Breaking News: Brand New Year Coming Up!

Starting a new year brings up a clean slate: new beginning, new projects. I appreciate this opportunity and the promise of new discoveries. Here is a few things that happened as 2015 was getting to a close. 

I wish you the opportunities of plans that mature and lead to achievement – faster than mine. I wish also for joy and happy moments throughout the year! 

Three Dogs means 12 Paws

I mentioned Denali, our new black puppy girl, in earlier posts. After a time of reluctance (she loved being the only dog of the house) Sitka, our older girl, accepted Denali but we could tell it was not the best match. Denali has such a yearning for play times and games that Sitka, who is 10 year old, cannot fulfill. After 30 seconds of fun, Sitka clearly shows she is done.

When we found out that Debbie, our breeder friend, had a new litter, we intensely looked at the pictures.  Irvin immediately melted when looking at a male pup, chestnut colored with the white spots on his chest that means that he was destined to be a family pet, not a show dog.

I never had a male dog, and I felt out of my comfort zone with this little guy for a while. But it was only fair that Irvin would make the pick, we have had three females so far. He was feeling a little lonely being the only man at home!

And this is how, in August, we brought Kenai home. Sitka was exasperated. ANOTHER dog??? Denali was delighted.

Sitka assessing the new comer. This was the day we brought Kenai home.

Then the pack found its balance. Sitka is the Alpha girl who has the last word if there is conflict. The two pups flatten themselves on the ground if she growls. Denali and Kenai play all the time together, chewing each other ears, in the house or in the yard. There is chaos and lots of movements but we are not complaining. It is all good. 

Coriander and Turmeric

Since remission, I have been reading a lot about cancer. I noticed that from one book to the other, turmeric, the bright yellow spice that gives its color to mustard, was mentioned as a great anti-cancer substance. I started looking for some here.

It took me a while to find it because I was looking for “curcuma”, the French name. Usually, from one language to the other, you can guess the names of the spice, from thym to thyme, romarin for rosemary, coriandre for coriander…. No curcumay or coorcumee – I checked and yes, turmeric it was.

Ok, so when you find turmeric, you need to absorb it with some pepper, it enhances the anti-cancer properties. Problem : curcuma on its own is not that good. Pepper does not help.

So I went to recipes that would use turmeric harmoniously. And entered in my life… Indian cooking. Turmeric is one of the spices used for curries, along with coriander, cumin and Cayenne. Then there is fresh ginger, cilantro… all that is very, very good.

I am trying recipes and this is a delightful exploration to be followed in 2016…

Visiting Dad

River is a two year old black cocker spaniel. He lives at our friend’s Debbie from whom we got Tashina, our first beloved girl. We stayed in touch ever since. River is the Dad of our three month old puppy Denali.

We organized to visit after Easter and arrived early afternoon with our two girls. Debbie and her family live near Olympia – an hour south from us.

River is a young and enthusiastic boy. This scared Denali a bit – she withdrew and sat on my shoes. 

However Sitka (9 year old) appreciated River’s interest and was gracious to him.

Once the excitation fell down a bit, River showed some friendliness to Denali. She looks like him but her white spots that we like so much make her one of a kind.

A litter was recently born at Debbie’s. It did not go very well. Two of the four puppies did not survive the birth. The mother refused to  breast-feed the two others. She was so aggressive that Debbie took them away, concerned that she would kill them. Debbie started feeding them with a bottle (every two hours!). 

Then she had the idea to introduce them to another dog she had – a mother who had litters before and took good care of her puppies. Success was immediate. The new coming mom sniffed the puppies and started licking them. They soon became inseparable. “I asked the vet if she might have some milk, explained Debbie, and he said it was impossible. But I saw it : she does have some milk coming out!”

Debbie showed us the puppies through the window because they are not protected by vaccines yet. As we were taking picture, the surrogate mom was inside, looking at the pups and us. She was attentive and serene. 

Holy Week, a Week Apart

Holy Week is an essential time in the life of a church. Each year, the same question comes up: how should we best present the last hours of the life of Christ, so that we remain faithful to the biblical message without repeating a routine, year after year? How do we celebrate those ancient events while making them current and relevant to the 21^st century parishioners?

Thursday – Last Supper and Clean Hands

Thursday is Maundy Thursday – from latin “Mandatun” which means “commandment”, referring to the “new commandment” given by Christ during the last supper.

In the Gospel of John, in lieu of the command to eat the bread and drink the wine – representing the body and blood of Christ – we find Jesus insisting on washing the feet of his disciples. They are embarrassed. This task belonged to the least of the servants in a traditional household. Jesus  was teaching them an attitude of service toward each other that would be instrumental in bringing the Kingdom of God closer.

Irvin and I did not spend this evening together since CIF and UPPC both had planned a potluck dinner that night. There would also be a time of worship and communion. At UPPC, we also would wash each other – not feet, but hands. This was a suggestion that came from my experience at CIF. We did so a few years ago.

Washing feet was a tradition at the time of Jesus, where everyone had to walk their way to their destination on the dry and dusty paths of the Middle East. People would walk with simple sandals or with bare feet. Today, in our western world, feet don’t need a washing after we get to our destination. Our hands, however, are the ones requiring cleaning. They represent our service and our actions. They also express our desire of transparency and sincerity. Historically, we shake hands to demonstrate we are unarmed.  

I checked on what people were saying on that topic on Christian websites. I was surprise to find a controversy about it! Those who insisted on washing feet felt that doing otherwise was betraying the Scriptures. “Jesus did not wash the hands of his disciples! Let’s dare and follow his example rather than focusing on making parishioners more comfortable by not requiring they let go of their shoes!”

Sometimes, I feel we should also dare contextualize actions and traditions.

Friday – the Cross and the Gift of Freedom

Nine stations were put together in UPPC sanctuary. Each of the stations represented a step on Christ’s journey toward the cross on this Friday, from the garden of Gethsemane to Golgotha. At each station, participants were invited to reflect on the trials endured by Jesus and on their own path. This was a project that required an enormous amount of work, in particular for the team that physically put together each station. Lots of visitors came and appreciated this journey in the heart of Good Friday.  

That night was also Passover night. Irvin and I drove to Seattle to be part of the celebration with my Jewish family. As my aunt Diane mentioned, Passover takes place this year right in the middle of Holy week, and on a Friday, that is on Sabbath night. We praised together God the liberator with prayers in Hebrew, which is a delight for me and we dipped the Karpas (usually parsley) in little bowls of salt water. This is a reminder of that in midst of tears, we can also already taste hope and renewal.

We praise God who frees us and we are invited to become aware of the responsibility that now lays on us : we must use this freedom to free our neighbors. If they stay oppressed, we are not truly free either.

I admire the way the liturgy is waived throughout the meal, and how children become part of it, not simply observers, but actors. The youngest at the table asks the ritual questions, starting by “Why is this night different from all the other nights?”. Children are also tasked with looking for the Afikomen, a piece of matzah (flat bread) that has been hidden previously. This Afikomen will be the dessert.

But we had more than a piece of matzah for dessert. We enjoyed the fruits of the extraordinary talent of our friend Emma Notkine, whose lemon and pistaccio cake (a flour-less cake, of course) was a true work of art. This was high cuisine – and Emma is hardly in her early twenties!

Saturday – a pause (and for pastors : time to feverishly write their Easter sermons)

And since I was not preaching, it was a welcome pause for me.

Sunday – He is risen.

Three services that morning at UPPC, and for those who work there, a parking further away to make room for the visitors. A little girl in a pink dress from a fairy tale was baptized at one of the services and she admitted that she hoped that the bruise she had on her face (a confrontation with another child during recess that week) would disappear with the baptismal water. 

During the contemporary service, a rap in the middle of the opening song, not exactly my kind of music, but this one was superb and occasioned an ovation from the surprised and delighted crowd. 

And Pastor Aaron, with the same enthusiasm, preached three times about the way God reaches us best when we are in the ground, in the deepest hole, in a grave like Jesus was.

It was Easter.

Then the discreet ritual that follows Easter… Rest for exhausted pastors. 

Challenges and Metaphors of the Black Dog

When you like communicating and sharing, having a black dog may be tricky. You want to show off the young animal, share the emotion. But the black dog is difficult to photograph. If the light is not right, your picture shows a dark shadow with imprecise outline.

In what direction is the tail or the head of the animal in this picture??

Of course, you can play with the settings, lightening things up, but then you get a grey puppy in the midst of a washed out surrounding.

Plus, the model is fast and does not get that she should stay still for a short moment for posterity (and the popularity of the parents on facebook).

Here, two seconds ago, there was a puppy exquisitely laying on her bed

So since she is difficult to show in a photo, I imagine how else I could represent her.

Of course, if she was a dragon from the “How to train your Dragon” series , she would be a Fury. Isn't the resemblance uncanny? 

If she was an underwater creature, she would be a sea urchin. I grew up swimming in the Mediterranean Sea and know all too well the painful encounter with sea urchins, when you step on them while swimming, just the day you did not wear your plastic sandals. 
This is quite the experience with Denali. She rushes over you, all tenderness and love, and after a moment of cuddling, she nips at you with her needle-like teeth!

So it is not that easy to share images of our dragon-urchin. But I have to admit: living with her and seeing her grow is a joy. You will have to take my word for it. 

Morning Doe, Bad Blood and Indian tacos

What happened this week ? Looking back.

Morning Doe

Last Sunday, as I was going to UPPC for worship, I found myself right in front of a doe, or so it seemed. I had just exited the highway. She was walking on the curb, coming from nearby woods I suppose. She crossed the road behind me. 

Sometimes, I find myself crossing path with a coyote or a deer, a reminder that so many neighborhoods have been built recently on woods where they would roam. 

Those encounters are always a surprise to me, and now that I know a little bit about the Native American perspective, I see and enjoy them as a smile from the world unknown.

Bad Blood is not French – or is it?

That Sunday, after the first worship, there was a blood drive in the gym. I always volunteer for those. I like the connection it creates between two persons who will never meet, one receiving the blood she needs from the other. And I am Group O, universal giver, which is not as frequent here as it is in France.

So I went and talked to the nurse who was welcoming people. Alas, the process stopped here for me. I am French. I lived in France in the 80 and 90’s; that was when the mad cow disease broke out. There is no way to detect if I was contaminated and could develop the Creutzfeldt-Jacob disease one day. So the nurse declined my offer. She was sorry and was wondering how to soften the rejection. She had a hesitant smile.

“Do you want a cookie?”

Indian Tacos Opportunity

Every quarter, the Church of the Indian Fellowship organizes a fry bread sale. Fry bread is a comforting Native specialty. The piece of fry bread can be used as a tortilla, a foundation to layer refried beans, ground meat, shredded lettuce, tomatoes and cheese. It is then called Indian Tacos.

On Friday, we had a big crowd. I was delighted and grateful to see friends from UPPC join the connoisseurs!

The next day, the sale continued. I made a buffalo stew that can be eaten with a piece of fry bread. It slow cooked over night in a sauce of tomato paste, soja sauce, Cherry vinegar and Worcestershire sauce, with homemade beef stock.

Good bye , Mark

Since December, UPPC has been focusing on the Gospel of Mark. The sermons have followed the flow of the Gospel, we had classes on Wednesday night to go deeper. Each week, I would write a few paragraphs on the chapter we would get to, followed by questions for study. It was hard work…  and that also became a joy to do it when I would feel I grasped a new angle or perspective and it would become this text included in the bulletin.

But the journey is about to conclude. The series will end with Easter Sunday. Relieved and a bit sad, I just wrote my last text on the 16^th chapter. Mark, in the earliest manuscripts, concludes with the women overwhelmed after meeting with the angel of the resurrection. An ending that is also a new start in the sun rising light.

We are entering the Holy Week… To be followed… 

DNA Scrutiny

In January, Irvin and I ordered a DNA research for each of us. That was our mutual Christmas gift! We filled the little jug with our saliva and sent the two small boxes. As I told him, “if they ever mix up our results, it will not be too hard to fix!” I cannot have Native American ancestry. Irvin has only one grandmother from European descent.

Irvin was out of town when an email informed me that my results were available. I have to say I did not wait for him to be back, I was too impatient. No romantic discovery by the two of us together!

I had a pretty clear idea of my origins but the dance of the genes has its own logic. 

This is what I found out. I am 64% “Jewish European”. That brought my childhood back to my mind where I have always felt this connection with the world of Judaism, while knowing very little about it. Later on, when I studied biblical Hebrew at seminary, I felt fascinated from the start.

But I am wondering how the percentage can be over 50% when only one of my parents is of Jewish descent?

Then I was told I am 19% from Great Britain. This is weird – although the blue circle over the country includes, in a lighter shade, the north of France and even Paris. Or would it be this great-grand-father from Valenciennes on my mother side?

Then 10% between Spain and Italy. This includes the south of France and it sounds logical since I have family from the Nice (Mediterranean coast) area.

A few percents from Scandinavia and Irland.

Then it was Irvin’s turn to discover his genes. He is 69% Native American, he knew that much.

20% from Great Britain? His non-Indian grand-mother was Norwegian. He found out he had English ancestors only by going up high in his genealogical tree. And he has only 3% genes from Scandinavia!

5% from Central Asia. Could it be a trace of great migrations by the Behring Detroit?

A few Irish percents.

Why do we want to know more about our heritage? Does it change who we are? Or the way we look at our family and ourselves?

We may find the beginning of an answer in the words written by poet and writer Linda Hogan, from the Chickasaw tribe.

“Walking. I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands."

Deeds and Misdeeds of the New Girl on the Block

She jiggled and slept on my shoulder and in my neck, her muzzle on my collarbone, during the 4 hours it took us to drive home (Irvin was driving).

She welcomed all the new features of her new home with enthusiasm, sometimes even joyfully hopping on the spot.

Each step is almost higher than she is, but only a few days were needed for her to climb the stairs, leaping from step to step like a tiny mountain goat. She is afraid to go down though.

She adores Sitka, follows her everywhere, and tries to imitate her every move. Sitka does not reciprocate those feelings. 

When she gets growled at and pushed back by the alpha pup – because she interfered with the routine of her favorite moments, chewing on ice cubes, peaceful naps, or tender moments with us – she flattens herself on the ground in total loving submission. Then, without any psychological insight, she rushes back on Sitka, tries to get her to play, nibble on her ears… until the next bickering.

She loves to cuddle in our arms, warm and so soft. But soon she does bite everything she can reach, phalange, ear, lip… I am not sure she got the memo about her puppy teeth being currently as pointed as needles.

She reminds me of Tashina, but they are also different. Denali’s muzzle is longer. She is not shy as our very first pet was.

She cries at length, expressing deep emotions, when she loses sight of us. Sitka hates hearing this and goes in hiding in faraway places in the house.

She woke me up at 4:30 AM early this week because she wanted to play. This was the night where I was done writing an intricate introduction to the chapter 13 of the Gospel of Mark (the “apocalyptic” chapter) at 1:30 then had to wake up at 6:30 for a day full of meetings.

She follows us step by step so closely that we sometimes go into sudden unconventional dance movements when we want to avoid walking on her while not falling down.

She joyously gallops like a foal, especially when she is in the middle of a spectacular action, such as unrolling the toilet paper behind her after she got hold of its end in an unauthorized raid inside the bathroom.

In other words, we totally control the situation.

Riding with Volcanoes

The drive we did yesterday, from Washington State to Oregon, on Interstate 5 that leads all the way to California, can be a bit dull. But volcanoes keep things interesting.

We start with Mount Rainier, our neighbor. I feel like I know every detail of the side I get to see everyday wherever I go. I notice the change of seasons with the levels of snow that never goes completely away from its top.

When driving South, Mount St Helen appears fast. Its depressed crater is a reminder that in 1980, it erupted in a disastrous way.

Then, when in Oregon, Mt Hood and its pointy summit is next to be seen.

Those volcanoes are part of the chain of Cascades and disseminated from Canada to the north of California.

The most dangerous one, according to scientists, is probably Mount Rainier, as it is located so close to Seattle and Tacoma. This volcano is also covered with glaciers that would melt if it erupted. 

Even with a simple leak of hot water, the melting snow and ice would create a lahar, a flow of mud thick like cement that would be extremely dangerous.  

We live in the shadow of the volcano.

Authorities recommend that everyone has an emergency plan ready, just in case. Still, it is difficult to see this so familiar mountain otherwise than a breath-taking  view intended to remain unchanged.

Denali Era, day 1

Eventually, the day arrived. On Thursday night, Irvin flew back from Louisville, Kentucky where he almost stayed stuck because of an upcoming snow storm. The next morning, we were driving toward Oregon. Nearby Salem, we met Sally whose pretty little female dog had a litter by the end of December. And we got to finally meet with Denali. We had only seen pictures so far.

As I was holding her, I felt this chemical wave in my brain – ocytocin? Endorphin? A rush of happiness washed over me. I felt as light as a bubble floating in the sky. Sally showed us papers to sign. I was so distracted. If I had not dealt with an honest person, and without a husband, I might as well have signed an IOU for an abundant sum of money or an order to have a half-dozen of Dobermans delivered to our door in the coming days.

We have not had such a young puppy at home for almost 10 years. What surprised me most is… how small she is. She is joyful and lively, but she is so small and vulnerable… I felt that way with each of my previous dogs then forgot about it. I am looking forward for her to get bigger.

And in the same time, as I hold her and sense her warm breath while she falls asleep in my arms, I don’t want to rush – but fully experience each day. 

Ash Wednesday from Backstage

A few days ago, we embarked for the journey that Lent represents – a time of introspection during which we prepare for Easter and the resurrection of Christ. It starts with worship, on the evening of Ash Wednesday where we receive a cross-shaped mark on our forehead drawn with ashes, symbol of mourning and sacrifice.

The word of Lent in French is Carême , from the Latin Quadragesima, meaning 40^th, for the 40 days (not including Sundays) of the season. In English, Lent points toward spring, the time where days lengthen.

At UPPC, last Wednesday, worship was at 7:00 PM. The preparations reminded me of my first American Ash Wednesday, in Dubuque, Iowa where I lived my first two American years. The seminary student in charge of providing the ashes got worried because they were too light-colored. He had an idea which showed genius: he would add some toner – ink meant for printers. He had time later to confirm that the color was perfect: the dark shade of the cross on the forehead of the participants of the worship tenaciously resisted being washed out from their face for several days.

As the service closed, I was by the side of Aaron and Taeler, each with our bowl of ashes. It was moving to touch the foreheads of the participants, being in this close contact with them, sometimes pushing away a strand of hair... 

This was the time where we are reminded of our mortality with the sentence “Remember you were dust – and to dust you shall return”. This was so unusual to say so to each of them, particularly the youngest ones. And yet true, and strangely peaceful.

The weirdest thought came through my mind suddenly – should I say “you will return” or “you shall return”? Memories from my English grammar class seem to indicate that “shall” should be used only for the first person, singular and plural – in other words, “I” and “we”. Taeler and Aaron were not close enough for me to hear what they were saying. 

I pushed the thought away. I must have said both. I think both were okay…

The service ended in silence. 

The Legendary and the Mundane, or Wandering on Facebook

I am not on Instagramm, Pinterest or Twitter. Why? Because I am already addicted to Facebook and I don’t want to add any other temptations.

Obviously, Facebook is not perfect. If we don’t pay attention, we can really  get hypnotized while looking at our home page, going without any transition from tragedies of the world to recipes our friends made last night. 

And let’s be honest about it : since there is always something new to check on, Facebook is a top tool for any expert in procrastination.

But Facebook is also irreplaceable. Let’s take an example. If you happen to be a French person who grew up in the Paris suburbs, studied theology in Paris then in Dubuque, Iowa then got quickly ordained (12 short years later…) Facebook will allow you to stay connected to your French and American Friends, from childhood, high school, French home church in Cergy, friends from two seminaries - and you can also connect with their friends, many of them being interesting people with good reading that they comment. You also have the opportunity to chat by instant messaging.

Facebook also provides pictures and videos of delightful animals – an important addition to any normal day. I just discovered the FB page of a refuge for big cats in Florida. They post gorgeous pictures of the animals. (Big Cat Rescue)

Many good newspapers and Medias have pages on FB. So in one journey through your home page, you have the opportunity to go through many articles from French and American magazines. Your friends share their own discoveries.

Today for instance, thanks to Michel Jas, Facebook friend and French pastor, I read a long article on ISIS, published by the Atlantic. Its author, Graeme, makes clear that this movement is founded on a belief system coming from a medieval interpretation of the Koran. It explains a lot – and particularly why so many feel compelled to join them and how to stop them.   (Graeme Wood, What Isis Really Wants, http://www.theatlantic.com/features/archive/2015/02/what-isis-really-wants/384980/ )

And I also read the poignant statement written by Bishop Angeolos, representing the Egyptian Coptic church in Great Britain, after the brutal death of Coptic Christians in Lybia. I was touched by his words “In the midst of this sorrow however, we must continue to dig deeper for the joy that comes from an understanding that this life is but a “vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away” (James 4:14)

http://www.bishopangaelos.org/content/statement-his-grace-bishop-angaelos-following-brutal-murder-coptic-christians-libya

Thanks to Facebook, I can also be part of conversations with groups such as “RevGalBlogPals” (women pastors who share they experience and liturgies) or “Things They Didn’t Teach Us in Seminary!” (swap of prayers and also comments on thorny situations, with suggestions and supports). I found on Facebook the work of Rev. Steven Charleston, Retired Episcopalian Pastor from the Choctaw tribe, who writes daily beautiful prayers. I read this one during the worship at UPPC last Sunday.

"We are never outside the reach of prayer. No matter who we are, no matter what we do, we are always within the circle of someone's prayer. We live each day in this field of prayer. We sleep within its embrace; we rise within its blessing.

Somewhere, everyday, someone of some faith is praying in a way that includes us. They are asking the holy, by whatever name they know, to have mercy, to heal, to protect others. We walk within that prayer without even knowing it, without ever recognizing its source in the person who prayed it. In the same way, our own prayers reach the most distant stranger, until none of us are ever beyond the hope we share."

So that’s the typical stroll on Facebook : words that bring a larger understanding of the world, others who touch your heart and invite you to look up to Heaven, with a few stops to hear from your childhood friends and get cozy with a tiger. That’s not too bad of a journey…

Pink Sky on President’s Day

Today is President’s Day. UPPC is closed, so is the headquarter of PCUSA in Louisville where Irvin works from home – a deployed position. We both have things to do, bible studies to prepare, articles to write, emails requiring replies…

But there was sunshine today at that was the opportunity of a pause. We walked Sitka in the Spring-like weather. As usual, she insisted she would bark every time we would pass by other strollers, two or four legged ones, even if she eventually shared silent moments of fellowship, muzzle to muzzle, with some friendly dogs. 

That was the opportunity to wonder about a topic that regularly comes back in our conversation : make sure Denali does not follow Sitka’s example.

When the sun went down, the sky became pink and luminous. We know that the East coast is struggling with mountains of snow and frigid temperatures right now. I wish we could switch somewhat : some warmth for them, a few snowflakes for us. We hardly had any winter.

Picture by Joey Leatheman posted
on the facebook page of local channel King5

But it does not work that way. Each area has its own climate. We can only wish that Spring season will eventually cross the Rocky mountains… 

A week in February

I made a resolution for 2015 and I want to keep it, in a flexible way. The resolution is to write a post in my blog at least once a week. It is so much harder to break months of silence. When it happens, I feel like I hardly let a few weeks go by, and realize suddenly that it has been 5 months of not blogging! Getting back to it is like running after a galloping horse and try to crawl back on its back.

So what happened this week?

An important event in the life of UPPC (University Place Presbyterian Church) where I work: the installation of our new Senior Pastor, Aaron Stewart, last Sunday. Aaron was picked for this position on the last Sunday of November – the same day I got ordained actually. This is an audacious and wise choice. Audacious because in the Presbyterian tradition, churches usually hire an outsider (it actually used to be the absolute rule) and Aaron has been part of the life of UPPC for the past 18 years. Wise because he is a great leader. He was the executive pastor during the transition that preceded his nomination. I appreciate his open and dynamic style. A new page of the life of UPPC just started.

And today is Friday the 13^th.

February the 13^th is Saint Beatrice day. My family never celebrated those days, in French “fêtes” – where you congratulate the bearer of the name of the Saint of the day.  But two have remained in my memories, February the 13^th and December 1^st, after the names of my Catholic friends! I was 8 when Beatrice and I met. We have often lived far away geographically from each other ever since but never stopped send each other letters, fax and emails, depending on the years.

Beatrice, in white, during one of our visits in Troyes, France, where she lives
with her husband Max who took the picture. 

February 13^th is also an anniversary. In 2001, Irvin and I got engaged on that day. Today afternoon, while enjoying some fresh oysters on a tavern by the water under a hesitant sky (clouds and sunshine) I was thinking that whatever people say, Fridays 13^th are actually propitious days.