That's Ms. Hill to You

Ruminations on life, remodeling, art, and whatever else comes to me at 3 a.m.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Insomnia...and Blessings

Ah, my old friend insomnia. I’m beginning to wonder if insomnia isn’t just another form of procrastination…I’ve got things to do tomorrow morning that I don’t want to do - how much better if I can’t get to sleep, and then when I do I’ll sleep through those unwanted tasks? I wonder if that’s why I had so many sleepless nights on my last job. Of course, being unemployed I have no "real" schedule…and there never is such a thing as missing unwanted tasks, they just get pushed back.

Went to Church today. It was one of those tight-in-the-chest, what-am-I-going-to-do-for-money, what-am-I-going-to-do-for-a-job, my-world-is-falling-apart kind of mornings. After being raised Catholic, and years of being a “lost lamb”, I do find a kind of peace in going to mass. Usually when I go I’m so emotionally raw that my eyes well up at inopportune times…especially in this Church, where at one point in the mass the entire congregation holds hands. I haven’t broken down sobbing in the midst of mass yet, and when its over I feel like I’ve left some of my burden behind, if only for a little while.

It turned out to be a celebratory mass for a newly ordained priest. He wasn’t young, had some gray in his hair. The high school choir sang, and they were wonderful. At the end of mass the new priest spoke, and thanked the choir, and his family for coming down from Detroit, and invited everyone over to the church hall for light snacks and…and…he lost his words. He finally made the side-hand sign of the cross that indicates blessings…yes, everyone please come over to the hall for camaraderie, light snacks, and BLESSINGS! The whole church was laughing, the older priest was laughing so hard he was wiping tears from his eyes, and the new priest was laughing too.

Some people radiate goodness, certainly not all. Not all priests do, but this one did. Perhaps it was the shininess of his recent ordination, but I spoke with him briefly after mass, took his hand in both of mine and congratulated him, and I got the sense that he is a good man. I didn’t go to the hall, I wasn’t quite up to small talk…especially that ever-present question, “So what do you do?” I went home and dug in the dirt.

Well, first I released the puppy from his confinement in the TV room, and we played. He’s learning to play soccer- now he doesn’t just chase after the ball when I kick it, he uses his forepaws and nose to push it back to me, and his eyes and attitude say “Kick it again!!” This is why I’ve wanted a dog, and why I love them. In their pure canine way they make me laugh…and make me see the world in a fresher light.

Goldie the Cat, in her own feline way, does the same. I spent the afternoon in the front yard, moving shrubbery and splitting and replanting. She lounged on the sidewalk in a shaft of sunlight, and every once in a while would roll on her back, wiggle for a while, and, for no apparent reason, sprint up the side of the big maple. Thankfully she was able to make her own way back down…and she didn’t seem to mind that I was laughing my ass off through the entire escapade.

I have a tendency to get too serious. I’m aware of it, and I believe that the things and people that can make me smile, make me laugh, are priceless. I’ve purchased books, shower curtains, bubble mix…all to break through that damn serious side of me. The friends I choose are the same…and the pets.

But now here I am, and its 1 a.m., the cat is sacked out upstairs, the dog on the couch, and what do I do? I think of the new priest, losing his words in his eagerness to share his joy - and I’m thankful that he, and his ability to laugh at himself, makes me laugh too.

2 Comments:

Blogger ivan said...

Well, you are certainly in good company as a writer of this evocative piece.
T. S. Eliot appeared to be moved by a mass and especially its cadence. Ash Wednesday one of my favourite poems, and it sounds a lot like a mass.
A line out of Joyce also comes to mind:
"You poor poet, you."

May 23, 2006 9:59 AM  
Blogger 10-8-ious said...

Hey Ginger -- I can totally relate. When I started going to my church (after pretty much a life time of NEVER going to church) it really got to me --I cried durring every service for the first two months. It was always the singing that got to me, there was something about everybody getting up and signing together that made me turn to mush. I remember thinking that if anyone was keeping an eye on the the newbie, they surely thought I was a basket case. I still get teary during service sometimes, but it's usually the sermon that does it to me now. What saps we are!

You seem to be in a really good place right now - I'm not sure if it is because of or in spite of your unemployment and financial concerns. Sometimes we need shed all that "outer skin" to find ourselves. It's a healthy process -- then as our next skin grows we can be more concious of what we want it to consist of (and what we don't!)

May 23, 2006 10:36 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home