| March 8, 2000 Ash Wednesday |
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Cycle 5, Day 26 Temp: 97.5 Cervical Mucus: Sticky Cervix: High, open, soft |
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It's almost physically painful to be inside on a day like today. Whatever happened to March coming "in like a lion"? There is nobody in the library but us poor workers; I expect the day to follow the usual pattern, wherein a sudden influx of kids will happen at around three o'clock, right after school lets out. They'll be general nuisances, writing on tables and throwing each others' caps about the building, and then vanish within half an hour. I wish I could vanish to the outdoors. I just asked our volunteer page with Down's Syndrome if she wanted to go outside and play. "Nope!" she crowed. "Work comes first!" Well, don't I feel like the poor employee? |
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Eric and I will head out right after work today for the Ash Wednesday service at church, primed to have ashes smeared upon our foreheads. (Laurie used to refer to this as "Spot a Catholic Day." I guess it's just one Roman Catholic tradition from which the Anglican church never quite broke away.) Oddly enough, Eric gets excited about this kind of thing. Neither of us grew up with a whole lot of reverence in our churches. I've spoken briefly of my old church before; the methods employed went a long way toward letting the members feel close to God, but didn't do much to inspire awe, if you know what I mean. I remember sitting down, as a small child, to play with modeling clay with my "friends"; I'd set out hunks of clay for myself, Daffy Duck, Bugs Bunny, and Jesus. And let me just say on the record that those snakes and ash trays made by the Son of God were no prettier than the rest of ours. I'll probably pay for that later. Eric went to a Church of Christ. On the times I've visited his old church, I've found nothing wrong with it, but they have an extremely casual attitude there, just like at my own. Half the members wear blue jeans; the lead-footed pianist chews gum as she plays "Just a Closer Walk With Thee." Both of our churches were very, very serious about their worship, mind you. It was the atmosphere that was casual, not the faith. I never really felt inspired to kneel; the vast power differences between the Creator and me were brushed aside in favor of working on "spiritual intimacy." Now, when I kneel during prayers at church - something I never did before 1996 - I begin to feel a new breed of feelings: reverence, wonder, and respect. When I was young, the only "wonder" I remember feeling was wonderment at how we were supposed to sing loud enough to get our music up to heaven to be heard. I eventually figured it out: our sound techs had rigged a huge amplifier to the ceiling of the sanctuary (the building was an adult movie theater before the church bought it), which I mistook for a direct speaker line to God. Which would be pretty handy, if you think about it. The service tonight should be lovely. I think I may be looking forward to it almost as much as Eric is. And there will be no choir duty tonight, so I don't even have to worry about holding my sleeves close to avoid knocking over any pews! |
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Talk about new breeds of feelings. While looking for new storytime books, I keep accidentally running across children's books whose plots don't make me laugh, smile, or sigh. It's not fair to hide, nestled between "Hattie Baked a Wedding Cake" and "Somebody Loves You, Mr. Hatch," the ever-uplifting After Charlotte's Mom Died. These things need a warning label or something: "Do Not Read if You're Worried About Your Own Mother." Some kids saw me crying and stared solemnly; I pretended as if the dust had made my eyes water. Soon...soon this whole medical mess will all be over, and she'll be back to normal. Soon. |
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By the way, I decided to give up red meat for Lent. Naturally, I will be invited to a hamburger cookout for tomorrow night. That's usually the way of things. |
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