Snapshots of life and the music of Purgatory

 As with all things, the sun rises, the sun sets, disappointments fade, and we move on to the next thing.  This week started with some difficult conversations, but ended with a delightful visit from our granddaughter and a celebration of our oldest son's birthday.  He has reached the age where I'm a little astounded to say that I have a son who is 29. Since people here know me as the mother of an 11 year old, I sometimes want to pull out a family photo and say, "Look, there are others!" 

Our celebration was a little muted because of the terrible flu going around. Our daughter-in-law ended up staying home with it, and the dinner party we'd planned was smaller both because of flu and because some of their friends had week-old twins a little earlier than expected.  The dad came by to say happy birthday. I ordered them a copy of Everywhere Babies by Susan Meyers and Seven Silly Eaters by Mary Ann Hoberman, since they have a two and a four year old at home. 

How many different lives do we live? Each day a new birthing and dying. 

On the other end, another friend has lost a parent.  This is the season we are in now - losing parents, gaining grandchildren.  We are in the midst of planning visits to our own parents in the next month or so.  

Sunday afternoon, I drove a couple hours south to meet up with my high school track coach and one of the runners from my club track team that I still keep in touch with. It was a great visit reliving glory days, and although it meant a lot of time in the car, it reminded me of how wonderful it is to stay connected with these friends from the past.  My track coach was a middle school history teacher and then a high school botany teacher and coached for decades. Although now in his 80s, he still talks about continuing to coach, but it is probably wishful thinking. His wife died not long ago and her care required all of his time and attention for several years. He remembers an astounding amount of detail about the past. His comments about wanting to coach reminded me of the need to have purpose and meaning even in your ninth decade.

These days I run rarely in between aches and pains in my feet and knees, although I've made it to the gym more often. For Lent, I've been trying to be on time and to be considerate of my husband by going to bed earlier. Although I have regularly fallen short in this practice, I have noticed that going to bed early results in better sleep as all the studies say. 

Since I'm not reading anything too exciting right now, this is easier to do. For my book club, we are reading Dante's Purgatorio, which is timely for Lent. What sin, what disordered love, keeps me from Paradise? So many! Those suffering from accedia and from pride are the two that seem most familiar. I've enjoyed revisiting Dante again after many years, through the Mark Musa translation (although I tried listening to a Librivox recording of the Longfellow translation on Sunday during my drive - hard to stay attentive to!) I've noticed more strikingly this time, the curious lack of references to Christ but the abudance of reference to myths and artistic representations of people of virtue, as well as the references to songs as the souls progress.  I looked up a few:

When the souls reach the gates of Purgatory they sing the "Te Deum":

And the prideful sing Beati paupere:

While some of the souls blind to the gospel hear Lucis ante:

Summae Deus clementiae is the hymn of the lustful, which I couldn't find, but here is Beati mundo corde - Blessed are the pure of heart - another verse they sing:

And just as Virgil departs, the souls sing Venite benedicti Patris mei, in the 27th canto as they leave the circle of the lustful.

I'll close with that, although perhaps I should draw the connection between the purgations of Lent, and opportunities to offer up the illness and aging in this world for forgiveness in the next. I hope to make more notes on reading Dante at some point.