All'Aglio e Olio

Elizabeth David, via a book! long ago gave me the recipe for my fasting dinner to-night.  I was going to have salmon, but, having to dine alone, I fixed on a simpler supper (and had had sardines in a bread roll for a late lunch in any case).

So, dinner was pasta all'aglio e olio: boil some pasta (David suggested spaghetti, I used penne, all I had to hand this evening), and meanwhile dice up lots of garlic to be heated up in good olive oil; once all is ready, mix it all together and serve.  I added a sprinkle of salt.

Earlier, I gave blood to-day, the first time since last year (I donate on and off), and I commend doing so to all.

It is interesting, though, to note the strict rules the Red Cross still applies: no one who's spent six months or more in the U.K. during the Mad Cow epidemic, no one who's had a tattoo in the past year, no one who's been in prison, no one's who's used drugs even once, no one who's visited a harlot, no one who's committed unnatural acts may donate blood.  

Isn't it remarkable, when the voices of morality are cowed by those of vice, that even now, in this dark age, the Red Cross's standards of hygiene still remind us that certain grave sins, not only disordered and degrading, are also notorious ways to catch foul diseases?

SS Peter and Paul

May the Princes of the Apostles ever intercede for us all, that Peter's Barque may ride out the storm, and the preaching of Paul convert all nations.

(Though I didn't make it to Mass this morning - it being a Monday, the sacrosanct day off for priests, the only available Mass would have been the early one at Carmel - I did at least do something: I donated blood plasma, as I am trying to be more regular about doing.  Think of it as practice in shedding one's blood for the Lord...)

Bloodhound

Not content with running commercials on my blog, I now suggest readers follow my example of self-advertising: Give blood!

(I've just been this morning to donate plasma at the local donor centre, which seems to me an easy corporal work of mercy for the public good; and seeing afterward a rather large stuffed toy, obviously meant to be a bloodhound*, ha ha, gave me the idea to at least suggest others take up this practice or return to it, if, like me, they've not donated for a while.)

Remember, The blood is the life (cf. Leviticus xvii).

* The bloodhound is also called a St Hubert hound, the breed supposedly deriving from hounds bred at the monastery of St Hubert in Belgium a thousand years ago.  St Hubert, BTW, was first bishop of Liege, after having been converted from an excessive love of hunting by a vision one Good Friday - his remains were later translated to the aforementioned abbey, but were lost at the Reformation; and St Hubert remains patron of amongst other things hunting and hounds!  (His feast day is the 3rd of November.)

Ten Hail Mary's

After work, I stopped off at the Redemptorist Monastery for confession; and was kept waiting for 20 minutes! I'm afraid I made a complaint... Anyhow, the confessor gave me ten Ave's for (unrelated) sins, and the extra waiting gave me a chance to finish off a lot of Office.

And how amazing, that by the voice of the priest my sins should be absolved on earth, and so in heaven; and that the frightful endless punishment due to my sins should be remitted; and that my act of satisfaction should be something in the eyes of the world so slight, but in power and consequence so mighty - the imploring the prayers of Blessed Mary, Mother of God and Virgin. For as God was pleased to bring into the world His Son, our Saviour, as God and Man through her and at her consent, so He is pleased to distribute the graces of His Son's Passion through her, who is full of grace, the throne of grace.

Hail, Mary,
full of grace,
the Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
Jesus.

Holy Mary,
Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now
and at the hour of our death.

Amen.

After being laved in the Lamb's Blood, I went and donated some of mine - this evening was my 28th blood donation via the Australian Red Cross. If He poured out every drop for me, that I might have supernatural life and not death, ought I not spare some of mine to help the natural lives of my fellows? It is one of my few good deeds, and I write this not to brag (which would be silly anyway, since it's hardly a big ask to give blood) but to persuade others to donate too, since this would help supply the continual need for clean blood and blood products. (Apparently, in other, more benighted countries, donors are paid to give blood - which seems almost immoral to me and obviously productive of dangers to the blood supply from desperate and/or unscrupulous persons, who shouldn't donate but do so to get cash.) Here in Australia, blood donation has always been unpaid and voluntary; I encourage all to donate who can.

Oh, and today is the feast of St Barnabas the Apostle, the "son of consolation". God, of course, is the God of all consolation (cf. II Cor. i, 3-4: which is the ferial capitulum at Vespers every night except Saturday, a very blessing of God at the beginning of the second half of the Hour), our great Consolation; His Son (cf. I St John ii, 1), and His Spirit (cf. St John xiv, 16), our Advocates, Comforters, and Counsellors. Gloria Trinitati!

Donation #25

I've been a blood donor on and off over the last seven years or so, and have in the last year switched from making whole blood donations (which can be done quarterly) to plasma (which can be done as often as every fortnight). That said, this evening's was my first donation since the 19th of December!

Anyhow, at the price of some discomfort from the needle (I have a very low pain threshold, how wimpy), tonight's was number twenty-five, and the Australian Red Cross Blood Service therefore gave me a nice new ballpoint pen, to match the keyring earnt by five or so bleedings.

Give blood today! (Surely it is one of the corporeal works of mercy...)

To refortify myself, upon returning home I had steak and ale (as Bad Queen Bess had for breakfast): a ⅓kg slab of meat with the juices still running red, and a Grimbergen... a man's meal, to put hairs on the chest (no wonder Eliz. I never married). While I did feel lightheaded after the beer, didn't the doctor used to recommend that expectant mothers drink stout for nourishment? That's my theory and I'm sticking to it.

Then I did the washing-up (when you share with two other blokes, it can really pile up), and have just had a cuppa.

Greatly to my delight, as I came in the kitchen door I espied a package for me on the table: the facsimile edition of the 1738 Missale Parisiense that I bought from Shawn Tribe of NLM fame has finally arrived - after 79 days in transit - from British North America. In the heyday of Empire, a gentleman of leisure could have circumnavigated the globe at the same speed, as Verne tells it, and as a brave Yankee lady journalist proved.

Oh well. At least, now I again have access to a copy, I can blog with reference to its very interesting contents, liturgical and euchological in particular.