To the Clockmaker: My Father

Who is the Clockmaker?

After all, this blog IS called "The Clockmaker's Daughter," right? 

Well, my father is unlike anyone else you will ever meet in your entire life. He is probably the only person who could cover beekeeping tips, homesteading secrets, and the history of Communism in a single conversation. A scan of one of our many bookshelves will testify to his ever-evolving fascinations, and objects of study. One time it was edible mushrooms, the next it was raising a rare breed of ducks, and after that: making Cajun food. My dad has a million things that spark his interest, and as kids, he tried to get us interested too. 

"We're going cherry picking today," he announced one day, whilst we were half-asleep still, and he had flicked on the lights. Admittedly, as a teenager, cherry picking just wasn't my most desired activity, but looking back, I love my dad for these moments. Why? Because what else would I have been doing? The normal teenage stuff, like going to the mall, or watching TV. My dad intentionally worked to get all of his five children interested in things beyond what involved staring at a screen. The cherries we brought home were made into pies, and though we may have gone a little overboard and "gifted" a bunch of them to a friend because we were sick of pitting them, it was nonetheless, a fun afternoon. 

My dad raised my siblings and I on "alternative" music for your average 90s kid. In fact, we weren't really allowed to listen to the radio, though we snuck it in where we could. Instead it was the deep vocals of Johnny Cash, the trippy harmonies of Electric Light Orchestra, or even, at times, vivacious operas. The man is a hipster, however, and is always finding new music. He currently likes "The Lumineers," "The Oh Hello's", and "Of Monsters and Men".  

As for movies, (we never have had cable in our home), we watched old Westerns, war movies (not a fan because WHERE WERE THE GIRLS IN THE STORY?!) and classics, like "Fiddler on the Roof", "I Confess," and "My Fair Lady." I've seen more John Wayne movies, than Johnny Depp ones and my first real movie crush was Colin Firth's, Mr. Darcy, in Pride and Prejudice. (Don't even try that whole: "You should watch the Kiera Knightly version..." stuff. Nope. Don't even go there!) 

"Why doesn't  he just let us watch what other kids were watching?" This question, my teenage self asked often. In point of fact, my Dad was being the best dad he could be by not serving us the mediocrity of the age, and by trying to keep us from encountering the vulgarity that had crept into modern music, films, and art, while we were young. Through it all, my Dad has focused on forming his children to be counter-cultural, to swim against an ever-racing tide that claims that ugliness is beauty, and that crassness is funny or cool; that acting impolitely, eating, dressing, or speaking slovenly is better because it's convenient. He has always tried to give us the best that life had to offer, even moving out to the country and commuting 45 minutes to work every day so that we could grow up in a beautiful place. 

More importantly, however, is that my Dad has always been there, no matter the situation, whether it's something as simple as needing encouragement with starting up my Etsy shop, or talking about boy stuff, or something more serious, like the late night phone call when one of us kids had a car accident. There is never a doubt in my mind of whether or not he'll be there for me, he always has been and will be. 

Lastly, my father gave me another precious part of my life: the Catholic faith. It takes a lot of strength to keep a family together, happy, and healthy and my father has done it primarily, I believe, through his faith. He has come home from many a long, exhausting day at work, and has knelt with our family in front of the icon of the Sacred Heart in our living room, and prayed the rosary with us. No matter how weary, no matter how much he probably just wanted to collapse in bed, my dad has lead us in prayer. He brought us to Mass every Sunday, loading five kids into a car, waiting for his three daughters to get dressed, and inevitably being late because of them. This is perhaps the best gift of all. 

My dad is a father of five, and a grandfather of three, He is the familiar smell of pipe tobacco, the beekeeper, the mushroom forager, the provider, the reader, and the Traditionalist. He is my rock, and my "Dead Sea." He is the Clockmaker, and I am eternally grateful to God for making me the Clockmaker's daughter. 

I love you, Dad.

Happy Father's Day!

In My Wildest Dreams- The Beauty of This Unpredictable Life

Life has been insanely busy and so exciting lately, and I haven't taken a moment to just write about it. 

So, I wanted to just reflect really briefly on just how much of a roller-coaster I've been on lately and why that ride has been the best thing that's happened to me: as in, EVER!

For one thing, I'm getting married. Wait, wait, let me say that again: I'M GETTING MARRIED. Sometimes throughout the day, I'll just think about it and feel for the ring on my left hand, and just say, "Wow. This is really happening!" 

I am at last, after three years of dating, two of which were long-distance, going to be with my handsome ginger. No more saying goodbye at airports, or goodnight over a phone when we're thousands of miles apart. No more wishing I could see his facial expressions, instead of having to picture them in my mind while I tell him something about my day. It may sound dramatic, but for anyone who has been in a long distance relationship for an extended period of time, well, you know what I'm talking about.

Secondly, I recently applied for my dream job: working as a nanny in Rome, with all expenses paid. Going to Europe has been a dream since I was little and I tried several times to get there, without success. Until now... in my senior year of college, when out of the blue, an opportunity presented itself. After multiple interviews, and  much anxious waiting, I was given the job! So, yes, I am going to Rome for six weeks this summer to watch a darling baby, eat gelato, and soak up every moment I can of another country's culture! Amen? Amen!

Finally, after opening an Etsy shop about a year ago, I have decided to try and take it to a whole new level after graduating from college. After all, the experts, whoever "they" are, always say to do what you love and I LOVE finding and selling treasures. It has paid for my coffee, my plane tickets, and my drinks on the occasional time that I get away from my homework for awhile. I can't wait to see where this next step takes me! 

Needless to say, I am feeling so overwhelmed with everything that has happened and so, so incredibly blessed by God. I am amazed at what He has done with my simple, unassuming life. It's funny how we doubt Him, how we think that He'll leave us stranded somewhere and that we'll never find direction, when in fact, He has never left us at all. 

He's been right there the whole time, and was just telling us to be patient, because He has something more incredible in store than we could possibly imagine.

For My Babcia: The Original Treasure Hunter

When I was a little girl, about twice a year my mother would load her five kids, and all of their suitcases, into our much-loved blue mini van and take off on a ten hour trip to Dayton, Ohio. Now, this endeavor alone says a lot about my mother. She happens to be one of the most capable people I know and her no fear approach to a trip that long, with a bunch of squabbling little kids in the back seat, makes me just that much more in awe of her.

One of my favorite parts about going to Ohio was visiting my darling Polish grandmother, known to her grand-kids as Babcia. This tiny, feisty, white-haired woman always opened the door with a cheery "hey everybody!" and I could hear the crazy squawking of her bird, who always tried to bite me, from inside. She usually had a soccer game on TV, or basketball, or baseball, or basically any sport would do, as long as it was sports.

Babcia with my friend's and I.

Babcia's house was always so exciting because in every nook and cranny were treasures. My sisters and I had endless fun exploring bins of Barbie clothes, funny toys, and random dress ups. It was for us, magical, because we just never knew what we'd find in Babcia's house and whenever she saw us with something she'd say, "Take it!" Babcia was definitely a gift-giver by nature. It was her love language, and her constant desire to give, reflected her generous, loving heart.

 I see so much of this spirit in my own mother, her daughter, whose house is always overflowing with gifts for every neighbor, and friend of a friend, or distant relative when Christmas rolls around.
My aunts, too,  have so much of Babcia's spirit within them and "treasure-hunting" has now become a regular part of their lives. Going to a thrift store, and walking out with the most random, awesome thing is pretty magical and my aunts are all fantastic magicians. I swear, it's like a superpower!

Babcia, and her six children. My mom's the one with the awesome yellow shoes.

So, recently, I realized that I have some of this spark within me, and that it's combined with my father, the ClockMaker's, entrepreneurial side. As a result, I decided to open an Etsy shop. With the help of my Mom, the expertise of my aunts, and the encouragement of my father, I recently took a leap and opened an online store called Honestly Ophelia Vintage, selling my own treasure-hunting finds.

And I just wanted to say thank you, to my Babcia, who started it all. I love her and I miss her, but I think she'd enjoy the fact that her love of unique, kitschy, awesome things is still very alive in her four daughters, and her granddaughter. So, thank you, Babcia! You're the best.


To take a look at my Etsy shop click here:
https://www.etsy.com/shop/HonestlyOphelia

To see my aunts' shops click here:
https://www.etsy.com/shop/Felcasattic
And here:
https://www.etsy.com/shop/QueenieBot

A Few Shiny Quarters: On Friendship

"I would rather have four shiny quarters than 100 dull pennies."
Such says a quotation about friendship that  I read awhile ago, and filed into one of the many Latin- verb- stuffed crevices of my poor brain. It's something, though, that has certainly stuck, unlike the fourth principle part of most of those vocabulary words.

People come and go in life, some stay for a very brief time, but make an impact nonetheless. Others, you swear will stay forever, until one day you're debating over whether or not they'd care if you sent a brief text to say "I miss you," and questioning how you got to that point.

Image by Valfre.

Personally, I've dubbed myself a "floater," since attending college. Basically, that just means that I don't have a set clique, or group of friends that I'm constantly around when I'm there. I drift from person to person, and then cycle back. That doesn't mean that I don't care about my friends, it just means that I enjoy being around a variety of different personalities and temperaments in order to stay refreshed and maintain some semblance of sanity. However, over the last two and half years, I have had many people coming in and out of my life, but I was not feeling as though I had very strong ties with any of them and that bothered me. The energy and emotion it took to try and maintain countless friendships was thinly spread between them all, so that in reality, there wasn't enough genuine love to keep them alive.

And then, when I heard the quotation about the four shiny quarters, I knew that that was what I was lacking. I didn't need TONS of friends, but just a handful of meaningful, strong friendships, those shiny quarters that would stay with me and love me at my best and at my worst; friends who would be worth loving no matter what.

Image by Valfre.

Mary Pope Osborne, the children's author of the Magic Treehouse series came and gave a lecture to the students at my college. She, too, had some great advice about friendship. "Surround yourself with people who are more talented and intelligent than you are," she said. She wasn't saying, "Make yourself feel inferior," but rather, let the people you befriend be those who inspire you, who make you feel passionate about life. Mary herself said that she was currently living with her husband, who was an actor, and two friends, one of which was a talented musician, the other an artist and that these people inspired her creativity and made her truly think outside the box.


The people who I have remained closest with may not all lead lives that allow them to concentrate entirely on their passions, but the point is, they have passions. One friend of going on ten years is a fantastic artist, who also happens to be a great trapper, fisher, and hunter. She's constantly bubbling with laughter and vibrant energy and she's continually challenging me to be more adventurous, to push myself out of my comfort zone, whether that means midnight skinny-dipping, or simply getting away from technology for awhile to go outside and enjoy the day.

Image by Valfre

Another is an aspiring writer,with a lovely soul and a constant drive to get things done. She's got the most incredible spirit and her goodness is an inspiration to me. Just as in a romantic relationship, you search for a person who makes you strive to improve yourself, your friends should certainly make you a better person, and not drag you down.

The thing I love about these people, and others, is that they don't settle for getting smashed on the weekend. They'd rather go fishing, read a good book, have a coffee date, make a good meal, or maybe have a bonfire. They aren't all the same, either. One of them loves country music and canoeing, another loves Korean dramas and anime. Some of them have never met each other, and some just don't hang out together. So my "floater" title still applies in a way, but rather than trying to invest a great deal of energy into too many friendships, I'm concentrating on the ones that are helping me live life to the fullest, who are challenging me to take advantage of every day that I have been given. I'm investing my heart and soul into fewer people, but those few are beautiful kindred spirits, who teach me something new every day. Those few shiny quarters are worth so much more than one hundred dull pennies.

I'm Not Dating My "Ideal" Man and That's Okay

"Hmmm... I'd prefer a lanky guy, blonde, hazel eyes, not too muscular, and he has to have a good sense of humor. Also, he has to think I'm funny. He has to be willing to live in the country, and know how to dress well, and he needs to be very intellectual."
Heard this before? Yeah. Me too.
Nearly every girl I know has run through her shopping list of "ideal man" qualities at one point or another. Not going to lie, I've done it too.
My own list was somewhere along the predictable lines of  tall, dark, and EXTREMELY handsome. I wanted someone taller than my own 5'9'' and very smart, a Shakespeare geek like me, and obviously someone with a passion for everything I liked.

No copyright infringement intended.

But guess what? I'm not dating my "ideal man." Nope.
In fact, God probably started laughing each time my friends and I went through our lists, because one day I met someone very different from my version of perfect. He is not dark haired, in fact his hair is somewhere between red and orange. His eyes aren't the "ideal"green, (they're actually this incredible color that looks like liquid gold in the sunlight. Oops, did I just say that?). He'd rather read non-fiction books about the stock market, or being successful in business than Shakespeare, and he didn't like coffee much when we first met. (Don't worry, he's joined the dark side.) But, regardless of all of this, he is the ideal.

Why? Because my imaginary man was nowhere near the mark (aside from the handsome and smart part)
I didn't know that I would need someone who actually enjoys doing taxes, or who likes the 49'ers, loves Looney Tunes and doesn't really get excited about ice cream. But God knew. He knew I needed a man who will make me laugh hysterically when he uses a strange metaphor, who'll enjoy my silly blog posts, and might even like cats and small children more than I do. Someone who will burst out singing Spanish songs randomly, dare me to eat a Chipotle burrito faster than him, and is willing to drive in Boston, while I hyperventilate and have panic attacks in the passenger seat. Someone who will kneel down and say the rosary with me when we're most annoyed, stressed, or upset about something.

But that's the whole point. God knows. His ideal for you is already so much better than the combination of all the qualities on your little checklist could possibly be. He created someone that you're never going to be able to describe until the day they're by your side. Maybe you won't find them in a tiny college on a mountain in the middle of who-the-hell-knows-where New England, but you will find him.
 And suddenly, it hits you: he's not your ideal, he's a million times better.

It's 3 a.m.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. It's what they all say. 
I think I'd have to agree, for I have never loved him more than in these months of separation. I have never felt my heart strings pulled so tightly, like an old puppet's, as when I think for a split second it is his voice I hear while hurrying to morning classes. I've never had a harder time falling asleep than these weeks of knowing he is hundreds of miles away.
 I wish I could say that I'm strong and independent without him, but the truth is, I don't want to be. I want nothing more than to be vulnerable if it means he is here; to be dependent, if it is his strong shoulders on which I depend. I don't even mind that my normal "no-romance" face is crumbling, because what the hell, it's 3 a.m. and I miss you more than anything, love. 

Yeah, I've got it bad, this love thing. 
_________________________________________________________________________________

Bruce Jenner and Ryland Whittington: To Laugh Or To Cry

Today, as I knelt in the humid Wisconsin air, scratching away at scrubby plants with a worn, yellow-handled weeder, my head was filled, somewhat unwillingly, with thoughts of the recent Bruce Jenner incident.

 In a way, I am awed at how quickly this story became a national topic. A man who held somewhat of a celebrity status decided that after decades of being a man, it was time to become his "true self." By now you will have seen the Vanity Fair cover plastered on every social media site, and the shelves of most grocery stores; the slender legs, white corset, and  the coy, albeit slightly stretched smile of the man who would now like to be addressed as "Caitlyn". The physical evidence of his being a man, removed and other clearly feminine attributes added, Bruce has achieved what he believes is his "true self."

And the crowd goes wild.

"A hero!" They shout. "An example to us all!" "We accept you for who you truly are!" The nearly unanimous response is one of warm welcome to the "new" Bruce.

And to those who dare not to accept this altered Bruce, the masses snarl,  "Bullies!" "Prejudiced!" "Unkind!" "Ridiculous!" and "Disrespectful!" I've witnessed this in my own newsfeed, and as the debate explodes, I have to wonder if I should laugh or cry. Honestly, this incident is not all that surprising; it appears to be the next logical step in our society's rapid journey down a road that leads to an all-encompassing "inclusiveness," regardless of any moral compass, or merely a good dose of common sense.

For a different example, a few months ago, you might recall that People magazine ran a story about a California couple insisting that others address their six year old daughter, Ryland, as "he," because Ryland told them she was a boy and "began to show aversion to anything feminine." So, the six year old was allowed to don boy clothing, and be addressed as "he." And again, the praise from our nation overflowed.

Ryland Whittington

 I remember my best friend growing up had insisted on being called "Henry" for quite some time, and her parents had merely chuckled and complied, but they didn't rush to the mall to buy her a tuxedo and boxers. Why? Because she was a child, still incapable of deciding what color of toothbrush to get from the dentist, let alone whether she was ready to spend the rest of her life as a boy. Today, she is a beautiful young woman and a happy one at that.

Ryland and Bruce are both products of a world that has turned on its head. Our society has rejected the idea of the woman being the nurturer in the family, the childbearer and a gentle feminine presence, who is the strongest supporter of her husband, the one whose talent holds the family together and of the man being the provider, the rock of the family, and its head.The contemporary woman does not fulfill her crucial role any longer and our nation's birthrate is rapidly declining. The year 2013 saw the lowest birthrate in our nation's history. Larger families (by this I mean more than two children) have become so rare that they are typically regarded as an oddity. Our country's general consensus: women need not retain that old-fashioned stereotype of the mother and wife. It is too restricting and of course, children are such a burden. As I heard just last week at work, "God bless anyone who has more than two!"

So, who will fill the void? Who will take the place of those women, who, whether consciously or not, have rejected the role of nurturer and mother? Bruce will. Bruce and the rest of the men in our world who have embraced their effeminate side. It seems only logical that now that most women reject their femininity, men will follow their lead by abandoning their masculinity, much to the approval of those around them.

So, what are we to do? Grow angry? Get into a huge debate on Facebook with our co-worker?
Nope.
Weed the broccoli, listen to the Weepies, and don't lose any sleep over it.
But do not accept. Do not comply with the spoon-fed ideas that the media and our society will try to shove into your mouth. I do not accept. And you who scream, "Accept!" will ironically enough, be the last to tolerate a dissenting view on the subject.

My friends, the world spins madly on, but there is still sangria and sunshine, a garden to be weeded and fish to be caught. Last but not least, please pray for Bruce Jenner, Ryland Whittington and for our nation. These are confusing and difficult times indeed and nothing can be solved, no one, whether it be me, you, or Bruce Jenner, can be healed without the graces that come from our Divine Physician.