Proof

 

My seventh (!) book will be published this fall. A book of reflections for next Lent. The proofs came a couple of weeks ago, and once the manuscript for book eight (eight? eight?) went out the door, I had some time and space to devote to this devotional.

I still proof on paper, circling errors with a red ballpoint, pressing into the surface of the paper, leaving a literal wound to mark wounded text. I read it end to end, cold, then again side by side with the text I submitted. Were those snippets of scripture exactly what was in the lectionary? Quotes from the psalms sometimes are pulled from my memory (and my heart and my soul) as I write, not from any specific text. Better check against the source!

When the latest revision of the US English Catholic Lectionary came out, I didn’t add it to my collection. I have the most recent British one, the previous US one, but mostly I turn to the USCCB site or use Give Us This Day. The ritual books in my parish are stored behind the main altar, in a space reserved for quiet meditation in front of the tabernacle. So one afternoon last week, I laid the proofs on the small wooden altar, pulled the Sunday and daily lectionaries from the shelf, and with the Word before me, and the Word at my right hand, I proofed the pericopes. I could have taken the books and proofs to the small library next door, or to the sacristy, but this space felt right.

I used a book called Stones Before the Lord (about monastic architecture) when I taught a course on the history of contemplation in the West. Proofing on the altar left me feeling like I was laying stones of a different sort before the Lord. Stepping stones from Ash Wednesday to Easter, perhaps, or maybe a staircase cut into a cliff taking you from from a rocky beach on the wind-whipped Scottish coast to a chapel nestled high above. Or living stones, to use the image from the first letter of Peter, pulled from my own prayer. Stones I wanted to be properly cut and laid so they might support people's path though next Lent, and not be  stumbling blocks.

I found a few errors and marked them up, now it's headed back to Liturgical Press.

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Proofs. It's been a week of proofs. I proofed yeast last night to make pizza crusts. I proofed this book. I sorted through proofs of once new quantum mechanical theories, snapping a picture or two to remember the work I had done (and long ago published), then sent them into oblivion (actually the recycling bin!).

Grief’s half-life

I am slowly (glacially?) clearing off shelf space at home, so that some of the books in my office can have a spot. I skim the shelves, looking for books that I can’t imagine reading again (or that I could get from the library should I wish to revisit them). Intermingled with my and Victor’s and the kids’ books are some of Tom’s. Books from college courses, novels. In some ways Tom’s old books were easy to triage. He does not require physical copies of them on this earth, and I have no memories attached to them (we didn’t meet until graduate school). Off they go. 

Tucked into one shelf in the wall of books off the kitchen was a journal I didn’t immediately recognize with a photo of a pair of battered pointe shoes on the cover. I pulled it out and opened it to find letters I had written to Tom after he died. I read two and closed the cover. It seems they are still hot, radioactive, like Marie Curie’s cookbooks.

What, I wonder is grief’s half-life? And how many have elapsed? We say that after 10 half-lives have elapsed the materially is safe to handle(less than 0.1% remains). But even then radioactive events are still occurring, randomly spitting out particles and gamma rays.

What's my name?

 

I needed the receipt for a recent flight. Easy-peasy, right? It was mailed to my work account. Except it didn’t show up. OK, I’ll get a copy when I check in. Ooops. I forgot to ask outbound. My bad. No problem, I’ll get it on the return. Yeah, no. There was no staff available for that in the steamy Frankfurt airport. You can get it online, madame. 

Props to the clear web site, clicked on “get receipt.” A webform appears which wants my ticket number, which I have, and my name. Which I know. I paste in the ticket number, type my name and hit the button. Nope. Nope. “You must use the same name you booked under.” Did I mistype my name? I must have. (Thank you, Parkinson’s, typos happen more often these days.)  I tried again, no typos. Hit the button. No? No. “ You must use the same name you booked under.” 

Ok, was my name truncated by the computer system? I check my boarding pass. Yeah, no. My name is what I think it is. First and last. Do I want to chat with an agent? I do. The AI agent takes my information, suggests I try the webform that isn’t working, then offers to pass me to a human. “You are number 486 in the queue!” 

I am working, so leave the window parked in the corner and periodically check. By lunch (two hours in) I’m 276 in line. Am I still there, the AI wonders. You bet. I wait four and a half hours to get a human (who the AI confesses is helping multiple customers at the same time, so don’t worry if they are slow.) 

The human suggests the webform. I point out that hasn’t worked. Can they give me a copy? That is against policy. Well, I asked, what can I do? Silence. I can email it to you. Awesome. “Can you doublecheck the email?” Sure, sure. I type in my work email. That’s it, I’m assured. It will take 15 to 20 minutes. “Thanks again,” I chirpily type. The chat ends.

Thirty minutes pass. No email. Five hours in and I am still without a receipt. I check to see if I can retrieve it through my credit card. And that’s when the shoe drops. That receipt says the ticket was issued for FRANCL, MICHELLE PROF/DR. Oh. It thinks my first name is MICHELLE PROF/DR? It sure does. The web form cheerfully regurgitates my receipt. 

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I note the booking form asks for your first name separately from the title. 

Interestingly enough, the typing of people with Parkinson’s has a distinctive pattern, which can be used to screen for possible Parkinson’s. A bit about the development of the screen is here. I did the screen shortly after my diagnosis and correctly directed me to consult a neurologist as it was positive for potential Parkinson’s.

UPDATE: So, a funny thing happened. It’s been about a week since I had this conversation. At 6:33 am today, the receipt showed up in my email.