Thursday, May 4, 2023

Travel tips for the frugal museum loving family adventurers

How did April, one of my very favorite months, go by so fast? For that matter, whither March? 

I never wrote about our Spring Break, which was way back in mid-March.  Since this blog is primarily a family history, I thought I should keep a record of our travels, so in ten years from now, when my kids ask, "Why didn't you do this for us?" I can point to this blog and say, "See! I did!" 

Case in point: New York City. We visited my brother- and sister-in-law when they lived in Brooklyn in 2007 or 8. If I were writing a blog then, I could look it up. As it is, I could dig through photo albums and find the prints from that trip, but I'd rather finish writing this and get some other things done today. I just remember that our sixth daughter was in the baby backpack. Thus, I could tell her she had visited NYC when she asked, even though she doesn't remember. Her older siblings don't even remember much about that trip. Heck, neither do I. although I do remember we traversed Manhattan from the Statue of Liberty to Chinatown, and we got to peek in the lion cages of the Central Park zoo where my sister-in-law's sister worked. Or was it the Brooklyn or the Bronx zoo? See, I need to go back, or ask my sil.

At any rate, for spring break this year, that backpack baby had a track meet in NYC, so we made a vacation of it. This time, we only had 2 kids with us, instead of 6 with us, but a good chunk of our time was spent at the Armory, the historic indoor track up by the campus of Columbia University in Washington Heights. I was geeking out a little bit on the track history, although the "Hall of Fame" there could be so much more than what it is.  We stayed at a hotel recommended by the track club, the Radio Hotel in Washington Heights, very close to the Washington Bridge over the Harlem River, not to be confused with the George Washington Bridge over the Hudson River, which is also not very far. 

This is a gift of traveling - you can begin to make a distinction between those two rivers and have some sort of sense of what upper Manhattan is like and where things are - and just how big that island is. All of my reading of novels set in NYC doesn't really approximate a knowledge of the city's geography, scale, or the reality of daily life there, no matter how good the author is. For the most part, my imagination is colored by television and movies, but it still isn't the same as being there, and visiting is not the same as living,.. (You might say the same about seeing a Giotto fresco in the church of San Francesco or the Last Supper in Milan, or hearing a live concert, watching an opera on the stage, or eating a gelato, or an In n Out burger or good cheese or fine wine - no matter how well it's described. Experience defies description! And yet Art! Does it exceed what it imitates?)

Leaving aside philosophical digressions to return to the travelogue:
We had three days in the city. What began with a sunset uber ride from JFK airport to the hotel was followed by a delicious, although not fine, Italian dinner at a crowded little taverna in the neighborhood. Our daughter's friend joined us, and we were entertained by the toddlers at opposite tables who were watching and testing each other in the way that toddlers are fascinated by each other.  After dinner, I'm sorry to say, we stopped in the urban Target down the street to get energy food for the girls, and then returned to the hotel to crash.

The hotel is relatively new, but it felt old - the  halls were dark, the elevator was intended to seem industrial with spray painted, grafitti-style, aged superheroes on the wall. The room was tiny, and the bathroom design need input from an actual user - to save space the since was sideways, which caused way to much water to splash over the edge. And the shower door was outsized adn opened out into the tiny bathroom. But the price was right, the service people were nice, and I appreciated some of the tiny room design features like hangers than opened up, clever coat hooks, and drawers under the bed. 

One of my favorite things about the hotel was its location - not close to most of the touristy parts of NYC, but convenient to the track, with a somewhat open view over the river, and, the highlight, a great coffee shop next door. They served Dominican specialities - corn fritters, Dominican coffee, and something they called sweet wheat. We went in every morning and tried something different.  I love trying different places, but there is also something satisfying about sticking with someplace that is good, and having them great you again on the third day.  It was called Milo's, if anyone ever reads this and happens to visit that specific area. 

Our first morning was spent at the track - cheering on our daughter, watching her friends, enjoying the spectacle of a big meet with elite runners.  We got sandwiches from a convenience store for lunch - which became a theme, and a thrifty lunch.  We were still on our meatless Lent, so a grilled egg and cheese sandwich was a satisfying source of warmth and protein to fuel our days. 

After her events were complete and a quick clean up at the hotel, we jumped on the subway for an hour ride down to the tip of Manhattan to catch the last ferry out to the Statue of Liberty. We hadn't actually ridden the ferry the last time we visited, and our nine-year-old really wanted to. For that matter, who doesn't love a ferry ride? My husband was happy to reminisce about living his preschoool and indergarten years on Governors Island, when it was still a Coast Guard base. My mother-in-law often recalls how bad the cockroaches were in their apartment, and my husband said his dad through rocks at the island on their final boat ride back to the mainland, but it was a happy time for my dad and his brothers. I'm surprised it hasn't been converted into high end real estate.

The trip to see the Statue was short - no tours up to the crown this day. But we did meander through the museum, because we missed the last ferry to Ellis Island - it was leaving 15 minutes after our arrival, and even though we trotted around the base of the statue to try to make it, they still roped us out, which was disappointing, but at the time we were happy to go into the museum and gift shop, and we got back to the ferry landing 30 minutes earlier, so we had time to get to the 9-11 memorial before the sun started setting. That was a moving experience, and I'm glad the younger daughter had had the opportunity to learn a little about it this past fall. She had read a story about a girl whose father had died, so we found his name. 

We didn't go into the actual museum - it was closing in 30 minutes, so we elected not to spend the money on admission. Instead we went into the space age Oculus mall/train station across the street, which satisfied the teenager's desire to go into some higher end shops. 

From there we trained back up to Times Square for a quick stop to see the lights and pop in a couple shops, just to say we did, and then we had to catch the subway back to the north end of Manhattan to meet her team for a team dinner at a pub style restaurant that had family style seating. We arrived just before most of the team, but ended up being served almost last because of some server error, but that gave us time to make friends with the other family at our table, also in town for the track meet, but from the East Coast. The dad ended up being a college cross country coach, so we had a lot of common interests. 

The next day was our mostly free day. After our coffee shop stop, we took the train down to Central Park and the Natural History Museum. After about 3/4s of the museum, runner daughter wanted to go back and watch friends run, so my husband generously offered to take her. Younger daughter and I finished to museum with the dinosaurs - now on the top floor (I feel like they used to be lower?) - and then meandered through Central Park with a pretzel and a corndog from a food park over to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 

Let me tell you something about my travel philosophy - I would rather spend on museum entrance fees than on food. Many people do not feel the same way. I'm happy to go hungry in order to see great art. Now we are financially stable enough that we could afford a nice lunch, but we also had to budget lunch. So food truck snacks fit the bill of being quick, easy, tasty, and relatively cheap - although these particular trucks were in a prime location and their prices reflected that. 

Our route through the park took use through the Shakespeare garden and the castle folly. It was too early for much to be in bloom except hellebores and a few forsythia and redbuds, and yet still the park was lovely in its late winter muddiness. New York is huge, dirty, and expensive, but give me New York over LA any day.  Public transportation, food, parks, interesting people, and some of the world's finest museums.  Of course, LA does have the ocean, but there's something about New York. .  . .

The Met was extremely crowded. I'm not exactly sure why - just a bunch of art lovers out on a Saturday morning? A free day fpr residents?  At any rate the non-resident line was shorter, so we were able to skip the wait. And we skipped the Egyptian tomb, which is super cool, but the line wrapped around the gallery. Instead, we blazed through the mummies, flew past the classical sculpture, and then raced upstairs to the Impressionists, because we only had a little over an hour before we were supposed to meet up with friends near the carousel in the southern part of Central Park.  And of course, the 8 year old wanted to see the works she had seen in books and on PBS kids - and we needed time to scan the museum shop, which has some of my favorite jewelry and children's play sets. But since we were short of time and money for souvenirs, we didn't shop long. We didn't even get a postcard because the lines were long. We can buy it all online anyway. Hopefully we'll be back to linger in the galleries longer.  I also want to get to the Museum of Modern Art one of these trips.

But this trip was all about NYC highlights. So after the two big museums, we met up with some dear friends we met in Guam who now live right in midtown Manhattan. Such a contrast! In between duty stations, they lived in Washington State near the mountains. He works for the FBI, not the Navy, so they have more options for assignments. They guided us around the rest of Central Park, pointed in the direction of Times Square, Rockefeller area - I missed the Public Library to my dismay - I wanted one of those photos standing between the lions! Ha! - but the 8 year old again got her way by stopping at the American Girls Store, which happens to be very close to St Patrick's where we were planning to attend Mass.  She had a slight meltdown there because of all the choices - so many things! - and no one else wanted to spend as much time browsing as she did. Fortunately, she recovered from her tearful quandary when I said she could pick one thing for souvenir and another for her birthday. A stop in FAO Schwartz, which is in smaller accomodations now, was not as fraught with indecision because I said we were buying nothing. Problem solved.

Mass at the cathedral was solemn and lovely, even though we were in our jeans. A wedding party had just departed as we were making our way in, and they left behind fancy programs and match books. Someone must be someone to get married on a Saturday afternoon at St. Patrick's cathedral. 

The worst moment of the trip followed Mass - hungry and tired, we left the cathedral to find dinner. Immediately across the street were some food trucks. Best gyro ever, my daughter claimed. But I did not want a gyro; I wanted a dinner. So I pouted a bit until I finally ate a few bites of pizza. But the bit of gyro I did have was really good. 

Sunday had us back at the track for a couple more races. In between events, my husband and younger daughter and I walked up from the track to the shrine to St Francis Cabrini - Mass was going on, so we heard the end of the liturgical rite and participated in the eucharistic rite - had we gone to confession we probably could have received an indulgence, but we lacked motivation to do that. The shrine was a small chapel in the back of the church with some articles of clothing from Mother Cabrini and information about her dogged persistence in helping the poor.  

After a short stop at a playground, we continued north to the Cloisters, the former home of ... which is now Met Museum home of medieval art. We did not go in because we were short on time and the entry fee was steep, but the gardens were lovely. Walking back,  we stopped for pressed sandwiches from a convenience store and some good coffee and Irish soda bread from a cute coffee shop.

The final event of the track meet was probably our daughter's best showing - the 4 by 400 meters. Her team placed 5th, so they received medals, so there were lots of photos. But this meet was also a clear indication that our daughter will have to work a lot harder to compete at the next level. She has gone far on natural talent, but she doesn't put in the hours on the track or in the weight room to compete at elite levels. I think she has the potential physically, but she needs the mental strength. 

With the meet over, we had one more free evening. The track team kids all went back to Times Square for pizza and shopping, while my husband and younger daughter and I got out of chaperoning to go to Washington Square and check out the Strand bookstore, where I felt as overwhelmed with wonderful choices as my daughter did at the AG store. I put back at least 10 books and left with 3 - Cricket in Times Square, The Girl with the Curious Hair, and Brian Doyle's ,,,,

For dinner we stopped at a Mediterranean place kind of like Cavi but a little more formal - they had wine. 

By the end of that day we were all exhausted and felt like we had seen a good bit of NYC. There still is so much I could explore, but only so much time and energy. 

The next morning my husband caught a flight back to Texas, while I took the subway a couple miles south to pick up a rental car. I made a short detour through Central Park, just to pretend I was local. It was a gray and cool day, but hints of spring made the day seem brighter. I imagined I could live in a big city, walking everywhere, whatever I need a subway ride away or simply not necessary. 

The rental car was to get us from NYC to Boston with some stops at colleges on the way. My original list was scaled down to just Providence College and Holy Cross. Since our daughter is a junior this gave her a chance to see what a school on the East Coast was like. The track was right by Columbia University so she got to see that, too. And in Boston we again visited our son's friend at Boston College. 

I started this over a week ago. So now I'm going to add some photos and hit publish to be done for the moment. Maybe someday I'll write about the second half of the trip.


Wednesday, April 26, 2023

A poem or two for April

 You may know this one already: 

"Good Bones" by Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.

You could listen here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/89897/good-bones

Snake

The thunderstorm came like a pot boiling over and the color
of water was made by that, all of a sudden, a pigment
more tropical than dense with the reflection of light.
Everywhere the scent of at least five different kinds of plants
lifted up. The desert can’t talk back but I believe
it breathes instead, breathes vivid when the water
wants it the water can’t wait and it breathes back.
I turned and went into the house.
Under the dining room table, a snake.
Green with a yellow stripe bisecting its back.
Motion ate each centimeter of floor
and air, scared, it makes sense to say, though there
exists or existed no safer time ever in which that shape
wouldn’t want to move, dead August being the exception
to this when heat makes molasses of all of us.
Why did I want to chase it out? I did, I got a rake and kept
making it make that beautiful scared
shape upon the floor, so clean.
Like two ice cubes rubbing each other
and too cold to melt. Nothing organized that fear.
Seeing the edges it found its way out.


https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57648/snake-56d23b5ae3965


Monday, April 17, 2023

Happy Easter!

 Alleluia, everyone! We made it to another Easter season! This is the season of new life - and of giving thanks for the lives we have and cherish. 

We've had a lot of living packed into the last few weeks. I left off with a story of death, but also of hope - a new saint, our friend's young child with Downs who died innocent of sin. We hosted a couple sisters not last week, and purgatory came up in our conversation. One of the sisters was very matter of fact about the fact that she had a life before the convent that would require some years in purgatory to atone for - and she felt we shouldn't sugarcoat the fact that atonement is a real and likely future for many of us. This is where people of faith might stumble along. Surely, surely, we won't die to be sent to an afterlife of atonement after all the suffering we undergo here.  

But since we are not that young and innocent soul like our friends' son, we just keep adding to the need for purgation, even when we think or perhaps we are atoning for past sins we committed when we were less concerned about punishment and death. But the more we grow spiritually, the more responsible we are for our failings, as unflashy as they might be. Here I am, post Easter gorging on jelly beans and feeling all sorry for myself because my kids are gone, and I lack purpose in life. Why do I so easily fall into this a sin of ingratitude after three days of glorious celebration together, or is this excusable post-party depression?

Of course, I am grateful for our Easter celebration - it was a particularly harmonious family gathering. All the kids came home to celebrate the Resurrection and their dad's fiftieth birthday and their little sister's ninth. She made a birthday wish list and the ninth thing on it was for everyone in the family to pay attention to her on her birthday because she was going to be alone with mom and dad when she is 10 (when her sister graduates from high school).

And so pay attention they did - we did not have a particularly silent Saturday during the Triduum. We went to the indoor arcade/amusement place and played laser tag and mini-golf and video games before having pizza and tacos for lunch. Then we went to the Vigil Mass together and sang our Alleluia's loudly from our full pew. And after the vigil we gorged on steak (some of us had given up meat) and ice cream cake and jelly beans and champagne before the Easter Bunny went to work sometime around 2 am. 

Fortunately, our kids now sleep in till at least nine, so the Easter morning sunrise was missed, but a celebratory brunch and egg hunt was had. We did not return to Church after 3 days of services (4 for the Catholic school kids), but we did give thanks for the day by taking a nice hike and then sitting down to another feast for dinner and more birthday cake - this time carrot cake - with close to 50 candles for my husband. 

I am full of gratitude for these birthday honorees, my husband and our youngest, and full of gratitude for the good news of the Easter story, and full of gratitude that our kids enjoy each other's company. We played a lot of games and just sat around and talked and ate and laughed a lot. It was a glorious weekend with much to be thankful for. Alleluia. Christ is Risen indeed.











Sunday, March 26, 2023

After the rain

 The morning of our friends' son's funeral was gray and rainy, the kind of perpetual, misty rain that lasts all day. The cool, damp air required rain jackets that muted the white and bright clothing that we were asked to wear. Because the funeral was for a small child who died in innocence, the Mass was a White Mass, a time for rejoicing, celebrating a new saint. I wore a light colored dress with a white cardigan; my husband wore his tan suit. Our daughters wore their school uniforms - they came from and returned to school after the Mass. My friend who had lost her little boy wore a long white dress and her girls wore their First Communion dresses; her other two boys wore white pants and shirts and little vests of the kind made for First Communions or late baptisms. 

And yet, despite the celebratory dress, it didn't really feel like a moment for celebrating. 

After the Mass we all drove sedately to the cemetery for one last goodbye. The cemetery was tucked out of the way on a tree lined plot coated with bluebonnets. Other graves were planted with roses already blooming and other budding plants, as well as assorted statuary and totems of loved ones. It seemed like a relatively new cemetery; more than one gravesite was freshly covered.  Both my husband and I were surprised they did not lower the tiny pine casket into the grave while everyone was present. All the mourners followed the parents in placing a hand or a flower on the casket and pausing for a brief prayer for the grieving family, asking for the new saint's intercession.

Then we all gathered for a reception at an historic home that now usually hosts wedding receptions. All eight of my friend's siblings and their families were in town, along with her husband's brothers and of course the grandparents, and lots of friends from the kids' school. The mood lifted a bit as a slide show played, and everyone ate. Cousins and classmates ran around. Mutual friends reconnected or met for the first time. The parents thanked everyone for coming.

After the Mass, the graveside service, and the reception, the family was going to go back home to sit with family, to change clothes, to clean up. Two days later the other kids went back to school. Time to return to the routine. Life continues. 

This is the prettiest time of year in Texas. The bluebonnets are coating the hills all along the highways, with splashes of prairie-fire (also known as Indian paintbrush) and pale pink evening primroses and occasionally sunshiny coreopsis contrasting with the blues. The redbuds just finished their purple blush, and now the fresh yellow green of new leaves are brightening the trees.  






The wildflowers announce renewal and new life and joys of beginning again, even when life is heavy. Next year the bluebonnets will return. Perhaps in remembrance we'll go back to the cemetery to say a prayer, or send bluebonnets to the family.  Today's gospel about Lazarus reminds us that Jesus wept because he loved his friends. Even if we believe in the resurrection, we, too, weep because we love our friends. And yet life goes on. I just finished reading Auden's "Musee des Beaux Arts" with my students - Icarus is drowning in a corner of the painting; war is waging as Auden stands in the museum, but the farmer keeps planting, travelers continue on their way, we go back to the work of surviving. 

Saturday, March 18, 2023

Discomfort

 It occurs to me that perhaps I should title this post, "Beginning Again with Lent Pt 2."  I've taken a bit of a vacation from Lenten sacrifices. Last week was Spring Break, and amidst travel to New York and Boston and reuniting with family and friends, I have been very lax in practicing any sort of Lenten discipline, other than that travel is a discipline in itself in a way.

For instance, because of stormy weather over our final destination, home, on Thursday evening, the last leg of our travel, a flight from St. Louis to Austin, was cancelled. It was the last flight of the evening to that destination. We sat on the plane prepared to take off - in fact, we had taxied from the jet bridge - when the message came through that we had to wait. So we waited an hour on the plane before the flight was cancelled. Then, I had to wait in line to rebook a new flight. While I waited, I got on the phone to an agent and reserved a flight to San Antonio for the next evening, because all flights to Austin were full the next day. And I rented a car with the consideration that I could drive the 12 hours the next day and be home before this flight to San Antonio landed. Plus, I had the two girls with me, and the teenager is terrified by flying. With these reservations made, I stayed in line to see if I could get any vouchers. No vouchers were given because the cancellation was weather related, but the gate agent was able to book us on a flight that went first to Orlando and then to Austin that was leaving at 5:40 am - four hours later. 

When I conveyed this news to the girls, the teen started weeping because she didn't want to get on two more planes. However, I was calculating the time and cost of sticking with the rental car - shuttle or uber to a hotel at 1:30 in the morning, buy a few hours of sleep for a couple hundred dollars, find a ride back to the airport to pick up the rental, pay a couple hundred for the one way rental car, food and gas on the road, spend twelve hours of driving plus stops, returning the car the next day ... I hugged her and promised her that driving was more dangerous. 

Then we laid our coats on the ground and curled up on the airport floor to close our eyes for a few hundred minutes in supine position.  We might have slept an hour or two; it's hard to tell. 

The rest of the trip went as smoothly as can be expected, although a little turbulence made my daughter declare she never wanted to fly again. Our flights were packed with dozens of small children and their weary parents going to Disney World and returning from it. Their exhaustion confirmed my old decision to swear off Disney vacations - although we have enjoyed taking the kids to other amusement parks. 

Despite adding 12 hours to our trip and a terrible night of sleep, oddly enough I didn't mind the disruption. These are a part of the adventure of travel. In fact, I was slightly envious of the couple ahead of me in the line for the gate agent, even though they were taking their sweet time rebooking. The guy was a musician who was going to miss his gig in Austin, so they asked where could they go on a direct flight the next day that had a direct flight back to their home in New York on Sunday. They had a free ride to a 3 day vacation. I think they ended up going to Colorado or Oregon. What a liberating feeling to just go. 

Had this disruption happened at the beginning of our trip, we might have been more upset. And I have to say, the fewer people on the itinerary, the easier it is to deal with the discomfort. My two youngest are pretty mellow, other than the fear of flight. Sleeping on the floor wasn't a huge problem for them - or the lack of bathing. In fact, I had to make the youngest take a shower when we finally arrived home. She was ready to go play with her friend down the street in the same clothes she had had on for 2 days.  No big deal when you are 8. 

So did I think about offering it up? I actually did.  Just over a week ago, some dear friends, Navy friends whom we reconnected with here, lost their three year old son. He died in the early hours of the morning from complications from a virus. Perhaps because he had Downs, his little body couldn't fight it off. Their grief, and our own sorrow at his death, has sat heavily with me all week. And perhaps that is what helped make our own travel discomforts seem minimal.  Although I cannot know what the pain of losing a child is like firsthand, I have imagined it many times, have felt the fear of potential loss during a sickness or after an accident. What mother doesn't feel a sword pierce her heart occasionally? And yet, how we have been spared. How often potentials have never actualized.  Our little traumas are small compare to what others have suffered. 

So pray for them. Their son surely does not need prayers. They will have a White Mass next week - a mass of celebration because his heart was pure, and if anyone is in Heaven, it is children who died too young in their innocence.  This thought is a consolation, but it doesn't take away the pain of losing years together.  




Thursday, March 2, 2023

Beginning again with Lent

Sometimes I look forward to Lent as a time of much needed renewal, and I plan ahead for it.  Other years, especially when Lent arrives early, I am caught off-guard. This year was in between. I did some prep, like signing up for a women's reflection group at our parish and ordering the devotional workbook, but when Ash Wednesday arrived last week, I still felt like Lent snuck up on me. A week in still feels like the beginning. 

Part of my lack of preparation on Ash Wednesday was due to being out of town the week before. We went to the mountains of North Carolina to see the house my husband designed for our cousins (they had a vision; he drew it). When we booked the trip (made possible by super sale airline tix), we laughed about it being our Mardi Gras celebration, And it was a lot of fun, until I broke my wrist at the roller rink Saturday night. The story should be that I slid while trying to win roller derby or that my husband tried to do snap the whip and sent me flying, but in reality, a reckless teen took me out from behind. Ironically, I had been trying hard to be cautious because I remember my mom breaking her tailbone while roller skating when I was a kid, and I wanted to be able to sit comfortably on the plane ride home.

After a trip to the ER (the benefit of a small town hospital - no wait at the ER even on Saturday night!), we continued to enjoy the time with family - unplugged, playing cards, making music around the campfire, etc. With my arm splinted up and wrapped in a trash bag, I even got in the hot tub. I just couldn't take a hike to a waterfall or sleep well, which was too bad because they had great mattresses. 

We returned home on Monday and had a Mardi Gras party on Tuesday as a fundraiser for our daughter, who was raising money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Our son did almost all of the gumbo prep and dessert baking and decorating with purple, green, and gold balloons and streamers. We STILL have beads left from our stay in Mississippi. A friend brought king cake, and I bossed the kids around with my arm splinted. I don't recommend Mardi Gras parties on the actual Fat Tuesday because you are left with leftovers. All those delicious things begging to be eaten on the fast day maybe makes the sacrifice more penitential.

Fortunately, I was able to get in to see our primary doctor Tuesday about my wrist to get a referral to an orthopedic surgeon by Thursday and surgery scheduled for Monday.  Now that we are in the civilian sector for medical care, I have some strong thoughts about insurance/medical issues - and my lesson this time is to call all the involved parties and talk to a person, even if on hold for hours, to make sure all the necessary paperwork gets submitted. I may have traumatized my girls by uttering a primal scream in the car Friday afternoon - after hanging up the phone -  when I thought I was going to have to reschedule surgery because some paperwork was submitted with wrong codes (Was my strong reaction a symptom of perimenopause or low blood sugar from foregoing lunch that day?). Thankfully, someone stayed after hours to correct it and get everything submitted. Maybe she heard my quivering voice mail. Thank you, kind human being.

So I had the weekend to be grateful and to continue to endure the pain of bone on bone grating in my wrist. I did not open my Lenten devotional until Sunday afternoon, after the priest had given me a blessing after Mass on my husband's sweet request. In the prayer he reminded me to unite me suffering to the Cross.  

I am not always thoughtful about offering it up, although I remind my children of this practice. I had been intentional about not ruining our vacation with complaints about pain, although I did feel sort of nauseous the rest of the weekend. And the ache in my arm, which ranged from dull ache to stabbing pain depending on how I moved or how much ibuprofen was in my system, made me think with compassion on all those who suffer chronic pain and how tiring it must be, but I didn't think of offering my pain. Perhaps it seems too transactional - I forego complaining, so God takes away someone else's pain. I know that's not the theological explanation, but it seems that way. 

Now in the second week of Lent - with a plate in my wrist after surgery on Monday (I am typing with one hand) - I am more intentionally offering up the pain and inconvenience of being one handed as one of my Lenten practices, or at least acknowledging the pain as a reminder of the suffering of others. The priest's comment has me thinking of the nails that would have been driven through Christ's wrists. When I woke up to shooting pain in my arm on Monday night I again thought about crucifixion as a horrific way to die. If breaking my wrist was enough to make me pass out from a vagal response, how could I have endured the worse pain of being beaten, broken, and carrying a cross.  

Before my surgery on Sunday night I had trouble sleeping. This was a minor surgery, but I was kept awake by anxiety nightmares about surgeries gone wrong. I dreamed I drank something and aspirated while anesthetized - although I was completely alert in my dream. Even though risk is minimal, it exists, and it's a reminder of the finitude of life. In the morning I texted messages of love to all the kids and gave extra hugs to those here. I regretted I wasn't more sympathetic when our boys had their ACL surgeries. I probably didn't recognize their nervousness enough.

Soon enough, surely by the end of Lent, this pain will fade, unlike the chronic pain that others suffer.  We've also started our other ways to fast, pray, and give, For instance, we have substituted the divine mercy chaplet for the rosary at bedtime, and that prayer is another reminder to think of the suffering of others above my own. We aren't eating sweets or meat or drinking alcohol - which I haven't wanted since being hurt, so it's not much of a sacrifice. My daughter added drinking milk, which I'm not sure is a spiritual practice, but she doesn't like it, so it is some kind of discipline for her.  This year I'm not doing the cheap coffee thing - partly because we are stocked up on coffee right now. Nor am I really cutting back on media, because I have done that already from a lack of time.  Instead we are trying to buy less and live on what we have. I thought I'd do the buy nothing thing during Lent, but we have some birthdays coming up, and the youngest needs new cleats for soccer and an Easter dress, etc, so instead I'm just trying to buy nothing unnecessary - of course, I bought pillows for the new chairs on Ash Wednesday - so not doing so well on that.

I'm not loving my Lent devotional so far, but I think I will enjoy the group at church. I have missed my ecumenical Thursday morning Bible study because I'm teaching on Thursdays. However, since I finished the Bible in a Year in February, I've started the Catechism in a Year. Already behind with that, but I am just listening to a few episodes now and then, rather than treating it as a daily obligation. I do need something good to read (I just finished a good YA novel about the 1989 overthrow of the Ceausescus, I Must Betray You by Ruta Sepetys. Definitely reads like a YA book, but it offers a good insight into life in the oppressive Communist regime in Romania.)

For giving, we've got our list of groups we give to financially, but I've also got snack bags for the people asking for money at the intersections. And we're talking about signing up for some family service project. Giving time is probably one of the harder disciplines.

If I grow in any way this Lent, may it be that I give up my urge to be in control and recognize my dependence, my need to of repair - I can't heal myself. I can't get through the day without help. I have to give up things I did with two hands like tying my shoes for a time. Fasting from things - meat and sweets and alcohol and shopping - is just a way of clearing the weeds for mediating time with Christ. May I use the freed time for that, for listening rather than telling and asking. Still hoping for clarity about what's next. Still learning to be grateful for our many gifts, still learning to be less self-centered, more aware of others' needs, still learning to love God and neighbor more wholly.

And here are some things I've been grateful for:

A trip to a farm to horseback ride with dear friends

   

A boy who had a birthday:

Swinging



Time in the mountains






breaking my left wrist and not my right
Young ladies lovely within


Reading is one form of escape. Running for your life is another.
-Lemony Snicket