I have been attending daily mass. Yesterday I was sitting in church, I had finally found a quiet moment, when a woman discussing the dinner she and her son had the previous evening interrupted the peaceful serenity surrounding me. The voice in my head went from, “….the Lord is with thee…” to “….he had the fish, what kind of fish did he have, I don’t really care for fish, could she possibly talk any louder, what was I thinking…..” I got distracted to say the least.
Still I find the church itself very comforting. The walls are a rose colored marble and the candles project a soft light. The smell is a combination of incense and flowers that surround the altar. I am the youngest person at this daily mass by at least 35 years. Not that I mind. These are very old school Catholics. They don’t really go in for all that handholding during prayers. There is that awkward moment during mass when we must exchange “a sign of peace” by shaking hands with our neighbors. This is such a humors moment for me. All the people around me stand still with outstretched hands, requiring me to quickly leap from person to person. As I touch each papery hand I am engulfed in smells. One lady always smells of violets. Another man I am convinced must have pickles in his pockets. Driving home from mass I can still smell these people on my hands. The faces of these people stay with me throughout the rest of the day. The violet lady has eyes the actually sparkle. Pickle man always rattles the change in his pockets right before the end of mass. When I go up for communion, one lady always pats me on the shoulder and says, “Bless you.”
Will my life be like theirs when I get older? Will going to mass not only be something I do, but a reason for me to get up, get dressed and get out of the house? I believe that attending mass is the only social outing many of these people have, but I don’t feel sorry for them. In an odd way, I envy them. Many of their difficult life decisions are past them. They have face the daily torture of raising children, keeping a home and maintaining a marriage. I wonder if they would envy the position I am in. Would they trade places with me?
4.26.2005
4.23.2005
subliminal pressures
while checking on my site, i glanced over the google ads. both ads are solutions for "paper piles" and "clutter issues." i think god is sending me a subliminal message, "clean your house woman!" and yet, i do nothing. i mock the clutter and paper piles. i laugh in the face of an empty fridge and lack of clean underwear. i refuse to bow to the pressure.
oh wait, i don't have any clean clothes. which normally wouldn't be a big deal, but i realize that dan is also out of clean underwear. yes, i wear his underwear. his drawer of drawers (aren't i punny) is what i consider my secret stash. when i have exhausted my resources of clean underwear, i simply move to the next dresser. usually i find relief there. sadly, this supply has now been drained. this leaves me no other choice. i may not be a boy's size 12, but i willing to try! pardon me while i raid my son's drawers.
oh wait, i don't have any clean clothes. which normally wouldn't be a big deal, but i realize that dan is also out of clean underwear. yes, i wear his underwear. his drawer of drawers (aren't i punny) is what i consider my secret stash. when i have exhausted my resources of clean underwear, i simply move to the next dresser. usually i find relief there. sadly, this supply has now been drained. this leaves me no other choice. i may not be a boy's size 12, but i willing to try! pardon me while i raid my son's drawers.
4.17.2005
the quest
“Joy is sometimes a blessing, but it is often a conquest.”
Paulo Coelho
So I have started yet another book. Not that I wasn’t enjoying the other book, but the sleepless nights were getting to me. This new book is really something. It took me 2 nights just to get through the introduction (which was only 3 pages long). I came upon this sentence last night and can’t seem to get it out of my mind.
Dan and I constantly have these discussions about having a sense of entitlement. For example, people feel entitled to have a new and more expensive car even though there is nothing wrong with the affordable car they are currently driving. People feel entitled to things, even when this object will only bring more worry to them. I am always forcing myself to do a reality check. I have to stop and ask myself if what I am doing/buying/wanting is really necessary. Or is it only a temporary happy? I am tired of the temporary happy things in my life. Sure, I would love to have better clothes, a better car, better hair, better thighs, but at what price? Lately I have been asking myself to find my joy. Yes, I know, I sound “very Oprah” right now! Seriously, where is your joy? I don’t mean the last time you felt happy. I mean the last time you sat down and felt that things were all right between you and the universe.
My daily life is somewhat if not completely mundane. It would take more than just Zoloft to numb me to the daily wear my life takes on my soul. The problem is not to be defined by what you do. Sure, I could say I am the cook, cleaner, grocery shopper, the person who brings home window cleaner, the clean sock provider, the shampoo girl, the driver to soccer, the therapist, the united nations representative sent to unite 2 enemies. But is that all I am? “Stay at home mom” This phrase always makes me smile. It gives one the idea that I am home on the couch, basking in leisure. When I am at home, I am usually not staying in one place, but rather sprinting up and down the stairs for laundry, contorting my body (and scraping my spine) to reach under beds to retrieve some lost item, filling my lungs with toxic chemicals in the bathtub scrubbing away dirt, an amazing chef able to create separate meals to please every pallet in the house, dog walker and scooper of poop. I don’t “stay” anywhere.
I found myself at the brink of a deep depression, overcome with feelings of frustration that this is my life. And amazed that I got just what I asked for. I actually got down on my knees and prayed to God, begging him to let me have healthy children. I am truly blessed. I have amazing kids, a great husband, a nice house, everything I asked for. What I was naive about was the life that comes with these things. There are moments that I dream about getting in my car and leaving it all behind, but these moments don’t last very long. What I have discovered in my old age is that you can’t have a sense of entitlement about joy. Joy is something you have to find on your own.
Sure, go ahead and laugh, but this concept has finally opened my eyes. Who the fuck am I to expect that life with just present some sense of joy for me. As if a little magic troll will run up to me with a box of joy on a silver platter. I have no right to expect joy to find me. I have to do this on my own. It is far from easy, but every day I try. Yesterday as I sorted thru the un-godly mound of dirty laundry, attempting to find a load of absolutely necessary items, I had my magic moment. There I was in the basement, cursing like a sailor, muttering under my breath about “why I was the only person in the house who had this privilege” when I came across a shirt of Emma’s. It was covered in magic marker. Looking at that shirt it was hard to imagine she had used any marker on the paper. I was dreading the amount of stain remover and scrubbing I would be doing on this shirt and was seriously thinking about just throwing the shirt away when I remembered how this shirt became so dirty to begin with. I had been attempting to get some housework done and had asked Emma if she would play in her room. She wasn’t happy about this and complained bitterly. I was really frustrated and said something really awful like, “hey, mommy has other jobs to take care of besides playing with you all afternoon.” Not one of my finer moments. Emma retreated to her room and quietly closed her door. At the time I felt relieved that I would actually be able to accomplish something. A half an hour later Emma emerged from her room, covered with marker. When I first saw her all I could think was, “great, looks like one more giant mess for me to clean up.” She brought with her a drawing of her and me playing outside with the birds, I think it was birds. Emma told me they were animals, but was unclear about exactly what type of animals. In her perfect little voice she explained that this was a picture of us having fun. The pride and smile on her face made my job list vanish. I spent the next hour watching my beautiful daughter playing in the tub, washing all the marker off her skin.
Joy, people! That is what I am talking about. It ain’t gonna find you! You can’t feel entitled to a wonderful life if you never open your eyes to see all the little miracles happening around you at this very moment. Once you find your joy, then you can sit back and gloat over your conquest.
Paulo Coelho
So I have started yet another book. Not that I wasn’t enjoying the other book, but the sleepless nights were getting to me. This new book is really something. It took me 2 nights just to get through the introduction (which was only 3 pages long). I came upon this sentence last night and can’t seem to get it out of my mind.
Dan and I constantly have these discussions about having a sense of entitlement. For example, people feel entitled to have a new and more expensive car even though there is nothing wrong with the affordable car they are currently driving. People feel entitled to things, even when this object will only bring more worry to them. I am always forcing myself to do a reality check. I have to stop and ask myself if what I am doing/buying/wanting is really necessary. Or is it only a temporary happy? I am tired of the temporary happy things in my life. Sure, I would love to have better clothes, a better car, better hair, better thighs, but at what price? Lately I have been asking myself to find my joy. Yes, I know, I sound “very Oprah” right now! Seriously, where is your joy? I don’t mean the last time you felt happy. I mean the last time you sat down and felt that things were all right between you and the universe.
My daily life is somewhat if not completely mundane. It would take more than just Zoloft to numb me to the daily wear my life takes on my soul. The problem is not to be defined by what you do. Sure, I could say I am the cook, cleaner, grocery shopper, the person who brings home window cleaner, the clean sock provider, the shampoo girl, the driver to soccer, the therapist, the united nations representative sent to unite 2 enemies. But is that all I am? “Stay at home mom” This phrase always makes me smile. It gives one the idea that I am home on the couch, basking in leisure. When I am at home, I am usually not staying in one place, but rather sprinting up and down the stairs for laundry, contorting my body (and scraping my spine) to reach under beds to retrieve some lost item, filling my lungs with toxic chemicals in the bathtub scrubbing away dirt, an amazing chef able to create separate meals to please every pallet in the house, dog walker and scooper of poop. I don’t “stay” anywhere.
I found myself at the brink of a deep depression, overcome with feelings of frustration that this is my life. And amazed that I got just what I asked for. I actually got down on my knees and prayed to God, begging him to let me have healthy children. I am truly blessed. I have amazing kids, a great husband, a nice house, everything I asked for. What I was naive about was the life that comes with these things. There are moments that I dream about getting in my car and leaving it all behind, but these moments don’t last very long. What I have discovered in my old age is that you can’t have a sense of entitlement about joy. Joy is something you have to find on your own.
Sure, go ahead and laugh, but this concept has finally opened my eyes. Who the fuck am I to expect that life with just present some sense of joy for me. As if a little magic troll will run up to me with a box of joy on a silver platter. I have no right to expect joy to find me. I have to do this on my own. It is far from easy, but every day I try. Yesterday as I sorted thru the un-godly mound of dirty laundry, attempting to find a load of absolutely necessary items, I had my magic moment. There I was in the basement, cursing like a sailor, muttering under my breath about “why I was the only person in the house who had this privilege” when I came across a shirt of Emma’s. It was covered in magic marker. Looking at that shirt it was hard to imagine she had used any marker on the paper. I was dreading the amount of stain remover and scrubbing I would be doing on this shirt and was seriously thinking about just throwing the shirt away when I remembered how this shirt became so dirty to begin with. I had been attempting to get some housework done and had asked Emma if she would play in her room. She wasn’t happy about this and complained bitterly. I was really frustrated and said something really awful like, “hey, mommy has other jobs to take care of besides playing with you all afternoon.” Not one of my finer moments. Emma retreated to her room and quietly closed her door. At the time I felt relieved that I would actually be able to accomplish something. A half an hour later Emma emerged from her room, covered with marker. When I first saw her all I could think was, “great, looks like one more giant mess for me to clean up.” She brought with her a drawing of her and me playing outside with the birds, I think it was birds. Emma told me they were animals, but was unclear about exactly what type of animals. In her perfect little voice she explained that this was a picture of us having fun. The pride and smile on her face made my job list vanish. I spent the next hour watching my beautiful daughter playing in the tub, washing all the marker off her skin.
Joy, people! That is what I am talking about. It ain’t gonna find you! You can’t feel entitled to a wonderful life if you never open your eyes to see all the little miracles happening around you at this very moment. Once you find your joy, then you can sit back and gloat over your conquest.
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