High Holy Days

We are in the silence of Good Friday.  The Holy Thursday Mass last night capped a week of ups and downs. Our Easter celebration may be subdued this year because our kids will be with their grandparents, as I wrote in the post a couple weeks ago. We are still not sure of what our Easter will look like since we are waiting to see how Saturday plays out. 

I have done little preparation for Easter, other than some last minute desperation ordering of a few books and candy to be sent to the older kids. The Easter baskets will not be brimful this year. Honestly, I don't know why I'm buying candy for my 20somethings, but I'll keep doing it. I do little enough for them since they are all far aaway. 

Life doesn't stay still. Doors open, doors close. 

Two weeks ago, we were in Virginia Beach for a track meet and were able to revisit places that have become mythic in our memory. In some ways they have changed, but in others, I was happy to see my memory hadn't changed much, especially in regard to the friends with whom I was able to reconnect, even at the last minute. Some of our friends from that time in life have moved because of jobs or they were military like us; others I have lost track of. But it was wonderful to reconnect with those who are still there. We grabbed pizza with military friends, then walked our old neighborhood while enjoying ice cream cones with a neighbor who was our adopted grandmother. The next day we sat down for coffee with dear friends from my book group, and I was able to take a long walk with another dear friend - one of those walks where you go farther than you thought because you lose track of where you are because the conversation never slows.   Our conversations moved from updates on our families to revisiting memories, to sharing the challenges and hopes we have now.  Again, I am reminded of the goodness of people and of the world. 

I would like to reflect more on this weekend, but despite the day's solemnity, I have to move on to the next thing now, but here are some photos of our few days staying beachside and the homes where we began and grew our family. 

This was the third house we ever lived in, although the first two places were just six months each. We actually only lived in a quarter of this house. It was divided into four apartments, and we had the bottom left as you look at the house. We never really got to know the other people who lived here. Our second child was born here. 

When the owner of that big house decided to sell it, we moved to this house. This time we had a third of the house, the entire first floor.  We stayed longer here, about two years, and knew all the neighbors and loved them. This is where our third child was born, and we have lots of memories - the sloping floors, losing power for days after a hurricane, playing on the sidewalks with the neighbor kids for hours, freezing in the winter because the heat was expensive, gardening, visiting the park, story times, hosting dinners... 

This was our third house in the area, but our 8th address. We bought this house after being gone a few years and then coming back. Our sixth child was born here. More wonderful neighbors. More treasured memories. I planted that camellia that needs a trim. I also had planted a sweet olive tree by the door that must have died. We mowed the lawn with a push mower.  We had a tiny office in the back where I home schooled the kids, supposedly, but most of the work happened at the table or on the couch under that front window where we read and read and read.

The fairy garden in the crook of the tree in front of our neighbors - she and the neighbor kids add to the tableau. The mailman left the little mail truck.

Looking toward where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Chesapeake Bay.

Virginia Beach, north end

Camellias in bloom

The view from the greenbelt behind our fence.

Blue bonnets are early this year. You can see why they are so beloved when they carpet the roadsides and parks. 

Whither thou goest, February?

At the start of the year, I thought I might do more reflective writing in this space, and for about three weeks, that was the case. Then time blew February through the doors of the past like the dead leaves of the live oaks that are just now being shed as the new leaves push out the old growth to be blown away. 

February began, as it always does, with the birthday of our third son. It included a trip to Indiana for a family meeting with my siblings, and it ended with a camping trip with my daughter's scout troop. Some soccer and track were sprinkled in.  We hosted a Mardi Gras party/fundraiser for our daughter's Leukemia and Lymphoma Society fundraising campaign which ended with a gala the third weekend of February.  Then Lent began quietly on Valentine's Day, which we talked about celebrating the day before, but we did nothing extraodinary except eat meat and sweets to get them out of the house.

 

February Track Season begins

I have been guilty of acedia this Lent - I haven't eaten meat, but I am not tempted by it. I have eaten sweets on Sundays and sampled some brownies and crumb cake that I made for others - had to make sure they were fit for consumption - so I haven't really craved them other times. And I told myself I was giving up wine and alcohol, also, but I have not said no to a glass of wine here and there at social events. As far as growing closer to Christ through prayer and giving alms, my attempts have been pathetic. On the positive side, I renewed my efforts to finish the Catechism in a Year with Fr. Mike begun last year - only 80 more days to go.  I made it to confession, and I took a wonderful walk in the woods that renewed my spirits and gratitude for the gifts we have. But my prayer life has never been drier. Much like the dead wood I've been cleaning up around the yard this week during spring break, I feel brittle, dessicated, barren. 

That virtue of gratitude does not come easy to me.  One other thing I thought I would try to do for Lent at which I've failed miserably is to cease my complaining about living here and to counter those negative thougths with renewed attempts to journal at the end of the day about the positive things that happened or moments of beauty, thanksgiving, connection. Just writing this reminds me to pick up what I set down a couple weeks ago when grading and communicating with parents increased at the end of the quarter. While I may not be vocalizing my desire to upend our lives to my husband as much this month, it is still ever-present in my thoughts. Two of our neighbors put their houses up for sale in February, and at least one of them has said they have only had one showing since their home has been on the market. This terrifies me. 

Indecision and rootlessness continue to plague me, as well. I have to commit soon either to returning to the middle school or to trying to pick up the classes I had last year at the community college and the other small college where I was teaching. I have enjoyed the day to day interactions with the middle school students. I have hated the grading and paper work and the late nights that steal my sleep as a result of falling behind on those two chores. I like the convenience of teaching where my daughter goes to school and the interactions with the community and the ability to go to Mass an extra day a week. I miss the material I used to teach and the planning of those courses and the interactions with college students. Every day I question how I am spending my days. Are the hours worthwhile? Are tah

This waffling about purpose was not a weakness of St. Francis Cabrini.  Last weekend we went to see the movie Cabrini with friends followed by dinner out with them. We all commented on St. Francis Cabrini's sense of purpose and passion. The movie downplays her religious motivation, but it celebrates her devotion to her orphan children and her determination. Perhaps that is what I should pray for this Lent. And give to organizations that help orphans. Honestly, the movie made me think about foster care again. As my work as a mother has grown less time consuming, if not less heart and head consuming, I have struggled with the best way to fill that time. 

Meanwhile, all of my adult children are convening at my mother and father's for Easter.  I'm full of envy and woe that we are not planning to go.  Our daughter who is a senior is supposed to be running in the Texas Relays on Good Friday and Holy Saturday. Half of me wants to boycott the meet for being held on these holy days. If it weren't a relay race that involves other people's children, I would. Another part of me wants to allow my adult children to have their grandparents' love and attention without me there to interject my own need for attention from both generations and to celebrate their desire to spend time with their grandparents and each other.  And really, I'm selfish about time with my own parents, while we should get together with my husband's family. All of our adult children will be here at the end of May for their sister's graduation, but I'm full of self-pity from missing out on the Easter celebration. 

February in Indiana

Ft. Packer State Park

One solution is to be more intentional about planning our travel instead of being so last minute about it. I could be tempted to become a nomad, detach from all our worldly goods, and pack just essentials into a van in which to wander from house to house of those we love. Would they get tired of always providing hospitality to someone who doesn't reciprocate? Perhaps the solution is to find a place to put down roots where everyone wants to come to us. That's my Eldorado - the perfect place. 

 

This is rambling and navel gazing, but in the interest of recording something of life, here it is...

Gala going