunts or grandmothers) and forming bonds of friendship. Hmmm. Maybe I should think about giving it a try after all. In the meantime, I think I’ll go find out what exactly Mari’s vision is for that square.

Housework
November 10, 2011

8:45 a.m. Around the time most people get to class or work, the consecrated women at Mater Ecclesiae College are engaged in a brief prelude to our full day of classes and studies: housework.

Why do we call it that? First, my computer spell-checker doesn’t have an issue with it, so neither do I. Second, “housework” is the only word that properly describes this post-breakfast activity; “chores” or a similarly mundane word would simply be demeaning.

An explanation is in order.

Since my humble task – “my housework”– is to take out the trash from the entire building, I can give you a fairly accurate perspective on the many nuances of “housework.” Let’s get a large black trash bag from the kitchen, then head off to see the sights.

From the kitchen, we turn to the left, head down the hallway, trot up three flights of the north staircase, and the fun begins – well, almost; the third floor is quiet in the mornings. Actually, it’s quiet most of the time. Besides a small chapel, auditorium, and workroom, it’s just a long row of individual bedrooms. Not many trash cans.

Down the south stairs to the second floor. This gets a bit better. A small army of trashcans greets us at the door of one of the two junior-senior dorms, through which Andrea Moreno is madly dashing, vacuum cleaner in hand (she must have 150,000 miles on that little machine by now).

Our next stop is at a very important room, albeit one you probably won’t see on a typical tour of Mater Ecclesiae College. We call it “stationery.” I’m not really sure why. It does have stationery inside, and it’s definitelystationary, but then, aren’t most rooms?

Silvia Canales is in charge of stationery for the year, dispending necessary items ranging from notebooks to hair dryers. I think the most remarkable thing I ever got from stationery was a dark purple Lip Smackers® Skittles® Berry Punch Chapstick (that thing lasted way too long). We find stationery items with our laundry, in cheerful-looking little fabric bags, vaguely reminiscent of Christmas stockings. It’s kind of fun. On we go; past a little “ironing room” (we sort of have those everywhere. There was one on the third floor too; I forgot to mention it), a pair of shared offices, a few more rooms, and down to the first floor.

The first floor is undoubtedly the most active area of Mater Ecclesiae College at any given time. Isabel Jamicky is darting out of the freshman-sophomore dorm with the trash can – just in time! Mirianna Sternhagen is sorting mail in an indented doorway that we have ceremoniously dubbed “the mailroom.” I’m not entirely certain that it deserves the title “room,” but after stationery, what can I say? Tradition is a force occasionally more powerful than logical reasoning.

A couple of offices later, we arrive at building central – and more or less the center of life around here. To the right is the chapel, where Sarah Pacini and Emily Gray are busily sweeping, attempting to avoid the occasional prayerful consecrated member. You can’t see it from here, but off of the left-front of the chapel is a door opening into the flower room – now, here is a name that makes sense and tells you exactly what goes on there. In this little room, Alexa Escalante and Co. make beautiful flower arrangements, which you see in front of the altar.

Turn to the left and you’ll see the propped-open door that opens into reception and out the front door. Cleaning the reception area is a delicate task (I’ve done it); it involves side-stepping any number of people who are visiting the vicinity.

Leaving Amelia Watkins to this mission, we godown the hallway, past more offices and the other junior-senior dorm, and down the stairs one last time.

After a quick stop at the administration team’s little cluster of offices, we pass the kitchen again. This is the one place that could vie with reception as Most Exciting Housework Area. Besides our three wonderful and long-suffering cooks, several consecrated members also call the kitchen home during housework. Catherine Smith is the fearless leader of this little band, two of whom shriek in disgust as they attempt to cut up (raw) chicken. Apparently, Therese Maher and Elisa Funari haven’t yet been introduced to chicken in this state, but as Catherine points out with raised eyebrows, “Moms do it all the time.” As courageous as Therese and Elisa are, they have nothing on Ale (that’s pronounced AH-lay, by the way; the Spanish equivalent of Alex) Curiel, who is emerging from the freezer with a red nose and a box of shrimp in her gloved hands. Always winter and only sometimes Christmas in there.

Our thirty minutes are almost up, so let’s speed up as we head down the long basement hallway, past two doorways that open into the shoe room and the clothes room, respectively. I think those names are fairly self-explanatory.

Second to last stop: the art room, creative headquarters of Mater Ecclesiae College. A wave from Jennifer Malneritch, who’s hard at work on the website, and then we finally arrive at the laundry room. Amelia Hoover keeps this high-traffic area running smoothly, with the help of a team of freshmen and sophomores. Looks like the washers got ahead of them this time; you can’t even see over the pile of sheets on the table. Laundry is another one of my former houseworks, so I can sympathize: you really don’t know how much work is involved in folding sheets until you’ve done it non-stop for thirty minutes a day..

(Extra) Large Family Life
October 10, 2011

Last January, one of my friends asked if anyone had come to spend Christmas with the consecrated women at Mater Ecclesiae. “Oh no,” I told her; “It was just us this year.” She laughed and pointed out that “just us” actually refers to more than one hundred people. “Just a little family event, right?” she teased me. It left me wondering what exactly the definition of a “large family” involves. Five people? Ten? How about more than one hundred?

I come from a family of eight children and when I was growing up, people would often comment on our big family, leading me to think that mine must have been one of the largest families possible. When I was little, I once met a family with ten children, and felt rather indignant - and a little jealous - that they had “beaten us.” Then I joined the consecrated women of Regnum Christi, and I discovered a whole new dimension of “large family life.” After all, “large” takes on a fresh meaning when you cook lunch in a kitchen that contains such hefty objects as a wire whisk the size of your head, which is happily beating around inside of a bowl that you could nearly take a bath in. Well, how else would you mix enough dough for four hundred chocolate chip cookies (and that’s only for this weekend)?

To put it in one word, life as a family with the consecrated women is quite the adventure. True, just like life in any family, it has its difficulties – sleeping in a dorm with eighteen or twenty other people lends itself to interesting escapades, ranging from falling into an occupied bed to spooky encounters with sleepwalkers. It has its peculiarities as well (even the above family with ten children didn’t have to take all of the seats out of a twelve-passenger van for their weekly grocery shopping). But most of all, it’s an enriching experience. Whether I need someone to sing four-part harmony with me on the way to an outing, or to think through that latest Christian Creed class with me, or to teach me to do a layup, there’s always someone up to the task. 

Another dimension of this extra-large family is the many cultures that make it up. Thanks to the influence of the Australians, New Zealanders, and South Africans among us, I believe that we are one of the few colleges in this country that has the experience of playing cricket (or at least trying). And we would be lacking a great element of humor without our frequent Spanish-English mix-ups, such as when one English-speaker was practicing her Spanish and attempted to tell one of the Spanish-speakers to set cucharas (spoons) for dessert in the dining room. What she actually told her was to set cuchillos (knives), so we ended up with bowls and knives for our jello! Even among English-speakers, questions arise regarding how many ways you can say the same word. I do it agihn, my Canadian companion does it agayn, and our “Kiwi” even does it ageen.

Besides these varied ways of speaking that we bring with us, we acquire even more interesting ones once we’re here. Do you know the meaning of the phrase, “eat with the house”? Have you ever had “dinner with Christ our King”? I have, and I’ve also had a “talking breakfast.” I “pray balance,” “reconcile wallets,” and refer to my fellow consecrated members in a general way not as “you guys,” but as “hey, people of the Lord!” And these intriguing phrases are only the beginning of our distinctive family characteristics. When was the last time you used a fork and knife to eat an orange? How about a buffalo wing? And the way the consecrated women pop out of bed in the morning simply has to be seen to be believed – although it’s understandable once you realize that we have only a precious forty minutes to be clicking into the chapel in our high heels for the
start of a new day. I find myself alternately amused and alarmed that this type of behavior no longer strikes me as the least bit strange.  

I can’t deny that my family and friends who knew me before I was consecrated love to tease me about the idiosyncrasies that I’ve picked up in this new family, but I find these odd habits endearing. Maybe it’s because they’re a sign of the deep unity that underlies our life together. At any rate, I find the family spirit that exists among us to be one of the most appealing aspects of being consecrated. Life in this really big family is sometimes challenging, many times hilarious, generally inspiring, and neverboring. I’m grateful to my own slightly-less-large family for preparing me to cope with the challenges, and to enjoy the beauty of EXTRA large family life.

Into the Woods
September 24, 2011

Every couple of weeks, the consecrated here at Mater Ecclesiae pile into vans and depart for what we call an outing. If this word conjures up pictures of checkered blankets and picnic baskets, think again. Our outings are hardcore. Rain or shine, we hit the parks of Rhode Island and Massachusetts, engaging in ruthless activities ranging from climbing what East Coast-ers call “mountains” to exploring frozen lakes. Don’t think that’s so rough? Allow me to elaborate. Take our last outing, for example: we went to a place called Pulaski State Park, and we walked in the woods. Sounds pretty innocuous, right? Wrong. Here’s an insider’s story of a typical outing with the consecrated.

Actually, the day did start out fairly peacefully. I was in a group that included one of the juniors in a wheelchair (don’t worry; she’s fine. Just a basketball-related foot injury), and we quickly realized that our movements would be limited to either walking up and down the paved stretch of driveway at the entrance to the park, or rolling our poor victim down a concrete ramp into a pond. We tried our first option and found it boring. We didn’t try our second option at all. Instead, we had lunch. Afterwards, those members of our group who believe that outings are for relaxing stayed with our invalid, while five of us set out for a run along the (unmarked) trails through the woods. “Just turn right whenever it splits,” sophomore Amelia Hoover told us. “It’ll take you all around the park and then back here.” Simple.

After a while, Gaby Ruiloba and I slowed to a walk to enjoy the beautiful autumn scenery around us, while our three friends ran ahead. In the space of about seven minutes, they were gone. We came to a fork, listened for their voices, and didn’t hear a thing. So we did what Amelia had told us: we turned right. We emerged out of the woods and into a little ravine that had been cut for power wires. And then the path split again. We turned right. We re-entered the woods and continued to run and run (and run and run), always turning right, always getting nowhere familiar. Fortunately, both Gaby and I are fairly calm in a crisis, and we merely continued to enjoy the beauty of the woods while we ran. Unfortunately, neither Gaby nor I are blessed with any sense of direction, and all of the scenery was looking really, really similar.

Finally, we came back into the ravine at a different point, and I spotted a group of eight or nine people sitting on a rock and talking. Not very many people do this at Pulaski State Park (I hadn’t seen it happening all day), and even fewer people do it in skirts and polos. That had to be us. While we were still a ways off, the whole group suddenly and inexplicably jumped up and flung themselves flat on another rock. I glanced at Gaby with raised eyebrows.
“What are they doing?” We continued walking, and about two minutes later, the group just as suddenly jumped up, yelling some sort of war cry at the top of their lungs. Gaby was startled.
“What happened to them?” she asked in alarm. I was beginning to understand. “Gaby,” I said, “I think they just tried to scare us.”
“But we could see them the whole time!”
“Somehow, I don’t think they know that.”

Sure enough, we were confronted with a small crowd of disappointed faces when we reached the rock.
            “Weren’t you guys surprised?” asked Nicole Stone in a hurt voice. I would have loved to tell her that we were.
            “What’s wrong with Silvia?” I asked instead, politely changing the subject. Our El Salvadorian friend was still sitting on the ground, laughing in a slightly hysterical manner. Bit by bit, her story emerged: the group had been sitting on the rock talking, when the subject turned to bears, and Idaho native Jacquie told everyone what to do if a bear ever attacked. Silvia was scared. Then someone started dreamily remarking on how out here in the middle of nowhere, it felt like they were the only people left in the world – imagine that! Silvia was really scared. Then Nicole and Jacquie caught sight of us and hissed, “They’re coming; HIDE!!” Silvia almost had a coronary. The only one in the group who hadn’t seen who “they” were, Silvia’s mind was instantly filled with images of ax-murderers and psychopaths as she flung herself to the ground and desperately clutched Nicole’s arm.
            “Nicole, what’s going-”
            “Shhhh!!! They’re coming!”

Poor Silvia was near tears by the time everyone suddenly jumped up at Nicole’s signal. We eventually got her sorted out, and all of us got underway, heading back to the park. Other than accidentally wandering off one more time, Gaby and I made it back without further mishap, and told the story to the rest of our running group, who had been wondering if they should send a helicopter after us.

Ah, yes; never a dull moment at Mater Ecclesiae. Barring a bear attack or the appearance of an ax-murderer, we are looking forward to a year full of great outings!

September 12, 2011         
All Glory, Lard, and Honor!

Our first weeks of classes at Mater Ecclesiae have been busy ones for the seniors. We’ve written a couple of papers, agonized over a topic for our Capstone Seminar project, ironed out the details of our new (or returning) fieldwork assignment, and…entered an apple pie baking contest. Yes, in the event of a shortage of extra-curricular activities, the seniors will know what to do; just look for us at the nearest parish festival!

How did it happen? Well, all four of us on Team Apple Pie were present for various causes: Nicole, because she thought it looked exciting; Catherine, because Nicole signed her up; myself, because I happened to be standing next to Nicole when she signed up. And then there was Joan. Professor Joan Kingsland’s curriculum vitae may not say so, but we know that she is the pride of Mater Ecclesiae’s kitchen, and the senior class has spent countless hours there with her, usually hard at work on her famous chocolate chip cookies. Oh, and did I mention that her grandmother Dora was an award-winning apple pie baker? There would be no future without Joan on our team. Luckily, Joan was already distraught at not having known about the contest in time to sign up, so she was only too happy to join us. What about splitting the prize money? No problem; Joan was simply here, in her own words, “for the honor and glory,” which we assured her she would have. Between Joan’s quest for fame, Nicole’s instinctive competitiveness, and the fact that Catherine is in charge of the kitchen, we had this contest in the bag – er, pie pan.
So, how exactly does one go about baking a prize-worthy apple pie? I must admit that one week ago, I would have had no idea. But everything is different now. Exercising my three years of academic development at MEC, I will here provide a summary of the lessons I’ve learned over the past week:

LESSON #1: If your pie crust dough is too dry and you attempt to remedy this problem by endlessly adding water, it will turn into pizza crust dough. Who knew?

LESSON #2: The secret to a great pie crust: LARD. Amateur that I am, I automatically associated lard with people like Laura Ingalls Wilder. Grandma Dora would have been ashamed. Well actually, Grandma Dora was probably from more or less the same generation as Laura. No matter; the point is that lard was NOT optional for our pie. Once again, I quote Professor Kingsland: “If I’m going to be on this team, we WILL be using lard for the crust!” What an ultimatum! A member of the administration team was immediately sent out to buy lard, leading to another important lesson:

LESSON #3: Crisco is NOT lard!!!!  I will say no more here, as strong words have already been exchanged on the subject.

LESSON #4: The best apple pie apples are Macintosh. The best Macintosh apples are fresh-picked ones. And the best fresh-picked Macintosh apples in Rhode Island are supplied by an orchard right here in Greenville. Thank you to our friends at the orchard, Jim and John; hope you enjoyed your pie!

LESSON #5: Before submitting your pie to the judges, carry out a test run. Better yet, carry out five or six, keeping careful track of constants and variables, until you arrive at that perfect combination. Make sure you have at least seventy-five people on hand when the pies come out, and encourage them all to give their opinion. But listen to Joan.

LESSON #6: Generally speaking, opinions don’t fall heavily in favor of rum-flavored apple pie. I thought it was good, but like I said, listen to Joan.

LESSON #7: The best decoration for an apple pie is no decoration. Our team hotly debated this point until the very end, but when it came to a vote, it was three to Joan. No, we were not excited by the idea of acorns with faces on them. “Footprints in the sand” in cinnamon and sugar? Uh, no thanks. We stood firm on the principle that Rhode Islanders cherish tradition, and that the judges would appreciate a simple, traditional apple pie; they don’t want schmaz, they want something that will remind them of their grandmothers. Like Dora.

            After a week of baking sessions, emergency team meetings, and opinion polls, we brought two pies to St. Philip’s parish festival on Saturday morning. Excitement was high all Saturday afternoon, until Nicole, Catherine, and I finally arrived at the contest stand at 5:00 p.m. Thinking the pies were going to be judged at 6:00, we were surprised to see ribbons already on them. And on ours? Well, a picture’s worth a thousand words…

Catherine was excited, but calm; Nicole was just excited. “I can’t believe this is happening!” she repeated over and over, somewhere between tears and laughter. I was a bit surprised myself. Not that I’d ever doubted my team’s prowess in the kitchen, but I just never thought I’d be part of a prize-winning apple pie team. The only damper on our exhilaration was the fact that Joan wasn’t able to be there, but as soon as she got home that night, we held a celebration at dinner in honor of our team and the two teams of sophomores who had won second place and honorable mention, respectively. Don’t worry; the judging was done in complete anonymity, so there was no pro-MEC bias. Our pies were just that good. And even if we hadn’t won, the unforgettable experience of team baking would have been more than worthwhile. All glory, laud – or is that lard? - and honor to Team Apple Pie!